FSE

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Samuel Westmoreland's career as a hypnotherapist was as clean as the way he dressed. His stout rabbit frame was covered in light gray fur textured with flecks of golden brown. It was well-trimmed and manicured, left to grow only around his jowls to form a winged pair of sideburns. His astute appearance was maintained further by beige tweed jackets, replete with matching vests and pants. He was rarely seen without a pince-nez perched on his snout, right above his pink rabbit nose. His floppy rabbit ears were always kept erect above his head, a display of attention that always made his clients feel heard and welcome. His words were clear and articulated when he spoke, conveying exactly what he intended, how he intended it.

Presentation and demeanor kept him one of the most successful and trusted therapists available. People across the city came to him for advice and guidance. His signature work behind a pocket watch was somewhat of a legend. Had a bad habit? Anxiety? Low self-esteem? Sit in front of Sam's watch for a few swings and all your problems will fade.

Maxwell had seen the ads in the paper and heard all of the rumors, landing him in Sam's lobby for an appointment. He was a Norwegian rat wearing a hoodie and jeans. His fingers were laced in front of his knees. The hemispheres of his face were separated by a soft charcoal and a creamy white. From his ratty nose twitched a forest of long whiskers. Staring off into the mahogany face of the reception desk, he kept a pensive look on his face. Time was ticking slowly. The package bulging his hoodie pocket felt heavy.

Sandra, the receptionist, was behind the desk. When the phone rang she picked it up, held it to her head for a moment, then smiled at Maxwell. "Dr. Westmoreland will see you now."

Maxwell stood up and slid his paws into his hoodie pocket, closing his fingers around the manila envelope and its dense contents. He thanked her and went through the door leading to Sam's office. The doctor was sitting at his desk in front of his computer. Behind him was a massive cabinet where he kept a montage of family photos. There was a small sofa on the wall to Maxwell's left and a matching armchair across from it. On the windowsill sat a collection of odd trinkets. The walls were hung with paintings and Sam's diploma.

Sam perked from his keyboard and smiled at the rat. "Maxwell?"

"Yes sir."

"Come on in!" Sam gestured towards the sofa. "Have a seat. Get comfy."

"Thanks." Maxwell stepped the rest of the way in and closed the door behind him. He drifted towards the sofa and sat down. Once he was settled he leaned on the backrest with his paws in his hoodie.

"I'll be right with you. Just give me ooooooone second, please," Sam said while typing away at his keyboard.

"No problem."

Just a few seconds of typing later and Sam got up from his desk, smiling warmly at his new client. "So! It's nice to meet you Maxwell. Do I call you Max or Maxwell?" He sat down in the armchair across from the sofa and kicked one leg over the other. On his feet were fine leather shoes.

"Uh, you can call me Max or Maxwell. I don't mind."

"What do your friends call you?"

"Max, mostly."

"Alright, I'll call you Max, then. Is that OK?"

Max nodded. "Yeah."

"Awesome! Can I get you anything to drink? I have bottled water and coffee."

Max's immediate instinct was to reject the offer, but he realized how dry his mouth had become, no doubt a result of his nerves. "Yeah, a water sounds nice."

"No problem." Sam bent around the armchair and reached for a mini-fridge that sat next to it. He cracked it open and pulled out a mini-bottle of water that he passed to Max. "Tell me if you want another. I've got them out the wazoo."

"Thanks." Max twisted the top and then took a deep swig. He brought it down and put the cap back on.

"So, Max. What brings you here? What was it you wanted to talk about? Doesn't have to be anything specific. Just whatever you feel needs to be said. I'm all ears."

"Well, OK..." Here we go. "I kinda... I came here 'cause I hear you do hypno stuff."

Sam nodded. "I do."

"And that stuff works?"

"If you want it to and are open to it then yes, it will. I can help with addictions and self-esteem issues. A lot of people come in complaining about a lack of work-ethic, procrastinators and the like. People who don't think they've got the willpower to start doing things. Does any of that sound like it applies to you?"

"Um, no, not really."

"OK. Tell me what does, then. I'd like to help you."

I doubt that, not with what I'm about to ask you. "Yeah... Um... It kinda has to do with my job."

"Alright, and what do you do for a living?"

"I'm a manager at an indoor rock climbing place."

"I see, and is that stressful?"

"No, it's pretty fun actually. Hiking and mountain climbing is my hobby. I don't mean to brag, but I'm pretty good at it."

"I bet it is! That's a lot of hard work. Is it dangerous?"

"Not too dangerous, at least not the ones I climb."

"It's still impressive."

"Thanks."

"So what about your job needs improving? Or rather what do you need to improve on?"

"Well, nothing like that. My job and I are fine. I love what I do and I'm good at it. I work with people who have the same passions I do and I get to teach kids how cool climbing is."

Sam lifted his eyebrow. "That's good to hear. If you don't mind me asking, then, what are you looking to change about yourself?"

"Yeah... Um..." Max licked his lip and then bit it, revealing his pearlescent buck teeth. "I wanna get hypnotized 'cause... I wanna do something embarrassing." He cringed in his seat. It was the first time saying it outloud, and already he was ashamed.

Sam tilted his head and frowned. "You want to do something... embarrassing? Like... how embarrassing? Why do you want to do something embarrassing?"

Max chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "Ain't that a good fuckin' question. Sorry, can I cuss?"

"Doesn't bother me. Speak as you please."

"Cool. Uhh... I don't know. It's hard to explain."

"You said it had to do with your job."

"Oh yeah. Well, like I said. I got a good gig, where I work. Cool people and cool kids. I got it all under wraps. But that's the thing, doc, I don't always want to be in control like I always am."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "So you want someone else to take responsibility?"

"Yeah. No... I don't know." Max slumped back on the sofa. "I just never been in a place where someone's had authority over me, at least not since I started runnin' the place. It's kinda like I wanna do something bad, something that'll get me in trouble. Nothing too crazy, you know, but something that's kinda risky and embarrassing." The tip of his pink wormtail was in a curl on the sofa cushion next to him. The tip of it was dangling over the edge where it did a soft flick against the upholstery, letting out a dull thump.

Sam noticed. Is he getting excited? "OK..." Sam tapped his finger on his knee. How do I approach this? "What did you have in mind that was embarrassing and that would get you in trouble?"

Suddenly Max started to blush. He looked away, smiling awkwardly. "Yeah, well... It's kinda weird."

Sam shook his head. "There's nothing too weird for me, Max."

"Yeah? You won't tell anyone?"

"Max, I'd be breaking the law if I did. Unless you talk about hurting someone else or yourself, I'm legally obligated to keep anything and everything you say in this room. You can tell me."

Max let out a long exhale. "Hooooooooo... OK." He gulped. "I wanna get caught doing naughty stuff with a guy."

Sam, professional that he was, betrayed no reaction. If anything, this was tame compared to what he was bracing for and had encountered in the past. "OK. Sort of like a leaked sex tape, perhaps?"

Max thought about it. "Yeah, maybe something like that, or pics of me doing something kinky get leaked on the web and get me in trouble. Mainly I wanna be forced to do something embarrassing and have it leaked for people to see. I want someone to take control of me, take advantage of me." Max's face was ablaze, but he couldn't stop talking. "Like, I want someone to make me suck their toes or suck their dick. Yeah, like that." He noticed that an erection was starting to grow in his pants. He pulled down on his hoodie, making sure that any bulge was obscured.

Sam saw him do it, but remained placid. It was a perfectly normal, physiological reaction. No need to be ashamed of it. "I see. And what do you want me to do? Do you want me to remove your inhibitions? Give you the courage to go out and perform something like that?"

Max didn't answer immediately. When he did, he gave the response Sam most feared. "I want you to make me do it to you."

Sam had expected as much, yet it still fell on his chest like an ax. A steep inhale flew through his nose. He shifted the tilt of his head from over one shoulder to the other. His bunny nose went into a persistent twitch. Quite suddenly it was his mouth that was dry. "I see. You know I can't do that."

The disappointment was palpable. "Come on, doc. You're the only hypno guy in the city. The only good one, from what I hear. You're the best."

"I appreciate that, but it doesn't mean I'm going to fulfill your sexual fantasies, Maxwell." Sam hoped the mention of his full name would help deliver the magnitude of his request. He reached back towards the mini-fridge and pulled out some water for himself. While maintaining a stern gaze at Max he twisted off the cap and took a sip. "You know I'm a professional. You are too, it seems. Quite frankly, I'm upset you would come in here and ask me that."

"Yeah, I know... I just..." He took a deep breath. "It's more of a life thing than a sex thing, you know? I'm trying to feel like I don't have to be in control all the time."

"You said that. If it's more of a life thing in your eyes then we should talk about it, not act on your sexual desires. I'll even hypnotize you, but in no way will it be for anything deviant like you want it to."

Max looked crestfallen. "You really won't make me do anything? Is it 'cause you're straight?"

Sam's scowl deepened. "That's none of your business, Max. Whether I am or not would have no sway on my decision."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right. Sorry. But uh... I think I know what will."

"And what would that be? If you make any advances on me I'm kicking you out and I'll call the mall security."

"No, it's not that, I swear. It's this." Max pulled his paw out of his hoodie pocket. In it was a manila envelope. It was fat with its contents, the edges wrinkled and worn. He reached it out to Sam. "Here. Look at what's in there."

Sam gawked at it. He had a very good idea what was in it, but knew very well that taking it was a violation of everything he stood for in the highest regard. "I don't want it."

Max gave the envelope a lift. "Come on. Just look. See what it is, please."

"I know what it is. I don't want it."

"You're not gonna look first?"

"No, I'm not. I don't want it."

"Come on, doc. Just look. See if it's something you like." Max lifted his butt off the couch and placed the package on Sam's lap. He sat back down. "Just look. If you like it, you can have it. Maybe it'll change your mind. If you don't like it, I'll take it back and we'll forget about it."

Sam stared at the envelope. It was heavy, really heavy. Just having it sit there made a lump form in his throat. It should've repulsed him, but looking at it filled him with an excitement that had his blood electrified. He dared to pick the package up. The metal prongs holding the flap came up, then he opened it. He looked inside. There were stacks and stacks of bills, their flanks pressed against each other to form a thickness like that of a book. They were held together in bands. From the face of just one stack Sam could recognize the face of Andrew Jackson.

"60,000," Max said flatly. "Feel free to count. They're all real. Every one of them. Trust me when I say that ain't no skin off my back. I got more. Way more."

Sam gulped and closed the envelope. "I see. I believe you." He looked back up at Max, that stern look of his having switched into blank shock. "I won't ask you where you got this."

"Working," Max said. "And some investments. Don't worry about it. I'm a clean guy, I swear. Just some money to burn, is all. Thought I'd burn it on you."

"I see. I appreciate it." He flattened the package on his lap with one paw as if to protect it. He'd never seen, let alone held so much money in his entire life. Being a talented therapist and psychologist earned him a healthy living of over 100k a year, but that wasn't enough to throw away 60,000 so recklessly. Max had to have been a wealthy man. "OK. I think I'll consider it."

Max smirked. "Thanks. Think you'll hypnotize me into doing something weird? Something that'll make me look perverted and embarrass me?"

Again Sam gulped. He nodded. "I... I may. If that's what you want, and if it'll make you feel better."

"It will, trust me. I want you to take my control and make me your puppet."

Sam's heart thumped. He could feel his penis starting to get hard in its sheath. "Yes, I can do that."

"Maybe take some pictures and post 'em online. Make me a real slut for the world to see."

For Christ's sake, stop drilling. You've already struck oil. "Of course. I'll do that too."

Max cracked a wide grin, showing off his buck tooth again. "Awesome. Let's do it."

"Ah, yes. Right. Um..." Sam picked up the package and put it on top of the mini fridge. "I'll just... put that there."

"Do whatever you want with it, doc."

"Right. OK." He cleared his throat and sat upright. In the breast pocket of his jacket was his pocket watch. When it came out it shimmered in the light with its platinum finish. It was closed. The letter W was stenciled on the lid in a fancy black script. It was on the end of a matching platinum fob. He dangled it in the air between them. "Are you ready?"

Max's heart was beating out of his chest. "More ready than you can believe."

"OK. Here we go." After taking one more sip from his water and putting it on the floor next to his feet, Sam started swinging the watch. "Follow the watch. Don't look at me, but listen to what I say. Stay relaxed. Don't move."

Max leaned back on the couch. His eyes swept back and forth in their sockets, honed in on that shimmering hunk of metal.

"What's your name?" asked Sam.

"Max."

"Max. How old are you?"

"32."

"32. Max, what's your mother's name?"

"Uh, Janet."

"Janet. Max, what day of the week is it?"

"Um... Hold on." A moment's pause. "Tuesday. It's Tuesday."

"Tuesday. Max, what car do you drive?"

And so it went on. Sam asked his questions, repeated the answer, then asked another one. He wasn't keeping track of Max's answers, instead focusing on the state of Max's eyes. He kept the swing of the watch at a perfect cadence, never swinging it too far or too short. The watch spun slowly, making a full rotation every fourth swing. Sam's voice was low and monotone, never raised into a speaking voice but held above a whisper. Behind the watch he did not move. His eyes were drilled into Max's. His questions started to repeat, but Max didn't notice. His answer times were getting longer.

"Ali. Max, how old are you?" Sam asked for the third time now.

"Uh..." Max's jaw was slack. He was sitting forward with his elbows on his knees, just so he could stay upright. His eyelids were getting heavy. He smacked his lips and yawned. "Uhhhhhh... I'm sorry, what'd you say?"

"I want you to tell me how old you are, Max."

"Yeah, yeah, right. Um..." His eyes closed. A moment of silence passed. "32," he said without opening his eyes again. "I'm... 32."

"32. Max, are you sleepy right now?"

One eye creaked open. It stared ahead aimlessly. He grunted softly.

"Max, are you about to go to sleep? Can you look at the watch?"

His eye didn't move in its socket. Instead the eyelid fell shut. Max remained silent.

That was it. Sam stopped his paw from moving, letting the watch slow to a stop on its own. He bundled the watch and the fob together and tucked it back into his jacket pocket. "OK, Max. You're going to be my servant. You're going to be very small and afraid. You're going to be out of control. You're going to do everything I say, how I say it. You're very aroused and very horny. You won't like what I'm going to make you do but you're going to do it anyway. You're going to be very weak and humiliated."

Max didn't flinch. He was dead asleep.

Sam didn't need to ask if he understood. "OK. Max, when I snap my fingers you're going to wake up. On the count of three. One. Two." Sam snapped his finger. "Three."

Max woke up with a start. He sat upright and looked right at Sam. There came a look of apprehension, then fear. He wriggled in his seat. "Doc? What's going on?"

"Quiet," said Sam curtly. "Don't speak unless spoken to." God, I've never done this before. I hope I do it right.

Max flinched and crumpled. "Nnnn, sorry."

Sam thought he'd feel remorse at that. He didn't. Not a thing. "You came in here asking to get embarrassed, huh? That's pretty fucking pathetic, you know."

Max hunched his shoulders. He folded his paws into his lap and tucked them between his thighs. His lip began to quiver. "I'm sorry..." There was no faking the mournful look that twisted his features. "I... I'm sorry."

"Shut up."

Max cowered where he sat. A whimper eeped out of him. "Nnnh..."

Sam took his glasses off and set them on the top of the mini-fridge. "Look at you, you fucking perv. Come into my office and ask me to do something as sick as this? Disgusting. You're sick."

The first tear fell from Max's eye, down his cheek. He meant to apologize but the quiver of his lip had grown too violent.

"I oughtta make an example out of you. Teach people what I do to dirty little pervs like you." The venom in his voice felt alien and absurd. The vibration it created in his throat may as well have been vomit, it was so foul. Yet it came without pause or stutter, bearing an icy callousness. Where is this coming from? He didn't stop to question it further before the insults kept coming. "On your fucking knees, you fucking rat."

Max's tears were in full flow now. He sniffled softly for a moment or two, unable to move from his seat. He looked up at Sam with eyes made glassy by the tears marching down his cheeks in multiple streams. Just a few minutes ago he had been a wealthy, athletic man with the gall and confidence to ask a therapist for a sexual favor. Now here he was crying like a child that had been caught doing something naughty.

"I said get on the floor, rat," Sam growled.

Max sniffled again, then whimpered. At last he slid off the cushion and fell to his knees on the carpet. He kept his gaze away from Sam.

Sam kicked one leg out in front of him, balancing the shoe on the carpet by the heel. "Take my shoe off."

Max let out a sob. His whole jaw was shaking. He reached out and pulled a string on Sam's shoe, untying it. Next he grabbed it with both paws and pulled on it. Sam pulled back too, and after a few jenky twists and pulls the shoe came off, revealing a nylon black sock with a beige diamond pattern wrapped around above the ankle. The shoes were nice, but they were old. Sam had them for almost a decade, maintaining their shape with a leisurely work life and visits to the cobbler. What he couldn't prevent was the deep wear on the inside. His foot was deeply impressed on it. Both the leather and his foot had painted each other with their collective smell. Pulling the shoe off let it all out at once, invading Max's nose and making it twitch.

Sam wiggled his toes. "Yeah, that feels good. Peel that sock off. Let me take a load off."

Max reached for the neck of the sock and pulled on it.

"Ah, ah. Slowly."

Max continued pulling, now at a more torpid rate. There was a soft whisper as the nylon came down, letting those thin gray hairs pop free. He made it to the ankle and pulled it the rest of the way off the foot.

Sam wiggled his toes again. Along the soles of his feet was more soft fur. The toes were rounded and pudgy. Around it all was a heavy aura of smell that burned the inside of Max's nose. "Yeah, that feels good. Now give me a massage. Got a lot of stress in these bad boys. Get that out for me."

Max sniffled. "Yes sir..." He grabbed Sam's foot by the bridge like a sandwich. His thumbs were on the soles and started rubbing up and down, kneading the soft fur and the calloused skin just beneath. He continued crying, sniffling every so often. His thumbs caressed every bit of Sam's foot and pressed out the stress.

It felt good, real good. "Mmmmm, that's it. That's nice. How's the view down there?"

Max looked up at him. From where he knelt the rabbit looked like a giant. "It's good."

"Yeah, I know it is. You like my foot?"

Max sniffled. "Yeah..."

"Yeah, I bet. Do me a favor and put your face in it."

Max gasped softly. His sobs escalated. Deep down he meant to protest, but was too craven. He lifted Sam's foot and dove his face into the soft-rough plane of Sam's arch. A deep breath sucked through his nostrils, sticking the fur to his nose and absorbing that earthy stink. It swelled his lungs and came out of his mouth as a groaning sigh.

"Yeeeeaaaah, get a good whiff in. Kiss it. Kiss my fucking foot."

Max obeyed at once. His lips puckered, then made a soft smooch sound. Mwah. He kissed again, pecking his way up and down Sam's soles. His eyes were opened halfway, uncoupled, perceiving nothing beyond the blind that was Sam's stinky stepper. His tongue came out and delivered long, heavy licks that scraped from bottom to top. His face would elevate up the foot, then come back down for another lap.

Sam cackled. "Oh yeah, I gotta record this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He opened the camera app and aimed it at the rat licking his feet. Sam captured him at his worst moment, when his long, pink paddle tongue was lolled out of his jaws and rolling up Sam's foot. Sam giggled, both at seeing the pathetic Max licking his foot as well as the tickling sensations that came with it. "That's precious. You having fun down there?"

Max nodded. The pleasure was clear, but so was the agonizing shame. His cock was fully erect in his pants. If not for the threat of reprimand he would've groped his cock bulge, maybe even unzipped and masturbated right then and there. Instead he kept his paws right where they were, loyally gripped to his master's feet so that he could lay on all those sloppy licks and kisses.

"I bet you wanna jerk off, don't you?" Sam asked.

"Mmhmmm..." groaned Max, right before closing his mouth around Sam's big toe and sucking on it."

"Yeah, go ahead and do that. Let me see you jerk your little rat dick."

Max let out a mournful sob from around Sam's toe. He loathed himself for opening his fly, reaching into his underwear, and pulling out his erect penis. It was a hot red color, jutting from his sheath with modest pride. He tugged on it rapidly, huffing through his open mouth. His other paw grabbed the topside of Sam's foot and smushed it against his snout. He stopped licking, but with his escalating breaths absorbed most of that earthy foot stink.

Sam watched in a rapture of his own. The way Max's body jostled and bounced in front of him was exhilarating to a degree he wasn't prepared for. Tingles of delight shot up his ankle and leg from where Max kept his nose pressed to Sam's sole. A glassy bead of precum bled from Max's cock slit, driven by the steady pump of his fist. Sam's own arousal was at its peak. The crotch of his pants had become suffocating, his penis had grown so hard. The sensical part of him screamed 'stop', but he was far too enthralled. He wouldn't dare put a stop to things, not when the both of them were clearly enjoying it.

"Yeah. That's it," Sam said in a biting tone. His hand claws scraped the armrests of his chair. "Jerk your little cock. Suck in that foot stink, you fuckin' loser."

A long, doleful moan sang from Max's twisted lips. "Oh God... Uhhh... Please... I... I don't wanna..."

Sam guffawed. "My ass. Look at you. You're about to fucking explode. You love it, you dirty rodent. Keep stroking that pathetic little dick until you cum." He switched the camera to video and hit record. He made sure to keep his foot and Max center frame.

Max's face scrunched. There were more tears, sobs, whimpers, and strokes, all of them flowing together seamlessly. At last the pitch in his voice grew as did the tempo of his jerks. His whole body rattled as his orgasm neared. "Huhhhh... Uhhhhhhhhhhh~!"

Sam tensed in his seat, teeth clenching, eyes going wide. It felt like being on the verge of his own climax. He gripped the armrests so tightly that he shook. "Do it. Come on. Fucking cum. NOW."

Max obeyed with a girlish wail. "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh~!!!" His strokes grew short and erratic at the same time he spat out a long, thin rope of cum that struck the bottom of the armchair. More followed, creating a miniature portrait of milky pearls and ivory splats. Max kept his face glued to Sam's foot, crying like a bitch while experiencing the best orgasm in his entire life. Even after his expenditure had slowed into a viscous drip he continued jerking his peen, milking every bit of pleasure that he could from himself and for his master.

It was like an emotional concussion for Sam. Something like arousal, power, and horror fell on him all at once, making him gasp while Max came all over his chair. The pleasure in his loins spiked, and although he did not cum, it was something so ethereal that he might as well have. His cruel streak meant to demean the rat further, but with the breath trapped in his lungs he could muster no more than a weak stutter of the jaw.

Max was spent after a few seconds. He was left slumped forward, resting the weight of his face on Sam's foot. With passions plummeting, Sam lowered his foot finally. It was soaked in a gross myriad of tears, spit, and snot. The wet fur chilled in the AC. Gooseprickles erupted across Sam's skin, perking his nipples behind his shirt. Max knelt upright, still crying. His scleras were more red than white. A single streak of light green snot fell from his nostril.

It horrified Sam. He snapped his finger. "OK. That's it. You're done."

Max's return to himself was not instantaneous. He blinked a few times and looked around the room as if just waking up. Finally his mournful expression softened and he put his paw to his forehead. He sniffed and sighed. "Ahhh... Holy shit... My head is ringing... Fuck." He looked back up at Sam. "Are you OK?"

It struck Sam as odd that Max would ask him if he was OK. Looking at the rat, Sam should've been the one asking him that. Then Sam realized how tense he was. The muscles in his face were taut like wire, especially around his clenched jaw. His claws were dug into the armrests. The paw holding his phone felt ready to break it. His nicely pleated pants were tented around the angry jut of his penis.

He managed to relax with a single sigh, at least a little. "Yeah... Yes... I'm fine... Are you?"

"Fuck... I..." Max wiped his paw down his face. "I feel like I'm drunk. A good drunk. Damn... I don't think I've ever nutted that good in my whole fucking life. Feels like... Feels like I'm on a cloud..." He looked down and saw his penis hanging out of his fly limply. In front of him was the constellation of cum pearls he had painted Sam's chair with. "Shit. I'm sorry. I-"

"No, no, no. It's OK. You're fine. You did everything you were supposed to." He realized that the phone was still recording and stopped it. "That was... certainly intense. I can't say I've ever had a session quite like that one."

Max laughed. "Neither have I, doc. Neither have I." He stood up groggily. His penis was still hanging out of his pants. A single glop of cum remained stuck in the slit.

Sam pointed to his desk. "There's some tissues. Please help yourself."

"Yeah..." Max went over and grabbed a box. After wiping his dick clean he pulled some more and dried his face. He blew his nose, tucked his manhood back where it was supposed to be, and zipped his fly. "It doesn't feel like anything's real right now," he stated flatly.

"No," said Sam, looking at the thumbnail of his most recent recording. "No it does not."

Max came back over with the tissue box. He stood in front of Sam. "Excuse me. Let me just..." He was looking between Sam's legs.

It took him a moment to realize. "Oh! Yeah. Go ahead. Let me get out of your way."

"No. You're fine." Max got on his knees and wiped up the cum on the chair.

Sam stayed in his seat. He could feel the vibrations of each swipe buzzing up his tailbone through the seat cushion. Max's eyes were still red and puffy. He looked distant and blank, a clear sign of shock. The two of them stayed quiet, stewing in the residual of their exchange and the fleshy smell of Max's cum. Sam wondered if the two of them would ever be the same.

Max stood up and threw the cum tissues away before sitting back down on the couch. "Well. That was pretty good," he said calmly.

"Are you sure?" Sam asked.

"Oh my God, doc. You have no idea." He ran his paw over his head, smoothing his ear down and then letting it flip back up. "I seriously feel like I'm floating. It's like all the weight is gone from my body. My nuts feel fucking awesome. I've never cum like that in my entire life. Fuck. I gotta thank you. That was everything I hoped it would be and then some." He looked at Sam's phone. "What are you gonna do with those pics?"

Sam remembered he was holding the phone. "Oh. I don't know. Whatever you want me to do with them."

Max didn't miss a beat. "Post 'em. Online. Anywhere. PornHub, Twitter, Reddit, Discord, all of 'em, some of 'em, just one of 'em, I don't care. Post that shit. I want the world to see. Let them have control. Let you have control."

Sam's cock throbbed angrily. His cheeks were on fire. He wasn't about to argue. "OK. I'll do that."

"But uh... just make sure you send them to me."

"Oh, of course. I think you'll enjoy it." Sam closed the camera app. And so will I.

"So, uh... Do I just go now? Can I come back again? Are you comfortable with that? Or do I gotta pay you 60 G's every time?"

Sam had completely forgotten about the money. "Ah! No. I mean... You can come again on scheduled days. You don't have to pay me any more money like this. 60,000 is more than enough. In fact..." Sam looked down at the package where he had left it. "In fact, I think I'll reimburse what you've paid already for the session."

Max's eyes went round. "For real?"

"Yes." Sam picked up his glasses and perched them back on his nose. Beside his bare, wet foot and turgid half-chub he resumed his air of professionalism. "Trust me, with this money and my other clientele, it's no real skin off my back. In fact, it's too dangerous to accept it job wise. If someone found out I was accepting money for sexual favors on the job I'll lose my license. It's better that I keep the 60,000 off the books and give back what you paid. We'll pretend like things didn't pan out therapy wise."

Max scratched his temple. "Yeah, that makes sense. How about me coming back? That won't arouse suspicion?"

"Not if I tell Sandra not to worry about it."

"OK. Awesome. That's... pretty cool, doc."

Sam smiled. "I'm glad you think so, and I'm glad this session helped, unorthodox as it might have been."

Max laughed. "Yeah, it sure was."

"Well, if that's all you need, Max. I'll be seeing you later."

"Yeah! Cool." Max rubbed his forehead. "Just one more thing."

"Of course."

"I kinda got your feet in my head now. It's kinda like I wanna put 'em in my mouth again. It's like a song stuck in my head. The taste and the feel and the smell is on loop. Is there a way to get rid of that? Or at least put it on hold?"

"There is. We can put a regimen for some positive reinforcement. Are you thinking of anyone else's feet?"

Max thought for a moment. "Hell no. Just yours."

"Good. If you stay away until the next session you should be fine. Feel free to call me if you can't stop thinking about them. Feel free to do something you like that'll help you keep your mind off things."

"Yeah. If you don't mind, I think I'll go get some drinks."

Sam nodded with a smile. "That sounds good. Just don't drink and drive."

Max smiled back. "No problem, doc."

The two men stood up and shook paws. Sam put his sock and shoe back on while Max left with his head held high and his cheeks dry. The red of his eyes had receded and he wasn't sniffling anymore. Though there lingered the taste of foot in his mouth and the smell of it in his nose, he walked out of there and into the mall looking exactly as he had when he entered the office. He peeled to the right until Sam couldn't see him anymore.

Sam was watching from the window, in the lobby. Sandra was behind her desk, looking at her boss as he remained plastered to the window. She had heard some serious crying coming out of the office, yet the man walked out not even twenty minutes after he had entered. Now here was Sam watching him leave completely silent.

Finally Sam turned around and looked at her. "Sandra, do me a favor and refund Maxwell for me."

That caught her off guard. "OK. Can I ask why?"

"Things just didn't pan out."

"OK. I guess I should cancel his session next week and everything after that?"

"No, actually. Hold on to those."

She frowned. "Really?"

"Yes. He'll be back next week."

"Oh. OK. Reimburse him for today, but not everything after."

"No. Reimburse him for everything. He comes in without charge."

"Oh. Alright.

"When's my next session?"

"Sir?"

"When's my next session?"

"3:30 with Mrs. Shropshire."

"Right, and what time is it now?"

"1:20."

"Alright. Awesome. Perfect. Good." He stormed from the window and towards his office where he shoved the door open and all but slammed it behind him.

Sandra sat flummoxed behind her desk, wondering what the hell had happened between Sam and that rat. While she ruminated on that, Sam was tearing off his jacket and unbuttoning his pants. He pulled down his fly, jerked his pants and underwear down beneath his butt, and began furiously masturbating. He stood next to his desk, back to the door, pants slinking down his chunky legs while his fist pumped on his cock fast enough to be a blur. He was bent half over, his ruddy butt jutted out behind him, that cottony rabbit tail cocked upwards at attention. His teeth sank into his lip. His face was bloodred. Spittle shot from his mouth as he grunted. The image of Max's face pressed into his foot and the sound of his whimpers was seared in Sam's mind.

He didn't last long. Not a minute after he pulled his pants down he was cumming. "Gahhh~!" From his cock shot a thin tendril of seed that reached all the way to the cabinet, smacking onto the wood and gluing itself there. He didn't stop masturbating, not until the last shot of cum had piddled onto the carpet below. Even then his grip did not relent, holding the neck of his cock in a purpling choke.

"Hahhhhhh... Hahhhhhh... Hahhhhh..." He let go of his cock slowly. The muscles and tendons were so taut that his fist could not fully relax. Looking down he saw his penis starting to go limp. A trail of cum led from the wood of his cabinet to the carpet. His heart was pounding away, flushing blood into his drooping ears. Sweat beaded across his brow. "Fuck... Fuck... Goddammit..."

He looked over his shoulder at the door. Had Sandra heard any of that? What if she came in? She'd see him with his pants around his ankles, his chunky, bare ass on display. At least she knew to knock before entering. He pulled his pants up, flicking his cock up sending a bead of cum flying. He hurriedly cleaned up the cum as best he could and doused the whole office with a can of Febreze. With his jacket back on and the evidence of any foul play removed, he put his jacket back on and sat at his desk.

He slumped back and put his paw over his face which still burned with blush. His lips blew out lazily as his paw slid down to his cheek. What a session that was. What was he supposed to do now? How did he feel? What did all of this mean? Why and how did he get so much pleasure out of that?

He didn't have to think hard. He was an overworked, overqualified, underpaid hypnotherapist forced to work in the corner of a mall. He listened to the pains and grievances of so many people, only able to listen and offer nebulous advice that was a balm to their sorrow, not the solution. Debt from seven years of studying for a diploma in psychology and hypnotherapy still hung on his shoulders even after earning a six figure salary. It didn't help that he had a receptionist to pay and provide insurance for. With no partner of his own, there was nobody to let his troubles out on.

That was until Max stepped into his office. He looked over at the package of money. He was going to have to hide it before Mrs. Shropshire showed up. But first, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and opened the gallery. There was Max's agonized face pressed up against his foot. At the end was the video. It was two minutes and 38 seconds long. He turned the volume down to the lowest notch and hit play. The scene played out before him once more. He cringed at the sound of his own voice. It was embittered and cruel, laden with a tone he didn't think he was capable of. Max climaxed and the video went into a lull until Sam had hit stop. The video ended, leaving the office in silence. The Trashcan icon was beneath the image. Sam's thumb hovered over it.

He did not press it. He left the gallery, swiped twice, then opened the Twitter app. Only a few seconds later and the video was sent for the whole world to see.

THE END