Foot Fetish TKO: Sometimes it is Safer to Read Maps with your Feet.

I was out at dinner the other night at a new Calgary restaurant Orchard celebrating my 43rd Birthday with a couple of friends who were in town from Montreal. It was one of those occasions where we were definitely not short of anything fascinating to talk about. Namely one of my girlfriends who is a prominent and well respected professional Domanitrix who goes by the name Alexxa_Von_Hell offered lots of interesting insights. And after several in-depth topics it got me thinking about how damn Vanilla my own sex life is in comparison to how in tuned so many people are with regards to what makes their libido roar. Not only do I marvel at their intuitive preferences, but I’m in awe of the commitment and courage they have manifested in order to seek out what pushes their sexual buttons.\

So there we were giggling about an incident from earlier on that day whereby I had decided to take off my running shoes. I had been in such a rush that I failed to put socks on. You can imagine what happens when you wear your gym shoes with no socks. It’s a sure way to marinate your toes in what I would say is the closest thing to smelling like zesty Doritos. So when I unleashed the beasts, I couldn’t help but be the first to comment that my cute and freshly pedicured toes may be transmitting their fragrance faster than the Covid Variant. My one gracious girlfriend dug her face in my feet and swore they smelled good as if I would be lying about the embarrassing moment. So when I failed to believe her, she encouraged Alexxa to come take a whiff of the nacho platter that was my feet. Not surprisingly, Alexxa assured the two of us that she doesn’t do the smelling, and could never be caught in this position of submission. With interests further piqued she enlightened us more on the subject of feet and foot play. I am not completely naïve to the world of foot play and fetish but it was fun to hear about the purposeful Parfum De Toe Jam that she assaults her consenting subs with. In fact she shared that she has spent a healthy penny on acquiring the most pungent of shoes that had adorned the feet of some of the sexiest feet.

As the conversation continued to gain traction, I was reminded of a time in my own sorted dating history whereby my feet were the center of his admiration. I probably should have been more perceptive from the beginning when he’d request that I wear open toed shoes, or shoes that showed “Toe Cleavage.” My oblivion continued where I somehow failed to notice that while laying on the couch, watching TV, he’d peel my socks right off and place them against his skin, neck and face. I was apparently too into The Kardashians to notice that my feet were being used as fluffer’s, and they were noticeably doing the job for him. It wouldn’t be until he came out and told me that he “Liked Feet.” Which I would come to find out was a fairly minimized depiction of his voracious kinky appetite for my piggly wiggly’s.

I was initially enthusiastic to brave the unchartered waters of foot erotica as I was already flattered by the idea that my feet were something to be desired. With my feet being the new object of desire and focus, I was no longer worrying about how the rest of my body looked draped across a bed. The cruelty of Gravity could not get in the way this time as my tootsies showed no sign of wear and tear that aging can have on a woman’s body over time. In fact I grew a new appreciation of this body part that I had not acknowledged previously as a powerful source of seduction. As I had begun to assess my feet and toes, I’d developed a sense of gratitude towards their pleasant size 8 stature. Not too small, and not too big. A shoe size whereby its common enough to borrow your friends shoes in a crunch, or always have your size available in stores. Upon further observation, I’d identify the unique details of my toes and how the 3 middle appendages seemed to connect as their own unit. I’d try to wiggle them separately but they would continue to move as a unified threesome unwilling to let go from their co-dependency. Upon further examination, evidence of my figure skating career emerged as my feet had been molded into the undeniable delicate boot shape with my toes pressed tightly together in a uniform pattern. I conclusion, I loved my feet more than ever and felt they were deserving of some long awaited love and affection.

Roadtrip Feet

As I had embodied my new found pawsitive outlook; my pre-date rituals were favorably cut down in half. Face Masks and Razors would be replaced with a good heavy pumice, deep moisturizer and fresh coat of red nail polish. Refining the focus onto one specific area of the body was not only less time consuming, but far less exhausting. In all my years I had never heard one person not love getting a pedicure or good hot soak and scrub. I thought to myself could the days of painful waxing’s and workouts be replaced with the kindness of a podiatrists care? I was beginning to think that being a participant in someone else’s foot fetish could turn into a career at this pace. What could go wrong?!

Well it turns out a lot.

The day would come where my feet would be debuted in their first serious intimate interaction. With the same level of conviction that a good pair of Spanx has in a form fitting dress- my feet were feeling fierce and ready to rock his world. So as the evening transpired as it had before, my socks would be peeled off the way one would experience the tender touch of a finger sliding a pair of panties off the hip. The anticipation would build as I’d watch my feet be stalked like a lion crouched in the grass waiting to devour his prey. Then the moment I had been eagerly preparing for happened and he went in for the kill. My three amigos would enter his mouth first, popping their proverbial mouth cherry. Within a split second they would make their displeasure known with a violent involuntary reflex that resulted in a ninja kick to the roof of his mouth. His teeth would penetrate my virgin flesh, where one incisor would set up shop in the tissue binding my amigos together. My precious feet now adorned a gruesome and recognizable bite mark clear across my previously perfect foot cleavage. As I describe this, I’m flooded with the same level of discomfort and nausea, as if it had just happened to me all over again. And while my feet had consented to this, they clearly had a change of heart as soon as they’d feel the warm wet touch of his tongue which slightly grazed between my tripod toes. It did not seem to matter that they had already hit 2nd and 3rd base as it became abundantly clear they were not ready to go all the way. They would never be ready because this experience would be the last. And not surprisingly, the last time I’d see the guy too.

Now you can either choose to believe me and heed the warning of my personal failures- or look at me as the aggressor who foot raped a mans mouth. And if its the latter I can assure you that I am adequately rehabilitated with an aversion to any type of foot play. Moving past this, I do not intend on discouraging anyone from fulfilling or being open to share what makes them tick as my example is merely a tale of sexual exploration that was just not a good fit for me. In fact I think we should continue to push our conventional limits as there is valuable untapped areas of ourselves that have yet to be discovered and appreciated. Perhaps if I could offer any additional words of wisdom, I would strongly recommend a helmet, mouth guard or any kind of protective equipment necessary to safely proceed in any kink exploration going forward. Nothing worse than trying to explain to the emerge doctor who’s administering a Tetanus Shot how your foot got a human tooth lodged into it. There’s no easy way to explain that one, trust me.

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