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I could never bring myself to paying attention in Miss Jones’s science class. However, I wasn’t fixated on something outside, no, I could not stop staring at my beautiful teacher’s glorious feet. She always wore these cute leather sandals or her flat leather slides to school, except on Thursdays when she coached hockey after school, she wore her black and pink Salomon running shoes. I sat at the very front of the class, where I could see her beautiful feet under her desk as she played with them. She would kick them off and it seemed almost intentional as she teased and played with her magnificent feet. After staring at her feet and sandals for the 3 months I had been in the school, I had found out that she wore a size 6. Her feet were cute, her toes small and always painted fire engine red.
I barely ever payed attention in her class, and this made my grades horrible after the first exams were over. As the second term started, even after managing to not focus on some of my other teachers’ lovely feet, I couldn’t bring myself to stop staring at Miss Jones’s gorgeous feet during lessons. On Monday of the second week of the second term, after the bell rang and all the students had left the class, Miss Jones told me to stay behind. She closed the door and told me to sit down in the chair in front of her desk. She sat down on her usual chair, next to me.
“Listen, George,” she started, taking her hair out of her face. “I looked at your grades from your previous school and… well you’ve dropped off quite a bit. Care to explain?”
She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer.
“Um.. well, I…”
“That’s not an answer,” she said, playfully scolding me.
“I… don’t know, miss.”
“You know what I think it is?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, her arms still crossed.
“What’s that, miss?” I asked quietly.
She put her legs up on her desk. My eyes lustfully followed her gorgeous, muscular legs and travelled to her breathtaking feet, covered in her usual size 6 leather sandals, the nails, as always, painted fire engine red and her beautiful high arches, oh, her arches. I imagined what it would be like to slip my cock in between her feet and have her give me a glorious footjob.
“These,” she said, gesturing at her leather sandals.
“Your sandals, miss?” I asked, obviously playing dumb.
“Don’t act stupid, George,” she scolded. “You think I don’t realise that you spend more than half of every period staring at my feet?”
I was speechless, I never thought it was that obvious, I usually tried to keep it discreet. But Miss Jones wasn’t a stupid teacher, I knew her intellect was superior to a lot of other teachers at the school, but I didn’t think she was that observant. Maybe she teased me with her feet on purpose when she played with her shoes under her desk.
“You are one naughty, naughty boy, George,” said Miss Jones, getting up from her chair and looking down at me.
I looked up at her with scared eyes, she was officially the first person who knew of my foot fetish, I never planned to tell anyone. I thought it was quite an advantage to have a secret foot fetish, I mean in the hot climate I live in girls (and teachers) would regularly wear flip flops, slides and so forth. If you were discreet enough, nobody would even realise you were staring at their feet, and it’s a lot easier to stare at than a girl”s bottom or crotch.
Miss Jones’s eyes looked overly happy, she was planning something, I knew it.
“Kneel, boy,” she said, pulling me off the chair I was sitting on. I kneeled down, but still looking up at her. “Look down at my feet, you won’t look me in the eyes until I tell you to. I don’t think you deserve it. “
She sat back down on her chair and raised her right foot to my face
“Take off my sandals,” she commanded.
My cock suddenly sprang erect, it had been semi-erect for the duration of my “meeting” with Miss Jones, but I had never been this close to a woman’s feet. I slid off her right sandal and then her left sandal, doing it as slow as possible to savor the moment. As I placed her left sandal on the floor, the glorious stench of her feet emerged. I took a deep sniff, it smelled absolutely magnificent.
“I ankara türbanlı escort was going to let you lick my feet, but I don’t think you deserve that yet,” she said, teasing me by dangling her right foot centimetres from my face. My cock grew harder than it’s ever been before. “My feet are tired, put your hands to good use and massage them. If you do do a good job, I’ll let you… form a relationship with these cute little tootsies,” she wiggled her toes in my face. “I’ll let you pedicure them, massage them and worship them. I might even let you go up further than my feet and calves. If you do a bad job and I’m not satisfied, you’ll never get close to them again, and you’ll have to go back to being a lowlife scum and staring at my feet from afar, never even getting to smell them or touch them again.”
Good deal, I thought. I had watched many a foot massage video, I could probably manage to satisfy my science teacher’s glorious feet. I took her right foot into my hands and started rubbing the heel.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, tapping her left foot on the floor.
What could I be forgetting?
“You think you can satisfy my magnificent feet without massage lotion? And with those filthy hands?”
Oh, how could I forget? I mean, I didn’t know where I could find massage lotion-
“Luckily, I always keep a nice bottle of lotion in my handbag,” she said, and I could hear her reach for something, I presume her handbag, open it and search through it. She was definitely planning for this exact moment, I mean, who keeps massage oil in their handbag? “Look up at me, footboy.”
I cautiously raised my head to look up at my beautiful science teacher. I stared into her lovely green eyes as she dangled a tube of “Almond and Lavender Therapeutic Massage Oil” next to her face. Also dangling from her hand was a pair of black nitrile gloves.
“Beg for them,” she commanded.
There was no point in objecting, after all I wanted to please my teacher really badly.
“Please, miss. Please, may I have the gloves and the oil? Please, miss! I am no more than lowlife scum, I don’t deserve to massage your beautiful feet with these filthy hands, please!” I begged, kneeling down completely as if worshipping her like a goddess.
“Wow, good boy!” she said, talking to me like a dog, dropping the gloves down in front of me. “Put those on, footboy. I’ll give you the oil after.”
I took the nitrile gloves, another turn on for me. I slipped a glove onto my right hand and pulled it tight, snapping it. Even though I was doing it myself, putting on the gloves were still a turn on, the snap like a cherry on the cake. I then tightly slipped a glove onto my left hand, once again snapping it to my wrist.
“Oh wow, you look like a professional!” once again, she sounded like she was talking to a pet dog. “Take the oil, footboy.”
Oh, I loved her talking to me like this. It’s always been a major turn on for me when women talk down to me, flaunting their dominance over me. I loved being dominated, but I had never been dominated in an intimate way like this. I’ve never got this close to a woman’s feet, I’ve only ever accidentally touched a girl’s foot a few times. I’ve fantasized about this experience for a long, long time and it was actually happening now, I almost felt like pinching myself to convince me this wasn’t a dream.
I held out my hands in a begging position, and Miss Jones placed the bottle in my hands.
“Oh, what a good little footboy you are,” she said, placing the bottle in my hands. “So polite and well mannered! Now hurry up, my feet hurt and you aren’t helping!”
I squirted 4 globs of massage oil into my nitrile gloved left hand, then I rubbed my hands together and made sure I spread the oil all over the gloves.
“I’m waiting…” she said impatiently as I made sure that my gloves were completely coated, her left foot rubbing against my left leg. My erection was clearly visible through my school uniform shorts.
I then took her right foot (I didn’t want to take the one rubbing my leg just yet) into my hands and squirted some oil all over. From the toes down to the heel and also on the top of the foot. I took hold of her tuzla escort arch and started to roll her toes in a circular motion, I remember seeing this in a foot massage video, it worked because I noticed Miss Jones give a soft moan and I suddenly felt her foot relax in my hand. Her left foot continued rubbing up and down my right leg for the entire massage. I then started massaging the whole foot up and down, starting from just under the toes to the heel and up to her ankles.
“No further than my ankles now, footboy. You have to earn your way up my leg.”
After doing this 10 times, I started rubbing in small circles down the sides of her foot with my thumbs. I knew this wouldn’t do the trick in terms of making her moan, but it would help her relax. I made sure to be very firm during the massage, because I had learned before that massaging lightly tickles the foot and it takes away from the pleasure of a good massage.
Miss Jones seemed to be enjoying my massage, she constantly moaned and her foot relaxed with everything I did. Her moans became louder and louder as the massage lasted longer, and I hadn’t even touched her left foot yet. I worked the heel of her foot, which had produced the most moans of anything, I maybe focused on the heel for about 5 minutes before moving onto the final stage, her toes. I knew from the videos I had watched that massaging the toes provides the most pleasure.
I took her big toe between my thumb and index finger, and then twirled and twisted it lightly to loosen it a bit. Then, I rubbed her toe firmly, moving on to her second toe. I repeated the same process for all her toes twice. This made her moan at her loudest and after I was finished I made to place her foot down on the floor, but she yanked her foot up, kicking me on the chin.
“Footboy, are you just going to place my oily foot down on this dirty floor?” she asked, putting her foot against my face, she had obviously come down from her relaxation high. “Take off your shirt.”
I hesitated for a second, but she scolded me quickly.
“Take off shirt, footboy!” she scolded, pushing my face away with her oily foot. I rushed to unbutton my school uniform shirt and slid it off.
“My, but you are an attractive boy aren’t you?” she said, rubbing her oily foot on my chest. The lavendery smell of the massage oil found its way into my nose and it smelled just as good as the previous strong sweat stench. “Spread your shirt down on the floor.”
I opened my shirt up completely and placed it down on the floor in front of Miss Jones’s chair. She rested her gorgeous foot down on it. Her foot was shiny and slippery from the oil, but I didn’t mind, anything to please this goddess.
“Now dry my foot,” she commanded. I took hold of her right foot through my shirt and patted her foot dry as if with a towel, though I had to be a bit more firm since the material was thinner than a towel. After I was done, her foot was almost completely dry. “Now you may put it down, footboy.”
I placed her foot down on my spread out white shirt, which was now oily.
“Kiss it. Only once.”
I kneeled down and laid a kiss on the top of her foot, then I proceeded to squirt more massage oil onto my gloved hand and rub my hands together. I lifted my pretty teacher’s magnificent left foot up and inhaled deeply to take in the amazing smell resonating from her foot. I squirted some massage oil onto it and started to firmly rub it into every part of her foot once again.
I repeated the same process as her right foot, once again rolling her toes while holding her arch to relax her foot. She moaned loudly this time, louder than before. I heard a shuffling, I assumed it was her handbag.
“You will not look away from my feet, understand footboy?” she asked, still searching through her handbag.
“Yes miss,” I said obediently, my eyes locked onto her left foot.
I spotted in the corner of my eyes her hand travel down to her crotch as she moaned again and her foot relaxed. Then, a zipper unzipping. Wait, was she… Then, the click of a button and a vibrating noise became audible. Oh, she was definitely masturbating. I spotted her slipping a Hitachi magic wand into her panties.
“Hey, avrupa yakası ucuz escort what are you looking at, footboy?” she scolded me, I didn’t realise that I had slowly been looking up at her and that I had stopped massaging her foot.
I quickly locked my eyes back onto her left foot and returned to circling the sides of her foot with my thumbs. She became aroused almost immediately after I had brought her down from the high. I watched her right foot, still rested on my shirt, as her toes curled while I worked the heel of her left foot. I then moved on to loosening, twirling and twisting her toes, bringing her to climax as I finished her pinky toe. I momentarily stopped as my cock somehow hardened more. I thought I had done my job, but as I stopped loosening her toe after her climax, she kicked me once again on the chin.
“Did I tell you to stop, footboy?” she asked, putting away the Hitachi wand and slipping her hand into her panties.
“No, miss. Sorry, miss,” I apologised obediently and went back to satisfying my teacher’s cute little fire-engine red toes.
“Open your mouth,” said Miss Jones after I had just finished the second round of massaging her toes. “Look at me, naughty boy.”
I looked up and once again found myself staring into the gaze of her beautiful green eyes.
“I said open your mouth, footboy.”
I opened my mouth, and my eyes trailed down to her crotch, where her right hand was rubbing around inside her panties. She gasped as I could’ve swore she inserted a finger into her vagina.
“Keep it open for me,” she commanded, slowly raising her hand from her thin, lavender cotton panties. She held out her hand, it was covered in her cum. “Clean my hands, they’re all dirty now and it’s all your fault!”
Well, I mean technically she wasn’t wrong, but she almost sounded maddened by the fact I had contributed to her orgasm. I knew she was toying with me, playing with me like a pet, talking to me like a pet, and this turned me on even more.
She put her index and middle finger into my mouth and I started sucking off her feminine juices, they tasted delightful. She slid the two fingers down my throat and started choking me.
“You like that, slut?” she asked. “You like Miss Jones’s fingers?”
I nodded vigorously, admittedly I didn’t enjoy being choked but I loved being dominated by this beautiful teacher. She stopped choking me and I kneeled down before her, trying to catch a breath.
“Don’t you get any of your filthy spit on my cute little tootsies now, sweetheart. Or you’ll have to pay.”
She then slipped her other hand into her lavender panties and repeated the same process. She let me suck on her fingers, of which the nails were also painted the same fire engine red as her toes, until all of the juices were off. She rubbed her hands through my hair to kind of dry them off I guess.
“Now, come on then, finish your job,” she said, laying back in her chair and raising her lovely left foot to my face.
I went over her entire foot one more time in order to savour the moment, even though I hoped that I had satisfied her and would be at her feet many more times, for the chance I wasn’t going to be this close to my science teacher’s magnificent feet again, I took extra long and made sure I did my job extra well. Once I was finished massaging her small, cute toes for a fourth time, I placed her oily foot onto my spread out shirt and patted it dry firmly.
“Good boy, George,” she said, playing with my hair. “You did such a good job, sweetie. I’ll let you run along now, but tomorrow after school I’ll meet you in the nurse’s office. I need to make sure you’re nice and healthy before we start your training.”
I made to get up, but she pushed me back down with her right foot.
“You forgot something, sweetheart, ” she said, tapping her left foot on my shirt, still spread out on the floor.
I immediately realised what I had forgot, once again I kneeled in front of Miss Jones and laid a kiss on the top of her left foot. I then slipped Miss Jones’s feet back into her lovely brown leather sandals and kissed each of her feet one more time. I then slipped off the black nitrile gloves and threw them in the small dustbin by Miss Jones’s desk.
Then I picked up my, now oily, shirt, slipping it back on and buttoning it up, feeling the coldness of the oil on my back. I picked up my school bag and made my way to the door.
“Goodbye Miss, and thank you very much,” I said, standing in the door frame.
“Bye bye, footboy,” she said, with a huge smile on her face, waving me goodbye.
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