Keep listening, but have some fun.

As she continues speaking, you lean in. Between sniffs that send shudders down your spine, your thoughts pinpoint on an odd bit of Genna's phrasing.

"...And, god, just a few days ago I'd almost forgotten to use the dry can I'd bought, and when I do that..."

"Dry can?" you inquire.

Scrunching her nose at you, the green-haired girl bops you on the nose with her foot. You retaliate by sliding the foot back down and peeking your tongue out. Carefully, you press it against the ball of the smooth, pale foot. Faint memories of cheese bread from greasy delivery pizza places flash in your mind as the taste graces your tongue. Doing everything in your power not to let out a moan, the receptionist's toes wriggle at the touch of your tongue. Without much hesitation at all, you opt to slip her big toe, joined with her index toe beside it, into your mouth.

Indulging in such a wild fantasy in the middle of a public place surely shouldn't feel this natural. Maybe it was because of the fact it was so early, so nobody else was here yet. Regardless, hearing an annoyed sigh from the woman who's toes you had in your mouth, she continues speaking in her monotonous voice.

"I'm just gonna assume you've been replaced by some kinda alien, or some shit, cause you're acting so fucking weird today. If somehow you didn't see an advertisement for them on the way here already, a dry can is a dispenser of condensed air that people use to prevent their feet from getting... ya' know... diseases and shit, by removing the sweat moisture from them after being in shoes all day, and stuff like that. I dunno all the science behind it, but..."

Widening your eyes, you're genuinely taken aback by the proclamation. As your tongue wedges itself between the two toes in your mouth, the realization of the gravity of your change began setting in. If foot care, in the purely sexual sense, was as important as... what was it? 'A fashion trend' Charlie said? Then it would make sense that the maintenance and prevention of unhealthy foot problems would be a top priority for this civilization. It's a bit jarring, as the thoughts of what else women might be doing in this reality begin coursing through your mind.

Something about the fact that making sure their feet were in prime sexual condition did something to your pants that made them feel far tighter than you'd deem comfortable. Pulling back, a line of spit connecting your lips with those ghost-white toes, you look down for a moment, glancing at the bulge that was present around your crotch. The fact that this was still all taking place at the reception center at a gym suddenly hit you once again. You were thinking about taking your dick out!? Sure, they took care of their feet, and sure she let you sniff them, but that didn't mean...

"What's wrong, John?" The receptionist taunts, seeming to pick up on your mental conflict, "Don't taste good enough for a footjob, today?"

Face burning red, you weren't entirely sure how to respond to the accusation, which results in the receptionist's face going from being teasingly flirtatious, right back to her default annoyed. Letting out her millionth sigh since the conception of your conversation, she wiggles her toes at you again, before she continues speaking.

"Right... alien. You want me to just get it out for you, or...?"

Unsure of how to react in this situation, your horny impulses kick in, resulting in a sharp nod, which furthermore prompted an eye-roll from the receptionist. With a level of practice and efficiency that made your 'situation' grow worse, the green-haired punk slid herself up onto the table; right from her seat. Then, as if they were her hands, she unbuttoned your pants with her pale toes, before tugging them down along with your underwear. The uncertainty of this whole situation changes as you felt the warm, soft skin embrace your member. Using the top of her left foot to hold your shaft steady, the entire length of her right foot was tenderly placed on top. If she pressed a bit harder, your member would've been squished, but instead, she showed an almost inhumane level of skill and restraint; her legs barely shaking as she held them out in front of her.

As the rubbing began, you could comfortably say your legs weren't as skillful. Despite their shuddering, as you receive the heavenly footjob, you realize that if something like this had happened to you before, there was no way you'd still be standing. Shifting the position of her feet, along with her legs, the woman moves to start picking up her phone once more, seemingly disinterested in continuing to talk with you, before she's stopped by the sounds of the door opening. You, obviously, react the way a normal person would react in a situation like this: freezing like a deer in headlights as you expect the unseen person to act with complete and utter confoundment at the situation happening before them.

Instead, you hear groaning as the receptionist throws her head back. However, throughout her bratty unprofessionalism, she does remain steadfast in her footjob; the pace of her rubbing increasing, her toes gripping tentatively as you grow even harder. Looking past your frame, she almost disregards you entirely as she looks at the person that entered.

It didn't take long for the spot next to you to be occupied. Growing almost as pale as the woman servicing you with her soles, your emotional uncertainty didn't prevent you from looking over at the woman beside you.

Short, blonde, and middle-aged. Maybe mid-thirties, but judging by the short, bleached blonde hair, and non-name brand gym wear, she would certainly try and claim she was 29. You couldn't accurately sum up the size of her chest, however, before she began speaking. Glancing over at what you two were doing, she rolls her eyes and pinched her nose in disgust. However, instead of her discomfort being aimed at the blatantly sexual act happening right beside her, it just seemed to be aimed at the receptionist's choices.

"Genna. I don't know HOW you people can do that dry can stuff. You know that smell gets on some people's nerves..."

Groaning, the position of the green-haired girl's feet changed. Her lower foot lowered even more until the balls of said foot were aligned with your balls. Gently pressing against them, she spread her big and index toes to a point where they comfortably held up your shaft, while simultaneously stimulating your scrotum with gentle pressure. Her other foot mirrored the position of the first, although higher up, and not gripping as much. Instead, as if it were a massage, she began gliding it up and down, stimulating the underside of your shaft.

"I didn't ASK your opinion, Karen. I like it, it gets John off, and it's just a smell. You have the ability to plug your nose. What're you doing in here anyway, getting your daily workout of bitching at employees, again?"

Karen sneers.

"Well, 'Gen'. Someone parked in my spot again. That saaaame dumpy red truck that a certain someone drives..."

"It's not your spot, Karen. There are no VIP spots here. I don't even have a 'spot,' and I'm an employee."

"Well, I told you last time I was here, that I would be..."

The bickering of the other two begins fading out as the pressure and speed of Genna's skillful feet increase. As you neared completion, a series of choices filled your mind.