When I look down at my feet, I don’t see beauty. I see a wide foot with short, fat, pink toes.
Finding the right pair of sandals to wear in summer is always a nightmare. My feet sweat a lot and I can’t do heels. I’ve learned that comfort, beauty and fashion don’t always go together.
I remember once a colleague told me that I really should wear nail polish with feet like mine. I remember feeling hurt and offended. I was already self-conscious enough about my feet. I didn’t need someone else pointing out my imperfections.
During my time as a fetish model, I was willing to explore any kink photographically except for the foot fetish. Who could possibly get turned on by my feet? I used to think.
Things started to change for me when I met a fetish photographer at a kink party. He described himself as a professional tickler. He was really into feet, tickling and photography – sometimes all of them at the same time. He told me that he would love to photograph my feet. I must confess that I was surprised and a little embarrassed when he looked down at my feet in my gladiator style sandals during our conversation.
‘I hate my feet,’ I confessed to him.
‘Why? You have beautiful feet,’ he said. Was he blind? I wondered.
‘Let me show you how beautiful they are’. He challenged me. ‘I will photograph them and I guarantee that you will love the pictures. I won’t be needing Photoshop either,’ he declared confidently.
I was flattered but not convinced. Despite my podal shame, I was open to trying something new and so we scheduled a photo session the following week. I went to his studio on a Tuesday morning. He was chirpy and enthusiastic telling me that he had really been looking forward to photographing me. I was still completely puzzled about this.
After exchanging some pleasantries over a coffee, we got down to business. He showed me a chair that I would be sitting on and a stool that would support my feet. I sat on the chair, took off my shoes and socks and stretched my legs out in front of me, resting on the stool. He proceeded to tie my ankles together with a business tie. It felt nice in a primitive way,
‘Can I blindfold you? I don’t want you to see my utensils.’
‘Utensils’? What on earth was he talking about? I wondered. I decided not to think about it and I just nodded in agreement.
As soon as my ankles were tied and I was blindfolded, I suddenly felt at his mercy. I felt passive, which was a blessing for someone like me who prides themselves on being an independent woman. Now, I didn’t have to think. All I had to do was react. What a relief.
I was sitting in silence as I heard the clicks of him setting up his camera and lights.
‘Now we are ready. Are you ready?’
As soon as he lightly stroked the arch of my left foot, my whole body reacted. My knees bent, I arched the soles of my feet, and I threw my head back as I howled and squealed like a madwoman. I couldn’t believe that such a small, subtle gesture could provoke such a big reaction.
Usually when I was posing for photos, I was conscious of my smile – or pout – depending on the mood, and body position. Instead, there was no time to think about how I looked. I was well and truly in the moment.
I wasn’t used to being touched on my feet. In fact, whenever I had a full body massage, I always asked the masseuse to leave my feet alone because it was too ticklish to handle but now I was actually letting someone tickle me. It was madness.
His tickles ranged from light strokes to more intense focused ones with pressure on my soles. He even tickled between my toes which felt insane. Over time, I gradually built up a resistance and my reactions became more contained. When he observed this, he decided to use his ‘utensils’, he said with a mischievous laugh. He then proceeded to pass a hairbrush over the soles of my feet and I squirmed again with heightened intensity.
When his camera memory card was full, we decided to stop. He untied me and removed my blindfold.
‘I knew you would like that,’ he said laughing.
‘Like’ was a strong word, I wasn’t sure whether I actually liked it but it certainly was a novel experience to add to my fetish repertoire.
He showed me the photos on his camera viewfinder. I was genuinely surprised at what I saw; my feet in the forefront of the image as if they were the biggest part of my body due to the perspective. I must admit that I finally did understand that my feet could be beautiful. Well, actually it wasn’t about conventional beauty. It was more about my reactions and especially my interactions with the imaginary spectator. It wasn’t the kind of beauty you would see in a foot care product advert. It was a raw expression of total surrender.
Afterwards, I was in a cloud. It felt as if I’d had a massage because I was totally zoned out. I was also incredibly horny, which I didn’t expect. When I got home, the first thing I did was masturbate. To my total astonishment, one orgasm wasn’t enough to take the edge off. I had to come three times until I felt grounded again.
I never imagined that foot worship could be so erotic.
We had many more sessions together and my enjoyment increased every time. I even started sharing photos of my feet on social media. It’s safe to say that I have finally started to love my feet and appreciate all the pleasure they can provide to me, and others.
These days, I relish professional pedicures and reflexology sessions as much as I can afford. In addition, every time I post a picture of my feet on social media, my inbox is full of messages of appreciation from my followers.
Now when I look down at my feet, I realise they are not that bad after all.