The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

See, it was like this. I had broken up with my girlfriend a five or six months earlier. Our relationship was great at the beginning, as they usually are, but then it turned oppressive and aggressive. We fought a lot, about minor and major stuff; we stopped having sex; the rest is history.

For a while, then, I didn’t feel like getting involved with anybody: I wanted to close my wounds, enjoy my freedom, regain my balance. I sometimes went to singles bars, hooked up with a girl, have a good time, never call back, ciao. It was good for the body, I am not sure it was so good for the soul.

And it was in one of these bars that I met her. Sorry: Her. She was sitting at a small table a few meters away from me, sipping a cocktail; it is not an exaggeration to say she glowed, even in the dark: her skin was pale, her eyes were a gorgeous shade of green, her short black hair made her look like a reincarnation of Cleopatra (or at least of Liz Taylor). She was wearing a green dress that was cut in a way that allowed for her long legs to show in all their glory.

Don’t get me wrong, she didn’t look like a model, but like the girl next door: a girl you would love to love, a girl who could steal your heart, rip it open, eat it, and still you would thank her for doing so. Even from the distance, she looked full of energy, an electric or magnetic energy that capture the gaze and the attention of anybody around her. At least she captured my gaze and my attention.

And then there was something else: beneath the table, at the end of those long appealing legs, the girl was dangling one of her ballerina-style shoes, showing what I can only define as the most glorious foot I have ever seen: plump, silky, pale, perfectly formed. It looked like the foot of someone who has never stepped on the ground and spoiled it. Will I say that it looked like the foot of an angel? No, I won’t, that would be too embarrassing.

Yes, in case you are wondering, I have a foot fetish. I have had it for as long as I can remember: even before I hit puberty and started noticing girls, I noticed feet. Girls’ feet. Soft, luscious, sexy girls’ feet. I can also get off to other parts of a girl’s anatomy, but my fantasies are populated by feet, foot massages, foot worship, footjobs. That had also been a problem with my previous girlfriend: every time that I tried to kiss her feet, or even worse, put her feet around my cock, she would look me with an expression in her face that clearly meant: “Gross!”. Sometimes she even said it out loud: “Gross!” We were not meant to last.

But this girl in the bar… I don’t know how long I stared at her, and more precisely at her beautiful, partially bare foot. Ten, fifteen minutes; half an hour. At one point she rested both feet on the floor, took off her shoes and starting rubbing her feet together, as if they were itchy or in pain; at that point I could see her toenails, which were painted in a very original, iridescent shade. I could hear the sound of her feet rubbing together, and it was music to my ears.

I would say that I was mesmerized by then, but I was not (yet): I was just horny. I was a horny creepy foot stalker. Blood was pumping in my ears, and not only in my ears, I was salivating, I was stiff as a rock down there. My mind was imagining all the things that I would do to those feet, all the things that those feet could do for me.

When I looked up, after quite a while, I was horrified to discover that the girl was looking back at me, and smiling. No, there was no possible mistake: the creepy foot stalker had been caught! I tried looking away discreetly, as if I had just realized she was there, but to no use: she kept staring directly at me with that grin in her face that meant: “you are not fooling me: I know what you were doing”. Then she raised her glass invitingly, and gestured with her hand inviting me to join her at the table.

I blushed and trembled a little with anxiety and anticipation, but how could I refuse? How could I say no to those eyes, that face, that skin, those legs, those… feet?

“Hello”, I said, nonchalantly as I approached, “I am Richard, that’s your name?”

“I’m Sarah. Nice to meet you, Richard”, she answered, still looking quite amused.

“May I sit down?”, I asked, and then, seeing her empty drink: “or can I get you anything from the bar?”

“Believe me, Richard”, she replied, “if I want something, I am perfectly capable of getting it myself”.

“All right, then”, I said as I sat down. “So, are you from around here?”

“Never mind that. I saw that you were looking at me. Quite intently. Did you like what you saw?”

“Well, ehem, yes. Yes, I liked it very much”, I replied, trying to sound confident although I was choking inside. She was looking at me with those deep green eyes, and it was as if she could read my soul.

“And what is it that you liked?”

“What’s not to like?”, I joked.

“Don’t try to avoid the question, come on, indulge me. I want details. What is it that you particularly liked looking at?”

“Well, everything, I mean… your eyes… your face… your skin…”

“Yes…?”

“Your legs…”

“Yes…?”

“As I said, everything!”, I finished, blushing. I am not a good liar, I have never been a good liar.

“You are not a good liar, Richard”, she said. “There is something else that you were looking at… very intently, in fact.”

“Was there?”, I asked, feigning innocence.

“Yes, Richard, there was. You were looking at my feet. In fact you were devouring them with your eyes”.

She laid back in her chair, and with a swift movement placed her feet on top of my lap. Just a few centimeters away from my erection. I was feeling so hot under my clothes that it was difficult for me to breathe, to think. Those feet were even prettier when looked at from a close distance. The toes were petite and perfectly designed, with no deformities from wearing high heels; the arch was subtle but obvious; the heel, soft and reddish, without a hint of dryness or dead skin. And her toenails, with that strange nail polish, seemed to capture the light from the room and reflect it with a hundred different colours at once.

“Here they are now, Richard, now tell me, do you like them?”

I swallowed hard, trying to regain my composure. “Yes”, I answered, with just a hint of a voice.

“What? I didn’t hear you. Look at me, look deep into my eyes. Do you like my feet?”.

It was so easy to get drawn into those eyes, and so difficult to lie while looking at them…

“Yes”, I said, with a stronger voice, “I like your feet very much. I think they are probably the most beautiful feet I have ever seen”.

“Probably?”, she asked, rising an eyebrow.

“They are. They are for sure the most beautiful feet I have ever seen”.

“You can look at them now, but you can’t touch them… yet”

I looked down at her feet, which were twisting and turning on my lap, showing all the different possible angles. The light reflected in the toenails looked like sparks, so bright and so colorful that it was difficult to look away.

“Look at them, Richard. They are, in fact, the most beautiful feet you have ever seen, or you will ever see. You like women’s feet, don’t you, Richard?”

I resisted a little; I am quite a private person, I don’t normally confess my foot fetish on the first date, and even less to a complete stranger like her.

But it was impossible to resist for too long. Sarah came closer to me, placed her soft hand on my scalp and started massaging it, while keeping my eyes firmly set on her feet.

“That’s ok, Richard, there is nothing to feel embarrassed about. You like feet, you have a foot fetish, I know it, I knew it since I saw you in your table looking at my dangling foot”.

I could not speak: my mind was echoing her words: foot, foot fetish, feet, women’s feet.

“Tell me, Richard, tell me that you like female feet”.

“I like female feet”.

“Tell me that you have a foot fetish”.

“I have a foot fetish”.

“Well, that wasn’t so difficult, was it”, she said, letting her left foot slide towards my crotch, just on top of my erection.

“And what would you do with my feet if you could, Richard, tell me”.

“I, er…”, I stuttered, between confused and aroused. She applied a little more pressure on my dick. I felt in heaven, I felt in hell.

“Come on, tell me, I might let you do whatever you want with them. But first you have to tell me what I want to hear”.

“I want to touch them”, I almost scream, with no regard to my surroundings, “I want to kiss them, lick them. Massage them”.

“Is that all?”, she said, thrusting harder and faster with her foot on my cock. I closed my eyes to better taste the pleasure.

“Yes… NO! I want to feel your feet on my dick, I want to cum on your feet, I WANT TO COME ON YOUR FEET!!!”.

And then suddenly, Sarah’s foot was not on my lap. I opened my eyes and looked around; fortunately, the bar was almost empty, and the bartender was too busy washing glasses. Or so he pretended.

“Come on”, Sarah said, getting up and giggling.

“Where are we going?”, I asked, coming to my senses, and realizing that there was something wet and sticky running down the crotch of my pants.

“We are going to my place. If you do what I say, if you do exactly as I say and surrender to the power of my feet, you might end up doing all those things you said”.

“But, but…”, I mumbled, but Sarah was already walking towards the door. I grabbed my jacket, covered my little ‘accident’ with it as best I could, and run behind her.

“Wait!”, I shouted, “I have to pay my drinks!”

“Don’t worry”, she replied, hailing a passing cab. “The bartender is also one of my foot slaves”.

That should have been enough; I should have regained my senses and run the other way. I really believe that, at that point, I still had some will power and could be saved.

But Sarah was already inside of the cab, looking at me with her deep green eyes, and her dress was again showing her long white fleshy leg, and at the end of that leg…

I entered the cab and closed the door behind me. And so I was lost.