I’ve had two foot fetish sessions in the last week so my feet have had plenty of expert attention.
Licking, kissing, stroking, worshipping, toe sucking. Much more fun than a visit to the foot spa.
In the first of the two sessions, my charming suitor was happy to stay fully clothed, sit himself on the floor and lean back against the wall for me to use his chest as a foot stool and his tongue as a foot massager.
A foot worshipper. Lovely.
He paid my feet all sorts of compliments.
They are quite the pair.
The second of my paramours was more into humiliation and liked to think that my feet were dirty and smelly and his punishment for being a weak and unworthy male specimen was to be forced to cleanse my filthy foot sweat with his tongue.
Properly smelly feet require a commitment to bad hygiene that I could only achieve if I wore the same dirty socks for multiple days and left my feet to stew in the juices of all the bacteria happily feasting on my dead skin cells and sweat.
I could do it if I had one dedicated foot slave to sponsor such a stinky endeavour longer term.
Otherwise it’s not achievable. I can’t get my feet all smelly for a one hour session and then go inflict my stinky hoofs on some poor unsuspecting non foot fetishist client later the same day.
But that’s ok. Foot fetishists are generally understanding of my need to be fresh and fragrant and they’re happy with whatever natural tastes and smells my feet have to offer and capable of using their imaginations to conjure any additional dirtiness their little kinky hearts desire.
