​Emerald Girls

'Manolo Blahnik,' he said, 'This season's Olympic inspired footwear in bronze, silver and gold.'​

'You know your shoes,' I said laughing.​

'Yes I have a fascination with ladies' shoes,' 'And feet.'​

'So you're a podiatrist,' I joked cheekily.​

'No. But I'd like to be!' 'No nail shop', he added, 'I'm just a connoisseur.'​

I slipped out of my shoes and noticed his smouldering eyes and chiselled jaw. He was sexy and I couldn't deny it.​

'You have supple heels,' he continued. 'Soft, delicate, pink, satin skin. Those are the heels of a lady who takes pride in her feet and has weekly pedicures.'​

He was right. I was a weekly pedicure person with butter feet. Pedicures and beautiful shoes were part of my femininity and I loved to look and feel attractive, girly and seductive. With a foot fetish massage, your shoes are the stage that allows you to perfectly spotlight your deliciously sweet feet. Some foot fetishes love the natural aroma of toes fresh out of the shoes they have been tucked away in all day, especially elegant shoes.​

'Nice touch,' he said gesticulating to my peachy coloured polish.​

I nodded coyly.​

I led him to the boudoir on tipped toes, careful to display the arches of my slim and perfectly formed feet. His breath was warm on my neck. My skin was tingling and I was already caught up in the brisk thrill of excitement. This client aroused me immensely.​

As he lay expectantly on the large hotel bed, I stood over him, tracing his fine facial features with my slender foot, cupping his cheeks, gently stoking his jaw.​

'I want to touch them,' he whispered softly. It was more of a demand than a request.​

Inexplicably powerless, I let him explore. He held my calf in his hands, admiring the shape and tracing the curve with his fingers. He kissed my shin all the way down to the ankle, drinking in the sweet scent of my tiny foot. He held it aloft and gazed in wonderment.​

'So beautiful….so delicate,' he whispered. 'You have such fine feet.'​

His tongue ran along my sole, my arch and my heel. I squirmed with delight. My skin was tingling and I was dripping with desire. He traced my heel delicately as if he was trying to memorise every little detail and maneuvered my foot so he could suckle my toes. Waves of electricity shot through my whole body. The sensation of his hot breath was driving me wild. I began gyrating my hips with a burning hunger - a hunger to please and tease.​

He grabbed my other leg and held it high, kissing up and down the length of it. I threw my head back and moaned with pleasure. This Foot Master was truly a connoisseur. He worshipped and adored my feet so skilfully, so tenderly, so passionately.​

I released my foot from his grip and slid it over his manly chest in a circular motion, gently pulling at his chest hair with my toes, sliding over his manhood, along his inner thighs and along his muscular legs. His rigid shaft jutted angrily forward as he wriggled and grunted with pleasure.​

Drunk on a cocktail of lust and a fear of the unknown, this mysterious, silver shark sunk into a deep dark reverie as I massaged his feet with my thumbs, fingers, palms and breasts. Alternating each time. Arousing every toe and tiny hair on his paws…..he was a teddy bear in my hands. I strategically placed my soft, pink diamond on his big toe and stimulated myself gently. Such a novel and delectable sensation.​

As I rubbed my bare strip of pulsating wet flesh against his leg, he furiously jerked up and down. Both of his hands were on me now, caressing the contours of my body.​

'You're sensational,' he muttered. 'Absolutely bloody sensational.'​

His deep voice sent a pulse of pleasure rippling through the very core of me. I grinded myself harder against him, slid along his engorged, throbbing glory, his chest and over his face. He feasted his eyes between my legs as I turned gracefully and once again crawled over him, arching my feet, directing my toes into his mouth. As his tongue lolled between my toes, I grinded my buttocks with force against his chest. The atmosphere was that of intense sexual desire. My pulse was racing. I was on a mission to blow his mind.​

As I continued to slide and glide down his torso, I arrived between his legs and flipped myself seductively on my back, raised my legs in the air and grasped his girth between my feet. He thrust with fury, as I poured more massage oil over his loaded ammunition, the excess oil seeping off my feet. This creative performance before him was only one, I could tell, he had only imagined. His fantasy was becoming his splendid reality.​

I took it one step further and squeezed some cream onto my pretty toes as I entwined them around this magnificent shaft, my soft heels sliding against it. Slippery, wet and fun.​

As he pumped excitedly against my heels, the pressure built for both of us and we were ready to explode. He came along me, spewing his hot essence over my feet, his cream covering the peachy nectar of my polish.​

I shook violently against the intensity of his climax as if we were merging into one. We were sexually intoxicated. We were transported to a finer, more sophisticated, seriously sensual existence where all fetishes were accepted, all fantasies explored and all humans were open minded to the pleasure of sensual tantric massage. It was liberating to reach that summit. It was beautiful and arousing to see and feel this man's release. I had released a wild animal from the confines of his cage. I had tamed the foot fetish beast- as it were. 'I am the Foot Fetish Whisperer.' I said to myself. And I am proud to serve this title.