In the bustling heart of the city, amidst the flurry of footsteps and the cacophony of urban life, there existed a quaint little shoe store. Its name, “Sole Sanctuary,” whispered promises of comfort and style to those who sought refuge for their weary feet. And behind its polished glass windows and neatly arranged displays, there was a man who tended to the footwear needs of the city’s denizens: Henry.

Henry wasn’t just any ordinary shoe salesman. He possessed an uncanny passion for feet that bordered on obsession. To him, each foot was a masterpiece, each step a symphony of grace. While others saw shoes as mere accessories, Henry saw them as the vessels that cradled the objects of his affection.

Henry Had A Secret Foot Fetish.

With a warm smile and an expert eye, Henry greeted his customers, eager to assist them in finding the perfect fit. But behind his affable demeanor lurked a secret desire that he dared not reveal—a desire fueled by the tantalizing allure of the human foot.

As he knelt to measure a customer’s foot, Henry’s fingers would linger just a second longer than necessary, relishing the sensation of supple skin beneath his touch. He would admire the arches, the curves, the delicate lines that bespoke a lifetime of stories. And with each fitting, his longing only grew stronger.

Yet, Henry was careful to conceal his desires, maintaining a facade of professionalism at all times. He knew that indulging his fantasies could spell disaster for his reputation and his livelihood. And so, he buried his yearnings beneath layers of restraint, finding solace in the brief moments of intimacy afforded by his trade.

He Fell In Love.

But fate has a way of unraveling even the most carefully constructed facades. One fateful afternoon, a woman entered Sole Sanctuary, her presence commanding attention with every step. Her name was Olivia, and she possessed a beauty that transcended mere physicality—a beauty that ensnared Henry’s heart in an instant.

As Henry assisted Olivia in trying on a pair of heels, he found himself captivated by the sight of her slender feet, adorned with a delicate anklet that glimmered in the soft light of the store. His hands trembled as he knelt before her, his breath caught in his throat as he dared to imagine what it would feel like to caress those perfect arches, to worship at the altar of her feet.

Unbeknownst to Henry, Olivia was not oblivious to his desires.

With a knowing smile, she allowed him to indulge in his fantasies, granting him permission to explore the depths of his passion without fear of judgment or reproach. And in that moment, Henry realized that he had found his soulmate—not in the form of a person, but in the embodiment of his deepest desires.

From that day forth, Henry and Olivia shared a bond forged in the fires of passion and understanding. Together, they explored the realms of pleasure and fulfillment, their love transcending the boundaries of convention and expectation. And as they walked hand in hand into the sunset, Henry knew that he had found his true calling—not just as a shoe salesman, but as a devotee of the human foot, forever bound to worship at the altar of his beloved’s soles.

The Rockstar: An erotic story with sole

Gypsy — Sun, 09 Jul 2023 15:39:27 +0000

An erotic story with a twist.

“Gypsy, you’re wanted for the weekend in Vegas. Your ticket is at the airport, but this one, well this is something special. You need to sign this non-disclosure before leaving.”

It wasn’t the first time I signed one, but I almost died when I read the name. I can’t mention who this was, but he is enormous right now. I won’t ever let it slip, or tell you if you guess, but wow, I was in for a shock.

Arriving late Friday evening, a limo waited for me at the airport. Not unusual. Some of my clients are very well connected, and they do this quite frequently for me. Slipping into the sleek black car, a bottle of champagne was chilled and ready for me to enjoy my relaxing ride to the Venetian. I love that place, to be honest. Staying there is just a little pricey when you do it on your own dime.

I checked in and escorted to my room. There was a bathtub where the bubbles that looked like champagne fizzed when filled. I was in mid soak when the door opened, and there he stood. My god! I was starstruck for a moment, but he sure wasn’t. Dropping the robe, without a word, he joined me in the tub. From the view I had, he didn’t need an escort to please that beast between his legs.

“Did you have a good flight?” he asked.

That voice was smooth as silk. As we relaxed in hot water, a bellhop entered the room and left a bottle of Dom Perigon and two chilled glasses. My host popped the cork the moment he was gone. Pouring the drink, he leaned in for a seductive brush against my lips before handing it over. I think that was the first of many moments that I lost my breath. Many times in the past I had fantasized about this man, and here I was with him. I needed to remember he was human, just like anyone else. Only much better looking than most.

“It wasn’t bad at all. No screaming kids in first class,” I laughed.

We both had a good laugh at that one. I hate flying and listening to marital issues, kids crying, and how much someone doesn’t want to visit the bitch mother in law. Usually, that’s when my headphones become my best friend.

Reaching a hand out for me to join him on the other side, I slid my tiny frame over and nestled into his side. It was the kind of moment that most girls dreamed about experiencing. This man didn’t need to pay a whore for services. Any girl in her right mind would have taken my place for free, but he wanted to be able to enjoy himself without any repercussions. An escort is a perfect woman for that!

I had heard things about this man. He has a bit of a fetish for the feet. I can’t say I blame him. A foot carries the weight of the world upon them. His hand brushing down my silken locks, I admit now that I felt special for that one moment in life. We know that is not true. I am a whore who knows how to shut up. A woman who sells her pussy to the highest bidder, but not once did he make me feel that way. I felt like I mattered to at least one person in this heartless world. Pity that feeling was brought forth by the exchange of currency.

“I want you to move back to the other side, lift your foot, and show me, no, entice me to worship that perfect sole!” he said, his voice husky.

I have done many sessions with Men who love feet, but to know this particular man wanted to stroke, lick, and envelope my foot made something deep inside of me twinge with power. I have stated many times that I am not at all a Dominate, but I love twisting and tugging a man around my finger, or in this case, around my little toe.

I slipped back to my spot, lifting that size seven from the warm water. His eyes watched as a twist and turn of the ankle beckoned him to touch. In all honesty, I wanted to feel his mouth on my flesh. Inching closer to the edge, pressing my soft heel against his cheek, I lovingly stroked across the day’s growth of stubble. It felt like an electrical charge rushing through my body. Brushing my digits over his lips, I wanted, No! I needed to feel his tongue bathe my foot. Cleanse me from sole to soul.

I knew he was stroking, but I ignored it. I didn’t care about his hand massaging over that cock. All I needed was this bliss that was enveloping me with each lap of the skilled oral manipulator over my flesh. I would have sold my soul at that point. He was the only man to ever make me cum without either of us touching my genitals. Crying out, I came with a force that I had never experienced before. Rapture rushing through my veins. I would have been sedated with just this, but there was so much more to the weekend. Yes, I fucked him. Yes, he was terrific. Too bad I can’t tell you who he is, but a secret is a secret.

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