Francesco is a mafia goon in prison, but he never thought his feet would be used in a bukkake-footplay marathon that’ll churn his stomach… and yours!
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Miles shivered, both because he was excited and because he was cold. The state prison was a chilly-steel squat and spartan building, all hard lines and dead-ends. Drafts were everywhere, it seemed, even though all the windows and doors were tightly shut, locked and sealed. Hallways ended at blank walls. Ceilings were absurdly high in some rooms, and so low Miles had to stoop in other areas.
Having never been to prison before, Miles had been nervous from the moment he got here. Nothing dangerous had happened. No risks had presented themselves. He was protected by the guards, so he was as safe as anyone could ever be.
But this prison felt dangerous. It exuded risk like an aura, wafts of precariousness filling the air like the aroma of unwashed man that clogged Miles’s nostrils as he waited.
He paced until the door at the other end of the corridor opened up. Then his heart skipped a few beats. He saw two uniformed guards — Officers Flatears and Messypants — come in, dragging along a man in chains. The man didn’t actively fight them, but he didn’t walk willingly either. They had to rumble him forward, pulling on his chains, shooting him dirty looks and harsh names when he grew excessively slow for their tastes.
The chained man was the one Miles was interested in.
He was Francesco Lancinelli, a convicted goon for the Mafia. He looked the part too, with a muscle-bound body, a squarish shape and a hideous face — not ugly, but mean and glowering and a little crooked from being punched so much. He had a scar on his forehead, a divot in his left eyebrow and a chipped front tooth. His facial tics, while voluminous, were asymmetrical from nerve damage on his right cheek.
He had a sandpapery voice too, like he swallowed fire. Miles could hear it: low, murmurant and endlessly menacing, echoing against the steel walls of the prison. Even before he could make out the words, Miles heard Francesco’s voice and his dick stiffened up.
Francesco wore a pair of pajama-like prison pants — he was too tall for any of the other options, so he was forced to wear the navy-blue pajamas, which he thought looked ridiculous, like he had beaten up a child and taken their pajamas. They ended on his ankles. He had a lighter blue workshirt on because he had just come from his job in the prison factory.
Francesco sucked on his teeth every few seconds. He sauntered, refusing to walk quickly but not kicking up enough of a fuss for the guards to discipline him seriously. He saw Miles — a slim, flamboyant man — standing near the base of the steel stairs.
“Yo, what the fuuck’s goin’ on, ya jabronis? Why’dja take me outta chapel? I was gonna confess ‘nd shit,” Francesco said, straining against his chains because he had an urge to pound on his chest and gesture with his hands. His New Yawk stawk was a slumberous baritone that made the hairs on the back of Miles’s neck twitch. Francesco laughed. “I gots a right to religious ‘xpression, mothahfuckahs. That’s in the Constitution.” The guards ignored him. They brought him to Miles, whom Francesco eyed with suspicion. He spat on the prison floor, neverminding the “no spitting” sign on the wall across the room. “Who’re you, bitch?”
“Shut up, Lancinelli-“
“Be nice, he the one payin’ money today.”
Francesco threw his eyebrows back at that. “What?” He looked down at Miles, who was petite and shrank back from the harsh look outta Francesco. Francesco bit his lip. “Am I sposedta hit him?”
“No!” said Officer Messypants. He was a muscular but ugly guard, with a face like a bucktoothed ferret. He kept his hair in a high and tight crewcut like a Marine, but opinions were divided on whether he had ever really been a Marine.
“Don’t hit me,” Miles said with a smile. “My name is Miles. Miles Rompenhauer. I’m here-“
Francesco wrinkled his nose. “Rompen-hour?”
Miles nodded. “Pretty close. I’m here to suck your feet.”
A long silence melted between them. Francesco furrowed his brow and blanket out. He shifted his weight between his feet, and for the first time since he came in here, he stopped fighting against the manacles connected his feet and his arms. The chains fell limp.
“That’s not a euphemism,” Miles said. “I paid for the right to do it. It won’t hurt.” That was true, but it wasn’t the whole story. Miles didn’t want to make it more difficult for Francesco to agree. His agreement was not necessary, but Miles would rather have it.
Francesco’s big caveman-like face stayed confused. He was aware that the guards here — and these two in particular, Flatears and Messypants, who stood a few yards away ignoring Francesco and Miles — sometimes let inmates mess with local men for cash. But he still didn’t get what Miles had said. “Sucking feet” was not part of the process — at least not that Francesco had ever heard of — and Francesco was only vaguely familiar with foot-fetishism in general. So he just shrugged. Messypants and Flatears usually just brought fat businessmen with tiny dicks around to ram black guys with big dicks, which everybody involved claimed not to believe would change anyone’s dick size, but for some reason they kept doing it anyway. Francesco’s mind whirred as he tried to figure out what “suck your feet” meant — he could only relate it to the unit of measurement and thought Miles was gonna suck something multiple feet long. Or maybe multiple things one foot long.
“What?” Francesco said when he could ponder this no longer. Him and the small strange man were in a stairwell near the mess hall, not in any of the cell blocks. It was well past lunch though and dinner was only in prep, there was no reason for him to be brought here. “Yo, what’choo talkin’ ’bout?”
“I’m gonna suck your feet,” Miles said. “I’ll pay you.” That was true, but it was again not the whole story. Messypants and Flatears made him promise to keep the amount he was paying a secret, but they swore they’d pass the money on. Obviously they were gonna take a cut, and that cut was gonna be most of it. Miles did believe they would follow through and Francesco would get something though.
Since it was clear Francesco was a retard who didn’t get it, Miles simply dropped to his knees. He kissed Francesco’s left foot, right on the toes — he wore loose-fitting prison slippers, his knobbly hairy toes protruding because the slippers were too small for him, just like his pants. He had crude feet like an ogre, just like his face, which Miles adored. There was visible dirt on his his ankles and on the slippers, and his toenails were disgusting — again, that was something Miles adored.
“Oh… Okay.” Francesco chuckled. Even once Miles started sucking on his feet, he still didn’t get it. He assumed there was some other aspect to this he wasn’t getting.
Those slippers tasted like steel and soil, with a little foot funkiness underneath all that. Miles pulled them both off, and Francesco stretched the toes of his massive feet. Francesco plopped down on the staircase so he don’t gotta balance on one foot when Miles tried to lick the underside of it. He stretched his long legs out to give Miles easy access, while he lowered his back to the stairs below. That meant his face aimed upward, so he could see the spiraling stairs going up and up, all the way to the eighth story and the roof beyond.
“Why we on the stairs?” It seemed like an odd spot to do this in, Francesco thought; it was neither private nor exhibitionistly public. It was awkward to sit on the stairs for this.
Miles shrugged and put Francesco’s big toe in his mouth. He slurped on that, while Francesco tried to look nonchalant — even as his eyes opened wide — and sucked on his teeth. He spat on the ground. Then Miles told him to spit on his foot. He rolled his eyes but did so, and Miles sucked the spit up. That made Francesco gag because he imagined the taste of foot-funk combined with his own spit. The more he thought about it, the more he gagged.
“That is so nasty,” Francesco said with a scoff, mid-gag, as he looked away. Then he spat again without Miles needing to ask him to do so. “You make me sick, freak.”
Miles sat on his ass, still sucking on Francesco’s big toe, while extending his own bare foot up to Francesco’s crotch. With an angry but resigned sigh, Francesco pulled his prison-issue pants down and let his thick uncut cock flop out.
“I ain’t gonna be able to cum — uh — from a footjob, freak,” Francesco said, but his voice broke partway through as though he was surprised by how good it felt already. Miles wasn’t surprised. He knew he was an expert footjobber. Francesco leaned back against the stairs with a cocky grin on his face.
His dick remained only part-hard. Miles spread his big and index toes wide, rubbing them up and down Francesco’s dick. Francesco tried not to get fully hard. Something just seemed perverted about it, and Francesco didn’t want to cooperate too much — that would be like doing a favor for the guards, and it might make them encourage more men to hire him for foot-stuff. Francesco’s ears pricked up when he heard the door open down the corridor and a few men talking on the other side.
“Does that feel good?” Miles asked. He liked the feel of Francesco’s firm but not erect cock throbbing between his toes. It seemed to have lots of extra-skin, which moved up and down with his foot. Francesco’s big dumb goon face remained perpetually confused, though he grunted when Miles made it feel good.
“It’s nasty, you gettin’ ya foot all ovuh my dick, you jabroni,” Francesco said, his voice jagged as pleasure coursed through him. He gritted his teeth. His dick was fully hard now, and the veiny shaft was warm and pulsating beneath Miles’s foot.
That was when Miles really began stroking, giving it all his might with just that one foot. Precum leaked down the shaft, coating Miles’s foot in sticky juices. Francesco grunted and groaned. His eyes opened wide.
“You’re likin’ it,” Miles said. Francesco’s muscles rippled as his eyes bugged out. When Miles got into a footstroking rhythm, he was damn good at it, and he wanted to make Francesco nut as soon as possible. That’s cuz the sound of men heading towards this stairwell meant they didn’t have a lot of time. “Feels good, don’t it?”
Francesco had to admit it did, but he didn’t say so out loud. It was visible from the way his square jaw turned red as the precum flowed like wine from his manhood. “Shit, man-” Francesco bit his lip, his face turning red as cum sprayed out of his cock.
A vast flow of it spurted from his piss-slit, and it splattered onto Miles’s foot. Miles aimed it right at Francesco’s own foot, so whatever didn’t hit Miles’s feet hit Francesco’s right foot. A huge puddle of jizz came out, and most of it spread over the top of Miles’s feet and in between his toes. A little got on Francesco’s foot and on his thighs and in his crotch ahir.
“Aww, damn…” Francesco chuckle-gasped, and he leaned back as his dick limpened in the grasp of Miles’s foot. He ain’t realize this was something men even did, but he assumed that this was it, this was why Miles had hired him.
His fat cock roped around like a blind snake in the grasp of Miles’s foot, which ran up down his shaft, causing little sparks of sensation. Francesco kept his eyes opened wide until his balls were drained and his cock was fully limp. Miles’s foot was glistening, sticky with the white jizz that clung to it.
The group of men on the other side of the door formed a line. Messypants and Flatears were there at the door, which they opened.
Three black men were in front of the line of inmates, and all three had erect cocks on the verge of blowing a wad. Francesco was surprised by that. Miles was not.
“What’s goin’ on? Why’d you bring the homies in?” Francesco asked. They walked in while Miles was playing with Francesco’s cock with his foot, and Francesco didn’t like being seen like this, with his own jizz splattered over himself. “Why they got stiffies?”
But the three black man talked among themselves like they ain’t see Francesco, and they stroked their cocks with one hand. Miles saw that all three shafts were moist — Francesco didn’t notice — and already on the verge of nutting.
That’s cuz there was a punk on the other side of the door, and the inmates in line were getting hard in the mouth of that punk, who was called the “fluffer”. He got each of the men in line hard, then they came in and finished themselves off on Francesco’s foot.
Once again, Francesco’s idiot brain still ain’t get why these three black men, soon joined by a fourth, came into this stairwell masturbating. His focus was on his dick, which was covered in his own jizz, because Miles popped his limp cock in his mouth and slurped all that jizz off.
“Aww, man, you is — he’s lickin’ it clean!” Francesco guffawed, despite his discomfort with the four black men around him masturbating. The smell of precum hung strongly in the air. “Yo, man… No disrespect, but you pretty fuckin’ nasty.”
Miles blushed as he slathered spit all over Francesco’s foot, and he sucked off the remnants of Francesco’s load from his cummy toes. Francesco kept laughing, whooping and clapping one hand on the meat of his thigh. That made his foot jiggle in Miles’s mouth.
Francesco stopped short when he saw the first guy — Jermaine Mallagher — approach, spasming cock in hand. Jermaine laughed at Francesco’s big dumb face and his sweaty muscles all flexing. Francesco stopped his own laughing cuz he realized Jermaine was gonna shoot his nut on Francesco’s foot while that freak Miles sucked the cum right off.
That was disgusting, and it seemed pointlessly disgusting to Francesco. Miles could just swallow Jermaine’s cock right from the beginning. Francesco’s foot didn’t need to be involved, and Francesco didn’t know his foot was the part that mattered most to Miles.
Cum jetted over Francesco’s foot, drenching it with long creamy ropes. The jizz slid down, right into Miles’s open mouth. It was white and thick and salty, and Miles let it flow between Francesco’s toes before swallowing it, so Miles could chase down every drop with his tongue. It tasted both stale and fresh, and both sunny and dark.
“Oh, shit, man!” Francesco didn’t know how to take this. If a man had jacked off onto his face or tried to stick his dick in Francesco’s ass, Francesco would have responded with violence. He’d punch and fight and kick and scream obscenities and threats, regardless of him being chained up. He’d gladly spend a few weeks in solitary if it meant protecting his masculinity and his self-respect — not to mention the respect of his fellow inmates.
But cumming on his feet was no big deal. It was dirty, but everything in prison was dirty.
There came another, a second load, bursting over his foot, and then a third person who mostly missed, hitting Francesco’s ankle and the stairs beneath him. Miles’s tongue snaked out to suck it down right off the grimy floor. No one ever cleaned the floor here, so it must have been disgusting, Francesco thought.
The bottom of the stairwell was filling up now. Francesco only now realized all these men were gonna do the same thing, and he now saw that their cocks were wet to begin with, cuz of the punk working as a fluffer outside the room. Francesco finally, at long last, understood what was going on.
“Ah, man, c’mon…” Francesco opened his eyes again, just in time to see an Aryan named Whiteness about to cum right on Francesco’s face. That pale dick loomed right in front of Francesco’s face, as Whiteness’s tattooed muscles flexed over and over.
“On his foot, Whiteness! You not gettin’ ya five bucks if it ain’t on his foot!” Officer Messypants said.
With an annoyed grunt, Whiteness the Aryan aimed his dick back at Francesco’s foot just in time to shoot his load through Francesco’s toes and into Miles’s waiting mouth.
Miles let his mouth fill up until it overflowed. He took a half-dozen loads in quick succession, including most of the remaining Aryans and their pearly white cocks, so his mouth was full and he could suck on Francesco’s hairy big toe with it. A mouthload of cum spilled out into Francesco’s toes, then Miles sucked it all back up. Francesco gagged loudly and closed his eyes. Cum dripped over his toes and his feet.
“Oh god, man, my toe’s in his mouth! Oh god it feels like… snot, or oh god that is nasty! Pervert! Ah, shit!” Francesco stopped because Flatears barked at him to shut up. Francesco watched his toe swim in the pool of anonymous cum congealing in Miles’s open mouth. “That is fuckin’ disgustin’, man, oh shit! Classic! Oh damn, I nevuh seen nothin’ that gross! That is some perverted bullshit-“
Miles giggled and blushed. Cum spilled out past his lips.
The next inmate in line was Tyrell Brickley, a big-ass Blood with a big dick to match. He got an ugly sneer on his face, cuz Tyrell Brickly was, under that sneer, handsome as could be. On the outside he got a line of white girls throwing theyselves at him. In here his handsome mug don’t mean jack shit, so he was just another Blood. Miles watched him loom overheard, stroking his meat off and dribbling precum onto Miles’s face. Miles kept his tongue upon Lancinelli’s toe.
“You Italian shit,” Tyrell said with a laugh.
“Shut the fuck up, Tyrell!” Lancinelli said. He screwed up his face like he was gonna get up and fight Tyrell, who screwed up his face too, cuz he was nutting, adding a few jets of jizz to the mess on Miles’s face and Lancinelli’s foot. Mosta his cum missed cuz he was making faces at Lancinelli, and Miles chased the cum puddle on the ground with his tongue so he could slurp it up and spit it out onto Lancinelli’s foot.
An explosion of pain hit Miles, who howled in pain.
An outburst of chatter filled the air, so nobody heard his pain — somebody done ram him up the ass! That wasn’t something Miles paid for or asked for, but this tall hillbilly with a mullet and a barrelhouse chest was behind him, forcing his dick in like an ungrateful nail. He pounded at Miles’s ass, sending blistering pain throughout his body.
“Sampson, Sampson!” One of the watching guards barked at him to stop, and with a big grin on his face, the hillbilly with the mullet did so.
Buck Sampson was his name, and he stopped moving with his dick all the way in Miles’s unlubed asshole. Miles was seething and crying out in pain. Buck looked confused but also like that was his permanent expression.
“What?”
“You ain’t sposedta ramrod the gentleman,” said the guard, Flatears.
“Really? Why not?” Buck Sampson looked at Miles for the first time. His dick felt so big in Miles’s ass, stretching the hole and sending spasms of pain through his body. It also touched his prostate though, and that caused pinpricks of pleasure to jolt up his spine. Buck said, “Ain’t we punishin’ him?”
“No,” said the guard, Flatears, who rolled his eyes. “Just cum on Lancinelli’s foot. Ain’t they tell you?”
Buck’s cock stayed still and throbbing in Miles’s ass. “No. I mean, yeah, but they ain’t say it’s a rule. Lemme finish in his ass.”
“No. Cum on Lancinelli’s foot,” said the guard Flatears. “If you want your five bucks, you gotta do as told.”
“Fuck you!” Buck grinned, and he began plowing his dick in and outta Miles’s asshole. The pain was blistering, but it also sent jolts of pleasure through his body. Buck jabbed a finger at the guard. “I got mah dick in the’uh, I’s allowed to finish-“
“That ain’t a rule, Sampson, stop sayin’ that,” said Officer Flatears. He did have flat ears, as if he got punched so hard his ears turned into swollen pancakes. He had an awkward but handsome face too, with a big jutting jaw and crooked teeth.
“It is a rule! It’s a propuh rule!” Buck said. “It’s a rule we got!”
“If you nut in the man’s booty, Sampson, I’m puttin’ you in solitary!”
Buck shrugged. “Fine.” Some other big-bodied black man was nutting on Lancinelli’s foot at the moment, and Miles wasn’t there to taste it or smell it or even watch it, cuz Buck had him bent over like a fleshlight.
That other big-bodied black man was just finishing up his nut, smearing it around on Lancinelli’s foot, when Buck finally pulled out of Miles’s ass. He aimed his cock for Lancinelli’s foot and stroked it off with one hand at the base.
When he had recovered from the agony enough, Miles raced to slurp his own assjuice off Buck’s cock. The foul flavor made him retch, and Buck guffawed and cackled like that had been his goal all along. Miles dropped his foot back to the floor to be in place when one of the last of the white men, a fat sumbitch with a hairy back and low-hanging balls, shot his wad on Lancinelli’s foot too.
Miles had lost count of how many footloads he had taken. It was all of the first cell block — mainly the black guys and Aryans, who for some reason shared space. The second cell block was another thirty guys, almost all of them Latin Kings. They spoke in florid Spanish and nutted very quickly. Miles stayed on the floor, slurping up and spitting out all that jizz from every part of Lancinelli’s foot.
That had been fourteen men that Miles counted, plus probably almost as many who Miles hadn’t seen. So there were twenty-some loads on Francesco’s foot, and the more Miles worshiped the mess there, the more spit joined the jizz, making a huge puddly mess.
“Ew, man, you doin’ that? For fun?” Francesco said, this whole encounter still not quite adding up to him. “Or is somebody punishin’ you?”
Miles smiled. “Fun.”
Now that Lancinelli said it though, Miles kind of wished he had pretended he was being punished. That was what he pondered as the Latin Kings filed in, one by one, their dicks just as hard as the first group.
The first one to nut was a tall cholo, Chuy, with broad shoulders and a vituperative tone to his huince. Miles knew a little Spanish, but he didn’t catch anything more than some insults before Chuy came rushing into the stairwell, and he punched Francesco Lancinelli in the face. He already had his dick out, and he pumped his biceps over Lancinelli with a hardon dangling over his face.
“Yeah, nigga-“
“Wait, Chuy, no-” the guard said.
“You chomo bastard!” Chuy spat on Francesco’s face, then he turned around and plopped his ass right on Lancinelli’s mug. Looked like Lancinelli’s nose went in Chuy’s asshole.
“He’s not a child molester, man,” said Officer Flatears with a resigned sigh. He didn’t try to stop Chuy from putting a cigarette out on Francesco’s chin. Francesco squealed and squirmed under his ass, making his foot shake and jizz dribble down his ankle and onto the floor.
Miles sucked up what he could get to, while Lancinelli squirmed in pain. Chuy and the guard talked it over and Chuy gradually realized Lancinelli was not being punished for being a child molester. Lancinelli had been in prison for like a decade at this point, so it wasn’t clear how he could have molested a child. Chuy only pulled his ass off Lancinelli’s face when he was thoroughly convinced of his innocence (as to child molestation at least).
“Fuck you, man! Get off me, Chuy!”
With a groan and a growl, Chuy mounted Francesco’s chest and attempted at his mouth again and again. Francesco clenched his mouth shut. “Open up, esé! Open it!”
“Delunez!” said Flatears. “Delunez! Quit it! That ain’t what we doin’.”
Chuy again stopped with his dick resting on Lancinelli’s face, right over his clenched-shut mouth. Chuy screwed up his face. “I don’t get what we doin’, esé-“
“You don’t need to get it,” Flatears said. He rolled his eyes. “Just nut on his foot.”
As Chuy attempted to comprehend that Lancinelli wasn’t being punished, the other Latin Kings shot their load one by one onto his foot. Lancinelli didn’t even see any of that because his view was blocked by Chuy’s body and hardon. He kept clasping Chuy on the asscheeks to signal him to back off.
All that took long enough the rest of the Latin Kings finished up spewing their loads onto Francesco Lancinelli’s foot, and Miles let it congeal there, despite his own desperate desire to drink it all down. Chuy was the first Latin King to enter the stairwell, but he was the last to cum.
“Hmmm…” A moan came outta Miles, as he was licking the bottom of Lancinelli’s foot, smearing around giant wads of cum that dripped down his chin and onto the floor. He didn’t even complain when Chuy — maybe still not getting it — came on Miles’s face, not on Lancinelli’s foot.
But since Lancinelli’s foot was resting on Miles’s face, that amounted to the same thing, and Miles got another faceful of creamy hot cum. Lancinelli groaned but sounded relieved.
Finally it was all done.
Francesco’s tan foot was covered in creamy white, and his foot-funk was now cottony and salty, astringent, bringing tears to Miles’s eyes as he sucked it. When Chuy left the stairwell, Miles dropped Francesco’s foot. He stuck his own cock between Francesco’s big toe and his index toe, so Francesco could give him a footjob.
“Aw, eww,” Francesco said with a groany laugh. “You wanna get a nut off? You can get hard wit’ all that cum on ya muggins?” Francesco covered his face with one meaty arm, baring his armpit.
“Hmm-hmm,” Miles said with a shamefaced giggle.
Francesco didn’t seem to mind Miles using his cummy foot as a fleshlight. He avoided looking at it. When he felt Miles orgasm, however, Francesco couldn’t help but watch. His eyes opened wide as cum flew over his foot once more, massive load of creamy nut. Miles threw his head back, his tiny, delicate body tensing up.
Much of Francesco’s cum sprayed up his hairy thigh too. Now that he saw it, he could feel Miles’s cock between his toes more intimately, and it made him choke back spasms of disgust. Miles added his cumwad to the soupy mess on his foot and ankle. He held his breath, closing his eyes but reopening them every few seconds, eyeing Miles’s spasming body with hostility. His arms flexed, as Miles began licking his foot clean.
“Shit, c’mon, man, that was so nasty,” Francesco said. “You is gettin’ punished, right? You got arrested? The police makin’ you do it.”
Miles nodded with a grin on his face. He slathered spit all over Francesco’s foot, which now tasted solely of spit and cum. Miles slurped up every drop he could get to, while the sensation made Francesco’s whole body shake and his muscles ripple.
Francesco glared and simmered while Miles finished up with all the cum on his foot, then followed the trail of cum up his meaty thighs. He sucked on his hairy balls too, but then returned to the floor, sucking up every drop that had escaped his tongue. Francesco stood there trying not to vomit — that floor was utterly disgusting.
“A’ight, you done, Francesco. You earned ya money,” Messypants said. “It’s in ya commissary.”
When Miles was done, he curled up around Francesco’s foot, nuzzling it — not the foot that had been cummed on, his fresh one, the left, still musky and sour with raw foot-scent. Miles inhaled deeply of it.
“How much did I get?” Francesco said.
The guards scoffed though. They looked at Miles, wrapping himself around Francesco’s legs, and shrugged.
“Take as long as you want,” Messypants said. “You got twenty bucks, Lancinelli. Thirty if he enjoys this… cuddle.” He chuckled as Miles nuzzled Francesco’s clean foot — or at least the foot clean of jizz. It had plenty of old sweat and floor grime on it.
“Shit, thirty bucks!” Lancinelli said. He settled back on the stairs, and he wiggled his big toe in Miles’s mouth. “Good money!”