The Fantasy I Had About My Best Friend’s Feet

Renata is the most beautiful of my friends. She’s almost six feet tall, naturally blonde, intelligent, with perfect breasts and a body proportionate to her height. She isn’t voluptuous or exaggerated: hers is an elegant beauty, everything in just the right measure. The kind of woman who doesn’t need to make an effort to get an entire room to turn its head when she walks in.

The curious thing is that she was an ugly duckling as a girl. She developed late, at sixteen, and until then she was practically invisible. Nobody bullied her; they simply didn’t notice her. While the rest of our group already had their first stories with boys, no one even talked to her. A year later, everyone wanted her. And she hadn’t forgotten it.

She has some resentment tucked away, along with the certainty that she deserves better. To people who don’t know her, she can even seem unpleasant: dry, sparing with words, saying only what’s strictly necessary. I think it’s a defense mechanism, a way of protecting herself from all the people who want something from her. Above all, one thing: her virginity.

She’s never been known to have a boyfriend or a lover. She swears up and down that she’s a virgin, and she’s never given us any reason to doubt it. We know she’s kissed a couple of boys, but only because other people told us. She never lets anything slip.

At sixteen, she did an advertisement for a well-known shoe brand, and her picture ended up in the window of a shopping mall. She used her social media as a showcase for her work, looking for brands that wanted to photograph her. She treated it as a game, something to do until life offered her something better. When she started studying medicine, she stopped doing shoots regularly, although once or twice a year she still poses if the offer appeals to her.

At the time, things were going great with my boyfriend, Tomás. Until we had a little incident.

He wanted to show me something in his photo gallery and, while swiping across the screen, went too far. For a fraction of a second I saw a screenshot of Renata’s profile. Her username was visible; there was no possible doubt.

The image was a close-up of her feet, perfect as a movie star’s, in delicate sandals, her toes painted an intense red.

—Why do you have a picture of my friend? —was the gentlest thing I could think of saying.

I was insanely jealous. I knew Tomás loved feet, so to him—and, I admit, to me as well—that picture was almost like having a nude one of her.

He swore it had gotten there by mistake, that he hadn’t masturbated to it, apologized in every way possible, and deleted the image in front of me. He hadn’t done anything terrible, but it still hurt. Even so, I don’t regret my jealous outburst: at least it served to draw a boundary. Don’t masturbate to my friends, and if you do, don’t let me find out. I didn’t put it in those words, but I assume he got the message.

***

A few months ago, Tomás came back from Europe for a while, to turn twenty-two here and celebrate it with me. Sometimes he stayed at his place, sometimes at mine.

One afternoon I was in my room with Renata, talking about things from college. We’re studying different degrees at different campuses, so every now and then we needed those long conversations to catch up.

I was wearing a denim skirt, a thin tank top, and canvas sneakers. She had on a brown skirt, a light-colored blouse, and sandals that left her feet on full display, with an immaculate French pedicure. My feet are pretty, very pretty. But hers are on another level. If mine are arousing, hers bring you to a complete standstill.

Tomás knocked on the bedroom door.

—Honey, I’m home.

—Come in, I’m with Renata —I answered, specifically so he wouldn’t try anything funny when he opened the door.

He came in, kissed me on the lips, and greeted Renata with a kiss on the cheek. He gave her a quick once-over, and I noticed that he lingered for a second too long on her feet. Filing away a mental image for later.

My mind came to a dead stop.

The sixteen-year-old girl I’d been would have made a scene that very night. But now I felt something else, something I hadn’t expected: arousal. My boyfriend was getting turned on by feet that weren’t mine, and instead of anger, a wave of heat rose through my body.

And then my mind began to soar.

***

—What’s with all the staring? Do my feet turn you on? —Renata said in my fantasy, fixing Tomás with her eyes.

—It’s not that. Your sandals caught my attention. I want to buy Lucía a pair just like them.

—Don’t lie. She told me you had a picture of my feet saved on your phone. How many times must you have touched yourself while looking at it?

—I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Tomás turned toward me with a look of desperation.

—Is there something wrong with her?

—No —I replied, and my own voice sounded strange to me—. She’s right. Her feet really turn you on.

—See? She agrees with me. Here, smell them.

Renata, sitting on the beanbag, lifted her feet and placed them in Tomás’s lap, as he had settled into the desk chair. I remained on the bed, watching, my heart pounding against my ribs.

—Tell her what she’s doing isn’t right —he begged me.

—No, honey. Smell them, if you’re dying to.

—How can you say that to me? What’s the catch? I do it and then you leave me for cheating?

—Not at all. Those feet are beautiful. I’d smell them too.

I moved closer to my boyfriend’s lap, took one of Renata’s feet, and slowly breathed it in. Then I brought it up to Tomás’s face.

—Take a deep breath.

—But, honey…

—Take a deep breath. That’s an order.

He obeyed. He buried his nose between her toes and fell into a kind of ecstasy, his eyes half-closed. He took the other foot and smelled it again as if his life depended on it.

—Look at what you do to him, you little deviant —Renata laughed—. You’ve already got him hard, and I haven’t had to do a thing.

I was furious and aroused at the same time, a mixture I didn’t know what to do with. Renata ran her feet over his face, over his pants, and pushed her big toe into his mouth so he could suck it. And he sucked it without resisting.

Tomás started unbuttoning his pants, unable to hold back any longer.

—Don’t even think about touching yourself —she cut him off sharply.

—Okay, I thought it was allowed. At this point, anything goes.

—I don’t want you touching yourself. You, Lucía —she turned toward me with a cruel smile—, you’re going to suck him while he worships my feet.

As if possessed by the authority in her voice, I pulled down my boyfriend’s pants, knelt in front of the bed, and found one of the hardest erections I had ever seen him with.

—See what I can do to him with just my feet? —Renata said to me—. I bet you have to work really hard to get the same result. Well, get started. That’s what you’re here for.

I did it with all the effort in the world. He was there, more fired up than ever, but not because of me: I was barely an accessory. It offended me that, to reach that level of arousal, I had to give him my entire body, while she achieved it just by showing him her feet.

—Is she sucking you well, Tomás?

—Mmm, spectacular —he replied, without lifting his mouth from Renata’s toes.

It was a completely humiliating situation. My boyfriend worshipping a woman more beautiful than me, while I was reduced to the bare minimum, a tool for pleasure and nothing more.

—See? That’s what poor Lucía is good for —she said in her most contemptuous voice—. Women like me are meant to be worshipped. Women like you, on the other hand, are only good for giving pleasure.

I kept going, and every word she said made me wetter. I felt degraded, like some cheap slut, but she was so perfect that I accepted my role without arguing. Renata brought her mouth close to my face, grabbed me by the chin, waited for me to open my mouth, and spat inside it.

—Now keep sucking while he worships me.

With her saliva on my tongue, I went back to Tomás’s crotch, where he was still enjoying her feet.

—How many times must you have touched yourself thinking about these feet, huh?

—Countless times —he confessed, and I writhed with jealousy.

—And now you have them right here, worshipping them just as you always dreamed.

—Yes, I can’t take it anymore. You’re going to make me come.

I listened to him, burning with rage but accepting my place. She was the ten, the model, the medical student with honors. I was the one on her knees. In that moment—and, I felt, in every other one too.

—Come on, finish on the feet. Come on my feet.

Tomás pulled his cock from my mouth and aimed. I had never felt so small in my life. He came with an intensity I had never known him to have: one, two, three spurts, and I lost count. He had never come that much with me. This woman, with her feet, had achieved more in ten minutes than I had in years.

—Come here, Lucía. Clean my feet.

—What?

—Quickly, I have to leave and I can’t go out with my feet like this.

I knelt down again and began licking her toes one by one, swallowing everything my boyfriend had left on them. It was the most exciting thing I had ever tasted, and her feet were a delight. I licked their soles, breathed them in, worshipped them as if they were an altar. I remained staring at them, lost in time and space.

***

—Lucía, are you all right? —Renata’s voice brought me abruptly back to reality.

—Uh… yeah. Why?

—You’ve been somewhere else for the past minute. Your boyfriend arrived and you just froze —she laughed—. You went off to another planet.

My mind had flown away for barely a minute, but it had felt far too real. Renata would never do anything like that. Tomás would never suggest it to me. My brain had played a bizarre trick on me, but I quickly regained my composure and hid it as best I could.

Renata stayed fifteen minutes longer, then went home to prepare for an exam.

That night I understood Tomás a little better—the Tomás of the past, masturbating to the picture of her feet. I sucked him off and asked him to come on mine. My toenails were painted black, a color that drives him crazy because he says it contrasts with my skin. Then I ran a finger through the mess, gathered what was left, and put it in my mouth. That drove him completely wild.

Thinking about it, Renata is much prettier than I am. She has better breasts, a perfect face, and she’s taller. But if we’re talking about feet, I wouldn’t say mine are prettier; I’d say we’re tied. And at least in that respect, I feel at ease.