Foot Fetish

I learned to count the hours until she fell asleep. Only then, in the darkness of the bunk bed, were her sandals mine and no one could see what I did with them.

I went to her house for a school assignment and found her in flip-flops. From that moment on, I could never look at her without thinking of her feet.

I’d spent years pretending I didn’t stare at her feet. That night, barefoot on the bed, she ordered me to kneel—and there was no turning back.

On weekends I don’t go to the movies for the film. I go to sit in back and wait for unknown feet to settle on me and decide how much I can take.

It was exactly midnight when I crossed the patio barefoot. Her pink flip-flops were still there, warm, with the imprint of every one of her toes waiting for me in the dark.

I started graduate school not knowing anyone. It only took one look at her crossing her legs and slipping off a sandal for me to stop paying attention to anything else.

She boarded the bus barefoot, sneakers in hand, and at the back a stranger couldn’t tear his eyes from her bare feet on the seat.

For years I’d chased this moment in airports and trains, but I never imagined a stranger would let me worship her bare feet on a flight.

I felt her bare feet on my shoulder in the darkness. Then a voice asked me if I liked the way her socks smelled, and all I could do was say yes.

The store suddenly emptied, and when Diego peeked into the fitting rooms, he never imagined that afternoon someone would watch him while he watched without permission.

I’d written that it would be my first time submitting. I never imagined the first thing she’d do when she opened the door would be slap me and order me to kneel.

When I saw the video on her phone, I knew there was no way back: my neighbor knew exactly what she wanted from me, and I had fallen into her trap.

She’d been in all afternoon when she walked in. I knelt to fit her with a heel, and with her bare foot in my hands, I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop.

The moment he got behind the wheel, Carmen knew who was in charge: no kiss or caress would come when she wanted, only when he decided.

Three years barefoot, two rings on her toes, and the certainty that at day’s end he will kneel to lick every footprint she left behind.

You threw me your still-warm panties and a smile. “Put them on and wait for me,” you said. Two hours later I was still on my knees, counting the minutes until you came back.

She fell asleep in front of the TV, and I knew I shouldn’t get close. But her bare feet on the sofa were an invitation I’d been waiting for months to accept.

When I found one of her shoes forgotten in the changing room, I should have left it there. Instead, I crossed half the city to return it, and everything went wrong.

It’s two in the afternoon, I’ve been stroking him for hours, and I still haven’t given him permission to cum. Today I’m in charge, and he’s learning to wait.

I went down to the reservoir to escape the heat and ended up helpless on the shore while a stranger’s toes decided the pace of my surrender.