Today, I’m fed up with winter, and stride boldly down the steps of my chic brownstone walk-up in new pink pumps, incongruous as they may seem under leaden grey skies.

The shoes hurry down the block with their determined cheer, and me with them, past the row of brownstones to where the shops begin, the pink patent leather almost glowing against the damp pavement and the overall gloom of the day, as if everything else had somehow been drained of colour. The shops provide slightly more shelter against the cold wind. My pace slows and my eyes dart from store to store, taking in and filing away the latest specials, the tomatoes and egg bread on sale. The buildings have seen better days, their edges grimed from passing traffic, yet it’s a pleasing jumble of irregular shapes and odd store-fronts, not exactly upscale, but not down-market either.

It’s an old trunk sitting on the sidewalk that catches my eye. It sits beside a set of concrete stairs that go down to a basement level store, an old metal trunk, dark blue with brass trim, and a lock that hangs a little askew, with a cardboard sign taped to it, an arrow pointing down. I slow down for a second to look closer. The concrete steps descend a bit farther, then pause at a landing where other items beckon in a group: an old wooden telephone table, a vase, a milk pitcher painted bright orange. The lower-level store has been empty for some time, so of course I glance in the window, which is a half circle that rests about street level, curving up to just under my chin. Half Moon Antiques & Curiosities crawls in spindly lettering around the curve.

And it’s one of those things, just circumstance; I look down just at the right moment as he’s looking up, cell phone in his hand, in mid conversation. But I can see him hesitate as he sees my pink shoes, and while I keep moving, pushing my legs forward, the lean angles of his face, the dark eyes, the platinum-tipped hair that springs in so many different directions from his head, are etched into my mind, where they brew all day at work as I make phone calls and fiddle with papers at my desk.

The next morning I try to assure myself that my interest is purely in antiques, try to stop my pace from quickening as I reach the row of shops and spot the trunk sitting there on the sidewalk again. He’s setting small glass pieces in the windowsill: blue and green, orange and yellow, birds and flowers and butterflies. They catch the sunlight prettily, but I find my gaze wandering away from them. From under unruly brows, his eyes rise up to my leather boots, then higher still to my tailored leather jacket, three-quarter length. Jet black, those eyes meet mine for a split second, but then drop down again just as quickly; down and down to the lower edge of my jacket, looking for the hem of my skirt. Without thinking I move a little closer to the window as my legs open in stride. I see his tongue, licking his lips. I turn my head again, just in time to see it again, just to be sure and feel a shiver just as if that tongue had snaked higher still, up between my thighs.

I’m at work, trying to answer phones and sift through papers with a warm glow between my legs. He’s invaded me that easily, from behind a glass and in a basement store. It’s animal and anti-intellectual, something that pulls at me from the inside and makes me wet just to think of it.

There are forms to print out here; the beige walls of my cubicle stare passively as I make my way to the end of the day, occupying myself with trivialities so most of my brain is free to run over his dark eyes, his pale face, and his tongue, over and over and over. The heat between my legs grows unbearable, and I run to the ladies’ room to stroke myself, oh so quietly, to a gushing orgasm, and still I can’t get his face out of my head.

The next morning, he’s not there. It stops me in my tracks. I look down into the store and there’s a blonde woman and what I imagine to be a teenage son, they unpack boxes and arrange shelves. I hesitate a second and she sees me, smiles and I smile back, pausing as if looking over the glass pieces. Disappointment seeps in, at first in the background and I try to contain it there. I straighten, I look around, suddenly aware this very first time that there are others on the street, people on their way to work, maybe even people who live above the stores; people who glance out their windows in the morning and see me looking in here, hesitating here like a fool. I’m stung and it follows me to work, the thought hovers like smoke curling around the corners of the room.

I hardly even slow down the next day, just barely, only long enough to see the back of her head – blonde – and hurry on. The day goes by in slow motion, excruciating, the minutes creeping by as they laugh at me, left feeling bereft at this, all those minutes yawning empty, sapped of any music.

And what do I want, exactly? What was I hoping for – some silly movie ending, with him, a dark-eyed man –angel, standing shyly one morning, offering a bouquet of flowers? But no. That’s not what I wanted at all.

After a weekend of mundane chores, I set out for work with a curious mixture of apprehension and excitement roiling in my middle. I try to walk casually by, just stroll down the street looking in the shops, but have to stifle the disappointment when he’s still not there, no sign of him at all as the blonde woman greets customers and stocks shelves, not as Monday bleeds into Tuesday and the sweet flurry of hopeful excitement dissipates. Wednesday, it rains, gathering in cold grey puddles on the sidewalk. I’m looking down at my basic black shoes dodging the puddles, honestly not looking for him any more, but there, out of the corner of my eye, it’s unmistakable – his blond spikes, the back of his head. I stop abruptly, breathless in an instant, but he doesn’t see me. I’m jolted but try to reason my way out of it. I force myself to keep going. Just because he’s there… I don’t have to look or react… But all day at work, it buzzes in the background noise inside my head, the sight of those platinum spikes, the memory of his dark eyes and red tongue, no matter how much I reason against it.

Coming home I start to feel my pulse quicken and my steps slow down as I turn the corner – that corner, that block – and I don’t fight it this time. He’s there. Is he looking for me, too? He comes to the window as I pass, slower, slower, he’s watching as my long jacket flies open in the damp wind.
His eyes are hungry, my skirt is short. His tongue, just the end of it, wet and red, runs over his lower lip again and again, back and forth, as I walk by, slowing down. I take a long stride for a good look. His lips purse, he stares intently, then kisses his palm and blows it up to me, and it follows me all the way back home, licking its way up between my legs. I have to rush to the bathroom, leave my cat yowling for dinner, stroke myself to orgasm as bath water runs, thinking of the rosy red tip of his tongue.

There’s no rain in the morning, though the sidewalk is splotchy, still mostly damp. A stiff wind separates the gloomy clouds and whips the surface of the puddles into urgent patterns. We have a meeting early at work, it’s still half dark as I scurry along and none of the shops are open. During the meeting – boring, but the pastries are good, coffee decent – I’m looking out of the window as the darker clouds thin out, finally pull apart altogether to reveal satiny blue high above. And why shouldn’t there be magic present? A ghost has entered the machine, an email virus that cripples our server just as the meeting ends, leaving the office in confusion. The system down, we can take some of our ‘personal time’ and leave the office early if we like. Not gratis, understand, especially when I have only one personal day left. But I take it as an omen. And there’s magic of an older, earthier kind – fertility goddesses and phallic symbols. I feel that too. The weather cooperates, it’s dry but still cool, so I walk home with my coat on, but open, flipping here and there in the breeze.

The elevator takes for ever, then the blocks seem unbearably long as I make my way back towards home, my shoes pinching in the conspiracy to slow me down. Finally, I reach the last block, covered by a thin sheen of sweat from the exertion that I only now acknowledge, huffing slightly, and approach from the opposite side of the street and yes, it’s to throw him off a bit, but more so to look into the store and, yes, it’s empty, except for him. I can’t contain the smile that tugs eagerly at the corners of my mouth as I step off the sidewalk. He’s all in black today, his face almost ghostly, hair glowing, he comes into full view as I reach about three- quarters of the way across the street. His eyes take their usual trajectory, flitting up to my face, then quickly much lower down, and as they watch, as I draw closer, my fingers reach for the hem of my skirt and pull it up slowly, using my nails to crawl it up little by little and reveal the laced edges of my stockings as I continue to walk. His eyes widen.

I glance around – there are a few people about a block away, and only two cars even farther away – then back to him. He fingers an orange glass butterfly, fiddling with it absently, his mouth slightly open. I pull a small notepad from the pocket of my coat, I pull it out as he watches intently, and as I reach the sidewalk on his side, I toss it on to the pavement.

He looks at the notepad. I look at him. I get closer, kneel to the ground to pick it up, there right in front of the window, I kneel at the same time my fingernails reach the bottom edge of my hem, pulling it up under my coat. His eyes are wide and unblinking, the notebook has landed just in front of the glass and we’re only inches apart now as I reach for it, I look like I’m reaching for it, but drop my hand between my legs, his eyes following, pulling my panties aside so he can really see me, spreading my pink petals so he can see them shiny wet inside. Wet for him. Wet for you, I whisper it to him through the glass, slipping my two fingers inside as he smiles a thin, tight smile and the rosy tongue appears, runs over his lips, back and forth. He raises his eyes to mine after a few moments. I close my legs, begin to rise again. Thank you, he mouths the words back, reaches up to touch the window with his hand. I kiss my own fingers and touch him from the other side, leaving a slight smear of my juice on the glass. Just like a movie ending, after all. Just like a goddamn movie.

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It was my first time with a “foot guy.” Names changed of course. Before this all happened, my feet weren’t any kind of focus in my sex life.After this happened, that all changed. But those are the later stories. So, Ok, here we go.

It was twelve years ago when I was in the military. I worked at a big command. Office work. I was young and eager to do a good job. There was occasional flirting – like there is in any environment where men and women work closely together.

Little passing comments. Maybe looks that lasted a fraction of a second too long. Little smiles. Nothing dramatic – just nice, fun stuff. There were a lot of guys up for flirtation but the focus of this story involves Rick – a married guy in his late twenties.

Rick was an officer. I was enlisted. He was tall. Well built. Easy to talk to. Good looking.

And there was definitely some light flirting with him.

Rick had his own office.

I’d sometimes catch him spending just a little too long not looking at my eyes.

That fraction of a second – so subtle – where his eyes maybe lingered on my boobs. Or my legs.

Or maybe he was looking down at my shoes? Probably not, right? My uniform shoes were just black pumps.

Thing is, I wasn’t overly obsessing about him (at that point anyway) so I dunno for sure…It was just enjoyable office chat.

One of the other girls had told me he played football in college. I honestly didn’t care but it added up – like I said, he was built.

One time I remember I did ask him about playing football, just to extend the conversation we were having at the time. He said yea he’d played but it was no big deal.

I mention it because he could have used the opportunity to brag and try to impress me. But no, he didn’t.

So, points for Rick. He was modest – I liked that.

Anyways – fast-forward a bit – later that summer, there was a command picnic.

I got myself together. Hair. Light makeup.

Cute shorts, tee shirt, flip flops. Nice pedicure. Red toenail polish.

Not slutty at all. Just cute.

These mandatory events in the military are mostly boring and tedious.

Which it was…

But I ended up bumping into the Rick and his wife and we talked for awhile.

I remember she was tall like him. So different than me.

I’m pretty short. Short and curvy. Big breasts. Little waist. Full, athletic ass.

Anyway, Rick’s wife said something like “oh, this is your little co-worker huh?”

I remember thinking “what’s that mean? What’s he telling her about me?”

But I masked that – I was respectful and pleasant. She seemed to soften up a little while we talked.

Meanwhile Rick is standing just ever so slightly behind her with his hand on her back.

He’s rarely saying anything – his wife is dominating the conversation.

Which was fine.

But what Rick’s actually doing is not even trying to hide the fact that he’s fucking flat-out staring at my feet. Getting away with it while standing there with his wife.

He was locked onto my feet.

I remember a chill in my spine. A tingle in my pussy. I made a point of shifting my feet during the conversation.

Here I was having a chat with his wife but it was like Rick and I had started communicating secretly.

His eyes and my toes were connecting.

Weird. New.

But hot.

It only lasted maybe five minutes and then the picnic went back to normal for me.

Fast forward, maybe a week later, I’m in his office toward the end of the day.

Sitting in a chair on the other side of his desk.

Same sort of chit chat. He’s behaving same as always – charming. Chill.

And then the thing happened that changed everything – and I swear I didn’t do it on purpose.

I crossed my legs and my uniform pump slipped off.

It just happened and I was a little surprised and, like, mildly embarrassed.

It was a dumb, awkward thing to have happened.

I hesitated then bent forward to pick up my shoe to put it back on.

As I grasped my pump, I glanced up to see Rick’s eyes locked onto my foot.

Just like at the picnic.

I hesitated.

I let him look.

I let him look on purpose.

The moment drew out. No words. So awkward but so intense.

I made no attempt to put on my shoe.

You could have heard a pin drop.

I thought my heart would beat out of my chest.

I could hear his shallow breathing.

And there was a hunger in his eyes.

I didn’t want the spell to break.

I wanted this to keep on going.

I slipped off my other shoe.

I put my little feet together on his office carpet.

It’s weird but I’ve never felt so naked.

Inappropriately barefoot in this officer’s office.

His breathing — getting so ragged now.

I lifted one foot up onto his the edge of his desk.

His eyes never left my little toes. I could tell he was focused on my toes. Oh shit!

My naked, perfectly-pedicured toes just two feet from this very hungry, very good-looking man.

He shifted his chair a little toward my foot.

But then he snapped out of it!

I felt a little jolt of fear. What’s gonna happen here? SHIT!!

He stood up, seemed to steady his breathing, then walked toward his office door.

He’s walking out?

I quickly pulled my foot back and put on both shoes.

Ready to follow him out. Act like this never happened. Like the picnic. Never happened.

But he stopped at his door. Just stood there for a couple seconds.

He shut his door.

And locked it.

My fucking heart about leaped out of my chest.

And for the first time since my shoe fell off he looked into my eyes.

Hard.

Intense.

He walked back to his desk. He sat. Kept looking at me. At my eyes.

I was scared and excited.

What the fuck is happening here? What’s about to happen??

He’s waiting for me. To do what?

So, I slipped off both shoes.

Barefoot for him. Again. Willingly.

My pussy so wet. Jesus this was intense!

He reached down and grasped an ankle. Our first touch. Electric.

Lifted my leg, resting my foot on the edge of his desk.

Again he gazed. Took his time.

I had played into it and now he was very in-charge.

Amazing tension in those moments.

I was so aware of my pussy creaming. And I would have given it to him for sure. I would have spread my legs wide for him right there! I would have sucked his dick in that moment.

I would have done anything – whatever he wanted.

But he wants my toes??

He leaned into my toes with his handsome face.

And he sucked.

He didn’t lick or kiss my toes.

He took them into his mouth and he sucked.

He sucked them one at a time, two at a time. Three!!

And he sucked my big toe most intensely. His hand pressuring his dick through his uniform pants.

I wondered if he’d cum like that – this foot guy – so addicted to feet. To MY feet.

He took my other foot, lifted it up.

Then, with me still sitting in my chair, he held both of my ankles and guided my soles to his face.

Smothered his face holding my ankles.

He breathed deeply.

A heavy sigh. He sounded like he was in heaven.

His grip was so firm on my ankles.

He began moving my soles over his face, his tongue darting out.

Licking my arches.

My heels.

Delicately, he ran the tip of his tongue sideways across the bottoms of my little toes.

And then he took one foot and swallowed it whole.

Like almost all the way to my heel.

It felt WONDERFUL!!

He held it deep in his mouth for a few seconds, then began moving his tongue.

God it felt great!

And it looked BEYOND hot!!

And then – both hands around my ankle – he began pumping my tiny foot in and out of his mouth.

It was so erotic.

He took it out and began licking up and down.

He went back to pumping the whole thing in and out, deep in his mouth.

To this day, if a man does this to my foot, I just lose my mind.

I was so turned on, my hands were on my tits, squeezing them both through my uniform blouse.

He stopped.

He stood up.

I thought, “are we about to fuck?” Cuz I was so ready, despite the risks. At that point, I had no idea what would happen if we got caught and couldn’t have cared less.

He unzipped his uniform trousers.

And, like, in one slow motion he reached deep inside his pants and pulled out the most beautiful cock and balls I had ever seen. I dunno, maybe I just hadn’t seen that many dicks before but holy shit, this was different.

He was totally hard.

Precum everywhere.

His dick looked so long. And thick.

Big, heavy balls – holy shit!

I was soooo ready at that point! Ready to suck. Ready to spread my legs as wide as they would go.

I was READY!

But he took my ankles again into his strong hands.

He pulled both of my feet toward his dick. Rubbed his cock all over them.

Like everywhere.

So much precum on my arches.

Glistening precum coated my shiny red toenails. I remember thinking that my toes looked very pretty like that.

He put my soles together and put his big hard dick between them.

And fucked me.

Not my pussy. He fucked my feet.

I was sure in this position he could see up my uniform skirt to my drenched panties, my pussy wet – giving off HEAT.

But he fucked my feet like they were the best pussy in the history of the world.

I really didn’t do anything.

He did everything, firmly grasping my ankles.

I just stared at his dick gliding in and out over my arches.

My pussy ached for any touch.

But he kept fucking my feet, building toward his climax.

And climax he did.

Thick spurts of hot cum shot up my calf, some dripping down my inner thigh.

Tons of cum on my feet.

Heels, arches.

He made a point of aiming his last jets of cum onto my toes, coating them entirely.

Cum all over and between my toes.

Rick held his still stiff dick on my feet.

He moved it slowly – smearing his load everywhere.

It was absolutely the biggest load of cum I’d ever seen – by far.

Spent, he reached behind himself, grabbed a box of tissues, and handed it to me.

I used like half the box wiping away his cum.

And I didn’t get it all.

Since this was over and we were still at risk of getting caught I hurried to leave.

No words were spoken.

With my shoes back on, I walked back to my desk.

I could feel the cum between my toes. It felt like a lot.

I packed up my stuff and left the building without saying anything to anyone.

I went back to my room – sat in the middle of my bed.

And for the first time in my life, I sucked my toes.

That’s how I was awakened to the power of my feet. I came to learn that there were other men in the world – like Rick – who would do damn near anything – risk their jobs, leave their wives, anything – IF they could worship my feet.

So from time to time in the last dozen or so years, I’ve capitalized on that. My encounter with Rick was an accident. But after that, I became deliberate. An office teaser. A tormentor. Occasionally a pleaser – for the lucky few.

So I have more stories to tell you. I hope you stick around to hear them.

Bye for now…

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