Alex Becker, ‘On My Feet’
The next two stories are shorts I wrote in 2017, then greatly overhauled in early 2025 to bring them in line with the work I’m doing now. They’re playful, dirty, a little absurd. Part of writing good erotica is to commit to the bit, don’t flinch, don’t be glib. If your characters believe it, the reader will, too.
“On My Feet”
Dana slaps me, full in the face. I look down at her, stunned, rubbing my cheek, working my jaw. It made my vision go white.
"Shit, Alex, are you alright? Kayfabe, kayfabe." Our word for breaking character, but not the scene. "I felt that one. Last thing I wanna do is hurt you," Dana says, arms out to try to embrace me, comfort me.
I wave her off. "No, Dana—Chef Kleeborn. That’s what the safe word is for. Back to work." The phrase to get back in. "It’s cool. Wouldn’t have happened if I’d done what you asked."
We’re in her apartment, which is still a mess. I’d been asked—told—to straighten up for her. She’s executive chef at a restaurant I invested in early. Dana bought me out, amicably, and we’ve been friends ever since. She’s expecting company soon, and catering a black tie gala in a couple of days. Her housekeeper—me—had been caught up on a work call, and wasn’t able to make it here before she got home.
"Un-fucking-acceptable, you little shit." She’s still wearing her work outfit—a baggy pair of white pants, a coat that used to be white, now stained and washed into a mishmash of colors—mostly grey, and a pair of astoundingly ugly work shoes.
“I asked you to clean my apartment, Alex,” she says. “Why isn’t it cleaned yet?”
“I had to stay late at the office, Chef, and you didn’t want me to call anyone over, and—“
Another slap, from the other side now. “I didn’t ask you for excuses. I asked you to clean, and you didn’t. I needed my clothes washed for next week. I have a special event tomorrow night, and I have no clean underwear. That means you have to be punished.” She paused, looking me over. “I think I have an idea, but we’ll work up to it. You’ll just have to follow my instructions. Is that clear?”
I nodded. Slap. “Yes, Dana,” I say, cheek stinging. Her hand rises. I want to disobey, but we both have busy schedules. "Chef."
Dana lowers her hands, and a grin spreads across her face. “Good,” she purrs, and then snaps her fingers. “Clothes off. Now.” She waves her finger in a circle, zooming with speed. I unbutton my pants, pull them down to my ankles, and rip them off, tossing them into a heap near the corner of her bed. I fall to my knees, looking up at her.
“Shirt too,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Or do you not want this enough?”
“Yes, Chef, I do want it.” I unbutton my shirt, revealing my slightly hairy chest to her. She reaches down and feels my pectoral muscle. It’s slightly soft—I need to work out again.
She smiles. “Alex, you need to work out a bit more.” She pinches my nipple, rubbing it roughly between her thumb and forefinger. The pain shoots out from my chest into the rest of my body, and makes my cock tingle. I can feel it starting to grow, rubbing against the fabric.
Dana looks down at my bulge, her eyes growing wild. “That’s good, that’s good. Now just wait here, and I’ll get you what you need.” She walks out of the bedroom, and I wait in silence. I hear the door to her laundry room open and close, and she returns with a pair of underwear and a pair of socks. “Don’t move.”
Quickly she walks to me and puts her underwear in my mouth. I taste the sweat and the rest of her body in it. She then takes one of her socks, and stretches it over my head, covering my face. “They’re very stretchy. I like them a lot,” she says, giggling. “Now, Alex, are you ready to please me?”
I nod. I’m breathing through my nose, smelling and tasting her long hours of work—the sweat, the grime, the kitchen—all of it.
Hands touch my shoulders, and spin me to the bed, facing Dana. She’s sitting with her feet bare. “Do you like feet, Alex?”
I shake my head. She puts the soles of both of her feet full on my face.
“That’s the wrong answer, but I think you’ll learn to love ‘em, especially mine. These are working feet,” she says, lowering her legs to rest her feet on my thighs. “Pull your cock out.”
I reach to my underwear to pull them off, but her foot moves to stop me, resting on my bulge. “Nope. Not like that. Put your pecker through the little hole in the front,” she says, trying not to giggle. “That’s what it’s there for!”
Brushing her foot aside, I reach into the hole in my underwear, and with a bit of tugging, get it out. It’s already hard and throbbing, stiff in my hands. The smell of her feet and the taste of her panties is only making me more horny.
“Mmm, that’s a real nice cock, Alex." She takes the other sock and slides it onto my dick. It’s moist and warm. "Almost makes me forget that you didn’t clean my place,” she says, and I can hear her smiling. “Why don’t you cum on my feet to show how sorry you are?”
“Wha?” I say through the panties gagging me.
“You heard me. Tug one out on my pretty little feet, Alex. Make sure you take the sock off."
I begin stroking, and Dana puts one foot under my balls, lightly brushing them up and down with her big toe. “You like that, don’t you? You fuckin’ weirdo, I know you do.” She puts her other foot on my face, rubbing the bottom all over my nose. “Take a sniff, Alex. This is what happens when I don’t have clean clothes.”
My stroking gets faster and faster. The friction of her feet and the fabric and dry-jacking is causing me pain mixed with the familiar pressure of ecstasy. The stink of her feet just makes it harder to stay in control. I desperately wish I could put her foot in my mouth, but I have to settle for her used panties, which taste of sweat, arousal, industrial cleaning products, and steak.
It’s an orgasmic combination. Her sex and her work, everything I love—greatly admire—about her, all concentrated in this fabric between her legs.
But the magic of her sex pales in comparison to her magic in the kitchen. Nobody pan sears a steak like her, nobody pairs wine like her.
The last time I told her that, though, I discovered her armpit kink ("oh yeah? This the kinda magic you want? What I gotta deal with all day? How much I smell, the sweat, the kitchen clinging to me?" Yes. Yes, please.)
My hand slows as I near the brink. I want to draw this out as long as I can. I want to be bad over and over again for her, make her make me her bitch. I want to be right here, jerking off on her disgusting pretty feet every night, letting her punish me for anything she wants. Games and rules and prizes.
Her foot moves from my face, and through the fabric I see her lay on her back, feet still on my thighs. She reaches into her dirty white pants and starts to touch herself in front of me. I stop stroking for a moment, taking it all in.
Dana stops, and looks over her ample breasts at me. “Why the fuck did you stop? Keep stroking, bitch.” She digs a toe into my balls, and the pain pulls me back to fucking myself again.
I can hear her make little moaning sounds, cooing as her fingers press on her clit. She moans and gasps a little, and she uses my legs for leverage as she arches her back. The smell of her sex joins the other scents assaulting me, and the pressure builds, getting harder to hold back with each furious stroke.
Then she starts to breathe harder and faster, harder and faster, her hand working more and more furiously between her legs, clad in those disgusting, amazing pants. Her back arches, her toes curl, nails digging into my legs. She lets out a deep, pained, ecstatic groan, gasping for air as she flops back onto the bed.
Unable to hold back anymore, I grip my member firmly and begin to stroke with abandon, letting the pressure of orgasm build and crest. The desire to cum is so strong my cock aches. I start to breath deeply but quickly, trying to control the exact moment I let my nut go. I rip the sock off, a small white drip forming at the tip of my member.
Dana moves her feet right under my cock head, rubbing her big toe on my shaft. “Give me your nut, Alex. Show me how sorry you are for not cleaning my place. Um," she says, her breathing getting labored, "blow your load on my…uh…toes. Yeah! Cum on my feet, Alex. I know you want to.” I hear her giggle. She thinks we’re doing a little joke together.
I’ll show her. After all, she ordered it.
"Yeff, Sheth," I moan through the gag.
Fuck. Yes.
Those gorgeous, soft, smooth, slender size 7.5 feet that she spends hundreds on pedicures for every year. Those shallow arches, the skin so supple and begging to be touched, her toes painted this gorgeous pearlescent turquoise, with a little star on her right dorsum and a garlic bulb on the left (the inspiration for her restaurant, a roasted bulb shooting across the sky, 80’s school poster style). The things I wanted to do to them—
The pressure builds up in my cock, gripping my balls with tension, and then I feel my body lift for a few seconds as the orgasm works its way out of me. Every muscle tenses up, my skin tingles, and then my entire world blinks out for a split second. My cock spasms, and the first load gushes from my member, the thick glob overshooting its distance to land on the garlic. The next spurts of cum dribble out heavily, pouring like a faucet onto her toes, falling between them and down her feet.
“Oh my. Oh my,” she says, with a little gasp. "Alex, you dirty…you dirty…uuuuuunnnngggggh…aaahhhhh…" and she lets out a guttural grunt of pleasure, while a dark spot forms on the crotch of her pants.
I finally take off the sock and pull the panties out of my mouth. She’s laying right there in front of me, eyes wide, pants wet.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
She looks a little bashful, blushing a deep red. “I…I, uh…I didn’t know you’d be into that. I didn’t think you’d really cum on my feet.”
“I didn’t know I’d miss you squirting,” I say, lifting her feet to my mouth and licking the cum from her toes. "Chef."
She squirms a little, but eventually settles. “Well, maybe I could get used to this,” she says, then looks around her room. “I really do need someone to clean this place, though. I don’t think you take those kind of directions well.”
I give her a sultry look. "I’ve got a company I use. Not too expensive."
"Is it an escort agency?"
"Actually, it’s not, though I can give you Vicky’s number if you want."