posted
The following is a foot fetish story I began writing for my own pleasure late last year. (I've always had the intention of sharing it with my Wu's brothers and sisters, of course.) It starts off based quite closely on reality, and then toddles off into fantasyland.
I want you to know that when I write this stuff, it's to please me, and no one else. It's going to contain the foot fetish and other sex stuff that I find exciting. It of course will not be for everyone. I hope, though, that plenty of people do enjoy it.
This story is NOT YET FINISHED by a long shot. This is just the beginning. It will go on to include fictional fantasy material involving the girl, Tracy, introducing our friend Marnie to the scene(s), and it will only get hotter. I plan to include plenty of sweaty feet worship and dirty feet worship, and some femdom kinda stuff involving the girls being domineering and demanding that I worship their feet, pussies, asses, etc. Forced licking of their various hot/sweaty/dirty parts after rollerblading and hiking and stuff will abound.
The reason I'm posting the story here, and not submitting it as a story (and I hope I'm not upsetting the admins with this) is that it isn't ready for full release as a published story, but I really want to get it out there and I don't know how much longer it'll be before I get it all completed. It's long, and getting longer.
I welcome comments, if you're inclined to want to comment. I'm naturally good at proofreading my work, and I've made an effort to keep the story free of typos, but if you spot any, feel free to let me know what needs correcting.
With no further ado, I present to you my semi-fictional foot fetish story.
P-Jay Foot fetish story December 10, 2016
I Was the Licker of My Waitress-Friends' Sweaty Feet
We all served ... and then I kept serving
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Waitresses. They're always on their feet. Hours and hours at a time without a break. Always workin' their feet. A shift can last four hours, eight hours, and how about those doubles? A waitress works her feet. Her feet work for her. And for a very happy time in my life, I worked alongside them—and then for them. By "them," I mean the waitresses ... and their feet.
You know the restaurant chain I worked for. You always "thank god" for it. I had been waitering there for a few months and it was a pretty ok deal while I finished up a few stupid errant credits I needed to get my college diploma. I made some friends, there. We hung out after work sometimes.
A girl named Tracy got hired. Pretty girl, about 5'9" or so, long dark hair with bangs in the front—kind of what they call "rockabilly" style. She was a cool chick to work with, and we started getting to know each other in the upstairs section when we'd have a "shift meal" after getting off the clock. We had some cool conversations, and got along pretty well. At one point, I recall, she said to me, "I don't know anyone else like you." I took it as a compliment. I mean, I remember her saying that all these years later. I did end up proving to her that she was 100% correct.
That summer, we went to a pool party at the home of the stepfather of another girl we worked with. Nice house—step-daddy had big-sugar money. Tracy and I didn't really flirt much during the party, but afterward, we went out to her car, which was parked on the street in front of the house, and hung out and talked for ... Idunno, about two hours or more. It was nice and relaxed. We talked about a little bit of everything, even what we each liked when it came to sex.
"I like to be gentle and smooth with a girl, you know? Like long, fluid motions with my hands, and deep kisses that merge into one another. None of this 'mashing together' shit like they do in movies, like they have a deadline to finish fucking," I told her.
"Oh, no," she said. "I like to be slammed!"
Whoa, nelly! I guess I can do that!
Eventually, we hooked up a few times, not as a couple, but as, you know, fuck-friends. It was fun. And yeah, she got that slamming she craved. I might have a preference for slow, sinuous lovemaking, but when a girl wants a slamming, I'll fuckin' oblige with a fuckin' slamming!
Sitting in her car that day after the pool party, another thing I had admitted to her about my sexual preferences was that I had a compelling interest in loving a girl's feet—a foot fetish.
She averred that she didn't imagine that she'd be much into having her feet licked, which I had informed her I very much enjoyed doing (loved doing, actually). I filed that away mentally at the time as a, "We'll see about that." I didn't let it get me down, because I had found through experience that women can be self-conscious about their feet, especially if they've never had an opportunity to experience having someone who really is into feet show them what a good time can be had with them. Some women have to be pushed a little, that way. They almost always end up converted.
The first time Tracy and I hooked up was actually the day after the pool party. I went over to her small apartment, and we picked up a few beers and planned on getting drunk together and just hanging out. We hadn't expressly planned, or stated, that we were going to fool around, but we both knew what was going on.
We only made out, that night, actually. We didn't even finish the beer we'd bought. We just made out, and eventually fell asleep on top of the covers on her bed, our clothes still on. In the morning, I woke before Tracy did. Rather than wake her up in a conventional—boring—way (I try hard to never do "boring"), I had a better idea, one that paid off later in magnificent fashion. Without disturbing her as she slept face-down on the bed, I slid down to her feet. I began to give her the kind of adept, sensual foot massage that only someone whose soul entwines with a girl's feet when he touches them can give.
She made soft mewing sounds as she gradually rose from unconsciousness into wakefulness there in her girlie little 20-something's bedroom, with the Sanrio paintings of Keroppe the frog and Hello Kitty that she had done on her walls.
After a good thirty minutes, at least, of massaging both of her feet, back and forth, I took a bold step that I knew was very unlikely to miss. I lifted her right foot off the comforter so that her leg bent the knee, stared down at that relaxed, beautifully formed size-eight foot, and gently took its pinkie toe into my mouth. I sucked the toe for a few seconds, swirling my warm tongue around it, and then moved on to the next toe.
For the next half hour or so I indulged myself on Tracy's feet, alternately sucking her toes, licking her feet soles, and massaging her feet thoroughly and deeply with my hands.
Tracy's feet were athletic, strong feet. They weren't in perfect shape, because not only did she work as a waitress, she had been a competitive dancer when she was in high school. That kind of thing will toughen a girl's feet. It'll put calluses on the soles and corns on the knuckles of the toes—and Tracy had 'em. In particular what I noticed was a super-thick, disc-shaped callus in the center of the ball of each foot. I later came to think of this by a name I coined myself—"Dancer's Callus,"—because pretty much the only women I ever saw who had it were serious dancers and strippers. My theory is that the friction from all those thousands of pirouettes causes it to form in that particular spot.
So yeah, Tracy's feet were tough, sinewy, callused, but so friggin' beautiful and curvaceous. She had cathedral-like arches with white skin that was soft like tissue paper; but her heels and the balls of her feet were firm, almost rough, and they were an angry reddish-pink. She had black toenail polish on.
Tracy's feet tasted delicious to me, and I think that it was because—well, first of all, girls' feet are delicious. But her air conditioner wasn't working and so it had been a little bit warm in her apartment that night. Her feet must have perspired a bit like the rest of her (and me) during the night, and they had a nice salty seasoning on them come the morning.
Tracy and I had slept in our clothes because we had pretty much passed out while making out and talking into the night. She was wearing a pair of shorts and a tee shirt, and was of course bare-legged and barefooted. Now, as I continued to feast on her tough, callused, tasty feet, I glanced up toward her perfect, rounded, firm ass, and noticed something that gave my already-hard cock a jolt: As my mouth treated her feet to sensations that I knew they had never before experienced, Tracy was dry-humping her bed almost involuntarily! She slowly ground her hips into the mattress and continued to make those adorable mewing moans she had begun making during the foot massage.
All things end, even really good ones. As I said, we didn't fuck that time. Eventually I had to tear myself away from the tasty feast that was Tracy's feet and get on home and shower and start my day. We both had to work later that night, actually. When I set her feet back down on the bed and said that I had to get going, she flipped over on the bed and turned to me with a scowl on her face. Fuming, her eyes flashing with something between frustration and anger, she said, "You can't just get a girl all wet like that and not do anything about it!"
Although I really hadn't planned for things to go this way—I truly did have to get going—I couldn't help feeling a bit self-congratulatory—smug, even: Without even having meant to, I had really set the hook deep in this girl. I was gonna get to fuck her, and fuck her good, and get more of her feet. It was a sure bet. She was already slavering for it.
The next day, I recall, we spoke on the phone before work. The memorable thing about that conversation was that in the middle of it, as we talked about some now-forgotten unrelated thing, Tracy paused, and then said, with what I thought I detected to be a hint of girlish excitement, "So, you'll suck my toes any time I want?"
"Of course!" I replied. I paused, and waited for her response.
She didn't say another word about it, and moved on to talking about getting ready for work; she needed a ride from me that night, as she sometimes did. Meanwhile, my cock had already turned rock hard, on my end of the phone. I didn't mention it.
Now don't go thinking that when I arrived at her house before work that evening, she greeted me at the door and ordered me to the floor and began shoving her salty-sweet bare toes into my mouth, because as fucking cool as that would have been, it didn't happen. She came out her front door, got into my car, and we went to work, and that's all.
But don't go thinking that she never did demand that I worship and lick and suck her feet on a moment's notice, because eventually she did. A lot. A fuck of a lot. And it was fucking awesome!
During the course of the next few days, Tracy and I did indeed hang out together and we did indeed end up back in bed together. The first time we had sex was at my house. Well, I mean in my bedroom at my parents' house. I was still living there while I finished my college degree. It was beyond cool of them to let me stay there rent-free, especially because they were totally ok with me having company over—not just friends, but girls I was having sex with. My parents were pretty open-minded about stuff such as that, and although I kind of took it for granted back then, when I look back now I am extremely grateful for it.
The funny thing was that Tracy herself had suggested that we start the relationship off slowly, and not leap right into having sex (which was at odds with what she had said after I stopped the foot licking that morning in her apartment).
So we were making out on my bed that first night in my bedroom, and gradually got to where I was stroking her clit and fingering her pussy. Eventually, she was ready to be fucked. Girls reach a point where every fiber of them needs that fuck, if you're doing the foreplay right. And I hadn't even gone down and licked her pussy yet!
Not because I wanted to be a dick about this, I reminded her that she had been the one who had suggested that we not launch into having sex right away. So I suggested that we keep to that, and wait a bit longer. Holy shit, don't ever say that to a girl you've just been fingering and whose pussy is starting to make a puddle on your bed sheet.
She turned to face me, incredulous.
"Wait, you're saying you're not gonna fuck me?!" she exclaimed.
"Well, I thought that you said we should go slow and wait ..."
All I got back was a glare, and silence, so I knew what I had to do, and continuing to not fuck Tracy surely was not it.
Now, almost as much as I love to eat a girl's feet, I love to eat her pussy (and, yeah, her asshole). So I gave Tracy a little grin and said, "Fine. I'll fuck you. But first ..."
We had been under my blanket, and over time we had shed our clothes as the making-out and the pussy fingering had gone on. She had also done a little friendly tugging on my cock, which had spent the entire time hard while we'd been making out. I know it's weird that we had gotten naked, since I hadn't planned to fuck her, but I do still like to be naked with a girl, and it's always fun to peel each other's clothes off. That never gets old. So I had let it happen without really thinking about it. Or maybe some deeply concealed part of my psyche had thought about it good and hard and just hadn't gotten around to telling me.
So I pushed the blanket off to the side of the bed toward the wall, exposing my naked body and her naked body. It was the first time I had the opportunity to actually look at her naked, and she me. We both were quite pleased with what we found. Man, she really did have a dancer's body. Smooth, rounded hips; medium sized breasts with cute pink hard nipples a little bigger than a 25¢ piece; and a flat, taut abdomen with those two strips of muscle that run vertically that practically scream out to be kissed. She had a narrow strip of dark—almost black—well-tended pubic hair.
I put my hand on the inside of Tracy's left knee and gently pushed it out to her left side as she lay on her back fresh from having her pussy fingered. At the same time, I maneuvered myself down toward the foot of the bed and rolled from lying on my left side to lying on my stomach.
She bent her right knee up as well, and so both of her feet were up not far from her ass, pressed down on the mattress. I glanced at each of them, staring longingly at her black-pedicured toenails and her long, knuckly, athletic toes, and had to struggle to keep disciplined and not just go for it and start devouring them.
For the time being, I was here for the pussy.
Straight from making out to eating pussy, with no feet-licking in between. It was not the usual progression.
But when I tore my eyes away from those feet I wanted to lick and suck so bad, I found myself staring directly at the most perfectly formed, delectable pink pussy I had ever seen in my life, even including in porn. It was like a master erotic artist's conception of the best possible way a pussy could look.
Not a blemish. Not a single ingrown hair. Just adorable folds of wet, glistening pink flesh directly below a pretty strip of short black hair that essentially said, "Land here, and welcome!"
Her outer labia were already spread from arousal, and her inner labia poked out ever so slightly. Everything was smooth. Her labia looked as neat and tidy as a fresh haircut. None of those long, dangly flesh curtains all wrinkled like a split scrotum or a piece of chewed-up bubblegum. No, her pussy was perfect in every way, and in my mind I gave sincere thanks to the sex gods for blessing me with a beauty. You never know what you're gonna get. It's s total crapshoot, and you just have to hope you get lucky.
I glanced up at Tracy for a moment after I had taken in the sight of that incredibly pretty pussy, and her eyes met mine, and then I kissed—very gently—the crux at the top of her vulva—her clit. It was a light, superficial kiss with puckered lips, like the kind you put on the forehead of a baby. It was symbolic, not intended to arouse.
But it did arouse. I swear I saw a flash of light spark in Tracy's eyes just before they closed and she tilted her head back onto the pillow. I looked back down at Tracy's pussy, opened my mouth and extended my tongue outward and downward, flattening it wide, and pressed it against the slightly agape opening of her vagina. Keeping my tongue flat and wide, I licked up her crease to the top, making sure to be gentle on her clit—for now. Overstimulation at this stage is to be avoided. What you're going for is a slow, steady start.
I repeated that same licking motion a few times more and felt Tracy push her hips toward my face a little. Time to step it up already, I guess. This girl got aroused really quickly! Well, I guess it had something to do with the kissing from earlier, and the fingering too. She was ready. She was running hot.
I, meanwhile, was in my glory. I LOVE to lick pussy. I love the sight of it, I love the taste and smell of it, I love the texture of it, I even love the sound it makes when my tongue or fingers make it slosh.
Actually, Tracy's pussy didn't have much of a smell to note. More's the pity. I like it when a pussy has a noticeable, memorable smell. But Tracy had such a thin, short strip of pubic hair, and her labia themselves were totally shaved. I later came to understand that really it's pubic hair around a pussy that holds onto the pheromone-containing sweat that gives pussy its characteristic smell. If there isn't much hair, there isn't much smell retained.
As for the taste, Tracy's pussy tasted like you expect a pussy to taste. It was a mixture of salty, coppery, bitter, sweet, and bland. It was perfectly satisfying, and not one thing about it was any less than pleasant and enjoyable. So I stayed there and enjoyed it.
I took my cue from the movement of Tracy's hips to step up the pressure and speed of my tongue. I knew that if you want to make a girl have an orgasm with your tongue, you have to do essentially none of the stupid stuff you see guys do in porno movies. You don't stiffen your tongue like the point of a spear. You sure as hell don't flick her clit with the tip of your tongue like you're trying to emulate a boxer at a speed bag. No, what you do is you flatten your tongue, you press it against her pussy, and you keep ... a steady ... fucking ... rhythm. And you lick that way like a slave until she makes it clear in one way or another that you're finished.
It isn't glamorous work. It can even be a little monotonous. But this isn't about you, it's about her and how her body works. They are all different to some degree, but one thing is almost always the same: Their clits need a long, slow arousal curve to bring them to the point of orgasm, and the motion needs to be smooth, consistent, and regular. And if you think about it, it only makes sense. When you stroke your own dick, or when someone else does, what works? Do you screw around with all kinds of trick moves and change your grip around a bunch of times right in the middle of it? Would that make you come? Hell no! You need steady stimulation that remains consistent, and eventually gets faster and more intense.
So when you're licking a pussy, you lock on and lock in. You'll know when it's time to increase the speed and pressure.
Before a minute had gone by, though, Tracy had put her hands on the back of my head and had laced her manicured fingers into my wavy brown hair and was forcing my face harder against her pussy. Mews and moans were coming from above me as her arousal intensified, and she was kind of pushing along the motion of my tongue using the back of my head like she was trying to control it. It made me think of a bumper sticker I had seen a long time before that, probably at a Spencer Gifts: "Let go of my ears: I know what I'm doing!"
A few seconds later, I felt the tendons in Tracy's inner thighs tense up and then quiver; her mewing became plaintive, protracted moaning; she pressed the back of my head really hard (it kind of hurt a bit because she was pulling my hair to do it, but I didn't care). I felt Tracy's pussy convulse under my tongue as well, and because it was convulsing, a big dollop of goo got forced out of it—her own delicious salty natural lube from deep inside her, which would otherwise have been smoothing the glide of my cock, had it been in there fucking her.
I never saw this dollop, because my view was limited essentially to her pubic hair, her belly button, her breasts, and her face, which was tilted back so I couldn't really see much but the underside of her chin. I didn't see the glob of pussy goo that shot out of her tunnel, but it landed smack on the middle of my broadened, pussy-privileged tongue, and in half a second, I gulped it down and swallowed it, and as I did so I swear that my raging hard cock, which was pressed against the mattress, came as near to ejaculating as it possibly could without actually doing so.
My mind reeled. All I could think of—no, wait, it isn't accurate to call it "thinking". All my mind was able to do was buzz with a quasi-conscious realization that I had just swallowed probably a quarter cup of the most precious fluid there was on the entire planet. It was a mystical, spiritual experience. I mean, I had eaten pussy before—and eaten it good—but I had never been gifted with such a generous reward from deep in the heart of the pussy I had been worshiping.
Tracy's grip on my hair relaxed and her hands fell to her sides as her legs began to un-tense. They still quivered occasionally. I had ceased my tongue's ministrations very shortly after I had swallowed Tracy's shot of love-goo, because I knew that it had happened at the peak of her orgasm and that after that point, if you keep up the same kind of licking that got her there, a girl is apt to claw your fuckin' eyes out, or rip your tongue off. Maybe both.
Tracy lay there breathing heavily for a while. I wasn't sure if her eyes were open or closed. She didn't say anything. I just remained where I was and gazed with love and devotion at her perfect pussy. I felt like winking at it. Soon, I heard a whisper, and looked up. "Holy fuck," is what I heard whispered.
Tracy was looking back down at me. She wasn't smiling, or frowning. She almost looked a bit puzzled. She said it again: "Holy fuck!How did you ever learn to eat pussy like that?!"
I gave a nonverbal grunt that sounded like a caveman's version of, "Idunno,"
In my mind, I was rejoicing. I had just made this girl come like a fucking motherfucker. She had come like a fucking cannon. (Right into my mouth with a big wet cannonball, in fact.) What it meant to a guy such as me, who would spend every waking moment licking pussy if he could—that is, if there were no girl-feet around to lick—was that I was IN. She now knew—and I now knew that she knew—that she could put my mouth to work any time she wanted, and get a guaranteed crazy-as-fuck, pussy-and-brain-melting orgasm from my 1000% willing and available tongue.
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