Short experience from yesterday...

I was hanging out with some friends and were all talking in a circle outside and just enjoying the Spring weather when one of my girl friends, Kelly, took off her leather ballet shoe and mentioned to another one of our friends, Michelle, that those particular shoes always made her feet stink. Kelly is a fit brunette, 5'6" and 23 years old. Michelle is a cute blond, 5'5" and 24 years old. "Maybe because it's the leather, but my feet always feel stuffed up and sweaty in there," Kelly said. Michelle replied, " Yeah same here, my feet do that too in some of my shoes." My guy friend had a look of disgust but of course I was listening intently. Unfortunately the conversation didn't go on farther after that.

I would never try anything with Kelly, mostly because I see her as almost a sister and she is also married, but there was an instance when we were in the library and was studying for a final in our graduate program. Kelly was wearing the exact same ballet shoes and had removed them. All of a sudden, a rotten stench had creeped out and everyone at the table looked to Kelly, who was was laughing and apologizing for her stinky feet. She then dared someone to sniff them, and yours truly had to take the chance. Kelly, opposite me at the table, offered her foot up underneath and I stuck my nose between her toes and breathed in deeply. WOW! Her feet really did stink, very vinegary. To be honest, I was kind of disgusted! Her strong scent wafted from her nicely shaped skinny toes and pink soles. "Kelly, your feet do f*cking stink!" I declared, and everyone laughed.

Kelly's feet have become a running joke and I take advantage of it whenever I can!

-Tony

Wazsgurll

From the hot chick featured on April 9th and earlier.

Okay so the first foot experience is with my boyfriend as he is the one who introduced me to the world of foot fetish. We had been going out for about 4 months when it happened. We were sitting in his dorm room. I was laying on his bed with my feet dangling off the side of the bed. He was in a desk chair on the side of the bed next to them. He just started massaging them out of nowhere. This went on for about 10 minutes or so without either of us saying anything just watching tv. I finally said that feels really good but you don't have to keep going. I said this thinking he was just doing it for me so I didn't want him to have to work so hard for so long. But he then kind of said oh okay but in a sad weird way. I asked why that reaction. He kinda nervously laughed and said don't worry about it you wouldn't understand. I took him up on that and said try me. He began to explain that he didn't know why but that he was very attracted to my feet and that he enjoyed touching them. We asked questions like what exactly he was attracted too, why he liked touching them, etc etc. After that I told him I didn't think it was weird at all which he feared and that it was actually really cool he thought that because I had always been made fun of for my large feet and long toes by friends and sisters and that it was the first time anyone said anything good about them. And since the massage felt great I told him he should continue. That did until I went to work for about another half hour. So that was the very first foot encounter with him. It has grown from there ever since.

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Hey guys so I thought I would finally add a little story of something that literally just happened. So I went to sleep around 1130 as I had an incredibly long day. However, about an hour ago I started rolling around in my half sleep (which usually I am a ridiculously heavy sleeper so this is rare for me) when I started to feel something going on down at the bottom of the bed. I poked my head up to find my boyfriend with my two big toes in his mouth. He kept sucking on them for about a minute without realizing that I had woken up. I also noticed he had his hand down below the bed clearly working himself if you know what I mean hehe. When he finally saw me watching him he stopped really quick until I just gave him a smile. He took this as a green light to continue. He dug his face back into the underneath area of my toes and started sniffing wildly while going even harder with his hand below the bed. He stopped working on himself for a little bit and began to massage my heels while moving from sniffing to licking in between all my toes and occasionally licking from my heel up to my toes. At this point I was getting a little horny myself and dropped my hand beneath the sheets to relieve my feelings. He sucked each toe on each foot for about a minute before moving on to the next one. After he finished sucking the baby toe on the second foot like it was the last lollipop on earth I couldn't take it anymore I needed him. He came up and we started to have sex in the regular missionary. I then threw my legs up and put my feet in his face. He worshipped them while we continued to make love for about 5 minutes until I finished because I couldn't hold back when he placed my feet together heel to toe and licked from the heel on the one foot all the way up to the toes on the other foot. It was soo hott I came right then and there. He went for about another minute until he pulled out and finished on my toes. He laid in bed next to me until we both realized we couldn't sleep so we hopped on here for me to write this story and for both of us to answer some messages and what not. Overall it was a nice little surprise waking up to that !!

Source

Indulgent Next Door Neighbor

I saved this true story from the old Abel's Foot Stories site.


Indulgent Next Door Neighbor

Shortly after law school, I took on a job with the state attorney general’s office. I had a JD/MBA so I was working in the corporations division of the attorney general’s office, looking to maybe make some connections and land myself something on the corporate side down the road. I was making about $30,000 a year (that’s about $600 a week) as an entry level government employee. I found a sweet little studio, emphasis on the word little, in the heart of the hippest street in the city. $1200 bucks a month, so, after rent, I was living on take home of about $200 a week to cover clothes, food, utilities, everything. Needless to say, there was not much budget for entertainment. I did work part time at a gym, mainly so I could work out for free, but that barely paid for supplements.

My apartment was on the top floor of a four story building over looking the trendy street. It was one of those set ups with posh retail space below, two buzzer locked doors to access the residential area, with one apartment on the first retail level, and two apartments with doors facing each other at each landing on the other three levels. The front side apartments were tiny studios. The rear side apartments were huge 2 bedroom apartments. Both types though had a small kitchenette type entry way, such that if you walk in, you are in the so-called kitchen and can almost touch both walls at the same time. There was a shallow counter, fridge, sink and shallow cooktop.

I noticed upon moving in that my next door neighbor had to be a woman since there were always all sorts of expensive shoes left on our tiny shared landing. A lot of pumps which she apparently wore to work. Names like Manolo Blahnik, Dolce & Gabbana, Jimmy Choo, etc. Each one of these was like a week’s pay for me as I later found out. Mostly business attire, nothing higher than 3 – 3.5 inches, but some of the stuff was really funky too, like a pair of black pumps with a silver metal heel and a few pairs with cut outs, ankle straps, cuffs. There were only about 4 feet between our two apartment doors and the landing was about 3.5 to 4 feet wide. Her shoes were encroaching way over to my side, to the point where they filled the whole wall at the top of the landing.

She was actually pretty cute with a generally nice body. One of those types that is probably an 8 but eeks out an 8.5 to 9 because of the grooming. She did spin classes and road races and stuff so she was in pretty good shape.

When she first knocked and introduced herself to me, she apologized for her shoes taking up the whole landing and offered to move them if they were in my way. But I did not complain. I had of course actually touched, smelled, licked them on a few weekend or late night occasions. So I had no complaints. “Don’t worry about it, I said, they are such nice shoes, they raise the value of what’s in my apartment,” which was 10 year old furniture that I had lugged from college, to law school to here. She chuckled. I added, “It’s not like they are smelly old sneakers or anything, they are actually very nice to look at,” figuring I would go a little out on a limb. She put me at ease by saying, “Oh, I am glad, because I have no more room behind my door. I have so many shoes I can barely open it. I have such a shoe fetish.” My ears perked up like a pack dog. “What do you mean,” I baited.

She then invited me to come see for my own eyes, and showed me the pile of shoes, literally almost two feet high behind her door, preventing it from opening more than 45 degrees. She had the same tiny kitchen as me, but it opened to a huge living area that fit a table for dining as well as couches and chairs. She had one couch along the same shoe wall behind the door, a short, cozy white canvas thing about five feet long. Further in was nicer pottery barn type stuff, leather with wood legs and open underneath. Nice airy sparse look. She had a big TV, a thin one. Unlike my apartment, her floors looked brand new and her bathroom looked all redone with stone surfaces (marble or something) and one of those toilets that connects to the wall but not the floor. Best of all, she showed me how she used her second bedroom as a closet. Filled! She could have opened a shoe boutique.

I began to learn when the safe times were to make my moves on the stairway platform. What a great find this apartment was. One Saturday while I was in my kitchen, I heard her door open and peeped through the peephole of my door. She was going out running so I went for the kill in the hallway, cleaning the whole lot with my tongue, sniffing a few others, and doing what I had to do. As I was finishing up trying to put everything back in place, I heard noises from her kitchen. She has a guest!! Oh crap was all I could think of.

I remained dead quiet, praying the door would not open, trying to think of an explanation and having none. I could feel my heart thumping and had a sense of dread. Then I heard silence, then eventually I heard footsteps retreating, and the TV click on. Close call. I went back into my apartment, and planned to lay low for awhile. When I ran into her during the week, I asked if she had a guest over the weekend. She said, “Yes, my friend from Argentina was staying with me and she left today.” So she proceeded to tell me how she studied abroad and how her family used to have kids from abroad over, etc, etc. Maybe I was in the clear. Either that or she didn’t mind.

We got to know each other a little better, mostly small talk. She was an intellectual property attorney, who had been a biochem engineer before law school. She worked one of the largest firms in the city with over 100 lawyers and just made partner on a fast track because of her unique background. From my knowledge of people in that field, and our conversations, I guessed and later learned verified that she was making over $200,000. She did not date much because she worked so much and said she had limited selection because she only dated guys that were of her own faith. I was a little perplexed about that, but she explained that she did not want a mixed marriage and wanted her kids brought up in the Jewish faith. I guess I could respect that, even though ruling out perfectly good people based on their race or faith seemed silly. Anyway, so a relationship was out of the question. She was not really my type anyway. Too materialistic for me, and seemed high maintenance, wore too much make up, etc. She described herself as a so-called “JAP” which was not an Asian slur as she explained it to me. Whatever, I am not much for ethnic labels, as long as someone is cool.

I had a few other scares where I forgot to lock my door, and wondered if she had gone in and seen my collection of magazines. There were a few times where my mail got put in her mail slot which was next to mine at the bottom of the stairway. It was one of those eight slot racks that only the mail courier has a key to rotate forward from the wall exposing all the tops of the locked boxes to drop mail in. On two of those occasions, I found it on my coffee table with a note that my door was open and she did not want to leave my mail sitting out in the hall where anyone where anyone could see it or take it.

I wondered if maybe she had flipped through the mail, or accidentally opened it without looking at the labels, and seen a slip, an invoice or maybe got curious about a brown paper wrapper, since one of the piles did have a fetish mag in it. The envelope was just taped shut but I could not be certain that it was not shipped that way. I figured that even if she had peaked, she would not say anything because then I would know she opened my mail. Or if she had ventured in while I was not around, maybe she took a look around and snooped into things which I did not really think I needed to cover up in the privacy of my own digs. But there was no point in worrying.

Later in time, on a Wednesday night in summer, she knocked on my door and told me she needed help and asked if I could help her. She was all dressed up from work in a nice charcoal pants suit and black pumps with a little bare foot skin showing. I said “Sure.” So I go in her kitchen and she has groceries filling up what little shallow counter space there is, and says she dropped her keys and they fell behind the stove. I could not move the stove. It could have been bolted or something and was worried about breaking or tearing the line where the gas came from, and I was too short to reach or even see over the back, so I figured I could just reach through the drawer opening and fish around for them.

I sidled through the 45 degree opening in the door, shut it behind me and I proceeded to pull out the drawer under the stove and lay down on my back right next to the stove and counter, with my head near the apartment door, and my left arm reaching under the stove. I told her I could not feel anything but dust balls and crumbs back there as I blindly reached around, and asked how far over to her right they had fallen. I certainly was not going to stick my head into the drawer opening under the stove and chance it getting stuck or sucking in trace amounts of propane, and wasn’t sure it would fit anyway. It was a shallow drawer. I asked for, and she handed me a utensil, which I then used to fish around the corner to the right of the stove where I could not see. No jingle sound.

I was starting to feel a little embarrassed since strong masculine he-man neighbor that I was, I was supposed to come to the rescue of the damsel in distress. Then to my utter surprise, she says, “If you don’t mind me standing on you, I can peer over and guide you where to reach.” Not needing too much more of an invitation, I said “OK, sure.” She replied “Let me know if I am too heavy,” as she stepped right onto my chest in order to peer over the counter. And get this, she did not even take her shoes off! Un-frigging-believable! I was dumfounded, wondering whether it was an elaborate ruse on her part. Maybe her sleepover guest had seen everything and filled her in. Maybe she had snooped around and was playing with me. Was it some kind of test? Or maybe it was perfectly innocent and she just had no qualms or second thoughts or no reason to hesitate in stepping on a man with her shoes on. She was guiding me, telling me a little left, a little further, etc. But it was still just out of reach.

I needed to shimmy over just a hair more anyway and told her she needed to step off so I could reposition to get a little more reach and . . . . Instead, she interrupted me politely and said “Oh wait, don’t move, you are so close,” and while standing on me, leaned over to open the kitchen drawer, rummaged around and got another utensil with a slightly longer handle. She handed it down to me in my right hand, still without getting off of me, and I passed it under to my other hand. She continued to peer over and I eventually got the keys but fumbled a little extra clumsily, in order to delay the end of this little scenario.

She stepped off me, thanked me and said why don’t you stay for a glass of wine. I agreed and sat on the short canvas couch right off the kitchen while she put her groceries away. I was on the end away from the door facing the kitchenette. When she finished, she sat down with her own glass of wine and took off her pumps with a sound of relief, saying something to the effect of “Oh, my feet are killing me from these pumps,” as she wriggled her toes. I was not going to offer a massage. No need to be too forward and scare her off. Besides, with her self-declared shoe fetish and her willingness to stand on my chest without thinking that she should remove her shoes first, she might continue to lead the way. I did however tell her, “Those are beautiful shoes.” She picked one up, and handed it to me and proceeded to tell me it cost her $475 so she was damn well going to wear it even if it hurt. I could smell the mix of leather and sweat as I inspected it but made sure I was not too obvious. I handed it back after a cursory inspection saying, “Here, you better take this back. If I spill some wine on it or something, it will cost me a whole week’s pay to replace it.” I was kind of hoping she would say something like, “You could just lick it off,” but she did not. She took the shoe and put it on the floor.

She was sitting mostly facing me, upright with her back against the chair arm, and had bent her right leg so her right foot was under her left knee, and had put her left foot on the coffee table after she put the shoe down. I had also noticed she had on blue toenail polish, which was interesting so, keeping the conversation on feet, I said something like, “Oh, that is different, what a pretty color.” She outstretched the left leg toward me and said, “You think so? I don’t really like it. I got a pedicure and they put it on for me.” I said, “No I think it’s pretty.” She said “Thanks,” and told me how she gets a pedicure every week and gets a new color every week on her toes. They were beauties, and very well kept.

As we sat on her couch, the cozy little canvas one, her on the end closest the door, and me on the other end, I noticed she had this little basket of foot creams, pumice tools, and other foot related implements, including a peppermint lotion and a little thing of pure almond oil. I reached for the peppermint oil, opened it, smelled it and said, “Mmm, I love peppermint. Anything peppermint, ginger or almond.” She says, “Ooh, give me that.” I handed it to her and she proceeded to start massaging some of it into the underside of her right foot and then her left.

Not wanting to let things end, I fished a little further and said, “Oh, that smells so good I want to taste it.” Taking the bait, she extended her left foot to me, near my face, but not aggressively, and not too close and said “Go ahead.” I almost blew the opportunity at this point because I did not immediately acquiesce. I just sort of froze. In the back of my mind I had thrown the bait out with the presumption that it would never, ever happen, figuring I would just get a laugh, or figuring she would hand me the bottle offering me to try some.

So I just froze, thinking then that my opportunity would slip away. Lucky for me, she said a little indignantly, “What? I showered this morning! It’s not like I’ve been walking around barefoot. My feet have been in the shoes all day. They’re clean.” Needing no further risk of losing a great opportunity, I gave a little lick on the arch, just a modest one, and without even thinking, just said, “Wow, that is good..” She said, go ahead, have a little more. I was amazed that I had met a woman that actually took offense for me not wanting to put my tongue on her feet. Unbelievable! She also seemed to presume that her foot sweat was not at all dirty, and that in her mind they remain “clean” after sweating for 10 hours in leather pumps. What a keeper!

So I gave a few more licks, but started to feel a little embarrassed and did not want to blow it so I said “It has a cosmetic aftertaste that is not so good.” This was partially true. I added in a lighthearted joking tone, feigning sarcasm, “No offense to your feet which I am sure would taste great without the lotion.” She laughed and said “None taken.” Then she added, maybe next time you can try the almond oil.. I was taking a sip of wine, and thinking to myself: Geez, does this get any better; she is actually the aggressor, putting me in a position to play hard to get. I later excused myself.

The next night I came back from the gym, and found a piece of cream pie outside my door with a little note taped to it. The note read, “Peppermint cream pie. Couldn’t resist when I saw it, and you don’t even have to lick it off my feet . . . unless you want to.” It had a little smiley face at the end. I knocked on her door but no answer. I did not eat the pie. Too many carbs. She was away for the weekend.

On Monday night, she knocked and asked if I enjoyed the pie. I told her I did not eat it because it had too many carbs and had to toss it so I wasn’t tempted by it. She sarcastically told me she was insulted. I explained that I was dieting down for a competition. I added somewhat cryptically, “I tried to take you up on your offer on the spur of the moment but you weren’t home.” She laughed and said she had left for the weekend, flew into town this morning and went straight to work today, but had more pie if I was still interested in some. I was not sure if she got my point about ‘her offer’, and I was not sure if she was matter of factly offering pie, or re-offering the same method of serving the pie. I told her I would have to pass on cream pie because I had to watch my sugar intake. Being a little bit cocky, I lifted my shirt a little to show her my abdominal muscles. I know conceited move, but no worries, there is no trace of that six pack nowadays. I digress.

She then said “Well you still have to try my almond oil. Why don’t you come over for a few minutes?” A little embarrassed and uncomfortable, I said without really thinking, “Ahh, I just worked out so I am all sweaty, I need to shower.” What an idiot! She then rescued me and replied, “It’s not like we are going to have sex or anything?” And then she just turned without waiting for an answer and started for her door, throwing out one last remark, “Just brush your teeth first though.”

On the one hand I was interested, but on the other it felt a little weird to be asked nicely, and not have to figure out a sneaky way to get what I wanted. Most importantly, I was not sure if I was imagining the double entendres. Were we on the same wavelength? Things were just vague enough so I wasn’t sure. And what the hell did that last comment mean? Brush my teeth? Did she plan on kissing me? Was she sarcastically saying she did not want to have sex but wanted to? Did I have bad breath? Protein-shake breath? Tuna breath? In the end, I figured I had nothing to lose by going over and, after all, she did invite me. I did brush though.

After brushing and gargling, I changed my shirt, then knocked and she yelled that it was open. When I got there, she was sitting in the same spot as last time but occupying the whole couch, which was only five feet to begin with, and I noticed that the little thing of half ounce container of almond oil was on the table and her feet were wet, almost glistening, as if she had already rubbed some oil on. She had them a little outstretched so there was no place for me to sit. I just sort of hung out standing shooting the breeze, reached for the oil and said, “Oh, is this the oil,” as I picked it up off the table. I opened the top and deliberately put out my forefinger as though ready to apply a little to taste it. She said, “What are you doing? Don’t waste it. It’s expensive.” I said, “Hey, you were the one who told me I could try it.” She then ended the game-playing, and said, “I meant off my feet,” as she lifted them both a little by clasping her arms under her knees. Feigning dumb, I said, “Oh.”

She immediately said, “You didn’t catch anything last time did you? I did shower this morning and it’s not like I walked around the airport barefoot.” There it was again, that indignation that a man would hesitate to put her tongue on her feet. So, I walked over to the other end of the couch. squeezed in to what little space was there and faced her as best I could with my feet on the floor, knees angled toward her and partially under her legs, and my torso rotated to face her. She extended her bent legs out to my face. I licked a little, then a little more, and then thought silently to myself: Holy shit, was she telling me to brush my teeth before I lick her feet. So I need to brush my teeth before licking her feet that sweated all day in her pumps through a flight and through work. This lady is unreal!

She then said, “How is it?” I said, “It’s OK, not bad.” She did not reply at first. Maybe I should have been more enthusiastic. I thought to myself if I play too hard to get, she might think I am not interested. I wanted to ask her why she had told me to brush my teeth, secretly hoping she would say she wanted my mouth clean before it went on her feet, but I chickened out. Maybe I did have bad breath. She said sort of to herself, “Just ok” in a low voice. Her phone rang only a few minutes in and she grabbed it off the coffee table to answer it.

Fortunately, it was her mom, so she obviously was not going to tell her anything. But I did not have much to worry about anyway. She was the one who had done all the offering. I was only obliging. Still, I did not need any extra publicity. These types of things should really be private. But unfortunately, it seemed like it was not going to end anytime soon. She took her feet away got up and walked over and was flipping through stuff, writing stuff, talking and it did not look like the call was going to end. Apparently, she was helping her parents with some legal matter. It sounded a little private. She looked at me, shrugged and mouthed the word sorry. I pointed to my wrist even though I was not wearing a watch and lightly said, “I gotta go anyway.” And I left.

No good encounters for a while, probably several weeks. I wondered if I had not shown enough enthusiasm and gave her the wrong signals. Thankfully not the case.

In late summer / early fall over Labor Day week end, she went to a party, and came home real late. I was also coming home late and we got to shooting the shit on the landing. She was loaded, I was not. We ended up sitting down out there with each of our backs leaning against our doors facing each other. When she plucked off her shoes, I noticed her bare feet were black on the bottom, except the sections under her toes where they don’t touch the ground. They were outstretched toward me and I could not help from staring at them. I was not attracted to dirt, but they were cool to look at. She had a pink polish on and the contrast between the clean foot tops, pink polish and black bottoms was pretty cool.

I think she noticed me staring so I tried to head off any suspicions by saying, “I can’t get over how black your feet bottoms are. What the hell were you doing?” She explained that she had been at a roof top party elsewhere in the city and had taken her shoes off. They were really black. Trying to rekindle things, I said, “It is going to take you forever to clean them.” No reply at first. I worried if the comment was too obvious, but then quickly reasoned that it was cagey enough to have an innocent interpretation. To my surprise, she belatedly replied, “You wanna lick ‘em clean for me?”

I instantly shot back, “No! They’re filthy.” I had read about how some folks dig that sort of thing but I had no desire to eat roof soot composed of acid rain, pigeon shit, car exhaust particulates, etc.

Knowing no limits she replied, “How ‘bout for a hundred bucks.” I thought about it and still had no real desire to do so. I said, “How about five hundred.” She said “Two hundred.” I could not believe she wanted to prostitute me to lick dirt off her feet. The thought of the negotiation was a turn on though. Did she like the power? Did she just want to watch it? I then said “Four hundred,” and explained that it might take a while to get them clean because they were so black. She said “Three hundred is my absolute maximum.” I thought about it and figured, what the hell, so I said “Deal.” Like a typical lawyer, she then added, “For that kind of money they have to be clean though, and I get to judge, and I can withhold money if they are not spotless.” I told her that left too much ambiguity, and said “It’s only a deal if you can’t reduce it to less than $250.” She said “Deal if you do it right here, right now.” I said “Fine.”

So she moved her bottom forward, laid back with her hands behind her head, and put one foot flat on my door next to my head and suspended the other one right in front of my face. I went to town. It required a lot of hard tongue action, really French kissing the sole, and it took a LONG time. She raved about how good the soles work felt, commenting, “Wow that feels good. It’s like getting a massage, only with your tongue instead of your hands.” I liked the comment but the act itself was not a super turn on for me though because I kept thinking about roof soot, pigeon shit and acid rain containing car exhaust molecules. Probably the only time I ever licked a pair and did not have a stiffie, until I got to the toes. I did enjoy doing the toes with the pink polish, which I had to do in order to clean the undersides of the toes. While I was doing it, she said “That feels great.” That had to be a hint that she was into it. Maybe she had an ex or something that was into this kind of thing. Maybe she was just experimenting. Maybe she had snooped and she knew.

I eventually finished up. She inspected and said, “Wow, that was great. You should offer this as a service, but I don’t know if you could get $300 for it.” My inhibitions a little lower, I said “I only asked for so much because they were so dirty I knew it would take a while. If they were clean I would have done it for a hundred.” She went on, “I bet I know some women who would pay between $125 and $175 for this.” I added, “For that kind of money, I’ll lick their shoes clean too, soles and all.” She asked if that was a “firm offer.” I said “You are a little out of touch. I live on about two hundred a month after I pay rent. If I do that twice a week I more than double my take home pay.” She then said, “Well I just might take you up on that?” She made me shake on it. I then had to lawyer in that the offer was only good if there were no caked on matter, no gum, no other particulates, it had to be done in a private setting, no more than one person with her, females only that I had to approve of, no withholding based on stains that would not come out, and added another string of conditions like no pictures, and complete secrecy. I did not want her getting too sadistic with it. I am not into dogshit or anything like that. She then said, “I am holding you to that offer.”

As she got up she said, “Wait right there.” She returned momentarily with a check for $250. I said, “Hey, they are clean.” She lifted the sole and pointed out two spots where on the ball and heel calluses, the dirt had worked its way into cracks and my tongue did not get all of it. I told her I should have been given a chance to fix anything that was not to her satisfaction, and she said “I have to get some sleep.” So I took the $250. I did feel a little cheapened by the experience, but that was a lot of dough for me then and it wasn’t so bad. I figured how many times will I actually get paid to lick the feet of a cute chick with a nice body?

The following Thursday night around 9:30, as I got out of the shower, I hear a knock, and as I was on my way to the kitchen where the door is, she opens my door and yells in for me. She saw me in my towel and said “Oh, sorry, it was open.” She seemed to have a mild glow on like a little buzz going, and I noticed there was another woman in the hall about the same age, late twenties. They were both in their work outfits. Pant suits with dressy business pumps. She then tells me that she just had dinner with her colleague right from work, that she had told her about me and my offer after spin class the night before and that they wanted to take me up on my offer tonight.

I was at first a little uneasy about crowds as a result of an experience in my youth. She told me we had a deal and that they were prepared to pay me for my services. And besides, her friend was good looking and had a nice trim body from what I could see, and had good facial and neck definition. Had to be in shape if they did spinning together. She told me how she had explained to her colleague that I was willing to tongue massage both of their feet for $100 a piece but that if they each kicked in just another $25, I would do the shoes, soles included, which her friend wanted to see. So, she concluded, “We have $250 cash for you to do the both of us, shoes and all.” Her friend chimed in “But you have to do it in your towel.” I had to object to that since I knew I would have a raging hard on. The forward friend then agreed that as long as I was shirtless it was a go. I agreed figuring as long as I had jeans on they probably would not see anything. On her way back to her apartment, my neighbor said aloud, without looking back, “Remember to brush your teeth.”

There it was again. What the hell did she mean by that? I breathed into my hand trying to smell my own breath. Egg whites? Tuna? Whey protein? So I brushed. When I went over, they were both on the nice leather couch with a bottle of wine and their wine glasses. I asked how we were going to handle it. My neighbor told me that they wanted me to lie under the couch with just my head out and they would just switch places when it was the second person’s turn. The set up was a beauty. They would be sitting so their legs came right down with their feet bottoms perfectly positioned over my face, toes pointing toward the top of my head. I shimmied under the couch and my neighbor positioned her heels one on either side of my head. The other woman was leaning forward watching intently, which made me a little uncomfortable. But I still had a rager.

I licked away at the bottom of my neighbor’s expensive pump while her friend stared at me doing it. Then, after I had the leather pretty well soaked, my neighbor told me that she did not want too much time spent on the shoe and told me to do her feet. I just stopped and waited for her to take off the shoe, but she said “What are you waiting for? Take off my shoe, we are paying good money for this.” I did as told and got a nice waft of pleasant smelling sweat mixed with leather, and gladly lapped away. After I had licked them clean, she sat up forward so she could flex her calf and dipped the toes to my lips. Needing no instructions, I sucked away and did so enthusiastically. I tried to temper it though so it did not look like I was getting off. She still had the other shoe on, which made me wonder if she was actually trying to keep the sweat fresh for me or something. We repeated this with the other shoe and foot. It was a little unnerving having her friend stare at me like it was a circus act though.

My neighbor then planted both of her feet on either side of her head, picked up one of her pumps and put the side of it against my lips. I asked what she was doing. She replied “The deal was that you would do the whole shoe. Your own words were that you would ‘even do our shoes, SOLES INCLUDED’. Those were your exact words. You have only done the soles. If we are paying 250 bucks, we want what was promised.” She must have just been showing off. I did not put up any fight. I was actually enjoying it. So I said, you do have a point, and proceeded to lick away as she held it there and rotated it all around, administering it to my mouth. Her friend was still perched forward staring, enjoying the show the whole time. My neighbor then had me do the other shoe while she administered it to my mouth in the same fashion. She did not asked me to suck the heel or anything. It was not a sexual thing (for them). It seemed like my neighbor took more than one hour which I thought was the deal but I did not complain. I did not want to be a stickler and I was in heaven.

When it was the friend’s turn, the friend could not move fast enough to get into position, putting one shoe right over my face and setting it right on my lips. How about a little subtlety, lady, I thought to myself. I had to physically lift the pump off my lips to ask if I could have a sip of water telling my neighbor that her feet were salty so my mouth was dry. She said, “Must be from my sweat.” The friend chimed in that her time did not start to run until I had begun on her shoes.

My neighbor got me a bottled water, and I slid out a little and propped my upper torso up on an elbow. I did it just enough to be able to drink. I did not want to pull out far enough for either of them to see my crotch. The friend put her heeled shoes on my stomach as I was drinking and pressed a little curiously. She said, “That is hard,” referring to my set of abdominals which, at that age, were taut from the way I was sitting half upright. I said, “Hey, go easy with the heels, will ya” and she lightened up a bit but did not apologize.

I shimmied back under and the friend put her shoe sole right back on my mouth. She was still leaning forward because she wanted to watch, so she was pressing a little too much weight onto the shoe. I was holding her leg trying to counter-act the pressure as I licked away. I did so until my arms were tired. I then stopped licking and asked if she could lean back because the pressure was a little hard with her leaning forward. She said, “We are not paying you to talk with your mouth. We are paying you to use your mouth on our shoes and feet. To lick.” This caught me a little off guard since up until now everything had been pretty consensual with no bossiness, but she did smile and laugh so I think it was just sarcasm. She did though follow up on a nicer note and said, “I will try to put less weight on them, but I really do want to watch.” Thankfully, the earlier comment was just show off talk because she eased up a little bit. Instead of doing it like my neighbor did, she rotated the shoe by her ankle movements while her shoe was still on in order for me to do the sides. She then had me do the other shoe.

Since she was leaning forward intent on watching, she removed her own shoe and plunked her foot down on my lips. I lapped away. Her feet were a little bigger. My neighbor was a six sometimes 6.5. This woman’s feet also smelled a little stronger but it was still pleasant mixed with the leather. Leaning forward, she was in a perfect position when it was time to do her toes. Unlike my neighbor, this woman had me do a shoe and a shoe followed by a foot and a foot, rather than a shoe and its foot followed by the other shoe and foot. When I finished, she asked me, “What do my feet taste like.” I just said, “I don’t know, I guess like salt and leather.” My neighbor offered me some wine and invited me up onto the couch. She then handed me an envelope which I guess was the money. I had a little wine and chatted with them about their jobs as lawyers in a big firm, about spinning, dieting and other things. But after a while, I began to feel a little cheapened sitting their shirtless, so I said I had to go. I also wanted to relieve myself pretty bad.

For the next few months, my neighbor would once or twice a week, usually alone but sometimes with her friend, solicit me for service. I had a pretty sweet deal. Usually though it was just feet when my neighbor was alone, but whenever the friend came they wanted their shoes done. I think they just liked the act of it, of watching it take place together. It was an experience for them to enjoy together and only cost them an extra $25 a piece. We had worked out a deal where my neighbor would just write a check at the end of each week for the tally of services. Sweet deal.

One Friday, after a snowfall in early winter, she left a pair of patent black thigh high boots in the hall platform. They were flat boots, no heel but still sexy and they were all covered with road salt stains. While she was out that night, I just could not resist licking them clean. I worried a little afterward that she would notice how spotless they were. The next night, after she went out, I came to my door and found another pair of boots, this time ankle boots, with road salt splotches at the foot of my door. There was a note on my door that said, “Thanks. No charge I presume. Can you do these too.” I was a little mortified, but maybe she thought I just wiped them down. In a worst case scenario, it was not so bad because she seemed to be into it. I decided to go ahead and lick the second set clean.

The following Wednesday was the next occasion that she gave her usual knock as she came home from work and told me she “wanted a session.” That was her lingo she had developed for it. When I came over I just slid under the couch and waited for her. She sat down and put a pump on either side of my head. I said, “Shoes too tonight, or just feet again.” She then smiled and just leaned back and put the sole of one of her pumps on my mouth. I took the cue and started licking. This time she rotated it after the sole was done, just like her friend’s normal practice. She had me do both shoes first, like her friend’s method. After I did both shoes, she put the first bare foot over my mouth and while I was licking she said, “Since you have been doing my shoes for free in the hall, I am not going to pay for that anymore.” I did not reply and just kept licking. A few minutes later she said, “I get the feeling you might be enjoying this, so I am not sure I should be paying anymore.” I regretted that she had apparently discovered that I would have been a willing participant without any compensation but I said nothing. I just kept licking. I felt a little shamed, and fortunately she the subject drop, but there was no check that Friday.

She continued to knock on my door a few times a week for “sessions” for the next several weeks but she never gave me another check. The frequency of the sessions then increased to a nightly gig, but her friend only joined her once every two weeks or so. There were a few other occasions where she brought another new female friend along, but there were only two such women, and that was it for involvement of outsiders. And for both of them she got my approval first, and filled me in on their looks and physiques. She was cool with the fact that I only wanted thin women that were good looking by reasonable standards. It bothered me a little that the circle of knowledge had expanded to four people, who I feared each had to ‘confide’ in others. It bothered me more that women getting serviced for free would know that I must enjoy it since I was doing it for free, but it did not bother me enough to object. I must admit though, I did enjoy both of these other women. They were brand new attorneys. It seemed like she had recruited women that were hot as a favor to me.

I continued to service her shoes and feet just pretending I did not notice that there was no check left for me ever again. Thankfully, she did not press the issue in terms of discussing my enjoyment or anything like that. She did not publicize it. Neither of us ever brought up the money again. That was tasteful on her part.

Regularly, she would leave a pair of shoes or boots right at my door, usually with a cute little note. I remember a few of these notes: “These could use a good ‘spit shine’ if you don’t mind.” “Can you do these for me LICK-edy split cuz I want to wear them tomorrow.” “These could use a good ‘cleaning’ if you know what I mean.” One note just said “Enjoy.” The notes always put the special word in quotes or caps or underlined. The shoes were never super dirty, an occasional sand grit here and there. Sometimes, there was something spilled on them if she wore them out clubbing or something. I honestly think she liked the idea of someone lavishing admiration on something that she paid a lot of money for. I think somehow it validated her specific shopping addiction.

I did notice that the “sessions” grew longer and longer since I was not on the clock anymore. She probably just figured if I was enjoying it and she was not paying for it, there was no problem having her feet licked for 2 or sometimes 3 hours a night while watching TV or reading before she went to bed. One time, on a Saturday, she watched a movie and a sequel with me under her feet licking away. Over time, she also had no problem if, after I had licked them for a while, I just left them pressed on my face.

I had become sort of a friendly foot licker on demand, always right after work on every week night, but also on any other time she desired. Sometimes it was just her feet, but she still liked to have me lick her shoes when she got home from work a three or four nights a week, since now it was free. Who knows, maybe after a bad day, it made her feel better to have a guy lying under her couch, his head sticking out, his face under her feet, licking the soles of her shoes? She always wanted the shoes done on the weekend nights when she came home from a club or bar or restaurant or party. She was probably just feeling a little wild when the alcohol loosened any inhibitions.

At my gentle creative suggestion, she also eventually included other non-dressy shoes to the rotation, but I think this was out of sheer curiosity. For my part I was really just interested in leather flats and sandals. She playfully suggested that it had to be all or nothing, after which she included work boots, flip-flops, you name it, and several pairs of sneakers, none of which were really enjoyable. Whatever she wore on her feet, she would have me lick. For the flip flops and sandals she always wanted the inside licked too since it used to get a little discolored from wear, was visible to people if her shoes were off and it was accessible for my tongue.

I chose to confide in her that I had really developed a taste for her foot sweat and it was just the oddest thing that I really thought it was unique, smelled great and was delicious. She thought that was cool. She then said in a nice, warm, jovial manner, “Even though you are not scamming me out of several hundred a week anymore, you can lick my foot sweat any time as your payment.” I told her I would love to do it right after she went running or after spin class. True to her character of always having to bargain for something, she said she would do that if I would lick the sneakers too each time. I agreed. So this became a regular thing of her having me lick her sneakers, then her feet, right after spin class and right after she went running.

I eventually told her that on the sneaker days especially, I liked it better when she wore no socks. I told her this was because the socks made lint. That reason was phony and I am not sure she bought it since I had previously confided one evening that I liked the smell and taste of her sweat, especially when she wore no socks. But it did not matter because she stopped wearing any socks after that, for at least 90% of the time. If she went on a long run, she would still wear them, and with certain outfits she had too. Sometimes, but not often, she would work out on a weekday morning, and knock on my door upon her return, telling me that she had “fresh foot sweat from running [or spinning] with no socks.” I would then give her a sneaker licking and foot licking before work. These rare days were double sessions for me. She also met me during lunch hour a few times near the end of it at her place if she was going to run or spin at lunch. On only a few occasions, I talked her into not showering in order to get two days of sweat buildup. But she did not do this a lot because she was a clean person.

Eventually, she offered to have me change her polish. I agreed. So on weekends, I would apply the color of her choice and blow it dry. I think she was getting fewer pedicures. Eventually, she started to complain that not wearing any hose or socks was giving her calluses and blisters. We agreed, on my suggestion, that I would use my teeth to scrape any calluses and that I would similarly handle any blisters. The deal was that if I was unsuccessful keeping the calluses and blister problem in check, she would do what she had to do in terms of socks. So she thoughtfully kept up the no sock thing, and I would regularly pumice her heels and balls of her feet with my teeth. I would also bite off and eat any dead skin from blisters if she had first lanced the blister herself and drained it earlier. I was not into pus. She used to call the dead skin her “foot jerky.”

The only time she insisted on socks was when she did a road race, but she would save the socks for me in a baggy and wring them out into a coffee mug for me to drink, which I did. She was intrigued by this. On one occasion, when she returned from a weekend away, it was pouring rain and she had on thin white cotton socks and white canvas sneakers which were soaked. She knocked and came into my apartment, stripped off the shoes and socks and wrung the socks out into a mug and handed it to me. I hesitated a little but downed it. It did not taste that good, but I wanted to encourage her curiosity. She then asked me if I would suck the water out of the insole. I agreed and she handed it to me, watching intently. I pressed it against my mouth and began sucking and swallowing. She laughed and was enjoying it in a curious friendly way. After that, she wanted a repeat performance whenever it rained and she would wear socks, tights or hose just for that purpose. On a few occasions, she made me a tea from her nylons or tights when she had to wear them like formal events or when she just wanted to wear them. She always watched me drink it and smiled. Usually though she did not wear hose, which was a boon for me.

On some occasions, she had me lick her shoes and feet while lying under her dining chair as she ate dinner at her table. On a few of these times, I had made comments about her not sharing and the food smelling good, so knowing my psyche, she put some in a dish and fed me from her toes. This was rare though because it was messy. On one night, I made some noise about dessert, and with a little coaxing and asking nice, she agreed we would set up chocolate sauce, peanut butter, honey and whipped cream in bowls on the bathroom floor. She sat on the toilet, which was one of the ones that attached to the wall, so I could slide way under touching my butt to the wall with my legs vertical and spread a little around the bowl. She started to foot-feed me but it eventually turned into a smear fest which was funny for her but burned my eyes a little so I never asked for a repeat performance. Not enjoyable. Besides, I am not really into bathroom stuff.

One time, there was a shoe where the heel got loose and she was going to get rid of it, but first offered the pair to me to use in my apartment to drink out of when she was not around. I at first did not reply, thinking that was a little too “fatal attraction” for me. But she looked at me kind of upset, or maybe just with straight-faced sarcasm, and said “You have been licking the all of my shoes, licking my feet, sucking my toes and even drinking my foot sweat for over a year now. You eat food from my feet. You actually eat the dead skin off my feet. What’s the matter?” I told her that it would just be weird having it in my cupboard. She pressed on arguing “You have licked the soles of all my footwear which touch the ground all over the city, in airports, bars, nightclubs, sidewalks, but you are now grossed out about food touching the inside where only my foot touches?” I told her I did not want to argue and said “OK, I will do it.” She then said, “Don’t do me any favors. You were the one who told me you liked the taste and smell of my footsweat. I just thought it would be a nice gesture so you have it there in case I am not around or if something happened to me.” The guilt trip was a little out of character for our no-frills relationship. So I had to back pedal and say “No, no. I want it, I do.” She said, “OK, but you have to keep it in your kitchen cabinet.” So after that I had a pair of her used pumps in my kitchen cabinet.

Unfortunately, this quickly became her new practice for making room for new shoe purchases, as she updated her collection, bought new shoes and had to get rid of old ones. I think it enabled her own fetish. Now she did not actually have to part with them by throwing them out or giving them to charity. She could just move them over to my place. So eventually, she talked me into getting rid of all my bowls and dishes which weren’t many anyway. I had four plastic dishes and four plastic bowls that were from college. So my cupboard became filled with her used shoes and sneakers which she, for fun, sorted and told me which were for drinking and which were for eating food out of. In her system, the pumps and flats were for drinking only, and her old sneakers were for me to eat my food out of, except for ice cream and wet foods which I could eat from her flats. It was a little much, but I did not want to upset the apple cart because I enjoyed our arrangement, and I actually did get a thrill out of eating and drinking exclusively from her used footwear. I still wasn’t really sure why she had to insist on my apartment having reminders like this, and it seemed a little possessive. But no harm, really.

She eventually tried to talk me into putting her dirty socks and hose into my pillow case, but I held firm on that one and said flat out no. I told her it was a comfort thing and I needed my sleep. Thankfully, she gave ground on that one. It was bad enough I could not have anyone over now because I had used footwear filling my cupboard.

After that, whenever we grabbed a bite to eat in either of our apartments, I would eat my food from and drink from her used footwear, unless of course, she was feeding me with her feet. A few times, we would put the food in her sneaker, and she put her foot in slowly and I licked and ate the food as it squished out. On a few other times, after I planted the suggestion, she would insert a piece of bread into her pump, boot or sneaker before going off to work or to work out and I would eat it when she returned home. She thought this was hilarious and loved watching it. One of my favorites was a little contest we came up with where after a session, we would see how long I could lay on the floor facing her on my stomach with all of her toes in my mouth while she watched TV. She got a kick out of this thought this was funny because she said I looked like a bull frog.

Things never got sexual though. And it was never really a sub/dom type thing. More of a fascination and enjoyment thing for her and an addiction for me. We were friends though. She used to buy me things, bring me leftovers, give me cards. Sometimes we would even grab a bite to eat out, probably a few times a month. After our sessions, we would often hang out, often having a little wine, mine of course from one of her old shoes. I think she just enjoyed it for what it was. It was easy-going, good-feeling fun, with no strings, no games, no worries between two consenting adults. I think she also just genuinely liked having her feet and shoes licked all the time, especially since it was on her terms.

Our very unique friendship went on for about two and a half years. I did not date much during this time, and could not really bring anyone back to my place. Neither did she. Eventually though, I landed a corporate job out of state and moved away.

This emo girlfriend shows her boyfriend on webcam her cute toes! And this girlfriend performs a footjob for her boy!

Warning: links to an adult website, please be age 18+ to view.

Her husband was kind enough to share some pics of his incredibly sexy wife. She has amazing size 10 tanned feet and a killer body that comes with it. She gets her feet dirty and he doesn't mind licking them up. He also says her flip flops and feet smell really good...wish I could be him for a day!















































Source

"I had gone for my workout. I did a 1.5 miles on the outdoor track here in SC when it was 91 degrees, then did a core workout, and they went to a 30 minute yoga class. By the end of it I was verrryyyy sweaty. These were the results. Hope you like...and if only you could have smelled them hehe." - Sent to BF