This is a true account of something that I witnessed as a young man that had a drastic affect on how I think about women and their erotic feet. I swear it is true (if it wasn't true, I'd probably put myself in the man's place to make it even more traumatic, or have gotten something more out of it, like her phone number or whatever).

I was traveling on a train (about 20 years ago) far from home. When I boarded the train, I noticed that it was sparsely populated, so I roamed through a few cars looking for a place to sit, no doubt subconsciously seeking a female sitting alone to possibly have a conversation with. Anyway, fairly soon I came across a very attractive woman about 10 to 15 years older than me (I was 21), so I casually took a seat across the isle from her and looked out the window as people moved about leaving and boarding.

I would glance over at her as she was preoccupied. She was a stunning looking woman, slender, long dark brown hair, wearing a dark blue pant suit with red high heeled shoes. She sat with a leg crossed over the other reading a newspaper. Her face was not the motherly kind, but rather sculpted, serious, and strikingly beautiful. Not the woman next door look, but rather a look of a cold hearted fashion model slightly over the hill (not a teen). The high fashion business woman look.

I've had a foot fetish as long as I can remember, so very quickly I had scanned her. Since I have a preference for rather large feet on a woman, I noticed that she was about a size 9 with slender feet. She had a sensuous arch that rose out of her hanging foot encased in a blue nylon. I've learned to look at hands as an indicator of feet, and also saw that her fingers were long and slender, painted red, and absolutely beautiful, elegant, and feminine.

Shortly, another woman wheeled a man in a wheel chair down the isle and greeted the woman sitting across from me. They then chatted briefly and the woman standing left the invalid in this woman's care. The man was about 30 to 40 years old, and seemed very paralyzed, as his head was cradled in a secure rest and he was strapped around the chest to hold him to the back rest. There was a little tray affair off to one side of his head. The woman said a few niceties to this man she called Eric, and then she began reading her paper again. I didn't like the fact that this Eric was placed in my line of sight to her.

Anyway, after a bit the train began to move, and we were on our way. There was another man sitting behind me, and this woman was one seat ahead of me on the opposite side facing towards me, with Eric in front of her half in the isle with his back to me. The trip was to be a number of hours (can't remember how many), but after I had spent quite awhile gazing out the window, I heard this woman speak to Eric again. She was asking him questions and then answering them for him as he apparently couldn't talk. Things like, "Have you had a good week Eric? Of course you have, visiting [a name]." And so on and so on. "I bet you missed them didn't you?"She continued.

She was smiling at him. After talking to him in that manner a few minutes, she put her paper down and leaned forward and swung this tray in front of his face, then made a height adjustment on it. It was obviously a feeding tray where he could sip things through a straw etc. She then sat back and said. "Poor Eric, just not enough excitement in your life, is there? I know what excites you Eric. Shelia told me. She told me all of your secrets. Does that embarrass you? Awh, poor Eric." She cooed. She then took off her red heels and placed them on the seat beside her, and as she sat back, I couldn't believe that she used this man's tray as a foot stool!

I turned my head to look out the window again, then thought how odd this was. I looked again and she was reading her paper with her ankles crossed, one foot resting on top the other, with both stockinged soles a few inches from this man's face. She stretched, spread, and pointed her toes slowly on her feet as if she was uncramping them after being confined to shoes all day. I was stunned. I wanted to stare at her incredible soles, but was afraid she'd see me. I must have turned red as I felt flushed. My heart started to thump hard. I couldn't believe this odd behavior, and the more I glanced and turned away in thought, the more I became sexually excited about this deliberate placement of her feet in his face.

Then I noticed that she held his face with them. She stroked and squeezed his cheeks with her stockinged soles as she read. Then she looked at him and asked, "Do my feet smell, Eric?" She laughed quietly and said she was sorry that they smelled, that it was the stockings and her shoes. "Do they smell too much Eric?" She then cupped his nose with the long toes of one foot, laughing quietly in a mocking voice. "Oh, you'll live Eric." She cooed. "You can smell them until they don't smell anymore." She raised her paper again. Since her eyes were hidden from me, I could get a good look at her incredible toes and soles, stockings in his face, grabbing his nose playfully, and smearing his face. I was so worked up.

I also noticed that Eric was beat red. Probably from acute embarrassment, but if he was like me, he would have died from over-excitement. No one could see me staring, so I really fixated on her feet and what she was doing with them. It was pure torture for me. I wished so much it could have been me feeling and smelling her gorgeous feet. They were expressive works of art. I could have watched them forever. My desire to jerk off was overwhelming.

After what seemed like 15 minutes, she lifted and bent one leg and removed the stocking. I was surprised as I fantasized that they were long stockings or pantyhose, but they were footlets. She placed that bare foot back on the tray and removed the other one too. Then she asked, "Do they smell any better?" She squeezed his face between what seemed like possibly damp, soft, wrinkled soles. They were fantastic feet for my tastes.

Then she read her paper some more and causually grabbed his nose. She lowered her other foot and seemed to anchor his wheelchair with her heel locked on one of the chair's foot plates. Then I saw the skin of her foot on his face turn a bit whitish around the edges from the pressure she was placing on his nose and mouth. She was smothering this man with her sensuous bare sole. I nearly passed out from the erotic shock I felt at witnessing this. She didn't let go. It seemed like minutes. My head was almost delirious, but I wondered about this man's safety. He was beat red and unable to escape this beautiful woman's smothering sole.

Finally, I don't know how the words came, but I choked them out feebly. "Are you sure that he can breathe?"

She lowered her paper and looked at me over the top. "Oh, Eric loves it." She unlocked her toes spreading them and said, "OK, breathe Eric." She then looked at me and said, "Different strokes for different folks." She then clamped her sensuous toes down over his mouth and nostrils again to once again do a marathon smothering. She just stared at him. Obviously, so was I.

Then the man behind me spoke up in an alarming voice, "Don't you think that is too much for him miss?"

She didn't even move her eyes to the man behind me when she replied, "Oh, he can suffer much more than that." Then she looked directly at me and said, "I'll bet you could last a long time under my foot."

I couldn't believe that I actually answered back, "I'd try to." She smiled and went back to her paper and released his nose for some more breathing. She raised the other foot up again and continued to cup and hold his face, spread her toes over his nose and mouth, and generally drive me nuts for the next eternity (probably half an hour). Then all of a sudden, she slipped her shoes on (barefoot), picked up her things and wheeled Eric out of the car that we had shared. She never came back.

Later I walked through some cars until I found them. She was sitting with her bare feet in Eric's lap, reading a book. I could only walk by, then walk by again on my way back to my seat again. I never forgot this little vixen. If I were a rich man, I'd give anything to be able to find her and have her put me through her paces. She has forever shaped my deepest, darkest, sexual fantasies. Now that I know that most women don't like sexually submissive men, I find that the only way I can make a relationship work, is if I'm with a woman who is rather dominant. The chemistry of being with a dominant woman is so strong for me, their feet are not a priority. Otherwise, with submissive women, their feet become a focus and there is little in it for them in the long run after the initial give and take. This is a lesson that took years to figure out.