by Infinitefeet
**** Your POV ****
You loosened your tie as you boarded the train, reflecting on how you thought the interview had gone: pretty smoothly, more or less. They’d asked all the standard questions, and you gave the same standard answers you’d been rattling off at interviews over the last few weeks; none of which had been successful. You tried to think a bit more positively, knowing that realistically you’d get a job pretty soon, but it didn’t make it any better in the meantime. You briefly considered stopping at that café near the train station on the way home to grab a coffee and maybe one of those chocolate-filled croissants they did, before realizing that maybe your bank account wouldn’t be too pleased with that.
The train lurched to a start, groaning as it pulled out of the station, as if the summer heat had made it as lethargic as the people on it. You looked around at the empty carriage and decided on a seat at a table by the window. Annoyance bubbled up inside of you actually sat and thought about your situation: you knew that getting a high-paying job straight out of university was unrealistic, but getting a job at all? Apparently harder than you thought. You’d been applying to anything and everything you could find, inundating yourself with emails about rejections and interview offers in equal parts. “I suppose this is why people start an OnlyFans,” you thought to yourself, briefly entertaining the thought. Not exactly the most lucrative career choice but at least a fun one. And you’d get to work your own hours. Amusing yourself for a few minutes you considered all the possibilities of what sort of content you’d make, staring out the window at the world suffering under the abnormally intense afternoon sun. “Climate change,” you wryly thought to yourself, “maybe I won’t need a job if the world ends.”
As straightforward as interviews were (once you’d done one, you’d pretty much done them all), the one thing you still hated about them was the fact you had to dress up for them. Formalwear was such a fucking social construct, there was absolutely no need for it. Sure you looked good in a suit, but you ran hot at the best of times, the anxious energy before interviews just making you sweat more. At the best of times, you had to practically coat yourself in antiperspirant before you left for an interview, and the weather today really wasn’t doing you any favours. To try and help with the heat, you took off your tie and stuffed it in your bag and undid the first few buttons of your shirt. Double-checking around you, you unlaced and toed off your shoes, letting them fall onto the floor underneath the table. Flexing your toes in relief, you crossed your feet on the seat opposite, rolled your shoulders and settled in for the journey.
The shrill whine of the train brakes woke you up with a start; bleary-eyed you looked around you. All train stations pretty much looked the same, so nothing remarkable to be seen out of the window. There was however, someone who’d joined you in the carriage. You looked him over, trying to check him out without making it obvious…and failing miserably. He looked up and gave you a polite smile, before looking back down at his phone in his lap. You thought you saw a slight blush reddening his cheeks, but put it down to the heat. You gave a small smile back and let your eyes drift over him. He was tall and slender, his long legs stretching out into the aisle. He seemed to carry himself with grace and an air of confidence. There was nothing particularly remarkable about him, and yet there was something that drew you to him. Before you could analyse this anymore, the heat and the gentle rocking of the train lulled you to sleep again.
This time you woke up to the side of Passenger #2 (as you decided to call him in your head) stretching over you and reaching over the table, trying to open the window. “Do you need a hand?” you ask, your voice still a bit hoarse from sleep and lack of water. Passenger #2 started and flinched back, his eyes going wide as he made eye contact with you before dropping his gaze to the floor. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to recover, but it went on a second too long and, annoyed, you reached up and opened the window. Passenger #2 stammered through a thank you and sat back down. You let yourself check him out again, this time spying a small gay pride pin on his jacket. Checking your watch and seeing you had an hour left on the train, you decided to have a bit of fun. If he gets flustered by a bit of eye contact, I wonder what happens if I actually interact with him.
“Hey,” you started, “you alright?”. Passenger #2 looked up and opened and closed his mouth a few times before coming out with an answer: “Yeah, I’m good - and you?”
In your head you rolled your eyes and thought to yourself, he needs to get a grip. You muddled through some small talk before he actually joined the conversation. Surprisingly, as you got to talking you realized that, once he got past his nerves, he was actually quite a chill person.
…
A while later, you’d exchanged phone numbers and realized you actually lived really close to each other. You’d really been enjoying his company, you realized, any stress about the interview long forgotten. One thing you did notice, however, was that he kept glancing at your socked feet, still up on the seat opposite. “Oh, shit sorry - I’ll put my shoes back on. I know it’s a bit gross having them up on the seat but it’s just too hot to be wearing, like, dress shoes right now.” “Oh, I don’t mind, whatever you want!” he replied, a bit too quickly. You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze flitting between your feet and your face. You quirked an eyebrow at the phrase “whatever you want” and decided to roll with it.
“Whatever I want?” you repeated back to him, smirking inwardly as he squirmed in his seat. Maybe this is going to be more fun than I thought. You’d been enjoying his company, but this one simple phrase opened up an avenue to a whole other type of fun.
“I mean, yeah, whatever, it’s up to you what you, erm, do with your feet? I suppose?” he replied. You made a mental note and held his gaze for a second longer, feeling pleased when he looked down. You pulled your shoes back on and saw out of the corner of your eye that he was staring, almost sadly, at your fingers doing your laces back up. You straightened up and carefully observed how your ‘travelling companion’ shuffled in his seat. You cleared your throat and got back to talking.
You looked at your phone and realized you were a few stations away from your stop. Well, both of your stops. Turns out, neither of you had much to do today so you invited him back to your apartment for a drink.
********
You unlocked and opened the door, gesturing for him to go ahead of you. You followed him through and locked the door behind you, telling him to go ahead into the living room and to make himself at home. You saw that he’d taken his shoes off by the coat hooks and sat down on the sofa - looking a bit awkward and like he didn’t know what to do with himself.
You chucked your blazer and bag in your bedroom and went into the kitchen. Opening the fridge, you got out a bottle of juice and poured two glasses - passing him one as you sat next to him and flicked on the TV, asking what he wanted to watch.
You settled on a crappy Netflix film and sank back into the sofa. You both watched, and occasionally commented on, the film; meanwhile, you were trying to think of how you wanted to play this. He was obviously interested, and at least somewhat submissive. Sometimes, guys like this are just naturally a bit submissive without really realizing it. You weren’t sure about this one - it was a 50/50 whether he knew or not.
As he intently watched the screen, you observed his body language: his body was facing towards you, confirming that his body was interested, even if he didn’t know it yet; he kept tapping his out of nervousness, which was understandable, you’d only known each other for a few hours; and finally, you watched his eyes flick between the screen and your feet. Ah. Now you knew how you wanted this to play out.
***** HIS POV *****
I’d gone to see a few friends who were getting together out of town, and was making my way back by train. I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt as I saw the train pull into the station and moved with the handful of other passengers towards the beeping yellow doors. I walked into the carriage on my left which seemed blissfully empty. The last thing I needed in this weather was more body heat.
As I made my way down the aisle, I spotted someone sitting at a table on the right. As I got closer and made to sit on the left, I realized the person was really quite an attractive man in a suit who was asleep, softly snoring. I sat as quietly as I could nearby, deciding to take in the view. As we pulled out of the station, out of the corner of my eye I saw him blearily open his eyes and he seemed to look me up and down. Making eye contact with him, I gave a small smile, hopefully looking casual and not like I’d been checking him out for the last few minutes. He smiled back with a certain intensity in his eyes that made me look away and blush. After a moment he went back into his own world and shut his eyes.
I looked him up and down appreciatively. I followed his long legs stretched out under the table and blushed more as I realized he’d taken his shoes off. The golden light filtering through the windows cast a sort of spotlight over his feet on the chair. I could see the sweaty outlines of his toes in the black socks, and while the man slept his toes would twitch ever so slightly and I was completely entranced. I was surprised I didn’t start drooling. There was nothing about this man I would change, except maybe for him to be awake and interested in me. Anyway, as I sat there fantasising, my attention drifted to his shoes under the table.
I wasn’t sure what size they were but I could see that they were big enough to completely envelop my face. Hypothetically. The mouth of one of the shoes was tilted towards me so I could see how his heel had worn away the colour of the insole. I started fantasising about picking up those shoes, putting them up to my face and breathing in. I could very faintly smell the scent of his sweat in the air: a musky, earthy smell that carried a hint of some sort of aftershave. A heady mix that made my dick strain against the zipper of my jeans.
I decided that I needed some air, but the only openable window in the carriage was above my mysterious stranger. I decided to risk it and try to open the window. As quietly and slowly as I could, I reached over the table and tried to open the window. An apparently, very difficult-to-open window.
“Do you need a hand?” spoke a rich baritone from somewhere beneath me. I realized that this voice was talking to me and jumped back. I tried to work my mouth and formulate a response but in the time it took me to find my voice, he’d already rolled his eyes and reached up to open the window. I muttered a weak thank you and sat back down, immediately thinking I’d fucked up whatever miniscule chance I had with him. I determinedly kept my gaze fixed on the ground, pulling out my phone to seem somewhat like a normal person. He seemed to assess me for a moment, before opening his mouth.
From then on, I’m not entirely sure what happened. We got to talking and I was entirely caught up in his charisma. I think he was somewhat at least entertained by me, at least enough that he laughed at my jokes. At one point, I saw him glance at my pride pin and ever so slightly smirk. Soon after that we exchanged phone numbers - this was going a lot better than I thought it would.
However, I think he saw me look at his socked feet once too often and immediately offered to put his shoes back on. I’ve absolutely no idea what words came out of my mouth because I was trying to ‘act cool’ or something, but obviously I said something wrong because he stopped what he was doing and asked “Whatever I want?”. Well fuck. I hadn’t meant to say that. I think I was thinking it so intensely that inside thoughts became outside thoughts. Thankfully, he dropped the topic pretty soon after and I shifted in my seat as he finished lacing up his shoes and turned back to talk to me.
***
We were getting on like a house on fire and next thing I know, somehow I’ve been invited to go home with him to have a drink.
He unlocked the door to his flat and held it open for me to walk through first - the chivalry making me feel warm inside. I took off my shoes at the door and went through to sit on the sofa. I didn’t really know what he expected me to be doing so I tried to look casual and investigate the room. The thought that maybe I’d just been kidnapped entered my brain and I started talking myself out of whatever I’d found myself in. As I was working up the courage to tell him I was going to leave, he came in with a glass of orange juice for me - still wearing his shirt, trousers and, most importantly, those dress shoes.
We decided to chill and chat and put on some Netflix special he wanted to watch. With him looking literally like a fantasy come true, I would’ve said yes to anything he asked. As we got back in the flow of talking and watching, my nerves more or less dissipated. I couldn’t, however, stop occasionally sneaking a glance at his feet.
****YOUR POV******
You’d had a decent amount of experience with foot fetishes and -ists, both giving and receiving; even though it had been a while, you were still sure you knew what you were doing. But first, just to make sure you’d read the room right, you leant forward and started unlacing your shoes.
Hearing your shoes drop off and thump against the carpet, you watched as your guest’s head snapped round and he stared, transfixed, at your socked feet. Now for the fun bit, you thought. Knowing you looked good, you leant back and stretched out your legs, crossing your feet on the coffee table in front of you. Sure that your guest was watching, you scrunched and flexed your toes, making it seem natural and subconscious so that he didn’t catch on to what you were doing. Trapping people using their own desires as bait was always deliciously satisfying, for all parties involved. Neither of you were watching the TV anymore, you were pretending and he was just staring outright at this point, focused on your toes wiggling lazily.
The sheen from your sweat soaked socks made you grimace a bit, thinking of how long your feet had been stuck in those black suit shoes; the hard insoles had made your heels sore. Slowly and deliberately, you wiggled your toes, back and forth, back and forth. Fanning them out and rubbing your feet against each other. You’d turned the volume on the TV down at this point, so that all that could be heard in the room was the sound of your socks rubbing against each other, and your new toy’s heavy breathing. He seemed to be drawn in by musky smell your feet gave off in the heat, listening as he took gradually deeper breaths, trying to take in as much of your scent as possible.
As the credits rolled on the screen, you asked “Well that was a bit shit, what did you think of the ending?”
The sound of your voice startled your new ‘friend’, and he seemed to collect himself and cleared his throat before answering, “Yeah, I mean, it was pretty predictable but I wasn’t surprised.” A carefully measured answer, not too vague and not too specific. You were impressed with the show he was putting on, acting as if he hadn’t spent the last couple of minutes thinking about nothing but your sweaty feet.
“Mm. Well, I’m going to make myself some dinner - you’re welcome to stay and join me?” you said to the room as you reached over the side of the sofa to grab the slippers you kept there for when it got chilly later in the year. You knew it’d seem a bit strange that you were putting on warm slippers in this heat, but you knew that he wouldn’t question you - but if he liked sweaty feet then you might as well indulge him.
As you stood and walked to the kitchen, you heard a “Yeah that would be nice if it’s not too much fuss” from the living room. “Of course not, I like company - pasta?” you answered back as you started pulling out ingredients and a pot.
“Sounds perfect, want a hand?”
You put some music on and threw together a pretty simple meal. You did notice that you both worked together pretty seamlessly, not getting in each other’s way. You quietly enjoyed the compatibility and knew from experience that chemistry can make or break any relationship.
Eating dinner in front of the TV seemed like the right sort of vibe for the night, so you got out a cheap bottle of wine and poured out two glasses - the alcohol smoothing out any remaining awkwardness. Like before, you put a random Netflix show, thinking a bit more carefully about timing. You reckoned that in under an hour, you could get the man under your thumb… or feet in this case.
You’d both finished your plates by the end of the first episode, and he offered to wash up - and you’re never going to say no to that. You put the next episode on, turning the volume up slightly so he could hear from the kitchen, but not so loud that you couldn’t keep up the conversation that’d been easily flowing the entire evening.
He finished up pretty quickly and joined you on the sofa, settling in and hugging a pillow to his chest. Cute. The third episode autoplayed and you decided that this was the right time to play with him a little. This time, you were going to give him even less. Instead of taking your slippers off, you only took them half off and let them dangle off your toes. Flexing your toes made the slippers swing, and you watched with pride as his eyes followed the swing of your slippers. Crossing your feet the other way, you repeated the same thing. Within a few minutes, you saw his eyes had glazed over, lost in his own world fantasising about you, and he had pushed the cushion down into his lap - obviously trying to hide his hard dick.
The screen went to black as the episode ended, but neither of you changed what you were doing. You wanted to corner him so that he didn’t have a choice but to reveal what he was doing and what he wanted. In his eyes, nothing existed but your feet.
“You alright?” you asked for the second time today, “You haven’t taken your eyes off my feet for the last 10 minutes. The show literally ended 5 minutes ago so you can’t even pretend to have been watching that.”
He snapped back into reality and immediately tried to run damage control, “What? No, I just sorta phased out for a bit, sorry.”
Again, a remarkably passable excuse, had it not been for the “hard” evidence. You were pleased with and cringed at the unintentional pun. “Oh fair enough, you don’t mind passing me that cushion then?”
His eyes widened and flickered between the door and your outstretched hand as he realized he was trapped, and you realized that he might try to leave. And you really didn’t want that; you could practically taste the tension in the room, the subtle scent of arousal carried on the early evening air. “Look, I know you’re attracted to me and I just want to put it out there that I’m interested in you as well. And you’re not particularly good at hiding what you want. You can leave if you want and there are no hard feelings,” you said, pausing before continuing, “but I know what you want and I’d be more than happy to provide.” Your voice dipped into an almost growl towards the end, “But, we do it on my terms.”
You took your feet off the coffee table, letting the final statement hang in the room, taking another sip of wine to give him time to decide what he wanted to do. You knew what the answer would be, but it was all part of the game.
A quiet moment passed, before he started to move. You smirked as he reached over and offered you the cushion, revealing his dick straining against his jeans. You took the pillow off him, pushed the coffee table further towards the TV with a foot and tossed the cushion onto the floor at your feet. He followed it with his eyes, before making eye contact with you as you asked, “Safeword?”
“Snowflake.” came the whispered answer.
“Good. Come here.” you beckoned with one finger. As he leant towards you, you hand reached round and gripped the hair at the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss.
A beat later you pulled away and spoke into his ear, “Good boy. Now, kneel.”
He immediately obeyed and knelt, surprisingly gracefully. You half wondered whether he’d done this before, thinking that maybe this just came naturally to him.
“Put your face on my feet. Don’t kiss, don’t lick, just breathe them in.” You figured this would let him calm down and get into the headspace.
**** His POV ****
I pressed my face against the soft fabric of the slippers, breathing in the sweaty musk that I could just about smell through the material. I could feel his toes occasionally move and the heat coming off them. Taking deep breaths, I gradually relaxed and settled into the moment.
“I bet you can smell my feet through my slippers; I’ve been sweating into these socks since 8am this morning.”
I moaned at the implication.
“You’d do pretty much anything I told you to, wouldn’t you? Kiss my right foot if you agree.”
I kissed his right foot. Gently. Reverently.
“I bet your dick is hard right now. Kiss my left foot.”
I kissed his left foot, spending a bit longer this time.
“I’m not convinced you actually want this. If you’re not going to be worth my time then feel free to go home.”
I paused for a second, working out how to prove how much I wanted this.
“Please - I promise I can make you feel good.”
“Hm. I’m still not convinced but I’m bored so we’ll see how this goes. Take off my right slipper and sniff.”
Eager to please, I slipped off his right slipper and buried my face in it, still kneeling. I took deep breaths, feeling my dick twitch. The inside of the slipper was still warm from his foot and the air was thick with sweat. I kept taking deep breaths, exaggerating them so he could hear them.
As I inhaled, I felt his foot rest on top of my head and push it down until my nose was squashed against the insole.
“Sniff harder.”
I took even deeper breaths, filling my lungs entirely with his scent. I heard the next episode start and felt his foot start to rub the top of my head. I realized with a certain amount of joy that my hair would probably smell like his feet.
“Kiss my left foot.”
I noticed he didn’t say slipper, so I guessed he meant to take his slipper off. I didn’t want to upset him by doing the wrong thing so I slowly took his slipper off, careful not to let his foot slip off my head. He didn’t stop me so I assumed I was doing the right thing. I set his slipper next to his foot and leant down to kiss his foot.
“No. Properly kiss it. If I can’t feel your tongue you’re not doing it right.”
I started to plant open mouthed kisses on the top of his foot, licking the fibres of his sock. Even the top of the sock seemed to have sweat imbued in it. Again I felt the foot on my head push my head down and I just laved my tongue over the same spot, essentially trying to massage the top of his foot.
“Sit up and shuffle back.”
I placed one last kiss on his foot before sitting up and shuffling back. He pressed a button that reclined the sofa, lifting his feet to around eye level.
“Worship. Convince me you’re worth my time.”
I looked up at him for a second in gratitude before launching myself at my new challenge. Actually it was less of a challenge, more of a treat.
I kissed the bottom of one foot whilst massaging the other, running my nose all over his foot. I worked my way up and down his foot, planting kisses on each of his toes before swapping feet. I sucked on his socks, tasting a hint of sweat that made my mouth water more. I really wanted to lick his feet but I wanted to do this properly. As I worked, he’d occasionally wiggle his toes or rub his sole against my face, which made me shiver every time.
“Pretty good, I suppose. Take my socks off, don’t use your hands.”
I paused as I considered how best to approach this. I bit the cuff of his sock, carefully, making sure not to let my teeth touch his skin. Gripping it between my teeth, I rolled it down his ankle. Getting to the heel, I realized I had a bit of an angle problem. I sat back and thought for a second and decided to go at it from underneath. I twisted my head and pulled the sock over his heel and pulled it up and off his foot. I was quite proud of that.
“Good. Put that sock in your mouth and take off my other sock. Quicker.”
I stuffed the sock in his mouth, moaning at the masculine taste of his sweat filling my mouth. His feet weren’t exactly small so his socks filled most of mouth. I did the same to his other sock and managed to do it quicker, the sock in my mouth making things significantly more difficult. I was even more proud of myself - things seemed to be going well.
“Put that in your mouth as well. Bring your face an inch away from my soles.”
I stuffed the second sock in my mouth, both of them drying out my mouth as my saliva soaked into them, effectively drawing the sweat out from the socks. I leant forward so that his toes were at eye level and felt the heat of his feet on my face. As I sat there and waited for more instructions, I realized that he must run pretty hot if I could feel his body heat from this far away.
His toes wiggled lazily, wafting the thick scent of sweat into my face. Scrunching and fanning out his toes, I was completely hypnotised, my dick leaking into my boxers.
He sat up and unbuttoned his shirt, leaving it open around him. I looked up adoringly at his bare chest, wanting to bite and suck my way across it.
He must’ve seen me watching because he slapped my face with a foot. I immediately returned my gaze to his feet, hypnotised again by the slow wiggle. The slap made me realize how big his feet actually were: definitely bigger than my face, but not monstrously big. The perfect size, pretty much. His long toes were the perfect size as well, making my mouth water, wanting to take them into my mouth and lick around them. His soles were as smooth as anything, still covered in a thin sheen of sweat.
After what seemed like forever, I had the image of his feet burnt into my memory. My entire existence was confined to his feet. The next instruction broke me out of my reverie: “Worship.”
I spat the socks out before freezing - fuck, he didn’t tell me to take the socks out of my mouth. Is this it? Is he going to kick me out?
…
A beat passed and he didn’t say anything. I breathed a sigh of release and plugged the socks into the mouths of his slippers. Now the moment I’d been waiting for ever since I’d seen this man on the train.
Like before, I decided to tackle both feet at the same time. I massaged his left foot as I laved kisses over the right. I felt his soles scrunch as I kneaded my thumbs into the warm, soft flesh of his heel. I moved in slow, strong circles up his arch and paid special attention to the part just under his toes. I felt him sigh and moan slightly above me. Encouraged by this, I doubled my efforts, threading my fingers between his succulent toes, moving my hands faster and firmed.
Meanwhile on the other foot, I was feathering his feet in light kisses, not letting too much saliva build up on his soles - that was for later. I again kissed each of his toes, and after kissing his pinky he tapped my nose. I looked up and he smiled down at me. That smile filled me with warmth and I got back to work.
I switched feet, repeating this luxurious worship on the other foot.
Returning to the heel, I extended my tongue and licked slowly up the length of his sole. His foot was so big that my tongue was almost dry when I reached his toes. That wouldn’t do. I tried again, this time when I reached his toes I took his big toe into my mouth. I bobbed up and down on it and swirled my tongue around its diameter - treating it as a tiny cock.
Releasing his big toe with a pop, I shifted my attention to the ball of his foot, massaging it with my tongue. His feet had a slightly salty taste that I was absolutely addicted to at this point. Working my way back down his arch with open mouthed kisses, I took as much of his heel in my mouth as possible, cleaning it and massaging it in equal parts. Once I felt like his heel had been sufficiently pampered, I kissed my way back up his sole and gave the rest of his toes the same royal treatment I’d given his big one, running my tongue between each digit, relishing in the slightly saltier taste.
Leaning back, I inspected my work. He wiggled his toes, the thin sheen of saliva glinting in the light. The rest of his foot was covered similarly so I swapped over. The now spit-slicked foot was now easier to massage - essentially lubricated.
I hoped that one day he’d let me give him a proper massage. Some gently warmed oil and scented candles. I looked up at him and saw he’d opened his suit trousers and was stroking his cock. A very, very…perfect cock. Mouth-wateringly perfect. Definitely longer than average, but thick as well. The rosy head was sticky with precum and his balls were so big I was almost scared of how much he could cum. His hand lazily stroked up and down it, pulling down his foreskin with every downstroke, his thumb rubbing over the tip. Looking up at his face, he was biting his lower lip, his lust-blown eyes completely focused on me.
“Don’t stop.” he said in a low whisper, pressing his toes against my lips.
Obediently, I took his toes back into my mouth.
**** Your POV ****
Fuck he was good at this. The perfect sub too; the way he looked up at me for approval every so often, eyes wide and pupils dilated with sheet lust, made my cock pulse and twitch every time. I fanned my toes out and he leapt to it, threading his tongue between each toe before wrapping his lips round them and sucking. He spent a bit more time suctioning my big toe, pulling off with a satisfying slurp every time before diving back down. God, it felt like he was giving the world's best blowjob just to my toe – I couldn't wait to see how transferable his skills were. As he switched to my other foot, I rubbed my free foot all over his face, knowing that it'd leave his face smelling like me for a while yet. After caressing his face for a few minutes and letting him do what he wanted, I slapped his face with my foot, not too hard but definitely not too gently, only for him to moan.
He pulled away from my feet and sat back on his haunches and waited for my next instruction.
"Do you think you're a good enough foot slut to fit all my toes in your mouth at once? If you do it, maybe I'll let you suck this", I said, slapping my cock against the palm of my hand.
At this he visibly drooled, enraptured by the sight and sound of my weighty cock before biting out a short "yes, sir" and diving back down on onto my feet. I knew this was a nigh on impossible task just because of the size of my feet… or so I thought.
Easily he managed to fit my 4 little toes mouth, laving his tongue around them as if lubing them up. His mouth was already full, and yet there was determination in his eyes. He pulled off again, eyeing up my feet before trying again to no avail.
I let him try a few more times, pulling out my phone and scrolling Twitter as I lazily stroked my cock at the feeling of his wet mouth on my foot. After a few minutes, I began to get bored and pulled my feet away from him and said, "Aww, poor thing. Maybe you don't deserve my cock – how is this going to fit down your throat if you can't even get all my toes in your mouth? You might as well just go home and I'll take care of this myself."
"No, please sir let me just try one more time I'm sure I can do it," he begged. He looked a mess, hair dishevelled with his own drool running down his chin. I could see tears well up in his eyes at the thought of not pleasing me and I took pity on the poor boy.
"Okay, one more minute and then you're done."
"Oh thank you, sir." He kissed my right foot, then my left, then stretched his mouth around my big toe and three of my little toes.
He was doing nothing differently so far so I didn't have high hopes, but then he brought his index finger up and hooked the corner of his mouth, stretching it even further open. He pulled it and manoeuvred his head to engulf my little toe as well. Fuck, he'd actually done it!
As my little toe popped in, I heard a moan echo through the room. Whether it was his or mine, I didn't know. I grabbed the base of my cock to stop myself from cumming as he sank down on my foot, taking it deeper into his mouth.
"That's a good fucking boy, shove my foot as far down your throat as you can."
As he bobbed up and down on my foot, taking it deeper and deeper, I crossed my other foot over and put it on top of his head, the weight of it forcing him deeper still. As he approached the limit, I decided to be cruel and wiggle my toes. Obviously, he gagged and tried to pull back, but the weight of my foot on his head held him down. The feeling of his throat fluttering around my toes was heavenly and I moaned, a spurt of precum dribbling down the side of my cock. I spat into my palm and started stroking in earnest.
A beat passed and I did it again, feeling his throat convulse around me, but this time I lifted my foot off his head and he pulled back. A string of drool connected his mouth and my feet – he looked utterly destroyed.
"You've more than fucking earned it – come and suck my cock."
To be continued…
If you have any feedback or suggestions for future stories, feel free to email me at infinitefeet.spam@gmail.com. Part 2 will be coming soon so keep an eye out and thank you for reading!
