Aaron Boss Foot Worshiped By Dev

Aaron Boss looms over the gym treadmill, arms crossed, foot tapping—a restless giant in a sea of inadequate trainers. “You,” he snaps at the latest disappointment, “didn’t even glance at my arches. Out.” The guy scurries off. Another dud.

Enter Dev—wiry, smirking, clutching a clipboard like a weapon. “Heard you’re picky,” he says, eyes zeroing in on Aaron’s size 15s planted like anchors. “Let’s fix that.”

Aaron’s brow arches. “You think you can handle this?”

Dev drops to his knees, untying Aaron’s sneaker with theatrical flair. “I’m not here to handle you. I’m here to worship you.” The words hang in the air as he peels back the sock, revealing a foot swollen with tension. Dev’s fingers press into the arch, and Aaron’s exhale hisses through his teeth. “There’s the sweet spot,” Dev murmurs, digging deeper.

The session’s a revelation. Dev’s hands are everywhere—rolling foam under Aaron’s soles, adjusting squat stances to “align the sacred pressure points,” even timing sprints to the rhythm of Aaron’s footfalls. Mid-deadlift, Aaron barks, “Faster!” Dev sprints to the bench, slapping a vibrating massager into his hand. “Earn it,” he taunts.

By cooldown, Aaron’s sprawled on the mats, sweat-drenched and grinning. “You’re… different.”

Dev smirks, tossing him a towel. “I listen. Most don’t.”