No Shoes, Special Service (fff/m)

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My best friend Kaylee (all names changed) way back from High School is now working at the Mad Grinder, a hopping coffee shop in the middle of downtown. I usually visit her there after college classes let out to sneak a look at her colleagues bustling around in cute black skirts and aprons.

When the weather had warmed up at the beginning of spring I had made it a habit of leaving my shoes in my dorm room and even entered the cafe in my bare feet. The first two times Kaylee and her colleagues warned me in a joking manner that they had a “No shoes, no service” policy. While they themselves didn’t mind to see a pair of bare feet and none of the other customers had complained about me so far, their manager was not to forgiving. If I showed up without footwear again I would have to face any consequence that was coming to me. But if you know me this warning just spurned me on to buck the system, and so I ended up walking into the coffee shop sans shoes again. I figured it would be alright since it was right before closing time and there were not many customers who would feel the need to complain to the management. To make a point, I went so far as to place my feet directly on the table and wiggle my toes, presenting my grimy soles to the room for all to see.

Boy, that decision was the biggest mistake of my life.

The last customer had just left, when the girls nodded to another and locked the door. Before I could get a word out the girls had approached my table and pulled me across its wooden top. Before I knew it had what felt like 12 hands all over me, and, working together, they managed to pull down the rest of my clothing with expertly precision. I figure they really meant it when they had told me that they would teach me a lesson about inappropriate attire inside a public eatery.

It couldn’t have taken them longer than 30 seconds before I found myself, face down and incredibly bahis firmaları naked, pinned on top a couple of tables that the girls had quickly pushed together. Helplessly and red-faced I waited for what I had coming to me with my bare buttocks sticking into the air and my naked feet now completely exposed to the girls’ mercy.

First there was just some timid slapping on my soles and buttocks. Then, I couldn’t be sure because my view was limited to the grimy floor below, I think I felt a wet tongue licking across the entire length of the bottom of my right foot, which made me jerk in surprise. The only reason I was not falling off the table was because the other pairs of hands were holding me tight in place. For this last display of disobedience, I received some more extended slapping, which at times turned into the tickling of my flesh on my upper legs and hips until I felt the girls’ hands and hair all over my exposed body, and the next hour or so I howled with laughter many more times than I could count.

As the treatment of my exposed body intensified I got the sense that the girls seemed to develop an ever greater enjoyment in having me at their complete mercy and especially since I played the role of torture boy so well.

And that was the very moment when things got really weird. I heard Kaylee, who was clearly in charge of my “lesson,” suggesting to the others to give me a “pour over,” which immediately met with enthusiastic approval. I tried my hardest to twist my head enough to look up but could only make out that a blonde and a brunette girl were bringing a couple of aluminum thermos containers from the counter to the tables that I was pinned to.

A moment later I felt the sensation of a lukewarm liquid being poured over my neck, down my spine, across my buttocks and over my legs, which distinctly smelled of coffee. After that, a thick, sticky substance, kaçak iddaa which I guess could only have been honey, was generously applied to the soles of my feet. Both substances were quickly lapped up by what must have been at least six different sets of tongues licking away at my whole body. I believe there were even some teeth nibbling on my outstretched toes. The girls had reduced me to convulsive bouts of laughter in no time.

When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, it got, in fact, a little better. Kaylee had suddenly produced a can of whipped cream and held it (Thank God for the specialty drinks!) in front of my face. I heard it open with a metallic pop. A second later, I heard a pffffft sound and felt the incredibly cold sensation of whipped cream being drawn across my skin, from my sternum and all the way down to my butt crack, drawing a slow, thick circle of cream around my anus.

I still don’t know which of the girls stuck her face into the cream and licked my butt hole clean with skilled, sensual strokes of her tongue. All I know that this was the rim job of a lifetime!

The only thing I was sure of anymore was that I was getting hard. So hard, in fact, that I started to feel my erect member pushing painfully against the wood of the table, and it was getting only more intense. I admit, when the girls started to giggle and I heard someone mention to also give me an “inside job” my member began to throb seriously.

I only started to get seriously wet, however, when I felt Kaylee apply the tip of the spray to my anus and slowly shove it upward until the spray nozzle had completely vanished inside my anal cavity. The metallic pffffttt sound still caught me by surprise as the girl pushed the button, twisting the can in a circular motion inside of me. The sensation of having my insides filled with pressurized cold air and whipped cream was almost too much for me, kaçak bahis and I could have exploded right there. One girl wondered how much cream it would take to fill me up, which induced Kaylee to pump every last bit of cream left in the can up my anus before the air gave out.

Oi! I gasped, when she moved the can up and down from left to right to make sure to fill every last bit of space inside me, which met with more giggles from the others. And even though I still couldn’t see a thing of what was going on behind (or better: inside MY behind) I imagined that six girls were watching in fascinated amazement as the cream vanished inside my bowl tract, stuffing me like a turkey.

Kaylee’s friends commented on the fact how well I had been able, by clenching my butt cheeks together, not only to take all the cream but also to keep it all in.

Guys, what can I say about the rest of that evening? After the can was carefully pulled out of my butt-hole, one of the girls finally suggested that the one thing still missing was a cherry on top and a good stir.

If you have ever wondered what it feels like to have a long cocktail spoon inserted into your anus and your bowels being taken for a five minute spin ride, multiply that by 100.

The girl seemed to have had fun that night, and all being said, it was also a bit enjoyable for me, even though, to be honest, whipped cream is still seeping out of my butt as we speak, and will probably continue to do so for the next couple of days. I also expect that the cherry, which has gotten pushed all the way up inside of me will eventually make its way back to the exit.

You might say, Kaylee and her friends have served me lesson for not wearing anything on my feet, for sure. Enough of a lesson to keep my shoes on in the future when I am stepping on Kaylee’s turf, you ask?

To be honest, given that it was not all bad I am still thinking about leaving my shoes in my dorm room the next time I visit Kaylee and her friends at the cafe. And that even though Kaylee warned me that next time they would make me eat the cream and the cherry afterwards.

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