She Dominated Me with Her Feet by the Lakeside

It all started with her feet. If someone asked me today where this obsession that has haunted me ever since came from, I wouldn’t have to think about it: it came from an unbearably hot afternoon, a half-hidden reservoir, and a girl who appeared out of nowhere to teach me something I didn’t even know I needed.

I was a little over twenty that summer. The town was melting under a merciless sun, and in the middle of the afternoon I decided I couldn’t stand being cooped up at home for another minute. I grabbed a towel and a bottle of water and drove to the reservoir on the outskirts, the one hardly anyone went to because you had to go down a dirt path to reach the water.

I chose a secluded spot, though not completely hidden: a strip of dry grass beside the shore, shaded by a few poplars and overlooking the still water. I spread out my towel, lay down on my back, and let the heat lull me to sleep. The murmur of the water and the distant drone of cicadas were gradually pulling me toward slumber.

—Hi.

I opened my eyes with a start. The sun blinded me for a second, and all I could make out was a silhouette standing beside me, outlined against the light.

—Hi... —I stammered, still half-asleep, propping myself up on my elbows.

When my eyes focused, my mouth went dry. She was a girl more or less my age, and I knew her by sight. I’d crossed paths with her a couple of times at the festivals in the neighboring town, and I’d noticed her more than I would have dared admit. Short in stature, but with a body that looked as if it had been drawn with a ruler and compass: a flat stomach, perfectly proportioned hips, tits a little fuller than her size promised, and a doll-like face with a pert little nose. Her curly hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and a few strands clung to her neck with sweat.

—Sorry for waking you —she said, smiling as if she already knew the effect she had—. It’s just that this place is so lonely, and I don’t feel comfortable staying by myself this far from everything. I recognized you—you’re from town, right? I’ve seen you at one of the festivals. Do you mind if I settle down here nearby?

—Of course not —I answered too quickly—. Lie down wherever you like. The truth is, I could use some company. I was getting bored.

—Me too —she said.

She spread her towel less than a foot from mine, so close that I could smell her suntan lotion, a mixture of coconut and something sweet. She lay down on her back and fell silent, gazing at the sky. I tried to do the same, pretending to return to my nap, but all my senses were focused on her: the brush of her arm inches from mine, her slow, steady breathing.

Not even five minutes had passed when I saw her move out of the corner of my eye. She reached behind her and, with a quick gesture, unclasped the top of her bikini. I held my breath. She slowly turned, offering her breasts to the sun without the slightest hint of modesty, and glanced at me from the side.

—You don’t mind, do you? —she asked—. I hate tan lines.

I swallowed. Her tits were exactly as I had imagined them the few times I’d allowed myself to imagine them: round, firm, with small, hard nipples in a dark pink shade, pointing upward as if defying gravity. Now they were there, an arm’s length away, perfect beneath the golden afternoon light, and seeing them was enough to make me hard instantly inside my trunks.

—Of course I don’t mind —I said, surprised by my own boldness—. In fact, I’m not bored at all anymore.

She let out a low, guttural laugh that raised goosebumps on my skin.

—I can see that —she murmured, lowering her gaze toward my trunks—. Looks like they’ve suddenly gotten a little too small for you.

I had no time to feel embarrassed. Before I could answer, she raised one leg and slid her foot over my thigh, slowly, until it stopped exactly where the fabric could no longer conceal anything. I froze. Her foot was small, with a high instep and slender toes, her toenails painted red, though the reservoir water had faded the color a little. And there it was, pressing against and measuring the bulge she herself had caused.

This can’t be happening.

She began to rub. She did it with calculated slowness, moving the sole of her foot over the whole area, pressing a little harder every time I let out a breath. I felt my cock swell even more against the fabric, its shape obscene beneath the pressure of that bare foot. I couldn’t take my eyes off her toes moving over me, the arch of her instep settling over my glans, the faded red of her nails pressing on the tip of my cock as if carefully crushing something. I raised my hand, intending to touch one of her tits, to give her something in return, at least to squeeze a nipple between my fingers, but she brushed it away with a sharp gesture without taking her eyes off me.

—Stay still —she said, and it wasn’t a suggestion.

I lowered my hand. And in that moment I understood something that made me dizzy: I liked obeying. I liked letting her decide, letting her set the pace, making it clear with a single foot who was in charge there. I had never felt anything like it, that mixture of arousal and surrender that left me without a will of my own.

She continued massaging me through the fabric until the pressure became unbearable. I felt a thick drop escape from the tip and soak my trunks, drawing a dark stain exactly where she was resting her toes. She noticed and smiled without stopping her rubbing.

—Oh, oh, oh... you’re already wetting your trunks, and I haven’t even pulled them down —she murmured—. What a dirty boy you are.

Then she did something that cut off my breath: she hooked her big toe into the waistband of my trunks and, with a skill that didn’t seem improvised, pulled them down until she had freed me completely. My cock sprang upward, hard against my stomach, its tip glistening, and the cool air caressed me for an instant before I felt the sole of her foot again.

—Wow —she said, looking between my legs with one eyebrow raised—. I wasn’t expecting that. You’re well equipped, that’s for sure.

I didn’t know what to say. No sound came out. I could only watch as she adjusted her position, propped herself up on one elbow for a better angle, and placed her foot on me again, this time with no fabric between us. Her warm sole, slightly rough from the sand, slid along the length of my naked erection, and her toes curled around the shaft as if they had a life of their own, enveloping me, squeezing me, calmly milking me.

—Look at me —she ordered.

I raised my eyes. She held my gaze while continuing to work with her foot, moving over me from top to bottom, applying pressure just beneath the glans, at the spot she knew perfectly well drove me out of my mind. Her other foot joined the first: both insteps trapped my cock between them like a soft pincer and began moving up and down, masturbating me with their soles, pressing me against my own stomach. The thick drop at my tip spread across her toes and served as lubricant; the sliding had become obscene, a soft squelching mixed with my panting.

—You’re leaking so much, man... —she whispered, watching as my premature cum painted her toenails—. You’re soaking my toes.

The sun illuminated her tits, a bead of sweat ran down her neck between her hard nipples, and I was completely at her mercy, lying there panting, afraid to move a single muscle she hadn’t allowed me to move. I felt humiliated and worshipped at the same time, sprawled there with my cock exposed, letting a stranger work it with her feet as if it were her toy.

—That’s how I like it —she whispered—. Nice and still. Let me handle you.

She separated her feet for a moment and used only one, gripping my cock against my belly with her sole and sliding it up and down very slowly, squeezing the head between her big toe and second toe each time she reached the top. Then she moved down to my balls and cradled them with her toes, tugging a little, weighing them, squeezing them just enough to make me moan without hurting me.

—You’ve got them nice and full —she said, looking at them—. I can tell you haven’t unloaded in a while. When you come, I want to see everything.

Every word she said was another twist of the screw. She returned to my cock, this time rubbing it with the arch of her foot, running her curved instep along its entire length, sliding over my own fluid. I don’t know how long she played with me like that, stopping precisely when she sensed I was about to come and starting again more slowly to draw it out. Whenever she saw I was close, she withdrew her foot completely and left me trembling, my cock throbbing on its own in the air, red and swollen, while she licked one of her toes and looked me in the eyes.

—Not yet —she said—. Hold it.

And she started again. Sometimes with her whole sole, sometimes with just her toes, pinching my glans, wrapping around it, rubbing me until my cock hurt from being so hard. She kept me suspended on an edge from which only she could let me fall, and the thought of not being in control, of depending completely on that small, firm foot, pushed me closer to the limit than anything else I had ever experienced.

—Do you want to come? —she asked, without stopping the movement of her toes.

I nodded, unable to form a word.

—Ask me.

—Please... —was all I managed to say, my voice broken—. Please, let me come...

—Make it clearer.

—Please, make me come with your feet —I panted, my face burning with shame and desire—. Please...

She smiled, satisfied, like someone who had just won something. She trapped my cock between both soles again, squeezed a little harder, and quickened the rhythm with a precision that left me defenseless. Her feet moved rapidly up and down, enveloping me, milking me without mercy, and it took only a few seconds for all the restraint I had built up to burst out at once. I came with such force that my whole body shook, my back arching against the towel as I shouted something even I didn’t understand. The first jet shot upward and landed on my stomach; the second and third drenched her toes, nails, and instep, running between her toes and dripping onto my pubic mound. She didn’t stop; she kept squeezing and rubbing between spurts, forcing me to empty myself completely, down to the last twitch, until only one thick drop came out, which she gathered with her big toe and smeared over my glans.

—My God, what a load... —she murmured, contemplating the white mess on her skin and mine—. What a fucking mess.

I lay there spent, breathing raggedly and staring blankly at the crowns of the poplars, my cock still lashing in the air, sensitive to the slightest touch. It took me quite a while to return to reality. When I turned my head to look for her, she was already sitting up.

She calmly wiped her foot on the edge of my own towel, dragging my semen across the fabric without asking permission, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Then she fastened her bikini again, tucked a rebellious strand behind her ear, and leaned over me.

—That was nice —she said, and gave me a soft kiss on the cheek.

—Wait —I managed to say—. What’s your...?

But she didn’t let me finish. She gathered up her towel, slipped on her sandals, and started up the path without looking back, leaving me lying there with my cock still half-hard, my cum drying in the sun on my stomach, trembling, without even knowing her name.

***

That was years ago now. I never saw her again, though I spent many afternoons that summer going down to the reservoir with the foolish hope of finding her again on that same strip of grass.

What stayed with me was everything else. Since then, I haven’t been able to look at a woman’s feet the same way. A sandal in summer, painted toenails, a bare foot crossing over a leg anywhere at all, and I’m transported straight back to that shore, to the exact weight of her sole on me, to that calm voice telling me to stay still—and I get hard right there as if I were twenty years old again.

That afternoon I learned that the most intense pleasure isn’t always found in doing, but in ceasing to resist. That giving up control can be more exciting than anything one can do with one’s hands. And that sometimes all it takes is a stranger and a single foot to discover who you really are.

Even today, blessed be those feet.