Date: Tue, 17 Feb 2004 18:01:13 -0700 From: Dream Spinner <firstname.lastname@example.org> Subject: "Nick and Hiroshi" (m/m, celeb) Caution/Welcome. It is October, 2002, and Nick Carter is in Tokyo promoting his upcoming solo debut album "Now or Never". Although Nick was on a real promo tour in Japan at that time, this story does not reflect nor imply a real event nor the sexual orientation of this young singing star. This is the twenty-sixth of stand alone stories in a series of Aaron Carter fanfic gay fantasies and chronologically follows the story "Aaron and Brandon: The Cure." The last story featuring Nick in this series is Number 13, "Aaron and Nick: Brotherly Love," based on Nick's arrest in Key West at the beginning of the year. If you do not like reading gay fantasies about a celebrity, a handsome Japanese fan, and awesome, hot foot sex, this is where you stop and hit the back or delete key. This story is posted at free gay adult story sites for the purpose of adult entertainment. Permission is not given to copy electronically for the purpose of redistribution or posting at sites other than described without the permission of the author. Lyrics are copyright of Nick Carter. Comments and offers of Japanese food or other offers from hot Japanese boys can be sent to the author J.O. Dickingson at email@example.com NICK AND HIROSHI October 8, 2002, three days into his promotional jaunt to Japan, and Nick was already exhausted. Beginning on the sixth with an intensive day of interviews with television, radio and print media from Japan, Korea, Taiwan, Hong Kong and Singapore and a brief promo concert that night, followed by signings the next day at several venues at Aqua City, the ultra modern commercial and entertainment centre in Tokyo's Odaiba Sea Park waterfront, where he performed a couple songs on the rooftop to the delight of the media and fans, he was pumped and full of energy. The next day was spent meeting with managers and promotions people, his agents of course doing all the talking and he just being there for the eye candy, which was exhausting just standing around doing nothing, and touring Mediage, the Sony group complex in the middle of Aqua City. Now there he could have stayed all day checking out the theme attractions and the dozens of music cafes with their live music, every one of them of course inviting him to sing a song. Wednesday was spent again standing around with his hands in his pockets while his agents negotiated deals, being assured that just his presence raised their opening asking price by several percentage points, and then a visit to the six-story DECKS Tokyo Beach for a photo shoot on the wooden boardwalk that gave the entertainment centre its name and a meet and greet with his fans, a brewski from the Sunset Beech Brewing company, a stop at the Fen Shui shop for more photo ops, and at the Joypolis entertainment centre operated by Sega, one of the largest amusement arcades in Tokyo where he could have spent the rest of the day despite being ogled and jostled by fans, finishing up at sunset with more photo ops at Rainbow Bridge. As he sat down and picked up the menu at the Sanjyu-sangen-do, he appreciated being given the table close to the kitchen where most patrons would prefer not to sit. After a hectic day of being in everyone's face, he welcomed the semi-privacy. He could have taken one of the private rooms and eaten with his host and a select few of his friends, but he needed time to be alone. Of course he could have had a room all to himself or eaten in his hotel room, but he didn't want to be that alone. He studied the menu. Although written in Japanese with English translation, he really did not know what would be good. He really wasn't into Japanese cuisine. Now, if he was at Pizza Hut, he'd know exactly what to order. "Konban wa." It was a soft, humble voice, almost apologetic as he found most Japanese voices were. The speaker was a young man about his age with thick black hair, a smooth complexion and skin the colour of honey mustard, and the darkest sexiest eyes Nick had ever seen. "Good evening, Carter-dono. I am called Takeshima Hiroshi. I am to be your server for this evening. Would you like to begin with something to drink? Perhaps a cup of nihon-cha?" Nihon-cha, green tea. It seemed like everything over in Japan began with a cup of nihon- cha. Even his morning coffee had been preceded by a dainty cup of complementary green tea. "Yes, that would be fine." He would have preferred a cocktail, or a beer, but that could wait. Besides, it was not every day he drank nihon-cha, and it seemed appropriate sitting there looking out at the Tokyo lights and down at the bay far below the twenty-first floor restaurant of his hotel. Most of the boats in the harbour were pleasure boats. Next to performing he loved boating. He wondered if there would be a chance to rent a boat while he was here. "Gomen kudasai. Pardon me." Nick looked up. "Oh, I didn't notice you," he apologized. "I was looking out at the lights and at the harbour." "It is indeed a captivating site," his waiter observed as he set down the delicate tea cup and matching blue and white teapot. "Are you ready to order, or would ." "Yes, I'm ready. I'm famished." Nick studied the menu again. "Tell you what. I'd like a full meal: appetizer, soup, salad, entree. You decide." "Me? I really ." "You know what is best here." "Well, it is all ." "Yeah, I know, it is all good. But you know which are favourites. Or better yet," Nick said with a new idea, "you choose your own favourites." He smiled as he handed the surprised and hesitant waiter the menu. "I trust your judgement. Don't worry about the expense, and remember, I'm famished. I've had a hard day." "You are sure you would like me to choose?" "Absolutely." Uncertain and more than a little worried, but honoured, Hiroshi bowed and backed away. Americans could be very strange sometimes. This particular American he knew very well. Although his favourite performer was Yamaguchi Hiroshi from the now defunct Heatwave, followed by the doctor-singer Palash Sen of Euphoria from Delhi, Nick Carter was third, and his top American singer. He'd visited his fan sites and knew he liked to scuba dive, as he did, liked to race power boats, which he wished he could afford, had boughten his parents a mansion in California which he'd since sold for 2.9 million American dollars, which he knew he'd never do in his lifetime, and had a violent temper and was prone to take a swing at those he got into arguments with according to his band mates. When he'd heard Nick Carter was coming to Japan to do a promo tour for his first album, he'd hoped he'd have a chance to see him perform, and when he heard he'd be staying at the Tokyo Bay Ariake Washington he'd hoped he might actually see him. He never in his wildest dreams thought he'd be serving him, never mind selecting his meal. A temporary flash of panic struck the conscientious but young waiter. He had no idea what the American celebrity might like, other than cheese pizza and Coke which were mentioned in his fan pages. He did say to pick his favourites. Inhaling deeply, Hiroshi stepped into the kitchen. "You will have to tell me what I'm eating," Nick advised as Hiroshi placed the hors d'oeuvre before him, "so if I like it I will know what to order again." "This is nuta-ae, squid and scallions in miso dressing," Hiroshi advised, "one of my favourites." The thin strips of squid in a dressing of soybean paste, sake, egg yolk, vinegar and mustard paste was his favourite, though now he wished he had not mentioned it. Suppose his famous customer did not like it? What would a man of his worldly experiences think of him? Would he think him unworthy? Would he take a swing at him? Hiroshi knew those were foolish thoughts, but he could not help thinking them. This was Nick Carter, a multimillionaire who could probably buy the restaurant and turn it into one of those American fast food places if he had a mind to. Picking up one of the strips and gingerly biting into it, Nick slowly smiled and nodded. Relieved, Hiroshi returned to the kitchen. When he returned with the soup, again one of his favourites and something his mother often made, hamaguri ushiojitate, a clear clam soup consisting of two cherrystone clams in their shells in a black kelp and white mushroom broth, garnished with springs of watercress, a small mushroom, and a slice of lime, he was pleased to see the plate of nuta-ae was empty. When as short time later he brought out the sashimi, a small plate of sliced raw porgy and a second of raw sea bass, each with its own bowl of spicy dipping sauce garnished with shredded carrot and celery, he was not so certain, and was even more worried from the look on his customer's face when he explained what it was. Americans were not fond of raw fish, but he had been told to bring the house favourites, and this was one of the most popular dishes. Besides, this was a Japanese restaurant, and so he had to assume his customer wanted a real Japanese eating experience. Also a house favourite was the next dish, kamo sakamushi, thin slices of golden brown sake-steamed duck breasts, expensive but delicious and served with fuki no nitsuki, boiled coltsfoot in sake flavoured sauce. Nick greeted the offering with a much wider smile than he had the previous one. Pouring him more tea, Hiroshi returned to the kitchen once again. For the main meal he had decided on a traditional Japanese hot pot, cuisine which the restaurant was famous for, selecting his favourite of them all, tori mizutaki. Setting the platter of artistically arranged slices of chicken breasts, Chinese cabbage which had been boiled, rolled into cylinders and cut into inch-long sections, carrot strips, scallions, small white mushrooms, and watercress on a bamboo mat before Nick, Hiroshi placed the pot of simmering chicken and sea weed broth in the centre, a heaping bowl of steamed white rice on one side, and the bowl of dipping sauce, lime juice and soy sauce garnished with grated white radish and sliced scallions, on the other side. Explaining that one cooked the food spread out before him for two or three minutes in the simmering broth and then dipped it in the sauce and ate it, using chopsticks or a long-handled fork, Hiroshi poured Nick a glass of the restaurant's best sake and placed the ceramic bottle in the broth to keep the remaining sake warm and left him to eat. Watching discretely from the kitchen, he was pleased to see Nick dig into the meal with obvious delight, and amused to see him first try the chopsticks and then resort to the fork. Checking on him periodically and pouring more warm saki until he was finished, Hiroshi cleared the empty dishes away and removing the kelp from the hot pot, poured the remaining broth in a soup bowl. As Nick sipped the delicious broth, Hiroshi brought out a plate of orange slices to finish the meal. "I hope you found the meal to your satisfaction," Hiroshi observed with a bow as he removed the last of the dishes. "Satisfactory?" asked Nick with a loud sigh. "It was fantastic. Totally perfect." "I am glad to hear, Carter-dono," Hiroshi responded with another polite bow. "What exactly does dono mean?" "Dono is an honorific we use, to denote someone of high rank and importance. It is attached to one's family name." "Well, forget the dono. I'm just Nick." Hiroshi nodded respectfully. "Will there be anything else, Nick?" he asked with a self- conscious smile. Calling one by one's given name was not something he was comfortable with despite his familiarity with Western customs as a waiter. "No. It was perfect. Besides, I'm stuffed. I couldn't eat another bite." Hiroshi nodded politely and returned moments later with the bill. It would him a week's wages on a waiter's salary to pay for the meal, but he knew for Nick Carter it was insignificant. Even though he knew how rich the star was, he was surprised to find an almost fifty percent tip when he returned a discrete time later and was told to keep the change. "Doomo arigatoo gozaimasu. Thank you very much," he said genuinely with a low bow. "Hey, you earned every penny of it or yen I guess," Nick observed with a smile. "Awesome meal. And I would never have ordered it myself. I owe one." Nick's words caused him to pause before backing away. "I thank you again," he said respectfully. He hesitated once more as he looked at his honoured guest. Nick knew that look. He had, after all, been performing since the age of nine when he had taken the lead in his fourth grade production of Phantom of the Opera. "Perhaps you would like an autograph," he said with a smile. "I would be most honoured," Hiroshi replied as Nick took the pen out of his pocket and glanced around for something to write on. He knew from the look in Hiroshi's eyes that there was still something on the young waiter's mind. Perhaps there was something specific he wanted him to write, or something specific to sign. He had autographed some of the strangest things in his career, including a pair of panties and a tab from a tampon box. Or perhaps he had a burning personal question to ask, like what his favourite toothpaste was or something. "What is it?" "Kuda pardon?" Hiroshi had a good command of the English language, which was why he had the job he had at the prestigious restaurant, but when flustered he still reverted back to his mother tongue. "What are you thinking?" Blood rushed to Hiroshi's cheeks. "I am embarrassed to say it." "Hey, go for it. You'll beat yourself up later if you don't." "You honour me too much already," Hiroshi objected. If he did dare tell the singer what he was thinking he would quite likely leap over the table and beat him up! Of course if he wasted any more of his valuable time he might do it anyway. "It is something . . . personal." "Shoot." Hiroshi looked at him quizzically. "Go ahead, say it. I don't mind. You'd be surprised the things people have said to me." Maybe he wanted him to sing a song to him, there in the restaurant. Now he could see how that could be something embarrassing to request. "If I might, instead of the gratuity of course, which is most generous I must advise, too generous," he began, looking down at the floor and growing even more flustered, "well, if you would not mind it, if it is not too much to ask, I would be honoured," he stumbled, his long, fine eyelashes fluttering, " . . . to have your socks." "My socks." Nick could not suppress his surprise. Now that he had never been asked for. So much blood had rushed to Hiroshi's face he was afraid he was about to have a nosebleed, or a stroke, as he stood there, head bowed and staring at the floor. "Forgive me, you must think I am sick. Please, can you forget what I have said?" "Hey, that's all right. No problem, really, if that's what you really want. I can have a pair sent down to you as soon as I get to my room, or you could come pick up a pair when you get off work," he added as an afterthought. Why someone had been sent down to the kitchen to give him a pair of socks could be difficult to explain. "And keep the tip." Hiroshi said nothing as he stared down at the floor with mixed emotions. How could he think what he was thinking? A pair of Nick Carter's socks was more than he could ever have expected. What Hiroshi was thinking suddenly came to Nick's mind. "You want these, the ones on my feet." Hiroshi wanted to die as the American realized and vocalized his deepest, darkest desire. He nodded slowly and swallowed hard, unable to look up. Nick's mind flashed to another person he knew who liked feet, his kid brother, though he didn't know if Aaron's likes extended to stinky socks. He studied the now totally embarrassed waiter. Who would ever have thought? There was no way of telling he had such a perversion. He looked like a normal, everyday guy. He thought about his kid brother again, and the hot night they'd had together and the things Aaron had done to his feet and how he'd felt, and what he'd ended up doing to Aaron. He studied the waiter more critically. He was handsome, very handsome. The image of him sniffing his socks, and then his feet flashed through Nick's mind and there was an accompanying twitch between his legs. Why not? His experience with Aaron had been hot. He was horny, Hiroshi was hot-looking, and it would be safe. "I don't suppose it would be proper to take them off right here," he said with a smile, having made a decision. "What time do you get off work?" "In an hour." "I'm in room 1721. Come by when you finish work and pick them up. Maybe we can share a glass of saki." "I ." "You will come?" Hiroshi nodded. "I'll order a bottle of saki on my way out, the same as I had tonight, and ask that you bring it to my room when you get off work." Nick smiled encouragingly. "I'll look forward to seeing you later. And that really was a great meal." With that Nick headed to his room to wait. It was difficult. He thought about the afternoon Aaron had given him a back rub, and what that had lead to and how erotic it had been. He thought about Hiroshi. He was good-looking with that swarthy skin and those dark, slanted eyes and fine long eyelashes. Hiroshi looked like he had a good body too, trim and athletic. The tight black slacks and Navy blue vest and blue bow tie accented his slim body and good looks. He glanced at the clock on the dresser. Five minutes had passed by. He thought about what they might do when Hiroshi arrived. He'd never done it with a guy before, well except for his brother but that didn't count. It wasn't that he was against that sort of thing, and he certainly didn't find it repulsive. A lot of guys were gay in the entertainment field, and even more swung both ways. Actually girls weren't a major part of his life. The few girls he had dated hadn't been anything to remember. To be perfectly honest they were domineering and self-centred bitches. He had gone through the motions, and so had they. After all he was twenty-two, twenty-three in three months. He was expected to date girls. Besides, if he and Hiroshi did do anything it wasn't like there was going to be any type of long-term commitment or anything. In another week he'd be back in the States and they'd likely never see each other again. It was just sex. A guy thing. He glanced at the clock again. Another five minutes had crept by. If he and Hiroshi did do anything it wasn't like they were doing anything gay or anything. It was just feet. It was just an experience. Checking out life. He was horny, and getting off felt great, and Hiroshi was a hot looking dude. . . . It was just . . . checking out life. Help me Figure out the difference Between right and wrong Weak and strong Day and night Where I belong and Help me Make the right decisions Know which way to turn Lessons to learn And just what my purpose is here. Another five minutes had passed. It was a hot night and hot in his room. He had gotten an erection thinking about what they might do. What did that mean? It couldn't mean what first came to his mind. It only meant he was horny. He was twenty-two and healthy after all. A guy had to get his nuts off. And if a guy was willing to get him off sucking his toes why not? Of course he didn't know for sure Hiroshi was into that. Maybe he was just into sniffing socks, or maybe just collecting used celebrity socks. There might not be anything sexual about his request at all. Of course it was just as likely that there was. He wondered if he should wash his feet. If Hiroshi was into feet he didn't want to spoil it for him, but then maybe he preferred feet that, well, weren't perfectly clean. He did want used socks. His feet had been sweating though. He'd been in his runners all day. Maybe he should at least take his runners off and slip into the slippers that the hotel provided. He decided to do nothing. He wondered about Hiroshi's feet. He'd have been on them all evening. He wondered if his feet would stink. Of course just because the guy wanted his socks didn't mean the guy was expecting him to do anything. If he did though, and his feet did smell, would he be able to go through with it? He didn't want to spoil it for the guy but he doubted if he could do it. Even though he was just a guy he'd just met and would never meet again, he was a guy, a guy looking for some fun, and a fan. He did want to please him. Because he was a fan that is, and looking for fun, not because he was a guy. Nick looked at the clock once more. He had forty more minutes to wait, at least. The hour came and went. Had Hiroshi chickened out? It was quite possible. Damn, he had worked himself up for it too. Nick reached down and slowly stroked his cock. It was limp but that didn't mean he wasn't horny. Maybe he should have been more encouraging. These Japanese did tend to be a shy, timid lot. Maybe he should have suggested they go to the restaurant can and turn over his socks right there. Damn. And he was supposed to be bringing him that second bottle of saki too. He could use it right then. There was a knock at the door. His heart racing, he rushed over and opened it. It was Mike, one of the security men, and Hiroshi, looking very uncomfortable. Apologizing to Mike for not letting them know he had ordered the saki, and to Hiroshi, and assuring Mike it was all right, he let Hiroshi in and took the bottle Hiroshi handed him. It was wrapped in a bottle warmer to keep it warm, as it was supposed to be. "So what will it be first, saki or socks?" he asked with a smile as he held up the ceramic bottle. "Socks," replied Hiroshi with a slight smile. He was nervous, being in the company of such a famous individual, and especially considering what they were about to do, and what in his heart he wished they would do but was holding out no hope it would happen. Nick's smile was encouraging nonetheless, and he had a way of putting people at ease. "Then come and get them," Nick said, backing up and sitting on the bed. He was still wearing them! That was encouraging. Hiroshi had imagined as the worst scenario that he'd removed them and had them neatly folded and waiting for him. He approached the bed on wobbly legs and knelt down. He could not believe his good fortune. The past hour and twenty minutes had been sheer torture. That he had gotten through the rest of his shift without making any major screw-ups was a major accomplishment. He had hardly been able to concentrate. Nick Carter, world-renown singer and heart-throb of thousands, maybe millions, had agreed to give him his socks. How could he have had the courage to even ask such a thing? He had to have been out of his mind. Of course Nick Carter was the hottest, most erotic man he had ever had the opportunity to talk to in person, and it was not as if he hadn't fantasized about his socks before. While others had swooned over his voice or his deep blue eyes or his bulging crotch, he had fantasized about his feet. Now he was kneeling on the floor of his hotel room unlacing his Nike runners and about to take possession of them! The past hour and twenty minutes had not only been torture, they had taken forever to go by. When the last customers had dawdled over their food and he'd had to stay overtime to help clean up he'd wanted to scream. With each passing minute he'd gotten tenser and tenser, and more and more worried what Nick would be thinking when he didn't show up on time, and that perhaps he would refuse to see him after making him wait. Maybe he'd even gone to bed. Then when the security men had met him in the hallway and had told him they had no instructions to let him by, and that if Nick Carter really had ordered the saki they'd take it to him, he was certain his dreams had been dashed. Now, as he sat there with his goal about to be achieved, he could not believe how insistent and how brash he'd been with the security men. Of course he had a good reason, two very good reasons, a right and a left. As he removed the first of Nick's runners, he could smell the aroma of the trapped air as wisps circulated up from his warm foot. He hesitated and then dared to raise the foot in his hands to his face. He had dared to go this far, why not all the way? How much worse could the celebrity sitting on the bed think of him? They were cotton nylon Nikes, white with the blue Nike slash at the top, the underside a pale dirty brown from wear and his sweat and his runners, especially the heel and the toes. They were warm, and damp. His heart racing, he lowered his head and buried his nose in the soft material. It was a delicate, complex fragrance, like a fine cheese, a combination of the rubber sole of the Nike runner, the worn cotton nylon, and the sweat from Nick's feet. Hiroshi's cock immediately began to swell in his tight black slacks. He had gone straight to the hotel room from work, not wanting to take another moment of time to change in fear Nick would have already decided he was not coming. Besides, he was still on duty, delivering the saki. Nick's cock was beginning to swell also as he sat there on the edge of the bed and watched the handsome young waiter bury his nose in his sock and inhale as if his foot was a rose, or he supposed, a lotus blossom. He did not understand how smelling his feet could cause that look of rapt bliss on the young Japanese waiter's face, but he knew pleasure when he saw it, and that look caused a thrill of pleasure to pass through him even though he'd done nothing. That thrill could have centred around his heart, but given the circumstances, it centred a bit lower. Placing Nick's foot back down, Hiroshi quickly removed the other runner and then squatting down on his haunches at the foot of the bed, he put both feet in his lap. Taking the first foot again, he carefully folded over the elastic top of the sock and then folded it over again and then a third time. And so he slowly rolled the sock down over Nick's strong, solid ankles, the ankles of a man who spent a lot of time on his feet. Stretching it over his heel, he continued to roll the sock down. His foot was long and wide. Hiroshi had noticed the runners were eleven- and-a-half and triple E wide. He especially loved men with huge feet. Rolling the sock off Nick's wide toes, he placed Nick's foot back in his lap and brought the warm, damp sock to his face and inhaled, and the look on his face was the look of a man snorting Coke. Placing the sock on the floor, Hiroshi proceeded to remove the other, rolling it down just as carefully and reverently and bringing it also to his face as he had the first. Placing it on the floor beside the first, he took Nick's right foot in his lap and beginning at his ankles, he began to massage it, running his thumbs over the ankle bones with firm, circular motions. He continued on down along the top of his foot, massaging the tendons with the same tight circular motions with his thumbs until he reached the toes. Forming a "U" with his thumb and fingers, he grasped the largest toe and tugged on it gently and then rotated his fingers. He had a gorgeous foot, long and wide at the base of the toes, and his toes were long and spaced apart and had wide toenails. He slowly worked from one toe to the next, from the largest to the smallest. Picking up Nick's other foot, he proceeded to do the same. By this time both he and Nick had throbbing bulges in their trousers, and they both knew it. Nick wiggled up on the bed, and propping himself up on his elbows and the bed pillows, he watched as Hiroshi knelt at the foot of the bed and raising his foot, stuck out his tongue and lowered his head. The young, dark-haired waiter inhaled the fragrance of Nick's foot first, delighting in the combination of Nike leather and his natural body odour, and his cock twitched excitedly in his black slacks. Raising Nick's foot, he ran the tip of his tongue along the underside, along the crevice where the toes join the foot, from smallest to largest and back again. He wiggled his tongue between the smallest toe and the adjacent one and swirled it around the tiny digit, much as one might nibble on the articulated bones of a barbeque rib. To Hiroshi, this was a hundred times better than barbequed ribs. He continued on to the next toe, running his hot, wet tongue once again between the second toe and the third, over the second digit and between space between it and the smallest toe, under it, and back up again. And then it was on to the third and fourth and then the largest toe, and then on to Nick's other foot. He brushed his smooth cheek against the soft, tender sole and then against the fat pad below Nick's long toes. He gently brushed his soft, smooth lips against the sensitive underside of his foot and he kissed the fleshy pad, the instep, and the smooth, solid heel. His foot was firm and muscular, the foot of a dancer, and Hiroshi worshipped it with his lips and his tongue, licking it, inhaling its fragrance, and delighting in its feel. He dared to look up at Nick and the look of pleasure in his deep blue eyes, the suggestive curl of his lips, and the protruding bulge in his blue jeans both delighted him and urged him on. The young pop star, the fan of millions, was enjoying himself! Hiroshi made a point with his tongue and traced the nail of Nick's large toe, running his tongue down the side, along the bottom, up the other side, and along the tip. The nail was trimmed back, leaving a narrow strip of toe along the front. Puckering his lips, Hiroshi slipped them over Nick's toe, slowly easing them down over the nail to the first knuckle and then on down to where it joined his foot. It was widely spaced from the other toes, allowing him to take it and it alone in his mouth and to suck on it. It was awesome. By this time Nick's cock was throbbing hotly and leaking profusely. He did not know why having his feet licked and his toes sucked was such a turn on but it was, big time. He slowly reached down and unbuckled his belt, and unbuttoning the top button of his jeans, he pulled down the zipper. No longer confined by his tight jeans, his stiff, aching cock pushed out his boxers through the open fly. Hiroshi noticed what Nick had done of course and a wave of disappointment passed over him. He would readily suck Nick's dick, or take it from behind if that was his wish, anything for having been given the thrill of admiring and playing with his feet, but his cock, as impressive as it likely was, was not his primary goal, nor would it be his primary delight. He was holding his primary delight, and he would much sooner Nick's feet than his cock. When Nick made no attempt to push down his underwear nor expose his cock, Hiroshi continued to suck on his toes, moving slowly from one to the next. He loved feet. He always had. Feet and socks. At school when they'd stripped for showers after gym class, when nobody was looking he'd slipped someone's socks in his pants' pocket. In the next class he'd excuse himself and go to the boy's washroom and jerk off while sniffing his stolen prize. Those furtive, secret sessions in the can had made him feel good, at the time, but he'd felt guilty, and dirty afterward. Then one day he'd surfed the Internet and discovered there were others like him, that there was a name for his pleasure, a foot fetish, and that there were others who loved feet and socks all over the world, and some right there in Tokyo. He had no idea if Nick Carter was one of them, but he did know the hot American singer was enjoying getting his feet licked and his toes sucked. There was no doubt about that from the way his boxers were tented out. Knowing that, he attacked Nick's other foot hungrily, licking it and sucking his toes, running his tongue under the long, fat digits, wiggling it between them, and tracing his big toenails with it. Nick was panting openly and unashamedly with delight by then, and Hiroshi's own cock had begun to leak. And then suddenly Nick groaned and threw back his head and thrust his hips in the air and Hiroshi knew what was happening. He was getting Nick Carter off. The heart-throb of hundreds of thousands of girls was groaning in ecstasy as he shot off a load, filling his boxers with his thick cum, climaxing because of his hot mouth sucking on his toes. Nothing could have been more perfect in Hiroshi's life than that moment. Nick had felt it coming, and had decided to let it. He could have had Hiroshi pause while he got out a handkerchief, or some Kleenex from the bathroom. He could probably have asked Hiroshi to finish him off with his hand, or his mouth, but he decided against all those alternatives. He didn't want to spoil the moment by pausing, and he was content to come in his boxers. Besides, getting his toes sucked was certainly safer than getting a blow job. Although he had to assume someone as intelligent as Hiroshi and with his looks and body would not take chances, he could not be sure of that. In the heat of the moment guys did stupid things, and when you are about to pop your nuts, you don't stop and ask your partner to provide you a medical clearance. Besides, sitting there on the bed, with the bright lights of the Tokyo skyline sparkling in the clear, dark night outside his window, and the handsome, dark-eyed waiter kneeling there in his Navy blue vest and bow tie sucking on his toes, his eyes closed and his fine, long lashes flickering with pleasure, nothing could be hotter. And so he blasted. His aching cock throbbed out his hot, thick cum, squirting it into his underwear. It gushed over his groin, flooding his hairs and flowing down and around his tight balls. He quivered and groaned with the pure ecstasy of shooting his load, his body tensing and his chest rapidly rising and falling. It was the hottest climax he'd had in a long time, and that it had been caused by another guy, and by getting his toes sucked did not matter, not at that moment. To tell the truth, those two things made it all the hotter. And so he quivered and squirted and filled his boxers with his thick, creamy cum and the night was perfect. He inhaled and exhaled deeply with pleasure and his thick cock throbbed and burned pleasantly. He finally looked down at Hiroshi some time later, and the handsome, swarthy waiter finally slipped his lips off his large toe and looked up at him with a satisfied smile. "Come up here," Nick said huskily, patting the bed beside him. It was an invitation, not an order. Hiroshi hesitated, and then getting to his feet, sat down beside Nick. Smiling at him, Nick slipped to the bed's edge, and grasping Hiroshi's legs, he swung them up. Quickly shuffling down to the foot of the bed, Nick untied the laces of Hiroshi's black, leather shoes and slipped them off. Hiroshi flexed his toes, enjoying their release. He much preferred sandals or thongs, but neither were allowed when working. To his surprise, Nick picked up his right foot and placing it in his lap smiled down at him. He couldn't possibly be about to do what Hiroshi thought. He stared at the hot blond singer as Nick raised his foot and rolled the elastic band of his Navy blue sock over. A smile slowly passed over Hiroshi's lips as Nick continued to roll the sock down and off his foot, and then quickly removed the second. Raising the second foot higher into the air, Nick bowed his head and tentatively inhaled. It had the slight hint of the odour of shoe leather, and the mild fragrance of Hiroshi's natural body odour. His foot was small compared to Nick's own, but then Hiroshi was six inches shorter than the six-foot-two American. His toes were also more compact, not squeezed together like some feet, but lacking the wide gaps between the toes like Nick's own. Sticking out his tongue, Nick ran it along the underside of Hiroshi's toes and then up over the backs. He chanced a quick glance up at the waiter, catching his look of surprise and delight. When he smiled back at the hot American star, his dark eyes smoldering with lust and his lips parting in a wide grin, Nick could not help but feel good. Hiroshi could not believe it as he sat there on the hotel bed with one of his all time favourite singers sitting there with his foot in his hand licking his toes. Nick's fly was still down and his boxers were sticking out the opening, his cock evidently still stiff. Hiroshi could see the darker stains in the fabric where Nick's cum was soaking through. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever expected anything like this! As Nick slipped his lips about his large toe and began to suck on it, Hiroshi felt his cock throb hotly in his underwear. Reaching down and unbuckling his belt as Nick had done, he too unbuttoned the top of his slacks and drew down the fly to relieve the pressure of his tight slacks on his throbbing, aching erection. He was wearing a white thong and his stiff dick was pulling the thin material away from his body. Hiroshi's thin chest rose and fell as he sat there barefoot in his waiter's uniform, his thong sticking out his open fly and his shoes and socks removed. He trembled with ecstasy as Nick sucked on first one toe and then the other. He did not have Hiroshi's skill, but his novice attempts only made what he was doing all the hotter. Hiroshi squirmed with delight as he felt Nick's hot, moist tongue run over the tip of his toe and wedge between it and its neighbour, and as he felt the tug on it as Nick wrapped his lips about it and sucked in. What with his arousal from having sucked Nick's toes, Hiroshi was already near the peak, and it did not take much on Nick's part to bring him over the edge. Hiroshi had considered grabbing a handkerchief and whipping his hot, throbbing bone out of his thong and covering it, but he decided against it, and he didn't really have the time anyway. So, like Nick, he sat there and trembled with his orgasm, groaning with ecstasy and shooting his hot, thick cum into his thong as his toes were sucked. His hot juice flooded over his stomach and ran down along his thighs. Quickly filling the skimpy material, it flooded out from the edges of the thong and over his thighs and down over his hot, throbbing cock and his tightly drawn up balls. Hiroshi trembled and sighed with the pleasure of his climax, and with the pleasure of having the hot American stud sucking on his toes. Nick continued to suck until Hiroshi had shot his load, and then swung up around so he was sitting beside him. "Well, I think that calls for a glass of sake," he observed as he reached for the bottle. "And then I still owe you a foot massage." Hiroshi smiled as he accepted the glass and Nick filled it with warm rice wine. A foot massage would be nice. And after that, well, the night was still young for a young man in a hotel room with his hot, barefoot idol. As for Nick, he knew that the guys on security would notice his late-night visitor was spending the night, and he knew what they would be thinking, but they were probably already thinking it, and at that precise moment, he really did not care. Oh, I am no angel Just an ordinary man. Help me Figure out the difference Between right and wrong Weak and strong Day and night Where I belong.