For Richer, For Smaller (Chapter 1) (Patreon)

“…so I told Mitch, hey, if the bastards don’t like our price, let them try to get that kind of deal anywhere else. Then when they come crawling back, we’ll offer them the same thing. Plus twenty percent, obviously, for wasting our time. And they’ll take it. Mark my words,” Tony explained to his wife with a nonchalant laugh, lounging out across his four-thousand-dollar leather couch in a kingly man-spread befitting a major tech corporation CEO of his particular stature. He sipped from his after-work whiskey – a variety that didn’t taste especially fantastic, but somehow its rarity made it satisfying to drink nonetheless. Knowing his spouse likely felt far out of her depth whenever he prattled on about his business-related conquests, despite never failing anyhow to impress upon her his shark-like acumen just for the ongoing power rush it provided, Tony reached toward where Lillian sat at the opposing end of the sofa and casually twiddled her wavy sandy-blonde hair as a child might play with a doll’s. “So, hon, what did you get up to today?”

The question wasn’t mocking, but by nature of Tony’s authoritative grin and the long gulp of whiskey he took afterward, the usual air of superficially loving albeit understood condescension was maintained. Lillian nodded in thought, and smiled back at her dependably Alpha husband with an expression of sincere yet self-inadequate appreciation, while he continued twisting his fingers through her hair. Of course it didn’t sound very exciting to explain how she’d gone grocery shopping, or dusted the display cases in his collection room, or spent an hour putting on makeup just before he came home, not because he’d ever demanded it, but Tony had “complimented” her done-up appearances enough for his preference to be implied. She guessed at what he actually wanted to hear, and while earlier in their marriage she’d felt sad and one-note to report upon what often felt like her primary function in their lopsided partnership, Lillian was numbed to that downside now, and just chose to see it as a positive. Even if it was “this,” at least she was needed and wanted for something.

“Well, I had the usual visit from Roz. You know… the full treatment,” Lillian sighed, eyeing her bare recently-tended feet where they luxuriously rested upon the couch cushion, though they remained hugged near her thigh. “Went shoe shopping afterward, too. Got six new pairs. Oh… thank you for that.”

“You’re very welcome,” Tony replied, even though the biweekly pedicure his wife received was much more for his own benefit, as was the extensive budget he allowed for her shoe acquisition. He’d already been paying more attention to Lillian’s naked peds than her emerald-green irises during this conversation, but once she’d referenced today’s pampering, his gaze was locked unfailingly upon those gloriously supple, silky-tender, svelte-curved appendages.

His wife’s feet had always been beautiful, and frankly the main reason Tony realized during their early courtship that he was going to keep them in his life one way or another forever. But over time, he’d poured countless capital – with every penny being worth it – into ensuring Lillian’s peds were kept unimpeachably at their softest, smoothest, most gorgeous potential. Of course, the rest of her wasn’t bad either: her not-quite-buxom but nevertheless enviable silhouette stayed in trim toned form by regular workouts that he’d encouraged for her to improve upon what was already there, only requested in the most optimistic terms possible. Yet at the end of the day, Tony’s obsessive adoration always came back to Lillian’s feet, and the true endgame of all that exercise and spa treatment and money spent was only ever the maintenance of her two immaculate gifts.

“Well. Are you going to take them for a test drive?” he asked, lust thick in his voice. The plainly-displayed bulge in his slacks removed any doubt of Tony’s hopes here, though Lillian hardly needed the hint, as his gaze was glued to her newly refreshed feet: her complexion sun-kissed, the heels wholly blemishless, the dewy pads of her toes firmly plumped from gym cardio, the creamy-sleek soles lusciously rosy through every contour and pithy flesh groove. Granted, this was his way of asking permission, but both of them implicitly understood that Tony’s access to Lillian’s peds at whim was as rightfully guaranteed as for either of the six-figure-valued cars he had parked in the garage. Unsubtly, he spread his legs wider. “Please.”

“Of course,” Lillian whispered, nowhere near as in-the-mood as Tony obviously was, but as usual, was strangely glad for these unorthodox opportunities to receive the fullest burst of love he tended to provide her. Every night eventually steered this direction, sooner or later. And she’d learned to embrace it as wholeheartedly as she could, for the sake of her own contentment.

The blonde sultrily extended both feet toward him in offering, planting one sole across his pants tent, while the opposite side lithely ascended to his face, snuggling coquettishly into its usual posture. Immediately the man’s breathing deepened and his body, large and imposing at a sturdily built six-foot-three, seemed to sink like melted putty against the couch, once he was back in heavenly contact with Lillian’s perfect pair. He grabbed gentle hold of each foot, helping guide the lower sole into exactly the stroking pace he wanted, while the other he simply fondled as her baby-soft high pink arch massaged his features and her dexterous toes playfully combed his bangs between them like blades of grass.

No longer needing words, Tony let loose now, gradually undoing his pant fly so Lillian could diligently coax his boxer-clad hard-on, while the foot plastered across his face was inhaled, nibbled, kissed, and licked, though naturally, all this enticing preamble was but the amorous lead-in to what he really wanted: the inevitable main course of his daily trysts with his wife’s angelic peds. Once Lillian had him really riled up, Tony set his drink aside, with the buzz now enhanced by the erotic thrill of his favorite marital activity, and sunk to the carpet below. Knowing what request was coming, but playing along with their normal teasing routine anyway, the woman let her feet hover provocatively overhead, toes scrunching and dancing as the dim sitting room light dappled shadowy-orange off the ripples in her quashy soles. After taking a deep breath, then, this top-dog titan of the tech industry practically writhed on the rug while submissively looking up at his sofa-enthroned spouse’s dazzlingly feminine size-8 feet in all their glory, and then he spoke again in a desperately pleading tone which belied the reality that Lillian didn’t really have a choice here: “Fuck, I can’t take it anymore. Give it to me, babe. Please.”

Willing as ever, even though she’d never gotten an ounce of sexual satisfaction from this recurring enterprise herself – merely that same just-as-necessary emotional assurance that she was important somehow to her beloved husband – Lillian indulged, stepping directly off the couch and onto his body. Over their years together, she’d become a maestro of exactly where to step on him, for how long, and the correct degree of weight to impress via every underfoot region, thus doing so now with confidence borne only from endless practice, rather than the domineering aura which came so naturally to Tony alone but which Lillian had never embodied. She stood upon his chest, his stomach, his thighs, compressing his crotch tent again now with far more force than she could exert while seated on the couch, and perhaps most importantly, stood with both feet upon her husband’s face at once like the end of a balance beam. Tony, smothered firmly but tolerably underneath a dual-soled mask of squishy yet firm warm-blooded leather-and-lotion-scented soles, let his mind blossom toward the daily euphoria he so craved, and then per usual, concentrated hard enough such that those aspects of reality he abhorred but couldn’t (at least not yet) correct were cancelled out, and he imagined his entire body – not just his countenance – submerged under the heat, the aroma, the texture, and most vitally the weight of Lillian’s delicate arches and spongy toepads.

This was where he belonged. This was all that mattered. Sure, he got a high from subjugating lesser businesspeople in board rooms, or purchasing a new collectible for its prestige rather than actual value to him, and he would never give up those minor thrills no matter what “changes” he underwent in the future. But still nothing compared to the fullness of self he experienced right here, like this, treaded stimulatingly upon by his imagined-colossal wife and her exquisite bare feet. Of course, it wouldn’t be long now, maybe a few months if not sooner, before Tony would no longer have to just vividly picture his greatest fantasy. He would live it. And the completeness he’d always chased would be his at last.

“Harder, babe,” Tony gasped, commanding even in this most pathetic of positions. “I can take it. Give it to me. Please.”