Tuesday, July 26, 2011


by alien_ov

Ever since my marriage I spend lots of time at my mother-in-law's
feet. She just started treating me as her personal slave and my wife
is most displeased if I don't obey her. One night Julie, that's my
wife Megan's mother, came over for dinner and after we ate we were
relaxing in the family room talking.

"My feet are so tired," Julie complained, rotating her sneakered feet
at the ankles. "Darling, be a dear and have your husband give me a
foot massage," she joked, touching my wife's hand conspiratorially.

"He'd be happy to," my wife stated, putting a hand on her hip. "And
when he's done rubbing your feet, mother, I believe that I'm overdue a
foot massage as well." I smiled weakly but the way both women eyed me
smugly let me know I was outnumbered. I shrugged my shoulders, but
even as I mumbled a half-hearted protest I was already taking a seat
on the carpet, cross-legged in front of the end of the couch where
Julie sat. She smiled triumphantly and daintily moved both of her
feet, covered in socks and well-worn canvas sneakers, into my lap
where they rested against my thigh.

I just stared down at her sneakered feet for several seconds in
fascination, taken off-guard by this turn of events. My mother-in-law
broke the silence by clearing her throat, wiggling her feet
expectantly. I took her left foot in hand and unlaced the dirty
canvas sneaker. There was a powerfully pungent, moist stinky smell
that filled my nose as I peeled the sweaty shoe from her socked foot;
the socks looked well-worn with visible moisture stains covering the
sole. Wrinkles appeared and then vanished as Julie flexed her
newly-unshod foot with a pleasurable sigh.

Julie had me massage her sweaty bare feet for about half an hour
before lifting her feet from my hands. "Time to go tend to your
wife's feet," she announced with a smile. My wife had a great big
smug grin on her face as I slid over to the other end of the couch,
accepting her nylonned feet as she slid them out of the terrycloth
slippers she usually wore around the house. She moaned
absent-mindedly with appreciation as I kneaded her stockinged soles,
which were noticably moist and sweetly pungent from being worn all

"I could get used to this," my wife remarked to her mother with a
laugh. "A nice foot rub hits the spot after a long day of running

"We should make this a regular ritual," Julie suggested,
half-kidding. "I'll bring a bottle of wine, we can all take turns
cooking dinner, and then after dinner, good conversation and foot

"And next time," she lectured, directly addressing me for the first
time, "make sure you have some foot lotion on hand. My feet get very
dry, and if you're going to massage them, you might as well
moisturize." Julie's tone of voice was such that she could have been
joking, but all the same I found myself in the drugstore the next
afternoon, purchasing a bottle of foot lotion just to keep on hand.

It turned out my preparations were not in vain. When I returned home
that evening my wife greeted me with the news that her mother was
dropping by for dinner so I shouldn't make any plans. Megan set me to
work tidying up while she cooked dinner until Julie arrived twenty
minutes later. The three of us had a pleasant meal, then afterwards
retired to the family room to continue a conversation about current
events. My wife interrupted to ask if anyone would like coffee.

"That would be lovely," Julie agreed. "And what *else* I'd like is a
nice relaxing foot massage while I drink it." Julie pointed the toes
of her low-heeled black leather pumps and looked at them expectantly.
As strange and unprecedented as all of this seemed, I nonetheless
found myself sitting cross-legged on the floor and helping my
mother-in-law off with her fashionable pumps. She wore beige
reinforced-toe nylons over her bare feet, which were visibly sweaty
and had a sweetly rank aroma.

"Mmm, I'll bet my feet are all stinky," Julie laughed, holding up her
nylonned footsole to my face for closer inspection. The nylon soles
were visibly dusty and grimy, and they DID stink, no question about it
-- but I found the sweet smell strangely hypnotic, found myself
focusing my attention fully on her bony, mature nylonned feet as I
gently stroked her long bony toes and kneaded her wrinkled soles and
arches with my thumbs.

"You can take off my stockings, dear," she instructed sometime later
-- Megan had returned with coffee for the two of them, and my
attention to the foot massage was such that I had lost track of their
conversation. I blushed slightly as I pulled myself from my reverie.
"They're knee-highs," Julie explained, rolling up her pants leg and
instructing me to roll the stocking off of each pale, bare, smooth
calf. She had beautiful soft skin for a woman well in her 50s, and
her hint of a smile suggested that she was enjoying my half-concealed
excitement at performing this chore. Julie had me deposit the
rolled-up nylons inside her pumps.

"Would you like me to rub some lotion on your feet?" I volunteered,
surprising myself a bit with my eagerness.

"Well of course," Julie answered, as if the question even needed a
response. My wife watched in bemused disbelief from the other end of
the couch as I went to fetch a bottle of aloe foot lotion and
dutifully, contentedly massaged my mother-in-law's bare feet.

I really enjoyed the feel of the lotion as I stroked it into Julie's
soft, shapely feet, and found myself leaning down to breathe in the
warm sweet mixed smell of the mildly-perfumed lotion mixed with my
mother-in-law's strong musty foot odor. I rubbed both feet thoroughly
top and bottom for a long time until my wife announced it was time for
her feet to be massaged -- I dutifully slipped off her stinky slippers
and nylons, and gave her feet a long, careful pampering and massage
with the lotion. I wasn't even phased when Megan ended the massage by
leaning back, lifting her feet so her sweet wrinkled soles were cupped
together in front of my face, and telling me to kiss her feet. I did
so happily, loving the scent of her soft feet and the feel of her
wrinkled soles and heels against my lips. It probably goes without
saying that I was only too happy to kiss my mother-in-law's feet as

Ever since then that's been the after-dinner ritual pretty much every
night. Only difference is I'm the one who cooks and serves dinner and
I have to bow down and kiss and smell both womens' feet whenever they
want -- which is a LOT -- that's the very first thing I do when I wake
up in the morning, and how I greet my wife and mother-in-law whenever
they enter or leave the house. Whenever I displease or disobey my
wife, I have to apologize to both her and her mother down on my knees,
licking the dirty bottoms of both womens' shoes until they are
satisfied I've learned my lesson.

I am a footslave to my wife and my mother-in-law and couldn't be
happier. I worship both women and love to smell and kiss and pamper
their beautiful sweaty feet. I give them lots of foot massages and
pedicures and shine all their shoes and hand-wash their stinky socks
and stockings, but mostly I kiss and serve their feet to demonstrate
my submission to their power, my place as a slave to their feet.


  1. if more wives and mothers in law assert their authority over us, the world would be a happier place. men need constant reminder of their right place.

  2. if more wives and mothers in law assert their authority over us, the world would be a happier place. men need constant reminder of their right place.