I want to clarify that the story I’m about to tell you is, alas, only a product of my imagination. The object of my Foot Fetish fantasy is my secretary. I dream of being at the feet of a dominant woman.
I’ve been working with my secretary for five years. She most likely has no idea, but I can’t help admiring her penchant for shoes. Summer or winter, heels or sandals, she’s always flawless despite her petite frame.
As a good fetishist, I sometimes even take pictures of her without her knowing, so I can revel a little more in her sublime legs and manicured feet. (How perverse one can be in those moments.)
Yet, despite all this allure that would bring any of us to our knees, she seems to have no inclination to dominate men and remains completely naive on the subject.
Under Her Desk: A Foot Fetish Fantasy Unfolds
It’s 5:30 p.m., and my last colleague has just left the office. She’s still here but about to leave soon. This is the moment for me to attempt the approach I’ve been fantasizing about for weeks.
I step into her office. As usual, she smiles when she sees me coming. My reserved, bear-like demeanor has often made her laugh. That day, she’s wearing small heeled boots with tighter-than-usual jeans, which beautifully highlight her backside.
I pretend to organize some files in front of her desk and take the plunge:
- “Everything okay, Sarah?”
- “I’m swamped with all these quotes to prepare,” she says, visibly exhausted. “One more, and I’m out of here.”
Casually, I drop a pencil under her desk and, while picking it up, say:
- “Anyway, I must say that despite our current workload, you always seem to take the time to show up perfectly put together. Those boots you’re wearing are really stunning.”
I can’t see her reaction since I’m under the desk (!). Still, she doesn’t take long to reply:
- “Thanks, I really like these boots, even though they make me suffer too,” she says with a laugh.
Encouraged by her response, I don’t stop there:
- “Can I do something to help with that, Sarah?” I say as I stand up.
I notice her blush slightly, clearly caught off guard by my offer. I’ve never made a move on her because she’s married. So, it’s with a mix of confusion and curiosity that she says:
- “A foot massage would definitely do me a world of good.”
Barefoot Bliss: A Fetishist’s First Massage
I approach her, and she pulls back slightly, extending her legs toward me. I start to feel the heat rising in me too.
- “You can take them off,” she says. “There’s a zipper in the back.”
I immediately comply, removing her shoes as gently as possible.
I discover small white socks.
- “Go ahead, take them off!” she says with growing confidence, which I certainly don’t mind.
I uncover or rather rediscover her tiny feet, size 37 or 38, I’d guess.
Seeing me probably ogling the sight, she snaps me out of my daze:
- “You promised me something, didn’t you?” she says mischievously.
- “Y-Yes, of course!” I stammer.
Even though I’m a foot fetishist, I don’t have much experience with massages. Still, I try pressing certain areas while watching her reactions. I feel several points of tension release.
- “It’s perfect,” she says. “Keep going!”
I alternate movements, switching from one foot to the other. I want to please her. In fact, I have to please her.
My excitement reaches its peak. I’m dying to kiss them.
I lean in, but she suddenly sits up:
- “It’s already that late,” she says. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for this delightful moment. No man has ever taken care of me like this!”
She seems over the moon.
- “Pleasure’s mutual,” I reply.
I just hope she doesn’t notice my increasingly inconvenient erection.
Right before leaving, I gesture for her to give me her hand, which I kiss.
- “See you tomorrow,” she says with a smile that speaks volumes.
Kneeling for Madame: A Foot Fetish Ritual Begins
The moment she’s gone, I head to the bathroom to relieve myself. “What a moment,” I keep repeating, as if in shock from what just happened.
Given our varying office schedules, it’s not possible to repeat the experience every day. In fact, in the days that followed, we never once mentioned that timeless moment.
But we eventually get another chance. This time, though, it’s she who asks me to come to her office.
She’s already taken off her heels for the day, leaving her feet—now wrapped in pantyhose—prominently displayed. I try to contain my enthusiasm.
- “You can get to work!” she says.
After about an hour, we wrap up the session or so I think.
As she seems about to leave, she turns to me and says:
- “Get on your knees and kiss my heels! Each one, one after the other!”
I obey immediately, which seems to satisfy her.
- “I can’t quite explain why, but I really like the direction our little after-work moments are taking,” she says with undeniable confidence.
She adds:
- “You’ll do it this way every time we part from now on!”
- “Yes, Madame,” I reply.
She smiles.
- “That’s right. No more Sarah. It’s Madame from now on!”
Conditioned by Her Feet: From Office to Home
Weeks go by, and they only fuel her appetite for seeing me at her service. With a snap of her fingers, like Pavlov’s dog, I rush to her office. Now I’ve moved from her feet to her shoulders to relieve all the tension she’s built up during the day.
- “I did some research on men like you,” she tells me. “Before you, I’d never met a man with a foot fetish! I never would’ve guessed there were so many of you!”
After performing our ritual one last time, she drops another bombshell:
- “The office is starting to feel ‘cramped’ for what we’re doing. You’ll need to come to my place soon,” she says.
I’m torn between stress and excitement because I know she’s married. Either way, she’s conditioned me. As a foot fetishist, I can’t or won’t refuse her anything anymore.
Digression: I’ve been writing for nearly an hour now, and I can feel seminal fluid leaking from my pennis.
To be continued…
