“I want to p-purchase a Valentine’s Day g-gift certificate for one of your customers,” the man on the other end of the phone said. It was my first day of work at the Cupid Salon. The shop was busy and the boss had barked at me to answer the phone. Something about the man’s voice gave me the chills. He spoke as if he was in a trance. A trance of love. No…..worship.

“All right,” I replied. “For how much?”

“Enough for ten of your deluxe pedicures,” he said.

I told him the amount. He paid it without waiting a beat. “What name should I make out the certificate for?” I asked.

“Goddess Marquesa,” he breathed.

She came in on Valentine’s Day, a few days later. I sensed it was her when she walked in. The air in the room seemed to change.

“You have a gift certificate for Me,” she declared.

I led her to one of the chairs and knelt at her feet to begin the pedicure. I swear I felt a kind of chill as I first touched her bare feet. “What do you do?” I asked, trying to make it sound like chit-chat, but unable to contain my nervousness. I could feel myself blushing.

“I’m a Hypnotist,” she said through a mysterious smile. “An erotic Hypnotist.” She took off her sunglasses to reveal witchy green eyes, one of which she winked at me.

I must have worked on her pedicure for at least a half an hour, but I could not say for sure. Time seemed to stretch and bend. Can the shape of someone’s feet be hypnotic? The world blurred. Her toes and arches came into sharp focus. The feel of her, the scent. I thought I might faint. My nipples became hard. My pussy slickened like it hasn’t since I was a teenager lying in bed, thinking about my first crush.

My mind was drawn up her body….over the exquisite curve of her calves…the dimpled hollows of her thighs…the  round swelling of her hips…the lush bounty of her breasts….the majestic beauty of her face. I fought the urge to put her toes in my mouth and suck.

When the pedicure was done, she leaned down toward me and crooked her finger, drawing me up to share a confidence.

“You have such a pretty face,” she whispered when my face was as close to hers as I could get it, “it would look so sweet between My thighs.”

From that moment I was her prisoner. I lived for her pedicures. She never said another word to me, she simply walked into the salon and sat in my chair, knowing I would do all of the work for her. Not just the work of the pedicure. The work of seduction. I drove myself more and more mad with desire each moment I sat at her feet.

She hypnotized me. I hypnotized myself. The energy flowed down from her like magic arrows through the heart, bleeding away my will, ensnaring my consciousness. My thoughts ceased to be my own. My heart beat to the rhythm she set for it.

The feeling of her feet in my hands was ecstasy. It was agony. It was paradise. It was hell. I didn’t want it to end.

I stared up at her, worshiping, praying. Waiting for her to end my misery. Longing for her to speak. To explain. To unriddle me. Please. She only looked down, smiling. Obviously enjoying my suffering. It made me love her even more.

Finally, I understood. I would have to beg. I would have to say what we both knew was true. In front of everyone.

I tried. My mouth would open, gape. Small whimpers would come out as I cast sidelong glances around the crowded salon. She smiled, savoring every moment. As I watched her ass sway out the door, knowing I would not get to touch her again for another month, I felt like sobbing.

At last, sixth months after that first Valentine’s Day pedicure, the dam broke. I looked up, desperate, eyes red from lack of sleep. “Please….please…” I choked. Tears flowed down both cheeks. An uncomfortable stir filled the salon, the kind that breaks out on subway cars when everyone realizes that one of the passengers is insane.

“Shhhh…shhh….shhh,” she soothed, projecting sincere pity. “Goddess will make it all better.”

She was waiting outside on the curb when I got off work, standing beside the back passenger side door of her car. I opened the door for her without a word. When she was seated in back, I got into the drivers seat and found the keys in the ignition. She told me the address and I drove her home.

She seemed genuinely pleased by the sight of my face between her thighs, but not half as thrilled as I was by the taste of her pussy. When she had cum three times I curled up obediently, naked on the rug at the foot of her bed.

“I won’t be able to sleep unless I touch myself and think of You,” I said, pleading.

“That’s okay, go ahead sweetling,” she replied.

“Can I taste them?” I asked.

She knew what I meant. She extended her leg and I sucked greedily as I stroked myself. When the squirt came I gasped, letting her toes drop from my mouth in a puddle of drool. Everything went gray, the world slipped away as my head landed gently on the rug, and I slipped in my first good night’s sleep in weeks.

“Sweet dreams, pet,” were the last words I heard.