Let me tell you about Kristen. I had worked with her for three years, and I was interested from the day we met. A bit older than myself (she was pushing 43), the woman was–for lack of a more descriptive word–hot! Unfortunately, she also caught the attention of other co-workers, much to my irritation. But, while those chumps were obviously after sex, I had different goal altogether. There are perks to having a foot fetish, you know.
Kristen looked every part a professional businesswomen. She certainly dressed smart, but her shoes were my favorite part of her wardrobe. There was a fondness for boots, I noticed; however, on summer days, she could be spotted walking around in open-toed heels. Unbeknownst to her, this would drive me nuts for the rest of the day.
As for appearance, she was a tall woman of around 6 feet. Brown, highlighted, wavy hair was usually left down around the shoulders. Her makeup was always nicely applied, though perhaps a bit overdone. Her bosom and bottom were smaller, though I wasn’t concerned about such things. She was free of tattoos and piercings, and jewelry was kept to a minimum.
We had gone out in groups after work a few times, drinking and blowing off steam on Friday nights. Here, I was sure to test the waters, casually engaging in topics such as pedicures, massages, and shoes. Of course, these brief conversations were far and few in between. Be subtle, gauge reactions, this is the name of the game.
Satisfied with her responses thus far, I eventually invited Kristen to my place. One interesting fact about my co-worker: She loved video games. Having two sons, she’d often regale us with stories of their Mortal Kombat tournaments. The competition could be quite fierce, and I thought I could use this to my advantage. Not being a stranger to games myself, I challenged her to a friendly Mortal Kombat night.
Saturday night, and Kristen arrived at seven. Being winter time, I took her heavy coat and hat while she untied her snowy boots at the door. She was dressed down from what I was used to seeing at work, wearing a scarlet sweater and black leggings. My eyes, however, were particularly glued to her feet as those boots came off. Thick, gray knit socks greeted me, and we made our way to the living room.
“Is that a massage table?” she asked, as I gave her the tour.
“Certainly is,” I confirmed, looking at the folded up piece of furniture along the wall. “I’m no professional, of course, but I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Mm-hmm,” she smiled, giving me a “suspicious” glance as we took a seat on the sofa.
The game started! After a few matches, the trash talk was flying. Kristen wasn’t bad at all, and we were pretty evenly matched. Nudging me after one of her victories, I proceeded to do the same after one of mine. Any playful contact is good, especially if initiated by the object of your desire.
“You just have to keep practicing,” she joshed, after a string of wins. “The women are always better than the dudes, ya know.”
“How’s about a wager?” I asked. We had been playing long enough, and it was time to make a move. “Next victory gets…a foot rub.”
“Oh?” Kristen grinned. “I could use a foot rub; I ran three miles today.”
“You have to win first,” I chided, trying to contain my excitement.
Of course, I was going to throw the match. Making sure to keep it interesting enough, I let Sonja Blade finish me in the third round. Kristen was overjoyed, snapping her fingers in my face and gloating.
“Fine,” I feigned disappointment, tossing aside my controller. Patting my lap, I looked at Kristen. “Put ’em up. A bet’s a bet.”
“Yes, it is!” she smiled, scooting her bottom toward the opposite side of the sofa.
My friend lifted her feet up on the couch and straightened out her long legs. First one, then the other, she set her sock-clad feet on my lap. I was struck by just how large they were up close, and I eagerly wrapped my hands around each foot. Using my thumbs, I started rubbing her arches.
“Mm, nice,” she said in approval.
“Cute socks,” I observed. They were thick and warm in my hands.
“Thanks, I knitted them,” she boasted. “I love knitting my own socks.”
“Pretty talented,” I praised. “But they’re so thick! Can you even feel this? I should take ’em off.”
Sticking my fingers into the cuff, I slowly began pulling the sock down her ankle.
“Hey!” she joked, pressing her heel against my leg. “My feet get cold.”
“I’ll keep them warm,” I assured, continuing to tug.
As she relented, I peeled the sock down her ankle, away from her heel, and slowly freed her foot. Tossing it aside, I proceeded to remove its twin. Kristen now offered no resistance, and it slipped from her foot and landed on the floor. And there they were–the bare feet of my beautiful co-worker, resting in my lap.
The toes were long and painted in a glossy black. The second toe extended a bit beyond the first, and all were thin and slightly knucked. Faint blue veins ran beneath the tanned skin of her tops, and I enjoyed how her prominent ankle bones poked out just below the leggings.
At last, I took her naked feet in my hands. They were quite warm and soft and smooth. Digging my thumbs into her soles, I squeezed here and there, working my way around randomly.
“Yes, that’s good,” Kristen sighed, closing her eyes. “Better without socks, you’re right. I just got a pedicure, too. Lucky for you!”
I took in the moment. To me, this was an epic “Achievement Unlocked!” The very toes I would steal glances at during work were now right before me. I moved my hands up her feet, and then those toes were within my fingers. I gently kneaded and pulled on them, and felt myself beginning to grow in my pants. It was all I could do to stop myself before I was in too deep.
“Okay, well,” I said suddenly, releasing her and snatching my controller, “back to the game!”
“What, that’s it?” she complained, opening her eyes. “I think I deserve more than that after the way I whooped you.”
“Whooped me!” I laughed. “You barely won. Want another bet?”
“Fine,” she agreed, as we toggled through characters. “What’s the bet?”
“If you’re the first to win three matches,” I paused, pretending I was thinking, “I’ll give you the best five minute foot massage of your life.”
“Oh?” she questioned. “I don’t know if you’re up to it, I’ve had some really good massages. But you can try. And if you win?”
“Then,” I pretended to ponder. “Then, I get to tickle your feet for five minutes.”
“Pssh, I’m not even ticklish.” Kristen laughed, choosing her fighter. “You got a deal.”
So, it was a win-win. I didn’t believe for a second that she wasn’t ticklish; soft feet like those just had to be! I was determined to find out for sure, and I put on my game face.
By some miracle, I won the first match. Kristen had kept her pretty feet on my lap as we played, and it was all I could do to ignore them. During the second bout, my friend had removed her feet, sitting up to focus. The second game was hers.
The third fight was a struggle of button mashing and timing, ultimately going to me. The fourth battle began. The insane prize on the table motivated me like nothing else, and I won the round in a Flawless Victory. Round two, and I was dominating. In a desperate attempt at distraction, Kristen poked me in the side a few times. Cheaters never win, and I was in the zone. Not only did I achieve a second Flawless, but I pulled off my finishing move! Kristen was destroyed, the bet lost.
Dropping her controller to the floor, she scooted to the end of the sofa. Pulling her knees up to her chest, she looked at me with her pretty brown eyes. A sad little pout played on her lips.
“You’re going to be nice, right?” she meekly asked.
“Oh, I thought you weren’t ticklish,” I grinned, standing up and turning on the lamp.
“I’m not,” she reaffirmed. “But still, you better be nice.”
“I’ll be so nice,” I lied, patting the armrest of the couch. “You can put your feet right up here. I’ll be back in a second.”
Making for my bedroom, I heard Kristen give a little groan from the couch. I didn’t want to freak her out too much, so I had to be careful. Sure, I had a nice collection of toys at my disposal, but one has to pace himself. The massage oil was a must. A feather, innocent enough. The electric toothbrush? I debated a moment before taking it. Lastly, I spotted the pink comb, pocketing that as well.
Upon my return, I found that Kristen had indeed put her feet up for me. I crouched down at the armrest, setting down my items before she could see.
“What do you have?” she asked, raising up on her elbows.
“You’re about to find out,” I grinned. Pulling out my phone, I set the stopwatch. “Okay, five minutes. Ready?”
“Um, I guess?” she asked more than answered.
I started the timer. I couldn’t believe that my co-worker’s soles were right there in front of my face. They were huge–long, narrow, and gorgeous. The skin was soft, leathery, and peach colored, save for her pale, high arches. Fine lines ran beautifully along the flesh here and there, like little hairline cracks. Her heels were pretty ovals, just slightly flattened by years of running. Her toes–plump pads atop long stems–were diamond shaped and exquisite. Not a callus or rough spot marred the perfect foot-flesh. A faint, minty scent of lotion reached my nose, explaining the softness of her feet; these babies were pampered.
After a few seconds studying these lovely specimens, I claimed my prize. I started off easy, taking the feather, and touching the tip to her left sole. Slowly, I circled it over the ball of her foot, but garnered little reaction.
“Is that a feather?” she asked, reclining back on the sofa. “Why do you have a feather? And I barely feel it, by the way.”
“Doesn’t everyone keep feathers?” I retorted. Perhaps she really wasn’t ticklish. I dragged the tip downward, heading to her arch. There, I circled, and she wiggled her foot just a bit.
“Feels like a little itch,” Kristen said. “But it doesn’t bother me. Too bad, so sad.”
It wasn’t until I brought the feather to her toes that I got a faint reaction. Gliding the tip across those long stems, her toes flexed back a bit. I saw a smile creeping up on my friend’s face, but she was firmly I’m control of herself. I passed it back and forth, softly caressing the digits. She wiggled them a bit, but I wanted so much more. I ditched the feather.
“Maybe fingers are more to your liking,” I said, hopefully. Placing my nails just under the toes of each foot, I started to scratch. Immediately, I saw that this was a better method.
“Um, okay,” her smile grew. “I feel that, but it’s nice. I sorta like it, actually.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked, working my fingers downward. I’m sure the little liar wanted to pull away or kick at my hands, but she played it cool.
“Ha-ahem!” Kristen nearly laughed. “I mean, yeah. It’s fine. Just a little, um, tickly. But it feels good.”
“A little tickly, huh?” I asked, grabbing the electric toothbrush. It was time for the big guns. “Let’s see if this is tickly.”
Turning it on, the toothbrush hummed in a high pitch. The bristles were spinning and vibrating in a blur–good for the teeth, bad for the feet. Touching it on the pad of her right foot, she flinched slightly.
“What is that?” she asked, again raising herself on her elbows to try and see.
“Just a toothbrush,” I answered, moving it in little circular motions. “How’s that?”
“Pshh!” Kristen snickered. “That’s nothing. Give it up, you’re embarrassing yourself. Oh! Haha. Okay… Maybe I feel that a little.”
I had moved the head to her soft arch, slowly tracing its outline before heading toward the middle. I had a feeling that the silky white flesh would be particularly sensitive in this area. Indeed, her foot jerked and twitched as the brush made contact.
“Is-is that your toothbrush?” she tried to keep calm. “Kinda gross, isn’t it?”
“This is a spare,” I answered, moving it down to her heel. There, I brought it around in large circles, but she had regained control. “Ticklish here?”
“Uh, hardly!” Kristen rolled her eyes, while warily keeping an eye on things.
I touched the head to the outer side of her foot. Instantly, her leg started to quiver.
“Okay, okay!” she gasped, unexpectedly.
Finding a sweet spot, I slowed my pace. The brush crawled up the side of her foot, searching for vulnerable nerves. The worst seemed to be at the border, where soft, tan skin met the thicker flesh of the sole. I held her foot still and exploited the sensitive area.
“That tickles!” she giggled, twitching in my hand. “Ha ha! Th-that tickles. Stop it.”
“Not ticklish, hmm?” I asked, withdrawing the buzzing brush.
“That just…caught me off guard,” Kristen said. “Who tickles with a toothbrush? It’s unconventional, ya know? Doesn’t count.”
“Oh, I see,” I grinned, touching the spinning head to the tips of her toes.
“Mmm,” she worriedly moaned, her toes flexing under the stimulation.
I brought the head lightly across, letting it sit for a moment on each plump pad. Moving to the toes of her other foot, she was obviously containing herself. It was when I went for the stems that she broke.
“Ha ha!” she laughed, as the bristles ran against the undersides of those long toes. It was as if they didn’t know what to do, and they wiggled with a mind of their own. “Okay, okay! Haha.”
“Aww, Kristen has some ticklish toesies,” I taunted, moving back to the other foot.
“No!” she giggled, pulling her feet from my grasp. “This is cruel and unusual.”
“Put ’em back,” I ordered playfully, patting the armrest. “We had a bet. C’mon.”
Pouting, she replaced them, one foot rubbing away the tickles on the other.
“That a girl,” I teased. “Since you’re not ticklish, you shouldn’t be pulling away, right? Now, I want them side by side. Spread your toes.”
“No!” Kristen gasped. “It’s been five minutes. We’re done.”
“Nope,” I said. “Let’s go. Spread ’em.”
“Mmm,” Kristen whimpered anxiously.
I was enthralled as those long toes separated. The distance she had was truly something to behold. White, tender flesh was revealed between those stems–an area untouched; virgin nerves that were about to be awakened in the most terrible manner. I had to take a moment before I attacked to revel in what I was doing. Kristen, the object of my infatuation for three years–whose toes I used to sneak quick glances at in the office–was now spreading those very same toes at my command. Her huge, gorgeous feet were naked and inches from my face… And I was about to destroy them.
“Oh-ha heh,” she protested, as I touched the brush between her second and third toe. “Oh my god. Shit!”
“Stay still,” I ordered, moving the brush about. Carefully, I explored between toes, up toes, and under toes. “Keep ’em spread, Kristen.”
“I-I’m trying!” she shrieked. The bristles scrubbed her tender skin, and those poor digits didn’t know what to do–flexing and curling and squeezing together in sensory overload. “Hahaha! Alright, alright!”
“Good job,” I praised, lifting the brush to give her a break.
“That feels…so weird,” she panted, catching her breath. “What the hell, man?”
“What about these toenails?” I asked, moving right along. Placing the toothbrush above the nail of her big right toe, I slowly made contact.
“Fuck!” she hollered, jerking her foot to the side. “No, stop it. Ha ha! S-stop!”
I ceased, but only so that I could better grip her toes with my fingers. The second toe, with its round little nail, looked quite inviting. I set the humming bristles on it. The skin around her nails must have been excruciatingly sensitive.
“AHH!” Kristen screamed, lifting her bottom off the sofa and trying to escape. “Hahaha!”
“Don’t you like your nails brushed?” I chided, watching closely as the device tortured her.
“No, I don’t!” she snapped, straining to not rip away from my grasp. She writhed at the hips, bouncing that little butt against the couch.
“On to the next one,” I grinned, and attacked the third victim. The spinning head was now bigger than her nail, ensuring even coverage of her sensitive flesh.
“AHHHH!” she screamed, sitting up and grabbing at her toes. “Stop it! That’s horrible.”
“Alright,” I chuckled, releasing her and turning off the brush. “You did pretty good.”
“That wasn’t cool,” she whined, collapsing back.
“I’ll make it up to you,” I lied, grabbing the bottle of massage oil. Pouring a pool in my hands, I rubbed them together and took her feet. “How about a real massage?”
“Uhh, that’s better,” Kristen smiled, as I smeared the oil about.
I needed a second helping, and rubbed it generously over her large soles. If I thought her feet were beautiful before, I hadn’t seen anything yet. The oil brought out every detail of the smooth skin. They glistened in the light of the lamp, and all I could think about were the sensitive nerve endings covering the enormous surface of those feet.
“What size shoe do you wear?” I asked, massaging her with my thumbs.
“Oh, my size…” Kristen said, covering her face with her hands. “I’m not saying.”
“Why not?” I asked innocently, though I knew the answer.
“Because,” she answered, brushing back her hair. “It’s personal. Don’t ask a lady such things.”
“Oh, forgive me,” I said, letting go of one foot to covertly retrieve the feather. Flipping it around, I brought the quill to the middle of her left sole. Steadily, I drew the point down her soft flesh.
“AH!” Kristen screamed, quickly pulling away. “You said it was foot rub time!”
“Oh, I just wanted to oil your feet,” I laughed. “I still have a minute or so. Put it back. You know the drill.”
“Oh, man…” Kristen frowned, hesitantly obeying.
I started with the ball of her foot, running the quill about in slow circles. The point left a faint trail as it slid across in the oiled skin, and I could see Kristen’s leg jerking in distress.
“Ah-hmm…” she moaned, trying to keep still.
Then, starting just under her pinky toe, I drew the quill down her long lateral arch. A beautiful white trail remained for a moment in the tender flesh.
“Uggh!” she groaned, as it scraped along sensitive nerves. “Fuck! That’s horrible!”
“Aww,” I taunted, making my way to her heel. “How’s this? Tell me your shoe size, and I’ll stop.”
I zigzagged across the heel, thoroughly enjoying how the point indented her skin.
“Um, how about, no!” she laughed, finally pulling her foot away. “It has to have been five minutes by now!”
“Nope!” I grinned, wrapping my hand around her remaining ankle. “Not yet.”
I stuck the quill right where the long toes joined the ball of her foot. Horizontally, I dragged it across, working down in a long back and forth, from side to side.
“UGGH!” Kristen let out. She bolted up, her eyes on her tortured foot.
“What’s your size?” I asked again, the quill continuing on its path.
“Hm-hm-hm,” she breathed, trying to resist the torture.
Reaching her heel, I began little circles right in the middle. Spiraling slowly outward, her toes curled up in desperation; they may have been long, but they certainly couldn’t defend all that territory! Thick, gorgeous wrinkles formed as those toes scrunched, glistening in the baby oil. The waves and creases gradually became smaller down the foot, until the heel remained nearly smooth.
“That heel’s sensitive after all,” I teased. “Want me to stop?”
“W, what do you think?” Kristen grimaced, gripping the couch and trying to fight the sensations. “Ha ha! Oh, my goddd!”
I paused, and she sat there panting. Her toes relaxed, and she shot me a dirty look. Time was almost up, and I wanted to step it up a notch. I began poking here and there on each foot with the quill.
“Hahaha,” she giggled, trying to protect one foot with the other. “No. No! Quit it.”
Next, I chose long swipes up and down whichever foot she tried to block me with. Soon, she was kicking and wiggling, and I couldn’t have that. So, I grasped her two big toes in my fist and pulled them back.
“Don’t you dare!” she ordered, glaring at me. “That’s enough, now! Time’s up.”
“What size are your feet?” I demanded.
She sat there, defiant. Those eyes glimmered, almost daring me to tickle her more.
Dropping the feather, out came the comb from my pocket. I held it up for her to see, and a flicker of fear played across her face. However, the fear soon hardened to resolve, and she said nothing.
I set the teeth of the comb between the pinky and fourth toe of her right foot. “Last chance, Ms. Kristen. Tell me your size.”
Turning up her chin at me, I let her have it. I sawed the comb between her toes, and the tough girl act instantly dropped.
“Hahaha!” she belted out. “Oh! Oh! Haha.”
Slipping between the next pair of toes, I continued.
“OH MY GOD!” she yelped. “S-Stop. Stop!”
“I’m going right on down the line until you tell me,” I informed my friend. And I did, soon finding myself at her other foot.
Kristen scrunched her face, pulled at the sofa, and broke out in a sweat as she laughed and screamed. Those toes were strong, and I had to retrain them with force. I sawed between each and every one; the poor woman was in hell.
“Size?” I asked, hearing my phone alarm sounding. Of course, I ignored it and continued on with my work.
“I’m not telling!” she shrieked.
I paused for a moment and turned off the alarm. Looking at my friend, I saw that her face was glistening, and she was breathing like she had just run a mile.
“That’s time,” she smiled. “I win!”
“Tell me, Kristen” I grinned, flashing the comb.
“The alarm went off,” she argued. “You can’t!”
It was time to finish her. I attacked her sole, holding back her toes and sawing at the ball of her foot.
“No!” Kristen cried. “T-time’s up! It’s not fair. Not fair! No, stop it!”
Horizontally, vertically, diagonally, the sharp teeth of the comb glided across the bottoms of those feet. There was so much real estate, and I wanted to cover it all. Long toes partly curled, but they were rendered ineffective, as their captains were held prisoner.
“Ha ha ha,” she laughed. “N-NO! Please. Stop. Oh! Fuck. No… Time’s up. T-Time’s… Hahaha!”
Viciously, I scrubbed her heels, running across them both. Her soles were becoming a beautiful shade of pink as I worked her over. Poor Kristen was a mess. Her hair flung about as she shook her head, screaming and laughing and begging for it to stop. Those toes tried so hard to scrunch and flex, but I had the big ones in a death grip, and they were defeated.
“Oh god, my abs!” she cried. “HAHAHA! No more! PLEASE! Okay. SIZE 12! I’m a size 12, damn it!”
I relented. Victory was mine.
“HUH…HUH…huh…hmm…” panted my friend. “Fuck me, man…”
Kristen sneered at me, her hair in her face. Again, she rubbed her feet together, trying to rid them of the lingering sensations.
“What the hell was that?” she asked, wiping her forehead. “I’m a sweaty mess!”
“Well, don’t write checks your ass can’t cash,” I cockily grinned. I decided to stay crouched for a moment, as standing would reveal my excitement.
“I’m all worked up!” Kristen said, pulling at the neck of her sweater to air things out. Fuckin’ hell…”
She flinched when I again took her feet in my hands. This time, I had every intention of being nice. I pressed my thumbs into her lovely size 12s, and ran them over her oiled soles.
“How’s about a real massage?” I asked. “No tricks.”
“On the massage table?” she prompted, brushing her hair back.
“I’ll be happy to set it up,” I told her, still rubbing, “but there is one rule: Clothes aren’t allowed on the table.”
“Well,” she smiled, “I better step into the bathroom and change into a towel.”
Slipping her feet from my hands, she headed to the bathroom. I grabbed her a white towel from the closet along the way, and she closed the bathroom door with a sexy look back.
I set up the table, lit a few candles, and thanked a video game for paving the way to an unforgettable night. I wondered if it was all the foot play that got her riled up. I was excited to see the rest of her body, but even more so to get my hands back on those sexy size 12s!
The end
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/ujsmzc/finish_her_mf_milf_tickling_foot_fetish_big_feet