*Everyone is of legal age and meets all the fine print*
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I was eighteen when I found the perfect job.
A stockboy at a local chain woman's shoe store at the mall.
If you're asking yourself why this was the worlds greatest job, you really don't get it.
Simply put: I have a fetish for women's feet.
There was a time I couldn't just openly admit my fetish, mostly because of the ridicule and stigma that comes with an unusual sexual kink but too much has happened to me these past few years to even consider being embarrassed any longer by this fetish of mine.
This wasn't always true. After an incident when I was younger, I learned to conceal my fascination for feet. So far as my family knew, it was nothing more than a phase I went through while young, even though I was still mercilessly teased about it by my older sister and her friends.
Still, I couldn't believe my luck when the shoe store accepted my application.
Go figure a freak like me working in a shoe store!
At the time I started working at the shoe store, I wasn't a catch by any stretch of the imagination, that is, girls my age wouldn't spare me a second look. I was rather heavy set, not fat, per-se but not in shape either. I had long black hair, brown eyes, pimples, the whole nine yards that screamed 'Dork'. Rather unremarkable really, the type easily overlooked, bullied at school, a nobody. About my only redeeming feature was that I was six foot tall.
Since I was still in High School I could only work evenings and weekends, which I didn't mind at all as I wasn't interested in sports or other extracurricular activities.
I rather enjoyed the work, and after several employees just quit by not showing up for work, I was promoted to floor salesman.
I thought I died and went to heaven!
I quickly developed a knack for finding the right shoes for our customers. I loved handling women's feet, but had to be careful not to be obvious about it. I was super conscious of what I was doing and did nothing to warrant suspicion, instead gaining praise for my willingness to work, attention to detail and my friendly demeanor. I learned to wear a jock strap and tight underwear under loose fitting slacks to keep the occasional erection from being noticeable. Some women had absolutely gorgeous feet, and I would get so hard I would have to jerk off in the bathroom afterwards, While most women were average, more than a few had some sort of nail fungus infection, and some feet were absolutely disgusting, not just from their bathing habits, but from wearing shoes way too tight. I can't tell you how many women maimed their feet in the name of fashion.
There's the myth that men with a foot fetish find all women's feet irresistible. That's complete bull shit. Just like any one, I had my tastes, things that turned me off, like I don't like pungent foot odors, crooked toes, and so on. Working in that shoe store is where I refined my taste in women's feet.
Rare was the woman that met all my criteria.
Still, handling women's feet on a daily basis was a dream come true for me.
The store manager was Rachel, late twenties, early thirties. Not bad looking as manager's went, with her long brunette hair usually done up in a bun, and dark brown eyes. She was in rather good shape, presented herself well, and drew looks of appreciation from others. But it was Rachel's feet that drew my attention. I had peeks and glimpses of her feet before with the various shoe styles she would wear, but when she started wearing a pair of sexy low heels, leaving the tips of her toes exposed, I really took notice. It was a style of heel the store did not carry and very uncomfortable for a woman that was on her feet all day. It seemed she favored those shoes as she started to wear them more frequently, and most surprisingly, she switched from wearing nylon pantyhose to what could only be expensive high end silk stockings.
Damn sexy!
As Rachel had pretty feet, I was concerned she would permanently scar her feet wearing those shoes as she did. But how could I tell her without revealing I was a weirdo?
Saturdays I worked the evening shift, and it would be up to me to clean and get the store ready for the next day. One of my tasks was to re-shelve all of the loose shoe boxes, making sure the right shoes were in the right boxes. Most of the other employees would just shove the boxes back on the shelves, but I was a bit anal about everything back in its rightful place. What is it with people that just stick crap everywhere? Just leave the fucking box on the damn floor. Makes things so much easier. Fixing other's messes could make for late nights.
"Ian?" Rachel called out from the back as she was going over the days receipts. "When you get a done, I need to see you for a minute."
When I finished, I went to see her, worried that since business was slow lately, she was going to let me go.
"I have to do quarterly reviews of our employees performance." Rachel said in a reassuring tone, seating herself in the only chair in the cramped office. "Even the part-timers."
"Oh." I replied, grateful that I wasn't going to get laid off.
"I want you to sell me the perfect pair of shoes." Rachel said simply.
"What?" I asked, dumbfounded.
"These shoes are killing my feet." Rachel said, taking her shoes off, setting her feet on a nearby stool. "Pretend I'm a customer, and I don't know my shoe size."
"You wear a size eight, wide." I said nervously, kneeling at her feet.
"You know what size I wear?" Rachel asked, surprised. "How can you be so sure?"
"I can tell a foot size just by looking." I answered, gazing at her feet. They were even more beautiful than I fantasized about. "I only need to measure when the customer insists on shoes that are too small for their feet, so they can see the truth."
Rachel considered me for a moment.
"Imagine I'm a mother with two kids and work on my feet all day. What kind of shoe would you recommend?" She asked.
"You let me choose?" I asked, finally looking up to meet her gaze. I felt a rush of excitement.
"Yes." Rachel nodded.
"Does the mother work in a professional setting, or more of a service industry?" I asked.
"A store manager." She replied, and I knew she was describing herself. Until that moment I didn't know she had kids. A working mom, perfect!
I knew what shoe would be perfect for her. I quickly retrieved the box, and knelt at her feet once more.
"Really?" She said skeptically as I revealed the contents.
"I think these would be a good choice. Inexpensive, but functional." I said, removing the tissue paper from inside the shoes. The shoes I chose were nice, comfortable, showing just the right amount of toe. "You have perfect feet, and those heels you wear are tearing your feet up. I don't know how you can wear them all day."
I held her foot for a moment, a thrill racing up my spine. The feel of the smooth silken stockings, the warmth of her feet fresh from her shoe was like holding a baked roll fresh from the oven. She really did have beautiful feet. Her toes were deliciously long and of Roman shape, that is her big toe and the next two toes were of similar length. Her arch was wonderfully tall and elegant, graceful, sculpted by a master artisan. I wanted to caress her feet, rub my face with them. That thrill turned to something else, and I felt the familiar stirrings. I was glad my jock strap was doing its work.
She let me fit the shoes to her, and it was a perfect fit. Not bad for my first try. Rachel rose, and walked around, trying them out, moved to the floor length mirror on the wall to study the fit of the shoes.
"They are comfortable." Rachel admitted reluctantly. "But-"
"Despite the inexpensive price point, they are the best we carry for someone who works on their feet all day." I admitted, hoping my growing excitement wasn't showing. "They won't kill your feet. Suitable for work and running errands. We have several other styles in stock, but I think these would work best if you want to go cheap and still be able to walk at the end of the day. If you really want the best, you would have to go to Smith and Trevor at the Town Center. They have a beautiful Italian made pair that would be perfect for feet such as yours."
"I see." She said, her brow furrowing as she regarded my shoe choice.
