Before I kick off I feel it’s only fair that I make one thing clear; Personally, I’m not ‘into’ feet myself so please, humble reader, even if you aren’t too, do stick around, there’s hopefully plenty to still plenty to enjoy and explore in this post. Go on; dip a toe into some adventure…

It’s not that I find feet specifically unattractive, more that I find them no more or less attractive than any other largely functional part of the anatomy. They’re as equally as [un]arousing as the humble elbow or the back of the knee.

But I’m also fully cognicent and open to the fact that, to some folk out there, feet represent the very pinnacle of the erotic food chain. And that’s wonderful - Everyone has their own unique kinks and it’s very much not for others to judge. Far from it, it’s often a fascinating deep dive into discoverying precisely *why* a person can find a specific (and/or obscure) thing especially stimulates them, and quite often the why can be even more gloriously obscure than the ‘what’.

Ultimately though, providing a person’s choice of personal gratification isn’t actively harming themselves or others, I’ll never kink-shame and always try my best to at the very least understand, if not necessarily participate.

My philosophy has always been to (at least attempt to) keep an open mind. Often kinks can be either so remarkably specific or so bizarrely left field that they’ll be things that you’d never conceive of yourself and, perhaps if you tried it, you might even enjoy it.

Which is ultimately why, on a small but significant handful of occasions, I’ve found myself participating in what can only be described as ‘foot stuff.’

In my - incredibly limited - experience, ‘Feet Guys’ tend to fall into two very distinct camps. Firstly: those who enjoy feet as part of a varied sexual diet. For these folk, a little foot based fun is simply an extra treat to throw in to enjoy from time to time. It’s the icing on the cake of a fun time, but far from the be all and end all.

At the other end of the scale are those for whom the worship/adoration of the humble foot is the both the very bedrock and cornerstone of all sexual experiences. And, to reiterate, I am in no way Kink-shaming these folk. There’s room in this ridiculous world for everyone of all interests. I’m just saying that *for me* having the basis of all future orgasm prospects involving a toe doesn’t particularly appeal.

For now I’ll share an encounter with the former. If there’s any interest I can post a brief and bizarre experience I’ve had with the latter. What the tale lacks in length it makes up for in… Well. Feet.

Ryan and I were apparently dating, though it was mostly just an excuse for regular and frequently excellent sex. As such, we were both incredibly comfortable with being open and, dare I say it, somewhat ‘experimental’ with each other.

I have a great many tales of sexual exploration involving poor Ryan, some far more successful than others, and one in particular I doubt he’s recovered from even all these years later.

But that’s a story for another time.

After one alleged ‘date night’ where we’d ventured out for a couple of drinks mostly as an arbitrary excuse to qualify and justify an evening of sex, it came as less of a shock than you might think when he said;

“Do you think you can make me cum with your feet?”

Ryan was crafty. We’d been ‘dating’ for a good handful of months by this stage, and he’d learned an important trick. I’m a ludicrously competitive individual, and a sure fire way of guaranteeing i’ll engage with practically *anything* is to frame it as a challenge. By asking the question the way he did, he’d immediately put the onus on *me* to succeed, activating my competitive tendencies and ensuring I’d succumb to the inevitable urge to win.

I attempted to dodge the question by asking if he’d actually want me to. If he’d been harbouring a secret desire for feet that was perfectly fine - but I’d damn well make him admit it first!

“Not really,” he replied in such an obviously non-comital tone that I couldn’t help but conjure images of him sniffing my dirty socks whenever I left the room. “But it might be fun to try?”

I agreed, incorporating a healthy dose of feigned reluctance. Feigned for two key reasons:

The more reluctant I appeared, the more I’d be able to negotiate in return. In this instance the deal was that if I succeeded he’d have to spend the rest of the evening using his ‘magic fingers’ to the fullest of their ability, and wouldn’t be allowed to stop until I declared I’d had enough.

I’ve discussed Ryan’s magic fingers at length elsewhere but in short; they’ve earned their place as one of the seven wonders of the sexual wonderland. He has a particular ‘move’ which I can neither describe nor been able to have any other man reproduce which sends any orgasm into the stratosphere.

Ryan, if you’re reading this, you owe it to womankind to share your secrets with the world. I’ll use my feet again, if that’s what it takes!

But I digress.

Hubris aside, I was already quietly confident I could succeed. He didn’t know, but it wouldn’t be my first time attempting some ‘foot stuff’, and previous limited experience suggested I could achieve results without requiring much in the way of effort.

Terms agreed, we got things underway with some very basic foreplay to get us both in the mood. Which is to say we stripped and kissed for five or so minutes while our hands roamed each other’s bodies. Simple but effective. Several months into a ‘relationship’ and you soon learn the most effective shortcuts to arousal.

I offered him the opportunity to sniff my socks as I removed them. He declined. I feigned insult.

Suitably warmed up but unsure of how far the footpath he wanted to tread (pun intended), I lay back and brought my foot up to his face. In a motion that, from his position, must have looked entirely absurd, I proceeded to stroke the sole of my foot across the side of his face.

I was neither dainty nor elegant. Whatever the term ‘ham-fisted’ would be with a foot instead of a fist; that would very much describe it.

Bacon -footed?

Nevertheless he gamely nuzzled into it, and gently started to kiss my feet. His short facial hair bristled against the bare sole and I had to fight every urge to kick out at the sensation. I was, however, unable to contain my laughter and, anticipating that I may be about to pull away, he grabbed my leg and held my foot in place as he continued to kiss and bristle. I suspect this was more him enjoying a rare moment of having me somewhat at his mercy, than due to him necessarily savouring the feel of his lips on my pinkies.

Fearing if this continued for long I’d end up giving him a black eye with my somewhat flailing other leg, I brought it up to his face and, without ceremony, shoved my big toe into his mouth.

“Suck it!” I declared, in a rare reversal of circumstance.

He did. And I can still hear the haunting non-committal slurping sound to this day. It became clear in seconds that this was perhaps a stage too far for him. We’d found his limit. Foot in face - sexy. Foot in mouth - a step too far. Nevertheless he took some time to be sure, slurping aimlessly for a few seconds before switching to licking my toes instead.

After perhaps a minute of tonguing from him and ticklish wriggling from me, he finally released my legs and let my feet drop back to the bed. Wherein he suggested that perhaps I should try sucking *his* toes instead.

Ryan was not a man who I think would even know what a pedicure was, let alone indulge in one. I - somewhat bravely - spent a few moments kissing the few areas of his feet in which I didn’t fear I ran the risk of catching some malignent tropical disease, but will admit I outright declined to suck on his hairy toes, instead suggesting that if this whole scenario was something he’d ever be looking to repeat, we’d perhaps spend some time improving the playing field first.

Instead, we jumped to the action. After liberally applying some lube to his cock which was, gamely, still erect, I had him lie back while I took up position sitting upright in a vaguely cross-legged position, only without my legs crossed - knees spread asunder. Pivoting so all my weight was balanced on my arse, I placed both of my feet around his cock - heels overlapping so the shaft was held firmly between the soles of my feet, and began to rack backwards and forwards and moving my feet along the length of his shaft.

I looked ridiculous. He burst out laughing and told me if this was my winning technique then we might be here a while. I told him to shut the fuck and bear with me. The plan was still afoot.

My intention was to lull Ryan into a false sense of security. I’ve found the moment a guy relaxes because he doesn’t feel primed to cum is often the moment he’s most vulnerable to a precision strike.

If you’ve never gamified sex then you should. It’s enormous fun.

I ceased my rocking and instead of drawing my feet up and down his cock, I held them at the head and began very slightly moving them forward and back almost in the manner of trying to start a campfire by rubbing sticks, but obviously far *FAR* more delicately.

The constant focused motion had a near immediate effect. Suddenly he wasn’t laughing anymore.

So as to not wear out the sensation I alternated between rapid fire head rubbing and resting the shaft against one sole while the other foot ran up and down the length of it, teasing the head with the toes.

Soon enough, when I switched back to the focused head-rubbing, when he declared his wonderfully telling signifier; “Keep going!”

He started thrusting to add to the motion while the souls of my feet continued their rapid caressing of the tip of his cock.

Moments later, his cock still held between my feet, he came.

“I win” I declared proudly as several jets of cum erupted and splashed onto my feet, thighs and stomach. It was far from his biggest load he’d ever graced upon me, but not a bad haul for what had largely experimental procedure.

He suggested I should refrain from wiping away the cum and keep it on my feet for a while. I’ve no idea why, given my feet weren’t in play for the rest of the night.

Instead, the remainder of the evening was spent with him fulfilling his side of the bargain, while I lay on my back and enjoyed the fruits of my labours.

His fingers worked their magic, and I didn’t end up washing my feet until the following morning.

Truly, he knew how to keep me on my toes.

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