Sole Sundae

Why the fuck was I here?

"Good afternoon folks."

I didn't need the money.

"I wish to thank you for attending..."

And I said I was not going to model.

"The September edition of the pop-up..."

But I was desperate.

"Sole Sundae!"

God I hate that pun. The host was clamoring off the rules, but I already had them memorized. I've been listing them off in my head since I left the house. There was no pretense to the ad that I clicked on. There wasn't any deception in the description that I willingly agreed to. I could see the words as clear as day as I stared up at the sheet metal ceiling of the 18-wheeler trailer that I was now locked in.

'Wanted: male or female participant in a fetish art show. Participant will have their ankles locked in a pair of stocks, and their bare feet covered in dessert items and licked. Participant will be next to four other participants, but not visible to anyone. Nobody but the host will see anything but participant's feet. Gig is generously compensated.'

I knew exactly what I was signing up for. That Nippon Ichi cosplay-looking host was kind enough, but his spiked, blue hair and red eyes were off-putting as hell. I assume it was for whatever the art portion of this was. Maybe the guests were in cosplay as well?

I scrunched my toes in apprehension, looking down at the stocks that held me. Our containment was built out of half of this trailer, with the other half being the stools and the freezer that contained the... The...

"Guest number one, you have first choice," the host said. I could hear him to my right; I was in position four out of five--something I picked for myself. I didn't want to be the farthest away; I remember how that logic works from high school seating. But the same was true for the middle and the nearest positions. Maybe I was fooling myself by pretending I was going to be unassuming, knowing full well there was soon going to be someone sitting an inch from my feet.

Maybe I picked this spot because it was closest to the freezer.

"Ah-hn!" A gentle moan to my right, masculine. Someone must have seated in front of his feet and given the soles a test.

I rubbed my left foot against my right sole anxiously.

"E-eEhee--ohno..." A bubbly giggle, also to my right but a bit farther. She sounded so dignified... Why the heck was she subjecting herself to this?

For the same reason I was, duh.

I heard the scraping of metal against metal right in front of my feet... Someone had sat down.

My feet wiggled instinctively. I couldn't see them, I couldn't see anyone looking at them.

But I

felt

the hungry gaze.

I let out a surprised gasp as I felt a pair of soft hands touch my feet. I froze instantly--maybe if I didn't react they would go away.

As if I even remotely wanted that.

They were gently caressing the outsides of my feet, using their thumbs to trail over my deep arches. I pursed my lips together, trying to contain my reactions. This was a pair of very skilled hands; they weren't tickling, but they weren't rubbing. My body didn't know whether to writhe or shudder; my lips whether to smile or spread.

"Excellent, now that we have our plates selected," the host started, and the hands upon my feet left. I heard more metal scraping and the bustling of moving bodies. The host was talking, but the noise and my general flustered state was making it incomprehensible.

I very clearly heard the freezer open a few times.

My mind was starting to drift to that. What was in it? Dessert items--clearly--but that could mean so much. Ice cream was very cold, so that couldn't be in it. Cherries; they would be cute to nibble from between toes. And of course there was... There was the... The c-c-ch--

I couldn't even finish the thought before I felt a hand return to my foot, gripping the center of my foot rather firmly. I couldn't tell whether the hand was masculine or feminine, but its dominating energy was

powerful.

What was more powerful, however, was the cold sensation that hit my big toe, drizzled over the tips of my toes, and slowly slimed down my digits to the ball of my foot.

I snapped my hands to my mouth to stifle the unholy noise that wanted to come out of it. Of course they had to start with the chocolate syrup. It was every-fucking-thing I knew it would be and more. I felt every molecule of the sweetness dribble down my toes, which spread instinctively for it. If I were in my right mind I might have cursed my own damn toes for being such sluts.

But I couldn't blame them.

My long toes spread wide, feeling the thick liquid slide between them. I wasn't moving; I didn't want to move. I wanted every inch of skin covered in that sickening sweetness. I could feel that they weren't stopping either; this wasn't some Jackson Pollock drizzle; they were going for the full death-by-chocolate coating.

And oh god, feeling the chocolate crest the curve of the ball of my foot, clinging to my skin as it fell down my sole in thick ropes. My mind was in orbit, but lost in the fuzzy static of the sensations that were shooting through me.

Soon enough my other foot felt the shock of cold, and similarly primed itself for the glorious feeling of that thickness around it. I didn't even need the person to hold my foot; I spread my toes and pointed them back against the wooden stock that held them like slut taking a facial. From the way the syrup moved gently around my toes, I felt like whoever was drizzling could feel my complete willingness and was relishing it almost as much as I was.

Almost.

It had to be an entire bottle of Hershey's that covered my feet now. Even the tops had smatterings of the chocolate. I felt it on my ankles; I bet if I wiggled them enough I could even see some of it against the stocks--though the lighting in my little cubby wasn't all that great. My head was swimming and there wasn't even any touching going on. Well, actually there was a little; I felt little pressures around my feet against the syrup. Not really pokes, but little weights...

Sprinkles?

I felt the hands back, cupping my left foot tenderly. Oh god it was actually going to start. I grit my teeth and braced myself. Was I going to hate it? Was I going to cum instantly? Did I want it to stop? Did I desperately need it to happen?

It didn't matter. The second the warmth of the tongue hit my sole the fireworks went off in my mind. I let out a long exhale of the apprehension I was holding in, matching the pace of the tongue sweeping up my arch and catching drops of the chocolate that coated them. If I thought the hands were skilled, this tongue was a

master.

It tickled, but it was so fucking good. I swear they were deliberately playing with the chocolate that clung to my feet; pushing the goopyness around my sole and up to my toes. They were as much tasting it as they were tasting me, and that alone was driving me wild.

"Oh-OOH... A-AHHanMM-fufUCK" I heard the guy to my right moaning. The plywood that separated us was not nearly thick enough to muffle his sounds that much--I suspect that the thicker wood that made up the stock wall didn't do a lot to cover it either.

"AhhiiHIIi-IHiHIhiII-S-StopticklHihIhihiihiii~!" A more shrill giggling was coming from my left; it was both adorable and annoying at the same time. I seem to be caught between the two extremes of what sensations could come out of this whole experience.

My airy gasping broke with some sputtering giggles--like the fucking prophet I must have been, the licking at my feet gave way to playful nibbling. It wasn't a full-on tickle though, so I wasn't in a state of full laughter. This mouth was

amazing

at what it was doing; dancing the line of tickling me just enough to make me giggle, but not enough to overwhelm me. And every now and then I felt their tongue or their lips; they'd lap a big drop of chocolate from between my toes, or they'd kiss and suck a sprinkle off from my heel.

I started to hear movement on either side of me. The moaning to the right was getting louder, and a rhythmic rustling against the plywood was pretty plain what was going on.

I was half surprised I didn't have my hand in my pants doing the same.

To my left was much more frantic, arms pounding on the flimsy cushion that we were laying on. That poor girl must have been so ticklish, and whoever was at her feet was really giving it to her.

Whoever had me though... Just... Fuck.

Thoughts were becoming hard to form. I was so turned on, but also so embarrassed. I knew nobody could see me, but there were people

literally inches

away. I wanted to touch myself, but I also didn't.

The only thing I was sure of was that I never wanted this worship to stop.

"I see we have all cleaned our plates." I could barely comprehend the host's words, feeling the last little nibble on my big toe before all the sensation left my feet. I was a panting, sweaty mess, my feet laying lax in the ankle holes and breathing deeply. I'm glad I didn't wear any makeup to this or I'm sure it'd be plastered all over my cheeks.

I heard more rustling and more talking that I couldn't comprehend; the guests must be leaving. I tried to remember what the host said about our exit procedure, but it was a blur now; any memory had melted out of my brain. I just wanted to wait here until I'd be let out.

I also kind of wanted to see if there was any chocolate syrup left before I got a chance to clean my feet...