I am endlessly fascinated by kinks and fetishes - it amazes me how they often begin with innocent childhood events.
I have the man who comes to see me and loves to get naked while I remain clothed preferably in MILF office attire. We chat, shoot the shit, pass the time of day before I tell him off for being naked and threaten to throw him out on the street. At that point he gets hard and tosses off. This urgent, erotic experience began for him when he was a child and on a sleepover with another boy. They had been told to get ready for bed but, engrossed in their Lego, had not done so until the other boys’s mother came in angrily and told them that if they were not in their pyjamas in one minute she would undress them herself. This of course got both boys into quite a panic and they both changed out of their clothes as fast as they could. It has sparked excitement at the thought of being naked in front of a fully-dressed matronly lady that has never lost him. This fantasy was a lifelong source of confusing arousal for my client and many an hour was spent together like this never fucking, perhaps letting him get a glimpse up my skirt beyond the top of my stockings to my lacy lingerie and occasionally to my naked lady parts depending on how inappropriate I felt like being.
“Hello, is that the horny man’s Catherine Chidgey?“ asks the caller.
If I was not a reader this compliment would have been lost on me but because of my familiarity with Ms Chidgey's appearance and writing, I am delighted with the comparison. I laugh. He always has a catchphrase comparing me with cultural figures.
“Is this Amber O’Hara, the demure character in a Jane Austen novel, whose wanton acts are carried out behind closed doors?”
Or the most intricate so far:
“Is this the modern day Venus, the hottest planet in the solar system embodied as a woman, who runs her long, red hair across the cocks of many a god and mortal while splaying her pretty toes…”
"Erotische Märchen (Erotic Fairy Tales)", 1975
And there we have it, the nub of his fantasy: feet.
I first encountered the elegant appreciation for the human form’s most grounded extremity when I came across a client at the Sebel townhouse in Sydney, Australia. The Sebel was a discreet boutique hotel, very small, where many music industry executives or clients (that is, many famous rock stars) stayed. Privacy was assured as was turning a blind eye guaranteed. Often me and my best friend Gabby (who happened to be my doppelganger) would go there in pairs (“the twin”) or sometimes I would be called out on my own. It was here that I encountered my first experience trampling, that is, I was doing the trampling on him, wearing stilettos. I look back and shudder. A slip through the rib cage by my pin-like heels could have caused a medical emergency, they were balance issues too, but I did it successfully and this drunken cock went from 0 to 100 in about a second.
Years later I worked in a brothel with a petite, angelic lady whose shoes were left on the doorstep.
“Who brought their child to work?” I had enquired. “The shoes outside?”
“Oh, they belong to her”, I was told.
The cherubic one was a hit with podophiles.
Many a phone wanker without a penny calls around us ladies asking what colour our toenails were painted as they toss off loudly. Usually they time their calls just as they are about to come. It is a fetish that excites many a man.
Often the signs are there: an appreciation of legs can lead to acute observation of the feet. Tiny details are noticed. That mild mannered man, who keeps his head down despairingly looking at the ground, may not be as sad as he appears.
Print (2014) from the portfolio "Erotica 4 – Fetish Erotica" by Giovanna Casotto
My caller, the well-read one, has a thing about shoes. He likes slingbacks with a flash of the heels revealed. He doesn’t mind shoes which cover the toes, at least he likes a pair I have where you can see the gaps in between my toes peeking out like little vaginas. He can guess the size of shoes at a glance and of course he once worked in a shoe shop, until it became too much for him and he resigned - he thought he should do so before someone he was serving noticed his hardon and he got fired.
This fantastic client pays for all my footcare single-handedly. This begins with a foot mask (which I only do every three months) otherwise I have a pedicure where he has already told me what colour he wants my toenails to be painted (fluorescent orange was a favourite for a time, then deep red with sparkles, then for a long time since then he has preferred white).
Then he comes to see me and anoints my feet with oil, as was done in the Bible. I am usually naked with my knees over the edge of the bed while he massages, licks, toe-sucks and eventually comes all over my feet.
Once he arrived with a Tupperware container of pre-warmed baked beans. I transferred this into a large foot bath where he squished my feet all around and I stretched and separated my toes then squeezed them close together so that the juice of the beans would be visible then would disappear. By the time he had licked every last drop of the baked bean sauce from the arch of my feet, his cock would be hard and his balls would be ready to empty.
If he came on my feet, he would lick off every last drop, he always left my feet licked clean.
He usually brings me shoes and asks me to wear them. An electric blue peep-toe shoe with a four inch heel was the most comfortable and I wore them around the house and even to the supermarket. They looked great with jeans and also with a pencil skirt I had which happened to have an electric blue belt at the waist.
"Hooker" by Mike Grell
I remember asking him how the interest in shoes started. The story was great. He was a teenage boy visiting his mate and somehow they were both looking for coins in the pockets of the coats in his mate's mother‘s wardrobe when she came home unexpectedly. They had no choice but to wait it out in the cramped wardrobe while she got changed into her leisurewear and he was shoved at the end of the closet with boxes of shoes and several loose pairs on which he sat, heels poking into his behind. As he glimpsed his mate's mother in various states of undress through the thin opening of the door, he found himself becoming aroused and quietly released his cock only to ejaculate on a pair of his mate’s mother’s shoes, unbeknownst to his mate who was right next to him in the dark. Out of respect for his mate's mother he licked all his boy milk off the shoe, to find himself, rather inappropriately he thought, rock hard again, while still next to his best mate in the dark, with his semi-naked mate's mother right outside the door.
And so it is played out time and time again. It impresses and amazes me how short his recovery time is: after licking every last drop off the first shoe, he is ready to go again although he usually does not climax a second time. It is enough for him to wipe his cock all over the sole of the shoe, inside it and over every other inch.
Sometimes while he plays in my wardrobe with my stinky old sports shoes, I disrobe from my see-through blouse and straight skirt, unroll my pantyhose and toss the electric blue heels into the closet nonchalantly while I lay on the bed and noisily masturbate. Then I head off for a long, leisurely shower. When I return, my electric blue peep-toe sling-back high heels are neatly placed side-by-side in my wardrobe with no sign of jizz anywhere, although usually my silk panties look like they had been sniffed (and more).
Otherwise everything looks as normal and my life as a secretly naughty heroine in a Jane Austen novel resumes.
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