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Both characters in this story are 18+. Actually, Joanna is much older than that, but you will see.
This part of the story startes out fine, and then goes bat shit crazy in parts 2 and 3. I must have been in fantasy land. Contains, foot domination, boot domination, foot fetish and ballbusting.
Part 1
At the age of 23, I had an encounter with my close friend’s Grandma. The word Grandma immediately conjures images of walking sticks, cardigans and tight, curly hair. Joanna could not be further from this stereotype. Picture a tall, broad shouldered, slim, blonde lady, with sharp features and sparkly blue eyes. She towered above me. Around her eyes were fine laughter lines that deepened when she smiled. Her long fingers looked expensive, adorned with a couple of silver rings and a silver bracelet on either wrist. The day I met her, she wore a bright, baby blue dress with yellow flowers dotted all over. The sun reflected on her tanned, bare legs. As she approached me, her sandals slapped against her heels. My eyes darted down. Bright pink nail polish on her toes, and toe rings on both feet. Size 9, or 10, I thought. She’d been walking a while. Both hands gripped two, full shopping bags. I noticed the pinkness of her heels, her toes. She blew her fringe out of her eyes. Having met her before, her feet resided in my imagination, popping in every now and again. That time, her feet were in black nylons, and she’d worn open toe heels. Now, her long, shapely toes wiggled in her sandals, and laid bare for me to see. The familiar feeling of longing crept in. All in the space of a few seconds, I imagined Joanna’s long legs dangling all over me, caressing me. Her, slap slapping her sandals against her heel before dropping them to the ground. Like a pair of creepy crawlies, her long, shapely feet would trail up my shorts leg, her toes gripping my shaft and my balls, all the while Joanna’s smiling an inhuman smile. Ear to ear. Her boney fingers tearing at my clothes, finding their way to every nook and cranny of my body while her feet are pulling and yanking on my hard cock. The pain of it, and the pleasure.
“Mike?”
“Sorry. I was in a world of my own.”
“Jai isn’t around until much later, you know. I assume you’re on your way over to play your instruments?”
“Yeah, don’t worry. I can come back -”
“Actually, I am glad we bumped into each other.”
Joanna let us do band practice. Jai’s Mum wouldn’t allow it. The thing is, she had an aura about her. A vibe. Some of my friends have called it creepy. Every word she says is low and measured. Those bright blue eyes seem to look right through you. I knew what they meant, but it turned me on. Maybe I like creepy, older women, who also happen to be unusually attractive.
“I have been in the middle of gardening. I need some help pulling up some weeds and putting a few things in the shed. Won’t take too long.”
The last thing I wanted to do was weeding. But, I hadn’t spent any time alone with Joanna. Jai usually bundles me into the basement before I can say hello. Ordinarily I would have made an excuse. I’m not confident around girls at the best of times. But the hairs on my neck stood up, and I had the chance to be near an attractive woman who possessed two of the sexiest feet I had ever been close to.
“Allright. That’ll be nice.”
“Pah.” She scoffed. “It’ll be hot, but I will give you a drink. Maybe two, to say thanks. I’ll slip my wellies back on, and we can get started. I only managed 2 hours this morning, so I'm almost done.”
Two hours of her feet in hot, rubber boots. My cock throbbed instantly, growing down my shorts leg. I dropped my hand over my groin, hiding the tent currently forming. I trailed slightly behind her as we walked, glimpsing her high, pink arches, slapping against her sandals. Not helping! I thought.
For the first time, I entered through the front door.
Artwork adorned the hallway. Sketches of a female torso. Bare breasts and legs, twisted into all sorts of positions. Three pictures, drawn in pencil, were feet. One showed a pair of high arched feet, standing on tip toes. Another depicted a pair of crossed legs on a stool. The person wore high heel shoes. One of them dangled from the toes. My groin burned. The third made me dizzy. The pencil drawing had been created from the Point of view of someone on the floor looking up at the foot. It looked like the toes were coming out of the picture. The meaty sole was completely visible. The toes reaching out towards the viewer. Me. I recognised the long, slender toes in all the pictures.
“Drop your bag and we can head straight outside.”
I followed Joanna into the kitchen and out of her patio doors.
“That’s a lot of garden.”
“Not too much to do. Don’t worry. Like I said, there is a drink in it for you. Or two.”
She winked at me and playfully tapped my arm.
She sat down on a metal chair where a pair of worn, dirty hunter wellies had been left. From inside one of them she pulled out a pair of long, yellow rubber gloves.
“You might think I am silly wearing these, but they do just the trick.”
Without taking her eyes off me, Joanna pulled her gloves on. The rubber clinging to her forearms. My stomach tightened. Her face, completely dead pan. For a moment, I thought I had pissed her off. My hand still dangled close to my groin. The pulsating in my crotch fired around like a pin ball machine. With a flick of the ankle, her sandals flew away from her, landing near a plant pot. In my head I said, “please, no socks. Please, no socks.”
“Will you be horrified if I go sockless?” She shot a cocked eyebrow in my direction. I assumed it was a rhetorical question.
After a moment's pause, I watched Joanna slide her right foot into her black, rubber welly. A stark contrast to her blue dress and bare leg. Like the gloves, the rubber fit tight around her calf. She still had muscular legs.
“I prefer sockless. Come closer. Feel how soft they are.”
I felt she might turn around. In the split second I had, I adjusted my penis, letting it rest flat against my lower abdomen. The moment I stood at her side, Joanna raised her other boot, grasped my hand and shoved it inside.
“Feel in there.”
For a foot fetishist like me, this was the equivalent of shoving my hand down her bra and saying, “what do you think of that?” The padding inside clearly absorbed any moisture around it. If my nose found its way into the boot, too, it would probably smell vinegar. Strong, hypnotic, foot smell. I felt where her toes would end up in just a few more seconds. The heel and toes still warm from her previous bout of gardening. I took my hand out and made a point of not touching anything else before I had the chance to smell my fingers. My cock had already fallen back into place, having grown another 2 inches from what just happened. I crossed my legs a little, trying my hardest to shield her from my erection.
“I’d much rather sweat directly into my boots. Feels more like hard work when I have a good sweat on. And the fabric inside feels good against my toes.”
Joanna glanced at my crossed legs.
“Sorry, do you need the toilet?”
Like an idiot, I said, “no, i’m just…uncomfortable. My underwear. Too tight.”
She slid her foot into the final boot. I wished the boot was my underwear.
“Don’t be uncomfortable on my account. Take them off if you need. Bathrooms down the hall, on the right. Just keep your other shorts on. ” I might have imagined it, but I swear she winked again. I didn’t need to take them off, but she did give me permission.
***
Sunshine beat down on us for the entirety of the late afternoon, into the early evening. Every now and again, Joanna would be kneeling close by, gripping the weeds with her gloved hands and pulling them hard out of the ground. Sweat glistened on her forehead. With the length of rubber trailing up her arm, she’d wipe it away. She literally looked hot. How steamy and sweaty must her gloves be, as well as her tight wellies. I needed to think of something else. No underwear and a throbbing hard on makes for an awful situation.
It came to the final job. Moving bags of soil into her shed.
“They are heavy. You don’t have to do it.”
“I’m sure I can manage a couple,” I quipped.
“No injuries I should know about? I don’t want to get sued.” Joanna cut quite a figure, standing tall in her knee length boots and rubbery hands planted on her hips.
“I do have a slight twinge under my rib, but I hit myself with my guitar,” which was true. “Other than that, I am in full working order.” I hated that I said that.
“Great,” she said, clapping her hands together.
Between us we lifted 6 bags of soil into her large shed/ museum. The shelves contained a mixture of garden tools and photographic memorabilia. Old film cameras, fashion magazines, photography journals and a large, tatty book. On the cover it said, “Foot Shoot - 2001.”
Joanna appeared at my side, a little breathless. I smelled a mix of her perfume and sweat. Her legs had a sweaty sheen to them.
“I think it’s time for a drink. You’ve earned it. Bring the book. I can see you’re interested.” Understatement of the week. I grasped for the book with the giddiness of a child grabbing a bag full of fizzy sweets.
“My hands are that sweaty, I don’t think I will get these gloves off. Hey ho. Cheers.”
Our glasses of red wine glistened as we chinked across the table. A sudden screech as Joanna dragged another chair beside me.
“Cheers,” I said. Joanna leaned her head back, making the most of the bright sunshine. Her shapely, booted calves thumped down on the seat in front of her. That smell again. Warm rubber. I couldn’t tell if it came from her boots or the gloves.
“Flick it open, then. This is from my modelling days.”
“Jai never said - “
“Probably embarrassed his old Gran was a foot model.”
If my head could have exploded, the entire garden would be drowned in my brains. Those blue eyes glared into my own, searching for a reaction. My groin swelled and my face flushed. Say something - anything, I thought.
“Open it. Take a look. I must have been 45 when these were taken.”
My trembling hand opened to the first page. I expected to see a simple photo of a pair of feet.
“Pah! I completely forgot about this shoot. Maybe I was in my late 30’s. Strange photographer. We had a lot of fun.”
In the photo, Joanna straddled a bucking bronko, with her feet wrapped around the bronko’s face. Like it was being forced to smell them. Above her head she waved a pair of cowboy boots.
I must have been staring, analysing, for too long.
“Like what you see?”
“Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you to be doing that.”
“Back in my younger, more carefree days. The photographer, Rod, or Roger, had a thing for cowgirls, I suppose. There should be another one over the page.”
I turned and almost choked on my wine. Joanna in a pink, cushioned chair. One cowboy boot on her foot, the other tipped over the face of a man laying on his back.. Dark liquid poured from the boot, into his waiting mouth, and down his chin. She had both feet on his chest. There, in colour, her long toes and toe ring.
“That is the photographer. He called in some delivery person to assist. The poor kid didn’t know what he’d walked into. Not making you uncomfortable, am I?”
If my face was any closer to the page, I'd be in the photograph myself. I peeled my eyes away long enough to say, “Not at all. I like it. Them. The art of it all.” Fucking nerves.
“Art? Hardly Picasso. It’s kink, is what it is. All the photographers had some foot fetish or a variation of.”
“Really?”
“They weren’t doing it for money. Fetishes were a taboo back then. I turned up to the shoot wearing those. He’d been on at me to take them off since I arrived.”
“You didn’t mind?” The wine limbered up my conversation muscles a little.
“Mind?” Joanna leaned towards me a little. Another waft of rubber. With her gloved hand, she poked at the picture on the page.
“These men, and they were all men, loved my feet. Worshipped them. Literally.”
“Literally?” I almost downed my wine in one.
“I caught this guy catching a sniff of my boots before he decided to drink out of them.”
Lucky for me, the table covered my boner, which had, by this point, remained mostly hidden. Now it poked out of my leg like a turtle’s head.
What did you do?”
“I went back to him again. Not for photographs. I found out I enjoyed what they enjoyed. Turn the page.”
Joanna held her face, guffawing out loud.
“Christ. I shouldn’t be showing you these.”
A noise that sounded like “wow,” escaped my mouth.