Foot Fetish Books Novels & Stories

Nyla’s POV I'm drawing a pentagram on my apartment floor with sidewalk chalk at midnight on a Tuesday because apparently this is what my life has come to. There’s a leather-bound book open beside me, old, as if it survived the Victorian era. I found it at an estate sale last weekend, buried under a box of porcelain cats, which feels like the universe burying a loaded gun inside a Build-A-Bear. It was quite an… interetsing book. The chapter I keep returning to shows a naked woman arched on her back on the floor, with a demon-man like being, with extra limbs, and an abnormally huge-sized cock burried inside her pussy.

and trying to close her legs. But I didn’t stop. I pushed her panties aside and slid one finger along her slick folds, finding her clit and rubbing it in slow, gentle circles. She gasped, her book dropping to the floor with a soft thud. I kept going, teasing her until her hips started twitching. Then I eased one finger inside her tight, dripping pussy, curling it just right while my thumb kept working her clit.

I needed to atone for my misdeeds when it came to Ana. My eyes roamed her body. I couldn't see her sweet pu8ssy because of the way she had turned her legs, but her tits were high and perky. Her smooth skin and tiny poochy belly, all mine. Jealousy swirled in my mind that others had seen her like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this. I thought of other ways to restrain her. I needed a refresher course with Ethan on Shibari. I wanted to tie each thigh to their corresponding calf and add a cli8t vibrator to force orgasms from her. I wanted to swing her from the ceiling while I fu8cked her and listened to her screams. I didn't want her to remember her other disappointing encounters. I wanted

He pushed me down, my knees hitting the plush carpet. The desk loomed behind him, papers scattered. I fumbled with his belt, zipper rasping down. His cock sprang free, heavy, veined monster, nine inches at least, thick as my wrist, head purple and leaking pre-cum. It bobbed, slapping my cheek with a wet smack, the salty bead smearing my skin. "Fuck, it's huge," I breathed, hand wrapping around the base—couldn't even close my fingers. Veins pulsed hot under my palm, skin velvet over steel.

"Please take me with your feet, Mackenzie! They're so beautiful and strong, so long and hot. I can't deny it, I want your feet more than anything. Please fuck me with your perfect feet!" "Grab my legs," she commanded urgently. My hands grasped her steely calves and I saw her lips curl into a smile. Then her feet and toes began to move, slowly at first, then faster. I could feel the sinews of her leg muscles working in intricate concert, moving her feet with practiced precision. I imagined her on a basketball court, her shoes dancing and squeaking, mastering her footwork, becoming the best she could be. I thought of her pouring the same energy into developing her sexual prowess and skill. I c

Smelly socks worn by some very petite feet. Racheal had given over to my foot fetish a few times. Let me lick or kiss them while I jerked off or fucked her, but she never quite seemed to enjoy the worship as much as me. I appreciated her allowing me to indulge, but there wasn't much beyond that. She was rather vanilla, I was a closeted deviant. How I wished she would leave her socks out for me to jerk off while she was gone... But alas, she didn't.

In my pursuit of excitement, I lay on the bed with my legs open, frantically pleasuring myself in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. Through the dark glass, I could see a strong man on the balcony opposite staring at my body intently. This extreme taboo made my scalp numb, and I grew increasingly depraved. I tried my best to arch my back as I became a shameless, irrational, and thrill-seeking tart. My name was Layla Terra, and I was a dance student.

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It didn’t look very fancy. Before she clicked the TV off she took one last tour of the room, looking at it with new eyes, seeing the hints of Jacob’s fetish on display here and there. The glint of steel she’d seen when the door opened were solid metal rings set into the four poster bed at odd intervals, giving someone many choices for where to tie a young blonde babysitter up before spreading her ass and plunging their cock into it like they owned it.

I just expected him to fuck me while he did it like the true animal he is. I throw the dusting rag on my bed, only to watch it snag on the edge of a big black decorative box. Oh. Oh no, not again. Praying, even though I’m not stupid enough to have genuine hope, I flip back the lid on the box and find a silk dress, which won’t cover anything at all. Underneath is a black thong, a white paper bag of makeup, and a pair of black strappy high heels. The man has a fetish for ridiculous shoes that hurt my feet. Hasn’t he ever heard of sensible flats?