Foot fetish experience with a female colleague

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

I'm 26 years old and work for a commercial company. My job is relatively easy, and my income is decent, which has led to the women in my workplace being very particular about their appearance and beauty. My colleague who sits across from me at the same desk is one such woman.
She's 33 years old, 1.65 meters tall, with a beautiful face, fair skin, a full bust, and
long, beautiful legs. A former member of the provincial table tennis team, she still maintains a well-proportioned figure. It's hard to imagine that such a beautiful woman has been divorced for four years. She loves to dress up and wears high heels all year round, always wearing stockings, no matter how hot or cold the weather. Sometimes I ask her, "Aren't you hot wearing stockings in this heat?" She replies that wearing stockings with high heels is a must; it's a basic requirement. Wearing high heels barefoot easily makes one look tacky and old-fashioned.
She only likes wearing high heels because it helps her straighten her back and prevents her from becoming hunched over when she gets older. In the department, she loved chatting with me the most, often asking if my clothes looked good or if my perm looked pretty. For some reason, whenever we went out or walked home, she always liked to link arms with me. My colleagues laughed at her, saying she liked walking with handsome young men, which made me feel embarrassed, but she didn't care, saying she treated me like a younger brother and linking arms was fine. Since she wasn't bothered, I accepted it.
That day, I drove the department manager and her out on business, and when we got back it was almost lunchtime. The manager got out and left first, but she sat in the back without moving. I thought she was being petulant again and needed me to open the door for her. Fine, I'll open it then, and I'll be a gentleman. I went over, opened the back door, and said to her, "Ms. Wu, please get out." She smiled at me but didn't make a move to get out. I panicked. What time was it? I was starving! So I said irritably, "Aren't you hungry? I'm about to die!" She still smiled sweetly and gently pointed under the seat in front of her, saying, "My hair clip fell under the seat when I was getting my hair done. Can you get it for me, sweetie?"
Here we go again. What I can't stand most is when she starts acting all cutesy when she wants someone to do something for her. Oh well, considering how often I used to steal glances at her beautiful feet, I'll pick it up. I bent down and reached under the seat to feel for the hair clip, when suddenly my eyes lit up—a foot wearing flesh-colored stockings and black high heels was right in front of me. The thin stockings shimmered on the rounded instep, and a little bit of the toes peeked out from the top of the high heels. The delicate veins on the white foot were visible through the stockings. It was just too perfect. My hand had already touched the hair clip, but I completely forgot to take it out. Her foot slowly rose, getting closer and closer to my face, lightly touching the tip of my nose before letting out a soft laugh. I looked up at her, and she smiled back, saying, "Did you find it? Why are you blushing?" Only then did I realize my face was burning. I stammered, "No. I didn't. Here, your hair clip." I stood up, handing her the hair clip, watching the foot that had just made me so infatuated slowly step through the car door, gently touching the ground. The high heel made a soft "click" sound, a melody no musical instrument could ever produce. I shook my head, trying to clear my head, silently telling myself it was just a dream. "Come on. Let's eat. You were saying you were hungry earlier." She had already closed the car door, casually taking my arm as we walked towards the restaurant, while I remained immersed in my dream.
After dinner, we returned to the office. I continued organizing my files, while she sat opposite me, beginning to put on makeup. Damn it, it was just a touch, how could I be so captivated? I was completely distracted from organizing the documents, my eyes constantly glancing at her feet. She was putting on makeup in front of the mirror, oblivious to my staring at her feet. She crossed her legs, her right toe lightly hooking her high heel, the shoe swaying back and forth with her foot, her rosy heel peeking out intermittently. A cotton swab fell beside her feet. "Oops! It fell again! Help me pick it up." Looking into her beautiful eyes, I dazedly squatted down. Just as my hand touched the cotton swab, her high heel fell off with a "thud," and then a beautiful, stockinged foot landed on the back of my hand. This wasn't a dream! The foot was beautifully shaped, its five toes like five pearls, arranged in a pleasing, staggered pattern. The slightly arched foot resembled a sleeping dove, lying quietly on the back of my hand. A faint, delicate fragrance wafted from her foot. Looking at her incredibly beautiful foot, smelling the fresh, elegant scent, my other hand inexplicably reached out and touched it. My palm touched a silk-stockinged foot, round and smooth. The owner of the foot seemed quite pleased with the caress; five glistening toes undulated like waves. Even the sleeping pigeon slowly awoke, its toes gently sliding across my hand. I was incredibly excited, lowering my head to caress this rare beauty with my lips. Suddenly, the foot swiftly slipped back into its shoe. I snapped back to reality, hastily standing up, unsure how to face her.
After a brief silence, she broke the ice, saying, "There are people in the office. You've got some nerve." Her words made me utterly ashamed; I wanted to disappear into the ground. After a soft laugh, she continued, "Sit down, I'll tell you a story, okay?" I sat back down and listened to her recount something unbelievable. Apparently, when she was on the provincial table tennis team, her skills were superb; even some male players couldn't beat her. One evening, everyone had finished practicing and returned to their dorms, but she was still practicing alone. A new male team member approached and challenged her to a match, which she won, of course. The male team member was unconvinced and insisted on another game. It was already late, and she had practiced all day and wanted to rest, so she ignored him and turned to leave. Suddenly, the male team member rushed up from behind, wrapped his arms around her waist, and then tried to kiss the back of her neck. She was only 18 years old then, in the prime of her youth, and the most beautiful girl on the table tennis team. This newcomer had been eyeing her since joining the team. After a brief moment of panic, she remembered some self-defense knowledge she had learned. She grabbed the man's hands and stomped on his instep. The man was clearly unprepared, and in pain, he released her, clutching his foot and screaming. She turned around and kicked him, sending him crashing to the ground. His eyes flashed with malice as he tried to get up. She rushed forward, bent down, lifted the man's legs, spread them apart, and raised her right foot to stomp on his crotch. She was wearing sneakers with soft soles, and being a girl, she was soft-hearted and didn't stomp hard. The first step felt like stepping on a flashlight. Inexperienced, she had no idea what the changes in a man's body meant. She saw that although the man was being stepped on, his face showed pain, but also a hint of excitement. For a moment, she didn't know what to do, so she just stood there dumbly, her foot pressing against the man's crotch, but the sensation under her foot grew stronger and stronger. His groin was right under her foot, and even through his pants and shoes, he could still feel the scent of a young girl. His desire began to swell, and he couldn't help but reach out and pinch her ankle, slowly pushing and rubbing it against his pants, his groin growing increasingly erect. She let the man grab her foot, the sole of his shoe pressing against her bulging toe, giving her a strange sensation. She glanced down at the man on the ground and saw that the pain on his face had vanished, replaced by ecstasy. Terrified, she pulled her foot away forcefully and ran out, her last glance catching a glimpse of his already wet trousers. Back in her dormitory, she couldn't calm down; her heart pounded. For some reason, the man's ecstatic expression kept replaying in her mind, and she even wanted to try that feeling again… A few days later, the affair was exposed, and the man was brought to justice. Before leaving, he looked at her beautiful face and said something she would never forget: "Your feet can take me to heaven!" After leaving the team and starting work, she transformed from an athletic girl into a beautiful white-collar worker. High heels replaced sneakers, stockings replaced socks, and she exuded a mature and sexy femininity. She discovered that besides her pretty face, people also noticed her feet. Even after all these years, those words remained indelible in her heart.
At this point, she smiled at me and asked, "Do you think my feet are pretty?" I didn't dare answer, lowering my head and remaining silent. She stretched her feet out in front of me and continued, "These feet, countless men have secretly glanced at them, and you're one of them, right?" I was shocked; she already knew I was peeking at her feet! She chuckled softly, "What's wrong? Your face is red again! I'm very confident in my feet! If you like looking, you can look as much as you want. Hehe." I couldn't control myself any longer, squatting down to touch her feet. She gently kicked me, "Silly boy, get up. There's someone here. We're working overtime tomorrow, I'll tell you a story then." That night, I savored the faint scent of her perfume and her delicate stockings, tossing and turning, unable to sleep…
The next day was a weekend, and according to regulations, the department had to have someone on duty in case of emergencies. This week it was her and me on duty; the room was empty, only the two of us. Today, she wore her long, black hair loose, a white shirt with the collar slightly open, a small red tie subtly revealing her deep cleavage. She wore black skinny jeans, making her legs appear even longer and more alluring. On her feet were black high heels, and her pale purple stockings shimmered silver under the lights. Truly, "such beauty should only exist in heaven, rarely seen on earth."
I gazed at her sweet smile, forgetting time, forgetting to breathe, forgetting myself. She drew the curtains, sat on the sofa, and said with a smile, "Come and get a chair! My feet are so sore, can you massage them for me? Be good." I obediently brought a chair and sat down opposite her. She slowly took her left foot out of her high heel and placed it on my knee. The distinctive scent of L'Oréal perfume wafted from her stockinged foot; she had even sprayed perfume on her feet. I grabbed her soft, boneless foot, took a deep breath, and couldn't help but kiss the instep of her foot. The silk-stockinged instep felt delicate and supple against my lips. I kissed from the instep to the ankle, then from the ankle to the sole, finally enveloping her delicate, silk-stockinged toes. She gasped softly, pulling her foot back slightly; I had been too hasty and had bitten her toes. I quickly soothed her by licking her five toes with my tongue. She laughed and tapped my crotch with her right foot, clad in a high heel, scolding, "Why are you hitting so hard? Trying to bite off my toes? So clumsy!" My crotch was slightly deformed by her high heel before slowly returning to its original shape, leaving a small shoe print. Looking at the mark she had left on my crotch, with her silk-stockinged foot in my mouth, I felt a surge of excitement, and my lower body began to stir. She noticed my change, took off her right high heel, and gently rubbed her toes against my already swollen crotch. The rustling sound of her stockings rubbing against my pants aroused me even more. I passionately sucked on her stockinged toes, spreading my legs to receive the caresses of her other stockinged foot. My lower body grew hotter and hotter, while she panted softly. Soon, my pants were bulging like a small mountain from my erect penis. At her prompting, I took off my pants, leaving only my underwear binding my throbbing erection. She placed her left foot on my groin and her right foot, through my underwear, on my protruding penis, slowly rubbing it. A wave of pleasure washed over me. I stroked her smooth stockinged instep with both hands, breathing deeply. After a brief rubbing, my underwear was already wet. She spread her legs and slipped them under the bottom of my underwear, slowly moving them upwards, sticking her toes out of the waistband, hooking the underwear and pulling it down. My already erect penis was freed from its last restraint, swaying in the air. At this moment, the glans was already glistening with precum. She withdrew her foot, smiling at me. In the throes of passion, I couldn't bear this torment. I looked at her beautiful face with almost pleading eyes. She asked, "Does it feel good when I do this to you?" "Of course it feels good, so good. Please continue, okay?" She smiled, "Sure, but you have to promise me one thing." At this moment, I would agree to ten or a hundred things without hesitation, let alone one. I nodded. She said, "You can't tell anyone else about this, and you have to cooperate whenever I want to do it. Okay?" This wasn't a condition; it was my heartfelt wish! I couldn't be more eager. I nodded emphatically. "Okay. Good girl. Lie down." I pushed the chair back and lay across her feet. She placed her feet on my toes again, slowly massaging them. "Do you know why I asked you this?" "No." "Listen to me. After I told you, after I stepped on that man's genitals, I started to like the feeling of stepping on a man's genitals. I like watching the symbol of manhood harden under my feet, I like watching men look on with ecstasy at my feet. Later, I went for a foot massage, and the masseuse's fingers felt exactly like stepping on a man's genitals. I wanted to combine the two, satisfying my urge to step on men while also getting a foot massage. I went home and experimented on my ex-husband, and it really worked! But after a while, he didn't want me to do it anymore. He cursed at me, called me a pervert, and I couldn't help but divorce him. I... am I really a pervert?" As she spoke, she began to sob softly, and her footwork stopped. While I cursed her idiot ex-husband inwardly for not enjoying such good fortune, I stroked her feet and comforted her, "No. This isn't perverted. You know, there are some people in the world who like to be trampled on by women, who like women to step on their genitals. I'm one of them. Your feet can take me to heaven!" I deliberately used what that man had said to her. This sentence really had a great effect on her. She looked at me, her beautiful eyes still glistening with tears, making her look even more pitiful. "Really? Do you like my feet?" she asked. "Yes! I like your feet. I'll be with you anytime you want." After receiving my affirmative answer, she smiled through her tears and started moving her feet again. Her technique was excellent, and her feet were very strong. When she used her feet to clamp my groin and made piston-like movements, I finally couldn't hold back anymore, and white semen spurted from the head of my penis, splashing onto her stockinged instep, soaking a large area of her stockings. She scolded, "Oh dear! You silly boy! Look what you've done to my stockings!" I apologetically put on my pants and said, "I'm sorry. Why don't you take off these stockings and give them to me, and I'll buy you a new pair." She laughed and tapped my head with her finger, "You silly boy, who wants you to pay for them! Here you go. Be careful next time, or I won't do it for you anymore." I retorted, "If you don't do it for me, what about your 'stepping on people' feeling, your foot massage? Where will I find that?" "Are you kidding me!" She put on her high heels, threw the stockings she'd taken off at me, and started chasing me. I laughed and ran away.
From that time on, she would ask me to do it whenever she had free time. We grew bolder and bolder, to the point that she would even secretly step on me a few times while everyone was at work, then casually withdraw her foot and go back to work. Spring turned to autumn, and we had been happily like this for half a year. Autumn is the best season for women to show off their stockinged feet. On the streets, all sorts of stockinged feet come and go in a hurry, leaving a lingering scent on the ground they've trod. And I, too, had the chance to savor her ever-changing stockinged feet during this golden autumn season. She was proud of her stunning legs, so she invested heavily in adorning them—purple, blue, green, red, pink, white, black—she could pull out several pairs of stockings in almost every color, including many highly provocative styles such as leopard print, lace, gold thread, and glossy. I feasted my eyes and thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle.
That day, she walked into the office with a radiant smile, instantly breaking the office's gloomy atmosphere with her beautiful appearance. She wore a light green dress with a pink chiffon shawl draped over her shoulders, white stockings outlining her long, straight legs, and pink open-toed high heels, her rosy toes peeking out from the tips of her shoes. Her purple-streaked curly hair, fair arms, and slender waist exuded youthful energy; she didn't look like she was over 30 at all. I joked, "What's up? What good news? Tell us!" She pulled a small black booklet from her handbag, held it up above her head like a little girl, and exclaimed, "I got my driver's license! I just bought a really cool car!" I pointed to her high heels and said, "My goodness. You drive in those shoes?" She excitedly replied, "Yes! Why can't I drive in high heels?" I shook my head: "Sigh. Another road menace. I wonder how much our dear Miss Wu spent." She's undeniably beautiful, a true stunner, but sometimes she's a bit dim-witted. Maybe it's true what they say, "Beautiful women have no brains, embroidered..." "Flower pillow, straw core," she said smugly, completely misunderstanding my meaning. "It didn't cost much. Around 200,000." Looking at her beautiful, happy face, I wanted to tease her, so I said, word by word, "Sorry, I think you misunderstood. I was asking how much you paid for your driver's license." She paused, then finally realized what I meant. She walked up to me, pinched my arm, and scolded, "You want to die?! What do you mean, 'bought'?! I got it myself!" Just as I was about to continue teasing her, she suddenly grabbed my arm and said, "Oh, right. There's something I don't understand. DouDou, you're here, come teach me." Without waiting for my reply, she practically dragged me outside.
It was indeed a beautiful car, all red with a glossy paint job. Looking at the model, I realized it was a popular Ford "T" sports car. Her dad owned a decoration company; buying a sports car was a piece of cake for him. She walked to the car, placed her hand on the hood, leaned against the door, turned to look at me, and said with a smile, "Look. Isn't it beautiful!" A beautiful woman in a luxury car—I watched her from afar, thinking to myself that such a stunning woman was wasted not being a model. I said to her, "Wait a minute, I'll go get my camera and take a picture." I went back to my office, took out my camera, focused, and shouted, "Ready? I'm going to shoot!" She cooperated perfectly, her lips slightly upturned, her eyes sparkling, her skin as white as snow, her waist as slender as a willow. I pressed the shutter, and she smiled and came over, taking my arm: "Come on. Get in the car, I'll take you for a spin." We got in and sat down, she released the handbrake, and started the car. Her movements were still a bit clumsy, and she drove very slowly, honking the horn incessantly the whole way. Every time another car passed her, she would mutter, "These people, really, why do they have to overtake? Can't they just drive slowly?" I laughed uncontrollably beside her, "My dear lady, at your speed, I could overtake you even walking." She angrily pulled over to the side of the road, saying, "I'm not driving anymore, I'm so angry. You drive, let's see how you drive." I got out of the car, opened the door for her, and started the car after she sat in the passenger seat. As soon as she got in, she started bombarding me with questions: when to accelerate, when to slow down, when to shift gears—she was a walking encyclopedia of questions. While answering her endless stream of questions, I drove, when suddenly I felt something moving between my legs. I glanced over, and that glance almost made me slam on the brakes. It turned out she had taken off her high heels, leaned against the car door, and placed her pair of white, stockinged feet on my crotch, rubbing them against me. Although it wasn't the first time she'd done this with me, I was driving! I cried out, "What are you doing? I'm driving, Miss!" She chuckled, "You drive your car, what's it to you?" Helpless, I had no choice but to keep driving. Her feet became increasingly brazen against my lower body, sometimes teasing my testicles with her toes, sometimes stroking my inner thighs with the soles of her feet, and my erection returned. Seeing the change in my lower body, she giggled, "Starting the massage, you'd better concentrate on driving." I smiled wryly, "Sigh, how can I concentrate on driving?" Ignoring her, she unzipped my pants, and I freed my right hand to pull out my already erect penis. Her warm, stockinged feet clamped my penis between her left and right feet, and she began to slowly rub it.
A tingling sensation spread from my lower body. I gripped the steering wheel, smelled the new car's aroma and the perfume on her feet, and felt the warmth emanating from her stockinged feet. Several stimuli converged into an electric current, rushing straight to my brain. I slowed down and drove cautiously to the side of the road. Fortunately, there weren't many cars or pedestrians on the road, and her car had tinted windows, so no one could see inside from the outside. She held my penis with her left foot, making it upright, and rubbed the sole of her right foot against my glans. After a while, she switched feet. She repeated this several times, and then I heard her chuckle softly, "Hehe, what's that shiny stuff coming out up there?" My glans was already glistening with lubrication from the friction of her soft, warm, stockinged feet. She continued, "Enough with the soles, now it's time for the toes. Focus on driving, don't look down there." With that, she held my penis upright with one foot, while the toes of her other foot slid over my glans. I trembled with arousal from those alluring stockinged feet. Her stockinged toes intensely stimulated my glans, and I felt my breathing become heavy. "I can't take it anymore," I said. "Let's just stop the car. I can't drive anymore." She agreed. I parked the car in a back alley, leaned against the door, and sat facing her, spreading my legs to welcome her stockinged feet. She pointed at my glans and said, "Look at your little brother, he's so useless, he's already wet after just a short while." I looked down and saw her delicate, jade-like stockinged feet pressing on my groin, her toes gently rubbing against my urethra. The precum at my urethra clung to her stockinged toes, stretched into a glistening thread. My breathing grew heavier and heavier. Seeing my expression, she said, "Hmm. It's about time we came out. We have to go back to work." With that, she used her left foot to support my lower abdomen behind my groin, and her right foot to press against the front of my groin, trapping my groin between the instep and sole of her foot, and began to massage it up and down. Her powerful foot pressed down harder and harder on my penis, her left toes hooking around my glans and undulating like waves. The smooth feel of her stockings and the warm, soft sole of her foot slowly pushed me towards the peak of passion. I panted, "Faster...faster...I'm going to squirt!" She giggled and increased the speed of her footwork, the stockinged foot rubbing against my hair making a hissing sound. I clenched my fists, my brain was extremely congested, I groaned, my lower abdomen contracted strongly, my penis throbbed, and finally I ejaculated. To avoid soiling her new car, she quickly pressed my glans down with the sole of her right foot, pulled her left foot out, and continued to massage my penis with the toes of her left foot. Not a drop of my thick, white semen squirted onto the sole of her white stockinged foot. After I finished #spraying# and leaned weakly against the seat, she released her foot, looked at the sole, and held it out to me: "Look at you, you've dirtied my stockings again. How awful!" Watching my "creatures" stick to the sole of her perfect stockinged foot, slowly sliding down from toe to arch to heel, I was incredibly excited. I quickly helped her take off the stockings, wrapped them up in a ball, and chuckled. She took a new pair of white stockings from her handbag and put them on (she had come prepared). She said to me, "You've worked hard too, take a rest. I'll drive, let's go home."
As she led me back to the office, my colleagues bombarded me with questions: "How was it? Was the car beautiful?" I smiled and said, "Very beautiful, it felt great!" Then we smiled at each other. Just then, the department manager walked over: "You two are quite bold!" We were both startled. Had the manager discovered something? The manager continued, "Why are you out practicing driving during work hours? Get back to work now, or I'll dock your bonus." She stuck her tongue out at the manager, winked at me, and went back to her seat to work.
The good times didn't last long. Her father opened a new branch company in another city and needed extra staff, so he asked her to take charge. I had already anticipated this day. The day before she left, I asked her out to see her off. That night, she drank a lot, and I drove her home. When we arrived at her house, she got out of the car. I parked her car in the garage and came out to find her still standing at the door, holding a photo and handing it to me. I looked at it and saw it was the photo I had taken of her that day—the beautiful woman in the luxury car. She said, "I'm leaving tomorrow, and I won't be back much longer. Here's a photo for you as a keepsake." I smiled at her, "I don't have anything nice to give you. But please remember, in your hometown, there's a beauty consultant and a 'foot massager' for you." She chuckled and tapped my head with her finger, "Little rascal. I have your phone number. I'll call you when I come back. Don't turn it off or change your number then." I mimicked her tone and replied, "Why would I change my number? That would be crazy!" She smiled and waved, "It's getting late, go home and rest. Bye." I said goodbye, went home, and treasured that photo forever, making it an unforgettable memory.

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