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Commission - Foot Fetish Origins: Part 1
🕑 Added 2021-07-11 01:43:00 +0000 UTCSorry I haven't posted this past week, it was Independence Day in the US so I was busy all weekend and then was out of town Monday thru Thursday. But I'm back! This story isn't size related at all, the person just wanted a foot story from beginning to end so if you're not into that it won't be for you at all since that'll be the only thing it's got going for it. I know everyone follows me for the size stories but I'm willing to write about anything for commissions so since I'm already writing it for them I mind as well share it for those who'd still like it!
The person who commissioned it wanted to have LOTS of unaware scenes take place, where the women don’t notice the person at their feet even though normally it should be pretty obvious. So there’s a bit of unrealisticness to the whole thing but that’s intentional. But if you like foot stories and can suspend a bit of disbelief, then hopefully you’ll enjoy!
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My name’s Timothy Bennett, and I have a foot fetish.
I would imagine that most people’s kinks and fetishes develop naturally as they begin to discover their sexuality. Maybe they’re with a partner and their partner suggests something that they really end up liking. Maybe they watch a movie and a certain scene or character turns them on in a way they’ve never felt before. Or maybe they’ve just always been transfixed with it since before they could remember, and they have no idea where it came from.
But that wasn’t the case for me. I know exactly how my fetish for feet came about. It wasn’t something my girlfriend suggested, it didn’t start from seeing them on TV one day, and I never thought about them as a little kid. Mine was developed. The seeds of desire were planted against my will when I was a lot younger, and through a series of random chance encounters with various women, my fetish evolved into what it is today. And it all started with my mother.
I know it’s fucked up to say, but it wouldn’t be fair to say I’m telling you the full story if I’m not truthful about where the story begins. Don’t get it twisted—I was never attracted to my mom or any part of her, at least not initially. She wasn’t the only woman involved in this first chapter of my story, but none of what progressed over the years might’ve ever happened if it weren’t for my mom taking me to work that day. My first real and up close encounter with women’s soles and toes and heels and arches; how they looked up close, how they smelled, what they felt like. It all came at the hands of—well, the feet of—my very own mother. So here’s what happened.
* * * * * *
My mom’s name was Lauren. At the time, she was 38 years old, and was an assistant editor at a fashion magazine. She had blonde hair, green eyes, and a beautiful smile that had done a lot of the heavy lifting of raising my when I grew up. On that particular day I didn’t have any school, except she didn’t know that and I hadn’t remembered, so I’d gotten in the car with my backpack like any other school day. But by the time she pulled into the drop-off zone of my school, she could already tell something was off.
“Where’s everyone else?” she asked aloud, looking around at the lack of anyone else dropping their kids off. “Are we an hour early, is my clock off?” She checked the car’s clock, and then her phone, and then her watch: they all read 8:21am. “Timmy, was there something you forgot to tell me?” she asked, turning around and looking at me in the backseat.
I swallowed nervously under my mom’s gaze. She wasn’t angry, but she was still confused. “Uhhhhh… I don’t think there’s school today,” I said, stating the obvious. “I thought we were supposed to have next Monday off, I didn’t it was today,” I lied, pretending I’d known all along and simply mixed up the dates instead of forgotten. “Sorry Mommy.”
She sighed, and turned back around and staring out the window as she thought about her options. “That’s OK honey, we all make mistakes sometimes.” She took another deep breath and began pulling away from the drop-off, turning back onto the road. “Well, I can’t just leave you at home all day, and I don’t have time to find a sitter before I have to be at work. So you’ll just have to tag along with me to work today, mkay? Does that sound fun?”
I wasn’t too excited by the idea, but it wasn’t like I loved going to school anyways. “I guess…” My face was pressed against the car’s window, silently watching the buildings outside pass by as they steadily grew taller and taller as we drove closer to the heart of the city. Eventually my mom pulled into the underground parking garage of some 50 floor building, spiraling downwards several levels until pulling into one that had some available parking. We lived closer to the suburbs, so I wasn’t often that my mom would take me to the heart of the city, and it always fascinated my curious mind.
“OK Timmy,” my mom said, parking the car and turning it off as she grabbed her briefcase and cup of coffee from, “you can just leave your backpack in the car. You won’t be able to come back down here while I’m working, so do you wanna take anything from it before we head up?” I shook my head, and she smiled, “Great!” The two of us got out of the car and I followed obediently behind my mom, observing her chic, slim-fitting business suit as she confidently strode towards the elevators. We got in with a few other people who were also on their way to work, and silently rode up to the building’s lobby. As the elevator doors opened again, the hubbub of a busy Monday morning greeted us, and I grabbed my mom’s hand nervously, not wanting to get lost among everyone as she led us out of the elevator. She smiled down at me as she pressed the button for another set of lifts, and ushered me inside after the doors opened. We headed towards the corner as half a dozen others filed in, and I clung close to my mom’s side, feeling dwarfed by all the adults around me. My loving mother rubbed my back to soothe me as she kept me close while we ascended up the building. With a ding, the elevator doors opened again, and my mom steered me left towards the reception area of the magazine.
“Morning Shaundra,” my mom said, warmly greeting the receptionist as she headed past the simple but stylish looking entrance.
“Good morning Mrs. Bennett,” the lady replied, waving at me with a smile as I blankly stared at the woman I’d never met. We continued to head through her magazine’s offices, passing by rows of desks, empty meeting rooms, and kitchens where some were making their coffee for the day. We walked up a set of stairs to a second story with less people and bigger, fancier rooms, continuing to walk along until arriving at her office.
She opened the door and led me in, closing it behind her as I curiously looked around at the modest-sized room my mom had all her herself. She set her things down on her desk as I gazed in awe out her window, a beautiful view of the city below. I sat down on her couch as she turned her computer on, but it didn’t even take me a minute to realize I had nothing to do. “Hey Mommy, can I play on your phone?” I asked.
“Um, well...” she grimaced, “I need it for work. But we’ll find something for you to do, just give me a few minutes to check my emails first, okay?” I was disappointed, but had no choice but to nod, slouching against the couch as I rested my head on my elbow.
Only a few minutes had passed before my mom started mumbling to herself, frustrated with something on her computer screen that I couldn’t see. She took a deep breath and leaned back in her comfy office chair, swiveling to look at me. “Hey Tim-bo, I think I got something that you can do now.” My eyes and ears perked up. “Can you come over here for a second?” I got up from the couch and headed to her desk as my mom scooted back, motioning to the space under her wide, ornate desk. “There should be a cable on the underside of my desk; I think it might be a bit loose because my internet’s being spotty, and the tech guys set all our computers up to be hard-wired or something. Would you be able to get under there for me?”
“Sure!” I chimed helpfully, glad to have something to do, even if it wasn’t very much. I got onto my hands and knees and crawled under her desk, turning my head upwards to see what she was talking about. But it wasn’t comfortable to crane my neck the other way around, so I resorted to getting on the floor instead and lying on my back. There were a few wires under her desk, which was more complicated than my brain wanted to handle. “Um… there’s a few down here… I don’t really know which one you’re talking about.”
“Actually, I don’t really know which one I’m talking about either,” my mom laughed. “But I know one of them must not be working, and I didn’t wanna bring in the IT guy to fix it for me.” I didn’t know how to respond; I still wanted to help my mom out, but I just didn’t know how I’d be able to. “How about this,” my mom spoke up again, “I’ll scoot in a little bit so I can reach the keyboard and mouse, and then you can wiggle the plugs around and I’ll let you know when it’s finally fixed.” She tilted her head to the side so she could look down at me, gauging my interest in her plan. “Does that sound good sweetie?” I nodded, accepting that whatever plan my mom had was probably better than anything I could think of. So with my approval, she rolled her chair back into my place, right between my legs, and planted her black ankle boots on either side of my torso. I knew she didn’t mean any malicious intent, but with her chair and feet where they were, I was essentially trapped beneath her desk.
I reached up and began wiggling the output of the first wire in its connection slot. “Did that do anything Mommy?”
A few seconds of silence while she waited to see if the internet was working normally again. “It doesn’t look like it, why don’t you try another one,” I heard her say from above the desk.
I wiggled the next cable, taking it out before plugging it back in to see if that fixed it. “Was it that one?”
“Uhhhh…” she droned, waiting to see if anything changed. But just then, her phone vibrated, and she saw she was getting a call from someone. “Wait, hold on a second honey, I gotta answer this.” She put her AirPods in her ears and then accepted the call. It was from one of her writers, who was supposed to be interviewing the designer of a new fashion line in a few minutes but had called to make some last minute changes with my mom. I waited patiently beneath her desk as I listened to her talk about the article, throwing around names I didn’t recognize and words I wasn’t old enough to know yet. The call lasted around 5 minutes, with me being the patient boy I was as I waited for her to be done. But as soon as she wrapped up the call, her phone started autoplaying music now that the Bluetooth had been turned on again. But she didn’t take her AirPods back out, or resume our trial and error to fix her computer. Apparently the second wire I’d wiggled had not only fixed her issue, but she’d become so caught up in her work while on the phone with her writer that somehow she’d forgotten I was even under the desk to begin with. But I still didn’t realize anything was wrong, as my mom lifted one of her feet up and crossed her legs, bobbing her boot up and down right above my face, forgetting that her son was still waiting for her. I knew her phone call was over since I’d heard her say goodbye, but I didn’t think that she’d forget about her own son in a matter of minutes.
“Mommy? Are you done on the phone?” I asked, but she couldn’t hear me talking to her with the sound of Adele in her ears. She reached down under the desk, sparking a glimmer of hope that she’d remembered about me, but that hope was quickly extinguished when I saw she was just grabbing at the zipper of her boots. She unzipped the one that had been bobbing above my face and kicked it aside, and I gulped nervously as I suddenly gazed upon the underside of my mom’s large foot. She hadn’t been wearing any socks or pantyhose, so her boot was barren, and she flexed her toes as they emerged from the boot, grateful to be free. The smell of leather became evident as its scent wafted out of her shoe, along with a hint of green apple body wash that she’d applied during her shower this morning. Her shoe size was a 10, which meant they were a bit over 10 inches long. And I hadn’t been able to see it, but her nails were painted a warm red color, well maintained like the rest of her. Her skin was in good condition for her age, although there were some slight wrinkles start to emerge. And while my mom was a fair-skinned woman for most of her body, the undersides of her feet were reddened from spending time in the boots. Being trapped under her desk had been nerve-wracking enough for me, but to now see my mom’s sole take up a big chunk of my vision made me even more anxious, and a little bit scared. “Mommy?” I whimpered again, quieter than before, hoping that she might finally hear me this time. But it just continued to get worse for me.
Without so much as a warning, my mom’s foot planted itself on the left side of my face, causing me to gasp in surprise. The first thing I noticed about how her foot felt was its warmness. It seemed that just keeping it it in her boots for the car ride here and a few minutes in the office was all it took for the black material to absorb traces of heat. But the heat was left stewing in her shoe where there was little option for it disperse back out, and therefore it just made my mom’s foot hotter as a result. They hadn’t been hot enough to get sweaty, but they didn’t smell clean. The leathery aroma that stained my mom’s sole was stronger as my nose fit snugly into the arch of her foot, along with her sweet-smelling soap, but now there was a third smell too. It wasn’t as sour and bitter as sweat, at least not the sweat I recognized, but it was still an undesirable scent. By most standards, because of her shower a few hours ago, her clean feet wouldn’t be considered dirty, but when your nostrils are pressed up really close to something, your nose begins to notice all the little details. For someone looking from a normal distance, her foot wouldn’t even smell like anything, but if they had a strong nose then maybe they’d be able to pick up on the fruity residue from her shower. But I got the up close and personal tour. As soon as a person dries off from the shower and goes about their day, their body starts to ever so slowly accumulate little bits of sweat and grime, that builds to the point that after enough time, begins to become noticeable. But I was at the forefront of that experience, learning what the beginning bits of my mom’s day-to-day activities could do to her feet.
My mind had tried to make sense of it in those first few moments, the first couple seconds of that long day that would eventually lead to many more, and bring me to the obsessed point I’m at today. But back then I didn’t like it yet, so I was confused and grossed out and nervous all at the same time. Did she know I was here, but didn’t care? Or was this some kind of punishment, did I do something wrong? My mind raced through the possibilities, but her foot never lifted itself off my face. If it had been an accident, then I figured she would’ve felt me as soon as she put her foot down, but yet it stayed there anyways.
All those thoughts raced through my mind just from the initial contact of my mom’s first foot, but while that was going on, she had been unzipping her other boot. I noticed just in time as she kicked it too aside, wiggling her toes as if they were hungry for the fresh air to cool them off after having been confined in the dark and dirty confines of her boot. With half of my vision obscured from my mom’s first foot, I could only watch, stuck in a state of shock as my mom lowered her other foot down towards my face. “M… Mommy,” I mumbled with half of my mouth covered up by the lower part of her sole. “Your f-feet are on my face, they d-don’t feel very good,” I stuttered. But it was useless. She couldn’t hear me. So her foot just continued to lower itself until landing on the only part of my face that hadn’t been covered yet, obscuring my vision completely with her warm, doughy feet. So, not wanting to defy my mom, naively thinking that she was doing all of this on purpose for some reason, I just lay there beneath her desk while she hummed to her music and typed away at her keyboard. She’d completely forgotten that she’d even brought her son into the office today, and was too lost in her work to even realize what was going on, so she just continued to unawarely smother her boy beneath her big feet while I softly whimpered and hoped she might soon realize what she’d done.
