Adventure of a young foot fetishist - part 2 of 2
story by Lady_Shiva
A jolt of electricity shot through me when she said that, and my hormone strangled brain snapped awake. Quickly I looked all around the dining area to see how many people had heard her statement, and how many of them were laughing their asses off at me . Luckily, I only saw two other occupied tables, neither in the immediate vicinity. I breathed a sigh of relief as I realized that my secret was still safe. Now I had to come up with some way to cover things up, so that the woman stopped talking about it. Again....no such luck.
"Ma'am.....look....I wasn't....." I began.
"Oh, come on now," she laughed, "one thing I can always tell is when a man is looking at me. I can tell exactly what a man's looking at when he looks at me, too." After a brief pause, during which I again fumbled for excuses, she finished her point. "And you, young man, were looking directly at my feet. Don't even try to deny it." She laughed again - almost a giddy laugh - and wiggled her toes emphatically.
I gave up. We both knew I'd been snagged. All I could do now was apologize. "Look, ma'am, I apologize. I didn't mean to upset you. I..."
"Oh, no need to apologize...just admit you were admiring my feet."
"I...well...um....okay...yeah, I suppose I was looking at them, a little."
"A little?!" Again she laughed. "A little would be a quick glance and then looking away. What you were doing, young man, was out and out ogling. I don't think your eyes missed a single inch of my right foot here. I'm surprised you didn't drool on yourself." She wiggled it teasingly, once again. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying my utter embarrassment and discomfiture.
"Um...please, ma'am," I fumbled, "again....I really do apologize."
She sighed and seemed to look me over. I thought maybe the conversation, and the entire incident, was over. I started to turn around sheepishly to return to my dinner. I was still both embarrassed and excited.
"You didn't answer me," came that insistent voice from behind.
I turned toward her again. "Excuse me? Answer what?" I only wanted the embarrassing conversation to end.
"I asked you if you like my feet. And don't give me any bull about you not really noticing them that much, or only looking at them 'a little'. Let's both accept that your eyes were locked on my feet and move on, shall we? Now...do you like my feet?"
"Yes....they're beautiful." I couldn't believe I said that, and I felt like a complete idiot. As soon as I said it, I prepared for her peals of laughter and a string of derogatory remarks. They never came.
"Well, that's better. I much prefer honesty. Thank you.....um.....what's your name, hon?"
"Tom.....my name's Tom, ma'am."
"Hello, Tom.....my name's Holly. Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you, too, Holly," I replied, still wanting to crawl into the nearest hole.
"Now, Tom....let me ask you that other question again...."
This time I interrupted her. "Um...ma'am....this is embarrassing..."
"Oh," she said, looking around the dining area, noticing that more people were beginning to wander in, " I understand. Well, come over here and sit with me, and we can talk lower so no one will hear." She pointed to the other side of the booth, the seat across from her, and then uncrossed her legs and sat facing that seat squarely.
I was afraid if I didn't sit with her, she might continue talking out loud, and embarrass me again, so I got up and shuffled over to her booth. I left what remained of my burger and fries at my table, taking only my soda with me. Standing next to her table, one hand holding my soda and the other crammed into my pants pocket, I looked down at her and fidgeted.
"Well," she said, pointing to the seat again, "sit." Then she quickly added, "Oh, but before you do, would you mind picking up my shoe for me?" With slow, trancelike movements, I did so. As I bent to pick it up, I couldn't control my wandering eyes, which swept a quick glance under the table to again admire her feet, and her obviously shapely calves. This, of course, elicited yet another giggle from her. Blushing again, I handed her her shoe.
Playfully, she held it under the table, then dropped it with a "clunk" onto the floor at her feet. She smiled as she saw my reaction to the sound it made.
I sat, but I felt a bit awkward, and continued to fidget. Holly didn't seem to notice. She just trudged boldly onward. "So now," she said in a somewhat lower volume, "is it my feet you like or the stockings?" She sat with her elbows on the table and her chin resting in the palms of her hands, smiling broadly. Clearly, she was enjoying herself immensely.
I felt my face flush hotly as I answered, "Well....both."
"I can see this is going to be like pulling teeth," she sighed, and then plowed boldly ahead, "Do you think my feet are sexy? Or, do you think my feet are okay, but sexy in the stockings? It's an important distinction."
I couldn't believe I was having this discussion! I was turned on that this woman seemed to accept my fetish, for whatever reasons, and was openly talking with me about it!
"I think your feet are beautiful....very shapely and sexy. The stockings enhance that, but it's your feet that I like most." My face felt red hot, and hotter with each word I shakily uttered.
"Mmmm......good answer. So, then, what's so sexy about my feet? What do you like about them? Do you get turned on looking at them?" She seemed eager to know what attracted me to her feet, and her eagerness and openness was slowly easing my embarrassment.
"Well, yes, your feet...well...they do turn me on. Every inch of them is so....sensuous....and they're so....well....expressive....playful....sexy. And..."
"Wait," she again interrupted. There was a brief pause, at which time I felt a thump on my thighs. Looking down, I saw those two stockinged feet wiggling happily in my lap.
"While we talk, you wouldn't mind massaging my feet for me, would you? They've been trapped in those heels all day and could use a nice rub. So go ahead and rub them while you tell me what it is you like most about them. And what do you mean my feet are expressive? That's an intriguing statement, to say the least."
"Well," I said, looking down at her wiggling toes, deciding to focus on the first part of her question first, "your feet have a really nice shape. You have a beautiful high arch, and your toes are nice and even, and you've painted your toe nails really nice."
"My, my.....it's nice that my feet are so... 'nice' " she laughed, then added, "I'm sorry. Go on. Anything else that gets you hot when you admire my feet?"
"Well, your toes look soft and kis....well, smooth....not boney like some women's' toes."
"Really? Thank you. But what were you really going to say? You started to say something, then stopped."
"Nothing," I lied, "I just wanted to say your toes look soft and smooth, that's all."
"Tom, honey, I told you before, you can't fool me. I know you were going to say something else. I have a good idea what it is, but I want to hear you say it. Just like I wanted you to admit that you like my feet, I also want you to admit this. Now...what were you going to say? My toes look soft and ...what? Don't be embarrassed....I thought we were past that now."
I looked into her beaming face. Even though she smiled pleasantly, I still felt like I'd been snared in a net, and was about to be trussed up all nice and neat. Spurred on by hormones, I bumbled my way to that net willingly. Looking down at the table, I answered her, "Well, I was going to say that your toes look soft and ....well....kissable."
"Oh...my...that sounds so delicious. My toes are kissable? I like that. Yes, I like that a lot. My, that's a wonderful thought. Mmmm... and what about the rest of my foot... not so kissable?"
"Oh, no," I sealed my fate, "not at all....every beautiful inch of your foot is kissable....I just meant...well your toes are just so playful...so....expressive...."
"Ahhh," she smiled, "there's that word again. I like that, and yet I don't even know what you mean. So, what do you mean?"
"Well," I fumbled for the right words, "you move your feet so...playfully...like they're having fun teasing me or something. Your feet seem to be an extension of your own personality... or maybe they have their own... I don't know...mischievous? personality. Guess I'm not making much sense, am I?" I fidgeted again, sighing and feeling utterly lost, unable to communicate that I found her feet not only beautiful, but seductive... enticing.
"On the contrary...you're making perfect sense to me... but, I am disappointed in something."
"What's that?" I asked, somehow feeling desperate to please her.
"Well, my beautiful, expressive feet have been wiggling in your lap, eagerly awaiting their massage, for a while now...and no massage has been forthcoming. Are you going to rub them for me or not?"
The End
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Story posted by Lady_Shiva
on Saturday, August 07, 2004 @ 12:58:04 PDT
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