Mom had been single since I was born. No boyfriends that I can remember, no dad for me, since he left before I was around. It was just the two of us. I can't really say that, since she was always working with her "career" in advertising, leaving me with the baby sitter or the neighbor or whoever was to take care of me that day. But I knew that she would always be there for me in the evenings to pick me up.
When I got old enough to go to school I would go to a friends afterwards or just go home and watch television until Mom got home to cook dinner and such. This is where I was also able to explore my curiosities, going through her things and noticing an unbelievable affinity towards her shoes and other footwear. It was here where I realized that I had what would develop into a foot fetish. (Thanks mom.)
I never made it noticeable and always put things back where they belonged, hoping that there was no evidence of me going through her things. She never said anything though.
When I turned eighteen, things got a little more interesting. I started to really get into my fetish. I drifted away from going through her things, and into noticing other girl's legs and feet, and eventually explored the internet for its vast variety of fetish content. Part of me wanted to forget where it began, but the other part of me loved the fact that I was able to live with her and daily see her prancing around whether it be barefooted or in stocking feet. She had some lovely size sevens, all the toes proportionally smaller than the next. I was able to notice a toe ring on her left second toe, something that showed me that she cared about her feet enough to dress them up. Even the occasional pedicure was noticeable.
Obviously I noticed my fetish wasn't mainstream enough to go out and start groveling at any girl's feet. It was something I had to keep to myself because of the public factor of the issue. Instead, I was content with the internet sites enough and made a jerk off session a daily ritual.
I didn't go away to school like most people, instead I lived at home and started classes at the community college. My mom was now in her late thirties, but was still trucking, working long hours at the ad firm. We had a good relationship, we were pretty open with each other about most things, even when we had issues with relationships. (Mom started dating again now that she I was out of school.)
The first weekend after school started Mom barged into my room and told me she had just planned a trip for the Labor day weekend to her friend's summer home by the lake and to pack my things. I was excited, since she never had free time I was going to be able to spend time with her. I was also excited because I would be able to see her running around barefoot or even in flip flops.
Mom was never one to drive so I hopped in the driver's seat as she rode shotgun on our way out to the lake. Mom was dressed like a teenager, in short shorts, a strappy shirt, and white flip flops.
Midway through the trip she took off her flip flops while I was driving and put her feet up on the passenger side dash board, almost causing me to swerve off the road. I noticed that she had a brand new coat of French tipped polish to go along with a pedicure.
"I shouldn't have spent fifty dollars on a pedicure." She blurted.
"Uh, yeah that's a lot...I think." I didn't know what to say.
"I think pedicures are overrated, I mean, who looks at feet anyway? Just a waste of money."
I didn't know whether to agree with her, or defend my kind.
"Some people look at feet." I guess I went with the latter.
"Oh really? Do you?" She asked and waved her foot in my face playfully.
"They're ok, I mean there is more to a girl." I felt like I was betraying foot fetishists everywhere.
"Do you like mine?"
"Sure mom. I'm trying to drive though."
I was trying to hide the bulge in my shorts so badly.
We finally got to the lake house, and had a routine day. It was beautiful out so we went in the lake. We went to the grocery store and picked up some steaks and other things for grilling. Our conversation from earlier never came up again for the remainder of our day.
Unfortunately, our day was cut short because of rain showers, and we were forced to retreat to the house around nine p.m. We took turns taking showers, and met up again in the front room later that night to watch television. I had changed into pajama pants and a tee shirt, while she went back to conservative mom mode, also in a pair of pants and a shirt, but barefoot.
We watched television pretty late, and had random small talk. Her feet were propped up on the foot rest most of the time, so I was getting clear shots at her soles for most of the evening. I felt bad still, from earlier, sorta shooting her down when she was talking about her feet, almost as if she was trying to let me know something. I couldn't just bring up again, so my awkwardness was going to stick around the remainder of the night, unless she said something first.
We finally retired to the bedroom upstairs, which held two king sized beds. It was a simple good night from her, and we went off to sleep. I still felt bad about earlier. About three minutes into our sleeping, I had to say something.
"I guess they're cute."
"Your feet. I guess they are cute."
"A pretty random time to be bringing it up, don't you think?"
"Yes, but I was thinking about it all day since you said it, and I kinda didn't answer truthfully when you first asked me."
I turned on the light. I had to make my admittance to her, I felt that there was no better time.
"I..." I said, "I kinda have a thing for feet. And so you know, you do have cute feet. To answer your question."
"Really? I didn't know you felt that way. Before today. Maybe you almost swerving off the road and nearly killing us tipped it off."
"Well yeah. That would happen."
"Actually, son, I've known for a while. It's no biggie. I think it's cute. A thing for your mom's feet."
I sat up in bed and I got out of it.
"Since we're talking about it, I've always had a thing for wanting to massage your feet. I've always wanted to, just never asked."
"You want to massage them? Sure. You could have always asked. Fetish or not, I would take one."
I walked over to her bed and undid her blankets, and to my surprise, she was not wearing the pants she was earlier, but just laying in her panties.
"Oops." She said.
I sat at the foot of the bed and for the first time in my life took her right foot in my hand, and started to rub it. The sole was incredibly soft, and the toes felt like everything I ever imagined they would. I playfully tickled her sole, garnering a laugh from her. I could tell she was enjoying the massage because her left foot was moving around and found itself eventually on my thigh, very close to my crotch.
"Why don't you do what you really want to do with my foot, son?"
I was shocked, but I wasn't going to play dumb anymore. I took her bare foot to my face and inhaled deeply on her sole and put my nose right in the bottom of her toes. Her left foot creeped closer and closer to my crotch. A noticeable wet stain from precum had drenched around the tip of my cock.
I moved her toes into my mouth and had my way with each one. I never could imagine I was going to get to this point, so when she told me to do what I wanted to do, I took advantage of it. I began licking her sole and kissing each part of her foot. Her other foot was now completely on my cock and even moving in rhythm with the situation.
I got a little cocky.
"Why don't you do what you want to really do." I told her.
And she did. Without even hesitating, she pulled off my pajama pants, pulled her foot away from my face, and began to work my cock with her soles. It wasn't before long that I shot string after string of my cum all on her feet and everywhere else for that matter.
"Someone should clean that up."
"It's not our summer home."
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Disclaimer: All posted stories include descriptions of sex scenes that could cause offence to some people. Please do not read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual material, or if you are under the legal age of consent for your own country. These stories are pure fiction and are not based on anyone living or deceased.
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