Foot in the Door

The first time we met, I became aware of his preoccupation with an unlikely part of my anatomy.

I strode into his office, offering a firm handshake with a smile. He met my eyes, reciprocated the handshake, and immediately lowered his gaze to my feet. A split second later, he looked up, smiled and offered me a seat on the couch in his office.

As we spoke, I began to notice a periodic break in our eye contact, his attention lapsing with each steady glance directly at my feet. A tall, leggy, voluptuous blonde, I was used to being looked over by men. But there was something very different in his glance, something very distinct from the traditional male gaze. It was not overtly sexual. It was almost as if he saw nothing between my eyes and my feet.

Uncertain of the meaning of his attention, I looked down, casually, my eyes landing immediately on my toes. From my black, and otherwise conservative, open-toed pumps, my toes extended, the nails painted a deep, rich red, exactly like my fingernails. I froze for a moment, considering whether it was a faux pas, a slap in the face of corporate etiquette, to have worn open-toed shoes to a job interview. Though it was the early summer, and excessively hot, I suddenly felt excessively self-conscious at my perceived blunder.

Looking at his eyes, looking at my feet, I saw no desire, no passion. He surveyed my feet with the same removed, cool appraisal he exhibited as he reviewed my resume. If he had any other motivation, sexual or aesthetic, he would have chosen my legs as a point of fixation. My long, slender, well-muscled legs were crossed before me at an elegant slant, tanned and alluring. Instead, his eyes were drawn back again and again to my feet.

Confused and slightly intrigued by this encounter, I considered my feet on the subway ride home. Having studied ballet from the age of five through college, my feet retained the delicately curved, deep arch dance imposes. Muscular and sleek, the sensuous curve of my arch made my feet elegant and snakelike, especially in high heels. So I always wore shoes that accentuated the arch, the musculature and my slender, pretty toes -- high heels, open toes, delicately strapped sandals baring as much skin as possible. In fact, I often put all notions of style and appropriateness aside and wore open-toed, sandal-like shoes as deep into the fall as possible, sometimes into October, until the weather became too unbearably cold.

When I got home, there was a message on my answering machine -- I got the job. I started the next week.

My boss's preoccupation with my feet continued after that initial encounter, and I continued to be confused and intrigued by the attention. For the first month I worked at our company, each time I encountered him in meetings, in the hallways, his office, his eyes inevitably, immediately fixated on my feet. It became increasingly clear that this wasn't just about my choice of shoes at the interview -- my boss had a foot fetish.

Then, slowly, his attention began to shift. The first indication of his evolving interest came during a conference call. I was leaning over the conference room table, connecting to the call, when I glanced up to see his eyes on my cleavage. As I leaned forward, the neckline of my blouse billowed out, exposing the round of my breasts, full and voluptuous. A few days later, I noticed his eyes on my wonderfully curved ass as I bent over to fill the copy machine with paper. And it wasn't long before, following me into the elevator, he eyed my legs and then worked his way up my body. Yet each time he looked in my eyes, at my feet, at my breasts, ass or legs, there was nothing more in his eyes than that original look of removed, cool appraisal.

The glances, the survey of my body continued for many months. I began to rethink my original theory about his foot fetish. Perhaps he was more of a voyeur. Perhaps he just had an aesthetic love for the female form. It wasn't until December, at the office holiday party, that I came to learn just how right I was about his fascination with that particular body part.

The office holiday party took place after work one evening in our impressive conference room. The room, which offered spectacular Manhattan views with its floor to ceiling windows and terrace overlooking Madison Avenue, was dimly lit, decked out in candles and one large, richly decorated Christmas tree. Like my colleagues, I was dressed slightly finer than usual in a black velvet cocktail dress with perfectly selected accessories (including a pair of delicately constructed, black, high-heeled Jimmy Choos) and my long blonde hair swept up in a loose chignon.

Perhaps it was due to the extraordinary look of the room or the mood in the air that night that I began to study my boss. I watched him mingle with the other employees, order another scotch from the bartender, take a beef satay from the waiter passing hors d'oeuvres, and as soon as I stood across from him, engaging in ordinary conversation, I began to notice things about him -- the changing hues in his short, light hair, the strong lower arms, the wrists wide and structured with sinews and muscles and garnished with golden hair, and the dark gray eyes.

It was past the peak of the party when I found myself standing next to him before the large windows of the conference room. Many people were milling around with cocktails and hors d'oeuvres plates, the chatter of conversation was all around us, but we barely spoke. I would not be surprised if told that we said nothing at all. The air between us was heavy with the unspoken. I could actually feel the space between us fill with each other, tapping, meeting, overlapping, as we stood quiet looking out at the frigid night. The lights from the street gave off a special glow that lights only seem to give off at Christmas. They were brighter, crisper, more like stars than streetlights. Before this scene, he inconspicuously, naturally, slipped his hand in mine. With one exchanged look, we walked out of the conference room and down the semi-lit hallway to his dark office.

Once inside, he shut and locked the door. He did not turn on any lights, the glare from the streetlights and the buildings opposite ours casting enough light for us to see each other's shadowy contours. He led me to his desk. With his hands guiding my hips, I leaned against the edge of his desk, and he sat down in his chair before me, his knees on either side of my legs. We paused for a moment here, searching intently for any detailed feature on each other's face. As I leaned back against his desk, he slowly raised my knee up, one hand on my calve and the other on my thigh, gently easing my leg into a bend. With a strong grip on my ankle, he slid my black pump off my foot. He then slid his hand up the inside of my leg. Reaching the lacy top of my nylon thigh-highs, his soft fingers lingered a moment on my silky thigh before rolling the nylon down my leg, slowly revealing each curve, until my toes, white with nails painted red, pointed directly at his penis.

With both his strong hands guiding my foot, the tip of my big toe touched the spot between his legs. At first, the flesh beneath was soft and indistinguishable, but as I eased into this spot with flexed toes, I felt the flesh round and extended with definition. The firmness grew beneath my toes, as I gently massaged the hardening curve of his penis. Increasing pressure, I further opened and thrust my toes up, rolling the ball of my foot over his thickening, stiffening member. He now knew I understood, and released the tight grip around my ankle and began to run his hands over my leg and foot, so softly and enticingly that my entire body tingled beneath his touch. He felt my arousal, as my skin peaked and valleyed with goose flesh, and I shivered. I continued to lose myself, as I felt his member grow to a forceful, thrusting limb that pushed against my foot as I pushed against it. It felt alive, and disconnected from his body, protruding and striving to be free, yet restrained in the jail cell of his pants. Rolling the soft ball of my foot over the hard, round limb, I nestled it in the curve of my foot. It rounded perfectly into the sensuous curve of my foot, arched and winding over his crotch like a gorgeous snake.

He slowly moved his hands down my leg and rested his hands over my foot, pushing down, arching his back in the attempt to increase the pressure. Sliding a hand under my foot, he effortlessly unzipped his fly. Unzipped, his pants buckled in one great arc, like a question mark. Slipping my toes into the fold of his pants, the rough, cold teeth of his zipper raked my toes. Through the metallic chill of his zipper, my toes passed into the hot cave of his pants, where silk boxer shorts formed endless, slippery folds between my flesh and his. Eager to delve deeper, I continued to penetrate the tunnels, each silky fold softer than the one before, in my quest for hot skin. I sunk deeper, like a diver, until my own flesh reached his hard, hot, smooth penis, trapped in the depths of his pants.

As I stroked the shaft, he slid his hand up my leg, tickling my inner thigh before reaching the soft of my panties. I gasped as a single, stray finger brushed against my panties, my excitement heightening from the briefest touch of my too-long-ignored pussy. He then ran his fingertips over the patch of silk between my legs, my eager pussy quivering beneath. He did not make me wait any longer. Abruptly, almost unexpectedly, he tugged my panties aside, acquiring access to my pussy, and without even a breath, plunged a finger into my wet, begging hole. Effortlessly, the finger slid in and out with precision. Weak from the glide of his finger, I could not stop from falling back onto his desk. It was then that he stood and lifted, with his other hand, my foot from the depths of his pants to his mouth.

His tongue flickered over the tips of my toes like a white hot flame that would soon consume me. One by one, my toes vanished between his voluptuous lips. I felt the soft swirl of his tongue encircling my toes, locked within his wet, hot mouth. He sucked my toes lusciously, with one hand around my ankle and the other in my soft, hot pussy that was as wet as his mouth. He slid a second finger into me, and the soft wetness of my pussy enveloped his finger, closing around it as his mouth around my toes. Continuing to penetrate each other, we rocked back and forth, absorbed in the motion and in each other. I felt the excitement rising; the electric sensation I felt through my entire body began to center within my cunt as it intensified. Just before I was about to explode in climax, he withdrew and lifted me from the desk, my legs wrapped around his waist, and carried me to the couch.

As he held me, our lips met for the first time. Our mouths locked in a deep, wet kiss, we collapsed on the couch, our bodies immediately becoming as intertwined as our tongues. Feverishly, I pushed his pants down and grabbed his perfectly round, hard ass. He unzipped my dress and tugged it down. My bare breasts pressed against his shirt. In the furor of our embrace, his smooth cock effortlessly slipped into my pussy.

After teasingly offering a few slow, deep plunges, he withdrew and eased his way down my body, pulling my dress off as he went. Stopping at my breasts, he rounded my nipples with his tongue; at my stomach, he nibbled at my belly button; at my pussy, he paused to spread my legs before offering a luxurious lick with his tongue. His insistent tongue moving up the length of my pussy made me long to have his dick back inside me. Again, beginning at my wet, luscious hole, he plunged his tongue inside me and tongue-fucked me with the most smooth and perfectly motioned thrusts. His attention then shifted to my clit, which he bore down upon with a pressured, measured massage of the tongue. As he worked my clit, alternating between circling around it and bearing down on the tip with a strong tongue, I built toward climax, my entire body focusing on the fabulous sensation in that one, small, fleshy spot. Just before I reached the point of no return, he slid up my body and met my lips. Our bodies mingled, twisted, until I found myself lying on top of him.

I sat up and looked him in the eye. I knew that now he was prepared to fuck. He reached for my legs, and gently pulled my legs out from under me, so they sat on either side of his body. I leaned back, holding his dick, and slowly slid myself down onto it, taking it all inside me. As I enveloped his hard rod, he took, once again, my foot in his mouth. My other leg on the floor and my arms behind me, I pushed myself up for the first thrust. Plunging down on his dick again, I felt the pull of his mouth on my toes. My pussy gripped at his cock as I rocked up and down on his wonderful tool. The hot wetness of his mouth encircled my toes, caressing them more insistently with each wavelike rise and fall. He was in me and I was in him, and I loved the suck of his mouth, pulling at me, caressing my toes, as my pussy did his cock.

Enveloped in the wetness, sweat rolling down my back intensifying the wetness between my pussy and his dick, I bore down in swiveling motions, repeating the motion of his tongue around my toes -- first hesitating at the tip, then a pause at the base, then a fast gripping slide up his cock, then a slow side to side descent to the base, then one great circular motion up the length of his dick. The familiar feeling arose in my pussy, the muscles began to pulsate uncontrollably. The feeling radiated out to my abdomen, descended to my thighs, rose to my nipples, which hardened like the goose flesh that spread throughout my skin, and rounded to the back of my neck, where the hair raised as I released a breathy sob with my climax. I felt the massage of his dick as he came, too, just as my body passed the peak of orgasm.

I don't know how long we were lying on the couch enjoying the release, our hot bodies entangled, lit only by the stray streetlight that infiltrated the office, before I came to my senses again. Saying nothing, I slid out of his embrace and into my dress. With nonchalance, I opened the door and began to pass through it. Turning suddenly, I caught his eyes on my heels. I walked out the door.