A connoisseur of elegant female feet falls head over heels in love when he finds the perfect pair on which to lavish his attention

Am I a fetishist? A foot fetishist? I like to think of myself more as a connoisseur. All through my sexual life, it has been ladies’ feet that have most excited me. Through the years I have cherished many memories of glimpsing the female foot, glimpses that have given me a charge of sexual electricity: a coworker sitting behind her desk and removing her Nike running shoes and sweat socks and slipping into her heels; a girl sitting at an outdoor cafe, her legs crossed, a shoe dangling on the edges of her toes, while I watch, tantalized, willing that shoe to fall off her foot; a new lover who has just awakened, wearing only a robe, her hair tousled, padding barefoot across a kitchen floor. Not to mention the thrills of a day at the beach or swimming pool, where all the women are barefoot, or a gymnastics meet, where petite women grip the balance beam with their cute little curled toes.

I’ve tried to introduce feet into sexplay with every woman I’ve been involved with. Most enjoy having their feet kissed and their toes sucked but don’t like it pushed any further than that. Only two women I’ve known have been as enthusiastic about foot fetishism as I have: my current girlfriend and a woman named Fawna.

I work in the film-distribution business, and there was a time about five years ago when I worked out of my company’s offices in Milan, Italy. I enjoyed it immensely, for Milan is one of the world’s major fashion centers, and the city is thick with models. I was constantly being invited to little fetes where the glamourous and beautiful people congregated, and I had several passionate affairs with women of many nations.

One party I’ll never forget; I met Fawna there. It was a pool party, so I was prepared to thoroughly enjoy myself ogling the bare feet of scads of beautiful women. My cock was tingling with excitement all afternoon, but it nearly ripped open my bathing suit when a friend of mine introduced me to an American model who was interested in becoming an actress. I was standing at the bar, and I turned to find myself gazing into the most beautiful dark brown eyes I had ever seen. She was tall, at least six feet, and her body was sleek, curvaceous and as exotic as her name. Her elegant face was adorned with an inviting smile. She had long, luxuriant chocolate-brown hair, and with her high, chiseled cheekbones and wide mouth, she reminded me of Kelly LeBrock. Her skin was milky-white, her lips glossed with a bright red shade. Though she was as thin as a rail, her breasts were still bountiful, pushing her bikini upward and outward. Her belly looked taut, and her legs — my word!

But my breath wasn’t completely taken away until my vision came to rest on her exquisite feet. I had never seen a longer, more elegant foot on a woman. They were so slender and feminine. Most of the length was in the arch, for her toes were small and scrunched together — the result, no doubt, of spending many years forcing herself into high-heeled shoes.

So there I was, standing before this woman I had just met and staring at her feet. I snapped out of my reverie when she said, “Hello? Anybody home?” I looked up to find her laughlng. “Excuse me?” I said, my mind still in a fog.

“So you like feet.” She looked down, as did I. She wiggled her toes, and my dick practically petrified in my shorts.

I was at a complete loss for words. I had just met this extraordinary creature, so I wasn’t about to confess what I recognize are unique inclinations. Instead, I smiled the bashful smile of an idiot and cleared my throat.

Sensing my profound embarrassment, she took me aside and whispered, “Chill out, Travis. I’ve met guys who were into feet before. It’s not all that rare. As a matter of fact, I’m flattered by it. Most guys slobber over my tits or my ass, but it’s a special kind of man who gets hot over my tootsies.”

I glanced down at her feet, then deep into her eyes. My heart thumped, and I sensed a mutual lust. We spent the rest of the party together, sitting at poolside and talking away the hours. Fawna sat in a position which afforded me an unobstructed view of her feet, and I took advantage. After what she had said to me, I felt no reservations about gazing longingly at those wonderful feet. When the party broke up, she told me to call her.

I did the very next day, and we arranged for an evening of dancing at a rock club. Fawna looked sensational in skintight jeans which were fashionably ripped at the knees. On her feet were ominous black combat boots. And while they hid the glorious nature of her beautiful feet, they added a mystery and sexual suspense that I truly enjoyed. While I loved the look, I ached to pull those boots off and worship her bare feet.

We had a great time, dancing away to the night to the music of Blondie. It was the wee hours of the morning when Fawna asked me if I would take her home. So we hopped in my Fiat and I drove as fast as the local speed laws would allow. When we got inside her apartment, she flopped down in a beanbag chair.

“Oh, my feet, they’re killing me,” she declared, regarding me with a whimsical expression. “Maybe you should give me a hand … ” I crossed the room, my palms sweating, my cock hardening. I dropped to my knees before her and unlaced her boots. I gripped each boot and pulled, and a long, slender foot slid out with a gentle sound. An odor wafted up and invaded my nostrils: a pungent combination of leather and perspiration that intoxicated my senses. Once her feet were bare, I took one in my hands and began kneading it. Fawna threw her head back, closed her eyes and moaned. I placed my thumbs together and pressed firmly on the ball of her foot and listened as she hissed sharply, her words of encouragement a bare whisper.

I gave her a thorough, masterful foot massage. Fawna was lounging in her chair, as limp as a rag doll, softly cooing and humming. I slowly lowered my mouth and took the big toe of her left foot between my lips, reveling in the taste, texture and smell. As I sucked, I languorously traced my fingertips along her sole. She wasn’t very ticklish, for her leg twitched only slightly.

Eventually I sucked each toe in the same manner and ran my tongue into the sweaty valleys between them, my fingers gently grazing the slight stubble on her ankles. Fawna’s eyes remained shut, so I quietly undid my pants and took out my throbbing cock. Here was the moment I’d always fantasized: sucking on a girl’s toes while stroking my erection.

When I finished with the little toe of her right foot, I was on the brink of ejaculation. My erection was poised right between her feet. Her eyelids heavy with lust, she smiled and watched as I vigorously masturbated. She moved her left foot to nudge my hand away from my cock, then began rubbing her toes against my rigid flesh. Then the other foot joined in the fun. She was jerking me off with her feet. Life was wonderful.

“Go ahead,” she whispered. “Come all over my toes.” I find the texture of the flesh on the bottom of the foot different than that of the rest of the body, and the effect when it touches my cock is electric. At her urging I let go, and the semen bubbled out in seemingly never-ending streams. I gripped the base of my cock to aim it all over her toes and feet and watched it dribble down her arches to her ankles. Smiling, Fawna lifted her come-drenched feet to my lips, and after barely a moment’s hesitation, I licked my sauce off her toes.

When I had finished, she stood and walked toward her bedroom, shedding clothing along the way. I followed, removing my clothes as well. I found her on her bed, legs splayed, rubbing her pussy feverishly. I lowered my mouth to her pussy and touched my tongue to her pistol-hot clitoris. My foot worship must have worked her into a lather, for it was only moments before she came in a riveting orgasm.

My cock was ready for round two, and I quickly crawled atop her and sank into her sopping cunt. I had never fucked a woman taller than me before, and I found it positively enchanting to be able to suck her tits while ramming my prick inside her. Her beautiful breasts were smooth and creamy-white, with delectable cherry nubs seemingly begging to be licked. Fawna, meanwhile, was manipulating my nipples with her nimble fingers.

Fawna proved quite the contortionist, what with her toes digging into my chest and her knees pushed back by her armpits. With her feet so close to my face, I was excited beyond belief, pounding into her like a pile driver. We came simultaneously, our cries forming a chorus of desire.

Fawna and I spent a magnificent few months together. Eventually her career expanded, and she moved to New York. Every time I saw her picture in a magazine, I clipped it, adding it to a cherished collection. My favorite photos are of her modeling swimsuits. Her feet are bare. I have jerked off to those pictures more often than I can count.

A few years ago, I was transferred to our home office in Hollywood. I quickly became a regular visitor to the beach. I saw so many beautiful, blonde, tanned goddesses with fantastic feet that I would usually have to lie on my stomach to hide my erection. I met many lovers on the beach, many of whom were surprised and delighted at having their toes worshiped, but none were as enthusiastic a l about foot foreplay.

Until Jodie. The day I met  her, the threat of a storm was in the air, and it was a tad chilly. Still, I went to the beach, as I did every weekend. I was sitting alone on the sand, staring out to sea, when I noticed a smashingly attractive blonde running down the shoreline with her collie. The closer she came to me, the more beautiful she appeared. She was wearing a t-shirt and rolled-up jeans, and she was carrying her sneakers in her hand. Her feet were bare. As she came toward me, I was desperately trying to think of some glib line to throw her way. Just then she stopped short and started to limp. I sprang to my feet to lend assistance.

“Everything okay?” I called to her.

When she looked up at me, I was mesmerized by her huge baby-blue eyes, her cherubic cheeks, which were tinted apple-red by the cool air, and her full, luscious lips. “Oh, I’ve just got a cramp in my foot,” she said. “I’ll be all right.” Then she tried to take another step, but she was hit by a sharp pain and sat herself on the sand.

“Why don’t you let me take a look at it?” I said.

“All right. Are you a doctor?” she asked.

“No,” I said, and then added, “but I’m pretty attuned to feet. You’ll see.” I took her sore foot in my hand, and as I gazed at it, I felt like Sir Percival holding the Holy Grail.

Her foot was a paradigm of elegance. Truly a sight to behold. I began to massage the cramp away, and as she was gasping her appreciation, I studied her delicate limb. It was not long like Fawna’s. Jodie was a perfect size seven. Her heels had no trace of callouses — she must have used a pumice stone with some regularity — her arches were high and her toes were pink and just the slightest bit chubby, with perfectly pedicured nails. This was the woman I had waited for all my life.

After a minute or two, when the pain subsided, I offered to drive her, her bike and her dog home.

“By the way,” I said, “my name is Travis.”

She smiled. “I’m Jodie. And thanks, I could use a ride.”

During the ride to her house, we chatted amiably, and I discovered that she was a newspaper photographer, single and not presently going with anyone. She kept her shoes off, and I kept sneaking peeks at her pretty, bare feet. I think she noticed.

I helped her into her small house and she offered me some coffee. I told her that she should sit down and point me in the direction of the kitchen so that I could make the coffee. I noticed that several photographic nude studies hung on her walls. They were discreet and very tasteful. We had some coffee, and before I left, we had made a dinner date.

As I left, she said, perhaps with just a touch of sexual innuendo, “Maybe you can give me another one of your dynamite foot rubs.”

A week later, we went out for dinner. I got the distinct impression that Jodie was onto my fetish, for she wore spaghetti-strap sandals which showed almost every bit of her beautiful feet. After dinner we went to Laguna Beach and sat on a bench overlooking the sun setting on the ocean. Despite the majesty of this scene, my eyes were elsewhere, for Jodie had removed her sandals and placed her feet in my lap.

“How about that foot rub?” she teased. I gently stroked her feet, my fingertips starting at her ankles and running up her soles, then dancing over her wiggling toes. She sighed heavily and reached over to give me the wettest, hottest kiss I’ve ever had. Then she said, “Let’s go back to my place.”

When we got there, she playfully skipped inside, and I ran after her. She led me to the living room, where we resumed our passionate kissing, our tongues wet, exploring the heat of each other’s mouth. I massaged her breasts, and her roving hand found my engorged erection, which she began to stroke through my pants. Jodie finally broke our clinch and stood before me, panting. “God, I need to fuck you,” she whispered, pulling her dress off over her head.

I stared at her nude form, completely in awe. If this woman had a flaw, I couldn’t find it. Her breasts were round and full, her stomach flat, her legs sleek, her sparse pubic bush the color of honey. When she turned to lead me to her bedroom, motioning to me to follow, I saw, too, that her ass was perfection, and I studied it as she walked up the stairs.

Once inside her bedroom, there were more photographs, and it was then I knew for certain Jodie and I were birds of a feather. These photographs were more daring, all of them — yes, all — were of men worshiping women’s feet. I could tell that Jodie was the model in many of the photos. I would find out soon enough that she was just as interested in having her feet attended to as was I. I stripped and joined her on her bed. She was lying on her back, her feet pointed toward me like a dancer’s, her calves tense and smooth. “Suck my toes,” she begged, and I sucked, nibbled and kissed every inch of her feet. I began slowly, tenderly running my tongue up the arches of her feet. The taste of her subtle, feminine sweat coupled with the sweet aroma of her toes took hold of me, possessed me, and I quickly felt myself swept away in a heady whirl of sex.

With light, skillful licks, I attended to her every toe, taking each in my mouth, kissing them, sucking them, savoring the essence of her appeal. My cock was engorged like never before, and Jodie wriggled about passionately on her bed, moaning, whimpering uncontrollably, insisting I never stop.

My cock was standing tall and proud and I was ready to fuck her hard when she said, “Here, sit like this!” Jodie maneuvered me so I was sitting with my back to the headboard, my legs outstretched in front of me. She sat on my cock, slowly skewering herself on my manly slab. She then leaned forward and gripped the headboard, lowering her pendulous breasts before my mouth. I sucked her nipples as she rode me, her hips slamming down with vigorous thrusts. Jodie showed her appreciation, emitting several guttural groans, and began a sensual undulation that stole away my breath and made me shiver. It wasn’t but a few minutes before she came, screaming my name. I followed soon after, depositing a load of semen into the core of her belly.

We cuddled in the afterglow, but soon enough Jodie was ready for more fun and games. She lay beside me, her head at my feet, and began sucking my toes. Her feet were positioned beside my head, so I grabbed one and began to suck her toes again. In this foot fetishist’s sixty-nine, we both groaned in the throes of passion. She grabbed my cock and began jerking me off while I fingered her dripping cunt. All the while neither of us let the other’s toes out of our mouths. I could no longer withstand the extraordinary sensations, and I blasted my load all over her stomach.

We fucked several more times that evening, not always involving our feet in the action. But when she woke up early the next morning, she found me with my face at her feet and tenderly running a finger over her toes. She smiled as I again began to suck on them.

Jodie and I are still together, and I often fantasize about us getting married. It would be a simple, untraditional wedding. We’d have the ceremony at the beach. She’d wear a simple dress, and, of course, she’d be barefoot.