The Day I Finally Tasted My Classmate’s Feet

This happened in 2013, when I was completely immersed in an English course. I had a decent level, so I took the placement test before starting; they put me in intermediate, but I preferred to begin from the start to reinforce the basics and, besides, not rush myself.

The first day was uneventful. I met my classmates, all of us following that unspoken rule of speaking only English; if anyone switched to Spanish, we pretended not to understand a thing to force ourselves to practice. There were only nine of us in a room meant for twenty.

Classes were twice a week, two hours each. During the first week, a female student was absent whose existence I didn’t even suspect. She only showed up the second week, and everything changed without my knowing it yet.

I always arrived early, half an hour ahead of time. That morning I greeted the receptionist, sat down at one of the tables in the lobby, and opened my notebook. I started at nine and it was still eight-thirty, so I went to the machine, poured myself a coffee, and went back to reviewing.

That was when I saw her come through the main door. Short, just over five foot three, with straight dark hair and brown skin. She was wearing open sandals and, without meaning to, the first thing I looked at was her feet. My curiosity pricked immediately.

She went to reception and then came straight over to my table. She said good morning and I answered in kind. She sat down, asked which group I was in, and it turned out we were in the same class.

“I’m Mariana,” she said, holding out her hand.

We talked for ten minutes, no more, because they announced the schedule right afterward. I told her what little we had covered the previous week and we went into the classroom. Those feet had burned themselves into my memory.

I wish everything had happened quickly, but it didn’t. I learned that patience is everything. I couldn’t let myself look eager: I needed to win her over, build a friendship solid enough to bring us to a moment alone. So I set about doing exactly that, methodically.

It took me almost three months. It wasn’t easy: Mariana was reserved, and getting her to open up was difficult. More than once I came close to giving up. I had never wanted a serious relationship; all I wanted was to get close to those feet, and for that I had to become her best friend. I managed it, though it cost me.

During those months I learned to read her. I knew when she crossed her legs under the desk, when she slipped one shoe halfway off because of the heat and left her heel exposed, when she rested one bare foot on top of the other while taking notes. Each of those gestures was a small torture that I concealed by looking at my notebook, my cock hard against my fly and my mouth dry from merely imagining them on my face. The friendship progressed; so did my obsession.

When I finally felt that the trust was there, she surprised me herself. One day, halfway through class, she leaned over and whispered—in English, of course, though I’m translating it so it’s clear.

“Can you come to my house today?”

I froze; I hadn’t expected it. Of course I said yes. Even so, when the gift is too generous, even a saint gets suspicious, so I asked what for, but in a tone that said, “Do you need help with something?” without making it sound like anything else.

“It’s for class,” she replied. “I’m having a hard time with it. I didn’t imagine it would be so complicated.”

We agreed on it and, when class ended, we went to her house together.

***

We took the bus and chatted the whole way. When we arrived, I met her mother and younger brother; I greeted them and we stayed in the living room while her mother finished preparing lunch. For a moment I ruled out every possibility: we were never going to be alone.

The four of us ate. After lunch, her mother announced that she was going out with the boy and that they would be back later. The hope I had buried suddenly came back to life.

As soon as the door closed, Mariana took out her books and we began studying. We spent half an hour reviewing verbs, and she was still wearing her shoes. I couldn’t think about anything except how to get her to take them off.

I decided to be direct, but with an innocent excuse. I asked whether she was tired, whether she wanted me to massage her feet.

“I am tired, yes,” she said, “but no. My feet must smell bad.”

That one sentence made my entire dick hard and sent my heart racing. I cautiously insisted without giving myself away, and even so, she said no.

I changed tactics. I offered to do all her English homework in exchange for letting me massage her feet. She hesitated for a long while.

“All right. Since you’re so determined, I’ll let you,” she gave in. “But I’m warning you: they smell.”

“No problem,” I replied, pretending not to care.

She started to take off her shoes, and I stopped her.

“Leave it. I’ll do it. Put your feet on my legs.”

We were on the sofa. I arranged a cushion on my lap, supposedly for her feet to rest on, but really to hide my cock, which no longer fit inside my pants. She placed both feet up and I began untying the laces of one shoe, slowly, without the slightest hurry. I wanted to stretch out every second.

I took off one shoe and jokingly asked whether they really smelled. I brought my nose close to the foot covered by the sock and inhaled deeply. Yes, it did smell—a stale, sour odor, trapped inside the leather all morning—and it made my dick hard as a rock. I smelled it again, this time with my mouth open, sucking the sock against my teeth. She gave me a strange look, with half a crooked smile.

“Does it taste good?” she asked, amused but suspicious.

It did, oh yes it did, but I didn’t answer. I continued with the other shoe, just as slowly. Then I pulled down one sock and discovered her brown foot: toenails painted a neutral shade, a smooth sole, a barely marked heel. Exactly how I liked them. I was in heaven and she had no idea.

I removed the other sock and began the massage. I finally did it, I thought, pressing my fingers against her soles.

About fifteen minutes passed. I was dying to go further, so I took a chance.

“Mariana, you have beautiful feet, you know that?”

“Really? I don’t think so…” she said incredulously.

“Of course you do. Beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she murmured, lowering her gaze.

My heart pounded in my chest and my cock pressed against the fabric, swollen, the tip staining my underwear. I was blind with desire. I had to ask.

“Would you let me kiss them?”

“Huh? Why? They’re sweaty…”

“I don’t care, really. I like them better that way.”

“Maybe not…”

“It doesn’t cost anything,” I insisted.

She didn’t pull her feet away. She only shook her head, with that uncomfortable smile that was already beginning to soften.

I went ahead anyway. I started with her little toes, pressing my lips against each pad, then her sole, lifting her foot to kiss its side. She watched me without knowing what to say.

“What are you doing? Do you like feet?” she finally asked.

I didn’t answer her with words. I turned so her soles were facing me, buried my face in them, and breathed deeply, tracing every inch with my nose, letting the concentrated smell of her arch and the spaces between her toes fill my head. Mariana watched me bashfully, but she didn’t look away or move her feet.

I began licking from heel to toes, three or four times, my tongue completely flat, soaking her entire sole with saliva. When I looked up, her expression had changed: there was no longer surprise, but something darker, her eyes half-closed, her lips parted.

I moved on to her toes. I put her big toe in my mouth and sucked it like a piece of candy, pressing it between my tongue and palate, drawing out every drop of sweat. Then I heard a quiet moan, almost a sigh. I didn’t stop. I went toe by toe, licking the gaps between them, nibbling the pads, until I put all five in my mouth at once and sucked them together.

Another moan, even softer but longer, with a tremor at the end. I looked at her: her head was resting against the arm of the sofa, her lips caught between her teeth, her eyes closed, and without realizing it she had begun pressing her thighs together. That was when I knew I could stay like that for hours.

I didn’t stop. I sucked each toe, licked her soles from end to end and along the sides, bit her heel, ran my tongue over the top of her foot to her ankle, and went back down. That salty, slightly sour, slightly sweet flavor seemed wonderful to me. I spread her toes with my hands and slipped my tongue between them, all the way to the back, and she let out a hoarse “ah” that I had never heard from her before.

I removed the cushion, undid my belt, and pulled my pants down to my knees. My cock sprang free, hard, red at the tip, with a thread of fluid glistening on the head. Mariana glanced at it without saying anything and without moving her feet. I grabbed my dick and began masturbating with my right hand while holding her foot against my mouth with my left, sucking her toes without stopping.

“Ugh…” she murmured, watching me jerk myself off. “So you really do get turned on…”

I took her other foot and lowered it onto my cock. Her warm sole rested against the entire length of my shaft, and the sensation tore a grunt from me. Mariana opened her eyes, stared at me, and, without saying anything, announced that she was going to take care of it herself.

What came next was incredible. With both feet she began rubbing me up and down with a skill that didn’t seem beginner’s at all. She trapped my cock between her two soles as if she were jerking me off with her feet, moving up and down while matching the rhythm with her hips. The contrast of her warm, soft soles against my skin, the precise pressure of her toes, the way she curled them around my glans every time she reached the top, the way she crossed one foot over the other to envelop me completely… there was no way I could hold out much longer.

“Look at how hard you’re getting,” she murmured, suddenly brazen and brown-skinned. “Look at how you’re dripping…”

A thick thread of pre-cum slid between her toes, and she spread it with her soles so they would glide better. I licked one of my fingers and brought it to her mouth, and to my surprise she sucked it without closing her eyes, watching me while she continued jerking me off with her feet.

“Put them in my mouth again,” she requested in a deeper voice. “Suck my toes while I jerk you off.”

I took her left foot in both hands and brought it back to my mouth. I sucked all five toes, one by one, my eyes locked on hers, while her right foot continued rubbing my cock against my stomach. She let out a louder moan, slipped one hand beneath her skirt, and began touching herself over her panties. The fabric quickly showed a wet patch.

“Don’t stop,” she said. “Don’t stop sucking my feet; I’m really enjoying this…”

Within a few minutes I felt everything coming from my balls and warned her, my mouth still full of toes. Far from stopping, she tightened her feet around my cock and began teasing me.

“That’s it… come on my little feet, come all over my feet, I want to watch you, I want to feel it hot…”

I came. I came harder than I had in months, shooting the first jet of cum across the top of her foot, then another that landed between her toes, followed by several more, thick and white, running down her soles and dripping onto the cushion. She never let go of my cock; she kept squeezing it between her feet as I emptied myself, milking me of every last drop, smearing my semen all over my dick with her soles.

“Look at the mess you made,” she whispered, giggling softly and wiggling her toes, stained white, in front of my face.

Without thinking, I leaned over and licked the cum from the top of her foot, swallowing it. I cleaned both feet with my tongue, toe by toe, and she writhed on the sofa while continuing to touch herself over her panties, her breathing ragged.

“You’re crazy,” she said, covering her face with one hand. “You’re crazy. You’re going to make me come like this…”

I bit the pad of her big toe and her legs gave a shudder, muffling a cry against the arm of the sofa. I don’t know whether she came all the way, but something shook inside her, because afterward she lay still, panting, her feet still resting on my chest.

***

After a few minutes I went to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I returned, she was still on the sofa, her legs drawn up and a new smile on her face.

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” she said. “I never imagined it would feel so good to have someone suck my feet. And even less that it would turn me on too.”

“I loved doing it,” I replied. “And I’m glad you enjoyed it. We can do it again whenever you want.”

“Of course I want to,” she answered, biting her lip. “But next time I want more. I want you to fuck me while I suck your toes. I want to know what it feels like to have you fuck me while you look at my feet.”

She didn’t need to explain any further. I understood perfectly, and once again I waited patiently for our next encounter.