Couples’ Counseling

“Well, there is one other option we could try…”

It was the last thing I remember her saying, I’m sure of it. Everything then is in such a fog now, like a dream. The entire world on the other side of this. It seems ages ago, and miles away. It all seems to echo.

And I remember I agreed. But now…

All I can see are her feet, hers and my wife’s. The soles of them I mean. They’re filling up my vision, they’re covering my face. I can feel her nylons, god, the sweat of them, and my wife’s skin.

And I’m lying on the ground. I’m lying on the ground they’re rubbing their feet in my face. And I can’t… Why…? How?

Oh god, and I’m licking them.

* * *

I remember fidgeting slightly beside her, my wonderful Maggie, my angel, desperate for Cassandra to help her. She had been struggling for what seemed like so long, in so many ways, I was seeing, since the beginning, and we had been going to Cassandra for weeks.

We had made progress, so much, in the struggle of adapting to our new lives together, and we had had success, but there still seemed to be something in there, something in our way. We talked about it a lot, working through it and putting in the effort, and I wanted so badly for her to be free. I wanted the weight lifted off of her shoulders. I wanted her to believe.

“And I know it isn’t him,” she said graciously, and in earnest, giving me a glance and putting her hand on my elbow. “I know it isn’t. He really is great. It’s just that I have been through so, so much. I really have. And I just don’t know how to accept it.”

Cassandra looked at us deeply with her big, dark eyes, and then down at her notes, sympathetic if aloof, as always, behind her glasses. She had a deep, deliberate way about her and seemed just a touch skeptical at first, but we had talked about a lot of things, about our relationship histories and our communication, about how we got to this point and what we had been dealing with.

I could feel the tension and the stress and the guilt in Maggie’s voice.

“And I feel so bad because it’s been ever since the honeymoon, ever since we got married. Every day he’s done something to try to support me or care for me, or show me that he loves me, or show me he’s thinking of me. And he keeps trying to show me what a perfect husband he is, and it’s true, he’s a great guy. It’s why I married him.

“But I always have this fear, this anxiety. Like he’s doing all this with some alterior motivation, like he wants something from me. And he assures me that he doesn’t and I believe him, but I’m always trying to figure out some angle. I’m trying to figure out why it’s not real.”

Cassandra suggested a number of communication tactics; non-verbal reinforcement, giving gifts, acts of service, giving space. Active listening. Tried. Tried and tried again. Tried continually.

“It’s just a feeling, you know? And I can’t seem to get past it. In every way I ask myself if he’s a good partner and a good husband, I know I can justify it. I know there’s so much I have to love about him and so many ways I should be able to see he loves me. And I know he does. But I just have this inexplicable dread that it’s all an act. That it’s not what he really wants to do.”

There was a silent moment, a brief one, and Cassandra let the slightest wrinkle form in her brow. She looked between us and then down at her notes again, and she suggested it.

“I don’t know,” Maggie said forlornly, “I don’t know if I want to be put under like that, I’d feel so nervous and out of control. It would be really hard to relax.”

“Oh no, excuse me, I meant for him.”

A look of confusion passed her face, and she looked at Cassandra and then back at me as Cassandra explained.

“So he would be completely reduced to a core consciousness, completely entranced and suggestible. It couldn’t make him do anything he really didn’t want to do, it’s not mind control. But if we could get him really down deep you would see, he’d be almost like in a waking dream. And you could see what you think then. You could see what you thought of his motivations.”

Maggie’s gaze lingered on Cassandra for an extra moment as she turned her head to face me. We looked back and forth between each other, and I knew I was up for it. I knew I wanted to do anything to fix those hurts, to affect her self esteem for the better. I knew I would do anything, even let myself be hypnotized, to let her see that our love was real. I wanted, not just her faith, her reassurance.

A minute later and I was letting the tension out of my neck and letting my head droop slowly down. Cassandra and I had switched places and I was listening to her clear, powerful voice as she sat beside my wife.

“You’re getting deeper and deeper into your trance… Way, way down…”

* * *

I grunted and sputtered beneath them, my tongue full of sensation from the friction with their soles as it slipped back into my mouth.

I blinked and turned my head and glanced around, and I was covered in every direction with feet. They followed my face, letting me catch glimpses in between of theirs and of their legs, of my wife’s stinky sweat socks on the ground and their shoes set aside between them, the black pumps that matched Cassandra’s nylons and the grey and blue and purple Reeboks that Maggie wore almost daily.

I cringed and I grunted, suddenly alive to the stench pouring deep into my nostrils and to the pressure of their feet on my face, and helplessly I sniffed as they buried me beneath them.

“Okay,” Cassandra whispered clearly, “now order him to kiss them.”

Maggie’s voice sounded different somehow. There was a safety in it, a security, a confidence. It was playful almost, like a jab, like a prodding joke.

“Kiss my feet!”

Even without seeing her I could hear her astonishment as I kissed them. I kissed over and over again, and I shuddered as I let go and fell into a deep and passionate feeling.

“What do you think now Maggie? Can you see? He’s desperate and helpless for your feet.”

She laughed a little, Maggie did, the sweet, gentle laugh she had sometimes when she was happily overwhelmed, and there was such a relief in her delight as Cassandra held the edges of my cheeks along my jawbone and let Maggie pick up and drop one foot after the other onto my lips.

With every step I kissed, and every time she would lower Cassandra would squeeze, manipulating my cheeks and chin just so, lifting my face up to Maggie’s descending feet. The soft, silky feeling of her black, sweaty nylons was an astonishing contrast to the thick, meaty flesh of my wife’s bare soles, but I felt breathtakingly grateful for them both. I somehow even felt grateful for the stink of them, for Cassandra’s light perfume-y scent, heady and bright, and for Maggie’s thick, rich and sour stink.

It flashed in my head that this morning on our way out the door she had pulled her thick, absorbent gym socks from where they had been stuffed the night before, down in her sneakers, to put them on, the dirty ones that were showing her sweat stains, and I remembered her cursing softly that she had run out of clean laundry.

I turned my head to the extent their strong, powerful legs would allow, and I saw those damp, dirty socks, so full of her sweat and her stink. I could feel how much they had infused her bare soles with her concentrated essence. I shuddered, and I shook as she made me smell again.

The stench poured through me, a whiteout in my senses, and I flinched and twitched and drifted.

“Okay, lift them up again.”

Cassandra’s voice raised towards me again, and the sound felt nearly deafening inside my brain. “Thank your wife! Thank her for her stink!”

I groaned out a deep and earnest ‘thank you’, somehow meaning it so fully, and I heard Maggie giggle softly in her surprise.

“Do you think her feet are pretty? Tell her!”

I opened my eyes wide at them hovering above me, and it hadn’t ever occurred to me before, but yes, they were astonishingly beautiful. Every curve, every line, every angle. I cried out desperately how beautiful I thought they were, and for an instant I could see them smiling at each other as Maggie rocked back with joy.

Cassandra nodded and I felt Maggie bury my face in her soles again, and I was beneath them as I felt Cassandra put her shoes back on. She spoke clinically again, directly to Maggie, and I felt Maggie’s appreciation.

“So you can see now, he’s humiliated completely beneath you, aching and longing so deeply for even the soles of your feet. And you can hold him there for as long as you like, just feeling that, and letting yourself accept it.

“Take some time to do this during the week, and let yourself practice, and when we meet again I’d like to see how you’ve progressed. It should be easy to get him back here, I’ll give you some information and you can start with the trigger word I programmed.”

She bumped my shoulder gently with her pointed toe and rubbed it just the slightest affection, and then she asked Maggie to put her socks and shoes back on. She had me close my eyes in my position and rest while I felt Maggie put her pretty feet away, stepping one last time with her socks, and then she had her stand up and talked a few things over with her in the corner while I took my time getting up.

When I felt mostly back to reality and I stood up and joined them they acknowledged me with their smiles, and they finished their conversation on their own, leaving me in a daze that could only say, “Thank you very much,” as I shook her hand goodbye and heard her say, “See you next week.”

It was amazing how much Maggie was glowing, floating even, as we left Cassandra’s office, and as we rode the elevator back down to the world. She pressed the button as the doors closed and smiled more deeply and peacefully than I had seen her do since our honeymoon, and she stepped towards me and kissed me so sweetly and gently, sniffing just a little at her sweat soaked into my face.

It was even more amazing what a change it provoked in her over the next few days, a change that has lasted and evolved into a real and abiding strength over these last few months, and I see her now without doubt, without suspicion. She puts me under her feet daily now, and we still see Cassandra to help her grow and learn more in her confidence, but I’ve long since lost the need for the trigger word.

I want to serve her readily now, without reserve, and she senses it, but I’ve never told her because I love to feel her sneak up on me and say it, right when she thinks I’m least expecting it. I love to hear her breath on my cheek for just a split second, and the chill that snaps through me like lightning as she says it clearly into my ear, whether softly or firmly or playfully.

I love to feel it run through me like a wave before I turn around and face her, before getting down on the floor and letting her smother me. I love hearing her say it.

“Canary.”


© 2019

Click here for more sexy short stories from
SMUT Project Press!