Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction by the author and written solely for enjoyment.
Contains: Foot slavery, lesbian, food play
Foot Restaurant
The allure of the illicit and new leads elite eccentric diners around the world to seek out underground restaurants, hidden kitchens, and fly-by-night food experiments. Some chefs do it to test the restaurant waters before committing; others just like to entertain. Some...maybe have other motives. Most club buzz happens by word of mouth, with access granted via secret passwords or applications. You never know what exists in a city's underbelly or its underground. Far beneath the streets and tucked away from subway stations, New York is filled with hidden tunnels and underground spaces not accessible to the general public that are the stuff of legend. You never know what lies directly beneath your feet in NYC and one restaurant takes that to the extreme.
Legend has it that there is a restaurant, if it can even really be called that, that satiates not only your appetite but feeds your darker appetites and appetites of the restaurant's mysterious employees and owners. It's name is Feed, but many refer to it as "F" or "you know where" or etc. I can't tell you where it is, but It's very small and darkly lit and no one even knows if the restaurant ever in stays in one place for too long. It's like a mystical hidden or lost city, it's real to some, a figment of imagination to others. The place has no known phone number, no advertising, no information, it's all word of mouth (and yet they want patrons to hardly talk about it). Love the place but shut up about it I guess is the idea. You surrender your phones and your belongings at the door (but make sure you have your drivers license) and you're kicked out if you look at the staff the wrong way. You don't ask questions and you only speak when spoken to. You learn the rules quickly or suffer the consequences. If you're lucky enough to even gain entrance to the restaurant, get past the frightening bouncer staff, you are quickly and quietly ushered in the dark to what you presume is the reservation and wait area. You feel cameras watching you at all times like a thousand eyes. And your looks decide if you're allowed in and given a uninformative membership card (which helps make it a little easier to return and get a table). Men are especially screened out, you have to be fit and thin and under 40 it really seems. Again, patrons hardly ever talk openly about the place, you can get blacklisted, but it only takes one visit to make one addicted to it. It's the only restaurant that consumes you and your life.
It's the only top restaurant where you don't remember the food you ate, but rather the food that was eaten from you. Confused? Well, the story goes on. To illustrate, consider the experience of Jenny and Lisa, ages 19. Jenny's dad is a managing partner at Lambert & Locke in NYC and she heard of Feed at one of daddy's social functions for the firm. One of the guests' wives maybe had a little too much to drink and a discussion of Jenny's love life struggles led her to insist Jenny go to Feed. Take a friend and go and you and your feet will thank me someday she basically said. Jenny was struck by the look of wicked delight on this woman's face as she pushed it (despite not offering many details), the woman was like gyrating or almost dancing as she spoke, which was weird. The tipsy woman wrote down an address on a piece of scrap paper and put it in Jenny's hand and told her to tear up the paper after she first attended. She told Jenny only the minimum on the protocol (the "two buttons") and said she didn't want to spoil all the surprises at Feed. She said the first time is better when your mind is blown. But she warned Jenny not to go if she was a prude; Feed was for the open minded and the perverts. The woman's last piece of advice was: Stockings and thigh/knee highs allowed, even encouraged, but no pantyhose. Jenny didn't know quite what to make of that.
Jenny was open minded sexually and so was definitely interested. She had bisexual experiences and fetish experiences. She wasn't a prude and she knew her friend Lisa wasn't either, so Jenny invited Lisa to go one night while they were out drinking and loosened up. Neither would say it, but the sex-related taboo of this place excited their loins. And the feet aspect was also tantalizing. The woman said this was the place to take your feet after a long day of walking and shopping. And so Jenny picked a day and that's what they did. It was October, a little cold, so Jenny wore jeans, a sweater and her black boots. Lisa wore jeans, a pullover, and knee high stockings and her black flats. The woman said Feed was like the only high end restaurant that didn't much care about what you wore (except for the pantyhose rule). Their fathers were wealthy, so yea, some days they treated themselves. Most days though both women didn't lead expensive lives, they were raised very well and knew money didn't go on trees and that NYC was a city were you could lose a lot quickly if you weren't disciplined. Anyway, they hit up all the high end boutiques and shops and accumulated bags upon bags of clothes and shoes and etc. It was about 7pm and evening and both women noticed their legs and feet were tired from walking around all day.
"I think my feet are ready for this Feed place," Lisa said.
"Yeah, I really need to yank off these boots," Jenny responded, pleasantly surprised by what appeared to Lisa's kinky mood at the moment.
"My feet are gross and sweaty and I want to kick off these flats, maybe this place will massage our feet while we eat," Lisa added.
Jenny wondered if Lisa might have accidentally hit on this place's top secret. Simple foot massage made sense enough.
They found the mysterious little unlighted restaurant and paused out of fear of doing it all correctly to gain a seat, but they came this far and weren't going to be denied and so went in. The thick 6'4 black bouncer in his black suit gruffly eyed them up and took their stuff and told them to have their IDs ready for the next step. He took them some feet to the reservation desk manned by a young woman in glasses whose face was partially visible from the light of her computer screen. She scanned their IDs and told them to take a seat in the chairs nearby for a moment. Jenny and Lisa were too afraid to chit chat and just gave each other funny or bemused looks. After some minutes, the woman called them over and said they'd be seated in a moment. No employee so far had a nice tone in their voice; it was like you were lucky to be in here, we don't need your money. Very different from every other NYC restaurant.
While the place was dark, there was some comforting muted lighting of the ceiling area that helped you see everything in the ground area enough. Each half table faces a wall and so you sit next to your guest only, no facing any guest. You face the wall. And Jenny noticed this dark area under the table where the wall meets the floor, like a small baseball dugout looking hole. What the hell is that she thought. They sat down and Jenny put her booted foot into the dugout hole and yup, it was a dark hole. Did humans work down there? Come out of there? Lisa called Jenny's attention to the buttons on the table in front of each woman. One on the left said "1. Food" and the other said "2. Feed." Jenny was perplexed, but they were both excited enough.
Finally a server came and asked them if this was their first time and they said yes. She asked if they knew exactly what was going to happen and they said did not. The server said it was no big deal, she'd hand them helpful sheets of paper with brief instructions when the time came to do something. It was the first moment in this place that didn't feel so intimidating.
The menu was all pastas and macaroni, italian cuisine I guess. Spaghetti Carbonara, Spaghetti Bolognese, Fettuccine Alfredo, Four Cheese Macaroni And Cheese, etc. Pretty limted menu, but Jenny guessed that restaurants that did that made the limited dishes they mader perfect. Jenny ordered the Spaghetti Carbonara and Lisa selected the Fettuccine Alfredo.
They ordered wine and talked about the day and life and their families and upcoming holidays. But then Lisa brought them back to why they were there tonight.
"I don't get what the big deal is about this place," Lisa said disappointingly.
"Yeah, where the hell is my foot massage already," Jenny responsed.
Lisa laughed. She kept dangling her flats or slipping them off under the table, the cool air on her moist sweaty feet in her knee high stockings.
Finally after a bit, the waitress slipped them notes which told them their food was ready and they could press the "1. Food" buttons in front of them.
They looked at each other as they put their fingers on their respective buttons and pressed. Jenny wondered if this place will ever live up to what the tipsy woman at daddy's party made it out to be.
Their food was served, but the weirdest thing then happened and it changed the trajectory of the entire evening. As their plates hit the table, plates were hitting floor in front of them beneath them on the ground. Jenny leaned back and lowered her head and saw a very large tall bowl of...spaghetti carbonara on ground in front of her between her feet. Same with Lisa, except it was fettuccine alfredo.
As Jenny's jaw kinda dropped, she saw that Lisa was now looking too and they looked at each other dumbfounded. Finally, the waitress came over and slipped them notes again. They both read: Take off your shoes/boots and socks/hosiery and PUT THEM IN THE FOOD AND ENJOY!
They were shocked and looked at each other.
"Is this for real?" Jenny said.
"I...think it is," Lisa responded.
"What, what should we do?" Jenny asked.
"Fuck it, let's do it," Lisa said, suddenly smiling.
Jenny watched as Lisa slipped out of her flats and turned and put her one leg on her knee and slowly rolled off her beige knee high stocking and then did the same for the other foot. Then she looked at Jenny, wondering why she wasn't doing the same.
"C'mon, hurry up, I have my feet on the rim of the bowl now," Lisa said.
Jenny got off her boots and moist black socks quickly enough and placed her feet on her bowl's rim.
"Ok, I'm ready," Jenny said.
"I'm excited, I'm going for it," Lisa declared.
She put her feet on the alfredo and was struck by the hot warmth of her soles and arches on top of it.
"Oh Jen, it feels good," Lisa said, her eyes closed.
Jenny went a different route and slowly pushed down her toes into the carbonara (but not her whole foot). She too was surprised and hit with the hot warmth around her toes.
"Fuck, it does feel fucking good," Jenny responded, letting her toes wiggle in some noodles.
Both women were determined to take it slow, they didn't want to spoil their feet meal. They hadn't even touched the food on top of their tables. Didn't care about that.
Lisa then did like Jenny and pushed her toes into her alfredo some. She moaned and Jen noticed a little and looked over. Lisa realized the taboo of gross feet in food was what was hot about all this, the fact her feet were all soft and sweaty with alfredo sauce gathering between her toes, her sweat now mixed with the sauce.
Then the moment Lisa was waiting for: she pushed both feet deep into the spaghetti alfredo. And she moaned a great deal with her eyes closed as she gripped the sides of her chair as her head and shoulders leaned over her uneaten table food.
Jenny pushed her feet all way into the carbonara and leaned back, really taken aback by the warmth that now enveloped her feet. She moaned too.
"I don't think I've ever been so horny and turned on....here in a public restaurant, my feet being massaged by pasta," Lisa said, still gripping her chair.
"Oh I can't get over how good it feels with the spaghetti noodles caught between my toes, just mixing this all with my feet," Jenny responded, still leaned back but also gripping her chair.
"Yea, I love feeling the alfredo noodles hanging off my gross toes," Lisa added.
"This is heaven, that drunk wife who told me of this place was right," Jenny said.
"This is how you end a day walking all over the city," Lisa said.
Jenny wiggled her toes deep in the very warm hot spaghetti and pulled out gobs of noodles now between her toes. She looked at her feet while doing so and smiled. Though a little dark, she also watched Lisa lift her feet out with noodles between her toes and flex her toes. It turned Jenny on thinking of Lisa's pleasure. She loved how Lisa's feet looked covered in alfredo sauce, she seemed to want to lick or massage those feet.
A period of intense pleasure went on until the waitress came over and slipped them notes again. They both read: "Press the "2. Feed" button and your feet will become clean." This note was a lot less clear on what to do/what will happen, but at that this point the girls didn't care and pressed away.
Just when the women thought they couldn't get more wet, they each felt a hand a grip their ankle (firmly at first, then gently) and they looked down and saw the outline of men in the dugout-like hole holding their ankles. Then the mysterious men slowly gently sensually started licking and sucking the food from their feet.
Jenny was too overwhelmed to realize the "Feed" button made all too much sense now, you feed these...workers. The feeling of having noodles slurped from your toes was one that Jenny and Lisa had not imagined but it was unbelievably pleasurable. The employees stopped holding onto the girls' ankles the entire time as they got used to the play. The workers took each of their floor food bowls and put their food on long square plates so the women could rest their feet on that and so the employees could have easier access to their feet.
Lisa loved that her feeding employee was slipping his tongue between her toes, trying to lick out all the sauce (and probably toejam) there. Jenny enjoyed that her footlicker took her all of her toes into his mouth and she enjoyed flexing her toes inside his mouth. After a bit, he aggressively sucked on each toe individually and really got some suction going, which really got Jenny hot. Jenny didn't watch the whole time, so a lot of the experience was her visualizing in her imagination and such visualizing only heightened her sexual excitement. The same with Lisa. She really liked it when her footlicker focused on her sauce-covered heel, he licked and sucked and even nibbled a little. He slid his lips along the inner edge of her foot until locking them onto the inside of her arch, slowly extending his tongue against her smooth flesh. She just couldn't believe the pleasure as she continued to writhe and sweat in her seat.
Jenny loved scooping up some pasta with her feet and having it eaten off. But eventually their dedicated footlickers started taking rags and towels to their feet to thoroughly clean them off. The girls realized they'd hardly eaten their meals and asked for them to be boxed up. They grinned from ear to ear as they paid their bill with a huge tip and went to Lisa's apartment.
They'd never thought to play with each other, but they made love that night and it changed their lives forever. The biggest change perhaps was their newfound obsession with Feed and foot worship and having foot slaves. What became of Feed? Well, it went on to devour the normal unfreaky sex lives of many young women (mostly) in the Big Apple. Perhaps there other stories to tell of this legendary ever mysterious New York haunt.