Are You Lookin’ at My Feet?
Wherein the virtuous Alice discovers the unfortunate Miles Treadwell afflicted with a curious paraphilia. Guided by the spirited Becky, Alice learns to harness his peculiar weakness, gaining mastery over masculine folly with her own virtue unblemished. A tale of shame, desire, and the subtle triumphs of female wit.
A satirical erotic fantasy in two chapters – For adult masturbators only – By Richard Lovel – Copyright 2026 (all rights reserved) = RL-2026-01-01
Chapter Index
Chapter One
Alice winced as Becky’s emery board rasped against her toenail. She wiggled her toes—the ones already painted a pearly white—and watched as Becky worked on her right foot. There was something both comforting and unsettling about having someone handle her feet.
“Hold still, would you?” Becky said, not looking up from her work. “Unless you want your cuticles looking like they went through a paper shredder.”
“Sorry,” Alice mumbled. They sat cross-legged in her dorm room on the thin carpet, a folding table between them cluttered with nail supplies.
Becky’s toenails gleamed a bold red that matched her hair. The color seemed to announce itself, just like Becky did. Alice had chosen the pearly white—safe, clean, proper. Her mother would approve.
“There,” Becky said, “Now for the good stuff.” She shook a bottle of base coat.
Alice watched as Becky’s feet flexed unconsciously. “Your feet are so pretty,” she said, then immediately felt silly for the observation.
“Thanks,” Becky replied with a grin, wiggling her toes playfully. “Yours too. Nice high arches.”
Alice glanced down at her own feet, zeroing in on her second toe—noticeably longer than the others. “Except for this one. It’s too long. My mama used to say I’d have trouble finding shoes that fit right because of it.”
“Are you kidding? That’s like the Renaissance ideal. Italian painters considered that the perfect foot shape. Botticelli’s wet dream.”
Becky applied the clear base coat to Alice’s toes. “How’s that toe-yoga class going, by the way? The one you started last month?”
Alice brightened. “Oh! It’s actually really good. We do all these exercises to strengthen the foot muscles.” She lifted her free foot and demonstrated, spreading her toes wide, then squeezing them together. “And this one—” she curled her toes downward, then extended them upward, “—is supposed to help with balance.”
“Show me another,” Becky prompted, finishing the base coat.
Alice concentrated, lifting just her big toe while keeping the others flat, then reversing the toes. “This one’s harder than it looks.”
“No kidding,” Becky said, attempting to copy the movement and failing.
As Becky selected the white polish, Alice fidgeted nervously. “Um, Becky? Can I ask you somethin’ kinda strange?”
“Those are the best questions.”
Alice bit her lower lip. “It’s about Miles Treadwell. My chem lab partner? He’s real nice, and smart and all, but sometimes … well, he stares at my feet.” She paused, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “When I wear sandals, I catch him lookin’. And last week, when I kicked off my shoes under the lab table, I saw him put his hand in his pocket. Touchin’ himself when he thought I wasn’t payin’ attention. It was kinda creepy.”
Becky’s laugh was sudden and loud. “Oh honey, you’ve got yourself a foot boy.” Still grinning as she applied the polish to Alice’s toes. “Miles has a foot fetish. A foot paraphilia.”
“A what now?”
“A sexual attraction to feet. Usually it’s males attracted to female feet,” Becky explained. “It’s actually the most common fetish. Something like one in seven men has some degree of foot attraction.”
Alice stared at her, genuinely perplexed. “But that’s so weird. Everybody has feet. It’s not like guys bein’ attracted to our breasts or bottoms or our …” She trailed off, her blush deepening.
“Go on,” Becky prompted.
“Oh… you know … p-pussies,” Alice finally stammered and immediately covered her mouth, shocked at herself.
Becky laughed. “I thought you southern girls called them ‘lady parts.’ Babe, there’s a World Wide Weird out there—fetishes way beyond what you can imagine.”
“So Miles gets… excited… by feet? My feet?”
Becky nodded, blowing gently on Alice’s freshly painted toes. “And from what you’ve told me, I’d say he’s got it pretty bad.”
Becky set down the nail polish and leaned back, shifting from casual friend into her professorial mode—as when she held court during their Psychology study group.
“So, there are actually several theories about why some men develop foot fetishes. The neurobiological explanation is pretty sound. See, in the brain’s sensory map, the foot and genital regions are adjacent. Sometimes there’s cross-wiring. For these guys, seeing feet triggers arousal pathways.”
Alice wrinkled her nose. “That seems… possible.”
“Then there’s the psychoanalytic perspective. Freud thought feet were phallic symbols, toes like little dicks. But he thought everything was about penises, so…” She shrugged.
“Freud is so twentieth century. Are there more theories?”
“The conditioning explanation makes sense to me. Boys who have early sexual awakenings or experiences that somehow involve feet. Maybe they glimpsed a woman’s bare feet during puberty while getting aroused. It creates an association that gets reinforced over time. The male brain builds pathways connecting the visual stimulus—feet—with sexual excitement.”
Alice’s gaze drifted to her own feet, seeing them differently now. “I think Miles has been sneakin’ photos of my feet. Last week I saw him holdin’ his phone under the table pointed at my sandals. What would he even do with pictures of feet?”
“What do you think he does with them, Alice?”
The realization dawned slowly. “No… you don’t mean he would…?”
“Jerk off to them? That’s exactly what I mean. He probably has a whole collection of your foot pics that he uses to masturbate to.”
“That’s—that’s disgusting!” Alice flushed crimson. “He’s using my feet for… for that? Without my permission?”
“Taking photos without consent is definitely crossing a line,” Becky agreed. “But don’t get mad, honey, get even.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that knowledge is power. Now you know something about Miles that he desperately doesn’t want anybody to know. These guys want their fetish acknowledged and accepted, but they’re terrified of exposure.”
“You mean, because it’s … so weird?”
“Bingo. It’s not normal for a guy, not like jerking off to a girl’s ass or boobs. People make jokes about it: ‘foot freaks’, ‘foot boys.’ Bottom feeders on the fetish food chain. Lots of guys appreciate sexy feet, but the ones who fetishize feet tend to fit the beta male profile—guys with masculinity issues. Afraid of real sexual relationships.”
“And you think Miles is like that?”
“Classic case, from what you’ve told me. Smart but socially awkward, right? Hasn’t had many girlfriends?”
Alice nodded.
“They’re usually chronic masturbators. They crave female attention but don’t know how to get it normally. Pussy scares them, so they fixate on other parts of women like feet, and jerk off from a safe distance.”
“But what does this have to do with ‘getting even’?” Alice asked.
“These guys are submissive by nature. They hand over their power willingly when their specific desires are acknowledged. Girls who understand how to manage their needs are in control. The foot fetish is particularly useful because it’s deeply embarrassing to them.”
Alice felt a strange shift inside her—a reordering of something fundamental. “So you’re sayin’ I have power over him? Because of his… interest in my feet?”
“Exactly. A girl can totally own guys like this. Mix lots of teasing and ridicule with a little acceptance and encouragement, and they become putty in your hands—or should I say, under your feet. Just give him enough humiliation to keep him in his place, enough acceptance to keep him hopeful.”
“So I just… tease him with my feet and he’ll do whatever I want?” — the concept both foreign and oddly thrilling.
“Exactly. You can wrap him around your little toe. For instance, make him do the tedious parts of your chemistry lab work. Let him play footsie once in a while for a reward.”
“I don’t know, Becky. Using someone’s… private desires against them seems kinda manipulative.”
“Is it manipulation if both people get what they want? Miles gets to indulge his foot fantasies with a real, live woman instead of just pictures, and you get a slave to do the boring stuff. Sounds like a win-win to me.”
Alice was silent, watching as Becky finished her pedicure.
“So, let’s put this theory to the test. Your next chem lab is tomorrow, right? I’ll give you a few ideas to work on.”
After she delivered an impromptu lesson, Becky left. Alice sat alone in her dorm room, examining her perfectly painted white toes. A small smile formed on her lips.
~ ~ ~
Next afternoon Alice’s hands trembled as she dialed Becky’s number. When Becky finally answered on the fourth ring, Alice could barely contain herself.
“Becky! Oh my God, you won’t believe what happened!”
“Whoa, slow down there, cowgirl. I take it the lab experiment was a success?”
“Success doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Alice flopped onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. “I did exactly what you told me. Wore the sandals, sat next to him at the lab bench, everything.”
“And?” Becky prompted.
“I did what you said about acting natural. I just slipped off my sandals, stretched my feet a little.”
“Was he watching?”
“I didn’t look at him directly, like you said, but Lord, I could feel his eyes on my feet. Then I did that toe-yoga exercise, separating my toes, real slow, pretending I was just stretching.”
“And how did Mr. Foot Fetish react?”
“He dropped a beaker,” – giggle – “Just shattered it right on the floor. Our TA came over and Miles couldn’t even speak—he was bright red and sweating like it was a hundred degrees in there.”
“Perfect. Then what?”
“After the TA cleaned up the glass and left, I kept wagging that foot like you showed me, swinging it real casual-like. Miles pretended to work on his notebook, but he was looking down at my foot.” Alice’s voice lowered. “So then I got brave and let my toes start brushing against his ankle—innocent, like I didn’t know I was doin’ it..”
“And?” Becky was eager now.
Alice took a deep breath. “He got this strangled look on his face, and bent over, and then he just… he just jumped up and ran out of the lab! Told the TA he wasn’t feeling well. But Becky—” her voice a whisper “—he had this wet spot on the front of his pants. I think he… he wet himself from being nervous!”
There was a pause. Becky burst into laughter, the sound so loud Alice had to hold the phone away from her ear.
“Oh honey,” — between gasps for air — “he didn’t wet himself. He came in his pants.”
“He what????”
“Ejaculated. Orgasmed. Shot his wad. Your little tootsie turned him on so much he climaxed right there in the middle of chemistry lab.”
“But… but I barely touched him! Just a little brush against his ankle!”
“For a foot guy with a major fetish who’s been secretly taking pictures of your feet? That little brush was probably the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to him.”
Alice sat in stunned silence, processing this information. She’d made a boy… finish… Just with her feet … No kissing, no touching, nothing mama would faint over. Just by wiggling her toes.
“Alice? You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m just… wow.”
“He’s even more susceptible than I thought. This opens up all kinds of possibilities. Are you ready for phase two?”
“There’s a phase two?”
“Didn’t your daddy teach you how to fish? You’ve set the hook, now it’s time to real him in.”
“Tell me about phase two.”
~~~ continued ~~~