Foot Fetish Fantasy Story

Foot Fetish Fantasy Story

‘Manolo Blahnik,’ he said, ‘This season’s Olympic inspired footwear in bronze, silver and gold.’

‘You know your shoes,’ I said laughing.

‘Yes I have a fascination with ladies’ shoes,’ ‘And feet.’

‘So you’re a podiatrist,’ I joked cheekily.

‘No. But I’d like to be!’  ‘No nail salon’, he added, ‘I’m just a connoisseur.’

I slipped out of my shoes and noticed his smouldering eyes and chiselled jaw. He was very attractive and I couldn’t deny it.

‘You have supple heels,’ he continued. ‘Soft, delicate, pink, satin skin. Those are the heels of a lady who takes pride in her feet and has weekly pedicures. ‘

He was right. I was a weekly pedicure person with feet as soft as butter. Pedicures and beautiful shoes were part of my femininity and I loved to look and feel attractive, girly and seductive.  With a foot fetish massage, your shoes are the stage that allows you to perfectly spotlight your deliciously sweet feet. Some foot fetish fans love the natural aroma of toes fresh out of the shoes they have been tucked away in all day, especially elegant shoes.

‘Nice touch,’ he said gesticulating to my coloured polish.

I nodded coyly.

I led him to the boudoir on tipped toes, careful to display the arches of my slim and perfectly formed feet.  His breath was warm on my neck.  My skin was tingling and I was already caught up in the brisk thrill of excitement.

As he lay expectantly on the large hotel bed, I stood over him, tracing his fine facial features with my slender foot, cupping his cheeks, gently stroking his jaw.

‘I want to touch them,’ he whispered softly. It was more of a demand than a request.

Inexplicably powerless, I let him explore. He held my calf in his hands, admiring the shape and tracing the curve with his fingers.  He kissed my shin all the way down to the ankle, drinking in the sweet scent of my slender foot.  He held it aloft and gazed in wonderment.

‘So beautiful….so delicate,’ he whispered. ‘You have such fine feet.’

His tongue ran along my sole, my arch and my heel. I squirmed with delight. My skin was tingling and I was filled with desire.  He traced my heel delicately as if he was trying to memorise every little detail and moved my foot so he could suckle my toes.  Waves of electricity shot through my entire body. The sensation of his hot breath was driving me wild. I began gyrating my hips with a burning hunger – a hunger to please and tease.

He grabbed my other leg and held it high, kissing up and down the length of it. I threw my head back and moaned with pleasure.  This Foot Master was truly a connoisseur.  He worshipped and adored my feet so skilfully, so tenderly, so passionately.

I released my foot from his grip and slid it over his manly chest in a circular motion, gently pulling at his chest hair with my toes, sliding over every inch of his torso, along his inner thighs and along his muscular legs.

Drunk on a cocktail of lust and a fear of the unknown, this mysterious, silver shark sunk into a deep dark reverie as I massaged his feet with my thumbs, fingers, palms and body. Alternating the speed each time, arousing every toe and tiny hair on his paws…..he was a teddy bear in my hands. Such a novel and delectable sensation.

‘You’re sensational,’ he muttered. ‘Absolutely bloody sensational.’

His deep voice sent a pulse of pleasure rippling through the very core of me. I continued massaging every inch of his tension.  He feasted his eyes hungrily upon me, as I turned gracefully and once again crawled over him, arching my feet, directing my toes into his mouth.  As his tongue lolled between my toes, I squirmed with delight. The atmosphere was that of intense desire. My pulse was racing. I was on a mission to blow his mind.

As I continued to excite all his senses, I flipped myself seductively on my back and grasped his rigidity with my feet.  He thrust with fury, as I poured more massage oil over his loaded ammunition, the excess oil seeping off my feet.  This creative performance before him was something, I could tell, he had only imagined.  His fantasy was becoming his splendid reality.

As he pumped excitedly against my heels, the pressure built for both of us to an explosive level. The tsunami of ecstatic pleasure spewed forth.

We had been transported to a finer, more sophisticated, seriously sensual existence where all fetishes were accepted, all fantasies explored and all humans were open-minded to the pleasure of sensual foot fetish pleasure.  It was liberating to reach that summit.  I had released a wild animal from the confines of his cage. I had tamed the foot fetish beast- as it were.  ‘I am the Foot Fetish Whisperer.’ I said to myself.  And I am proud to serve this title.

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