These lovebirds are partners in a type of fetish that takes two to make a perfect pair — a man who worships feet and a woman with feet worth adoring.

One Friday night, Jessie got home late. I was in the spare bedroom we use as a home office, taking care of a few e-mails, when I heard her come in. A moment later, my wife give a soft little groan, just loud enough to ensure I heard her. It was a sound of sensual pleasure as much as weariness. I knew what that sound meant, and it went straight to my trousers, making my cock stiffen. I smiled, knowing exactly what kind of night was ahead of us.

“Hey, honey,” I called out, powering down my laptop. I wasn’t going to get any more work done—that was for sure. Jessie responded to my greeting with another little moan. Her job as a restaurant manager keeps her on her feet most of the day, and that evening she’d attended a function downtown, standing around for hours in her highest heels. I knew her poor feet would be killing her.

I left the office and made my way to the staircase. As I walked, I heard the sound of Jessie settling into our living room sofa. “You know what I’d really like?” she asked. There was a hint of a smile in her voice. I knew this would be a very suggestive smile.

“I’d absolutely kill for a foot rub,” she added slyly.

“So why don’t you take your shoes off?” I called to her. “I’ll be right down.”

“Mmm, no … I want you to take them off,” she said. By then I was practically running down the stairs.

Jessie has known about my foot fetish since we began seeing each other. Unlike a lot of women I’d dated, she was into my fetish from the first step. In fact, she seemed almost as excited by the idea that I should so love touching and caring for her feet as I was. But we didn’t know back then to what incredible pleasures that love would lead us.

Jessie is tall and leggy, with a café-au-lait complexion and a magnificent sunburst of ginger dreads. Her body is pretty magnificent, too—long and lean, with small, firm breasts, and the sexiest smile I’ve ever seen. I was head over heels for her from the moment I met her at a friend’s wedding and she turned that smile on me.

But she owned me the first time I saw her barefoot.

I’m probably exaggerating when I say Jessie’s feet are perfect … a little, but not very much. They’re as long and slender as the rest of her, the toes as divinely shaped as her fingers, the arches as high as the sky, and as soft as clouds. She loves sexy shoes, always wearing the highest heels she can find. But with feet as sensitive as hers, luxurious tastes can be as much of a pain as a pleasure. She used to joke that she spent more time carrying her shoes than wearing them. A woman like that appreciates a husband with a thing for giving foot massages.

When I finally reached the living room, I found Jessie with her feet on the coffee table, crossed at the ankle, waiting for my attention. The way she sat had caused her black cocktail dress to ride all the way up to her thighs, exposing her bare legs. Her shoes were exquisite, but with multiple crisscrossing straps biting into her skin, they looked more like elaborate, intricate bondage devices.

“God, I’ve been thinking about this all night,” Jessie sighed.

“You and me both,” I said. Kneeling before her, I undid the tiny buckles and carefully loosened the leather straps, letting them fall away from her feet. I watched as she eased back on the couch, purring like a lioness, slowly curling and uncurling her toes with relief. Then, reverently, I enveloped her feet with my hands and went to work in earnest. As always, I let myself follow my instincts, focusing on the spots that made her groan the loudest with pleasure.

I have learned the stages that Jessie experiences when I massage her feet. First is the sheer sensual delight of having them touched after such a long time in their leather prisons, of feeling their aches and soreness soothed away by my rubbing fingers. On this night, the first stage lasted a good fifteen minutes. Then came several long moments of wordless relaxation, when Jessie seemed to be floating in space, almost ready to drift off into a blissful sleep.

Suddenly, came the part I always eagerly wait for: Jessie’s nerves woke up again. Her fingers and toe-tips twitched, and she shuddered a little, letting me know that her feet had become exquisitely sensitive. If I didn’t take particular care at this stage, the sensitivity would be close to unbearable. My touch needed to be gentle but firm as well. I squeezed the sides of her feet, tugging at her long toes until the joints popped. This was also the moment when the pleasure followed neural paths to Jessie’s sexual center, making her pussy wet and turning her thoughts to fucking. With a little care, I planned to play her feet like two exquisitely crafted instruments, gradually teasing her into a sexual frenzy.

As I continued working on her left foot, she lifted the right and stroked my cheek with her toes. I inhaled the floral scent of Jessie’s favorite lotion, mingled with the warmth of her leather-perfumed skin.

“Kiss it,” she whispered. Jessie’s toes brushed through my hair and briefly pinched the lobe of my ear. Her fingers had found their way underneath her tiny dress, and she was toying with her silk-sheathed pussy. She bit at a finger of her free hand, watching me with hooded eyes. The sight of her in such a state of excitement was itself an incredible turn-on. I knew her nipples were rock-hard beneath her bra, and under that cocktail dress, she was wet and ready for my cock. Unable to hold back any longer, I leaned forward, going down on her foot. I closed my lips around the base of her long second toe, slowly drawing on it while the tip of my tongue teased its underside.

Jessie gasped, her shoulders rising sharply. The feel of my mouth on her newly sensitized toes was so intense she could barely contain herself. Her fingers slid over her panties, and finally she rose up slightly on one hip, so she could slide the undies partly off. In the silence of the living room, I could hear her fingers whisper through the crisp curls of her pubes, and barely make out the wet sound of her fingers broaching her slippery slit.

While she was pleasuring herself, I ran my tongue over the undersides of her toes, slowly dragging my nails over her arch. She gasped, her reflexes making her try to pull her foot away. I wouldn’t let her; I held her foot down on the table with both hands, and she had to settle for bracing her other foot against my shoulder and playing with herself while I prepared for the coup de grâce.

I began by smothering the top of her foot in wet kisses, focusing on the silky skin at the base of her toes. I bit gently at the ball of her foot, nibbling at the tender skin. All of this drove Jessie into a fit of gasping hysterics. Normally, she’s only mildly ticklish, but a session of foot-play always puts her senses in overdrive. I was driving her crazy, but I knew she wouldn’t beg me to stop. Part of that was sheer stubbornness, part of it a natural urge to embrace my tickling as part of the sexual roller-coaster ride I had her on. I could see her finger-fucking herself, thrusting at her pussy with her hand, but keeping the rhythm slightly off, so there’d be less danger of her coming too soon.

“You ready?” I asked. My cock was so hard for her that it ached. That desperate need was the one thing capable of dragging me away from Jessie’s feet. I tickled her sole with my nails, making her shriek with delighted laughter. “You want it?”

She knew I didn’t mean more tickling or even toe sucking. “Yes!” she gasped, writhing on the couch. “Give me your cock, baby. Put it in me, I have to have you right now!”

We stripped in record time. Jessie’s arms folded around me, pressing her warm body against mine, squeezing my erect cock against her thigh. We kissed for a long while, devouring each other’s lips. Then we moved back to the couch. I crouched over Jessie as she reached down and guided me into her willing sex. I slid in with ease, and the pleasure was so fantastic I could barely breathe.

I thrust into her with slow, even strokes, gritting my teeth as Jessie gasped and shook with the tremors indicating her first climax. She often can come several times during a session, especially one preceded by foot-play. I kissed her cheek as I rode her, lost in pleasure. When she climaxed, she let out a loud, anguished-sounding cry. Her violent trembling seemed to go on forever.

As we settled in for round two, she shifted position slightly, lifting her legs high so that her heels rested against my shoulders. I could kiss her bare feet with ease now, and did so with utter abandon, reveling in the softness of her skin. Jessie broke into ticklish laughter as I bit and licked her toes.

“Oh, God! Oh, God! That’s tickle-torture!” She laughed and shook wildly, making her voice comically melodramatic as she falsely protested.

I laughed, too. I find this kind of play delicious. I thrust into Jessie again and again, more and more quickly as she teased me. I could feel my balls tightening as I neared my own orgasm. When I came, the act didn’t deplete my energy. I could feel Jessie nearing a second climax, and as her pussy tightened around my cock, I slammed into her with renewed strength. I rode out the last moments of her climax, until she was lying still beneath me, only twitching once or twice, licking her lips like a satisfied cat.

“I love you,” she sighed, reaching up to stroke my hair.

“Love you, too,” I murmured. We lay there for a long while, enjoying the silence and each other.

“I wish you could like … fuck my feet,” she said suddenly, then broke down laughing. “Is that insane? I mean, it’s not that I don’t want you inside me every day. But you worship my feet so much … ”

“I don’t think that’s possible,” I said, rubbing her shoulder. I didn’t realize that the seed of a dirty idea had just been planted in my wife’s mind.

I came home the next Friday to find Jessie waiting for me on the couch. Her feet were up on the coffee table, as they had been the previous weekend, but they were already bare. What’s more, I could tell she had just gotten a pedicure; her nails gleamed with fresh polish and her skin practically glowed.

The surprise didn’t end there, however. Jessie was wearing a brand-new pair of padded leather cuffs around her slim ankles.

“What’s this?” I asked, grinning as I set my briefcase down. We hadn’t played around much with bondage before; I had proposed the idea on a couple of occasions, but she didn’t seem entirely comfortable with it, and I hadn’t pressed her. But tonight Jessie was smiling at me in a way that was positively wicked. There wasn’t much doubt that she was as turned on by the cuffs as I was.

“I wanted to give you a little present,” Jessie said, slyly wriggling her toes. “In fact, I’m giving you two gifts. I hope you like them.”

“I love them,” I said, once again kneeling before the table. Love wasn’t big enough of a word. I was dying to get my hands on her feet, to tickle them and explore every inch from her heels to her toe-tips. I was so turned on I couldn’t see straight. “And I’m going to start playing with them right now.”

I took my wife’s lovely feet in my hands and pressed them to my mouth, rapturously inhaling their fascinating scent of rosewater and nail polish. I touched my tongue to the ball of her left foot, and she cried out as though she had just felt my hard cock thrusting deep inside her. She didn’t pull her foot away, but it jerked in my hand as though I had touched an exposed nerve.

“Oh, God,” Jessie murmured. “They’re so sensitive tonight.” Her feet are always tender after a pedicure, but I could tell she was nearly overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations crackling through her nerve endings.

“That’s the way I like them,” I assured her, and with that I began kissing and nibbling at her feet, running my fingertips over her soles with feather-light caresses.

Jessie fell back on the couch, half laughing and half moaning with a pleasure that was visceral. When Jessie’s this turned on it brings out my dominant side. I pinned her feet down with one hand and tickled the hell out of them with the other.

The noise Jessie made was less ticklish laughter than an orgasmic cry of ecstasy. Its intensity startled me so that I stopped tickling her for a moment. “Oh, God,” Jessie whispered, still giggling a bit. “Oh, that’s unreal! But I love it! Do it more!”

Something was up, I could tell. She’d had pedicures before, of course, but not quite so close to one of our foot-worshipping sessions. Jessie had intended to up the ante, but she obviously hadn’t realize how powerful the end result would be. She had bypassed the initial stages of relaxation and gone straight to the third stage of orgasmic sensitivity.

I decided to take things slowly, to fully appreciate this situation. “Don’t go away.” I grinned and ran upstairs. When I returned a few minutes later, my arms were filled with goodies from our secret bedroom stash.

First, I used a blindfold we had bought some time before and had barely used, carefully fastening it over Jessie’s eyes so she wouldn’t be able to see what delights I had in store for her—and her feet. Then the real fun began.

Our toy box had also yielded a short, stiff-edged feather. I used this on Jessie’s wonderful feet with a complete lack of mercy. I slid the feather between her toes and dusted their tops with it. I ran the tip over her soles, down to her heels, and then back up again. She must have been expecting to be tickled, because this time I didn’t take her by surprise. Still, she was far from indifferent to this sensual torment; she broke down laughing almost immediately, a low, uncontrolled sound that seemed to come welling up from deep inside her.

After I had feathered her feet for a good few minutes, I moved on to a bottle of baby oil I had brought down. Jessie’s feet were already scented and slick with lotion from her pedicure, but I had ulterior motives. I squirted a healthy portion of oil into my palm, which I then smoothed onto the tops of her feet, then the soles.

“Oh, baby,” Jessie purred, arching her back slightly. “That feels sublime … ”

“Just wait,” I told her, and treated her to a masterful foot massage that—if I do say so myself—rivaled my very best. Once I had Jessie groaning with delight, I picked up the last item from my bedroom run—a simple plastic comb. I ran the teeth across the side of Jessie’s foot, then over her sole, like a bow over a violin.

This time I did catch her by surprise. After I had followed the gentle torture of the feather with a leisurely massage, she was completely relaxed, not expecting a return to more intense sensation. The scrape of the comb against her soles woke her nerves right up, and she let loose with a scream that felt like it rocked the house.

“Come on,” she gasped, gripping the seat of the sofa. She hadn’t taken her blindfold off, apparently wanting to play the game through to the very end. “I can’t wait! Do it, let’s fuck!”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I got up and undid my pants, moving so quickly in my eagerness that it’s a wonder I didn’t break the zipper.

“Oh, yes, honey,” I breathed. Jessie lay there on the couch, smiling and making no move to undress. “Show me that hot body of yours.”

“Just wait,” she whispered. With that she lifted her cuffed bare feet, waving them until they bumped against my massively hard dick. I realized immediately what she was up to. I remembered what she had said that night after her catering gig, about how she wished I could fuck her feet. The pedicure and cuffs has been a prelude to letting me try and do exactly that … we had just gotten briefly sidetracked.

Still standing, I took hold of her ankles. Jessie pressed the sides of her feet together. The slight, curving gap between them made a perfect surrogate pussy. I pressed the swollen head of my dick between her arches, pushing it home exactly as if we were fucking in a more conventional way. I was delighted I had oiled Jessie’s feet so thoroughly; within minutes I was thrusting between her soles, gasping at how incredible the action felt.

Jessie did everything she could to help, holding her feet steady and moving them with a slight rhythm that matched the motion of my hips. As I stared down at her, she took off the blindfold, smiling at me and licking her lips. I swear I had never seen her look so sexy.

“Oh, Danny,” she whispered. “Fuck my feet. Fuck my pretty tootsies. Your cock tickles, you know that? Tickles so bad … ” Her voice broke into a giggle—as though I were tickling her all over again. Her musical laughter tripped something inside me; that was all it took. With her vocals titillating me, I came explosively, groaning and bucking my hips as I lost my load all over those gorgeous squirming feet. I might be exaggerating a little, but I can’t remember a blowjob that felt half as good as that footjob had.

I collapsed onto the couch, gasping and satisfied. Afterward, Jessie unfastened the buckles on her cuffs and went to the bathroom to wash her feet, returning moments later with a washcloth to do the same to my cock. I was surprised by her patience because I could tell that she was still incredibly turned on by our foot-focused play.

“You’re incredible,” I whispered. “I can’t believe I’m married to someone as wonderful as you.”

“That goes double for me,” she purred. “But I hope you’re not too tired. All that tickling and foot rubbing got me as hot as hell. How about you take me up to the bedroom and suck my pussy?”

I told her I’d like nothing better. I was already thinking about ways I could spice up the act of cunnilingus for her …

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