Voodoo Pedicure

Molly swung open the acrylic door to the nail salon. She brushed her black bangs to the side, overlooked the place.

The walls were blindingly white. A row of stations—loveseats with buckets in front—were against the far wall. Two looked to be occupied out of the ten. The salon was quiet, smelled clean of polish.

After giving the salon an once-over, Molly daintily strode to the front desk, her high-heels clunked against the tile floor. Her lively strut caused her black skirt to sway just above her knees.

A man stood up from behind the counter to welcome her. He had dangerously dark features with bright blue eyes, a strong jaw. "Hello. I'm Bryce. How can I help you?"

"Yes. I would like to get a pedicure," Molly said.

"And, which would you like?"

"The, um, voodoo, is it?" Molly said, unsure.

Bryce stopped, looked up. He heightened a brow.

"Ah. She was probably fuckin' with me." Molly waved off the comment. "Just make it a French ped—"

"No. We have a voodoo one," Bryce said. "But, it's only under a special membership."

"Well, my friend came in last week and got one. She said it was great. In fact, she can't stop talking about it. Soooo, how do I get a special membership?"

"Your friend, huh?" Bryce glanced over his shoulder at his coworker. Through clamped teeth, Bryce grumbled, "I wonder how that could've happened?"

The colleague feigned ignorance. He just whistled while scrubbing some old lady's foot with a pumice stone.

Bryce turned back to Molly, glanced down at her wedding ring. "Are you sure you want one?"

Molly crinkled her brows, pulled her hand away. "From a woman."

"Sorry," Bryce said. "We're all you got?"

"What are you, some weird foot fetish freaks?"

"Just because I'm a guy who runs a nail salon, I'm supposed to have some foot fetish?"

"Well..." Molly crossed her arms, shrugged.

Bryce smiled. "Yeah. I do."

Molly curled her lip in disgust. She grabbed her purse from the counter. "I don't know..."

"Listen, you can either have one or not," Bryce said. "But you need to make your mind up because I have things around here I need to do."

"Rude!" Molly wheeled around, marched toward the door.

***

"So, what'd ya think?"

Molly sat in her car, phone on speaker. "I actually didn't get one."

"Why not?" the voice asked through the receiver.

"First of all, the guy at the front counter was douchey," Molly said. "And secondly, he has a foot fetish."

"They enjoy their job, so what?"

"I don't think Tom would appreciate another man touching my feet, much less getting-off on them."

"What Tom doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Girl!" Molly smirked. "You're bad."

"And you should be too, for once. It feels good to be bad."

"You're starting to spook me with how much you enjoyed the pedicure."

"Go see for yourself. I swear, you will not regret it."

Molly sighed, bit her lip. She eyed the front door of the salon.

***

"I'm glad you changed your mind. I think you're making the right decision."

As Bryce escorted her to the back, Molly scrunched her forehead in confusion. She pointed to the row of empty stations. "Where are we going? There are plenty of stations opened."

Bryce flashed a smile. "Like I said, voodoo pedicure is a special treatment."

Molly eyed him suspiciously but followed nonetheless.

They made their way down the narrow white hallway. Neither said a word, their footsteps filled the eerie silence. Bryce stopped at the end of the aisle. He extracted a key from his pant pocket and unlocked the final door. It opened with a creak. Bryce entered.

Molly paused at the threshold, eyeing the strange interior.

The room was dim, walls colored crimson. Three small candles set on the concrete floor and highlighted a chalked-out pyramid. The point of which aimed directly toward a throne. The large chair was made from oak with soft, jasper upholstery.

"This definitely looks sketch," Molly said.

"Are you getting scared again?" Bryce asked.

"No." Molly exhaled a nervous breath. "I trust my friend knows what she's talking about."

"Well, have a seat," Bryce motioned toward the throne, "and let's get started."

Molly nodded. She shyly walked inside, placed her purse on the floor near the throne. She sat down, took off her black heels. She had slender feet, natural arch. Her little toes were proportionate, straight, with black nail polish.

Bryce set a large, round bucket at her feet. He filled it with water, poured Epsom salt inside with a splash of cinnamon scented oil. "Soak in that for a minute.

Molly placed her feet in. The water was warm. She wiggled her toes, relaxed back in the throne.

Bryce draped a long robe on his shoulders—made from brown feathers—and pulled the hood over his head. He turned. His face hid in the shadows of the large hood.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked.

"It's my preparation," Bryce said. "Now, I can't be disturbed while doing this. So, get all your questions out now."

Molly shrugged. "Proceed."

Bryce bowed his head, hunched his shoulders. He began to mumble. As his voice lifted, his body started to bounce, in what looked like an ancient war-dance.

Molly covered her smile.

Bryce chanted in tongues, locked in a trance. He reached inside the inner pocket of his feathery robe and withdrew three polished stones. He tossed one to the ground. It popped into sparkles, disappeared.

The water bubbled under Molly's feet, tickling her soles. Her smile sloughed away. She watched Bryce with more seriousness.

Bryce chanted louder. He threw another stone to the concrete floor. It exploded, sparkled, and faded.

The water heated up, boiling. Yet, it didn't burn Molly's feet. Instead, a slight prickling sensation crept up her legs, between her thighs, and crashed into her center. She shivered. "Uh..." she soughed.

Bryce tossed down the third stone. It popped, and as the sparkles dissipated, he stopped.

Molly expelled a winded sigh as the water settled in the bucket. She fanned her face, looked down. The water was black. She lifted her feet and noticed her polish removed. Her toenails were bare, clean, glistening from the candlelight. "What the—what was that?"

Bryce erected his posture, flung the robe from his shoulders. He approached Molly, moved the bucket aside, and pulled a stool in front of her.

"What are you doing?" Molly asked.

"I want to loosen you up before adding another coat." Bryce grabbed her right ankle, placed her foot in his lap. He started to massage her, digging his thumbs into the ball of her foot.

Molly relaxed. Her body felt warm, at-ease. His hands were magic, the pressure he applied to her feet tingled her body. She put her head back, slightly writhed in her throne. He massaged her heel, worked up her arch. He gently pinched each individual toe, rolling them in his fingers. The tickle caused her eyelids to flutter. She gasped sharply, covered her mouth, and glanced down in embarrassment.

Bryce smiled up to her. "Not so bad for a foot fetish freak, right?"

"No," Molly said breathlessly. She shook her head. "What are you—how does this feel—Uh!" Her foot had a direct line to her pussy, as though he were massaging her clit. "Hang on, hang on. Wait, wait, wait."

Bryce stopped. "Is there a problem?"

Molly pulled her foot away. She sat up, crossed her legs. Her clit was wet, throbbing with anticipation. She placed her feet against the concrete floor, but the tickle intensified. The soles of her feet were hyper-sensitive to touch. She curled her toes, arching her sole off the ground, so it wouldn't make contact with the surface.

"Does it not feel good?"

"Ummm..." Molly's thoughts were scattered, her cheeks rosy. She combed a dangling strand of her jet-black hair behind her ear. "I, uh, yeah, of course... it feels great."

"So, what's the problem?"

Molly half-smiled, hesitated. She didn't want to admit the truth, confess she'd been on the verge of an orgasm. Her husband had trouble getting her to climax with full advantage of her pussy. And here, Bryce handled her feet to the point she was ready to pop. She swallowed hard. "No, um, problem. It just tickled a bit."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Molly composed herself, placed her left foot on his lap.

"You want to get comfortable?"

"What do you mean?"

"Here." Bryce guided her up, turned her around.

Molly felt the back of her one-piece skirt unzip, but her concentration was on her bare feet. Every light step sent electric charges up her legs. She balled her feet again, standing on her toes and heels. Her skirt fell down her legs. She stood, in nothing but her red bra and panties.

"Feel better?" Bryce moved back to his position, on the stool in front of the throne.

Molly shrugged, nodded. She plopped down once again and set her foot back on his lap. This time, however, she felt his hard bulge underneath his thin slacks. She glared down at him, saying, "You want to control yourself?"

"I should ask the same of you." Bryce took her ankle in his hands. He picked up where he left off, fondling her foot. He squeezed his fingers between her toes, dug his knuckles into her arch. "What color do you want?"

Molly gulped. She slouched in the throne, her leg slightly shaking. "Just, ummm, surpri-i-ise me—Ooo!—It doesn't matter."

Bryce dropped her foot back to his lap, her arch pinned his hard cock to his leg. His hands drifted up her calf, his fingertips tickled her inner thigh.

Molly felt the impression of his cock under her foot. She had the urge to rub up the length, measuring his size. She started but quickly stopped herself. She looked back to Bryce, whose eyes were locked onto her.

Bryce grinned wide, seemingly aware of her naughty intentions. "You want to see it?"

"Ummm—Ha!" Molly didn't know what to say. She definitely wanted to see it but knew she probably shouldn't. His fingers climbed even higher up her thigh. Her panties became moist. Her eyes dropped back to his crotch. She pressed her arch firmly against his cock, rubbed down the length. It felt hard, heavy—a power tool. Her mouth hung open, lip twitching.

Bryce stood. He unbuttoned his pants. His thick, veiny cock shot out. He stroked himself before picking up her thin ankles and cupping her feet around his girth.

Molly's eyes distended. It is a power tool, she thought. She leered with excitement while giving him a footjob. She worked her legs back and forth, rocking on the throne. She curled her toes around it and jerked him between her soft arches. The feeling caused her pussy to swell, further dampening her panties. She spread her toes, wiggled them, all whilst keeping her arches on his thick cock.

Bryce clamped her feet in place, snug against his cock. He thrust his hips, fucking the space between her feet.

Molly briefly sat up. Her face flinched. "Uh!" She looked up at him with an aroused, fiery glare. She unlatched her bra, tossed it aside. She had taut pink nipples, teardrop breasts that bounced with the rhythm of her footjob.

Bryce arose. He lifted Molly's legs in the air. She slid down the backrest, almost lying flat against the seat of the throne. He kissed her soles, sucked her toes.

"Ah-oh-oh," Molly panted. It felt like his mouth was on her pussy. She bowed her back off the throne. Her eyes shot to the back of her head. She looked possessed by an orgasmic spirit. She clenched her foot as his tongue showed affection to every portion. Her legs trembled. "Whatareya—Ooo!—Wha—Fuuuck!—what are you doing to me?"

Bryce licked down her ankle. He took a closer step, his rock hard cock inches away from her pussy.

Molly kept her eyes closed, enjoying the pleasure. She squirmed. A shiver jiggled her breasts. Her body was brightly lit like a house, in danger of blowing a fuse. Her lip quivered. She locked her knees, forcefully shoving her feet in his mouth. As she stretched, she felt something poke her moist panties. Her eyes darted open, noticed his steely cock dangerously close to her drenched vulva. This is going a little too far, don't ya think? She asked herself. I'm marri—Her thoughts scattered as his cock slid across her clit once again.

"How ‘bout this?" Bryce popped her big toe out of his mouth. The nail was magically red. "Black?" He did it again, and the nail turned black.

Each time he popped her toes out of his mouth, Molly bucked. She closed her eyes once again, thrust her hips up in hopes of tickling her pussy with his cock. "Pink," she breathlessly uttered.

Bryce quickly kissed each toenail, transforming them all to her desired color. He placed her ankles against his shoulders and slowly slid his cock between her warm thighs, across her damp panties.

Molly stared up to him, exhaled a heated breath. She was fully aware of her adulterous actions. It was wrong, bad. But, it felt too good to resist. She pushed her panties down to her knees. She had a small black bush above her tight, pink pussy. It appeared warm, wet, and inviting.

Bryce stripped her panties completely off, tossed them aside. He slid his cock over the top of her pussy, teasing her with his entrance.

Molly moved her hips up, meeting his contact head on. He finally slipped inside of her cozy pussy, slightly stretching her. She gasped, fingers clawing at the throne's armrests. He slipped in and out with ease. She was well lubricated. "...ah, Ah, AH!" Her moans strengthened with the speed of his thrust.

Bryce hugged her legs flat against his chest, her toes locked behind his neck. He dug deep. His thighs clapped the bottom of her ass with each powerful thrust.

A euphoric pleasure filled Molly like air in a balloon. She felt it growing and growing inside of her, tickling every part of her body. She knew at any minute she was going to pop. Yet, it just kept building. "Fu-uhhhh-ck!" She crinkled her brows, mouth agape. She appeared to be attacked by a sneezing fit. She hugged her bouncing bosoms, nipples sharply protruded. Her body rumbled. She tensed, balled her feet, and exploded all over his cock. She squirted, drenching the throne and his ‘power tool.' She convulsed into a tight ball. "Fffff-fff-uuucccckkkk! Fu-uck... fuck..."

"You okay?" Bryce grinned down to her. He crossed her ankles, pinned her legs over the left armrest. He, ever-so-gently, eased back inside of her swollen, wet pussy.

The contact caused Molly to flinch. She looked confused, distant. Her short, black hair was messy, disheveled. Her toes clung onto the armrest, holding on as Bryce violently shook the throne. Her body absorbed each heavy hammer. She melted into the throne, literally and figuratively. Her head was propped against the bottom of the backrest, her breasts flopping against the seat. "My—Ooo! Ah! Ah!"

Bryce kept constant pressure. His hips never faltered. He was a well-oiled machine, drilling, pumping, turning Molly into a cooked noodle.

Molly's legs, once again, trembled uncontrollably. She locked her ankles. Her face stretched in shock, eyes wide and mouth opened. She looked down as his cock pounded away.

Bryce reached between her legs, massaged her clit while thrusting.

Molly's eyes watered. Her expression sunk, as though about to legitimately sob. Her brain flooded with endorphins.

"Are you cumming?" Bryce asked.

Molly clenched her eyes together. A tear fell down her cheek. She nodded. "Gggghhh!" she grunted, breathlessly, as though pushing out several months of built-up pressure. "I ca-ca-Ggggghhh! Ah!" Her face scrunched, strained. Her body locked up before convulsing in the seat. Black dots appeared in her vision. Her legs became numb. "I can't, I, uh, I can't. I can't."

Bryce stepped away, snatched her ankles. He placed her feet together and proceeded to finish himself off.

"Fa-fa-fa," Molly shuddered.

Bryce guided the visibly shaken customer on her knees across the edge of the throne. She faced the backrest, her backside in the air. Her sensitive pussy caused her hips to twitch. He stroked himself while clamping her ankles together in his hand. He tensed, growled, and came over the wrinkled soles of her feet.

Molly turned back in the throne. She rubbed her feet together, massaging the semen into her skin. Her head hung low, shoulders slumped. She was exerted. She closed her eyes, released a labored sigh.

"Ma'am?" a voice asked. "I think we're all done."

Molly caught her breath, looked up. She became startled. She found herself seated at one of the stations in the white lobby. She was dressed in her black skirt. Her feet were propped on the footrest, nails shimmering with a brand new pink polish. She looked around, blinked, her eyes adjusting to the bright room.

"Ma'am?" Bryce stood over her, offering his hand. "Is there a problem?"

"No. Ummm... Did I—Did we—" Molly was speechless, confused about what transpired. She shook her head, glanced down to the floor in thought. "What just happened?"

"You got a voodoo pedicure," Bryce said. "Did you enjoy it?"

Molly stopped. She slowly titled her head back, leering at Bryce with a lascivious smirk. "It was... yeah. Fuck yeah."