This is not my first story, but I will explain that I became a foot fetish mistress as part time work, and yes for the $250/hour I charge but also because my husband (yes husband) made me agree to tell him every detail of my adventures while he plays with my feet and pleasures himself. It is his secret turn on.

This particular job came about after I advertised my new business and was contacted by an older gentleman (my husband and I are in our 30s), who had a very special job for me. Apparently his oldest son was a little slow and awkward, and now soon to be 25-years-old the man wanted to satisfy his boy’s celibate desires.

“No offense,” said the nice looking older gentleman, “but I have never really been into women’s feet, maybe because my wife has large ugly hobbit feet. I saw your pictures though, and wow, you have incredibly perfect feet. I mean, if I were into such things.”

“So how did he know his son was into feet?,” asked my husband Phil as he played with my toes with his large man-hands on the end of the bed.

“I am getting to that,” I told him. “Hold your orgasm.”

Hubby began slowly and lovingly placing his fingers between my little toes, sometimes almost stretching them too much but he knew his limitations and when it would hurt.

I will at this point mention, dear reader, that I have size 6 feet. I have a nice arch, and toes that go across from big to small at a very straight angle but also not too sharp of an angle either. If you are a foot lover you likely understand. My nail beds are deep, and tops painted a candy apple red today. They are clipped quite tidy, and short, never extending past the curvy toe tips.

“Your toes are not pointy like some women's feet are,” Phil has told me.

The client met me at a truck stop, one of the largest I had ever seen with semis everywhere. His semi was a bright yellow with black, not red, flames. It was easy to find.

He told me that his oldest son Davey had to go to a special school growing up because he was a slow learner and awkward. Before that, when he was really young and still pre-teen, he would always crawl under the table and play with ladies feet when they came over to the house. Tickle mostly. It was a little weird, the man said, because at the time he had never heard of a foot fetish. Now years later the boy, a full grown man, still has never had a girlfriend.

“He needs some time alone with your feet,” said the dad.

Phil interrupted: “How did he know the boy would like the look of your feet in particular?” Hubby began kissing each toe separately, concentrating on the little red nails and toe tips.

He even told me how he knew, I replied to Phil.

Well, apparently when he saw the advertisement you put on the internet about renting out my feet, the father printed off a few of the pictures of my feet you posted in various poses with some sexy heels as well as bare. He left them in a pile in the house when his wife was away on a yoga retreat. Pictures of my feet were in the pile with some other women’s feet too. Different looking feet. Longer, supermodel-like feet, larger with really long finger-toes. Then, heavy girls feet. Really plump ones, that type of thing. Some with really short toes. The dad said it was a fairly large pile of differing feet and on the top was a note “Possible shoes for mom’s birthday.”

When he got home from work that evening, the pictures of my feet were missing from the pile.

“How did the father know your feet photos were missing,?” asked Phil, laying sideways by my feet and now placing my right foot on his manhood and wiggling his underwear off. His cock was beginning to grow as the story got more interesting.

Apparently the father numbered the pictures with corresponding names on a separate sheet. Eleven, 12 and 13 were missing. Those were me.

“Which pictures?,” asked Phil.

It was one of the pictures of my soles you took after removing my pink heels that night when we got back from the play. One heel was slightly removed on my right foot - no, sorry left foot. My right sole was completely bare. Remember?

“Gawd I love that picture. Ummmmmm. He must have had fun jerking to that I bet.”

Another picture was a side view of my naked feet in a pair of strappy heels. The type with only a couple of thin straps above the toes. You remember those red ones. The third picture was just the tops of my feet from the Mexico trip at the pool.

Phil began gyrating against my feet in his crotch now, turning my other foot so the sole was pressed right agains his face. He began rubbing my foot against his face, heel just below his chin so that my toes were at eye level.

I continued…

The father reached up to the truck and opened the big yellow door and pulled the seat forward, then he put out his hand to help me up so that I could climb into the sleeper. I had never been inside a semi before and the sleeper cab was much roomier than I could have ever guessed. I wanted to look around but half the sleeper was divided by a large curtain splitting the area into two. An even heavier curtain separating the front from the cabin. I touched the fabric, and noticed it must have been almost an inch thick. Likely to block light and cut noise for the trucker, I thought to myself.

He leaned toward me, and with his lips pressed right against the flesh on my ear whispered that Davey was on the other side of the curtain and I was to be very quiet. "No matter what." Then he said to place my feet under the curtain and onto Davey’s side of the sleeper.

Should I remove my shoes?, I asked the dad quietly.

“No, I think Davey would enjoy doing that,” he whispered back. “I am sure he would enjoy the surprise of uncovering your toes, and seeing your lovely delicate arch for the first time in person. By the way that tiny little freckle beside your baby toe on your left foot is delightful.”

I crinkled my chin in wonder of the close attention to the detail he had shown.

The father closed the door, and I cautiously slipped my feet encased in my cute little pair of brown clogs beneath the curtain. My pants slid up my legs on my side of the cabin under the weight of the curtain. I leaned against a pillow that was in the sleeper and could see my pant legs down to mid-ankle - but the rest of my lower body and my tiny feet were vulnerable to whoever looms on the other side of the dark black curtain. AKA my client.

Nerve wracking, but exciting too.

I was quiet and nervous. My feet were no longer under my control. They were at the mercy of this man-boy, who was planning to have his way with them. Whatever way that was.

“Oh gawd!,” yelled Phil, in excited expectation, kissing the bottoms of my feet and into my arch over and over again as I spoke of the incident. His hand traced the deep curve of my arch as he begged me to continue the story.

I heard the passenger door open on the truck now, and the father jumped up and gently and proudly spoke to his son.

“Davey, remember the special present I said you would be receiving for your 25th birthday? Take off the blindfold now, and enjoy yourself. I will be going for a coffee at the truck stop.”

“Ahhhhh… Ahhhhh!… Ummmm…,” the son muffled loudly as the truck door closed. I could hear him breathing now in a shaky manner, as he tried to stifle his deep, loud breathing.

I pressed the toes of my shoes together and gently rubbed them nervously.

As I looked down the bed at Phil, he was sliding the toes of my right foot up and down his now 7 inch dick and licking the sole of my left foot. The head of his penis was super sensitive, so he mostly kept the rubbing to his aching pleasure vein.

I could feel something gently touching the tops of my clogs. I think Davey was just feeling them, fondling my shoes. I nervously crossed my feet at the ankles and heard him inhale deeply as I did.

Davey let out a muffled grunt… “Ummmmm, ahhhhhh.”

The clog on the top of my right foot now began to removed upward over my toes, and I could feel Davey’s other shaking hand against the bare skin at the top of my foot. He lifted my shoe up and down several times, so high that he was likely able to see my toe cleavage and nothing more. His other hand stroked my foot like he was petting me.

Davey’s hands were a lot larger than I thought they would be. I pictured him in my mind as small, but he most certainly was not unless he had peculiarly large hands. They were big, and thick with callouses. I could feel one of his hands now probing my bottom foot and he slid his thick fingers all the way to his palms between my clod and my soft little heel. He squeezed my heel gently and slid his hand upward forcing the clog on my left foot to pop right off my foot and onto the floor of the sleeper.

Davey blurted out, “Ohhhhhhh, lovely. Lovely… lovely… lovely” as the shoe made a soft quiet noise coming to rest on Davey's side of the sleeper.

“Christ,” Phil yelled out as he had to stop pumping his cock against my toes and turn his body away from the perfect foot so as not to cum. “That guy playing with your feet is so fucking hot.”

Davey’s hand went quickly for the naked toes on my bottom foot, and he groaned over and over as he rubbed them between his thumb and rough palms. The vast texture change between his hands and my pretty feet must have been mind-blowing to him.

“Lovely…. loooooooovley... looooooovvvvley…,” he kept repeating in a creepy, longing way.

Suddenly my right clog was kind of knocked off my foot, but this time instead of going for my bare naked toes I heard him groping for and finally finding the shoe. He began inhaling deeply.

Inhale… “lovely”… “ummmmm” on the exhale. “Looooovely as the air filled his lungs… “Ummmmmmmmmmm” as he exhaled.

“He was smelling the inside of your clogs!,” declared Phil, who flipped off the bed momentarily and yelled back to me to keep talking.

Now I could feel Davey curl up against my naked left foot. He must have been laying on his side now. His penis was hard inside what felt like sweatpants. I could hear him awkwardly moving about, but still inhaling the scent of one of my - or maybe both - discarded shoes.

Phil came back to the end of the bed now, carrying with him one of the very same clogs that Davey was playing with just this afternoon. He placed it on my foot and then pushed his hard cock between my soft sole and the alluring shoe pussy.

Davey pried my right foot away from the one he was now using as a foot-pussy, and pulled my legs wide apart, making me feel vulnerable and somewhat like a wishbone.

My right foot went straight to Davey’s nose and he began sniffing my toes. For a moment I wondered if they smelled, but I knew from Phil that even if I was shopping all day he said my feet still smelled like a combination of leather, bubble bath and lotion.

I could hear Davey taking deep, nervous, shaky, breaths. His exhale was ticking my toes and I uncontrollably bent my foot and cringed, slapping him accidentally in the face. Davey grabbed my foot way more forcefully than he had before, tightening his grip. With one hand he began moving my toes back and forth against his crotch. He would move them, then stop… start again then let go until I understood that he wanted me to continue moving my foot against his organ.

I kept my toes against his crotch while I rotated my ankle. I could feel where his hard cock was now, but I kept just rotating gently instead of focusing on his now huge manhood.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Phil yelled out, and came hard between my brown mule and my naked little foot. “You’d think at my age this wouldn’t still happen. But these stories are fucking amazing.” He kissed my free foot and whispered to it, “I love you so much.”

I could feel Phil’s dick pulsating against my soles now. He was jerking back and forth for quite some time, as his sperm pumped out of his member - first repetitively and then sporadically, the cum throbbed its way out of his cock and onto my foot and onto my clog. Just when I thought he was done, another pulsation would come. Phil came hard listening to the story.

But I wasn't even done.

While I continued to tease Davey with my pretty red toes, I could feel him bringing the right foot up to his mouth and he began gliding his tongue across the outer edges of all my toenails. The tip of his tongue seemed to be trying to get under my tiny nails, one at a time. Licking upward against the pretty red toenails, it felt odd as the nail sprang back into place.

Phil rolled off the end of the bed and began cleaning up but he insisted I keep talking. Sometimes he gets another hard on if my story is long enough.

Now with both of his strong hands controlling my right foot and ankle, Davey began tickling my soles and then his tongue would follow the wrinkles as I moved my foot around to avoid the torment. The more I wiggled my foot, the more Davey began moving his crotch and grinding his pipe-like manhood into the little smooth sole of my left foot.

“Ahhhhhhh, hahahaha,” I screamed out. “Noooooooo!. My foot, my foot.”

Davey brought my foot up to his face again, and I could feel him smelling my sole from my heel right to the tips of my toes. My ring toe and third toe felt odd when I realized that he had split them apart and slid them up his nostrils. A very ticklish feeling followed, though I kept my foot still as Davey released a deep sounding “arrrrrrrhhhhhhhhhhh” and licked the sole of my right foot hard - over and over again.

I could feel his rock hard penis pulsate against my foot once or twice, but he pulled his crotch back to withhold the final copulation - his first with a woman I was told.

As he pulled my toes out of his nostrils, he began tickling my foot again. I never imagined being tickled in the truck, but now I was starting to regret the appointment and was a little scared for my safety.

“I fucking hate being tickled,” I yelled out.

That just seemed to excite him. Davey went for my toes now with his fingers and scratched the soft skin of my under-toes and toe pads with the rough skin at the end of his fingers. My toes are the most ticklish part of my feet and I began trying to shake my foot loose, but he was very strong and I was really not feeling my escape was near. Instead of trying to get Davey to release my foot I tried to end the torture by sliding down a little and feeling for his crotch with my left foot. I knew the excitement of my feet and his tickling fetish would not allow him to prolong an orgasm any longer if I could just find his pecker with my beautiful foot.

My left foot quickly explored the other side of the sleeper, looking for Davey’s crotch. I could hear him moving around so as not to allow the forced footjob and he was combating my efforts by ticking my captured foot even more furiously. The torment was so unbearable I began spinning from side to side uncontrollably. Despite my efforts, my new dungeon master continued to scratch quickly up and down my soles, then tickle my arch with his nails before claiming the delicate skin between each of my toes as his own.

“Hahahahahahaha, hahahahahahaha. No, please no. Please no. Nooooooo,” I yelled.

Finally as I squirmed from one side to the other I found Davey’s cock with my free foot while he began taking turns first kissing and then tickling my captive foot. I began rubbing and grinding my foot up and down his steel shaft, causing Davey to squeeze my ankle hard and I hollered out “Owwwwe! Fuck! Bastard!”

Phil interjected, “Shit he can’t get that aggressive with you. We will have to set some rules for ticklers in the future.”

“Like, I fucking know,” I said. It was unexpected.

Rather than allowing himself to cum against my foot, Davey tried to prolong his fun by reaching for my foot but was off balance and he fell against the side of the sleeper cab making quite a racket. The good news for him, and bad for me, was that he had both of my ankles now and twisted me so that I was face down on the other side of the sleeper.

He sat on the backs of my thigh and bent my knees, pulling my feet toward him. I tried with all my might to roll and could not. I tried to pull my feet away from him but he had my calves in double arm locks. His face was right on my soles now as he leaned over top of my feet.

Not knowing what he was planning next, I could only lay on my stomach with anticipation and fear. When he began tickling, I began screaming every time he touched my feet. But he wouldn’t stop, and now began using his tongue to “LICKLE” my soles. As he did so, his crotch was pressing against my calves. I could feel him grinding against the muscles of my lower legs while his tongue probed my soles. “Tickle, tickle, tickle,” he whispered under his breath. I could only move a little, pushing my legs forward slightly and then back, or to the side a slightly and then back again. The squirming made him more excited.

I could feel his cock had exited his sweatpants now, and the hard dick probed the space between my calves. He continued to fuck my legs, lickling my under-toes while I yelled for him to stop. He rolled my pant legs down further and now I could feel his bare cock against my skin. The shrill sound of my panic got him more and more excited when finally he bent my toes back as far as they would go and stuck as many of the little damsels into his gaping yap as possible. He proceeded to slobber all over the bright red polished toes, and dripped saliva between the symmetrical little digits.

He came hard, and yelled out a massive groan like a wild animal in pain in the forest. “Ummmmmmm,” he shouted, releasing a guttural boom like a lion warning competitors of his rightful territory and property.

Davey fell to his side, and I reached for my mules with my feet and slid them back over to my side of the sleeper. As I slipped them on and got up, I reached for the space between the driver’s seat and the door of the semi. I could see the door handle now, and crouched over to reach for my escape.

First I felt it. Then I glanced over and saw a hand grip my wrist.

“Let me help you with that,” said a male voice.

As I turned toward him, I was shocked to see that it was the father still in the passenger’s seat of the truck. His pants were part way down, and his penis was erect.

“No shit,” said Phil, back from the ensuite in our bedroom. He had another chubby going already. “So he was watching his son the whole time?”

I don’t know, I said to Phil. Maybe he wasn’t even related. Who knows, but I just know that I pulled the door handle and fled.

“I didn’t realize it was so traumatic baby,” Phil said. He was right. When I fled the truck, I quickly brushed my hair in place and composed myself. Phil was sitting around the corner in our SUV. I looked down at my clogs, slipped out my right foot, looked at my little red toes and wondered what in the hell was wrong with guys.

I shook my head, slid my foot into the shoe and walked up to our vehicle clutching $250.