To take a break from the seriousness of my new “slice of life” novel, The Man Who Reclaimed His Virginity (just scroll down to see all the recent posts about it) I want to share a more light-hearted tale, complete and free right here on this blog for you to enjoy!
HELEN OF TROY GETS A FOOT MASSAGE
I actually wrote this story in 2005, near the time the Brat Pitt movie Troy came out. I’ve long loved sword-and-sandal cinema…
This excellent book is readily found online, and in an updated edition too. But I love this earlier cover.
…and I have been fiddling around for years with a few other erotic tales along these lines. This is the first I’m publishing of that batch. The story was essentially finished 20 years ago, but it took me 21 years to come up with a title I liked! As well as the perfect name for my hero…
DOOFINOCLES, Troy’s Wizard of Feet!
This story is dedicated to three people:
My friend Spoilt Princess Grace, mischievous, playful, inventive, a videomaker and professional dominatrix who does some of the best roleplay in femdom clips today…and this story is definitely in the femdom roleplay mode! She inspired my 2023 novella Spoilt Princess Grace Meets Blackbeard the Pirate, which you can read about here…
My good buddy DK, from whom I commissioned, as an editor, a short story for CHEEKS magazine a quarter century ago entitled Assmasters of the Acropolis, in which he spun a comic-erotic yarn of matchless humor about one sly fellow named Baxocles who helped supervise the butt beauty contests of ancient Greece with his pal Neilogus…
And finally, this is dedicated to the memory of Shemp Howard of The Three Stooges. It was during the pandemic years 2020-2022, long after I had actually written this story, that I became a big Shemp fan, laying low in those lockdown days but brightening my mood by watching his antics every Saturday night on Me-TV, and ultimately realizing that despite the fact I loved Curly, Shemp had become my favorite stooge with his incomparable way with a quip, comical cowardice (not to mention his boxing footwork), and his inimitable chemistry with the great Christine McIntyre in all those short comedies. “You’re not Cousin Basil???” SLAP! (Stooge fans will know what I’m referring to.) Ah, Shemp, my lad, you would have been the perfect person to play Doofinocles in a film version of his adventures! 😉
I understand there is a recent bio of Shemp too, which I want to read.
A very funny man, and a fine actor.
And so now, without further ado… (cue the flourish of trumpets!)
HELEN OF TROY GETS A FOOT MASSAGE
Co-STARRING DOOFINOCLES, THE WIZARD OF FEET!
Erotic fiction by Irv O. Neil
Helen in her chambers, attended to by Doofinocles while the mighty warrior Hector observes. Click on the photo to see it in the full spectacular size worthy of its subject!
Return with us to a scene over three thousand years ago…
Helen, the Queen of Sparta in ancient Greece, had run off with Paris, the handsome prince of the faraway city of Troy. The warriors of all Greece had united to cross the Aegean Sea and attack until Helen was returned to her husband. But by the time the siege had been going on for five years, Helen’s love for Paris had ended. No longer dazzled by his good looks, she saw him for what he was: vain, and a coward in battle. In fact, Helen now had eyes for Hector, the valiant warrior brother of Paris, but Hector was happily married.
Thus conflicted, Helen, late of Sparta, now of Troy, fell into a whirlpool of gloom. She did not want to return to her husband, King Menelaus, because she guessed that the Greeks would still destroy Troy anyway–and she had come to love and respect the Trojans insofar as she was capable of such emotions. For Helen was rather vain herself; plain old Menelaus hadn’t been good enough for her, and she’d felt compelled to run off with Paris and savor his bronzed body and huge spurting phallus. After all, she’d always told herself, didn’t somebody of her great beauty deserve an equally beautiful man?
One day Hector suggested that Helen seek the counsel of Doofinocles, a wizard of Troy. “It is said he has great powers to heal the wounded heart, the tormented soul. Shall I bring him to your chambers?”
“What can he do for me, Hector? Alas, I have been the cause of a terrible war that has gone beyond all our control. Furthermore my loins are dry since I will no longer allow your brother entrance to my portals. He shames me, standing apart from the fray of battle, shooting his arrows from afar but never swinging a sword man-to-man! What did I ever see in him, Hector?”
“We all make mistakes, dear lady! Some would say even the gods do; were it not so, my brother Paris would have been blessed with wisdom and prudence as well as good looks. But let me fetch this wizard, as he may prescribe a potion to lift your spirits.”
“Bring him then forthwith, noble Hector.”
One hour later, Hector returned with Doofinocles, a round-shoulder old man with thinning gray hair, whose paunch could not be hidden by his ragged robe. It was said that he was too absorbed in his magic to attend to his attire. One look at Helen, and Doofinocles’ gaze lit up with the vigor and magnificent expectations of the youthfulness he had long left behind.
The proper introductions were made.
“I have only glimpsed you from a distance as you stood on the promenade of the palace, great Helen,” said Doofinocles. “The reports of your beauty were inadequately phrased, but then, how many among us are true poets? But, gracious lady, I was looking into the future just the other day, and rest assured that only a few generations from now a poet shall be born who shall capture the essence of your loveliness in words that shall sing unto eternity! His name shall be Maeonides, also known as Homer. Furthermore,” he paused, catching his breath, “according to other visions I have been blessed with, one day you shall be the subject of a dramatic pageant that shall gross, on its opening weekend, 40-plus millions of what shall be called American dollars.”
Helen looked worriedly at Hector. “What in the name of Athena is this poor man raving about?”
“He sees into the future,” said Hector, “and of nations to come.”
“One land shall be called Hollywood,” murmured Doofinocles.
“Enough, you old bachelor!” laughed Hector. “Helen is lost in melancholy thanks to this endless war and the foolishness of her choices in love. Have you a libation which can brighten her brow?” As Hector spoke, he stood with noble bearing at Helen’s side, his hand on the hilt of his sword. Glancing up at him, Helen wished again she could steal Hector from his wife. She thought that this, and only this, would really make her feel better. But no, she reminded herself, she knew she’d already caused enough trouble with Paris. Still, would she ever know ecstasy again?
Doofinocles looked down for a moment at Helen’s feet, which peeked out of the hem of her royal gown. Yes, as he had hoped, she had gloriously beautiful feet worthy of her reputation! Doofinocles was drawn to the more unusual forms of female appreciation. He found satisfaction through the manipulation of his organ during visions of foot and leg admiration, or in the actual practice of such admiration during encounters with some of the looser women of Troy. But now here before him were the feet of Helen, beauty of beauties, feet that were as exquisite as her face and overall form!
Although dedicated to his craft as a wizard and part-time prophet, and mindful that he had better come up with something to help this unhappy lady’s mood (and Hector looked a bit testy himself), Doofinocles also wanted to savor those toes. And, if possible, the ankles and calves above them. With the intelligence that had enabled him to make a modest but acceptable livelihood as a wizard and counselor to various Trojan citizens, both high and low, he quickly conceived of a plan that would help Helen but at the same time give himself a pleasure the gods themselves might envy.
“My lady Helen,” he began, “had I a libation to cure your vexation, I would pour it dutifully without hesitation! But no such draught exists in this primitive age of human wizardry. Yes, I say, primitive! I have no illusions. I have looked into the future and seen–Valium, Lithium, Prozac and Xanax!”
“You speak of warriors?” said Hector.
“Nay, but rather magical substances to quell the shudders of the soul! I have no way to obtain their formulas, mighty Hector, and I suffer the futility of a man who knows the great wonders of the future but cannot obtain or share them with his people. But there is another art, refined in this our own time, to which I am privy, and this shall soothe the turbulent pitch of Helen’s blood!”
“Then get on with it, man,” said Hector, clenching the hilt of his sword more tightly.
“With dispatch, my lord!” Kneeling in front of Helen, Doofinocles asked, “Would the lady extend her right foot onto my lap?”
“What knavery is this?” snapped Hector, and now his sword was drawn.
“Sheath your weapon, and let him continue,” said Helen, placing her foot onto Doofinocles’ lap. The sole of her golden-laced sandal made contact with his sturdy maleness which, since he had kneeled, had grown to full length under the inadequate concealment of his robe.
“Allow me to disburse you of these sandals, my lady. It is through the naked foot that I will do battle with the despondency that courses through your flesh.” When she nodded, he removed her sandals.
“You came highly recommended, bachelor,” said Hector, “but I am having my doubts now.”
“I must have peace, great Hector, in order to perform these healing rituals.”
“Peace, wizard? There has been no peace in Troy for five years!”
“Hector, please!” said Helen. “Perhaps it would be better if you waited outside my chambers.”
“You want to be alone with this knave?””
Doofinocles stood up. “I have no weapon.”
Hector looked below the waist of Doofinocles’ robe, where there was a tenting. “No weapon, hah! Sly stale bachelor, you sport the oldest weapon of all!”
“Oh, this? Mine is not like those of other men. This is my Rod of Cleansing.”
Hector unsheathed his blade again and brought the tip to Doofinocles’ throat. “What riddle spews from your lips, magician? Would you attempt to defile a princess of Troy with your word-tricks?”
“I thought she was Queen of Sparta,” said Doofinocles.
“Impudent dog!”
“No, wizard, they have made me a princess here,” said Helen. “This is now my home.” Tears gleamed in her eyes. “All is woe for Helen of Troy! The princess who now loathes her prince!”
“Then the rumors are true?” asked Doofinocles. “You are finished with Paris?”
“He is a fool! I despise him!”
Doofinocles dropped to his knees again. “Then extend your foot now, my lady! This is the perfect time to commence my ministrations, when the blood is boiling with congealed hate! I shall make it flow out, irrigating the clogged channels of your being!”
Hector stared with ill-natured puzzlement, as Helen lifted her naked foot towards the wizard again. This time Doofinocles brought it close to his lips, inhaling the clean fragrance which was only lightly mixed with a fruit-scented perfume. Her toes were wonderfully well-formed, and adorned with a light pink paint on the nails that perfectly complemented her blondeness. “Now I must proceed without delay,” Doofinocles said. “Through my kisses I shall absorb into my mouth and body the awfulness that assails your heart!”
Hector stood by slack-jawed, sword at his side, as Doofinocles kissed every last inch of Helen’s right foot, lingering on each smaller toe and then sucking for a prolonged moment on the big one. Then he did likewise to the flawlessness of her left foot, caressing her bare sole with his fingertips as it flexed with the curling and pointing of her toes under his salivating worship.
“You drool like a hound on me, magician!” snapped Helen, haughtiness overcoming her melancholy. “How can this cure me?”
Doofinocles lifted his face from her left foot. Indeed, strings of slobber shimmered on his beard, and his eyes had a glazed happiness that looked more like that of a village dolt than a scholar of the refined spiritual healing arts. Nonetheless, he said, “It is not my spit, dear lady, but the clear, extracted fluid that carries your despair through every province of your lovely body! It weeps through your pores into my lips, and I suck it out to cleanse your soul, much as one would draw out the venom from a snake-bite!” And with that, he lifted both of her feet, pressed their soles against each other, and jammed his mouth with as many of her toes he could get past his scraggly teeth and gray whiskers.
Helen stared, appalled, almost as if this were happening to somebody else’s feet. Yet, her gloom over Paris and the war was so great that she did not extract her feet from the hands and lips of this curious philosopher; for who knew? Perhaps a difficult cure could only be accomplished by unusual means.
Doofinocles abandoned his crouch and simply slumped his backside down onto the floor of Helen’s chamber. As he sucked her toes, he let his fingers drift upwards. He hoped he could conceal his ecstasy, because from her delicious toes to her slender ankles to the shapely lines of her calves and thighs, this was indeed a woman who could launch a thousand licks! Helen! Helen! He, Doofinocles, was sucking the feet of the Spartan queen whose beauty was so overwhelming that she had actually been forgiven by the Trojans for provoking this endless war!
Hector was still skeptical. He nudged Helen as he pointed at Doofinocles’ crotch. “Look at his so-called ‘Rod of Cleansing’ now,” he grunted. “Wetting the front of his robe with what he would no doubt call his ‘Elixir of Truth.’ Right, bachelor?”
“Mmmffffhhhhmmm,” said Doofinocles, sucking Helen’s feet as hard as he could, putting on a good show of magical healing as well as enjoying the greatest moment of his sensual life. He kept repeating to himself, in his mind, because it made his shaft harder: Helen’s feet, in Doofinocles’ mouth! In Doofinocles’ mouth, Helen’s feet!
“Now, my lady!” he finally said, when he removed her toes from his lips, but not without giving each of her soles a few last long licks. “The moment of truth has arrived! I shall absorb all your sadness into my Rod of Cleansing! In my Rod, no secrets are concealed, and all your pain shall be congealed! I shall receive your despair, and disperse it through the spray of my shaft!”
And with those words, he pulled up the hem of his ragged robe to reveal his throbbing, leaking phallus, which he placed between Helen’s feet, enclosing his veiny length with her soles, and moving them up and down and up and down rapidly until–until–
He was almost there, and then he got a prize beyond all expectations. He wondered if Hector saw it too. A strange glitter awoke in Helen’s eyes as her skepticism vanished–it was a light she could not control–a gleaming that surprised her–as she clearly felt an urge rapidly flowering in her body, an urge that exploded like a volcano at the same time his did!
Doofinocles came!
And so did Helen!!
“By all the gods!” cried Hector, staring at these two as they suddenly shook and twitched, connected only by Helen’s feet wrapped around Doofinocles’ rod.
The wizard looked down, to see his cream shimmering and sliding down the slopes and valleys of Helen’s toes and insteps and heels. Some of it had even shot up high to her calves, and leaked all over her ankles. And there was a huge wet spot in the center of Helen’s gown, too, right over her womanly portals. She had poured out her own juices in uncontrolled ecstasy!!
“Helen, how do you feel?” said Hector, leaning over her chair.
“I feel…” She shook her blonde tresses, as if to put the pieces of her brain back in their proper places. “I feel…better.”
“By the gods!” exulted Doofinocles, although he did not much believe in them anymore, but only addressed them from the force of childhood habit. “I have triumphed!”
“Triumphed, wizard?” shouted Hector, drawing his sword again. “Crafty bachelor! What do you mean by ‘triumphed’?”
“Triumphed against the forces of melancholy that plagued our exquisite lady!” said Doofinocles, standing up and letting his robe fall down as far as it could go on his legs. He saw that he’d leaked some of his spendings on the hem; oh well, he’d ask one of the tarts he was friendly with in the brothel quarter to launder it in exchange for telling her fortune.
“Hector, do not chide this scholar,” said Helen. “I…I feel much relieved. Indeed, perhaps I should have a weekly treatment from wise Doofinocles.”
“You are jesting, Spartan wench!”
“You call me ‘wench’?? And I thought you liked me, Hector!”
“Nay, it is but wearisome pretense! You have brought nothing but ruin upon Troy!”
“Well, if that’s the way you really feel, hypocrite, then I’m going to need as much help as I can get! Wizard, talk to my handmaiden and tell her when you can next appear to soothe my aching heart! She shall inscribe the date for my remembrance, and I shall receive you at the appointed hour!”
“Done, my lady!” said Doofinocles, even as his shaft began to stir again in happy anticipation. “So it shall be written, so it shall be done!” But he didn’t tell her that he’d gotten that last snappy phrase from his prophetic vision of a future Hollywood pageant called The Ten Commandments!
THE END!
HELEN OF TROY GETS A FOOT MASSAGE ©2026 Irv O. Neil
The illustration was created using the A.I. program on my stock photography account at depositphotos.com.
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