College Fantasy With My Friend Ashley, Part 1 - A Great Feet Foot Fetish Story Publication at www.greatfeet.com

Since I was a little girl, I have loved other girls’ bare feet. I often found myself searching for the perfect foot among my friends and schoolmates as well as in movies, TV, and magazines. I never admitted to myself that my feelings were sexual even though I enjoyed rubbing other girls’ feet more than making out with guys. A LOT more! To top it all off, back at home I was the all Italian-American girl. I mean, imagine how embarrassing it would be for my devoutly religious family if they ever found out that I liked girls, and especially their feet? Couldn’t do it. I buried it deep.

In college, however, I met Ashley and woke up. She lived across the hall from my boyfriend, and I immediately noticed her checking me out. She was openly gay and had a girlfriend, so I wasn’t threatened. We became friends and jokingly flirted with each other sometimes. I think she was the reason I stayed with my boyfriend for so long!

As soon as I saw her bare feet, I couldn’t get them out of my mind. They were the ideal that I had been secretly looking for all my life. In retrospect, it was love at first sight.

Her feet were perfect size six with perfect toes and perfect arches and perfect skin. Did I mention that they were perfect? She took good care of them and never walked around on the filthy dorm room carpets in bare feet, but she took her sandals or socks off whenever possible. She always kept her nails well cared for. The polish was never chipped and she often wore toe rings. It intrigued me to no end that her feet looked so feminine while she wore no makeup or jewelry anywhere else on her body.

I tried to keep my distance, but eventually I gave in and gave her a foot rub. My heart began pounding when I asked her if she wanted one. She seemed to know something was up because she extended her feet into my lap slowly and deliberately with pointed toes and a confident smirk.

She told me that her feet were her best feature. She told me that her feet were ticklish, but that she loved having them touched. She told me that her girlfriend didn’t like to give her foot massages. She complimented me on how well I did it and asked how I got to be “so good with feet.” She’d ask me my opinions on her nail color or toe rings or sandals, or if she should where socks when we went somewhere together. She’d crash on her bed after getting home and ask me to take her shoes and socks off for her before I left. She was relentless. It was her way of testing me, and she seemed to enjoy watching me squirm.

I never argued. My eagerness was embarrassingly uncontrollable. When she’d ask me to take her socks off, or when she’d giggle & squirm when I touched her feet in a way that tickled, I blushed like a new bride. She knew exactly how to make me hot and bothered, and it took every ounce of guilt and will power for me to deny what was happening.

Under the spell of her perfect feet, I found myself confessing how bored I was with my boyfriend and my sex life. I guess it was my way of telling her to continue with the relentless teasing because it was the most exciting relationship I had ever had.

My mind reeled, wondering if she was messing with me or making a drunken pass. I wasn’t prepared for it, and I found myself looking down at her feet for strength. She had socks on to keep them clean as usual, but the shape of her high arches and cute toes couldn’t be hidden from someone who thought about them constantly.

Jokingly, I leaned in and whispered breathily in her ear, “Come with me to my room and I’ll massage your feet as long as you want.”

She called my bluff, and the next thing I knew we were running off to my building, my heart pounding with excitement as I snuck off into the night for a secret foot massage. Her socks got wet outside, and she made a point to tell me about it.

I dropped to my knees, maybe to call her bluff, maybe to show her that I cared, or maybe just because I wanted to get her socks off more than anything in the world. I reached up under her pant cuff and began pulling her sock down.

“Not… not here,” she said excitedly as she tapped my head, urgently trying to get me to stop pulling her sock off in public.

She pointed them out. “Doesn’t it look like my feet are bare?” she asked, referring to how wet socks leave footprints with toes and arches outlined as if the socks weren’t there at all.

I thought she was trying to kill me. It was so sexy. I’ve always been fascinated by footprints and intrigued by the wet sock thing. My heart started pounding even harder and I heard myself say, “They’re so cute!”

My stomach tied in a knot. My body quivered. It was the first time that we were alone together behind locked doors and everything seemed to be moving too fast. I handled my fear by focusing on her feet. I knelt on the floor so her raised foot was in front of my face and with shaking hands I peeled her first sock off slowly.

“Mmmm, I love the way you take my socks off,” she said, acknowledging that it wasn’t the first time I had bared her feet sensuously.

Her toes were pointed perfectly when the sock slipped off of them. I felt myself gasp as I saw her bare, wet skin glistening in the moonlight which accentuated the curves and wrinkles of her dramatically shaped foot.

I rubbed it a little before she gave me her other foot to undress, and as I did, she rested her bare foot on my shoulder, like I was her property. Her furniture. Any normal person would have pushed it off or at least said something, but I couldn’t. I felt a little shame but the thrill was irresistible. I loved how confident she was with her feet. It meant she knew how attractive they were and how much I couldn’t resist them.

I rubbed that foot for a long time, then placed it on my shoulder to show her it was okay to put her feet on me. Then I switched to the other foot. She sighed with pleasure the whole time and repeatedly told me how good it felt. I grabbed some baby oil and rubbed it into her feet for a long time.

“How DID you get so good with FEET,” she asked after about a half an hour of lovingly massaging and caressing her oiled bare feet. She was repeating a question I never answered.

I shrugged, my mind filled with images of leather and whips and bondage. The word “fetish” felt so kinky to me, and I was afraid of it.

“I was hoping,” she whispered, but then, as if she just remembered something, she pulled her toes away quickly. “But you’re straight.”

It all began to unravel. She was forcing me to make a decision. I didn’t want to admit that I was gay, even to myself, but her beautiful toes had been caressing my face and I wanted them back! Can you imagine how fucking sexy that was?

Her foot was now extended over my head. I was IN over my head. I couldn’t say it, so my body took over and spoke for a deep part of my mind that I had refused to listen to for so many years. I looked upward into the beautiful bare sole now hovering over my face. Her toes were pointed and her skin was wrinkled as is curved around the dramatically deep arch, and in an act of total and complete surrender to that beautiful foot and the urges that it created, I brought my lips to it. Ashley gasped and then let out a sigh of approval. I was overwhelmed, shaking uncontrollably from the effects of that one simple act.

I couldn’t resist it. It felt so wild and dangerous and… right. I began kissing her bare feet all over as if I was thanking her for waking me up sexually and saving me from a life of frustration. I felt fully alive for the first time in my life! Ashley seemed equally happy, breathing heavily and silently encouraging me to make out with her feet. I was on fire.

Later I learned more about foot love, but for that first night, it was enough. After I had kissed every inch of her bare soles, I sat up and pressed my lips to hers to show her that she was more to me than two perfect feet.

“I hope so,” I replied, answering all her questions.

Webmaster's note: We will publish part two of this story after it is received.