Girl on the Net

For as long as I’ve known that some men are into feet, I have wanted one to come all over mine. Masturbate while looking at them then squirt jizz out – covering my skin and dribbling in between my toes. I don’t think I have a foot fetish myself, but I do get off on fulfilling other people’s desires, especially if they sit outside of what the world thinks an average fuck might look like. So the mental image of a guy kneeling over me to cover my feet in cum has been one that, now stuck in my head, has resolutely refused to disappear.

“You know,” my boyfriend tells me as he strokes mine on the sofa, “I do think I’m pretty into feet.”

_

As I say, I like to fulfil other people’s desires. I suspect I’m what you might call a ‘service’ sub, but to me it doesn’t feel like a kink thing specifically, just a sexual extension of my relentless (and sometimes annoying) drive to people-please and be told I’ve done well.

On an average day, with an average man, this drive manifests mainly as a love of sucking cock. But occasionally I get the chance to play with a non-standard desire – something that a guy has specifically requested, or hinted would be a particular turn-on. These are my favourite things. These tiny snippets of insight into someone’s sexual self, the fantasies or proclivities that make their arousal unique. Like the guy who asked to come in my hair, or the one who so neatly articulated that the core of his sexual self was grounded in a desire to hurt me with his dick.

These things would not be kinks for me in and of themselves, just as other sex acts – like anal – don’t float my boat unless the guy involved really wants them. I don’t fantasise about foot worship in general – I’ve never had a wank about the idea of somebody licking or sucking my toes. But if you told me that a specific man wanted to suck on my toes while he beat one out, I would instantly get hot for that concept. Imagining the eager way his eyes might light up when I pressed the sole of my foot to his mouth and instructed him to kiss it. Firmly, so it didn’t tickle too much. Thinking about the moan he might make as I said he could wank while he did that.

_

I’ve just had a pedicure, and I’m taking pictures for Twitter. Knowing that he’s ‘pretty into feet’, I show him the first photo and ask if he thinks it’s hot.

“Could be better,” he says, before explaining why my straight-on, viewed-from-above image wouldn’t do anything for him. Specifically:

“You need to show off the curves.”

He outlines this with the confidence of someone who has thought about it many times before. I had attempted to get inside a kink from the headspace of someone who doesn’t have it, so my picture lacked the directorial passion of a genuine enthusiast. On the other hand, my boyfriend could not only explain what was hot about feet, but also help me laser-target why that thing was sexy. You won’t all agree with him, of course – desires vary from person to person. But much as I love the gang of eager foot pervs who pop up in comments whenever I post a new pedicure, I’ll never care even 1% as much what you think than I do about his opinion.

He told me I needed to show off the curves. That tiny shot of extra knowledge was devastatingly sexy. The moment when something clicked in my head and I understood the specifics of his desire in a lot more detail.

The second picture I posted includes one foot slightly turned to the side, displaying that neat arch between ball and heel plus a glimpse of pale, soft sole.

_

His guidance helps fuel more ideas. When I’m staying over with a friend and I want to let him know that I miss him, I snap a picture in bed that includes my feet sticking out from beneath the duvet. One slightly turned so he can see the curve of the arch as it rests on the other.

His response comes in very quickly: “Ooo feet!”

_

I get a pedicure the day before his birthday. I have a vague idea about bringing my feet into play while we’re getting horny, but somehow I can’t get the action of it right: I’m sitting behind him on the sofa, he’s on a cushion on the floor between my legs, and I’m idly resting my feet in his naked lap – trying to stroke the soles over his semi-hard, beautiful dick. I think he likes it but I’m not quite sure. I am more clued-up on why he likes feet, but I still don’t have a handle on what exactly I’m meant to do with them.

_

I find myself going barefoot around the house more often than usual. Deliberately removing my socks if he comes round after work. Laying my feet in his lap while we’re listening to music on the sofa.

“It’s interesting,” he says one day, as we’re in the living room with our feet up resting on the coffee table. “I didn’t used to think they were especially sexy, but as I get older I find I’m more and more into them.”

I turn mine this way and that, because I cannot help myself.

Later that night, or another, I tell him directly: “I’d love you to spray cum all over my feet.” He’s amenable.

The next day, I think about that good and hard, and touch myself while imagining how it might feel to have him cover my feet in his cum. Kneeling on the bed, rubbing himself while he looks at them.

Another day I picture sitting behind him on the sofa as before, gently cupping his hard cock between my soles. Unlike then, now I’m starting to realise that perhaps I don’t need to do much to specifically rub at him – just let him feel the silky texture of the arches on his dick. Is that right? I’m not sure. But I’m desperate to find out.

_

We’re about to go on holiday together, and as well as doing my usual rituals (shaving legs, trimming my bush, painting my fingernails, yelling ‘fuck you’ at the Ryanair app) I also give myself a pedicure. Scrubbing at the balls and heels of my feet so they’re nice and smooth, then applying dark polish to my toenails.

When he sends me a picture of what he’s up to that evening, I reply with a snap of my feet resting on the coffee table. Nails painted and soles soft, angled so he can see the curve of the arches. He fires back exactly what I wanted:

“I’d come on those feet.”

_

We’re in the hotel room, having sex. Hungover and tired after a late one the night before, we take it in turns to fuck and get fucked until eventually both of us fall – exhausted but still pretty horny – onto the bed. I watch him idly stroking his cock, to show that he still wants to come, and I remember the pedicure I gave myself. His eager reply to that picture. So I ask:

“Do you want to come on my feet?”

His response is swift and eager: “Ooo, yes.”

He moves along the bed and settles in – kneeling wide, so he’s down low and close to me. He’s gripping his solid cock with the casual ease that comes from decades of muscle memory. I’m lying on my side, turned slightly away from him, knees bent and feet positioned on the bed just in front of his crotch. Displayed side-on from where he’s looking: arches, remember? Curves.

He’s staring down at my feet.

Now listen: I love my own kinks dearly. Some of the things that turn me on (like dominance, free use, fucking-as-punishment, watching men wank till they make themselves come) are such a core part of who I am that I could never imagine my fantasy life without them. But there’s something extra special about kinks that I’ve absorbed from someone else: the novelty that comes with brand new levels of understanding.

Given this, please understand the cuntgush impact of the following… as I lay trembling with excitement on the bed, my boyfriend didn’t just settle for looking at my feet: he grabbed one foot in his hand and lifted it slightly off the bed, so he could press the curve of my arched sole gently to the base of his shaft. With it clutched securely in place, he set his lips in a determined line and only then did he begin to wank.

It had never occurred to me, in all my idle evenings spent daydreaming about this, that he would want or need this physical contact, so the second I understood what was happening, horny flutters of surprise began cascading through my entire body. You want to touch me like this? That alone would be enough to make me melt with desire. On top of that I also… suddenly understand something brand new and deeply erotic about the inner workings of your sexual mind! Holy fuck, I have reached a new plane of arousal.

He held my foot (he has beautiful hands, just so beautiful) about 10 inches off the bed – I had to tense my thigh muscles to help him keep it there. And with his other hand he gripped his cock (mainly towards the head, so he didn’t keep crashing into my foot on the down-stroke), and I got to watch him rub his dick while clinging to both my body and his own with the determination of a man who is showing me exactly why he finds this so fucking sexy.

I tried not to go overboard with my enthusiasm, lest I put him off. But I couldn’t resist letting out a few ‘holy fuck that’s so hot’s as he nudged himself closer to climax, and at the point when it finally happened, I definitely let out an audible moan. It wasn’t deliberate. That aching, longing sound fell from my mouth just as he opened his, before he’d even finished that perfect, three-word sentence:

“I’m gonna come.”

If there are three hotter words in the English language, I have not yet found them. Uttered with the choked-up sob of almost-relief that shows it’s meant in earnest, that phrase is one of the filthiest things in the world.

“I’m gonna come.”

Then that look.

His gaze had been broken briefly as he closed his eyes while pushing for climax, but now suddenly his eyes flick back to my feet. He takes aim, focusing on them with a burning intensity that makes me feel sexy in a whole new way. I have never knowingly been objectified/fetishised/worshipped/wanted/desired because of my feet. On the internet, perhaps, but never in real life where it means so much more (sorry, internet foot people). He looks at my feet and he clasps the soft sole of one of them to the rigid base of his cock, tells me “I’m gonna come”…

…then lets go.

He doesn’t just ‘come’ on my feet: he soaks them. He pumps spunk all over the sole of the foot that was just now clutched to his cock, each shot warm and wet and dripping down the ripples that appear there when I curl my eager toes.

Naturally, I love watching him come. As I love the way he tells me he’s gonna, with that choked-up sob and the burning intensity. On top of all this, though, there’s an added kick of lust that comes from the sheer novelty: I learned a brand new thing about what makes feet sexy to this man. It is definitely a tactile as well as a visual thing. Perhaps the physical touch is even more important than the visuals? I will ask.

I knew a little part of this already – he’d encouraged me to love on his dick with the soles of my feet before. Once he even sent a text which read ‘I want you to wear The Socks and then play with my cock with your feet’. But there’s such a huge difference between knowing all the information about something and truly understanding it. This is how a lot of sex stuff works for me – I can know everything there might be to know about somebody’s kink, but I won’t truly grasp it until I’ve had the practical demo.

It’s the difference between knowledge and understanding. The theory and the practice. The facts versus the qualia.

I wasn’t thinking any of this at the time, of course. My brain was busy enjoying the full-body rush of catharsis when I finally experienced something I’d been wanting for so very long: having my boyfriend cover my feet in his cum.

So much of it.

He knelt up and I breathed an effusive “Thank you, that was so hot”, as I rubbed my feet together – smearing his spunk all over the soles and in between my toes. I can’t remember exactly what he replied, but knowing him I suspect it was:

“I know.”