I have made one previous post titled "Controlling My Wife's Feet." This true story you could call a "prequel" and occurred while we were still dating.
I was in the next to last year of my residency in medicine, and had planned to move to Irvine, California in the summer to begin a fellowship. I had just been accepted to the program, but had not yet given my reply. However, I had planned to accept since I had worked for the past year to leave Chicago and start a new life in California. There was, though, one glitch. For the past six months I was dating a new girlfriend with whom I had fallen in love, and she shared those sentiments. This had happened to me before, and I was thus still planning to move to California, girlfriend or not. As we got to know each other though, she began to meet all my criteria for a wife. She was half asian(which I am also), had a pretty figure with beautiful legs and feet, was very bright and intelligent, articulate and well-read, had a great personality, and had a good career planned for the near future since she was in her next-to-last year as a resident in a different specialty. She also had an extremely ticklish body. During our courtship, I had managed to sneak in brief tickles all over her, and had discovered that her ribs and her lower thighs were the most ticklish spots. However, there was one last missing element, I did not know if her feet were ticklish. I was waiting for an opportunity to complete this last test.
The chance presented itself to me while she was in the middle of her most gruelling rotation. She was working in the intensive care unit, and was on call every third evening. Unlike most call, however, she would be awake and working most of the night and could catch only a few hours of sleep. On this particular evening, I was waiting for her in her apartment with sushi in the fridge for dinner. She returned home rather late and utterly exhausted. She told me that the previous night was the most intense and busy, both physically and mentally, she ever had. She was totally awake and working for 36 consecutive hours, predominantly on her feet, and constantly running from patient to patient.
After we ate, she took a quick shower, put on her pajamas, and jumped into her futon mattress on the floor of her living room. I sat on the floor next to her watching television. She almost immediately fell asleep, and after about an hour I saw her breathing very deeply. I also saw something else, her right foot was sticking out from the blanket. The light bulb went off and I knew this was my opportunity. I gently rolled the blanket to expose the other foot and looked at her. There was still no reaction from her. I looked very carefully at her size 7 1/2 feet. Her nails were unpolished, since she was so busy with work, but the nails were evenly trimmed. Her second toe was ever so slightly longer than the great toe. The third, fourth and little toes curled slightly inward. Her arches were moderately high. I could see from her the underside of her forefoot, toes and heel that she was indeed, almost always on her feet at work. I put my face up close to the sole of one of her feet and breathed in deeply. Although she had showered, she was so tired she had not thoroughly washed her feet. I could smell the sweet and pungent odor of 36 hours in black pantyhose and black patent leather flats. The smell was almost mind-numbing, and I let it waft in my nasal passages as if I had just smelled a nectar created by the Greek gods hidden from most mortals. I developed an almost immediate erection.
I then grabbed a peacock feather from a small vase I had given her, and very gently, ran it up the sole of her foot, from her heel to her toes. I kept changing my focus from her face to her foot as I did this. There was absolutely no reaction from either. I turned the feather around and did the same with the quill side, but the results were the same. I then ran my index finger up her heel. This time, there seemed to be an ever so slight movement, almost undectable, of her foot. However, when I got to her beautiful arch, her toes unmistakably tremored. There was still no reaction from her face. When my finger got under her toes, to my shock and fear, all of her toes of that foot suddenly splayed up and out. I was amazed at how flexible they were, but was afraid she would awaken. When I checked though, there was still no reaction in her face. I gently lowered my head and wrapped my lips around her little toe. I ran my tongue around her toe. Now I could taste the nectar and let it roll around my tongue, like a vintage wine. However, this nectar was beyond bold and rich with oak and fruit overtones. It was the taste of raw passion, undiluted, unblended and unadorned. It was better than the best wine or cognac I had ever consumed.
I could feel her toe quiver gently until I got to the area under and adjacent to her fourth toe. There, the quivering was noticeably more intense. As I then worked my way towards her big toe, each subsequent toe's reaction was more intense. When I got to her second toe, she flexed all of the toes at one time. I quickly lifted my head, but again, her face and body had not moved. She was still breathing deeply, like nothing was happening. The final step was to use four of my fingers and run them up and down both soles simultaneously. I received the same responses, at her arches her toes would quiver uncontrollably, and under her toes they would flex and splay outwards. Her breathing never changed, and she never moved the rest of her body during my first ever close encounter with her feet.
I layed back, fatigued and trembling. I quickly realized that my decision had, in fact, just been made for me. California quickly became a distant memory as I prepared myself mentally for another Chicago winter.
Two weeks after my "encounter" and the day after my girlfriend's gruelling ICU rotation ended, I took her for dinner at the Ritz Carlton. She wore a beautiful black and lavender dress with black stockings and those same black patent flats. They had a bow at the end, but I smiled as my eyes gazed at her toe cleavage. I knew more about her feet than she knew. At the end of dinner, I asked her, almost out of the blue, if she would marry me. Her eyes widenly suddenly, and for a moment, she was speechless. She then smiled and said "yes." It was a beautiful moment, and I still do not know if she knew this, but her decision to marry me had also already been made for her.
I was in the next to last year of my residency in medicine, and had planned to move to Irvine, California in the summer to begin a fellowship. I had just been accepted to the program, but had not yet given my reply. However, I had planned to accept since I had worked for the past year to leave Chicago and start a new life in California. There was, though, one glitch. For the past six months I was dating a new girlfriend with whom I had fallen in love, and she shared those sentiments. This had happened to me before, and I was thus still planning to move to California, girlfriend or not. As we got to know each other though, she began to meet all my criteria for a wife. She was half asian(which I am also), had a pretty figure with beautiful legs and feet, was very bright and intelligent, articulate and well-read, had a great personality, and had a good career planned for the near future since she was in her next-to-last year as a resident in a different specialty. She also had an extremely ticklish body. During our courtship, I had managed to sneak in brief tickles all over her, and had discovered that her ribs and her lower thighs were the most ticklish spots. However, there was one last missing element, I did not know if her feet were ticklish. I was waiting for an opportunity to complete this last test.
The chance presented itself to me while she was in the middle of her most gruelling rotation. She was working in the intensive care unit, and was on call every third evening. Unlike most call, however, she would be awake and working most of the night and could catch only a few hours of sleep. On this particular evening, I was waiting for her in her apartment with sushi in the fridge for dinner. She returned home rather late and utterly exhausted. She told me that the previous night was the most intense and busy, both physically and mentally, she ever had. She was totally awake and working for 36 consecutive hours, predominantly on her feet, and constantly running from patient to patient.
After we ate, she took a quick shower, put on her pajamas, and jumped into her futon mattress on the floor of her living room. I sat on the floor next to her watching television. She almost immediately fell asleep, and after about an hour I saw her breathing very deeply. I also saw something else, her right foot was sticking out from the blanket. The light bulb went off and I knew this was my opportunity. I gently rolled the blanket to expose the other foot and looked at her. There was still no reaction from her. I looked very carefully at her size 7 1/2 feet. Her nails were unpolished, since she was so busy with work, but the nails were evenly trimmed. Her second toe was ever so slightly longer than the great toe. The third, fourth and little toes curled slightly inward. Her arches were moderately high. I could see from her the underside of her forefoot, toes and heel that she was indeed, almost always on her feet at work. I put my face up close to the sole of one of her feet and breathed in deeply. Although she had showered, she was so tired she had not thoroughly washed her feet. I could smell the sweet and pungent odor of 36 hours in black pantyhose and black patent leather flats. The smell was almost mind-numbing, and I let it waft in my nasal passages as if I had just smelled a nectar created by the Greek gods hidden from most mortals. I developed an almost immediate erection.
I then grabbed a peacock feather from a small vase I had given her, and very gently, ran it up the sole of her foot, from her heel to her toes. I kept changing my focus from her face to her foot as I did this. There was absolutely no reaction from either. I turned the feather around and did the same with the quill side, but the results were the same. I then ran my index finger up her heel. This time, there seemed to be an ever so slight movement, almost undectable, of her foot. However, when I got to her beautiful arch, her toes unmistakably tremored. There was still no reaction from her face. When my finger got under her toes, to my shock and fear, all of her toes of that foot suddenly splayed up and out. I was amazed at how flexible they were, but was afraid she would awaken. When I checked though, there was still no reaction in her face. I gently lowered my head and wrapped my lips around her little toe. I ran my tongue around her toe. Now I could taste the nectar and let it roll around my tongue, like a vintage wine. However, this nectar was beyond bold and rich with oak and fruit overtones. It was the taste of raw passion, undiluted, unblended and unadorned. It was better than the best wine or cognac I had ever consumed.
I could feel her toe quiver gently until I got to the area under and adjacent to her fourth toe. There, the quivering was noticeably more intense. As I then worked my way towards her big toe, each subsequent toe's reaction was more intense. When I got to her second toe, she flexed all of the toes at one time. I quickly lifted my head, but again, her face and body had not moved. She was still breathing deeply, like nothing was happening. The final step was to use four of my fingers and run them up and down both soles simultaneously. I received the same responses, at her arches her toes would quiver uncontrollably, and under her toes they would flex and splay outwards. Her breathing never changed, and she never moved the rest of her body during my first ever close encounter with her feet.
I layed back, fatigued and trembling. I quickly realized that my decision had, in fact, just been made for me. California quickly became a distant memory as I prepared myself mentally for another Chicago winter.
Two weeks after my "encounter" and the day after my girlfriend's gruelling ICU rotation ended, I took her for dinner at the Ritz Carlton. She wore a beautiful black and lavender dress with black stockings and those same black patent flats. They had a bow at the end, but I smiled as my eyes gazed at her toe cleavage. I knew more about her feet than she knew. At the end of dinner, I asked her, almost out of the blue, if she would marry me. Her eyes widenly suddenly, and for a moment, she was speechless. She then smiled and said "yes." It was a beautiful moment, and I still do not know if she knew this, but her decision to marry me had also already been made for her.
