53 Foot Fetish Short Stories

by Andreas Bauer

  “Tom, it’s time for bed.” she said.

  Tom ambled out, smelling of pot. I got my bag from the corner and spread it out. We all crashed right away. The next morning, Tina made breakfast for the five of us. Afterwards, Tom and Stuart went back for another round of PlayStation, while Rosa and I sat on the couch and flipped through magazines. I waited until Tina went outside for a smoke, and then tapped Rosa on the shoulder.

  “Hey, are you pissed about last night?” I asked.

  “No,” she said. “I take responsibility for my part in it. I knew what I was doing.”

  Ever since then, almost every time our little posse gets together, Rosa surreptitiously teases me. She always takes off her shoes and sits next to me, or makes sure they’re in my field of view. I’m not sure if she wants a replay and I’m not going to push it… Just waiting until the opportunity presents itself again.

  3.

  The First

  Time Encounter

  I've had a foot fetish for quite some time, and never had the opportunity to act on it until just this week.

  I was driving my car late in the morning in a city across the river. It was warm, and I had the air conditioning on. I was at a stop sign, ready to turn right onto a major street. It was busy, and I expected to sit there for a while waiting for a space to open so I could turn.

  When I had pulled up to the sign, I noticed on my left a woman walking toward me. She was about 5' 6", slim, and had blonde hair. She was wearing a bikini top and jeans with flared bottoms. She had nice, small breasts and a slim waist. I noticed that she carried a pair of flip-flops in her hand. She was older, but still looked good enough for me to notice. I couldn't see her feet since they were hidden under her pants.

  When she got up to the corner, she paused to check for traffic and as she did so our eyes met. I smiled, and she smiled back. She started across the street and came up to my car window. I rolled it down and engaged her in conversation.

  "Which way you going?" she asked. "I'm heading east. Need a ride to anywhere in particular?" I asked.

  She explained that she had dropped her car off for service and had planned on walking home, but didn't realize how hot and humid it was going to be. She had about 1-1/2 miles to go, and her flip-flops weren't the most comfortable things to wear on long treks.

  "Hop in and make yourself comfortable" I told her.

  I watched her as she walked around to the passenger side and entered my PT Cruiser. She put her feet up on my dash and aimed an air vent for her crotch. I guess that was comfortable. This was the first time I had seen her feet, and they were beautiful! Long and narrow, well cared for. I think she caught me looking at them.

  "I really appreciate your giving me a ride here. I'm not making you uncomfortable, am I? I'm just a little sweaty in these jeans." "No, not at all. Feel free to cool off any way you want. I know what it's like having to wear long pants in the heat. I've got to wear ties at work, and some days that really kills Me."

  "Mind if I take them off then?" she asked, referring to her jeans.

  "I don't mind at all." I said. Like I was going to be offended with a woman sitting in her underwear in my car.

  She then unbuttoned her fly and raised her butt off the seat as she pulled her pants down her legs.

  Yes! The matching bikini bottom!

  "I live in an apartment and was going to go swimming today, so I threw this on. Do you like it?"

  It was a yellow bikini with a bright floral print. I told her I loved it. We made other small talk on the ride to her apartment complex, and seemed to get along pretty well.

  "Turn right here, third building on the left." She told me.

  I pulled into a space in front of the door. "Care to come in for a glass of lemonade? Or, maybe something stronger?" she asked me.

  "I'd love to. Don't forget your pants when you get out!" I told her.

  We went up to her room. When we got in, she told me to make myself at home while she washed her feet. "Just whistle if you need some help" I told her in a semi-joking tone. She smiled at me as she left the room, presumably for the bathroom.

  (PLEASE!-PLEASE!-PLEASE! I thought to myself.)

  I soon heard water running, then it stopped.

  She then re-entered the room, still wearing the flowered bikini, carrying a towel over her arm and a pan of water in her hands. She walked across the room and sat in a chair, putting the pan at her feet. Then, she whistled.

  (THANK YOU!-THANK YOU!-THANK YOU! I thought.)

  Smiling, I walked over to her and knelt on the floor by the pan.

  "I saw the way you were looking at my feet in the car, and how you tried to check them out when I was walking. I've always wanted to have someone pay attention to my feet, and figured you were a nice enough guy, I thought I'd take a chance."

  "Well, you won't be disappointed." I told her.

  First I gently picked up her feet and placed them both in the tub. She told me to take off my shirt and pants so they wouldn't get wet. I took off my shirt, and hesitated at the pants not knowing if I should reveal a now huge boner under my shorts. She smiled at me and said "I know you are hard already. It's not that easy to hide."

  So, off came my pants, shoes and socks. My cock was straining against the front of my shorts, and was very noticeable. I couldn't believe it- here I was, wearing only my jockeys, kneeling at the feet of a woman wearing only a bikini, and she wanted me to wash her feet! I was in heaven!

  I began to make some lather in my hands using the soap in the tub. Starting with her right foot, I paid special attention to the bottom of her feet and the area between her toes. They were the sexiest little toes I had ever seen!

  "This is nice" she told me as I massaged her foot, cleaning it at the same time. "Tell me about your foot fetish."

  "Well, it began when I was little. I can remember always liking the smell of leather shoes, especially when they've been worn. Sweat socks always had a pleasant smell to me also. As I grew older, and began getting interested in pornography, I found it odd that here were women, posing or engaging in sex acts, wearing nothing at all except for their shoes. So, I began to look specifically for magazines that had barefoot models in them."

  "As my collection of "Leg Show" and "Foot Action" grew, I realized that I had a fetish. The Internet opened a whole world of foot porn for me, and helped me to realize that I am not alone, or even odd."

  I dunked her foot to rinse it before as I continued my work with her left foot.

  "Have you ever acted on your fantasies?" she asked me.

  "No, never. I tried with my wife, but she doesn't share my feelings about feet. I catch myself checking out women's feet during the day, and I love open-toed shoes, but I've never acted anything out."

  "Well, today must be your lucky day. I've always enjoyed going barefoot, and love the look of the female foot. I'll admit, I'm a foot-flirt, and enjoy teasing with my toes, dangling shoes or just flashing my feet at men. Some don't get it, others are really into it. I've always been hesitant about acting on anything though, but for some reason, today, I just thought I'd go for It."

  "Well, I'm glad you did." I said.

  I finished with her feet and began drying them with the towel she brought. As I did, I brought them up close to my face and smelled them. I could detect a hint of lilac from the soap I had used.

  "Go on, you know you want to suck on them." She told me.

  For the first time in my life, I put a woman's toes in my mouth and sucked.

  "Pretend they are little penises, and suck on them like you want me to suck on yours."

  While I found this a little odd, it didn't deter me from sucking on each toe on her right foot.

  While I was doing this, I felt her left foot explore my dick. I could feel her foot go under the waistband on my shorts and grip me with her toes. I helped her out by pulling them down.

  "Get my foot nice and slobbery, so I have some lubrication" she told me.

  So, I began to lick her sole fro
m heel to toe. She then switched feet, and I sucked on the toes on her left foot as her right sole began to rub on my dick. To make things easier, I laid down and she moved with me.

  I couldn't believe this! First, I found that I love the feel of toes in my mouth. So soft, wiggly, sweet smelling. Then, my first foot job was in the makings. As I felt her toes surround me, I moaned with pleasure when she put my dick in the space between the first two toes and stroked me.

  "Keep this up and I'll coat your foot with cum!" I told her.

  "That is my intention. I've always wanted to feel hot cum squirt on my feet. Will you lick it off for me when you are done?" she asked.

  "I've never tasted my own cum before" I told her, telling the truth.

  "Tell me you'll do it, or I'll stop what I'm doing right now." She demanded.

  Not wanting her to stop, I agreed to lick my cum from her feet. Hey, it meant that I'd get to cum, right?

  "God," she said, "this is so hot! I love the feeling of power that I have over you. And it is all because of my feet! I'm going to call your Foot-Boy, is that alright?"

  "Yes," I said between sucks, "and what can I call you?"

  "Foot Mistress." She said. "How close are you to Cumming, Foot-Boy?"

  "Very close, Foot Mistress."

  "Good. Now, move so that when you cum, you cum on my foot. Remember, you are going to eat your cum for me."

  We changed positions, and she continued with her strokes as I continued with my worshipping duties. Soon, I felt myself begin to let loose, and I grabbed my dick, helping myself to cum as I aimed my shot at her foot.

  "Oh, yes! Shoot that cum all over my foot, little boy! Make your Mistress happy!"

  Who am I to argue?

  I came all over her foot, and squirted what felt like a quart of cum.

  "Very nice, now get to cleaning me- with your tongue!" she demanded.

  So, I began to lick. I didn't care for the salty taste, and the thought of it was a little sickening, but hey, a foot job is a foot job. When I had finished cleaning her foot, with special attention paid to the space between her toes, she told me I had done a very nice job.

  "Now, take off your underwear and leave them for me." She said. "I want something to remember you by. Then, get dressed."

  I did as I was told. I handed her my jockeys, and she left the room. When she returned, she was carrying a pair of white gym socks.

  "Here, something to remember me by. Now, get out, and don't come back!" she said.

  "What? Why? I thought we had something special going here!" I said.

  "No, this is just a one-timer; me living out my fantasy and letting you do the same. Next week I am moving in with my boyfriend. He thinks feet are ugly, and has no desire to explore this with me. But, I love him anyway, and just took advantage of you to indulge my desire."

  "Very well. Thank you for the wonderful time, and are you sure I can't do anything else for you?"

  "No," she said, "I really love my boyfriend. And I won't do anything to hurt him. So please, just leave and never come back."

  So, I did. And as I drove away, I sniffed the socks she gave me (and happily found that they were well worn!) and realized I never even found out her name. My Foot Mistress with have to remain otherwise nameless in my mind forever.

  4.

  MS. Walter

  I entered college early, bored in high school; I found a legal loophole allowing me the right to take classes at the local university. The matter was simple enough, I take college level classes and the credits count both towards graduating high school and as my introductory core college classes. I will never forget that first semester. After four years of having to deal with the cliques, ignorant (Sounds arrogant, but screw it) teachers, and the stifling atmosphere of high school, college was Heaven. Instead of the monkey-see-monkey-do teaching methods, college professors challenged me (and even sometimes bullied me) to express myself to my maximum capabilities. Oh, and no dress code barring girls from wearing foot-showing shoes was also a perk.

  By the time spring rolled around I'd developed a good standing academically and a social life was in the budding stages. For the first time in my entire scholastic career, I felt as if I was actually doing something meaningful. That was when I met Ms. Polly Walter. She was what we liked to call an Ice Cream Trucker. Not nearly as embittered as Teaching Assistants, ICTs were instructors working on doctoral degrees, but taking time off to get experience. I first met her through my advisor/drinking buddy Beau Dade while working on a proposal for a pop-culture literature class. She invited me to join her special class in postmodern fiction and after snatching a quick glance at sandaled size 7's I heartily agreed.

  For the first time that year I found myself struggling, physically and mentally. Ms. Walter didn't take shit, but man, she could hand it out. I worked my ass off that spring for a measly B+, but after five months of sneak peeks at a wide variety of toe nail colors leaking from the open toe of her shoes, I'd do it all over again. After the semester ended I spent my summer playing the games all high school grads do right after getting their diplomas and didn't spend another thought about Ms. Wilken. Fall came and went, right along with Dade. During Christmas break he'd come down with pneumonia, leaving me alone tom complete his project as his assistant.

  Here I was sophomore in college, wet behind the ears, and responsible for the work my advisor had done for the past two years. I prayed for a quick death. Instead I got Ms. Walter.

  (Not literally…well, not yet at least.) Dade called her to help me out with finalizing the project so he could propose the grant as soon as he was back to 100%. For six months I worked beside Polly (we'd dropped the formalities since we were working as colleagues) and it was marvelous. Every evening we'd meet in the English department conference room to go over articles and depositions to bolster Dade's project. On some evenings Polly would take her sandals off and prop her bare feet on the table top, the polished lacquer top reflecting those soles, perfect mirrors. More than once I took smoke breaks to go to the rest room and splash cold water in my face.

  It was a shame then that after so much time in close quarters that we were almost done. I was surprised one evening when Polly asked me to her house for dinner after work to celebrate the completion, Dade would return on Monday from his sabbatical. Don't get me wrong. Dade's my buddy and a great guy, but I don't bat of the other team (if you smell what I'm cooking) and I doubt the guy would look a fraction as good as her 7's coated in a metal tint green. So the idea of celebration was more like a wake. Well, better awake and a final "viewing" before passing on, eh?

  Saturday night rolled around, I'd been anxious all day with the kind of anticipation one has waiting in a dentist's office. I arrived on her doorstep five minutes early knowing her appreciation for promptness (I swear the woman was born for being a teacher) with a good bottle of Jack Daniel's One Barrel under an arm and tub of Ben & Jerry's "Chubby Hubby" ice cream in the other.

  This being our last chance for intimacy, I was prepared to leave knowing I'd made a good impression by supplying our two favorite things in the world, good ice cream and better bourbon.

  She opened the door and as she surveyed my offerings I saw her face twitch in amusement looking at the ice cream, aficionado approval of the Tennessee whiskey, and something indescribable as her eyes settled once more on mine. Looking back on it now I can only describe that expression as the one the spider gave the fly before inviting the poor victim to his doom in her parlor. No, watching flash between emotions perusing my gifts and finally taking measure of me sent chills down my spine. I was on trial, for what I didn't know, but I was sure that before the night was out that bourbon was going to be dead before midnight.

  I helped her cook dinner while we tried our best to avoid talking about the project. As we discussed our private lives I couldn't help but marvel how personal we'd gotten. We'd remained professional, but in our breaks we'd talked about our backgrounds and social lives. Suddenly she brought up the touchy topic
of a recent break up. She'd been aware that the girl I was dating and I were having a rough spot, but that had been at the beginning of term together; she'd been totally unaware of the official split that had come down two months later. Having to work during the day in my classes and in the evenings on the project had left me no time to seek closure. I turned my attentions to the bourbon, letting the not-so-subtle double shot of 150 proof whiskeys be my response. Polly jumped as my glass smacked against the tile counter top and look on her face made me instinctively look own to avoid her gaze. I didn't want her to see the jumble of emotions playing across my face and the sight of her feet hidden in plain white Keds added to my frustration.

  What little of her face I'd seen and the fact I found myself just as distressed by her covered tootsies as her comment had made me realize something. I'd come this evening; despite whatever I'd told myself, intent on playing the part of Don Juan. The ice cream, the bourbon, and faux pas witty banter was idiotic. The look on her face had been one of maternal concern and the differences in our ages made terribly apparent. I don't know to this day what I had intended, but at the time I felt like the world's biggest fool.