The Fantasy I Had About My Best Friend’s Feet

Renata is the most beautiful of my friends. She’s almost five feet eleven, naturally blonde, intelligent, has perfect breasts, and a body that matches her height. She’s not voluptuous or over the top: hers is an elegant beauty, everything in perfect proportion. The kind of woman who doesn’t need to make any effort for an entire room to turn and look when she walks in.

What’s curious is that as a girl she was an ugly duckling. She developed late, at sixteen, and until then she was practically invisible. Nobody bullied her; they simply didn’t register her. While the rest of our group already had their first stories with boys, nobody even talked to her. A year later, everyone wanted her. And she hadn’t forgotten it.

There’s something of a grudge stored away in her, and at the same time the certainty that she deserves more. To anyone who doesn’t know her, she can even seem unpleasant: dry, terse, she says just what’s necessary and no more. 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 never gave us any reason to doubt it. We know she’s kissed a couple of guys, but only because other people told us. She never says a thing.

At sixteen she did an ad for a well-known shoe brand, and her photo ended up in the display 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 like a game, something to do until life offered her something better. When she started medical school, she stopped doing shoots regularly, although once or twice a year she still poses if the offer convinces her.

Back then I was having a great time with my boyfriend, Tomás. Until we had a small incident.

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

The image was a close-up of her feet, perfect like a movie star’s, in thin sandals with her toes painted a deep red.

“Why do you have a photo of my friend?” was the softest thing I could think to say.

I was dying of jealousy. I knew Tomás loved feet, so for him — and, I admit, for me too — that photo was almost like having a picture of her naked.

He swore it was there by mistake, that he hadn’t touched himself, apologized to me every possible way, and deleted the image right in front of me. He hadn’t done anything serious, but it still hurt. Even so, I don’t regret my jealous outburst: at least it served to draw a line. Don’t jerk off to my friends, and if you do, make sure I never find out. I didn’t say it in those words, but I assume the message was clear.

***

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

One afternoon I was in my room with Renata, talking about college stuff. We study different majors at different campuses, so every so often we needed those long chat sessions to catch up.

I was wearing a denim skirt, a thin tank top, and canvas sneakers. She had on a brown skirt, a light blouse, and sandals that left her feet on full display in all their splendor, with an impeccable French pedicure. My feet are pretty, very pretty. But hers are on another level. If mine are hot, hers are straight-up paralyzing.

Tomás knocked on the bedroom door.

“Babe, I’m here.”

“Come in, I’m with Renata,” I answered, precisely so he wouldn’t make any dumb joke when he opened it.

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

My mind came to a dead stop.

The sixteen-year-old girl I’d been would have thrown a huge fit that same 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 rushed through my body.

And then my mind started to drift.

***

“What’s your deal, looking at them so much? Do my feet turn you on?” Renata said in my fantasy, fixing her eyes on Tomás.

“It’s not that, your sandals caught my eye. I want to buy Lucía an identical pair.”

“Don’t lie. She told me you had a photo of my feet saved on your phone. How many times must you have gotten yourself off looking at it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tomás turned toward me with a look of helplessness.

“Is something wrong with her?”

“No,” I answered, and my own voice sounded чужд to me. “She’s right. Your feet really turn you on.”

“See? She agrees with me. Here, smell them.”

Renata, sitting on the pouf, lifted her feet and rested them on Tomás’s lap, and he had settled into the desk chair. I was still on the bed, watching, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“Tell her that what she’s doing isn’t right,” he begged me.

“No, baby. Smell them, if you’re dying to.”

“Why are you telling me this? What’s the catch? If I do it, are you going to dump me for being unfaithful?”

“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 breathed in slowly. Then I held it up to Tomás’s face.

“Take a deep breath.”

“But, babe…”

“Take a deep breath. That’s an order.”

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

“Look how hard you get, you naughty boy,” Renata laughed. “You already have a boner and I didn’t have to do absolutely anything.”

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

Tomás started unbuttoning his pants, unable to take it anymore.

“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 to me with a cruel smile, “are going to give him oral while he adores my feet.”

As if possessed by the authority in her voice, I pulled my boyfriend’s pants down, knelt in front of the bed, and found myself looking at one of the hardest erections I’d ever seen on him in my life.

“See how I get him going with just my feet?” Renata told me. “I bet you have to work really hard to get the same result. Well, start. That’s what you’re for.”

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

“Does she suck you off well, Tomás?”

“Mmm, spectacular,” he answered, without taking his mouth off Renata’s toes.

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

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

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

“Now keep sucking while I’m worshipped.”

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 gotten yourself off thinking about these feet, huh?”

“Countless times,” he confessed, and I writhed with jealousy.

“And now you’ve got them here, worshipping them just like you always dreamed.”

“Yeah, I can’t take it anymore. You’re going to make me come.”

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

“Go on, finish on the feet. Come on my feet.”

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

“Come here, Lucía. Clean my feet.”

“What?”

“Hurry up, I have to go and I can’t leave with my feet like this.”

I knelt again and started licking her toes one by one, swallowing everything my boyfriend had left on them. It was the most arousing thing I’d ever tasted in my life, and her feet were delicious. I licked the soles, breathed them in, worshipped them as if they were an altar. I stayed there staring at them, lost in time and space.

***

“Lucía, are you okay?” Renata’s voice suddenly brought me back to reality.

“Uh… yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been spaced out for like a minute. Your boyfriend showed up and you just froze,” she laughed. “You went to another planet.”

My mind had only drifted for a minute, but it had felt way too real. Renata would never do anything like that. Tomás would never suggest it to me. My brain had played a very weird trick on me, but I got myself together right away and covered as best I could.

Renata stayed fifteen more minutes and then left for home to study for an exam.

That night I understood a little better the Tomás of the past, masturbating to the photo of her feet. I gave him oral and asked him to finish 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 what was left, picked it up, and brought it to my mouth. That finished him off completely.

Come to think of it, Renata is much prettier than I am. She has better breasts, a perfect face, 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, I feel calm.