Feet Fatale

Andrew had always had a "thing" for girls' feet. As an adolescent he remembered watching, fascinated, as an older teenaged cousin had painted her tonails scarlet. He remembered secretly hoarding catalogues showing sexy women in sexy shoes, and eventually adding a particularly delicioius porn magazine to his collection ... beautifully naked women, with beautifully naked feet.

What was it about women's feet? The high, graceful curve of her arches, rising in a high heeled shoe? The inviting plump roundness of her toes? The immaculately applied, or sluttishly-chipped nail polish? The subtle, heady scent? Her reaction to sensual caresses on her feet? In a word, yes. All of these things and more.

Eventually, he had met women who, it seemed, invariably appreciated his attention to their feet. He learned to kiss, to caress, to lick every inch of a woman's foot, sometimes tickling slightly, but usually relaxing her gently, preparing the way for some fantastic sex afterwards.

Nowadays, especially during summertime, a simple trip to the shopping mall could provide him with mind-boggling eye-candy. Outrageously gorgeous women, with their breasts and asses hidden away (though often only barely), yet openly displaying the features Andrew found most exciting. Not only did these women display their sexy feet, they adorned them beautifully. Polish, sexy shoes, toe rings, ankle bracelets, the occasional tattoo - they all delighted him and he sometimes found himself mesmerised, discreetly following a gorgeous pair of feet through the store, erection struggling to rise in the confines of his pants.

Today, Andrew was on the train, on the way home from work. Most of the other passengers were regulars, and he knew them by face if not by name. At the third stop, though, a woman joined the carriage and sat in the only vacant seat - immediately opposite Andrew. She was thirty or so, blonde (though almost certainly not naturally so), and pleasantly attractive. She was dressed for the office, in a light suit which failed to completely disguise her full breasts, and a mid-length skirt which rode up nicely as she eased into her seat. Below the skirt, long shapely legs led to a simply delicious pair of feet.

They were perfectly proportioned, neither too thin nor too long. The tips of her toes formed a perfect curve, no toe too long or short, and her nails were painted a deep plum colour. The third toe of each foot bore a discreet gold ring, and her left ankle was encircled by a delicate golden chain. She wore black, strappy, high heeled sandals which framed and emhpasised the gorgeous feet within.

By now Andrew had been looking for far too long, and she'd caught him at it. She didn't let on, though, Rather, she crossed her legs and let her left foot "accidentally" rest against his knee. Controlling himself, and (unsuccessfully) trying to mentally force down his erect cock, he moved his knee away slightly.

When the train next rounded a curve, though, her foot swayed back against him, and remained there. This time he knew it was deliberate, and he looked up at her shyly. She winked once, then turned her attention to the train's window, all the while allowing the swaying of the carriage to rub her foot against him.

Three stations before Andrew's destination, she rose to disembark. Almost unthinkingly, he rose to follow her. On the platform, he half expected her to turn and speak to him, but she simply made for the car park, strutting atop those impossibly perfect feet. At a loss for what else to do he followed, trying desperately to come up with a winning opening line.

At her car she suddenly turned to face hum. "Well?"

"I ... um"

She laughed. "Not even a nice try. Let me set this out. You've been staring at my feet for the past half hour and trying not to cum in your pants, right?"

He went bright red. "Yes, Ma'am, that is right."

Again she laughed. "Well, footboy, today is your lucky day. Get in."

Ten minutes later they were in the living room of her nondescript apartment. She walked in, Andrew trailing behind, and wordlessly sat on her couch, stretching her legs out onto a footstool. Andrew went to sit beside her, to put his arm around her or kiss her, but she pushed him away. "None of that, it's my feet you want, remember? Now, how about undressing and showing me how badly you want them?"

He was naked in moments, his hard cock jutting from his body. Was it seeking her out? He knelt by the footstool and began putting his skills to good use, easing her feet from her shoes then gently massaging her insteps, tracing the soft flesh in waves from ankles to toes, eliciting sighs and appreciative murmurs. Eventually he switched to butterfly touches along the tops of her feet, and complemented this by kissing gently along the tops of her toes.

He dipped his mouth onto her big toe, sucking it gently, and she giggled momentarily, before the tickling sensation faded an arousal took its place, By the time he began tracing his tongue along the canal formed under the curvature of her toes, she was moaning happily. He tried to kiss his way upwards towards his skirt, put she pushed him away yet again.

"Sit on the footstool, legs apart, hand behind your back, and face me," she whispered.

What was there to do but comply? He sat, arms behind him, cock still hard and pointing forwards, begging for attention, freely dripping pre-cum onto his thighs and her footstool. She raised one foot an traced it slowly, deliberately from his chin to his stomach, pausing to pinch his nipples between her big toe and second toe. She stopped again at his navel, and he silently willed her to continue the journey south.

She waited long enough to seriously tease, then traced her foot down to his cock. Her other foot lifted to caress the opposite side of his cock, then she twisted slightly, and the soles of her feet came together, her arches snugly fitting around his cock.

Slowly, achingly slowly, her feet began to pump him. He groaned in amazement. He was actually fucking her feet! Or rather, they were fucking him. The feeling was silky smooth, tight, amazing. Her feet were supple, and nimble, but not completely nimble, so he occasionally slipped from their grasp and moaned, denied his orgasm, as he retreated from the brink and her feet started their work again. After an age of this teasing, his moans finally turned to deep groans and with a deep, long, teeth-clenching grunt of satisfaction, he spurted cum hard, up her ankles and calves, and all over those beautiful feet.

He sank to the floor in exhaustion and watched with amazement as she leaned forward and rubbed his cum into her skin. Finally, she bade him stand and addressed him in a soft voice. "You may go now, but I will be on the same train next week. I expect you there too. With flowers this time."

He stood, beaming, dresseed quickly and left. It was a date.