Peculiar Presley

My name is Presley, and this is my first story on Literotica. I hope you all like this, because I have more to write. Believe it or not, this is a true story, and all my stories will be true as well. Please let me know what you all think, but go easy on me because I'm not a terrific writer.

*****

It happened when I was twenty three and all by myself. College was over, but I felt no closer to discovering my passion. So I went on the road to find out what exactly that was for me. All I had was barely enough cash, a clunker of a car, and only 4 sets of clothes. My family basically let me go, I had no boyfriend to speak of and I was tired of standing still. I went across the country, working random jobs and staying in cheap motels or crashing on floors.

One particular night, I was in the middle of Montana and admittedly lost. No jobs in the area, no friends to help, and I was out of clean laundry. The outfit I was wearing happen to be on me for 3 days straight. As one could imagine, it was starting to stink a little bit. I checked into a local hotel, hoping they would have some kind of washer.

"Excuse me," I said as I walked up to the front desk. A middle aged woman sat behind the counter, reading a newspaper. She didn't bother to look up. "Do you guys have a washer for guests available?" I continued.

"Sorry hun, no washer," she answered without looking up.

"How about laundromat in town?" I asked next.

"Closed down three months ago."

"Could you at least pretend you care?"

My comment prompted the woman to finally look at me. "Look, we don't have a washer for guests. We hardly get guests. Guests bring their own clothes and just pass by. If you've got a problem, talk with my manager." And with that, she returned to her paper. Case closed.

I realized I wasn't getting anywhere with this woman, I walked away. During my travels, I have found that hotel staff are some of the rudest, laziest workers you will find. Only the cleaning ladies are any good. I sulked back to my tiny, dimly lit room and threw myself on the bed.

"Knew I should have skipped Montana," I thought to myself. "What a shitty state."

For the next hour I just laid on the bed, bored out of my mind. A sudden knock on the door interrupted my boredom. I opened my door and an older man stood in the doorway. He appeared a frail man, slightly bending his back and leaning on the cleaning cart he was pushing. The poor man's hair was all but gone, with a thin line of white on the back of his head.

"I'm sorry young lady, thought this room was empty," he said in a weak voice. "I'll come back later if you'd like."

"Oh no, you can come in," I said politely. "I'm just sitting around, doing nothing."

The man chuckled. "Well, if you don't mind an old man's company." His chuckle was a bit weezy, but seemed friendly enough.

I let him in and sat on the bed. Soon enough, I found myself talking with the old geezer. He asked me a lot of question, like what I was doing in the area, where I was from and such. Being an open person, I basically told him everything, like how I was out traveling and I was from Wisconsin originally. He listened with polite interest, letting me run my mouth. It was rare of me to socialize, but I found myself enjoying this man's company.

"You're a very pretty young woman," he interjected, as I was just finishing up my story on how I dumped my loser boyfriend awhile ago.

"Why thank you," I said with a blush. I had never really thought of myself as very pretty, let alone attractive. I suppose being skinny as a rail had some merit with men. I happen to be a ginger, my long hair being my constant mortal enemy. My eyes look like grapefruits thanks to my hipster glasses. I couldn't say I have any discernible curves or boobs to speak off, but I do have awkwardly long legs and a comparatively tiny torso. Much of my height, about 5'-10", was my legs. I also have boats for feet, and I wear a size 11 shoes.

Yet this man continued on, complimenting my outfit, a simple red tee , white capris, and black keds. He told me he loved what I did with my hair, which humorously was nothing at all. The compliments were touching though, so I tried my best not to brush him off. His interest turned from my hair to my shoes all of a sudden. I had only three pairs of shoes for my trip; the keds I was wearing, some black work shoes and some leather sandals.

"Well all pretty girls should have more shoes than that," he said with another of his chuckles. "Some to show off their pretty feet I'm sure."

While the compliment struck me as odd, I played along. "Oh not my feet. I've always hated my feet."

"Now why is that?" he asked me. "I'm sure there's nothing wrong with them."

I laughed nervously. "I have big feet though. I used to get teased by everyone for them."

"Well young lady, would you mind if I took at look?" he said, and I swore he looked he looked anxious.

His request puzzled me, but I wasn't uncomfortable about it. I simply slipped off my keds and put my feet up on the bed. My soles are very long, as well as my unpainted toes. Finding shoes in my size that fit well was a rarity, thus I never ever had many shoes. The old man sure seemed interested in my enormous feet, and pulled his face in closer. This would draw up red flags with most people, but I didn't mind honestly. What I did mind was a certain musky smell that developed in the room the moment I took my shoes off. I never wore socks with my keds and I had stinky feet in general.

"I'm sorry about the smell," I apologized. "I haven't really been able to wash my clothes and my shoes need cleaned."

But the old man seemed oddly transfixed. My feet seemed to have sort of effect on him. His nose even twitched a little, as if he were sniffing ever so slightly. On top of that, I looked down at his pants and noticed he was getting hard. I finally was getting a bit concerned.

"Sir, are you ok?" I asked, moving my feet away.

He suddenly snapped out of his little trance. "I'm sorry dear, what were you saying? Your clothes need washed?"

I smiled and nodded. "Is there any way you can help me with that?"

He smiled back. "Why yes, we have an employee washer and dryer. I'm sure I can sneaking in your clothes toni-"

But I didn't let him finish. "Thank you so much!" I said, and I gave him a big hug. The old man didn't seem to expect that, but patted me on the back.

He gave me an x-large shirt to put on while he took all my dirty laundry to clean. I was even surprised to see that he volunteered to clean my shoes too. All free of charge.

"You have no idea how grateful I am," I told him. "You are my hero right now."

"Oh it's nothing young lady, just relax and try to get some sleep," he said. "I'll have your clothes back here tomorrow morning. Sound good?"

With that, he took his cart and headed back down the hallway, to where I assumed the janitor's area is. I was again alone in my room, wearing nothing but the shirt, my bra and panties. My lack of clothes, however, was not on my mind. It was the old man's fascination with my feet. I'm not naive little girl that's unaware of the birds and the bees. In fact, I'm not even a virgin. However, I really couldn't say I knew much about interest in feet, which the old man certainly had. I decided I had to investigate.

I pulled out my outdated laptop and went online. My only reasons for still having a computer were simple: I needed to be able to look up jobs and motels and I kept my journal on my computer. Social media no longer appealed to me, so I deleted my accounts when I began my trip. No one would give a rat's ass about my life anymore.

Unsure of where to begin with this, I typed ''foot fascination" into Google. One of the first results I got was a website called Summer Heat Experience. It was full of pictures a man had taken of a variety of women's feet. He certainly had an interest. I quickly moved on down the Google page and came across the term "foot fetish." I then searched that and found myself very surprised at what I saw.

"People have sexual interest in feet?!" I said outloud. I couldn't believe it. Never had I heard of such things, nor seen it. I began to wonder if the janitor had one. He did seem eager about the shoes. A pit formed in my stomach. I had to find out if this was all true. That meant finding the old man and confronting him.

Fortunately, there was hardly a soul around. The hallways were empty, otherwise I would never risk being seen so scantily clothed. I tried going down the hall and seeing if I could find the janitor's office. All the doors looked the same to me. I felt silly walking around like this, my feet cold from the floor.

"Maybe I'm overreacting?" I thought to myself. "Maybe he was just trying to be nice?"

Just as I was thinking that, I heard a door open. Not wanting to be seen, I quickly snuck behind the corner. I could hear a cart being pushed down towards the opposite end of the hall. Taking a risk of being seen, I popped my head around the corner and sure enough the janitor was pushing his cart towards the next hallway. Against my better judgment, I quietly followed him.

The old man, whistling a happy tune, soon turned right into another hallway. I hugged the corner and listened, trying to get an idea of if he was stopping or not. I didn't need to wait long, as I heard him pull open a door. Oddly enough, I didn't hear him close it seconds later. He had left the door open. My curiosity got the best of me and I peeked around the corner. Sure enough, the door led to a cleaning area and lobby, and was ajar. Tiptoeing quietly, I reached the door and looked inside. The room was large, with a table and several machines inside, including a washer and dryer. Near the entrance door to the left was a closet, which was also opened. I went straight for the closet, just to get out of the doorway. The closet had no lights on, so I careful navigated it's interior. I could hear the janitor at work, probably around the washing machine. Other than the light coming from the door, there was a hole I could see in the wall facing the rest of the room. The hole was large enough for me to see everything going on, so I knelt down and put my right eye near it. What I saw gave me instant goosebumps.

There was the janitor with my clothes, still dirty but neatly stacked. He had one of my old leather Birkenstock sandals in hands. What shocked was the old man was sniffing my sandals with abandon. I could hear him take in deep breaths and prolonged sniffs audibly. Each time he would do that, he'd finish with a low moan. The old man loved the smell of my sandals! I just couldn't believe it. Those particular sandals did reek, but in my opinion in a very bad way. Yet, he seemed to love it. I looked down at his pants and could make out a bulge in his pants. For an older man, he seemed to have a lively penis, and quite large too. That knowledge began to make me feel just a bit uncomfortable, but I couldn't pry my eye away from the action.

He continued sniffing my dirty sandal with gusto. I couldn't believe he'd do this with his door open. Shouldn't he be worried about being seen? Then it occurred to me that there was probably no one around to see, and the old man was used to being alone here. This might not have been his first time. Whatever the case, he took his sweet time with my shoe. His nose sniffed everywhere on my sandal, from the toe area to the bottom and then the sole. Watching him do this to my shoe didn't disturb me quite as much it should have, but knowing how arousing it was for him made me think. He kept this up on my shoe for a little while longer, but stopped suddenly.

I dared not move my eye, as it might give me off. The old man put my shoe down and just stood there for a minute. Just as I was wondering what he was about to do next, he took both my keds from on top of the washing machine and brought them up to his nose, resuming his loud sniffing. My keds might have reeked even more than my leather sandals, but I figured that might actually be better for him. I was now intrigued by all of this. A rush of excitement was coming over me. I mean, I was peeping on an older man getting off from my stinky shoes.

"I would find this interesting," I thought to myself with a smirk. "I wonder how long he can keep doing this?"

The answer was a long time. The old man had my shoes in his face for a good 10 minutes before he finally put those down. My legs were starting to feel like jelly, but I still dared not tp move. I expected him to next take my work shoes, which I saw on the machine as well, and give them a whiff. However, he simply picked up my right ked again and went back to sniffing it. I was a bit disappointed to see him do the same thing again.

As if he could read my mind, he switched things up; he brought his mouth up to the insole of my shoe and began licking inside. I barely caught myself gasping at this turn of events. He has a pathetically small tongue, but he seemingly managed to shove it down in there. Was he licking my sweat in there? Did he enjoy the taste of dirty fabric? All these thoughts and more rushed through my head. That's also when I began to feel myself get wet. I felt damp under my simple cotton panties. The feeling was a bit foreign to me anymore, since I haven't been with anyone in a while and I'm not a fan of masturbating. I didn't really want to accept the fact that I was getting wet from this.

He gave my other ked an insole tongue bath next. It seemed like he was halfway done when he unzipped his pants and let his cock to fly full mast. Seeing the old man's cock wasn't necessarily a pleasant sight, but my body reacted warmly to it. He grabbed it with his free hand and started slowly stroking it, while still licking away at the shoe. A rhythm began to emerge from it and frequent moans sounded from his open mouth. This guy was in heaven. And weirdly enough, I was also feeling it too. My hand subconsciously worked it's way to my slightly damp panties and began rubbing my clit. When I full noticed, I didn't try to stop. As sick as this was, I honestly was enjoying the moment.

Unfortunately, my enjoyment didn't last too long. A few minutes later, the old man's tone changed radically. He started panicking, and his strokes went faster. My shoe fell out of his hands, and he didn't even bother to pick it up. With a final gasp, a small load of cum spilled out of his dick. Notice, I said spill, not shot. It's was quite a disappointment to see. The old man seemed to be just as disappointed as well, with a sad look in his eyes and just let himself fall back in his chair. Finally, he got up and clean up what little mess he made. He threw my clothes into the washing machine and started wiping my shoes with a cloth. I could tell this party was over, so I made my exit quietly as possible. Of all things, I felt unsatisfied and every part of me wanted more. When I got back to my room, I simple laid down and went to sleep, unhappy about tonight's little show.

When I woke up the next morning, I felt groggy and slow to rise. Last night's events seemed like a dream, but I knew they happened. My body seemed frustrated, unsatisfied because I couldn't finish myself. I don't particular like masturbating, so I didn't try that. Deciding a show sounded nice, I was about to strip down when I heard a knock at my door. I opened it to find the old man with my clean clothes, as well as my shoes looking like they were brand new.

"Hope you slept well missy!" he said with a chuckles. We really should have a few more clothes on you."

Though I knew he was a bit perverted, I couldn't help but feel grateful. My disappointment evaporated, and I suddenly felt horny again. "Why don't you come in. I'd like to thank you."

The old man walked in, closing the door behind him. He gave me a puzzled look. "You don't have to give me anything young lady. Always willing to help a pretty young lady."

"Yes, especially since you've already helped yourself last night," I said with a sadistic smile. "I saw what you did last night."

The color immediately drained from the man's face, or what little color he still had left anyways. He thought that he was busted, and could not say a single word.

That was fine with me, because I had a few words of my own. "I've never seen a man cum so miserably. You realized how pathetic you looked last night? I thought you'd never stop smells my shoes." I picked up the sandals and gave the a sniff. Clean and fresh. "You did a great job of cleaning my shoes. Did you wipe all the sweat with your tongue?"

Still, the old man stared at me, his mouth hanging open pathetically. "I guess I can't really blame you. My feet sure do stink." I sat myself down on the edge of the bed, brought my foot up to my nose, and gave it a whiff. "Phew! That reeks of high heaven!"

I scooted up further on the bed, and just watched the old man. He seemed to be frozen at his spot, but that wasn't going to do for me. I wanted my finish.

"Now get at my feet and start sniffing!" I commanded. "Or I'll call the police!"

That snapped the old janitor out of his daze, and he sprang surprisingly fast at my feet. Like with my shoes, he began sniffing loudly with his nose nearly pressed against my soles. I couldn't help but laugh at his predicament.

"Sniff in between my toes you sick perverted old man!" I demanded. "I know you'll love that!"

And he certainly did. I could feel his nose in between my giant toes, and his nose hairs tickled a little. The old man wasn't smelling like they were delicate flowers, and I had quite seen someone sniff like that before. Also, I never knew I had such a dominating side. I wasn't done either.

"Now give that tongue the same chance with my feet as you did my shoes," I ordered next. "I'm curious to see what a tongue feels like on my feet!"

I wasn't sure what to expect honestly, having my feet licked. Nervous would probably be my first word, but I didn't let it show. He took at the tiny tongue and began lapping it on soles like a little puppy. The second I felt his wet tongue hit my foot, I honestly wanted to him stop immediately. It felt weird. The old man was licking my soles like they were ice cream, and sweat was a flavor. I could have told him to stop, but I didn't. Why exactly, I don't know. What I did know was feeling a tongue on my feet was one of the strangest feelings ever.

I let him loose for several minutes, until I felt like my soles were coated in saliva. When I did my research, I noticed that toes were also a big thing for foot lovers, so I told him to suck on my toes, hoping his mouth might feel better than his tongue. He shoved several of my toes into his mouth, and I felt like they were engulfed in a wet vacuum. It felt strange as well, but not in a bad way. I sort of enjoyed this.

"That's right," I egged him on. "Suck on my big toes like they're candy!"

No protest came from him, and he continued sucking, especially on my big toes. He even put both big toes in at once and popped them out. I couldn't help but giggle. This was something I could like, I had decided.

The old man sucked on my toes for solid 5 minutes, while I had begun to play with myself. I looked down at his privates and realized he was also very turned on.

"I think you need to get that out for some air," I joked with him. "I think you deserve a little reward for being so good."

He whipped out his cock, and I got a better look this time. It was very veiny, but a decent size. That was, until I wrapped my feet around it and began my first footjob. My feet dwarfed his dick, and I had difficult stroking it. It was kinda like trying to put together LEGO's with winter gloves on. Small pieces, larger hands. I really couldn't find a better analogy.

I flipped myself over after a few minutes, trying out a reverse version of the footjob. This proved a bit more easy for my leg muscles and staying at a speed I liked. The old man also seemed to enjoy this as well. He started moaning louder, lost in his own perverted mind. I wondered if he would cum early, and I wasn't very sure if I wanted him to cum on my feet. In fact, I wasn't against the idea of taking this to the next level.