[Fetish][Middle-aged auntie at the library]

A middle-aged woman at the library:

I don't know why, but since I was little, I've had an inexplicable fascination with beautiful feet. Even now, whenever I
see a pair of beautiful feet in front of me, I immediately feel incredibly excited. So, I often
go to a small shop on the street when I have nothing to do, buy a bottle of Coke, and sit by the roadside watching the beautiful
feet passing by, while enduring the torment of my inner desires. At these times, I often recall a deeply
unforgettable experience from the past.

I think I was just 18 years old that year, a freshman in college. From just two days after entering university, I frequently
went to the library, not because I was diligent in my studies, but because something there deeply attracted
me. You can guess what it was—a pair of beautiful feet that I can never forget.
The owner of these beautiful feet was a librarian in her thirties. She wasn't particularly beautiful, but her feet were
so captivating. When we enrolled in school in September, the weather in Guangzhou was still quite hot. So,
the first time I saw her, she was wearing a pair of white high-heeled sandals.
I was squatting on the floor, intently flipping through reference books on the lower shelf, perhaps putting them back. She
came into my view without warning, and my eyes were immediately
drawn to her feet. I could clearly see her ten round, beautiful toes squeezed into what looked like small white
high-heeled sandals, so much so that a small part of her little toe was pushed out of the shoe,
peeking out from between the straps. Perhaps she had just come from her seat; the back strap of her high heel wasn't
on her ankle, but rather under her foot. She walked like this in front of me, stopping every now and then to pick up
a book . I immediately felt my heart pounding; I think I must have looked more embarrassed than Guan Yu at that moment.

Look, right under my nose, she tiptoed to read. I watched the changes in her toes,
and I could almost smell the fragrance of her feet. I thought I'd
die happy if she could put those feet in my mouth.

That night, I completed the most difficult task I'd ever undertaken, relying solely on my memory.
From then on , I went to the library every day, just to see her beautiful feet that captivated me. From
summer to winter, and from winter to summer, a year passed. I watched her change shoes again and again—
white, black, high heels, flats, sandals, leather shoes, sneakers—each pair leaving
an unforgettable memory. I wanted to greet her, to get to know her, but I didn't dare. So, I tried
to find opportunities to walk past her every day, or squat down pretending to look for a book around the time she was reading.

A year passed quickly, and the exciting summer arrived again. I hadn't seen her
toes for a long time, and I knew I had to see her wearing sandals for the first time that year.

Finally, she put them on—a pair of black, closed-toe high-heeled sandals. When she walked over, I was a little disappointed
because I couldn't see what I most wanted to see—her lovely toes, which I'd been longing to see all winter. I
naively thought that seeing her rounded heels was better than nothing. But then,
something that happened. She stopped in front of me, and as always, I squatted there, staring at her heels. She
started climbing books, climbing the high shelves. She tiptoed, letting me see part of her smooth
sole . Her weight shifted to her left foot, her right foot slightly off the ground. She leaned to the left, her right foot swinging outwards.
I saw her right shoe slowly slip off; she gently hooked the toe with her toe. Suddenly, she lost
her grip , and the shoe fell off. Even more amazing, she didn't immediately put it back on, but let that
beautiful foot I'd longed for so long float before my eyes. I found her just as sexy and alluring as last year, the only difference being that
she was now wearing red nail polish. Heh, what a captivating moment that was! I don't know where I got the courage, but
I casually touched her little toe with the back of my hand. But I immediately panicked; I was terrified
she'd scream!

Her foot stopped moving, and I heard a soft laugh. I was so nervous I didn't know what to do. I vaguely
heard a sentence: "You don't like my feet, do you?" I was too nervous to speak, so I
mechanically nodded. Then I looked up to see her expression, but instead of her face , I saw
her foot pressing down on mine like a mountain, making me gasp for breath (because I
didn't pull my face away). My tongue naturally stuck out, and then her foot slid across my tongue
, leaving me with a taste like lightly salted water. "Wait for me at the North Pavilion of Nanhu (an artificial lake on campus
) at 7 pm tonight," she commanded, then disappeared from my sight
. I squatted there for a long time, the taste I'd longed for since childhood lingering on my tongue. It took me ages to understand
what had happened. That evening, I arrived at the lakeside pavilion about two hours early. My
mind was replaying the afternoon's events. Although I tried desperately to distract myself from
the beautiful feet passing by, sitting on the lawn outside the pavilion, I was helplessly immersed in a mix of excitement and fear. This feeling
intensified as 7 o'clock approached; I even felt my body trembling. It was almost completely dark,
and the dim yellow streetlights along the lake illuminated the scene. I checked my watch; it was 7:06, but those beautiful feet hadn't
appeared as I'd imagined. I felt a little disappointed, but also a sense of relief. Sitting there, watching the couple in the pavilion
, the girl's snow-white heels rekindled my undying desire. In the darkness, my
head was buried between my knees, and one hand slowly moved to my crotch. In that moment of complete mental blankness,
I suddenly heard a set of footsteps I'd grown accustomed to over the past year. My heart
clenched like it was about to give birth—it was her. She was still wearing those white high-heeled sandals from the first time I saw her. Her little toes were
still peeking out from under the shoes, and the strap at the back was still on her feet. I stood there
, dumbfounded, completely absorbed in the sight, forgetting the world around me.

She sat down beside me, crossing her legs in the opposite direction (I guess she did it on purpose),
so I couldn't see her beautiful feet.

"You like my feet, don't you?" Though it was a question, her tone held the same conquering air as that afternoon.
" Yes

!" I had no room to deny it.

"Heh, I knew it all along, I knew it the first day I saw you. Do you know how you looked then?

Like you'd never seen me before, and that continued every day after that."

My face turned red, but I was speechless. Then I heard her say, "Actually, I've been watching you for a long time because
I've always loved stepping on you scumbags, loved you licking my high heels, my stockings,
my feet. I can give you what you want, but on one condition: you can't touch anything above my knees
, because I'm married."

Without thinking, I agreed immediately because I was so impatient. I even swore to the heavens
that I wouldn't do anything she wouldn't like, just so I could kiss her beautiful feet as soon as possible. She smiled and
pointed behind her, saying, "It's too bright here, let's go over there." There were a few small trees there, blocking the dim
light of the streetlights; it was indeed a good place. So I tried to stand up, but she said, "No, I'll go first,
then you crawl over. Remember, crawl." Before I could react, she walked away. I really didn't know
what to do. If I walked over, I was afraid she'd be angry; if I crawled, I was afraid passersby would see.

Before I could figure it out, she was already beckoning me. I had no choice but to pretend to look for something,
crawling while glancing around nervously to avoid being seen (there were quite a few passersby then). I
finally I saw her smiling at me, her smile a mix of excitement, coquettish anger, and
a sense of superiority. She sat there, her hands behind her back, her upper body slightly leaning back,
her left leg bent, her right leg resting on her left knee. The most amazing thing was that her right shoe was dangling from
her toes, swinging back and forth in front of me, as if it might fall off at any moment. I knelt there, completely stunned
, forgetting everything around me. I don't know how much time passed (probably no more than a minute), but I
heard her say, "Today is our beginning, but there are too many people here, so we can't do much.

But I won't let you down like this. Come on, sit up and catch." As soon as she finished speaking, her leg
sprang up, and the pair of white high heels I had been dreaming of for a year landed in front of me. I think my
behavior at that moment must have pleased her, because without hesitation, I brought the shoes to my mouth and frantically licked them with my tongue,
licking her toe prints and smelling the lingering fragrance of her feet. It was a feeling I will never forget.

Of course, at the same time, I didn't miss the chance to admire those beautiful feet right under my nose. You see,
although had admired them for a year, I had never been able to look at them so boldly and without restraint as I did today.

Her feet were neither too wide nor too narrow, very smooth, and well-maintained (I later learned she had applied
skin oil almost every day since childhood). They were probably size 37. Her toes were the type where the big toe was larger, and the other
toes curved gracefully into a tapering shape. Several times I wanted to put her feet in my mouth, but she avoided me each
time (later I realized she was deliberately provoking me). I could only continue cleaning her shoes with peace of mind.

Time flew by. She told me she had to go home early that night (was it her husband's fault?),
and that she could stay later the next day because she was on night shift, responsible for locking the library building. She asked me
to wait for her in study room number 3 at 9:30 pm the following night, and told me not to go to the library during the day (was she afraid I wouldn't be able to control myself?).

After a long wait, it finally arrived at 9:30 pm, the library building's
lights-out time. The previously crowded study room suddenly became quiet. I sat alone by the dark door
, unable to control my trembling. I had been there for three hours, constantly thinking about her.

A dim light suddenly shone through the door; I knew the hallway light had come on. Then I heard
the thumping of high heels on the floor. She was coming, her beautiful feet in tow. My heart
pounded faster , almost bursting out of my chest. Even as her footsteps reached the door, I remained seated,
drenched in sweat. "Are you there?" she asked from outside. "Yes," I managed to squeeze out the word.

Her footsteps stopped, and I saw her silhouette: "What are you doing there? Kneel down!"

I didn't understand how she knew I was sitting there, but I obediently knelt down anyway.
Good heavens , I saw a pair of deep red high-heeled leather shoes and fishnet stockings. The shoes had pointed toes, high,
thin heels, and a shiny strap with a notch on the sole tied around her ankle—a style rarely seen in everyday life. My
immediate feeling was that I was about to lose control.

"Hey, you dare to look up again?" (Actually, I didn't raise my head very high). With a sharp shout, I
felt her foot slam heavily onto the back of my head, pressing my face down. My face slammed into
the tip of her other shoe, the pain making me dizzy, but amidst the pain, I clearly felt a kind of pleasure. Her
heel then stepped on my side, kicking me to the side: "Lie down," she commanded, and I had no choice but to lie down on the ground.

Before I could even settle down, one of her feet was on my face, the sole of her shoe pressing down so hard on my nose
that I couldn't breathe. I opened my mouth wide to breathe, but then I realized I'd been tricked again, because the
sharp, thin heel was already in my mouth almost as soon as I opened it. I heard an excited and
satisfied laugh in my ear, followed by the words, "See if you dare to disobey me again!" (What disobedience did I commit?)

I struggled under her foot for a while, until finally she released me. I think my face must have
been contorted at that moment, because I heard her sigh, a sound that seemed to pity me. "
Aren't my high heels beautiful? I wore them especially for you," she said. I said, "They're beautiful, but the view inside is even more beautiful." "

You're such a smooth talker!" she retorted, seemingly angry. She took turns stomping on me, kicking and trampling on various parts of my body, and
I silently enjoyed the pleasure amidst the pain. Later, she got tired, so she
pulled continued her enslavement of me—ordering me to kneel and lick her high heels. I gladly obeyed, of course,
even though she only allowed me to lick her high heels and not anywhere else. But my tongue
often couldn't help but lick the insteps of her feet, clad in red stockings, and every time I overstepped that line, I was met with her
trampling.

And it was at that moment that I began to love the feeling of being trampled, so from then on, I would often deliberately break the rules.

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