11 comments/ 10589 views/ 15 favorites Kelly's Perfect Feet By: noticelandic Note from the author: This story is very personal in a number of ways. I always wanted to write a foot fetish story and it took me years to figure out how. The story is loosely based on actual events. Erik, the narrator, thinks and acts like me, but is decidedly more courageous. His friends Jim and Kelly are based on actual friends of mine, and yes, her feet are absolutely perfect. I wish I'd acted even half as boldly as Erik does in this story. I deliberately left it unfinished so that I could collect some feedback before writing the end. Please do leave a comment, especially if you're interested in reading a Part 2. Thanks, and happy reading. ***** My name is Erik, and I have a confession to make and a story to tell. The first part is still hard for me to admit to and the second part is still hard for me to believe ever happened. Well, here goes. It is said that the most common fetish in the world is the foot fetish. How on earth such a statistic came about is beyond me. When and how was this survey conducted? Are there really that many people openly admitting to what I have a hard enough time admitting to myself? Yes, I like feet. I suppose it is becoming easier to say so now, but for a long while, I was ashamed and wished nothing more than to be able to rid myself of this fascination. I've been on enough fetishist forums to know that isn't possible. I've also learned that each guy is extremely particular about what he likes, and I'm certainly no exception. For me, it's about pretty toes, painted in some typically feminine color. Can't go wrong with rosy red, or a pearly pink. Something classy about a glossy, peachy color, too. None of those dark colors for me. No sir. Black, purple, forget it. Green, blue, orange just look silly to me. And please, no funky patterns, nothing neon. Call me a traditionalist. I like 'em simple, feminine, and pretty. Keep 'em clean, too. Never much understood the dirty sole thing. Nor the scrunched up, wrinkly sole thing. I'm a toe guy. I am also a fan of high arches, and would certainly prefer a size that is not particularly large. Again, I'm going for feminine here. Aaaaand I think I'm getting carried away. What the hell was my point? Right. Most common fetish in the world. What could be so wrong about something so common? Ah, if only it were so simple. What is it about feet? It seems like most women go through great lengths and expense to keep their feet looking beautiful and adorned, at least as much as they do with their more commonly acknowledged focal points of beauty - eyes, hair, smile, bust, hips, etc. And yet, AND YET, there is some inexplicable stigma attached to foot fetishism. So often it is thought of as weird, gross, and worst of all, creepy. How unfair then, to call attention to your feet with a costly pedicure complete with colorful nail polish, jewelry such as anklets and toe rings (be still my heart!), and cute sandals, selected with great care, no doubt, from an extensive collection of fashionable footwear. Shouldn't such a woman be flattered, proud, grateful even, that her efforts are so appreciated? My guess is that most women can appreciate some amount of attention paid to their feet, but don't quite know what to make of it when that attention is so sexually charged, as it invariably is from men like myself. Well, one time I was fortunate enough to encounter a woman who was at once puzzled, flattered, and best of all, curious about my appreciation for her feet. This is the story about my unexpected afternoon with Kelly, the girlfriend of one of my closest friends, Jim. Jim and I became friends in college. We both ended up with jobs near our college town years later. The story I'm about to share took place when he, Kelly, and I were all in our late 20's. Anyway, Jim's a dear friend, a true gentleman whom I admire for his kindness, intelligence, and work ethic. A real "work hard, play hard" kind of guy who likes to use his days off from his law job to grill some hotdogs out on his backporch and have me over for a beer or two (or three... or six). Some days Jim would break out his handle of tanquerray, and we'd trade generous pours of gin on the rocks till we got good and tipsy. Kelly was never much of a drinker, but she sure made those grill outs a lot more enjoyable. What a cutie. I can't decide whether to describe her as a cute hottie or a hot cutie. She's got a petite frame with a very fine rack, shoulder-length chestnut hair, and a shapely yet tight ass. Jim was always bragging about her legs. They sure are stunning - lean, toned, but always feminine. Her pristine, peaches-and-cream skin seemed to glow, and she was never shy about showing them off, though she kept her appearance otherwise very classy and a bit conservative. I think she prided herself most on her legs but I was of course always more eager to see farther down to her feet. On a hot day out on their porch, you could count on seeing a lot of leg and, best of all, her adorable feet, a size 7, I'd imagine. She usually wore black flip flops, and her toes were almost always painted ruby red. Paired with the delicate curve of her arches and soft-looking heels, those toes, to me, were absolutely irresistible. On one such Saturday afternoon, Jim and Kelly had me over for another one of our grill outs. Knowing that Kelly wasn't much of a beer or gin fan, I brought two bottles of red wine. Kelly was rather eager to partake, the reason for which she would later reveal when we were halfway into our second bottle. Kelly was a middle school music teacher at the time, primarily teaching 7th and 8th graders to sing and read music. The previous day, Kelly could not get her 7th grade class to behave, because of an unusual rumor about a pair of her students had just surfaced. Kelly could tell immediately that it was something sexual and she decided not to address it in class. She later heard through the faculty grapevine that the whole school was abuzz because word got out that one of the 7th grade girls "gave her male classmate a foot job." Kelly's response was very sympathetic to the kids, as she always is. "How embarrassing for them," she told me and Jim, "to have the whole school talking about their weird fetish. They're going to be made fun of for at least the rest of the year." Oof, there you have it, I thought. Kelly called it "weird." And she felt enough secondary embarrassment for her students that she had drunk just about a bottle of wine by herself, not bad for such a lightweight. See, my reaction to this story was very different. That 7th grade boy is a freaking hero in my mind. How did he manage to score a foot job at that age? I think I was plenty cognizant of my fetish back in my early teens but I was so ashamed, I don't think I could ever have brought it up to a girl I was trying to hook up with. I sadly realized then that I envied the sexual experience of a 13 year old. At the time I still hadn't fully explored my fetish with anyone because I never had the courage to bring it up to any of my previous partners. In fact, I made sure no one knew. The most remarkable part of all of this was the very fact that Kelly, whose feet I secretly worshiped, was right there talking about, of all things, foot jobs, to me, of all people. Oh, and by the way, her feet looked great in her signature black flip flops, one of which was precariously dangling from the edge of her toes. I wish I could properly convey how maddening a situation this was. It was hard not to stare all while letting my imagination run wild. Her boyfriend Jim was right there and he is, after all, one of my best buddies. Must...not...stare, I told myself. And what was I to say in response to Kelly's story? If I was being honest, I would have said, "Your student is my new hero. How did he do it?" Instead Jim was first to respond: "Hey, foot job, hand job, whatever. Too bad it wasn't a blowjob, but good for that kid for getting some action." As he said so, Jim reached and rubbed Kelly's thigh which moved just enough to let her dangling flip flop fall to the floor. I tried not to stare, unsuccessfully, but I don't think either of them noticed. Meanwhile I felt some need to chime in to respond to Jim's remark. "Yeah, and besides, lots of people are into feet." What an awkward thing to say, but it was the best I could come up with. Kelly shrugged a bit. Jim responded, "Yeah, Tarantino has a major foot fetish. There's always some kind of foot close-up in every one of his movies." "Really?" replied Kelly, "was there one in Kill Bill?" "Especially Kill Bill," I answered, "Remember when the camera focuses on Uma Thurman's feet for a LONG time?" "Oh, when she's recovering from paralysis...?" Kelly recalled, "I never would have picked up on that as anything sexual." Then I blurted out, "Well, some guys are really into the soles. I never much cared for that myself." I said too much. Just like that, I had outed myself. The look on Kelly's face was one of concealed surprise and amusement. Jim spoke first, "Oh! Wait, so you like feet?" "Well, yes, a bit. Nothing crazy." I tried not to seem embarrassed, as if it wasn't my first time admitting this to anybody. My chest started to pound. I felt a rush of blood to my face, which must have looked bright red. Kelly maintained a polite smile and tucked her legs under her chair. Did she feel threatened all of the sudden? Was she consciously hiding her feet? I pretended not to notice. Jim followed up with more questions, which actually helped to ease some tension. "So, have YOU ever gotten a foot job?" Jim asked light-heartedly. "Uh, no...sadly," I replied as I began to relax. "I'd actually never told anyone about this until now." Kelly finally said something, "Oh wow. You never told your past girlfriends?" "Nope." "Not even Lucy?" "I was too scared." "Oh no, how could you have been scared," Kelly said in a sympathetic tone. "You were together for 3 years, right?" "I was too ashamed. There were a few times when I thought she might have gotten a clue. How often I offered to massage her feet... How I would complement her when she got a pedicure..." Kelly was surprisingly sympathetic, "Awww, it would have been fine, I'm sure. You told us, and see? No big deal." "Your secret's safe with us, man," Jim assured. I released a sigh of relief and said, "Thank you, guys." But the truth was that I still felt more embarrassed than relieved. "It's actually very common, you know," I then explained, "It's said to be the most common fetish in the world." Kelly didn't say anything. Jim, empathetic as ever, responded, "Then why should you be so ashamed? That sucks that you've never been able to, like, you know, indulge your fetish." "Well," I shrugged, "I gave Lucy a lot of foot rubs. I did get something out of that. She liked getting them, but I loved giving them." Kelly then adjusted her legs, and said to Jim, "Hey! I have to beg you to give me foot rubs! I'm jealous!" and she lifted one leg and rested her foot on Jim's thigh. As I watched this I felt myself getting seriously aroused. It occurred to me then how hot it would be if Kelly let me massage her feet. I visualized what it might be like. My cock was stirring in my pants just at the thought of it. Jim then said something that I couldn't have anticipated, and it made my heart skip a beat. "You should ask Erik to rub your feet. He'd enjoy it and I bet he'd be really good at it! Win-win!" Erik, that's me. And here's Jim, maybe having had a few too many drinks, suggesting that I rub his girlfriend's feet. These are the feet that I had secretly idolized from the first time I saw her in flip flops. My attention was on Kelly, who seemed, for a moment, just as surprised as I was by Jim's suggestion. It was clear that Jim was kidding, but Kelly responded by saying, "That might be a little weird." I felt embarrassed, but I also felt like it was an inevitable response. Foot fetishes are ultimately thought of as strange. "Sorry, Erik," Jim said to me, "I thought I could help you out." He laughed, as did Kelly and I, out of some nervous reflex. "Some day you'll meet a nice girl who'll not only let you massage her feet, but she'll give you all the foot jobs you could ever want," Jim joked again, drunkenly. "I'd be one happy man," I replied, pretending to be comfortable with the topic of conversation. I saw that we had killed the two bottles of wine I'd brought. This was on top of the gin on the rocks we'd already had. We'd done some damage pretty quickly, and we hadn't had much to eat besides a bit of cheese and crackers. "Say, is anyone else hungry?" I asked. Jim apologized for not having been better prepared. He got caught up with work earlier and didn't get around to buying the bratwursts he had in mind for the grill. "Erik, I got this," said Jim, "I'm too drunk to drive but I'll walk to the store and get some brats. You start up the grill in the mean time. I'll be back in 15 minutes." Kelly asked if Jim wanted her to accompany him to the store, but Jim told her to stay and relax. Jim left, and Kelly and I found ourselves alone, which was unusual. It then occurred to me that even though we'd spent a lot of time together with Jim and other friends, she and I had never been in a room alone together. I decided to prepare the grill before the awkwardness would settle in. I headed out to the back porch. Kelly offered to help and followed me out. Out on the porch we laid the coals in the grill, Kelly squirted the lighter fluid, and I lit the match. We watched quietly for a minute as the coals burned. Kelly spoke first. "Hey, Erik, I'm sorry if that was uncomfortable for you. You know how Jim can get inappropriate when he's tipsy. He thinks he's being funny. I hope it didn't make you self-conscious." I laughed a bit and replied, "I know. That's Jim for ya. I'm fine. It actually helps me to be able to talk about this stuff with friends. I'd never discussed any of this with anyone before. I hope you weren't uncomfortable!" "No, not at all. I find it interesting, actually," she said. "Before today, I didn't even know what a foot job was. Like, I didn't know that it was even...a thing." "Well, as I said, foot fetishes are very common," I replied. "It makes sense, I guess," she said, "I probably take more care of my feet than I do other parts of my body." I saw an opportunity to exercise some courage and I responded, "It shows. You have nice feet." I had no idea how she'd respond to that after everything we'd talked about, even in jest. As it turned out, she actually seemed genuinely flattered. "Really?" "You really do. Your feet are perfect." Here, too, I thought I'd said too much. But again she seemed not only comfortable, but delighted even, by my praise. "Really??? How do you mean?" she inquired with a smile, blushing a bit. Maybe it was that I'd had about 4 drinks in me with hardly any food, but I found myself completely uninhibited, continuing to say the kind of shit I only say in my wildest fantasies. "Well, here, have a seat and I'll show you what I mean." I positioned two lawn chairs facing each other. Her smile only grew wider and we both sat down. I was on fire. "Here, put your foot up," I directed her, as I pointed to my knee. She did just that, lifting her left leg, leaving her flip-flop on the ground, and resting her ankle on my knee. Her beautifully contoured, high-arched, bare sole, her smooth heel, her perfectly proportioned toes, and her nails painted candy-red, seemed like the entire world to me. It was then that I began to feel my chest pounding. My face must have been flushed bright red. I didn't know what I was doing or how I found myself in the very position I'd dreamed of many times. Kelly was, to me, the ideal. I placed one hand on the top of her foot and I immediately felt my cock stir in my pants. Not knowing quite what to do, I spoke honestly: "OK, so what makes your feet perfect? See, your toes are just the right length...And red toe nails drive me absolutely crazy... And see how you have these high arches?" With each description, I pointed to each part, daring to touch and caress momentarily as I went on. "Well," she responded rather casually, "my arches are very high, and they're always super sore." I saw this as an invitation and responded, "I can help you with that," and boldly began to massage her soles. Kelly immediately hummed with pleasure and voiced her approval, "Oh my god, yeeeesss...!" I went on for a minute or two this way, as she continued to explain how much she had needed a massage. I gestured for the other foot. She put her left leg down and lifted her right foot with her flip-flop still on. I took immense pleasure in sliding my thumbs up her sole and flip-flop, which eventually fell to the ground. All the while, I gazed directly at her toes, mesmerized by what was, to me, the most arousing, intoxicating representation of perfection. For a moment I contemplated the absurdity of the situation: here I was out on the back porch of Jim's house, massaging his girlfriend's feet. The thought soon passed; my mind was consumed by how much I was dying to kiss her toes. My mouth hung open, and I could feel my tongue wiggling involuntarily, as I imagined how far this could go. What if I were bold enough to try to kiss her foot? Maybe she would like it, I thought to myself. And what about the fact that, just a short while ago, we were talking about foot jobs? I wondered if that was somewhere in the back of her mind. By this point, I was completely hard and ready to lose my mind, but I also knew that Jim would soon be back from the store. As much as Jim joked about it, I couldn't have him come home to find me massaging his girlfriend's feet. My instinct was to play it safe and stop sooner rather than later. It was then that her phone got a text. It was from Jim. Kelly, amused, read it out loud: "PICKED UP SOME BRATS. WE SHOULD MAKE MARGARITAS. DO WE HAVE ANY TEQUILA LEFT?" I recalled then from looking at Jim's booze collection that he had at least half a handle of Cuervo, which would have been plenty. Kelly must have known this too. The message she texted back surprised me: "I DON'T THINK WE HAVE ENOUGH. I THINK WE NEED LIMES TOO." Jim followed with a reply, which Kelly showed me: "SHIT, OK. I'LL GO GET SOME." Kelly shot me a mischievous smile. She stood up from her lawn chair and gestured me to get up too. "I just bought ourselves some more time," she said. "Let's go inside. We'll be more comfortable on the couch." I followed her back in the house, completely dumbfounded. Did she just say what I thought she said? In that moment, suddenly, everything seemed possible, but I also knew there wasn't much time. [To be continued in part 2] Kelly's Perfect Feet Pt. 02 Note from the author: Thanks to those who offered feedback and encouraged me to continue the story. I'm glad I did and hope that you enjoy it. I always try to make my stories believable and psychological. I hope you might consider reading my non-fetish stories, too. Happy reading and thanks again for your feedback. ***** I knew exactly which liquor store Jim was headed for to pick up the tequila. Kelly had asked him to get some limes as well, in order to "buy us more time," but I seemed to remember that store selling limes, too. But then again, maybe not, which would have required Jim to walk a bit more out of his way afterwards to the supermarket. These were the calculations flying through my head as Kelly and I walked back in the house to continue the foot massage on the couch. I figured Kelly and I had at least another 15 minutes alone, or potentially up to half an hour before Jim got back. I should reiterate that Kelly and I were very good friends, but this was the first time we had spent any amount of time together without Jim. That aspect alone might have made it awkward enough for Kelly under more ordinary circumstances. But there we were, after my having just come out to her as a foot fetishist and an avid admirer of her feet in particular, on her boyfriend's couch about to... well, I wasn't yet sure; at the very least, to continue the foot massage I was giving her, and hopefully more. Kelly and I had positioned ourselves on the couch so that we were on diagonals facing each other, as if, well, as if we were on a first date about to make out or something. But no, that was not at all the energy between us. "So..." she led, with a curious smile on her face. In that brief yet suspenseful silence I got the feeling that she was fully aware of how madly turned on I was. Whether or not she realized it already, I was putty in her hands, so much so that I would have crawled to the ends of the earth for the privilege of kissing her feet. She delicately slipped out of her flip flops and lifted her legs, displayed generously in her little shorts. She swiveled from her hips to turn towards me and gently rested both of her gorgeous bare feet on my outer thigh. "Where were we?" said Kelly, in a manner that toed the line between friendly and flirtatious. It was obvious that she was more than comfortable having her feet massaged. What I couldn't be so sure of was whether or not she would be game for more. When the three of us discussed my fetish earlier, there was some talk about foot jobs as this sort of "out there" sex act, but the topic of foot worship never came up. I wondered how she might respond were I to reach down and kiss her feet just once, but my courage was waning a bit. "Well, I believe you were getting a much needed foot rub," I answered as I held her right foot and began kneading her soles with my thumbs. Again, she hummed with approval and tilted her head back. She arched her back as she sank into the couch. As she did so, the bottom of her tank top came riding up to show a bit of her midriff. She realized her belly button was showing and reached with both hands to tug her shirt back down. As she did this, her arms hugged her boobs, and a bit of cleavage emerged from her top. Right then I appreciated anew that Kelly possessed not only my ideal pair of feet, but also a downright hot little body by any standard. Jim is a lucky man, I thought. But it also occurred to me then that he can't quite appreciate Kelly the way I do - from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes. "So..." Kelly broke the silence before things might have felt awkward. "You used to do this all the time for Lucy?" she asked, referring to my ex-girlfriend. "Yup. I made sure she never knew though," I answered, "you know, that I like feet. It was torture at times." "I could imagine. Must have been hard having to keep a secret like that from your girlfriend for so long," said in a sympathetic tone. "Well, sure, that was part of it. It was also uh..." I trailed off as I continued to massage her foot. "Also what?" "It was also having her feet right there, so close, but not being able to... um, well... You have to fight these... urges... ugh, I don't know. This is getting embarrassing..." "No, no, tell me. I'm totally curious. What were you so dying to do?" "Well, nothing crazy, really," I finally came out with it, "I just wanted to... kiss them." Kelly didn't seem shocked or disturbed at the thought of it. I imagined that she might have been surprised that it wasn't something stranger. "Kiss...her feet? That's it?" she asked with a comforting smile. "Yeah. Toes, especially. Every time I massaged Lucy's feet, it was like... It was like there was a gravitational pull," I explained. "It felt like my mouth was getting drawn in toward her feet, and I had to physically fight myself not to plunge in and kiss them. Like I said, torture." I felt like I managed to explain that pretty well, all while continuing to rub Kelly's foot. By then the kneading with my thumbs had gradually shifted to a more sensual caressing of the length of her foot, up to the base of her toes. "Well..." uttered Kelly, breaking another silence. "Are you in torture now?" she asked as a mischievous smile began to creep in at the corners of her mouth. "Yes, I kind of am. No, well, I don't know...This is both pleasure and torture at the same time. Your feet are so perfect they're... they're driving me fucking crazy. I hope you don't mind that I'm telling you this." "Not at all!" By this point her smile had spread ear to ear. She was glowing. Was it simply that she was flattered? No, it was more than that. Reflecting back now, I think, in that moment, she felt powerful. Of course she did. Here I was, literally at her feet, wanting nothing more in the world than to worship her, fumbling my words as I gazed in awe of perfection. There's no way Jim could ever have made her feel so empowered. As that thought crossed my mind, I remembered something important: Jim was on his way back from the store. How many minutes had passed since Jim sent his last text? My mind was so transported I had no idea, and again, my courage was draining. It occurred to me to maybe just get up from the couch immediately, in fear that Jim might bust through the door any second. "Shit, how long has it been since Jim texted you?" I asked breathlessly. "Oh god," Kelly suddenly mirrored my panic. "At least 20 minutes. Wait I'm not sure. Shit." Kelly kicked her legs away from me, to my great disappointment, and hurriedly got up from the couch. She darted around for a second and found her phone. "It was 25 minutes ago!" She immediately began texting. Her message read: "WHERE ARE YOU?" "Come on, Jim! Answer!" she implored as she glared at her phone's screen. There was a sense of urgency on Kelly's part that was surprising. She didn't want this to end either. Jim's response came: "ON MY WAY" That could have meant 5 minutes; it could have meant any minute now. Kelly seemed to think it meant closer to 5 minutes. "Come here," she commanded, as she plopped herself back on the couch. She laid her feet on the couch where I'd been sitting before. "We have a few minutes." I awkwardly sat at the edge of the couch, my ass half hanging off. I reached for her feet and began rubbing both of them. She shot me a look of disapproval. "You've given plenty of foot rubs in your life. Don't get me wrong; you're great at it. But you always wanted more. Show me what you always wanted to try but were afraid to." For a moment I froze. It was as if my wildest dream was about to come true, but I was also acutely aware that Jim could have been turning the corner ready to bust through that door. "Come on, Erik. Show me. Just a bit. Before Jim gets home. This can be our little secret." Then, as if she'd flipped some switch within me, I abandoned all inhibition. I drew her left foot toward my mouth and my eyes got sucked into her red toenails. I felt a surge in my balls and lost control. I leaned forward and planted my lips right at the base of her toes. I held for a moment right there, letting the moisture of my lips attach to the softest skin imaginable. I breathed in the sweet, intoxicating smell. My eyes rolled back as a single, violent shiver shot down my back. This was a level of arousal previously unknown to me. Kelly kept an eye out the window with a good angle down the sidewalk Jim would take home. I trusted she would stop me the moment she saw the faintest silhouette of Jim approaching. And so I went on, this time taking her right foot, kissing up the length of her arch. My lips reached the joint between the ball of her foot and big toe and stayed there for a moment. I took in the smell again as my hard-on raged farther upward. I needed a taste. "Oh god..." I muttered, "I'm going crazy. I've wanted this for so long." I let just the tip of my tongue wet the base of her big toe. I glanced up for a reaction from Kelly. She took her eye off the window to look down at me and flashed another one of her devilish smiles, as if to say, 'keep going.' Encouraged, I parted my lips wider and took in her candy-colored big toe in my mouth. Kelly let out a high-pitched moan that fanned the flame. I sucked her gently and swirled my tongue around, which was met with further vocal approval: "Oh my god... that feels fucking wild." Just as my wildest dream was becoming reality, it had to end. Kelly reached down, touched my hair, and drew her feet away. She saw through the window that Jim was now just down the street and approaching swiftly. Time was up. She slipped on her flip flops and hopped off the couch without a word. I suppose it went without saying: act naturally. Jim swung open the door cheerfully singing our college's fight song on "da da da." I don't think he ever knew the words to that damn song, but it was pretty clear that he was tipsy and ready for more booze. "Eriiiik, you ready for this shit??" He triumphantly raised his arms, a handle of cheap tequila in one hand and a bagful of food in the other. "Yeah man, let's do this," I answered, as we headed over to the kitchen. Kelly was preparing ice for our margaritas, twisting the ice cube trays less than adeptly. One of the ice cubes popped up and landed on the floor right at her feet. Knowing Jim was facing away from us slicing limes, I reached down to pick up the ice cube and stole another close look at her pretty red toes. It occurred to me then, that my face might never come so close to her feet again. Was her curiosity with my fetish already satisfied? Might there be something in it for her, to be so worshipped by me? Might we ever pick up where we left off? These thoughts swirled in my brain while I lingered there a moment, staring at the picture of perfection. "DUDE!" Jim had turned around to find me kneeling down at Kelly's feet. I sprung back into attention, but it was pretty clear what I was doing. I couldn't tell in that moment whether he was amused or upset. "Were you checking out Kelly's feet?" I got up immediately and showed him the ice cube that I picked up. "No, no. This fell on the floor." "Oh come on, man. It's ok. Admit it; you were checking out my girl's feet." "I uhh, I...No...! I really wasn't," I stuttered back. "Jim, it's ok. Don't embarrass him. He wasn't doing anything." said Kelly. "I'm telling you, Erik," he said calmly, "it's ok if you were. Seriously, man. I mean, as far as feet go, I'm guessing Kelly's are pretty good-looking, right?" I didn't know what to say, but I had to say something. I told the truth, albeit a gross understatement. "Yes, Kelly's got great feet." Kelly raised her eyebrows, as if to appear surprised, and exchanged a glance with Jim, who smirked and shrugged. "Well, we can drink to that," he said, "that's high praise from an expert! You should be flattered, Kelly!" I watched Kelly respond with an awkward chuckle, but Jim was still smiling. It seemed that everything was ok. "Well, let's get drinking and grilling, shall we?" said Kelly, seemingly eager to change the subject. And we did; we began by discussing whether we wanted our margaritas blended or on the rocks. We decided on the former, whipped up a batch, and headed out to the porch to grill our food. Jim complemented me on how hot the grill had gotten from the coals Kelly and I prepared. Little did he know that I did nothing more than light them, leave them, and proceed to massage and worship his girl's feet. I felt guilty, really guilty, but I also wasn't absolutely sure that Jim would necessarily think of what happened as cheating. I wasn't yet sure how Kelly thought of it either. I imagined that maybe the thing she felt most conflicted about, if at all, was not that it happened, but that we were keeping it a secret from Jim. Really, I can only guess how non-foot-fetishists think. For me, what happened with Kelly while Jim was gone was extremely erotic, and even intimate, and definitely a violation of friendship. Part of me wanted to fess up; part of me hoped it would happen again and again; and yet another part of me questioned whether or not the two scenarios were necessarily mutually exclusive. I decided I would tell him a revised version of some, not all, of what happened. I could tell him that the conversation the three of us had drove me crazy, and that I begged Kelly to let me massage her feet. I wanted, as best I could, to put it all on me, in order to implicate Kelly as little as possible. "Jim, I need to tell you something..." I saw Kelly's face turn pale. "While you were out..." "Aww shit!" Jim interrupted, as it began to rain. It came on suddenly and quickly turned heavy. We covered the grill and brought what food we'd already cooked, along with our drinks, back in the house. We all took our shoes off, and of course my eyes involuntarily darted down to watch Kelly slip out of her flip flops. We set our food down at the dining table, which Jim never much liked to use, in fear that he might spill something on Kelly's prized table cloth. But it was now pouring out with the patio table uncovered, and the kitchen table was a bit of a mess, so we sat down at the dining table, Jim and Kelly on one side and me across on the other. From all that hassle I had momentarily forgotten that I was within just a few words of confessing to Jim that I massaged Kelly's feet while he was gone. We were all starving, though, and needed something in our stomachs to soak up all the liquor we were having, and so we began to eat. Jim left the table to grab some chips from the kitchen. Kelly shot a severe look at me from across the table, as if to say, 'don't you dare rat me out.' Without speaking, I tried to convey to her, 'don't worry I know what I'm doing,' but she looked unconvinced and anxious. Jim returned with a bowl of chips and sat back down next to Kelly. "Erik, you were about to say something." His tone remained casual. "Ah, right. Yes. Well, I don't really know how to say it, so I'll just-" I froze as I felt something brush up against my crotch. It was Kelly's foot under the table, her leg extended yet entirely concealed by the table cloth. Jim was none the wiser, though he was puzzled that I stopped mid-sentence. Kelly was staring directly at me, and the corners of her mouth hinted another devilish smile. My cock twitched and began to grow immediately. "I, uhh...well, while you were out, I-" Again I stopped dead in my tracks, as Kelly started to glide her foot up and down my crotch. Her toes found and stroked my shaft struggling against my shorts. "Erik, just spit it out, man," said Jim, still completely oblivious to what was happening under the table. Kelly had hijacked my confession, controlling me with every caress, as my cock felt out the contour of her perfectly proportioned foot. This was simultaneous ecstasy and agony, and I didn't want it to end. By this point Jim looked totally confused. "Well, I, uh..." I fought not to let my arousal show in my face, but it was difficult; my voice quivered, as Kelly continued her torture, her gaze fixed on me completely. "I...uhh... broke one of your wine glasses." I couldn't believe I lied, or that I could even come up with such a lie on the spot. It was as if Kelly was controlling me like some evil genius puppet master. "Oh, that's all? Dude, forget about it, man. I got those at IKEA." Jim, unmoved, unsuspecting, took another bite of sausage. "Yeah, Erik and I cleaned up all the broken glass," Kelly chimed in as she moved her foot away. "I told him that we have enough of those glasses, and we were going to get nicer ones some day anyway." Jim confirmed with a simple, "Yup, no worries." And, well, that was about it. The rest of the day proceeded more or less normally. We ate and drank some more. The rain cleared, and Jim went out to put out the coals. Kelly and I did not exchange any more knowing glances. In fact, she behaved, quite convincingly, as though nothing had happened. I volunteered to do the dishes and take out the trash primarily to ensure that Jim wouldn't notice that there was, in fact, no sign of any broken glass in the trash. That all went smoothly, and the last thing we did was watch some TV on the couch while Jim and Kelly cuddled a bit. I left after a while, though not before being greeted with a remarkably normal hug from Kelly and a typical, bro-y hug from Jim. When I got home, I legitimately thought for a moment that the whole day might have been an elaborate dream. In one day, I came out to my friends as a foot fetishist, massaged and kissed Kelly's feet, the ones I'd always fantasized about, sucked her toes, even. And to top it all off, she nearly rubbed me off with her foot under the table unbeknownst to Jim sitting next to her. This was no dream, and I had the pre-cum on my boxers to prove it. My balls needed some serious relief after everything Kelly put them through. I wacked off replaying the incredible events of the day. I was glad to find that masturbating using my imagination is much more vivid and gratifying when I can reference actual events. In my mind I sat myself back on that couch with Kelly, my lips up against the base of her toes. I kissed up and down her elegant arches. I took her smaller toes in my mouth and moved on to give her big toe a good luxurious sucking. As I felt myself close to coming, my imagination transported me back to the dining table with her foot stroking me. This time, however, I imagined myself exposed with my shorts down. My mind was so alive I swore I could almost feel her angel soft feet teasing me, caressing me. Placing my cock between her two arches, she stroked me gently at first and gradually faster. My mind's eye zoomed in on the image of her cherry-colored toes, as I came harder than any other time I could remember. It might have been the most fun I'd ever had masturbating, but obviously there's nothing like the real thing. And there's nothing in the world like Kelly's feet. I thought back to the incredibly sexy way Kelly behaved when we were alone. She was a different creature altogether, not at all the straight-laced, elementary school music teacher I knew. Maybe it was the revelation that she possesses such beautiful feet that ignited something in her. I liked to think that I might have awakened a different side of Kelly's sexuality, one that remains unknown to Jim. I continued to reflect on all this until I heard my phone receive a text. I pulled out my phone and gasped to see what was displayed on the screen: a photo of Kelly's feet. It was sent by her, and she must have taken the picture herself. The angle taken in the picture was just right. I could tell she took it on her bed and that she made sure to show off her pedicured toes, as well as the delicate curve of her arches and soft heels. What an incredible treat. Kelly's Perfect Feet Pt. 02 I texted her saying: "AMAZING. ALMOST AS GOOD AS THE REAL THING." A moment later she responded: "OUR LITTLE SECRET..." After some careful thought, I followed up with: "...TO BE CONTINUED???" I paced around my room a while, staring at my phone, as if willing it to respond, but there were no more messages from Kelly that night. I had no idea what was to come, if anything. Maybe she would do right by Jim and never mess around again. Maybe she would indulge whatever curiosity might remain. This much was certain: I'd never felt so alive and I had Kelly to thank. Later that night in my bed, I lay gazing a long while at Kelly's picture on my phone. There was a corner in my heart that ached with guilt for Jim. The rest of my heart, though, was bursting with gratitude for Kelly. I fell asleep with my phone clutched in my hand, and my mind flooding with dreams of another afternoon with Kelly's perfect feet.