He plays along

Owen started to speak, the words tumbling out half-formed. “Uhh actually, I was look–”

“I’m sorry to cut you off, sir,” Maid #13 interrupted, voice still calm and polite, “but Master Garrett doesn’t like dirt tracked through the house. May I request you take off your shoes and allow your feet to be cleaned before we continue this conversation in the main living room?”

Owen blinked. His mouth stayed open for a second. He didn’t know how to answer that. The maid just stood there, eyes downcast, waiting patiently like she’d asked him to hang up his coat.

He glanced at the small wooden chair she’d gestured to, a simple chair, upholstered in dark leather, positioned right against the wall near the foyer entrance. No point arguing yet. He needed to get deeper inside, needed to see more.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Sure.”

He sat. The leather was cool against the backs of his thighs through his jeans. He bent down, untied one sneaker, pulled it off, then the sock. The air felt strange on his bare foot, still warm from the flight, the cab and the walk up the drive. A faint smell of sweat lingered. He repeated it with the other shoe, setting both aside neatly.

Maid #13 watched without comment. When both feet were bare, she clapped her hands twice, sharp and precise.

A low scraping sound came from the side wall. A panel slightly bigger than a dog door slid open at floor level. Two women crawled out on all fours.

Owen’s jaw dropped open.

They were identical twins. Short black hair pulled into high pigtails that bounced slightly as they moved. Faces smudged with dust and smeared old makeup, they looked chinese. Both incredibly pretty in that soft, symmetrical way: full lips, high cheekbones, narrow brown eyes that looked blank until they focused on him. Decent-sized tits swaying under them as they crawled, maybe C-cups, nipples hard. Flawless porcelain skin, pale and unmarked except for the words on their chest.

Right in the center of each chest in bold black marker were words: FOOT CLEANER #1 on the left one, FOOT CLEANER #2 on the right.

They reached him and knelt up straight, knees together, hands resting on their thighs, heads tilted slightly up in perfect sync.

Owen’s stomach dropped so hard he felt nauseous.

Maid #13 spoke again, same even tone as before. “Please place your feet on their cleaning holes, sir and they’ll do the rest.”

Cleaning holes. Jesus. He knew what she meant.

He hesitated. Looked down at his own feet, still damp from the socks, toes curling against the marble from nerves. Then at the twins. They waited, expressions serene, no impatience, no disgust. Just readiness.

He lifted one foot slowly, placed the sole against FOOT CLEANER #1’s face. The skin was warm, soft. He felt horrible doing it, sweaty, gross, invasive, but she didn’t flinch. The second his heel settled against her chin, something shifted in her. Her hands came up fast, gentle but firm, cradling his foot like it was precious.

Both twins moved.

They started with the soles. Tongues flat and broad, licking slow from heel to toe in long, deliberate strokes. It tickled like hell, Owen jerked, involuntarily but their grips tightened, thumbs pressing into the arch to hold him steady. No giggling, no reaction to the taste. Just thorough, mechanical attention. They worked in mirror image: one licking left to right, the other right to left, covering every inch.

When the soles were slick with spit, they moved to the toes.

One by one, they popped each digit into their mouths. Warm, wet suction. Tongues swirling around the pads, between them. Sucking gently, then harder, pulling until the toe came free with a soft pop. Owen’s face burned. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop the twitch in his cock either, traitor that it was.

When every toe was done, both feet glistened, coated in a thick layer of their saliva.

Owen thought that would be it, gross, but over. But the twins weren’t finished.

They lowered his feet slowly, guiding them between their tits. Soft flesh pressed around his soles, warm and yielding. They rocked forward and back, rubbing his feet up and down the inner curves until most of the spit transferred to their skin, leaving his feet damp but less slick.

Then they shifted again. Each twin took one foot, rested it on her shoulder so the sole faced up toward her face. They reached back, grabbed their own pigtails, and used the braided hair like cloths, wiping in tight circles, dragging the strands along the arch, between the toes, over the heel. The hair was surprisingly soft. They worked until his feet looked clean, pink, dry, no visible dirt or sweat left.

The twins bowed low together, foreheads touching the floor, asses up in the air for a second. Then they turned, crawled back to the doggy door in perfect sync and disappeared inside. The panel slid shut behind them with a quiet click.

Owen sat there, bare feet on the cold marble, heart pounding so loud he could hear it in his ears.

Maid #13 stepped forward again, still in her low bow. “Your feet are now presentable, sir. If you’ll follow me to the living room, we can wait for Master Garrett’s return more comfortably.”