As some of you know, I became a foot fetish mistress because of the $250 per hour I charge but also because my husband agreed to it only if I share the stories with him.

I am laying on the sofa presently with my feet on my husband Phil’s lap. He has a raging hard-on in anticipation of what I may tell him. All he knows is that I met a woman who contacted me about giving her foot fetish boyfriend the wonderful 10th anniversary gift of my feet.

“Why didn’t she give him a footjob or something herself?,” asked Phil as he was caressing my size 6 bare feet, while gently - and slightly ticklishly - slipping his index finger between my pretty white polished toes.

She told me in the email that she had terribly ugly feet, like a size 11 and hated to have them touched. Their marriage has been difficult on him and they agreed if they lasted 10 years that he could have anything he wanted. Coming upon 10 years, she got out the computer and along with her husband chose a pair of feet that matched his taste - mine.

“So he likes small feet with little staircase toes, huh?,” said Phil, lifting my right foot up to his longing lips and kissing each of my toes from baby to big.

So begins my story of meeting up with the wife at one of the nicer restaurants in town.

“Yeah, I found it odd that you didn’t just finish the transaction when her husband was ready to have his way with your feet,” Phil interjected.

Well, there’s a reason for that, I said. But remember she told me she would buy me a magnificent dinner while we talked details. She assured me if I didn’t agree to his demands with my feet then I could leave the money on the table and would at least have a great meal.

“Oh, right,” said Phil as he began motioning to me to wiggle my toes against his manhood while he kissed and nibbled across the arch on the other foot.

So I arrived on time at Edwards, a new restaurant in the city that I had heard a great deal about. There were many people waiting for a table at the door but I was just told to tell the greeter that I was with Rona and they whisked me off to a darkened and private area of the restaurant.

Long white cloths adorned each table, including the one where Rona had been sitting while waiting for me. As I arrived and introduced myself, Rona stood and shook my hand gently. She was a large woman, so no wonder she had giant feet that repelled her husband. She was probably six feet tall, with short hair and big bones. She was dressed rather blandly, frumpishly you could say. Her hand engulfed mine as we shook before we both took our seats.

We had a nice wide table for two but the half booth we were in had seats very close to our table. Even though quite petite, I felt a little enclosed, while Rona’s stomach was only a few inches from her end of the plate. She must have been wearing a sports bra because while my breasts leaned over the table, hers were flatter than her abdomen.

“What were you wearing that evening?,” Phil asked. I could feel his cock getting harder as I described my white blouse, pencil skirt, nude nylons and black open toe heels. Yes my toenails were as white as they are today with Phil nibbling on them.

There was a lot of small talk before we ate dinner, but nothing to do with the reason we were meeting. I ordered a shrimp salad, and Rona dined on a rib steak and baked potato. The closeness of our booth seats to our table was noticeable as Rona’s large shoes kept bumping into my little 4 inch heels.

Sorry she would say, but she must not have had room to move them. I slipped my feet aside for a while but when it kept happening I just left her shoes touching against mine. This would carry on until the meal was done. After our plates were taken away, Rona pulled out an envelope and placed it in the middle of the table. It was understood that there was $250 cash inside.

“Is that for me?,” I asked her, sarcastically.

“That all depends,” she said as her large calves enclosed around my legs under the table… squeezing my calves together and pulling my feet towards her.

“I have to check out the goods,” Rona said, “and since I can’t very well see them right now I would like to feel them to make sure your toes are proportionate the way my husband appreciates, and that they are the size you say they are. Most importantly, I want to make sure they are soft and smooth. I have very strict instructions.”

Phil, literally let go of the foot he was kissing while I continued the story, and it fell to his lap where my other foot was lightly caressing his boner. He looked at me and said, “wow that was unexpected.”

I know, I told him. As my feet slid forward towards Rona, my eyes literally opened in surprise and my jaw dropped open. She turned her leg to help hoist both of my feet up and then reached under the table with both hands to grab my ankles.

“So both of your feet were between her legs?,” asked Phil. “That’s bold in the middle of a restaurant.”

No, I told you there were long white tablecloths, that’s why she couldn’t check out my feet I presume.

Anyway I could feel her fingers running across my hose toes in her lap, and feeling all the straps. Her large hands slip across the outsides of both feet and I could feel her grasping the open backs on both nylon heels.

So what do you think?, I asked her, shyly. I mean, girls are more touchy feely to each other than guys but this was ridiculous.

“Well they do seem impossibly small, and yes very soft. Even your heels are smooth,” Rona said. “I like that. I mean, my hubby will like that.”

As she reached for the envelope I began pulling my feet back, but with her other hand she held them in place between her legs on her seat.

“Leave them right there, would you please.”

I just shook my head a little, being very obedient to the giant woman.

“This money is for you. Take it, count it.”

As I opened the envelope I would feel her hands roaming across both of my shoes again, and this time she was unlatching the strap on my left heel.

Yes, it all seems to be there I said to Rona but when I looked up I could see she was biting her bottom lip and had her eyes closed while she removed my left shoe.

Rona… Rona…

“Yes dear, she said, not even looking up. “Was all the money there?”

I didn’t count it all, should I?

“Yes she said,” opening her eyes. “My husband put the money in there and he’s quite cheap.”

Okay I said, pulling the bills out. All $20s and a $10. 1,2,3,,4, $100, I counted while my other shoe was pulled off my foot and my count was interrupted by the sounds of both high heels hitting the floor beneath Rona’s seat.

$20, $40, $60, $80, $200

There was $50 remaining in my hands when I looked up again to see Rona pushing the tablecloth over the tops of my feet so that she could get a better look at them. She turned her head sideways and with one hand pushed both of my feet into her crotch.

“Is it all there,” she asked in a quiet dreamy way, like she was half asleep. Her shoulders rotated in a sensual way as my hose toes were squeezed against her pant suit.

“I have a confession,” Rona said, leaning in quietly.

“Oh, my gawd,” Phil busted in. Her and her husband want to share your feet?” He grabbed his cock in one hand and began jacking off looking at my feet as I continued the story.

What’s your confession?, I asked Rona, as she gained control of my feet - one of her large hands on top of each of my little feet, pushing them downward until my toes were squeezed against her crotch.

“I am not married.”

“I am a bull dyke and I saw your feet online and just had to have them. The $250 is for you and I want you to pleasure me now while we sit here sipping coffee after our meal.

No, I don’t think so, I though, feeling a little deceived.

“Michelle, nobody will suspect a thing and you will be able to leave in just a few minutes.”

Rona squeezed my ankles, “You have your money. I want to enjoy your perfect feet now. Start wiggling your toes against my clit, my dear,” she whispered.

Although I didn’t move my feet, I could feel her hands on the toes of my right foot. She stretched the nylon up and pierced the fabric with her nails. Putting a finger on either side of the hole she pulled the fabric apart.

I must have looked in complete shock as I could feel the air catch my bare toes.

She leaned in, “Now start wiggling those bare naked toes on my snatch.”

Phil exploded into a ball of tissues he brought to the sofa with him, just in case. “Oh, gawd, oh fuckkkkk, oh my gawd, holy fuck,” screamed Phil as his face contorted with each pulsation.

Should I continue?, I asked him.

“Fuck yeah,” he said, as he bent over in exhaustion.

I glanced at the money in the envelope and then with my right toes began gently pressing them against her crotch. Rona slid forward in her seat so that there was more friction.

She closed her eyes as she pierced the pantyhose on my left foot and pulled open a hole in them just large enough for five little toes. She rolled down the nylon so that my toes were completely available to her and with her right hand began fondling my little toes, one at a time and then in between each toe.

Her left hand guided the toes on my right foot to the exact place her clit was located and I began circling the spot with my toes, as commanded. She reached down to my heel and pushed my foot toward her crotch more solidly.

Rona’s eyes closed as she cupped the heel of my right foot now, encouraging me to use all my toes against her crotch, which felt massive to my little feet.

She pulled both feet towards where her cunt is, while I looked around the restaurant to see if anyone noticed what was going on. Rona was now slowly gyrating her crotch and you could see her shoulders pumping forward and back as she rhythmically was fucking my little feet.

Nobody seemed to be noticing, and there was no waitress or waiter in sight.

I placed my right foot on her clit area, and the other between her legs under her pussy. I was catching on quite well, working both areas of her crotch at the same time.

Rona leaned forward toward me, pushing my feet against her even more and whispered, “Michelle, your feet are even more beautiful than I had ever imagined.”

“Ummmm, ummmmm, ummmmm, ummmmm…” Rona grunted under her breath as she began an orgasm in the middle of the restaurant. Then she went quiet and released my feet.

“Fuck Baby,” Phil shouted out. “That was so fucking hot. You have the curse. I mean everyone seems to want your feet. I mean, fuck.”

Yes it is starting to appear that way, I said.

As I was about to pull my feet back and look for my heels, Rona raised her hand ever so slightly.

“Wait.”

She leaned sideways and lifted the table skirt so that she could see where my high heels were. But as she reached for them I could feel her lips pressing against my bare toes. She hesitated for a moment as she began to kiss them under the table.

A few seconds later she appeared with both of my heels.

“Allow me,” Rona insisted, as she reached down and slipped both of my shoes back on and gently fastened the straps.

“Are you ready to go?,” she asked, counting out another $150 cash and leaving it beside her plate to pay for our food and service.

Ah..., yes, I said. As we walked through the restaurant towards our individual vehicles I looked down at my bare toes and ragged and ripped hose sticking oddly out of the sides between the toe straps. Embarrassed, I hoped nobody noticed.