Erotic Confessions of a Foot Fetishist PART II

PART II. Raw and honest confession of a foot fetishist: intense, erotic, and unfiltered. Boldly explores loneliness, desire, and self-acceptance

>> Part I: /2025/12/story-45596

I have shared my confessions as a foot fetishist from age 14 to 35. Now, in this second part, I want to recount what has happened in the last year regarding my obsession with feet.
I am sure that many who read the first part thought I was completely insane; others probably saw me as a bold explorer of exotic eroticism. Perhaps some admired my experiences, and of course, there were those who laughed. The reader is free to have whatever reaction they wish.
Over time, the topic of feet had faded, but it remained latent inside me, like a sleeping cat waiting for the right moment to pounce. And it pounced with force. My girlfriend had to travel to Germany for six months due to work reasons. The loneliness brought back my old obsession: feet, feet, feet.
It was one night when I was in the bedroom watching a David Cronenberg film, but I couldn’t concentrate because the theme of foot fetishism was swirling in my head like a fever. I paused the movie right at the scene where the man kisses the television. Driven by intense impulsiveness, I got out of bed, took down the large wooden-framed mirror from the wall, and placed it on the floor, leaning against the wall opposite the bed. I took off my clothes and masturbated desperately while staring at the reflection of my own feet in the mirror. I remember the adrenaline was through the roof; the moment of climax was glorious. It felt like I had made love to myself. The orgasm left me drowsy—it was nighttime and time to sleep—but the energy was still there, and I couldn’t stop.
I went to the computer and entered a cam girl site. I found a Latina girl, an absolute delight of a woman. We went into a private session, and I gave her written instructions: to masturbate her anus for the camera while showing me the soles of her feet. She did it magnificently. The session was very intense, and I masturbated with great passion. Only afterward did I feel calm, but I had released a bird that had been caged for a long time.
A week or so passed, and images of feet kept circulating in my mind. Then I started writing some erotic stories related to feet. I wouldn’t say it was directly motivated by those stories, but rather by the creative energy that led me to write them, I decided to convince a woman to let me massage her feet. I knew full well that it wouldn’t be just one, but two, who would agree.
I won’t reveal what she does for a living, but it’s in an office setting. She was a client of mine seeking advice on how to better manage her business. We talked about this and that; I had a planned strategy in mind. I told her that stress prevents an entrepreneur from thinking clearly and that relaxation is essential. She agreed, trusting my judgment as someone knowledgeable in human resources. With a bit of smooth talk, I suggested I could massage her feet to help her relax. I mentioned that I had read that reflexology was a perfect way to achieve that relaxation and that she would discover it with this massage. I suggested that afterward, she could go to a masseur every week or ask for foot massages. She accepted.
I had already analyzed her personality and knew she wasn’t the type of woman who would suspect that some men derive deep sexual pleasure from touching women’s feet. She sat down, closed her eyes, took off her heels, and over her stockings, I began massaging her feet: from heel to toe, the soles, the toes… With her eyes closed, she didn’t notice that my bulge had grown. How I enjoyed rubbing those toes! It was all immense pleasure for me, disguised as help so she wouldn’t realize I was using it for my own satisfaction. At the end of the massage, she told me it was indeed very relaxing and that she would consider reflexology.
That experience was so satisfying that it gave me another idea. To fill my free time while my girlfriend was away and I was alone, I enrolled in a short ceramics course. To my pleasant surprise, everyone there was artistically sensitive and bohemian. One of them was a young man of about 22 who was presenting a poetry collection at a well-known bookstore in the city. He was a boy with an androgynous appearance who I found quite attractive; it would be a delight to massage his feet and perhaps go further.
I attended his reading, and as I suspected, I was the only one from the ceramics class who showed up. I sat among strangers while he read his verses. At the end, I approached to congratulate him and invited him for beers. He gladly accepted. I had already detected a certain homosexual vein in the beautiful young man. Drink after drink, sexual tension built, and we ended up at his apartment under the excuse of him showing me his books and continuing to drink. The boy lived alone.
I told him I had taken some reflexology courses and that, if he wanted, I could demonstrate my skills. I proposed that I would love to listen to some of his unpublished poems while massaging his feet. The beautiful young man not only accepted but said it was very hot, so while I massaged his feet and he read his poems to me, he would be shirtless.
He began reading. He lay back, and as I had suspected from the delicacy of his hands, body, and face, he had feet that were practically those of a refined woman. He read the poems, and at times he let out soft moans; some verses were interrupted by comments expressing the great pleasure he felt from how I touched his feet. Of course, this beautiful young man was fully aware that this was a game of seduction with fetishistic undertones.
When he finished reading one of his unpublished poems, I told him it seemed extraordinary (and it was). Then I commented that the most delicious foot massage is the one that includes the tongue, and I asked if I could suck his toes and lick his soles as a reward for his poem. He said yes. With great joy I did it; I think few times in my life have I felt so much pleasure as licking, toe by toe, the feet of that beautiful young man.
Of course, from there I stood up, kissed him on the mouth, took off my top as well, and then with kisses we removed our bottoms. We sucked each other’s cocks mutually. Then I laid him on his back, lifted his legs, penetrated him, and placed his feet on my face. What a delight to feel his tight anus while rubbing those sweet feet against my face! He moaned intensely. Then he did the same to me: he put me on my back, penetrated me, and sucked my feet, admitting that no one had ever sucked them before. It was fantastic; I remember his beautiful face of pleasure as he sodomized me. I enjoyed it immensely.
The day after that encounter, I discovered that images could be generated with artificial intelligence. At first I did it clumsily, but then it became an obsession that has lasted a couple of months already. I take faces from social media of women I find attractive—especially from the office where I work and others I knew in the past—and place them on bodies of women showing their feet (there’s plenty of such material on the internet for fetishists). I’ve printed those AI-generated images and pasted them into a notebook that, of course, I use for masturbation.
My girlfriend sent me a message from Germany saying she wasn’t coming back: not only had she found a better job there, but she had met a woman she had fallen in love with. To think that I felt some guilt for my homosexual infidelity… and in the end, she did the same. Look at the curiosities of life.
So now I live alone again, and my foot fetishism is in full swing. I celebrated my new single status by going to an erotic massage parlor where I asked to be masturbated with feet. To my surprise, the specialist—a sensual woman with Asian features—told me that several men requested that special type of massage.
Yesterday I gave in to an impulse: I took several photos of the soles of my own feet, uploaded them to a foot fetishist forum using a pseudonym, and felt very happy. Then I dressed elegantly and went to the bar of a five-star hotel, where I had a cocktail alone, celebrating myself.
It’s been months since I had that sexual encounter with the beautiful young man (with whom I’ve had no further contact), but just yesterday he wrote to me saying he would love to see me again and that he’d be delighted if I gave him another good foot massage. It sounds promising.