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[b][u][center]Two Scouts, One Sole

Part 3

For Quarian

By Draconicon[/center][/u][/b]

Despite getting two more breaks during the long night – and several more moments of foot-fetish molestation that he still didn’t entirely know how to process – Zal’Haar was almost dead on his feet when they finally reached their destination. As soon as Chas turned toward one of the rock faces and the Quarian saw the hole in the stone that awaited them, a low, quivering whimper escaped his lips.

“Heh, that bad?” the Drell asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I’ve never walked this far in my life.”

“Soft-foot.”

“I know.”

“Come on.”

They stepped into the shade – a welcome change considering the rising heat that had been growing increasingly noticeable over the last hour – and moved through several quick twists and turns in the rock. In the back of his head, Zal guessed that it was because it kept the sunlight – and therefore, more of the heat – further toward the entrance of the cave. Further in, it would be cooler, darker, and more inhabitable if they weren’t dealing with that all the time. A cave that had a straight entrance to the main chamber would face much more sunlight, particularly during certain times of day.

As the world descended into further darkness, however, he was just thankful for the feeling of the cool stone underfoot, and slumped to his knees to press his whole body to it. There was a coolness to the ground that the sand missed; the solidity of it made it easier on his leg muscles, and the Quarian just let loose the biggest sigh of relief that he could ever remember making.

And then, the rain started.

At first, he was shocked that there could be rain at all. Then, he wondered at the heat of it. Then, finally, he turned his head to look upward.

Chas stood over him, and just like him, the Drell was soaked to the skin with sweat. Unlike him, however, the other man was standing over him and just…dripping. Droplets of sweat ran down his chest, his legs, his face, everywhere, soaking him and running down before falling right on Zal’s face.

“Mmmph…what…”

“You are not sleeping yet.”

“But –”

“I am your guide. You will pay first.”

“Pay? How?”

“With appreciation.”

Appreciation – oh. Right. He bit his lips as he rolled onto his side, slowly levering himself back up with one arm. Chas stood over him, straddling his head, not quite pushing his crotch into the Quarian’s face, but coming dangerously close to that. The little beads of sweat along his thighs continued to dribble down, falling free of his skin and raining down onto Zal’s chest, his shoulders, and more.

It had a strong, though not unpleasant, smell. A heady musk filled the air, making it hard to think of anything but the big man in front of him. Standing over him, that six-foot-six height made him look even taller, looming, powerful with all those muscles and powerful lines running across his body. The Drell appearance of slight scaliness in places helped that, making him look just enough inhuman to be exotic, and just humanoid enough to still be appealing.

And it was worse when he lifted one foot, holding the broad sole over the Quarian’s face. The underside was wet, but clean – the ointment having done its job through the night – and the sweat drops rained freely.

Right on his face, as a matter of fact.

He opened his mouth, letting some of them fall on his tongue. The taste was salty, slightly sour, but no more than that. His cock, having gone up and down all night, continued to rise as he tasted more of it.

“You would be in high demand in my village.”

“Mmmph…I’m sure.”

“Tender soles like you are…very wanted.”

It almost sounded like an invitation. Zal couldn’t help but smile just a bit at that, but he put the idea down. No, that would be a little too much of a diversion, no matter how fun it would be to try out being one of their ‘tender soles.’ They would probably keep him there well past the time when he was supposed to get in touch with the Fleet, and that would get him in trouble, and…

No, it wasn’t a good idea. A good fantasy, but not a good idea.

“Heh, perhaps some other time…”

He stroked the other man’s heel, holding it aloft as he leaned in and kissed the arch of that big, broad, blue foot. Tracing his tongue along the ball of the foot, he worked his way to the toes, kissing each one before licking between them. Each taste was another little tremor of pleasure all the way down to his dick, and he groaned as he pulled his head back with more than a little reluctance.

Zal worked his way along the bottom of that big blue sole, tracing lines along the bottom, then further up. He worked his way between the toes, sucking on them briefly, before turning his attention to the rise of the arch.

With every lick, it was impossible to miss the other male’s cock rising in his shorts. He was already so hard, so stiff, and he was growling under his breath. It was almost like teasing something feral out of the Drell, and if he wasn’t so exhausted, Zal would have done more in the way of teasing.

However, he needed sleep. He was barely holding himself up as it was.

As the rain of sweat continued to fall over him, soaking him further and further, he worked his way long the other man’s leg. He kissed over the heel, then along the ankle, licking and tasting him. The heavy salt taste was stronger the higher he went, losing some of the natural musk that clung to the sole and becoming more just the taste of flesh.

“Tender sole, indeed…and eager to be used like one.”

“Mmmph…”

“You would be held out in my clan. Your legs pinned. Your sensitive soles put to use.”

“Mmmph…like in a stockade?”

“Perhaps. Or suspended by rope for all to see and use.”

It was a temptation, and one that grew by the second. Zal turned his head into the Drell’s thigh, grinding his face into the sweaty flesh just below the bottom of the shorts. He didn’t want to think too hard about the possibilities there; it was one of those things that felt so good to think about, but would it really be a good idea to go through?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know.

He was just about to give in and give that bulge a kiss when Chas pulled his leg back.

“Best not drink too much salt,” he said. “Drink some water, then go to sleep.”

“But –”

“We have many days ahead to walk. You’ll have another chance soon, soft-foot.”

Grumbling but thankful nonetheless, Zal took the offered bottle of water and chugged down half of it. He wanted more, but he knew that they had to save their resources for as long as possible. The last thing they needed was to run out of water while they were still crossing the sands. The heat would push enough sweat out of them as it was; if they ran out of ways to restore that, they were in trouble.

Once he’d finished the water, he passed the bottle back. Chas laid down, but rather than unhooking the leash, he pulled it tighter. The Quarian yelped as he was pulled by the collar around his neck closer and closer to the shackled ankle, until he was lying down with his face right against the other man’s feet.

“Um…”

“You are my charge; you will sleep where I say.”

“…Not complaining here.”

“Mm. Didn’t think you would.”

The toes curled, drawing him in a bit closer, and Zal got to work finding a position that would let him use those large, surprisingly plush feet as a pillow. It took less time than he thought it would, and he closed his eyes, calling for dream to take him. With all his exhaustion, that happened almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

#

He was back on one of the Fleet ships, the long, narrow corridors that maintenance tended to keep to spreading out into the distance. He almost felt like the time in the desert had been a dream…almost.

He stood in the middle of a sparking tunnel with an obvious safety violation. His ankles were shackled, metal bands wrapped around them, keeping his body-suit from covering his feet. Both pairs of twin-toes curled, grinding against the hard metal underfoot, and he hissed under his breath as tiny little shocks jumped from exposed wiring, ‘tormenting’ his feet as he walked down the hall.

[i]How long…[/i]

As long as he could remember, he’d been barefoot. A Quarian cursed by lottery to have his feet exposed, to show what kind of pervert he was. Just an eager, toe-sucking little creature with an abnormal set of genes that allowed him to be barefoot, but no more. His body couldn’t be exposed, but his feet could.

He was a freak among Quarians.

He was a pervert.

He left the tunnel and stepped into the more open spaces that he remembered. Other Quarians, fully suited, looked at him like some sort of lower-being, someone that was different, off.

Zal’Haar shivered as some of them looked down at his feet, their gaze pointed, their eyes glimmering with disapproval beneath their helmets. They judged him for what made him different, and more, for enjoying it, showing off, indulging himself in a way that they could not, would not.

He was a soft-foot.

He was a pervert.

He was what they tried not to be.

A magnetic current stopped his feet in place just as he was about to walk out of the middle of the room. A spotlight shone from above, and the current flicked around, lifting him right off his feet. Zal’Haar fell over backwards, hanging from his own shackles, his feet presented to the rest of the room.

“Look what we have here. A perverted member of the crew. The foot-loving Zal’Haar,” a voice said over the intercom, calling to all the other Quarian. “Look at him. Look at his perversions. Look at how low he is.”

There was no way for him to argue back; he was too busy blushing as they came forward from all reaches of the ship. Some of them were just staring, while others carried shock-sticks in hand. They lifted them, little sparks dancing from the tips of the metal prongs.

“This is a pervert. This is not the evolution that we need. Show him where he belongs. Teach him to be ashamed again.”

They stepped forward, and the first prong touched his foot. Zal’Haar gasped, trying and failing to pull his foot back due to the shackles keeping them up, exposed, shown off, helpless. Nothing could be done.

Zap.

Zap.

Zap.

Each prod and poke sent another shocking blast of heat and pain through his foot, leaving him hissing in his suit and clenching his teeth as he was tormented, ‘tortured’ for having this adaptation. His eyes rolled back as he felt another prod, another poke beneath his toes, over his arch, jammed into his heel.

Pain.

Sensitivity.

Pleasure.

Tickles.

They all blended together into stimulation that he couldn’t encapsulate, and could only spasm, gasp, and shiver his way through. He arched his back, he swung his body around, but all he could do was stare up at them as they continued. Zap. Zap. Zap. And through it all, his cock…

His cock was getting harder. Stiffer. Each pulse of pain-pleasure through his feet knocked him for a loop, his eyes rolling back in shock and surprise as he kept getting pushed further, further, further.

“Punish him.”

Zap.

“Show him what he has become.”

Zap.

“Show him where he belongs.”

Zap.

#

Hiss.

“Nnngh!”

Zal almost bolted awake, and would have if it wasn’t for the feet pinning his face to the ground. At some point during the night, he had rolled over in his sleep, or perhaps had been rolled over. It was hard to tell, precisely. All he knew was that –

Hiss.

“NNNGH!”

“Finally awake?”

Chas’s voice was just enough to keep him from freaking out, but the heated, hissing feeling under his soles didn’t go away. He couldn’t see past the soles that he was shackled to, staring between the toes or between the arches when he could, but mostly, he was just [i]stuck[/i]. It was…embarrassing, to say the least, and mildly arousing, too.

“Tender sole like you, thought I’d see how sensitive you were. Turns out, very.”

“What…what are you doing down there?”

“Just applying a little heat.”

Another blast of the same hissing, searing heat tickled under his toes. He spasmed, trying to pull his legs back, trying to pull his feet out of the way of that heat, but the Drell had him pinned in place, his legs extended, his ankles pinned to the ground. It felt like a fire was caressing in the curves and grooves just under the base of his toes, like a tongue of flame was licking him right up to the point of true pain before it stopped.

“Ah…ah…ah…”

“Feels like you like that.”

“Nnngh…just…morning wood.”

“That so?”

The heat returned, just between his toes, and he very nearly cursed out loud at the sudden attack. The only thing that stopped him were the soles pressed firmly against his mouth, keeping him from doing anything but grumbling in muttered tones against the softer, plush flesh.

“Mmmph…”

“Cock jumps pretty hard at that. Seems like you like it.”

“Mmmph…”

“Something you want to tell me?”

“Dream. Fantasy. Just a few things – AH!”

Whatever the hot thing was, it plunged against the exact center of his foot, not just hot, but [i]hard,[/i] like some heated bit of metal. His imagination fed him the image of getting his perfect soles branded, humiliated like some capture [i]thing[/i] that was no more than the perfect little sole-toy for someone else, and his cock ached at the same time that he tried to shrink back from the intense fantasy.

Thankfully, the heat pulled away before it could get any worse, but he was still left with shivers and tremors that were almost overwhelming. He struggled to catch his breath as his guide/captor pulled his feet back, giving him the chance to sit up, finally.

“Better?”

“What…the hell…was that?”

Chas held up what looked like a metal rod, perhaps a foot long, with a small trigger at the base. When he pulled the trigger partway, the tip of the rod started to glow, growing hotter and hotter. When he dragged the trigger the rest of the way back, the heat came out in a little puff of dull orange flame.

“Not as hot as true-flame, but useful,” Chas said.

“Nnngh…”

“Hard as stone, aren’t you?”

“Maybe…”

The Drell glanced down between his thighs, and Zal didn’t have to do the same to know that he was bluffing, at best. His cock was hard as a rock, alright, and it was begging for more and more attention. He looked down and to the side, shaking his head.

“Okay, I am.”

“Not just a soft-foot, not just a tender sole.”

“You have [i]more[/i] names for perverts and people under you?”

“We live in a hierarchy. There are names for every level. I just keep finding new ones for you.”

“Great. Lovely.”

The Drell rolled off him, and he grunted as he was able to get a clear breath of air without all the pressure on his legs and middle. The sheer throbbing hardness between his legs, however, was quite the hard thing to ignore. He bit his lips as he sat up, ignoring the urge to grab it and ease his tension –

“Ulk!”

Only for the collar around his neck to get another tug. Onto all fours, he had to crawl behind Chas until the other male pulled the leash to a greater slackness, allowing him the chance to get to his feet once more. He rubbed the back of his neck, shaking his head at the mild bruise that was already forming back there.

“Do you have to be that rough?”

“Pay more attention.”

“I’m being a good tender sole, aren’t I? I figured you’d treat softer people more gently.”

“Heh. That what you think?”

Chas pulled out the ointment, shoving out a hefty amount of it for himself before tossing the container to the Quarian. They sat down near each other, slowly applying it for the day ahead.

“So, what you’re saying is, the soft-foots don’t get special treatment?”

“Wouldn’t be good for them if they did. Tender soles are precious, but not much good for anything but pleasure,” Chas explained. “Soft-foots need to learn. Sometimes, they learn they’ll never be more, but sometimes they learn something else. And there’s only room for so many soft-foots at once. And even less room for tender soles.”

“…What happens to the ones that don’t make the cut?” Zal asked.

“We trade them to other clans. Sometimes off-world.”

“Slavery?”

“Heh, no. They get sent off, traded for warriors, or others. Clans need new blood. But they leave [i]our[/i] clan, and everything we do. No guarantee that the other clans will treat them the same. Or as good.”

Which meant that Chas’s clan had managed to find a way to not get too heavy on one end of the spectrum. Only a certain number could be tender soles; once too many were going in that direction, then the ones that weren’t as good had to either toughen up, or find somewhere else to be. And sometimes, that somewhere else wouldn’t be as good as the clan that they were leaving behind.

It wasn’t ideal, but it was a good way for them to survive. The desert would be cruel to anyone that didn’t make it.

“So…are you saying that there’s better tender soles back at your clan? Ones with better feet than me?” Zal asked, lifting one foot and curling his toes playfully.

“Heh. Not sure; been a while since I was home.”

“I would imagine that I’m better.”

“Could come stay a while. Find out.”

“That almost sounds like an invitation. Are you falling for me, Chas?”

“Hmmph.”

“Heh…”

He didn’t push it. The last thing that he needed was to stumble over some unseen bit of dignity or tradition that he really needed not to offend. He didn’t need the Drell to adore him, really, but…

Well, it was another little temptation to throw into the pile. If there were that many soft-foots and tender soles in the clan, then he imagined that there would be more people like him. He’d not met very many of those; most other people that were into feet were very casually into it, maybe willing to grind on his or play with them a bit, but mostly wanting him under their soles. There hadn’t been any other people that got so far into the submissive mindset that he had, wanting to be around other people’s feet and having his used in the same way, and he’d often wondered what it would be like to have a friend that [i]did[/i] get into that side of things.

[i]I’d probably end up competing with them,[/i] Zal thought, rubbing some of the ointment along his soles and between his toes. [i]But I think I’d win, eventually. I do take good care of myself, after all…[/i]

And he had more experience among the other species in the galaxy than most people would think to look at him. He had traveled from system to system, with the Fleet and away from it. He imagined that he could pick up the Drell customs soon enough.

“So, what do they go through?” he asked. “I mean, to see if they can be more than soft-foots. By the way, aren’t your feet pretty soft?”

“It’s not a measure of foot-feel. It is a measure of your capability.”

“…Could you explain that?”

“A soft-foot cannot walk for long, or trek the great sands, or weather pain. They fold and break. If you walked on heated sands, how long could you bear it?”

“…I guess…maybe half an hour, at the most?”

“I have born it from sunrise to sunset.”

Zal stared at his guide. Chas chuckled.

“You are surprised?”

“I – how?”

“I am hard-heeled. I have learned.”

It was more than just learning. He remembered the intense pleasure that the Drell had clearly taken from being worshiped, and knew that it wasn’t just from the feeling of having someone under his heel. The sensitivity to pleasure and touch was [i]clearly[/i] there, and yet, he was able to ignore the pain that would come from having his feet all but cooked on the open sands during the day?

His confusion must have shown on his face, because Chas just smiled and shook his head.

“Soft-foot. Someone like you would never understand.”

“I certainly don’t right now.”

“It is discipline. Focus. Choosing when to feel things, and when to succumb. It is the choice of when to indulge, and when to push through.”

“That almost sounds like you have a control panel in your head for this sort of thing.”

Chas shrugged, but the impossibility of the whole situation still bothered him. Oh, he knew that there were those out there with implants and augmentations that could adjust how much pain they were feeling at a given time – not particularly advisable, considering the way that it also blinded one to the sort of injuries that they were getting – but this wasn’t the same thing. This was almost like a mental technique, able to ignore whatever bothered oneself…and without injury, for that matter.

[i]He doesn’t have any scars from heat burns, so…[/i]

There had to be something else. The ointment, perhaps, but that seemed too mild, and if that was the case, they could be walking during the day, anyway. So how did he hold the urges back?

“Do…many soft-foots make it through the toughening up?” he asked.

“Some.”

“And the others go?”

“Or are traded. Or find that they cannot settle the way they once did.”

“Settle?”

“They have tried and failed. It is hard to settle for something less after that.”

Zal looked down at the cave floor. Settling for something less…

He remembered his dream. It had been intense, perhaps too intense in some ways, but it still showed him the difference between him and the other Quarians that knew what he was like. He was almost helpless to his urges when someone else started pushing them, making it harder and harder for him to think straight, while they were as condemning as could be, not even letting him enjoy it in a sensible way. To them, it was better to merely use the suit and hide that the urges even existed; after all, to do what he did made him very vulnerable to other people, and they were keen to avoid any sense of vulnerability.

[i]What would it be like, to have that sort of control?[/i] he wondered, glancing at Chas out of the corner of his eye as he continued slathering the ointment over his chest and down his back. [i]What would it be like to just…pick when you wanted to be overwhelmed with the pleasure of the whole thing?[/i]

He couldn’t imagine it. It felt almost like cheating.

Zal was about to reach between his legs when Chas reached out and stopped him. The Quarian looked up.

“One thing first.”

“Wanting to do it yourself?” he teased.

“No. But something first.”

The Drell scout pulled something else from his pack. Rather than the ointment, it was an aerosol container, and he was surprised that it hadn’t exploded from the heat pressure just yet. Then again, they had been in cooler places during the hottest part of the day, so perhaps it had been made to accommodate for that.

He spread his legs, allowing his morning wood to bob up and down between them. Chas leaned over and pushed down on the canister, forcing it to spray.

At first, it was almost a bit too warm, running like a tickling heat along his shaft and down against his sac. He kept his legs spread, assuming that it was supposed to be that way, but the heat grew, increasing until it was like a low-level prickle along his shaft. It didn’t [i]burn[/i] precisely, but it was…remarkably distracting. He gripped the rock, clenching his jaw as the Drell stopped and took the ointment in hand.

It wasn’t until Zal realized that Chas was taking great care not to touch his cock and balls without a great deal of the ointment between his skin and the Quarian that he realized that this wasn’t just a medicinal thing. This was something else. And as the ointment slathered him up from sac to the base of his shaft, he could feel the heat warping, going from a simple burning sensation to something more…prickly. Almost…tickly.

“What…what was that?” he said through gritted teeth.

“[i]That[/i] is one way that we discipline and toughen-up the soft-foots. Itching spray.”

“Nnngh…”

“You are not allowed to touch it,” Chas said, grabbing his hands as they started moving for it. “You are not allowed to ease it without permission.”

“This is torture.”

“It is something that you can learn to ignore. You will try.”

“Mmmph…and how long…how long do I have to try?”

“Until the halfway mark for the night.”

“Half – that’s at least four hours from now!”

“Yes. And?”

He opened his mouth…then closed it again.

For all that he wanted to get rid of the tickle-prickles that were already dancing up and down his shaft and sac in waves, he knew that there was no way to just [i]demand[/i] it from the other man. More than that, there was a strange sense of pride now, something that demanded that he not make things more difficult.

[i]I’m not like…that kind of soft-foot…[/i]

As much as he blushed, as much as he enjoyed the way that he had gotten used, the idea that he might be something that just got traded off…It bothered him. For all that he wasn’t one of Chas’s clan, and knew that he would never be, the idea that he could be seen as one of those that wasn’t good enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t enough to make the cut, pushed him to ignore the tickle-itching down below for as long as he could. It wasn’t that he needed to prove himself, of course, but suddenly he wanted to.

He struggled to his feet, his shaft throbbing upright as he did. Chas looked down at him with a knowing smirk, and the Quarian grunted as he grabbed his share of the load, shouldering it as quickly as he could.

“How far are we going today?” he grunted.

“Aiming for at least thirty miles. Perhaps forty.”

“Then we better get moving.”

“You think you can start now?”

“We’ll eat on the way.”

“Heh…soft-foot is eager.”

“Let’s get moving.”

He knew he was overcompensating, and he knew that he would regret it later. But for now, he wanted to –

“ULK!”

The collar didn’t quite choke him, but it did pull him up short. Zal took a step back, rubbing his neck, and looked back over his shoulder. Chas stood behind him, one eyebrow raised, almost playfully, and gestured down to the ankle shackle that kept them connected. The Quarian blushed, bowing his head a bit and gesturing ahead.

“You’re the guide, after all.”

“Indeed. Come.”

He followed after, shaking his head at the momentary stupidity that had almost caused him quite a bit more difficulty. He’d have to do better at keeping his head on straight if he didn’t want to end up doing that again.

Still…that had been oddly hot…

[b][u][center]The End[/center][/u][/b]

Summary: Zal and Chas have a little bit of fun, and a little dream pushes Zal into a vaguely different state of mind.

Tags: M/M, Quarian, Bondage, Drell, Desert, Nudity, Exposed, Foot Fetish, Sweat, Musk, Worship, Affection, Teasing, Miniseries, Cultural Foot Fetish, Foot Torture, E-stim, Pain, Heat,