I Worship the Feet You Walk On

I Worship the Feet You Walk On

All of the characters are at least 18 years old. This story has a long scene of foot worship fetish, as the title indicates; if that’s not your thing, feel free to scroll on.


I sniffed and kissed the bundle of Luca’s socks in the laundry basket, remembering the moment I learned I had this strange foot fetish.

My obsession with men’s feet dates back to high school locker rooms and extra-curricular activities. I recall being alone in a men’s restroom many years ago and smelling the manly odors of the area. There were no lockers; it was an honor system changing room where you changed and left your clothing on the seats, hoping that your neighbor would not steal them. I wandered about the changing room smelling at the armpits of t-shirts, the crotches and ass-creases of underwear, and the socks and shoes accumulated beneath the benches, keeping an eye on the door the entire time, ever terrified of notice and scorn. All of the odors drew me in, but the foot perspiration piqued my interest the most. With all that sensory motivation, I couldn’t stop myself from masturbating; I came in a pair of my own socks less than a minute after I started stroking.

Even as I reflected on those early moments of self-discovery and fulfillment, I heard a pair of keys jingle against the latch of my apartment door. I moved out of the little laundry room, away from the incriminating tangle of filthy socks, and turned to greet my roommate, Luca, as he came in after a long day at work. I felt a little self-conscious; if Luca looked closely, he may notice my boner pointing at him from the front of my lounge trousers like an arrow.

Luca stood six feet tall, was Italian American with brown hair and green eyes, and was both gorgeous and brawny. On a regular, early-autumn day, he’d have been mowing lawns and trimming hedges, bagging up fallen leaves and blowing off driveways; on a more difficult day, he would have been assisting in the removal of tree stumps or other landscaping work. It was honest, hard physical labor. His shirt was filthy and sweaty, and his shorts were smeared with grass and mud. His boots were caked with mud and crushed grass. In the area between his shorts and his boots, I could only see a small length of each of his grey wool work socks. The socks were soiled, with overlapping pictures of a thousand blades of cut grass etched on them.

“Wow,” Luca said. “What a horrible day! My back hurts, and my feet are killing me!”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I apologized.

“Seriously, I could use a nice old-fashioned foot rub. What do you think?”

I burst out laughing.

“Just a few moments?”

Of course, I declined, dismissing his request as a joke, despite the fact that I had already been covertly sniffing his shoes, slippers, and abandoned socks in the laundry. It was just something that guys don’t usually ask of each other. I was out as a gay guy, and Luca was fine with it, but I had a feeling that Luca didn’t know that inviting him to handle his feet would also invite a closeness he didn’t intend.

“I’ll tell you something,” Luca said. “You rub my feet for twenty minutes, ten minutes each, and I’ll order whatever you want for dinner. You may have Indian, Italian, or Chinese food if you do a nice job on my feet.”

I wondered whether Luca had caught me smelling his socks. Had he noticed me intensely inhaling his foot-scent when I thought no one was looking? Was this some kind of test?

On the other hand, I was starving. Besides, I was between jobs and paying rent with my savings; my chances of finding new work were strong, but a free dinner would give my wallet a break at a time when I didn’t have much extra cash. And you can’t crap a shitter: I knew I wanted to place my hands (at the very least) on their feet.

“OK, five minutes per foot instead of ten, and you’re on,” I said.

Luca nodded, walked over to the living room’s wingback chair, and sat down. He lifted his feet off the floor and placed them on the ottoman. As Luca took off his shoes, I knelt alongside the ottoman on his right side. Luca’s natural foot odor was the first thing that caught me; it was fresh and intense at this range. His feet had been wrapped in socks and work boots for nearly 10 hours and were now breathing. I moved in closer, savoring the aroma of his damp socks only briefly so as not to raise Luca’s suspicions. The odor was an earthy blend of aromas: boot leather, wool sock, skin and perspiration, with a trace of dirt and freshly cut grass.

As I responded to the smell, I felt the usual stirrings of my cock. I’d been hooked to a weaker form of this odor by sniffing Luca’s shoes, but I’d never been so near to the source of those odors.

“Go on, man,” Luca advised.

I placed my hands on his right foot and felt through his sock. I massaged the arch and bridge of his foot with my thumbs and forefingers at the same time. The socks’ wool slipped a little beneath my skin, giving some friction to the foot-rub. The sock was a little moist.

Luca immediately sighed with relief.

“Fucking hell, it feels really good.”

I nodded and proceeded to massage his sore arch with one hand as the other wandered up to his toes. Even with his sock on, each toe was easily identified, and I tugged them one by one until each one produced a slight crack.

“That’s what I’m talking about. Rub my feet.”

As instructed, I focussed my efforts. I gripped each toe with my fingers while rubbing them with my thumb for about a half-minute. It was infuriating not to be able to brush my tongue across these stinky feet. My obsession got the best of me, and I leaned in and started sniffing at the toes directly through the wool socks, not caring whether my roommate noticed. Perhaps I was encouraged by the fact that he was clearly having as much fun as I was.

“Hell, yeah! That’s right. Check those toes. Remove my socks and inspect my filthy toes.”

I did as I was told, removing one sock at a time. I held them both balled up in my palms and, very unconsciously, explored the wool with my delicate nose, inhaling their aroma. In response to the odor, my erection spasmed, and Luca noticed it bulging the crotch of my lounge trousers.

“Jesus, man; I was kidding,” he added, laughing. “You’re such a fag.”

I didn’t refute it since I was a faggot. I told Luca that he should be thankful for a hungry, queer mouth like mine. He laughed and instructed me to return to work. Luca thought of himself as arrow straight; he could be depended on to keep me awake two or three times a week by hammering some hot lady or other in the room next to mine. Calling me a fag simply meant that he recognized that this touch had aroused me, but allowing me to continue indicated that he didn’t care; at least, he didn’t care as long as his feet required massage. That was OK with me, especially since I was enjoying this waking wet dream. I expected that as I waited for supper, I would go to my chamber and beat my flesh over the thought of feeling Luca’s feet.

I returned my focus to Luca’s nude feet, making no secret of my desire to smell them from sole to toe. I sniffed deeply as I dragged my nose across my calloused soles. I comforted where I touched, and Luca had no complaints. These were working man’s feet, with corns and bunions and the occasional blister; I soothed where I touched, and Luca had no objections.

“Show me some love for my heels,” he urged.

This gave me license to step up my game. I stroked the heel of one foot with my hands while loving up the other heel with my lips and tongue, occasionally letting my hands and mouth reverse heels. I bit at the firm skin ridges that formed crescents across the back and sides of his heels. As I proceeded to probe his foot with my tongue, the salty, clay flavor tantalized my senses.

I kissed his toes and sucked them into my mouth one by one as my tongue reached them. I pulled the moist woollen wads out of those places with my tongue since there was some sock-lint between his toes. I may have fallen to licking feet and sucking toes, and I may have been addicted to it, but I never ate toe-jam for anybody.

I peered out the top of my eyelids as I caressed his left foot sensuously with one hand and lapped at his right foot with my tongue, taking in the sight of Luca looking back at me with his piercing brown eyes. He returned my stare with a heavily-lidded expression of eagerness. I let my gaze drift to the front of Luca’s shorts, and there was his cock erecting a tent. But I didn’t allow my observation or satisfaction register in my eyes; I didn’t want the straight guy to have a gay panic attack, so I prolonged the stimulation for another minute or two before daring to cut off.

“I know just what we need,” I shouted as I sprang to my feet and dashed to my room. I searched my nightstand and returned with a tube.

“It’s lube,” I explained. I didn’t say anything about it being edible. “That should make it easier for me to enjoy your feet.”

I didn’t use the term ‘pleasure’ by mistake; I wanted Luca to recognize that he was being pampered by a gay man, but I didn’t want to compromise his opportunity to continue. I was tremendously aroused by the tastes and scents of Luca’s feet, and I recognized that before I was done, I was going to want to satisfy my passion for them; if given half a chance, I was going to want to fuck Luca’s feet.

I could have stopped stroking him at any point and simply walked away from this rising erection; I had promised Luca five minutes each foot, and we were far over that by now. Whatever the outcome of this brief foot massage treatment, I was guaranteed supper. But I was determined not to squander this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

I poured the lube onto my palms and rubbed it to both of Luca’s foot soles at the same time. He curled his toes in reaction since it felt chilly to the touch. I spread the lubricant over the entire foot, warming it and parting the toes with my thumb to fill the areas in between with the edible oil. I cast a sidelong glance towards Luca. He was sitting with his eyes closed and his hands behind his head. A quick examination of the front of his shorts revealed that he was still tough.

Once the feet were totally drenched, I resumed my massage with both hands, stroking the moisturizing lubricant all over his soles, bridge of his feet, and almost to his ankle and Achilles tendon.

I just couldn’t stop myself. I landed on his feet with my tongue, this time more passionately than previously. The lubricant’s bland flavor did not divert me from the flavor of my topic. My desire was heightened, and I knew I want him more than anybody else in my life. I lifted my head and peered into Luca’s equally passionate eyes after five minutes of kissing and lapping at his feet.

“I want to fuck your feet,” I said under my breath.

“You’ve got me so fucking hot, you dirty faggot,” he snarled, unbuttoning his shorts and yanking his cock out. He began to jerk away, which just made me feel hotter. “Do it. My feet are fucked.”

I didn’t need to be pleaded with. My erection was freed as I yanked my t-shirt over my head and dropped my lounge pants. It pointed like a weathercock towards B’s feet. My hands were still slick from the lubrication, but not so much that I couldn’t move Luca’s feet together so that the arches touched, like two parts of a clamshell, or perhaps a pussy. What does a homosexual man know about it? I placed a little amount of lubrication on my boner and smeared it all over the organ. When my cock was thoroughly lubricated, I put it between Luca’s foot arches and slowly fucked them.

It felt amazing. The lubrication masked the dry skin, but it didn’t smooth out the rough texture of that thick flesh. It was as exciting as any ass I’d ever been in, and in my view, feet smelt better than ass. I threw a peek at Luca as I began to develop a rhythm for my foot-fucking. He was softly squeezing his cock. I handed him the lubrication bottle in case he wanted to masturbate more easily. He caught it and was going to use it when I made a vow to him. He pondered his alternatives, laid the lubrication down, and reluctantly left his cock alone.

As I fucked Luca’s arches, I ramped up the pace and may have shouted a few things that would have concerned a less secure straight man than Luca. If he allowed me, I vowed to suck his toes every day. I’d lick his ass and suck his cock if he asked. Luca  took it all in stride, reluctantly removing his fingers from his cock and reserving himself for my special treatment.

“Oh, fuck, Luca, I’m going to come on your feet,” I said.

Luca lifted his head to observe my climax between his feet. Each spasm of my cock sent a shudder of pure joy down my spine. My penis pumped, and I ejaculated a plethora of sperm over Luca’s footbridges. Luca’s calves were striped by a couple errant blasts. I continued to slowly pump between the arches of those wonderful feet after my orgasm until I got too sensitive to continue. I took a step back and moved away from the muscular feet that had restrained my thrusts. While I cleaned Luca, I drew up my lounge trousers and knotted them at the waist to collect any drippings from my cock.

As I licked Luca’s feet, I was thankful that the lube was edible. I licked the leftover lube off his soles and toes as I lapped at the semen I had left on his bridges. I moved in closer and licked my sperm from the inside of his calves once his feet were clean. I didn’t mind swallowing my own sperm, but cum tasted better when it was cold.

Then it was time to keep my commitment, and Luca was irritated.

“Come on, fairy,” Luca encouraged. “Do it.”

I had promised Luca that he wouldn’t need his hands to get off, and now it was time to keep that promise. I pushed his feet off the ottoman and the footstool to the side. Luca’s legs were parted as I knelt between his knees. With a small curve, his fully-erect big cock aimed up at me. He was about seven to eight inches long and as big around as a salami, making him one of the largest cocks I’d ever tried to please.

I applied myself to the assignment with zeal. There was a lot on the line for me. The foot-rub may have begun innocently—at least for Luca—but events had taken a turn that altered the status quo within the flat. I had already fucked my straight roommate’s feet and was now swallowing his cock. What would be the ramifications of these actions? Would Luca embrace the passionate moment for what it was: hot, meaningless sex? Would our connection become sexual or would it cool? Would Luca become resentful toward me if he felt manipulated and used by his gay roommate? A lot may hinge on how terrific of a blowjob I could provide.

So I devised a plan to blow him up as best I could. I stripped him of his shorts and underpants. I kept my tongue busy in his crotch at first, licking perspiration off the inside of his thighs and licking and sucking on his balls. I held the monster firm with the base of his cock and sucked pre-cum off of his piss-slit before swallowing the glans of his penis in my ready mouth. I hooked my tongue over that sensitive cock-helmet and let my muscle spin mindlessly around the tower of meat. Something was obviously wrong, whimpered Luca. Meanwhile, I jacked him from the root of his cock and toyed with his balls. I observed his cock pulsing in reaction to my hand slipping down to stroke his perineum. I pondered what would happen if I shoved my finger in his asshole, but I feared it would be too gay for Luca… at this point.

As much as I liked the smell of Luca’s feet, I had to confess that the thick aroma emerging from his pubic hair and crotch was much more enticing. This is something I could get used to. I was curious whether Luca felt the same way.

Luca was experiencing something quite different at the time. He pushed his way into my mouth, gasping, moaning, and grunting. I swallowed every drop and then gave his cock a sensuous tongue-bath.

Luca had indicated he’d settle for a five-minute foot treatment. We hadn’t spent every minute of this session on Luca’s feet, but we’d been at it for nearly an hour. Luca  was remained erect after I swallowed every last drop and cleansed his cock. I offered him a handjob, but he politely rejected with a grin.

“No, I’m going to store some juice for the next time I need it.”

That indicated he had a lady coming over tonight. I wasn’t envious; this was looking more and more like one-time sex. If I had another chance, I’d love to kiss those feet again, and if I ended up blowing him again, I may stick a finger up his ass. There was a chance we’d stay friends with benefits. That was OK with me.

“I could need it tomorrow morning before work,” Luca speculated.

I smiled. There is no stress. There are no responsibilities.

Except just one.

“Remember, dinner is still on you?”

“Do you still want something?”

We laughed, and he ordered a huge pizza for us.

Originally published on literotica.

Jack - FOOTandToes

Jack - FOOTandToes

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