I have always loved feeling and doing things with my feet. When my mother found out that I was walking the streets of our NYC neighborhood, she warned me about dirt, glass, and infections that could crawl into my feet. But I didn’t care. I loved feeling of the grass between my toes, the cement on my feet. I was a gymnast, and others wore slippers, but I even loved the feeling of the rough blue rug on the balls of my toes as I ran towards the vault, or the wood as I let go of the high bar and flew off the lower bar to a perfect landing on the sticky-from-sweat mat I landed on.
In my teens, my feet discovered a love of shoes. The arch in my sneakers, the grip of a heel, the heaviness of a Doc Martin. I spent a lot of time barefoot. I even learned how to write- somewhat legibly- with my feet.
Once I began college, I had to get a job. I had Playboy measurements- 36DD-26-36 – and was good looking enough to know I’d do well making money in the sex industry. Except I wasn’t willing to take my clothes off, much less do anything sexual. It was while I was on a sort-of date with one of my high school shop teachers (that I never had) daughter when we began discussing sexual things we enjoyed that didn’t fit in the “norm”.
After telling a story, she asked, “Wow! How much did you get paid for that?”
I was confused and said, “Nothing. That was with my boyfriend.”
Then she told me I could make good money as a dominatrix– no sex, I keep my clothes on. The guys jerk off, but have to wear condoms and do it themselves, if I “let” them. I could tie a guy up, whip him, etc, and get paid? Oh, and wear stilettos, and sexy leather/PVC outfits? Sign me up!
A month later, I was working as a Mistress. I was sitting on the loveseat in the office, wearing a PVC bra and short skirt, my heels on the floor, doing homework for college. I’d had one session in two weeks.
The client would come in and meet each mistress individually. He’d say what he wanted, and we were taught to say, “Oh, I love that! I’m soo into that!” And then he’d pick. The problem was that I refused to lie. And the clients here wanted “sensual” sessions. As in, “Oh, you’re such ax naughty boy, let me lightly spank you with my hand because it turns me on so much!”
After hearing what the client was into, I’d say, “Ok, I’m into this, but I don’t do that, or that…” And he’d say he wanted me, but as I wasn’t into his session…
Back to the loveseat.
“Oh, that’s so cute!” My co-worker said, pointing at my feet.
“What?” I looked. Red polish pedicure, black thi-his.
“As you study, your toes are doing a little dance!” she laughed.
I laughed, too. “Yeah, my feet have always been extra sensitive, I guess.”
“Then you’ll love this next guy,” said the secretary. “He’s a foot fetish guy.” I didn’t want to admit I didn’t know what a “foot-fetish” was, so I just put my heels on.
When I went in to meet the foot-fetish client, he was shyer than I was. He told me that he loved feet. He loved to smell them, look at them, touch, kiss…
“Um, can you send in the secretary, please,” he asked, looking at the floor. I was 19, and he couldn’t have been more than a few years older. I left disappointed. This had sounded like a session I would have enjoyed.
I sat back on the loveseat and picked up my heavy textbook (what is it about legal textbooks?). The secretary returned, looked at me and said,”He wants you as you are, but wants to know if you can bring in any other pantyhose, thigh-his, etc, and all the shoes you have, including your street shoes.” (We couldn’t come to work in our work clothes, so we had a bag– mine was a duffle as i loved fetish clothes, stockings, and heels– and would get to work half an hour before our shift began to change clothes and put on makeup.)
I was shocked. The other session had been another Mistresses session that I “helped” on. This was my first real session.
As I got my street shoes (doc boots to my knees) and my Ziploc bag of a few stockings I’d had at home, the secretary told me he’d chosen me because as he listed each thing he wanted to do, my face lit up more and more and, unlike the other girls, he could tell I was REALLY into it, and not just for the money.
I’d always known I’d love things that felt good to my feet, but I never knew I had a foot-fetish!
I grasped my bag and boots, took a deep breath, and entered the room to begin my first foot-fetish session.
(see part 2 & 3)