When I first came to terms with the fact I was attracted to women, I did the typical thing. Internet porn was in its infancy, but I was a teenager with nothing but time to learn. I bought magazines as well, flipped through the bare, enhanced, airbrushed breasts and landing strip pussies, and never really got that thrill. I knew I liked women, but these… mutants barely registered on that scale. “Feather your hair, open your eyes as wide as possible, smile wide. Wider. Okay, now, pretend like you’re playing baseball and you forgot your uniform pants. Perfect!”
I went to beaches and swimming pools with my friends, and that’s where the real show was. Real women with real bodies. That was where I found my first crush, where I masturbated for the first time with an audience (on my sixteenth birthday, in the locker room with the college-age sister of my best friend, we were both in two-piece bikinis and she swore me to secrecy, but that’s really a non-story). It’s also where I discovered my real fetish.
Feet, thighs, and everything in between. Women at the pool would slip off their sandals, point their toes and lean back, making sure no one gawked at their breasts or ass while they applied suntan lotion. But no one noticed a tall for her age brunette girl, standing off to the side, focused on their feet. With my first lover, I gave her a foot rub as foreplay and ended up coming as I sucked her toes. She told me it was the most erotic thing anyone had ever done for her so, the next time we were together, I put her foot between my legs and rubbed myself against it.
Time marched on, graduation and college and I got a job as a clerk at a law firm. I was an average, everyday kind of woman, no one you would notice on the street. But sometimes on the subway, I would look up from my newspaper and see a pair of high heels across the aisle from me. Gorgeous patent leather, sling-back, sometimes just a pair of old tennis shoes would do the trick. If I was ever caught looking, I would just smile and say, “God, I love your shoes. Where do you get them?”
My girlfriends raved about my foot jobs. The hour-long massages, the oils, gently sucking the toes one at a time while sliding my hands up and down their calves. By the time we finally got to sex, they were melted. Several of my ex-girlfriends stayed on good terms with me just so they could continue coming over for foot rubs. I, of course, obliged. Anything to get my hands on a pair of beautiful feet.
I was hired by Hannah Walsh. Maybe not the winning-est lawyer in New York, no candidate for the attorney general’s office or anything. But she was a good, honest lawyer. If you hired her, you knew you were getting a good defense. She sometimes put in twelve hour days defending the downtrodden, and I was happy to stay at my desk right through dinner. It meant I got to eat dinner with a beautiful woman, so I was content.
Not to mention that once the firm started to close down and we were alone, Hannah tended to take off her heels and walk around in her stocking feet. Black skirts, white blouse, all business with her hair coming down in little feathers around her face? Oh, yeah, I won’t lie. I’ve placed her in a fantasy or two.
One night we were alone in the office, and she breezed out of her office and past my desk. “Gretchen, come on. I need a hand.”
I stood and followed her through the dark offices to the library. She turned on the overhead lights and grabbed the rolling ladder, dragging it along the stacks until she reached Case Files 00-9-110 through 00-9-200. “I need the Hanger file,” she said, hands on the ladder, leaning back to scan the numbers.
“Zero zero nine one-forty,” I said. I really wasn’t that impressive. The Hanger file had been on our desks for almost six months.
“Ah, right,” she said. “Hold the ladder, please.” She started up the ladder in her bare feet, and I grabbed the rungs to keep it steady. The ladder was notorious for having a mind of its own, skating down the stacks and forcing many a woman to break a nail trying to stop its advance. So I held on and she advanced upward. When the backs of her knees were even with my face, I suddenly wondered why I hadn’t volunteered to go up for her.
Now, through the years, I’ve been confronted with a lot of opportunities. I’ve massaged Hannah’s feet before on long nights, had her feet in my lap, and I’ve contained myself. Yeah, I molested myself with a vibrator on those nights before I could fall asleep, but I was always Miss Professional at the office.
But something possessed me. I couldn’t stop myself, not with her presented right in front of my face like this. I had a perfect view of the backs of her thighs, and I couldn’t resist myself. I leaned in and felt the material of her skirt against my face, and then I pressed a kiss to the back of her knee. I parted my lips, turned my head and licked the crease where her knee would bent, a slow drag of my tongue that ended with a little flick of the tip.
And then I opened my eyes, realized what I had done, and let go of the ladder. “Shit,” I whispered. Well. Maybe she didn’t notice.
I looked up and saw Hannah was looking over her shoulder at me, one hand braced against the shelf. “Gretchen?” she said. There was a smile at the corners of her lips. “What was that?”
“I… um… s-sorry…”
“Did you just lick the back of my knee?” She turned on the rung and looked down at me.
I swallowed hard and considered lying, but what could I say? ‘Sorry, there was a spot of chocolate from your dessert earlier. Sorry, a fly landed and I tried to scare it away by pretending I was a frog. Did I get too close?’ Instead I just shrugged and said, “Sorry…”
Hannah turned on the ladder and stretched her arms out to either side. She gripped the shelf to keep the ladder in place and said, “Don’t be sorry.” She lifted her left leg. “Just be thorough.”
I was torn between asking if she was crazy and not counting my blessings. I blinked at her for a long second, then she raised her eyebrows in a ‘what are you waiting for?’ expression. I put one hand on her calf, bowed my head and kissed her thigh just below the hem of her skirt. Her skin was warm, muscular, and I moved my hand to the back of her knee. I massaged the tendons gently with my fingers as I parted my lips and ran my tongue over her thigh.
I was shaking a little as I moved down. I squeezed the back of her calf as I ran my tongue down the front, working my way slowly to her foot. I finally cupped her perfect foot in my hands and looked down at it. Toenails painted red, manicured, polished, so, so perfect. I kissed the slope from ankle to toe, put my hand in the arch and held the foot up like an offering to the gods. I licked my lips, getting them nice and wet, and held my breath as I kissed her big toe. I closed my eyes and moved to the next one, then the next. I opened my lips and sucked two toes into my mouth, running my tongue over them. Her stocking kept me from getting too intimately acquainted with them, so I pulled back, looked up and ran my hands up her thighs.
She lifted her skirt high enough for me to see the top of her stockings. I hooked my fingers under the lace, swallowed hard, and rolled the stocking down. The backs of my fingers brushed her skin as I rolled the stocking, and my mind kept sending quick “you’re touching Hannah’s thigh” messages. I finally got the stocking off and, rather than whipping it away, I wound it around my hand and slipped it into the pocket of my blazer.
I brought Hannah’s foot to my mouth again, kissed the bare flesh and slipped my tongue between the toes. I heard Hannah gasp, which turned into a whimper, and I took her big toe into my mouth. I closed my eyes and sucked, moved one hand to the arch and massaged. “All those nights, rubbing my feet… is this what you really wanted to do?”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmured.
Hannah purred. “You should have said something…”
Oh, lost opportunities. Oh, missed chances. But I couldn’t focus on that. I had her now, that was the important thing. I looked up, her toes in my mouth, and watched her press down the front of her skirt with one hand. She bent her fingers, rubbing herself through the material. Once I had kissed each toe, I let go of her foot and said, “Step down a little.” She did as instructed, her chest now right in front of me, and I took her foot again and moved it between my legs. I lifted my skirt with my free hand, looked up into her eyes, and put her foot against my thigh.
Hannah turned her foot to rub the smooth slope over my thigh. I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip. Her foot slid higher and eventually came to rest between my thighs. I closed my legs, pinning her there, and looked up at her again. She smiled and began to rub her foot forward, then back, then forward… then back.
“You’re so wet,” Hannah sighed.
I could only grunt. I was already close to coming. I ran my hands over her thigh, trying to force her to speed up. But oh, no, Hannah was not one to be rushed… I watched her fingers work against her skirt and, from the redness spreading on her throat and face, I knew she was getting close, too. I wanted to lean forward and take over for her fingers, eat her up, tear her blouse open and finally, God, finally see those breasts. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to waste this opportunity; to come, full-clothed, just from a foot job.
“When you come on my toes, I want to watch you lick them clean.”
Fuck, we hadn’t even *kissed* yet and she’s talking like this to me? Good Lord, what did I do right this morning? I gripped her ankle with one hand, her calf with the other, and rocked hard against her foot. “Oh, God… oh, yes, Hannah…” I squeezed my thighs around her, arched my back and rolled my head on my shoulders as I came. My jaw dropped and I struggled to catch my breath, finally relaxing and letting her foot go.
Hannah let her foot slip out from under my skirt, moved up the ladder and presented her wet toes. “Well?”
I didn’t hesitate. I sucked her toes, slowly, carefully, taking them one at a time and then slipping my tongue between them to make sure I didn’t miss a thing. Finally, I turned my head and pressed my cheek against the sloped top of her foot, the tantalizing bit that always teased me over the tops of her high heels. I turned my head, ran my tongue over it and kissed her ankle. I rested my chin on her foot and looked up at her. “Did you come?”
“Not yet,” she said. “Let go of my foot.” I did as requested and she came down the ladder. She straightened her clothes, then stepped forward and pinned me against the opposite stacks. Her face was inches from mine, her breath warming my face. She put her hand on my cheek, slid it up into my hair, and my eyes closed. She pulled my head back with her handful of hair, and I winced a little.
Her lips were suddenly on my neck, and her tongue traced a wet, sizzling line toward my jaw. She nipped my ear with her teeth. She relaxed her grip in my hair and I lowered my face to look at her. Our lips met and I moaned, she grunted and thrust her hips at me. I put my arms around her, clutched her ass and worked my thigh between her legs. She rode my thigh, her tongue assaulting mine, and she eventually shuddered and relaxed and sighed against my mouth.
I pulled back and blew a stray hair out of my face. Her hands smoothed down the front of my blouse, cupped my breasts, and she looked down to examine the buttons. My white lace bra was just barely visible through the material and she swept her tongue over her bottom lip. “Do you have any fantasies about my office?”‘
“No,” I said.
“That’s okay,” Hannah said. She hooked the fingers of her right hand in the belt of my skirt, backed up, and walked backwards as she dragged me from the library. She smiled wickedly and said, “I have enough for both of us.”
I grinned. I could hardly wait.