Sometimes you find your fetish. Sometimes the foot fetish finds you.
I’m no stranger to fetishes, even the infamous foot fetish. I’m the first one to admit that I’m a slut. I get wet at the drop of a hat. But there are some times when I think to myself, “Really, Elise? You had to get turned on here?” And my pussy responds to my body, “Of course we are. This is great.”
One of those times was this weekend, at a nail salon. I love pampering myself, getting nail art or shades done so my fingers and toes look as cute as possible. My appointment for the day involved my feet, where I had someone soak my feet while I looked at the packages. There were so many options, but all of them longer times. My feet deserved to be pampered after walking around in heels for so long, so I chose the priciest option.
Some of you have probably already heard this true foot fetish story, but it’s worth sharing with the world. After my feet had soaked, the attendant came out and asked what package I would want. I realized, too my surprise, that the attendant was not a woman this time, but a man, with thick, powerful hands that would be touching my feet. I told him the package and he placed my feet in his hands, rolling them around and massaging my greater foot with oil.
Oh, I felt so exposed. His hands rubbed lotion everywhere: the heel of my foot, my arch, in between my toes. Without knowing it, he’d tickled me and it felt so profoundly intimate, him working my toes in such a manner.
Then my pussy kicked in. Hello, it said. We like this. Though the attendant didn’t notice, I blushed furiously. I hadn’t expected to feel so good during a routine pedicure! Fearing how long it would go, I tried to fight the feeling. I didn’t want to orgasm in public.
He pushed and prodded my foot, his strong joints digging into the soft balls of my feet. Knuckles enclosed around my toes and popped them in a chiropractic manner. The lotion felt like spit on my feet, making them wet, but cool enough to notice. I tried no adjust myself, knowing I would be leaving a huge wet spot on the leather chair.
The wet spot I left was much bigger than I feared it would be.
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