The Foot Ranch

The Foot Ranch

By Michael Alexander

Author’s Note: First, this is fiction and second it is fantasy.  Stress the “fantasy” part please.  Understand that I am not encouraging this kind of behavior on any level, either individual or societal.  Second, this story fits in with my A&E universe, and while snuff and actual gynophagia (Dolcett type behavior) is implied in this story, it does not technically occur in this narrative.  That said, this little tale is more – intense – than Bethany’s Shipping By A&E, but nowhere close to Cindy’s Adventures at A&E.  Please enjoy. – MA

       

Esme Carpenter’s high heels clicked loudly on the parquet floor that lead toward the administrative offices of the Foot Ranch.  She was excited, her bright eyes and beaming smile not just a show for the camera.  It was her first solo assignment as a reporter and after years of training she was finally going to be able to realize her dream.  Bradley, her cameraman, a quiet bloke of thirty years, was a master at setting up shots and knowing where the good lighting was.  He had real talent, skills that Esme knew would serve her well, a fact that was important since she was working without her producer calling the shots.  She glanced behind her, seeing Bradley trailing along, the large video cam on his shoulder, getting a shot of her well-proportioned ass as she marched down the hall.  Esme gave the camera a winsome smile and then a wink, twitching her posterior, knowing that the viewers would love the sight, all the more so since she was wearing a shimmering skirt of gauze that did little to hide the delectable curves beneath. 

       “Just wait till you get a sight of my blouse,” she murmured as she faced forward again.  Some reporters went with blatant and outright nudity, but Esme knew that concealing just a bit, and making her viewers want more, was the way to high ratings.  Her blouse was a case in point – thin mesh that left her blossoming bosom well defined, and made it fairly obvious that she was voluntarily wearing a set of pain clamps.

       Dangling from her nipples and crushing the tender tips of her breasts in between two metal jaws, the pain clamps sported small power cells that stored enough charge to leave her a metaphorical puddle on the floor.  After the taping she’d be required to set up a live shot as an introduction, and then of course there was the follow-up.  During that time there would be a number displayed on the screen and anyone with sufficient funds could bring up the appropriate application on their computer, pay the fee, and then hit the button.  The intensity was random but Esme had an unusually high threshold for pain and she knew her viewers got a kick out of her shrieks of surprise, the fumbling with the microphone as her hands flew to her breasts, all while she struggled to finish her report.  It was one of the things that made her so popular.  And now, instead of being lead around by a producer, or a senior reporter, she was on her own.  It was like a dream!

       Esme turned at the glass fronted office and marched in.  The place was well appointed, with a blond and busty receptionist at the desk, sitting calmly on a stool, and answering the phone.  Esme wasn’t surprised to see the girl naked, but what did shock her was the fact that the girl sported a furry tail that was clearly embedded in her bottom.  Her ankles were drawn up to her thighs, a padded metal restraint forcing her heels against her buttocks.  The position looked uncomfortable, but the girl showed no signs of distress, and in fact seemed to be rubbing herself against the seat of the stool.  Esme noticed that both of the receptionist’s feet were unusually pretty, the nails perfectly manicured and painted, the pads of her feet without blemish or callus. 

       “Good morning!” the girl said brightly, looking up at Esme, face flushed.  “I’m Bridget.  Welcome to the Foot Ranch!  I’ll let Candi know you’re here.”  

       Esme smiled down at Bridget, getting just a bit closer.  Bridget’s stool had some sort of ridge, or bump along the saddle, glistening easily.  The reporter grinned as she leaned back.  Esme knew that Bridget was certainly enjoying her duties at the desk! 

       “Thank Bridget,” Esme replied professionally.  “I appreciate it.  Are you one of the girls here?” she asked.

       Bridget nodded eagerly.  “Absolutely, though I have no idea when I’ll be selected though,” she said.  She smiled warmly and picked up the phone.  “Candi?  Ms. Carpenter is here for the tour.  Yes.  Absolutely.”  Bridget put down the phone and looked up at Esme.  “Candi says you both will need to remove your shoes for the tour.”

       Esme blinked but then nodded.  She moved over to one of the nearby chairs while Bradley panned the camera over Bridget, zooming in on the glistening wetness of the stool between the girl’s legs.  The receptionist clearly didn’t mind and even spread her legs slightly, giving Bradley a sultry look that made it clear she’d have preferred sitting on Esme’s cameraman to the stool itself.  Then Bradley pointed the camera at Esme, the lens spinning into focus as he framed Esme’s dainty feet as she pulled them out of the high heels.  The reporter deliberately didn’t push her knees together, knowing that the money shot of her sex, shaved clean and clearly ready, would most certainly make it into the final cut.

       Esme had just finished when Candi Lee stepped in to the office.  She was a stunning redhead with voluptuous curves that almost made Esme jealous.  Like Esme, Candi Lee had chosen an outfit that revealed more than it hid, a white crocheted dress that had spaces large enough for both of Candi’s hard and puckered nipples to stick out through the material.  Even better, the woman was wearing a set of nipple clamps, a thin silver chain dangling between them.  It wasn’t a set of pain clamps, but Esme knew that Candi’s attire would strike the right sort of nerve. Even better, the dress didn’t actually cover the woman’s bottom or sex, and the shaved and glistening petals of Candi’s vagina were on clear display.  Bradley was having a field day. 

Candi stuck her hand out as Bradley took a step back and got both of them in the picture. “Hello, Ms. Carpenter.  I’m Candi Lee, marketing representative of the Foot Ranch.  Welcome.” 

       Esme grinned and took the woman’s offered hand.  “Esme Carpenter, but please – call me Esme.”

       Candi smiled in return.  “Thank you, Esme.  And please, call me Candi.  Are you ready to begin your tour?” She asked.

       Esme nodded.  “Absolutely.  My viewers are very curious about the Foot Ranch.  Not much is known except for your final products and the quality here is second to none.”

       Candi’s huge smile was sincere.  “Thank you.  We pride ourselves on those products.  But let’s get started.  I intend to show your viewers exactly what happens here at the Foot Ranch, from the moment we select the finest samples to the end product that we put on your table.   As we like to say here at the Foot Ranch, we have a step up on the competition!”  She opened the office door and led the reporter and her cameraman out.  Esme turned toward Bradley, to remind him to remove his footwear, but the man had already slipped out of his shoes and was padding around in just his stockings. 

       At first the parquet floors of the hallway were cold and hard on Esme’s feet, but within a few steps Candi led them into a carpeted corridor.

       “Ohhh!” gasped Esme.  “The carpet!  It’s like walking on cotton!”

       Candi grinned.  “Yes.  It’s one of the reasons we don’t allow shoes in most areas of the Foot Ranch.  The padding is two inches thick and the carpet itself a synthetic, velvet suede hybrid.  Resists dirt and wear but feels amazing.”  She smiled wanly.  “You should count yourself lucky. Ninety-nine percent of the women who feel this carpet never do so on their feet.”

       Esme nodded.  “I imagine.  So how does the Foot Ranch go about selecting the best stock?” Esme asked, knowing Bradley would be filming them.  In fact, he moved around in front of them, walking backward as Candi began to explain.

       “First of all, we only use the best genetically engineered stock,” Esme began.  “The Foot Ranch is all about quality and so we look for the right sort of genes.  Stock is selected between the ages of six and eight, purchased from qualified breeders, and then brought here to begin training and processing.”

       Esme nodded.  “How long does processing take?” she asked.

       Candi continued to walk.  “Obviously we have to wait for the stock to mature, though occasionally we have a client who wishes something tender and we do make exceptions.  While we will provide for special requests, we like our stock to be approximately eighteen years of age before harvesting.”

       Esme blinked. “So you have them for as many as twelve years?” That was quite surprising.

       Candi grinned and nodded.  “Absolutely.  And let me tell you, it’s an easy life.”  She turned and opened a set of large double doors.  “We won’t spend a lot of time here, but I wanted you to see them.”  Esme and Bradley both looked in.  The room was gigantic, and something of a surprise.  Over a hundred girls, none of them older than eleven or twelve. All of them were naked except for black cloth chokers, each of which sported a small silver tag.  Esme could see a few names.  Lastly, all of them were on their hands and knees, playing.  Dollhouses, tea sets, pillow castles, and art desks, a hundred different activities all over the room were being used.  A number of adult women, all of them standing, walked around monitoring the chattering, squealing, fun. 

       Esme blinked. “I… I don’t know what to say.

       Candi smiled. “The mental health of our stock is very important.  Obviously none of these girls have reached maturity, but we also want them to get used to nudity.  At this level, the primary thing the girls have to adjust to is the ankle/thigh restraints, and trust me – that is no easy thing.  There is a primal urge for us to walk, and every single one of these girls were brought into the Foot Ranch on her own two feet.”

       The reporter nodded.  “Do they ever get the restraints removed?  For circulation if for no other reason?”

       Candi nodded. “Absolutely.  Three times a day in fact.  Every girl here, regardless of age, is given three twenty minute calf and foot massages.  Their bindings are released, though they are strapped down to the table, just to prevent accidents.  Their knee joints are lightly worked and then their calf muscles, down to their cute little toes, are kneaded with an herb oil.”

       “How long does it take to adjust?” Esme asked.

       Candi shrugged. “Most girls make the adjustment in under three to four weeks.  Occasionally we get a girl who can’t handle the restraint and we’re forced to sell her.  But that’s less than one percent.  We shower affection on our little pets, and try to make their lives as easy and productive as possible.” she said softly, motioning toward the underage girls.  “All of them are tested and the ones that test high are given educational training as well.”

       Understanding glimmered in Esme’s eye.  “Like Bridget.”

       “Exactly.  Many of the vital functions of the Foot Ranch are actually run by special girls.”

       Esme took a deep breath.  “Does Bridget know?”

       Candi smiled. “Of course. The girls are trained to accept it.  It’s their most fervent wish to be harvested and then there is the pet selection.  And as you know, over twenty percent of our girls don’t go for further processing.  Our pet girl line is top notch and every girl here thinks she will be one of those selected.”

       Esme shifted uncomfortably. “I know, but to lose…” she began.

       Candi reached out and touched Esme’s arm.  The woman pointed to a dark mark obscured beneath Esme’s skirt.  Then Candi pointed toward her own body.  “Is it so different?  I can see you’ve been rated Grade A, just as I have.  Are our days measured any differently?  Your network bought you for a purpose and all we can do is make use of the time we have.  Correct?” Candi’s voice was soft. 

       Esme shook her head. “No. You’re right.  Sorry.”

       “It’s okay.  It’s reality,” Candi replied.

       Esme took a deep breath.  “All right, what’s next?”

       Candi grinned.  “We have several rooms like this for the younger ones, but they’re pretty much all the same.  We’ll visit the older girls.  Follow me, please.”

       The two women were followed by the cameraman and Esme noticed that they passed at least three other rooms similar to the first. 

       “How much stock does the Foot Ranch have?” Esme asked curiously.  Bradley jerked the camera up and hit the record button.  He made sure Candi’s head and clamped breasts were framed.

       “That’s something of a secret, but we generally have in excess of three thousands heads here,” Candi replied smugly.

       “Three thousand?” Esme gasped.

       Candi nodded.  “Absolutely.  The market is actually growing.”  She paused in front of another door.  “Here we are.”

       Candi Lee opened the double doors and let both Esme and Bradley into the room.  Esme let out a gasp, though Bradley was able to keep is amazement in check.  Too many years of being behind the camera made it possible for him to stay quiet.

       “It’s an orgy!” Esme declared, her eyes darting around.

       The room was just as massive as the first one they had been shown, and it too was full of naked girls, all of them sporting the black chokers and ankle/thigh restraints.  But unlike the first room, which was littered with doll houses and building blocks and art supplies, keeping the underage girls occupied, this room was empty of pastimes.  Instead the girls were having sex.  Some of the older girls wore strap on cocks while others played with thick rubber dildos.  The scent of sex permeated the room, along with the herbed oil rub used on their calves and feet.  Sex was everywhere, tongues and fingers and toys delving and touching and bringing soft cries of pleasure.

       But almost instantly things went quiet and Esme realized they were suddenly the focus of attention, lots of it.  Or more accurately, Bradley was.

       Candi smiled. “I suppose I should have expected this.”  She turned toward Brad apologetically.  “They don’t get to see actual men all that often, and when they do it is on a limited basis.”

       Esme looked at the girls, many of whom were crawling over, eyes glimmering with excitement.  There was a dull murmur of conversation as well.  “What do you mean?”

       Candi looked frankly at Bradley.  “Would you care for a demonstration?” she asked.

       Bradley eyebrow went up.  “A demonstration of what?” he asked.

       Candi grinned. “Just put your camera down, take off your pants, and lie down.  I promise you, this will be fun.”

       Bradley looked at Esme who shrugged.  Finally he set the camera down and began unbuckling his pants.  The girls surged forward, none of them older than seventeen, many of them barely pubescent.  The bigger girls were closer and formed a quiet circle around Bradley.  He finished taking off his trousers and boxers and Esme suddenly felt a surge of arousal between her own legs, as well as just a touch of jealousy.  She’d had sex with Bradley several times, but this… this was different.  His cock was already stiff and he eyed the girls as he lay down on the soft carpet.

       To Esme, it looked like a pride of lionesses descending on a fresh kill.  At least eight or nine of the girls moved in, their bare feet waving high in the air just next to their buttocks, touching and rubbing themselves against Bradley.  Three seemed to be fighting each other over the right to suck his cock while the other girls each satisfied themselves with other parts of his anatomy.  They spread his legs wide, but only to give two of the girls room to straddle his bare feet, rubbing their wet slits over his wriggling toes.  In seconds one girl was straddling him, rubbing herself against his open mouth, while two more girls were masturbating themselves with his fingers, legs spread wide apart.  Bradley groaned.

       Esme frowned.  This had to be a man’s dream come true.  Ten teenage girls throwing themselves on him?  She watched as a moment later one of the girls mounted Esme’s cameraman and began bouncing enthusiastically.

       “They’re trained to worship real cock of course,” Candi said softly as Bradley let out another moan.  “But they only get it when one of the male employees make an effort to come in here.”

       Esme’s lips were a tight line. “I’m sure.  As if they have to make an effort.”

       Candi laughed. “You would think, right?  But I’ve been told that after two or three times it can get a little daunting.  The girls will literally hold a man down, even after he’s cum once or twice, and just keep sucking and working at him until he’s hard again.  We’ve had to send in rescue teams,” she joked.

       Esme gave Candi an incredulous look. 

       Candi continued, ignoring Esme’s discomfiture.  “Once the girls are mature we add a sexual element to everything.  As you can see, their primary play activities moves from art and dolls to sex.  The prerequisite calf and foot massages take on a very different form, with orgasm becoming an integral part of the process.”

       The reporter nodded, still watching as Bradley was quickly brought to orgasmic bliss.  Candi grinned. “I suggest we rescue him at this point.  We do have a schedule and if we don’t get him up, they’ll keep him – permanently.”

       Candi moved forward and began tapping shoulders, eventually working her way toward the dazed cameraman.  She actually had to push one girl aside, a girl who was eagerly and desperately sucking on Bradley’s spent cock, hoping she could get it up quick enough to sate herself.

       “Are they deprived of orgasm?” Esme asked curiously.  The girls seemed ravenous.

       Candi shook her head.  “No, not really.  They just don’t get real men very often.  Plus their diets include a sexual stimulant.  It makes them constantly horny.”

       “Doesn’t that taint the final product?” Esme asked as Bradley stumbled over to his trousers and pushed his legs back into them.

       “Not in the least.  It’s all natural and we stop dosing them when they go up on the immediate market.”

       Esme nodded. “I see.”

       Candi looked over at Bradley who had a pleased look on his face.  “If you are both ready, I’ll take you over to the massage area next.  I’d like you to see how we treat those delicate feet.”

       Bradley quickly donned his clothes and picked up his camera.  He nodded at Esme.  She turned back to Candi and shrugged. “I’m ready.”

       Together they left the older girls’ dormitory and moved back into the hall.  A moment later Candi opened another door.  Inside were rows of tables, most of which held a naked girl strapped face down to the surface.  The bonds weren’t serious, just Velcro straps around the waist and knee.  But it was a bit odd to see the girls with their ankle/thigh restraints gone.  But even more interesting to Esme was the fact that the massagers working on the naked girls, were themselves naked, each with her legs bound at ankle and thigh.

       Candi noticed Esme’s look of astonishment. “Oh yes.  We train the girls to provide the foot and calf massage.  Each girl takes a two hour shift and does four complete massages.  Care to see?” Candi asked.

       Esme brightened. “Absolutely, but I’m also curious about these stools the girls are sitting on.  Didn’t I see your receptionist on one in the office?”

       “Yes.  It’s our own patented design.  Here, let’s find an empty one,” Candi replied, leading both Esme and Bradley over to an empty stool.  Esme was able to get a closer look at it.  The seat was bright blue and shaped more like an equestrian saddle than any contemporary chair.  It sat on wheels and was adjustable in height, but the real feature was the ridge that ran vertically down the center, from back to front. 

       “It looks uncomfortable,” Esme observed, pointing to the ridge. 

       Candi laughed.  “It’s anything but.  Why don’t you try it?” she encouraged. 

       Esme blinked. “Can I?”

       “Sure, just remove your skirt.”

       At that suggestion Esme hesitated.  “Well, I guess I can just pull it up,” she replied.

       Candi shook her head and glanced at Bradley, who was grinning.  “No.  It will need to come completely off.  Trust me.  I have one of these chairs in my office,” Candi said reassuringly.

       Esme glanced at Bradley, who finally spoke up.  “You know Jimmy is going to love a shot of you stripping down and riding that thing.”

       The reporter rolled her eyes, sighing.  Bradley was right.  Esme’s producer would like a shot like that.  She looked back at the stool and then slipped her thumbs into the gauze skirt she had wrapped around her waist.  It slithered down over her hips with just the slightest pressure and Bradley made sure every exceptional second of Esme’s exposure was on tape.  He even moved around in a circle, the camera focused on Esme’s wet and glistening sex as she stepped up to the stool and swung one leg over the top.

       She had expected the stool seat to be rigid, but instead it was quite soft, even with the strange ridge digging into her soft bits.  She wriggled slightly as her juices lubricated the leather, settling herself.  Her toes grazed the ground, just enough to make it awkward and she drew her feet up, as if looking for a bar to rest her feet though.  Esme frowned in frustration, realizing that the girls who usually sat on the stool had their ankles bound to their thighs and wouldn’t need a place to rest their feet.

       “Now let’s turn it on,” Candi said.  She leaned down and reached under the stool.  Suddenly a vibration began between Esme’s legs, focused on her clit, only to slide down through her spread petals and up into her ass.  There was no penetration, but the sensation was both erotic and disturbing.  Esme gasped.

       “What is that?” she exclaimed as the feeling crawled back through her crotch to the top of her slit.  She let out a tiny whimper.

       “Sonic stimulator,” Candi explained.  “Each girl can set the stimulation to one of a dozen different programs, all of various intensity.  There’s also a random selector, which causes a variation in duration, strength, and position, as well as several other programs that can merely caress, to actively send a girl into sexual overload.”

       Esme was rocking on the seat, her hips grinding.  “Oh my…” she whispered.  “Oh my God!”  Bradley was grinning, his camera pointed at Esme, getting her entire body into the frame.  She rode the stool eagerly, thrusting herself along the central ridge, her gyrations getting wilder with every second.  

       “Enjoying it?” Candi asked with a grin.  “I’ve got one in my office and I admit that I rarely have it off if I’m sitting in it.”  Candi moved behind Esme and reached around the reporter’s waist, snagging the soft yet see through blouse and lifting it up.  Bradley made sure Esme’s breasts were in full view of the camera as the pain clamps were exposed and then Candi was pulling off Esme’s shirt.  It came up and over the blond woman’s head, only to be tossed aside.  Then Candi was cupping Esme’s breasts, tugging on the clamps and twisting them lightly.

       “Oh!  Oh yes!” Esme whimpered, clearly coming to the peak of her sexual need.  She reached back with a hand as Candi began kissing the point where Esme’s neck and shoulder met, and Esme shivered, eyes closed in rapture.  Then she stiffened, crying out, feet swinging wildly as the orgasm blasted through her.

       “Does that feel different when you’re legs are pulled up?” Bradley asked as Esme began calming down, still twitching from the power release.

       Candi nodded vigorously.  “Oh yes!” she replied. “I have a pair of ankle/thigh restraints in my office that I routinely use if I know I’m going to be undisturbed for a while.”  She grinned. “And to be honest, sometimes I put them on, just so I can do a better job of relating to the girls here.   I’ll go as much as an entire week with the restraint on.”

       Esme, still flushed, blinked and looked up at Candi. “An entire week?  Isn’t that hard?” she said, laboring to get the words out through the heaving of her chest.  Candi nodded.  “Very.  The adjustment is not easy.  But, wait here just a second.” 

       Candi hurried away toward the other side of the room where the regular massages were happening.  She returned a moment later with a pair of ankle/thigh restraints.  Esme looked on curious, at least until Candi secured the first one to her ankle.  There was a loud click and then Candi drew up Esme’s leg.

       “We’ll give you a small taste of what it’s like, so you can accurately report it to your viewers,” Candi explained politely.  Put like that, how could Esme refuse?  Besides, the stool was still sending little shivers of sonic caress through her loins.  Candi worked quickly and in moments both of Esme’s legs were drawn up tightly, the heel of her foot pressed against her buttocks.  Candi had been right.  It did dramatically change the pressure and sensation of the stool’s function.  Esme gasped again, her hips involuntarily twitching.

       Candi laughed.  “See?  But I think we might want to move along now.  As I mentioned before, we’ve got a schedule to keep.”

       Esme nodded.  “Uh… how do I get down?”

       “Just put your hands on the front and lift yourself off, then swing your leg down and slide until you get to the floor.  The stool won’t tip, I assure you.”

       Bradley continued filming as Esme awkwardly dismounted, leaving a massive wet smear on the leather.  She blushed crimson as the intrepid cameraman got a close-up of her sexual drippings and almost fell on her ass as she lost her balance.  She had to cling to the stool to keep from toppling over. 

       Finally she was on the ground, her knees pressing into the lush carpet and she finally understood why such padding was necessary.  It wasn’t easy to move with your legs bound ankle to thigh and Esme looked over at the regular girls in amazement.  What a strange yet difficult life!  Esme looked around for her skirt and shirt, but was shocked to find that Candi had picked them both up and tucked them away in Bradley’s bag.  Esme opened her mouth to protest, but then realized that she wouldn’t be able to get her skirt back on, even if she had it, and clearly Candi was planning something.  Esme shrugged.  The viewers would love the exposure and it would certainly earn her points in popularity.

       “Follow me, please,” Candi said sweetly and began walking toward the massage tables.  Esme followed, crawling behind Candi on all fours, her delicate feet swaying just behind her rump.  It was a decidedly odd sensation.  It only took them a minute and then Candi motioned toward one of the massage tables, where a sixteen year old girl sat on one of the orgasm stools, patiently waiting.  

       “Please crawl up onto the table,” Candi said to Esme.

       “I’m going to get one of the foot massages?” Esme asked in surprise.

       Candi grinned.  “They’re pretty amazing.  I get one on occasion myself.  You’ll see.”

       Esme nodded and pulled herself up onto the low, padded table.  There was an unusual bump a third of the way up from the bottom edge and Esme didn’t need to be told that she needed to position her sex above the protrusion.  She settled into position, using her arms to wriggle downward.  As soon as her clit was pressed against the bump, it began lightly vibrating.  Esme groaned and looked over at Candi. 

       “Again?” she asked lightly, settling herself over the sonic hump.

       Candi laughed. “Of course. Everything we do here is tinged with sexuality.  Everything.”  Candi turned toward the young masseuse at the end of the table.  “Please begin.”

       The girl moved forward and quickly secured Esme to the table.  Black Velcro straps crossed over the small of Esme’s back, then the girl released the ankle restraints, leaving the thigh straps still firmly bound to Esme’s legs.  Another binding was tightened just above the knees and Esme felt the girl’s fingers on her flesh.

       A rich aroma wafted across Esme’s nose and Candi provided the explanation without even being prompted.

       “The oil we use is actually a blend of grapeseed and cinnamon oils.  There are a number of other herbs and spices worked into the oil base as well, though we would prefer to keep that formula secret, since it is the foundation for the taste of our product.  In essence, we are not massaging our stock, but marinating them.  For twelve years.”

       Esme groaned.  The girl’s fingers were light and fluttery and didn’t even dig into the flesh.  It was almost a caress or a light stroke than a massage.  In fact, if the girl had moved just a hair faster, Esme would have been giggling.  The massage was so close to a tickle that it was almost impossible to deal with it.  Still, it felt amazing and Esme felt the tension of the interview drain out of her even as the table slowly stimulated her sex into another rise of need. 

       “She’s got hard feet,” the girl at the end of the table said, her voice shocked.

       Candi nodded. “She does.  She’s been on them a lot.”

       The girl smiled sympathetically.  “I wouldn’t know what that’s like.  Does it hurt?”

       “Sometimes,” Esme replied, still enjoying the soft touch against her soles.  “Do your feet ever hurt?”

       The girl laughed. “Never.  But sometimes my legs do.  Thighs mostly.  I get cramps.  I sometimes have to ask for extra massages so I can straighten out the kinks.”

       “Seems like a tough way to live,” Esme observed.

       The girl shook her head, her fingers lightly rubbing up and down Esme’s soles and then over the heel and up to the backs of her knees.  “I don’t think so, though I don’t have anything to compare with.  We’re well cared for and get the best training so we can maybe become pet girls.”

       Esme twisted her head and glanced back.  “You want to be a pet girl?” she asked.

       The masseuse nodded.  “Absolutely.  Wouldn’t you?”  She grimaced then.  “The only thing I don’t care for is tail training.  I’m sixteen so I’m in a size five now and I’m not looking forward to size six let me tell you.”

       “Size?” Esme asked, ignoring the pleasure that was coming from between her legs as well as the bottoms of her feet. 

       The masseuse laughed. “Yeah.  The older girls get the bigger sizes.  I started at fourteen with size one.  That wasn’t so bad.  About the width of your finger.  The tail was a little fun too.  But they get bigger.  A lot bigger the older you get.”

       Esme grunted.  “I see.  And that’s the only part you don’t like?” she asked.

       “Well, except for punishments.  I try very, very hard not to break the rules.”

       Now that intrigued Esme and she twisted to look back at the girl again. “Punishments?” she asked.

       Candi interrupted. “We do have a discipline code here at the Foot Ranch.  Girls are expected to behave submissively, courteously, and calmly.  While we do allow a certain playfulness, we discourage misbehavior.”

       “With what?” Esme asked, wondering if Candi would answer.

       “Bondage in uncomfortable positions, whippings, clamps, electro-shock torture, and various other devices,” she replied simply.

       “I hate the horse,” the masseuse said with a shiver.

       “The horse?” Esme asked.

       The girl nodded. “Yeah, it’s like the stools we sit on, except it’s made of wood and much sharper.  And it doesn’t vibrate.  You have to sit on it with only the strength of your legs keeping your weight from being right on the edge.  If you’ve been really bad they clamp your nipples or whip you at the same time.  I’ve only had to ride it once and I’m NEVER going to do anything THAT bad again.”

       “What did you do to deserve that?” Esme asked quietly, afraid the girl wouldn’t answer.  But she did.

       “I hurt another girl’s feet,” the masseuse said softly, clearly still upset about the issue.  “Me and my friend Tiffany held her down and I hit her feet with the spine of a book.”

       Esme blinked, just a little shocked at the idea.  “That’s all?  You wacked her feet a few times with a book?”

       The girl nodded.  “It’s the worst thing you can do here. Our feet all are very tender and sensitive.”  The girl pushed a fingernail into Esme’s foot.  Esme winced, but didn’t cry out.  “That’s uncomfortable on you, right?” the masseuse asked.  “That same amount of pressure would leave most of us screaming in agony.  Even in the punishment room our feet are left alone.  Not only did I hurt her badly, she was yanked from the program, sold off immediately.  They made us watch a video about what happened to her…”

       Esme felt the shudder through the girl’s hands, right into the soles of her feet.

       “On to a happier subject,” Candi said brightly, before Esme could ask about the video.  “After this, we’ll check out the pet training rooms.”

       Esme looked up at Candi, who was holding a small bag in her hands.  Evidently the marketing representative had pulled it out from under the table.  The bag was plastic, but tied securely.  “Pet training rooms?”

       Candi nodded. “Yes.  All of the girls go through pet training, starting with just an hour when they are fourteen, up to most of the day by the time they reach eighteen, unless of course they are working for the Foot Ranch.”

       Esme, still wrapped up in the hedonistic pleasure of the table smiled lazily.  “And what’s involved with that?” she asked.

       Candi grinned.  “The Pet Training? Well, I thought we’d show you.”  She opened the bag and pulled out two tight leather pouches.  She moved to Esme’s hands and quickly began to slip the reporter’s fingers into the cloth wraps.  Esme let her, the pleasure dulling her senses.  It wasn’t until Candi tied the opening of each bag tight around Esme’s wrists that she realized she wouldn’t be able to remove them herself.

       “Hey.  Wait a minute…” Esme protested. 

       Candi looked over at the masseuse.  “Would you prep her for a tail?” Candi asked, ignoring the reporter’s objections.

       The girl nodded happily. “Oh, certainly Miss Candi.”  The girl leaned forward, eyes focused as a fresh dribble of oil landed on Esme’s ass.  Esme gasped as fingers began smoothing the oil into her crack, working deeper and deeper until she felt the masseuse actually penetrate into Esme’s anus, thrusting a finger in deep. 

       “Esme, dear.  You’re eighteen, right?” Candi asked, laying one hand on Esme’s shoulder even while reaching back into the bag.

       “I’m not sure I want to do this,” Esme replied uncertainly, not answering the question.

Candi glanced at Bradley who was hunkered behind Esme with his camera, getting a close-up shot of the masseuse fingering the cute reporter’s ass.  Candi ignored Esme’s protest.  “Answer the question, dear.” 

Esme groaned.  “No. I’m twenty-one, actually.” 

       “My goodness! So old!” Candi said in surprise. 

       Esme shook her head. “I’ve been popular.”

       Candi nodded. “So I’ve heard.  We’ll, we normally choose tails based on age.  I’ve got to ask – have you ever had anything up your ass?”

       Esme gulped.  “Yes, but it’s been a while.”

       Bradley snorted from the other side of the bound reporter.  “Yeah. Like Jimmy.  Yesterday during lunch.”

       Esme blushed.  “You knew about that?” she asked in surprise.  Bradley shrugged.

       “From the way the editing van was rocking it was fairly obvious.  Plus your tits were mashed up against the back window.”

       Esme’s eyes widened and she looked away, her cheeks scarlet.

       Candi laughed.  “This will probably not be as comfortable as your producer’s cock.”  She held up a pet tail, furry and at least a foot long.  It was mounted to a massive butt plug that looked almost as wide as a beer can.

       “Oh my God!” Esme gasped, alarmed. “I can’t take that!”

       Candi shrugged, handing the massive plug to the masseuse. “It’s what our sixteen to eighteen year olds wear, though I suppose if your producers would prefer…”  She left the comment hanging.

       Esme frowned.  She knew exactly what her Jimmy would say if called and so she let out an exasperated sigh.  “Oh, go ahead.  But don’t blame me if I squeal like a stuck pig,” she muttered.

       With a grin, Candi nodded at the masseuse.  Esme felt the tip press lightly against her exposed anus and then the pressure began.  Admittedly the girl moved easily and slowly, twisting the tip and rotating it through the herbed oil.  There was certainly enough lubrication and as Esme had admitted, at least she was no anal virgin.  She tried to relax, letting the thicker plug sink in, the pressure unceasing.  Bit by bit the massive rubber stopper was pushed into her drain.  It began to ache, then hurt as the thick width stretched her open and she began gasping, trying to keep from screaming.  Bradley was clearly torn, wanting shots of both her straining face and the slow but inexorable push from behind.  Esme let out a cry as the thickest part of the plug made it past her sphincter and then popped in firmly.

       “Ahhhhh,” she cried out.  “My God that’s huge!” A few tears filled her eyes as she tried to adjust to the thick plug stuffing her ass.

       “I have to admit, you look good with a tail,” Candi said softly, laying a hand on Esme’s shoulder.  “Now we’ll take you to the pet training room so you can see how we teach the girls to behave.”

       The masseuse began unstrapping Esme’s legs, but before the reporter could move an inch, both ankles were brought up to her buttocks and the ankle/thigh restraints quickly attached.  Then Candi helped Esme to the floor, the beautiful reporter slick with oil from the waist down and feeling the discomfort of the tail.

End of Part One

Want to know what happens next?  Sure you do!  And you can!  For FREE.  Visit Michael Alexander Stories and head to the Skeleton Closet!  Or you can just click HERE and go to Part TWO directly!