F Is For Fetish

Welcome back to the Fleshbot Book Club—your chance to get a sneak peek at some of the hottest erotic literature out now. Today's selection comes from Cleis Press's F is for Fetish, edited by Alison Tyler.

The following excerpt is from "Foot Binding Revisited," by Stan Kent.

Feet beg to be worshipped, and I am a lucky man, for I enjoy the pleasure of a Chinese girlfriend with dainty feet, a love of shoes and a playful, uninhibited sexual nature. I have four thousand years of history to thank for my good fortune. The Chinese were a kinky bunch, giving us many Taoist positions, some of which require the flexibility and agility of a Chinese acrobat to pull off; dubious aphrodisiacs from endangered species and numerous bizarre sexual practices that have stood the test of time and Communist repression.

One ancient ritual that has thankfully walked its last steps into history is foot binding—the crunching of the still—forming bones in a young girl's feet by wrapping them tightly in bandages for extended periods of time. The goal of the patriarchy was to keep the feet small and therefore sexually attractive and the women thereby constrained. It's hard to run away when the feet are hobbled. This terrible toesie torture has been banished in modern times, replaced simply by the wearing of four-inch-high stiletto heels. Honestly, as any woman who has been out on the town for drinks, dinner and dancing in a delightfully gorgeous pair of Jimmy Choos knows, there's not much difference between foot binding and modern shoe finery, other than a good pair of fuck-me pumps costing a great deal more than a roll of bandages and the shoes being easier to slip off when the feet finally cry foul.

The basic motivation is the same—foot and leg worship as a form of sexual attraction and servitude—and while the choice to wear high heels is more voluntary than foot binding ever was, the societal pressure today to look sexy and desirable is a powerful form of coercion, convincing many women to slip on those skyscraper heels and suffer the pain and possible foot damage that comes from having the soles arched and the legs and ass emphasized.

Lizzie is no different in this regard, and in me she has a partner in crime, a codependent to urge on her addiction. I love shoes almost as much as she does and find myself deliriously running up my credit
cards with names like Casadei, Louboutin, and Choo, all in the cause of providing a pedestal for Lizzie's gorgeous feet to be worshipped from near or far. When she slips on a pair of fuck-me pumps, she attracts
attention.

Here I must admit a kinship to those ancient Chinese torturers who bound women's feet. It's not so much the covering—the shoe, the binding—as what's inside—the feet, the soles, the toes—that's the feature attraction. It's a basic rule of how sexual fashion excites me. It's the whole package and how all the elements work together. The covering item, be it lingerie, stockings or even a shoe, is not the fetish, but rather what it hides, and the true pleasure is what happens when the covering is removed and the treats are revealed.

And so it goes with Lizzie and me. When we prepare to go out for a night she spends hours, often with my consultation, choosing the exact combination of outer- and underwear and shoes, knowing that later she'll torture me to an extreme state of hardness just by being there, sipping a drink, nibbling on a tasty bite or performing a fanciful semi-striptease on the dance floor, often with an unsuspecting male who just can't believe his luck. Yes, if you haven't guessed it by now I am a confirmed voyeur as well as a die-hard foot fetishist, but that's another story in another book.

During amorous evenings such as these Lizzie knows that when the night has grown weak with encroaching sunlight and her feet are aching, her footsie exertions will be rewarded with a loving foot massage given by yours truly. There have been hundreds of nights in our relationship that have ended up this way, but one night not too long ago the past came full circle as ancient became modern. Lizzie had been particularly naughty on and off the dance floor. She had even disappeared for an extended period into the bathroom with some lucky guy. She was more than a bit high and full of her dominatrix side when we got home, demanding I perform her foot massage before she'd have sex, which I generally view as my reward. She slipped out of her little slip of a dress. Her thong panties were missing in action—that lucky guy's souvenir. She stood there in thigh-high Wolford white stockings and four-inch Christian Louboutin black lace-up, open-toed, stiletto platforms. She was to die for and she knew it. I would give her what she wanted.

"Lie down on the bed," I said.

She fell backward, her legs dangling off the bed. I grabbed her ankles and rolled her facedown. She flopped over rag doll–like. I bent her legs at the knee and unlaced the shoes, staring at her beautiful heart-shaped ass that served as the most exquisite backdrop for my visual treat. After the shoes were unlaced and off, I rolled down the silky-soft stockings, taking my time to enjoy the subtle differentiation between Lizzie's silky soft skin and the luxurious material. Lizzie was enjoying the attention too. I had a feeling that the bathroom encounter, while thrilling, had left her in a supreme state of cunty readiness. Her hands were under her body, working feverishly between her legs. I saw the dart of jet-black fingernails flicking through the folds of her pussy. She was moaning and moving her ass up and down. Oh, how she loves a good foot massage.

As I rolled the stockings off her feet I pulled them from her toes, noticing an amazing symmetry gaping at me from across the ages. I felt an immediate bond with those Chinese patriarchs of centuries ago. Lizzie's feet were clasped together, the arches producing a small opening through which, in her facedown, ass-up pose, I saw her pussy winking back at me. The basic shapes were identical, and through the folds of history I understood one of the perverse reasons for foot binding—small feet, when clasped together, produce a beautiful surrogate pussy. I was possessed with a demonlike desire to plunder Lizzie's foot-pussy. I held her size-5 feet together at the ankles and knotted the stockings around them, completing the bondage at the toes.

"What are you doing?" Lizzie asked.

"Binding your feet."

"Oh," Lizzie said as if I did so every day. The woman is amazing in her ability to absorb sexual kink in stride. It also helped that she was Chinese, drunk and more than a little disorderly.

I hopped off the bed, struggling out of my clothes. I grabbed the bottle of cinnamon massage oil that we keep by the bed for our rubdowns and rechargings. The silky liquid warms with stroking to supposedly ease all those muscle aches, but I had another use in mind. It was going to be my surrogate pussy's surrogate pussy juice. I was back on the bed with a Flying Dagger–like leap and behind Lizzie's stocking-bound feet before she could say "Fuck my little piggies." Somewhere in time an ancient old Chinese pervert was smiling on me. Who knows, maybe it was karma, and I was the reincarnation of some Chinese Emperor and Lizzie was my favorite concubine and we were simply acting out what we had done all those centuries ago.

I poured a flood of oil over Lizzie's toes, catching the drips in my palms as I worked the oil into and around her feet, careful to avoid the surrogate pussy of her compressed arches. I was teasing her the way she likes her pussy to be touched, communicating with her body in the manner she prefers and is familiar with, telegramming the message that her feet were her pussy. In normal foreplay she doesn't like me to dive right into her cunt, but to spiral in from her silky thighs, working her into a frenzy of anticipation. And this I did with her feet, kneading, squeezing, stroking, gradually working my way to her opening. I poured more oil on my hands and worked it into her arches, liberally coating the bottoms of her feet. Where her arches came together near the toes I flicked my finger as I might on her clit, then slid my fingers inside her soles, working my fingers into what would have been her G-spot, but was actually the balls of her feet. Lizzie giggled as some of the touches were tickling. She writhed on her fingers, and my fingers mirrored what she was doing to her pussy. It was a riveting sight and sensation, and my cock responded with a steely hardness.

Fuck the footie foreplay, I couldn't wait any longer. I poured oil on my erection and straightened my body, inserting my cock between her feet, which I clasped tightly together, adding the pressure of my hands to the stocking binding. The warmth of the oil radiated from her skin to my cock. It was as if I were in her pussy, with one major difference—with each thrust I was greeted with the sight of my cockhead emerging through the tight folds of Lizzie's foot-pussy. When we fuck in the normal way I love watching my shaft sliding in and out of her tight little pussy, with her labial flesh gripping at me as if her pussy were reluctant to let my cock leave; now I was treated to the sight of my cockhead popping out from the other side of her sole-sex, giving me double the usual sensation of entry and exit. As my swollen head forced its way out of the compress of Lizzie's feet, only to be pulled back so that the sensitive rim was rubbed against her oily soles, the undulations of her skin added a feeling remarkably like that of her pussy's clutch, but amplified. I had never experienced anything like this. I was entranced by the sight, feel and sound of my cock sliding in and out of Lizzie's foot-pussy, the smell of the massage oil and the muskiness of feet that have been out all night. I was on erotic overload, and while I was lost in the newness of my foot-sex discoveries, Lizzie was beyond control with what I was doing to her. The sensations of my cock were tickling her feet, making her writhe, which she compounded with expert manipulations of her fingers in her pussy. I would not let her escape, holding her legs tight against me. When she comes, Lizzie often bursts into unrestrained laughter as all those tightly bound emotions burst forth. Now add to that the comic aspects of a foot-fucking and she was deliriously in a near-constant state of climaxing.

Watching her come and come again made it impossible to hold myself beyond a few more minutes' worth of stroking my cock into her foot-pussy. Her feet could not be denied me. She had teased me all night long, and this was my reward. I thrust into her, pulling her feet into my crotch, squeezing my tender cockhead out of her soles as I orgasmed, shooting a stream of milky come all along her back and into her raven tresses.

I held my come-sensitized cock in that position until I had the fortitude to withdraw. I so enjoyed the sensation of her warm feet against my tingling shaft that I continued the massaging with my softening cock until it grew hard again, and then, keeping Lizzie's feet bound, I straddled her body and fucked her from the rear, completing the foot-pussy circuit with a frenetic fuck of her well-fingered pussy from between her closely bound thighs.

Since that time foot-pussy play has become a staple of our sexual diet. We have expanded our repertoire to include intricate bondage. In addition to touch-heating massage oil we keep lengths of rope by our bed. I bind Lizzie's calves and ankles and toes together to form a foot-pussy, and then I tie her arms to the bed so she can't touch herself, but I strap a vibrating egg massager to her pussy to drive her wild. Foot-fuck possibilities are endless. Lizzie is limber enough that it is possible to vary the position, with her lying on her back so she can see my cock fucking her feet and the look on my face as I come, shooting a pearl necklace across her breasts.

We've invited others to join us in our foot binding revisited, and that's led to toe-sucking and cock-licking being added to our foot-fucking. Given the success of those encounters we've hosted foot-pussy parties,
satisfying my voyeurism and foot fetishes in one decadent evening.

The ancient Chinese art of reflexology is based upon the notion that the soles of the feet are connected through meridian lines to vital organs, and through appropriate pressure during foot massage, any ailment can be cured. In Lizzie's case I think her feet must be connected directly to her pussy and the erotic center of her brain, for I've never seen anyone so consumed by pleasure and full of life as she is when her feet are being fucked.

Excerpted from F is for Fetish an anthology edited by Alison Tyler and published by Cleis Press.

The book is also on sale at Amazon.

Copyright (c) 2010 by Cleis Press.

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