Stuck Under Foot in Washington

Chip silently stroked, his mouth open so he could breathe shallowly, while staring up McIntire's skirt. What if, at this moment, the Goddess discovered him?

Chip shuddered with pleasure, his cock involuntarily pulsing. Careful now, he thought, don't cum.

If she discovered him, his life would be over. But also he would likely cum immediately from the shock. He gripped himself a little tighter and stroked a little faster.

So close, right in front of his gaze, McIntire crossed her legs, then opened them again. She seemed to be on her fourth of fifth phone call by now. Now that he had a comfortable stroking position, Chip never wanted this feeling to stop. McIntire stretched and flexed her legs. Chip's eyes never blinked, he needed to take it all in.

"Listen, Isabel, my supporters at GetAhead Cash are organizing a small luncheon next Friday afternoon just for my oldest friends in District 1, and a few new faces too. To keep it lively I need you to be there."

Chip in a trance of shallow breath and stroking, eyes focused up his Goddess' skirt, could listen to her talk on the phone all day.

"Listen, I will not take no for an answer. Also, remind me when I see you Friday. I really need your input into the downtown East Hartford economic development panel we're putting together."

He watched as the Goddess curled her nyloned toes together, then spread them apart. Chip thought about what it would be like to feel those toes in his mouth. He'd never even thought about feet as sexy, before today. Now, the smell, the shine, the darkened hose of her heel and toe made him crazy with lust. Everything about this Goddess, from the waist down, was worthy of worship. His Goddess. He wanted to be underneath her forever. He wanted to feel her nyloned soles on his body. His cock especially needed to feel the scrape of her shiny pantyhose on his aching flesh.

"Look, the mayor needs you, too. I'll have B email you all the details on the event. You would be perfect for the committee."

And then. The impossible began to happen. How did this happen?

Worship something with enough of your heart and soul and mind - commit completely with faith and personal abnegation - is anything impossible? Especially with sacrifice involved? This was an Olympian woman, a mortal raised up by the kiss of the Gods (and her 400 meter dash!) to divine status.

Her ass in the blue skirt fully forward under the desk, her pantyhosed feet raised up. Chip removed his hand from his cock and just in time, before her feet landed gently onto his lap. McIntire clearly was focused on her calls, not paying attention to where her nyloned feet had landed.

Fireworks inside Chip's head, tiny earthquake shaking in his body with anxiety and arousal. He could not move a millimeter. Surely she'll notice something now? His swollen cock spasmed again, but McIntire was deep into her conversation. Chip heard Queen B enter the room, and McIntire whisper to her as an aside, "Fucking internet!"

Queen B assured McIntire she had someone working on it ("Oh shit! thought Chip with the last remnants of his previously rational, now fried, brain.). Then B asked about her exercise regime.

McIntire told her she'd done 7 and a half miles this morning.

"Beast Mode," said Queen B.

Chip hadn't dared to breath deeply for a long time, and with McIntire's feet in his lap, he felt caught in waves of pleasure and worry. Light in the head and breathless. Out of his mind.

Suddenly, he had a new thought. Could the Goddess still not have noticed that her feet rested on something less regular than the floor? What if she knew, somehow, that Chip was down here? What if she didn't mind?

Chip knew that was impossible. He was already going to be fired for harassment or worse, in addition to dying of embarrassment. At the same time, however, his dick demanded release. He'd been edging probably for almost an hour now. On the outer limits of pleasure and arousal, with no relief.

Which maybe explains why Chip next did a completely unwise thing.

Gently, gently, as subtly as he could, he lifted her feet and crawled crab-style underneath her, until he could rest her feet on his face. Thankful that she was deep in phone conversation still.

In this new position he remained hidden under the desk as best he could. Sideways under the giant wooden desk, perpendicular to her chair. So risky, but he simply had to have his face underneath the Goddess' feet.

Here he paused. As insane as it all was, he needed to breath deeply, and take in the scent. Then he needed to exhale, leaving his hot breath on the Goddess. To his addled brain, he meant this as a form of worship. Consequences be damned, her pantyhosed waist and ass and thighs and knees and calves and feet demanded this. He owed obeisance, subservience to the Goddess. Through her feet, as that is the only part he deserved to touch. The best he could come up with in this position was to breath his breathe - the very essence of his life - onto her. If he could give his soul, through his hot breath, to serve his Goddess, however humbly, however insanely, he would do it.

His life, his breath, on the bottom of her most humble part - that was as much as he could aspire to in worshipful service.

"B?" he heard McIntire say out loud, sounding uncharacteristically confused. And suddenly her feet tensed.

Oh no. He was found out. Chip knew it. The beginning of the end. The way her feet rested, now tensely, on his face told him that the game was up. She knew and felt it.

Then after a pause, her tone shifted. Confidence back.

"B, um, what I wanted to ask is, when do I get to stop for lunch?"

Chip couldn't believe it. Did she still not notice? Chip had an idea of how to test for sure whether she knew he was there. He had to know.

"You have the 1 o'clock with banking and finance, but I ordered a chicken pesto half-sandwich for you to eat on the walk over there," Queen B replied.

Chip grasped the Goddess's calves firmly and squeezed. After running 7 and a half miles this morning, maybe his Goddess would appreciate a lower-leg massage?

Chip was gratified to hear McIntire let out a sigh, not of annoyance or fear, but of pleasure and relief. He pressed again, now the underside of her sole. His hot breath, from his soul, combined with his firm pressure, to her sole. His whole being in worship, directly to the Goddess' nyloned feet and legs.

A half-moan escaped from McIntire's mouth.

"Thank you B, you think of everything." A moment later, more stroking of her calves from Chip, and she let out a deeper sigh. Chip's hopes and heart soared. He was serving his Goddess well, and she appreciated it!

He stroked her calves smoothly, and then dug into the muscle tissue, which he knew could be knotted from running. More sighing of pleasure.

He noticed McIntire shifting her legs and feet in a way that maximized her pleasure. She responded to his touch now, clearly enjoying what he was doing.

Meanwhile, Chip had never been so happy in his life. His dick pulled out of his shorts, aching and dripping precum, his hands slipping around nyloned legs and feet, serving his Goddess. He was a chief priest now, delivered this ecstatic leg-massage offering to her, and receiving his blessing in return.

Chip look back up between McIntire's thighs. Up up up her skirt. He noticed with pride and mounting pleasure that the heel of her hand now came into view. She clearly pressed down just at the top of where her pubic bone would be, and moaned again. Clearly she was feeling aroused and his massage and stroking was helping her. Fully dressed in skirt and pantyhose and panties but through layers of cotton and nylon and cotton again she could still reach her cunt to heighten her pleasure.

Chip rolled that dirty word around in his head. Played with it. Cunt. His Goddess' cunt. Her swollen cunt. Her dripping cunt. The honorable Congresswoman's slippery cunt. He wanted to taste her cunt with his mouth so badly.

She broke him from his reverie by shaking her feet and ankles loose from his grip. Not angrily, but firmly.

Chip listened in fear. For the next, well, shoe to drop. But it didn't. Instead, McIntire just picked up the phone and dialed.

"Alan, it's Claire. Listen you're going to want to tune in C-span after lunch."

And with that, Chip relaxed. Her feet returned to on top of him. Toes of one foot ticking his chin and lips. The other foot reaching down his body to rest on his engorged manhood. She was going to let him continue his worship, and she was also going to just pretend it wasn't happening. Perfect.

A bit into the call, and McIntire began alternating between resting both her feet on Chip swollen dick and rubbing back and forth. Chip was fairly certain this was accidental. She was speaking loudly and passionately about predatory lending (a subject that Chip unfortunately grew up knowing too much about) and she'd kick down for emphasis. Chip maneuvered his body so that as she kicked, she'd be likely to press her soles on his penis.

Oh God. This was the most exquisite pleasure he had ever felt in his life. A powerful Goddess, passionately working to fix the world, while inadvertently edging him to orgasm with her nyloned soles. Oh God. Oh Goddess. Get angry about those lenders!

His balls clenched tightly as he neared his climax.

She exclaimed loudly on the phone about payday lenders and kicked downward repeatedly, scraping the sensitive glans of his cockhead, super-slippery from pre-cum and suddenly oh no oh no oh yes yes YES his orgasm became inevitable.

Chip grabbed her ankles as best he could and fucked her feet, hips up butt clenched. Grinding against her nyloned feet, bucking like an animal. Thrusting to explode all over her. He needed to soak her pantyhose. He didn't care now, make everything as wet as her slippery fucking cunt must be. He gripped his Goddess as tight as he needed, finding the perfect lubed friction of the nylon and his cum. And then sweet fireworks of relief, his balls clenched and the thick fluid spurted through his cock. So thick it felt like a liquid rope yanked out of the cockhead. His seed in a sudden rush to leave his body and land on her, the Goddess. Sphincter clenched, spasms of cum, splattering her. Worshipping her. He wanted to close his eyes with the waves of feeling but instead his eyes widened in wonder as thick white liquid soaked her feet, again and again.

Eventually the cum stopped leaping and subsided to a trickle. He unclenched his hands from her feet, small dribbles pulsing now, slipping down his penis. He smeared the bottom of her foot onto the dribbles, to extend the feeling and further add his wetness to her feet.

Sweet sweet Goddess. Forgive me. Bless me. Know that I offer the very deepest wettest essence of my liquid manhood to you. Chip finally breathed a sigh of intense satisfaction.

But just as Chip thought he could die in a happy reverie, having completed his worship service, his Goddess rewarded him with something even greater.

She spread her legs. A full V there in front of him, her pantyhosed thighs all the way open. He could see clearly up to her panties underneath the sheen, with an opaque diamond gusset partially obscuring his view of the panties. Oh sweet glorious view.

She had opened her legs like this in preparation for what came next. McIntire, he knew, had been pressing down on her public bone from the outside of her skirt.

Now, she slipped her hand inside the blue skirt waistband. Inside the sheer nude nylon pantyhose waistband. Oh Goddess, yes. Chip could see through the sheer nylon, past the gusset, her fingers inside her panties too!

This Congresswoman, this Goddess was secretly masturbating at her desk, and he could watch it all from the greatest position in the world. In her inner sanctum.

"Oh Alan," McIntire continued to talk on the phone with her constituent or donor or whomever, but now Chip could hear her distraction in her voice. She was sighing inappropriately.

Chip stared up her skirt at the movement inside her pantyhose, fingers working furiously. Chip open mouthed and still aroused, watching. McIntire's fingers pressed and stretched the pantyhose crotch, and then the nylon contracted smaller as her fingers clearly pressed up inside her cunt.

Chip inhaled more of that animal scent.

"I'm going to rub them out so hard!" McIntire exclaimed over the phone, her fingers matching her words. The words probably about payday lenders.

But whatever was on her mind, her hand worked her cunt swifter and faster. Relentless rubbing. Chip then noticed the angle of her hand, thrust deeper into her panties, all the better to get two or three fingers up inside the inner walls of her pussy. Deep enough to press her G-spot.

Chip watched with wonder as her furious hand-fucking reached maximum speed, producing a squishing and slapping noise up inside her between her legs. He grabbed her cum-soaked feet from a need to be part of his Goddess' pleasure and held them hard and steady, and her hips bucked against her slapping hand and oh wetness, glorious sweet wet squirting cum spread around her panties and thrusting hand. Three fingers curled inside to the third knuckle. This Goddess whore fingering herself, squirting in her panties and skirt.

Chip could only stare in awe as his Goddess soaked her panties and he had the most beautiful upskirt view of her wetness and self-pleasure.

She slowed the finger-fucking and brought her hand out of her panties, out of her pantyhose, out of the waistband of her skirt. And then she pressed down again, from outside. McIntire ended the call. Moaning as she pressed. And then she just sat quietly, breathing.

What would she do next? Chip felt beyond caring for his own safety, he only cared for her happiness, her pleasure.

She lifted her right foot up, and he watched as she rubbed some of his cum into the nylon. Chip could have died again from happiness. His cum on her foot. The Goddess' foot. And she rubbed gently and reverently, like it was some valuable holy oil, anointing her.

Then she brought her left foot up and sat with her soles together, her legs making a diamond shape.

Chip would never forget this experience for the rest of his life. He would never ever relinquish this newly blossomed fetish for nylons, leg teasing, footjobs, and upskirt views. He would never fully recover from this experience.

McIntire called out loudly something to Queen B. Then she returned her cum-covered toes and soles into her heels, pushed back from the desk, stood up, and walked out of the office.

Chip waited a few minutes until he felt it was safe. Then he crawled out from under the desk, out into the glorious grace of a new day, bestowed by the blessings of his Olympian Goddess.