Foot by Foot
Last Edit: Dec 21st, 2016
No art submitted yet
Foot by Foot
Delia’s plain fingers brushed across the spines of the books on the shelf. Her hands were the only exposed flesh of her arm that was illuminated by the hazy light of the Cozy Nook, a small independent bookstore frequented by hipsters and middle-aged adults who fancied themselves intellectuals. Delia did not fit into either of those patron demographics. Physically, she more resembled the geek version of Taylor Swift in the You Belong With Me video, complete with frizzy blonde hair and round glasses, than any of the edgy, confident young women who often scoured the shelves for the latest Carol Queen tract or fiction recommendation from the local NPR affiliate. Being modest, almost to the point of being a prude, Delia had always attempted to downplay any physical markers of sexuality that the young woman may otherwise possess, which was equally paired with her studious and serious nature. Her only real exposure to the world outside of her small town was what she learned in books. Delia was, in the simplest of terms, naive and unworldly. However, she was painfully aware of this and tried to hide it with an introverted nature that did not allow others to take advantage of her – if they did not know that she was ignorant about the world, then people would not have ammo to use against the timid young woman.
The woman’s prudish and introverted nature led her to wear all types of clothing to conceal anything that could lend anyone to ever accuse her of being a slut. On this day, she wore a pink, ribbed sweater with some light-washed, out of fashion mom jeans. She finished the look with a pair of cheap white tennis shoes from the dollar store. Delia never looked completely frumpy, per se, but she did not dress to be provocative. And she always attempted to hide any amount of her own skin that she could. This meant no shorts and definitely no tank tops. She wore t-shirts to bed, but always paired t-shirts with long-sleeve shirts when out in public. It was not that she grew up in an ultra-conservative environment. Delia just felt that at the current point in life, she did not want to invoke any sexual thoughts in the guys around her. Rather than dating, she was too focused on her other pursuits, which is what led her to the bookstore on a late Saturday morning.
Delia was spending the summer and fall after her high school graduation in her hometown. Ever the responsible person, Delia had postponed starting college until a year after high school while she worked at the local feed store, saving money to help offset the cost of tuition. She was planning to major in biology with the eventual goal of attending graduate school to become a physician’s assistant. With high school just behind her, Delia anticipated studying some life science books over the summer and through the fall and spring with the intention of having a leg up when she began her core coursework.
A few people milled around the Cozy Nook, their noses firmly planted in sci-fi adventures, pseudo-scientific self-help, and responsible financial planning. Delia was the type of girl who, upon walking into a room, failed to turn heads, whether those heads were placed on the tops of men or women. Accordingly, she could browse the bookstores and libraries without any attention from others. While she liked to tell herself that this suited her just fine, Delia was always a little bit envious of girls who could pull attention just by their mere presence.
Delia’s hand stopped at a book on anatomy: Male and Female Reproduction: A Primer. She pulled the volume from the shelf. Delia would otherwise worry about looking like a pervert by picking up such a text, but she found relief in her plainness keeping prying and judging eyes away. Thumbing through the book, the woman took note of how clinical the diagrams were, certainly not sexually arousing in the least. She almost felt a sort of personal pride being mature – or apparently frigid – enough to not become aroused by the subject matter.
While browsing the pages, Delia caught out of the corner of one of her aqua blue eyes, a glimpse of a tall, young woman with hair dark as a Norwegian night, clearly a color job completed with Black No 1. She wore a tight, white tank top and stiff jean shorts, both articles which hugged her curvy assets in a way that almost seemed preplanned by some subversive movie director trying to sneak fan service into a real life encounter at a book store. The woman’s toned thighs and endowed upper-body made Delia’s beanstalk frame with small breasts look girlish in comparison. At approximately 5’11”, the woman seemed to tower over Delia’s 5’7” stature. The enigmatic woman’s eyes briefly locked with Delia’s, causing the latter to look back down at the anatomy book. The timid girl mentally scolded herself for acting so beta.
Delia thought she recognized the woman. In high school, she was a few years ahead of the bookish girl. The name “Amelia” rang a bell in Delia’s head. The raven-haired woman was not necessarily popular, but was by all accounts, “cool” in the eyes of the rockers, stoners, and punks who hung around. Despite her bad girl status amongst the adults and preps, Amelia also had a reputation of being incredibly bright. Delia recalled that she had received a full-ride scholarship to some university in New York City; it was a big hubbub when Amelia was made a member of the Honor’s Society, despite never having applied. That was about three years ago. Delia deduced that her social better must have been back in town for summer break.
There had always been rumors that Amelia was into witchcraft. But then again, a lot of girls that age had watched Harry Potter or an old VHS copy of The Craft, inspiring them to study a book or two and believe themselves to have power. Delia thought that it was oh so pretentious, but she could not help but admit she was somewhat intrigued by the whole mystique. Must girls grew out the witchcraft trip by 11th Grade. Delia concluded, however, that Amelia had not purged such an affected image, as she saw the older woman searching through the new age section of the store.
Delia discreetly looked further up from her anatomy book to get a better look at the goth-ish girl that she had envied – and even feared a little – in school. She scanned down Amelia’s shapely legs until reaching the woman’s ankles. Delia gulped and felt her heart begin to race upon her eyes arriving at an exposed ankle (or medial malleous bone, studying anatomy books had given Delia all of the proper medical terms). Seeing exposed ankle meant that Amelia wore neither sneaker nor boot. And once again, it was another moment, right there in the bookstore, that Delia had to come to grips with something she often tried to push to the back of her mind. She had always self-identified as heterosexual. Delia had noticed guys while growing up; she just tried not to think too much about them.
But Delia kept a deep, dark, dirty secret: She had an affinity for women’s feet. Delia had memories of being fascinated with her friends’ bare feet when playing in the sandbox while they were all still kids. It was never sexual back then, but she did recall enjoying the aesthetic of the piece of anatomy. While going through puberty, she then began to experience erotic feelings at the sight of other women’s feet. She dreaded gym class, because that meant she may catch a glimpse of a friend changing into gym socks; and poor Delia’s secret may be out. Delia had rented Tarantino movies in the past and watched them alone, her heart pounding and her sex becoming lubricated when the inevitable foot reveal would happen. But Delia could not deny her prudish ways and never acted on herself upon watching these scenes.
Delia took a breath and decided to continue scanning past Amelia’s ankles. Her eyes set upon the woman’s feet that were nestled snuggly into a pair of black sandals. They were pristine, as though bathed in almond milk. The bone structure was precise but still dainty. And the toe nails! Delia was happy to observe that the alleged witch had perfectly painted her nails black to match her hair and fingernails. Almost unconsciously, Delia’s thighs began to close, pushing together to both concurrently hide and ramp up the fledging sensations between her legs. At that moment, Amelia looked up from the book of runes she had been perusing. Her face flushed, Delia quickly turned down to look at the book in her hands.
Amelia had seen her – Delia knew it. And while she kept her eyes focused on the book, Delia could feel Amelia looking over at her. “How embarrassing,” the young woman thought, “Did she know I was…was, checking out her feet?” Delia continued to look down at the text for a minute or two, not actually reading, but at least feigning interest in the book to create the impression that she had not really been looking at anything in particular just a few moments ago. Noticing that Amelia had returned her attention to the new age literature, Delia put the anatomy book back on the shelf. She could come back another time to purchase it or just order it online. At that moment, Delia felt like a bigger dork than normal and just wanted to get out of the socially awkward situation she had inadvertently constructed.
Quickly walking past the new age section, Delia’s awkwardness once again crept up at the most inopportune time and she banged her foot into a metal stool used by the shop associates. Amelia looked up and met Delia’s eyes. The bookish woman was entranced for a brief moment. Amelia had deep brown eyes containing a certain seductive allure to them. Even though she considered herself straight – except for the inconvenient female foot fetish – even Delia recognized how seductive Amelia was.
Amelia chucked; her voice was not malicious did contain a tinge of authority, “Be careful there. You don’t want your feet to swell up to the point you can’t keep your shoes on, do you?”
Delia produced a panicky laugh, “No, ha ha.” The nervous girl broke eye contact with the self-assured woman and made a beeline for the store’s exit. Outside, Delia felt her body stiffen with embarrassment. She was just glad to be out of there, away from the judging eyes of Amelia. She was equal parts envious and intimidated by the older woman. “Did she see me staring at her feet,” she questioned, “And that comment about my feet swelling, was that some sort of ironic joke she was making? Was that witchy woman trying to subliminally tell me that she knew I was admiring her feet…her cute little feet?”
Delia tried to put those thoughts out of her head. It was embarrassing enough to have almost tripped over the stool; being caught appreciating another girl’s feet in a more than complimentary way would be social suicide in town; and while not a complete cliché of being the awkward wallflower outcast, Delia was not exactly being invited to all of the popular parties either, not that she would go anyways. But a part of her that Delia would never admit to herself was that she always secretly desired to be invited to hang out with the cool kids – if not the jocks, preps, and cheerleaders, then definitely with the à la mode trendsetters like Amelia. Sucking down her awkwardness into the pit of her stomach, Delia began walking home.
Prior to beginning to save for college, Delia had bought a modest car. But to save on gas money, she often chose to walk when doing local errands. Spring in the Midwest was not exceptionally hot, but those who were not privy to wearing sweaters during most of the year took the opportunity to enjoy the outdoors, which meant bike riding, pick up basketball games, and sunbathing. It was not uncommon during the early days of fair weather to see young women laid about their yards with bathing suits, trying to catch a tan to last the through the dog days. Delia spotted two such ladies when she took a side street home. Both of them were dirty blonde 30-somethings, stretched out on their stomachs, working on their backs. Delia believed it to be some sort of cruel joke on her that they were lying on the lawn right next to the sidewalk, their feet bare.
“I won’t look,” Delia commanded herself. Still, as she approached, a tingling sensation fluttered in the girl’s tummy. She had a prime opportunity to steal a glance at two women’s lovely feet and get away with it, much unlike the disastrous incident that happened with Amelia only moments before. Delia ambled up to the women. She knew that they were aware of her presence, but did not bother to look up. “Yes!” Delia thought to herself. As soon as the young woman was upon the bathing babes, she peeked down to see their feet laid down, soles facing out. The woman on the left had whiter feet, not quite as pale as Amelia’s, but light nonetheless. The woman on the left had more buttery colored feet. Both of their soles scrunched and folded in way that Delia found delightfully cute.
Delia’s eyes hung on the feet as she continued walking past. The tingling sensation in her stomach grew; she embraced and enjoyed the little sense of private naughtiness in which she she had partaken. With the two women now behind her, Delia felt the tingling in her stomach continue. Normally, after she basked in her innocent foot fetish, the tingling would stop and Delia would go about her day, but this sensation was not subsiding. In fact, the prickling in her stomach seemed to build into a slight throb that teased the area just above her unappreciated sex. As Delia walked, she could feel the crotch of her panties sticking ever so slightly to the folds of her vagina. “Oh my,” Delia whispered to herself through pursed lips. Normally, Delia never allowed herself to actually get wet when she appreciated a woman’s foot in public; she saved such pleasure for the times when she was alone in her room at the computer or on the couch watching one of those Tarantino flicks.
Picking up the pace of her trot, Delia turned back onto a primary street that shifted straight down through a small commercial district in town. Small, independently owned shops lined both sides of the road. Restaurants, corner bars, little fashion boutiques, and novelty shops provided a quaint view of middle American life. Delia took note of how sweet all of the small shops were and felt appreciative that giant retail box stores had not taken over her town; she attempted to focus on this idea to take her mind off of the stirring desire between her legs – a desire that had never before lasted this long.
Delia strolled past the park in the middle of downtown and caught a glimpse of a number of children playing and some college-aged young adults enjoying a game of Frisbee. She then saw a woman walking a small Pomeranian. Delia noted that it was a adorable dog, and bent down to pet it. The dog let out a happy yelp, and the woman smiled, saying, “I think she likes you.” With a grin, Delia began saying that she thought the dog was cute. However, as she turned to look up at the young lady, she caught the sight of her sandaled feet. The woman’s feet were a little rougher than Delia usually preferred, obviously the feet of someone who does not get manicures. But Delia could appreciate a worn but pretty foot. Just then, Delia felt the tingling sensation between her stomach and vagina increase.
“Yes, the dog is very cute,” Delia quickly said, flashing a smile back. Before the woman could engage in anymore small talk, Delia began walking ahead. Something clearly strange was happening. Delia’s horniness was not subsiding over time as it often would; in fact, it only seemed to grow more intense. Additionally, she thought she felt a cool breeze kiss the top of her belt line. Looking down at herself, Delia thought, “That’s strange. Was this sweater always so short?” The hem of the pink top was resting just above the top of her jeans, threatening to show part of the girl’s tummy if she did not constantly pull down on her shirt. Her jeans felt tighter on her butt as well. Maybe it was just all a reaction to how aroused she had become. While the apparent shrinking of her sweater and tightness of her pants did not bother Delia too much, she was annoyed at the chaffing that her shoes were starting to give her feet and ankles. “Well, they are rather old,” Delia thought. Maybe it was time for a new pair of shoes. “But shouldn’t shoes stretch instead of get tighter?” She quickly put this thought out of her head. Delia was just gas lighting herself.
Chandler’s Appliance sat at the intersection of Main Street and a small alley. Coming across the shop, Delia looked over to see the collection of flat screen TVs in the window, each playing the same local channel. A commercial was playing for some regional attorney, offering his services to people who had been hurt in an accident. Delia shook her head, chuckling. The lawyer had a reputation as an ambulance chaser. After the law firm’s commercial ended, an advertisement for the local clothing outlet played. Delia stood, watching ad copy about suits, ties, sundresses, flannel shirts, and necklaces. As soon as the advertisement was finished discussing the bargain priced 14k necklace with a pearl stone, it immediately cut to a shot of a woman’s leg wearing a sleek, black, high heel. Delia was taken totally off guard. The model was wearing tan stockings that flowed down into a skyscraping high-heel pump.
The picture of the footwear burned into Delia’s head. It had taken her by surprise, yet such a smart girl should have been savvy enough to know that shoes should have been on the advertisement agenda. The rousing feeling in the girl’s mid section immediately swelled from a dull throb to a relentless pounding. Delia’s eyes broke away from the advertisement, and she tried to begin a brisk walk down the street. However, the poor girl simply lurched forward; any friction caused by the fast movement of her inner legs only exacerbated the throbbing in her sex. Knowing that she appeared beyond flustered, Delia tactfully snuck into the alley next to Chandler’s. Slamming her right hand against the dirty red brick wall, Delia tried to get a hold of herself before attempting to walk the four more blocks home. She just prayed that nobody saw her in such a state of unrest.
Delia knees felt weak, as though she had been running a marathon, and they could no longer sustain the weight of her upper-body. She bent forward, using the leverage of the wall to keep her standing. The pounding continued between her legs while a pulsing dizziness enveloped her mind. But none of that compared to the pounding in her feet. The old white tennis shoes seemed to be crushing Delia’s tootsies. Amelia’s voice mocked Delia in her own head, “You don’t want your feet to swell up to the point you can’t keep your shoes on, do you?” Did Amelia have anything to do with this? Yes, she was supposedly a witch, but Delia always figured that was a stupid small town rumor based upon Amelia reading books on Wicca during study hall.
Delia pushed her legs together to hopefully keep the throbbing need under some sort of pressured control. But a sinking feeling then mixed with the tingling in her stomach. “Oh my god,” she half whispered and whimpered to herself. She wanted to belt out through gritted teeth the feeling in her loins. She could not continue her self-confession. Delia did not want to utter the words of what she had just deduced by pressing her legs together. Grimacing, face contorting in partial pleasure and humiliation, Delia could clearly feel wetness soaking through her jeans as it ran down her inner thighs. The pressure from her feet shot up through her legs and assaulted her dainty little flower with undesired desire.
Just then, Delia made the decision that she had to race for home, anyway she can. Resigned to the fact that she may be reduced to orgasming right there on the streets of town, Delia knew that she had no other choice but to push on. Cognizant that her jeans were sopping wet but not wanting to survey the humiliating evidence, she kept her eyes closed and reached down to the hem of her sweater, intending to pull it down far enough to cover as much of the soggy embarrassment as possible. But Delia missed the hem and instead glanced her bare stomach with her hand. Frantically, she reached up to find the bottom of her sweater about an inch above her belly button. Delia’s attempts to pull her sweater down were met with resistant. She opened her eyes to see that tugging at her top only pulled it tighter over her girlish body. Her breasts seemed to stick out more prominently, though they did not seem any larger than before. The sweater had indeed shrunk…or Delia had gotten bigger. She pushed both thoughts out of her head as nonsense.
Looking like a wet and horny dork or not, Delia knew that she had to move. Figuratively dusting herself off, the young lady walked to the edge of the alley and looked both ways down the street. Feeling relief that nobody was walking down the street, she skirted around the corner and began walking down the road, moving quickly but careful not to take any large steps that would drive up the need between her legs. It took all of her constitution to ignore the burning desire inside that wanted to make her cum right there, all over the sidewalk. Each step was a risk. The tightness of her jeans and panties, that seemed to hug every fold of her vagina, did not help matters any.
Anytime Delia saw someone walking towards her, she would cut down another street or into an alley. It was prolonging her attempt to get home, but the she could not let anyone see her in such as state of disarray – the crotch and thighs of her jeans soaked and her sweater riding up to show her mid-riff. If it were not for the throbbing need between her legs driving Delia crazy, then it was the pain surrounding her feet. The uppers of her sneakers looked to be bulging overtop her feet and despite wearing socks, the backs of her feet were chaffing against the insides of her shoes. She was sure that something she must have eaten the day before had started an allergic reaction that was causing her to swell and may even explain the extra sexual sensitivity she was experiencing that morning.
Finally coming upon the lane that her house sat on, Delia was relieved to be almost home free. Thankfully, her parents were out of town for the weekend visiting her aunt. Delia saw her neighbor, Mrs. Condon, on the patio of her own house. Mrs. Condon was a middle-aged but attractive woman, with long tan legs and brown hair in a short, respectable style.
While Delia walked past, Mrs. Condon called out, “Oh hi, Delia,” giving a friendly wave. Delia returned the greeting.
“Oh how humiliating for Mrs. Condon to see me dressed like this. I hope she doesn’t tell my parents,” Delia worried to herself. Still glimpsing at her neighbor, Delia saw Mrs. Condon slide open the glass door to her house. Before walking in, the matronly woman lifted her leg up and pulled off one of the boat shoes she was wearing. While unintentional, Delia caught a good look at her comely older neighbor’s foot. It was a little veiny, as to be expected from an older woman, but with a great texture and perfect bone structure. It was then and there, that the closet foot fetishist knew she was not going to make it through the rest of the day without creaming herself.
Delia raced up the steps of her porch, the violent throbbing in her sex now having developed into a steady winding pulse. “I…I had never seen Mrs. Condon’s feet before, and they were everything I’d thought they would be.” Delia felt silly for having such thoughts – thoughts that only seemed to make her hornier and hornier. Her hand grabbed the doorknob to the front of the house, but for the life of the woman, she could not muster the attention to turn it. Instead, Delia lurched forward and let her forehead rest against the big white door. She could not go any further. Her own erotic thoughts had taken over her mind to such a point that she could not physical move. Looking down to see her bosom heaving up and down inside of the newly crop-top sweater, Delia knew that she was going to spew right there on the porch.
The uninterrupted pound in her pussy matched the intensity of her throbbing feet as if all three were somehow interconnected in a state of erotic arousal. She felt the toes on each of her feet push at the inside of her shoes. The sensation was tactile. Even through her socks, Delia could feel the power of her expanding feet separating the upper of her shoes from their welts. The back of her left shoe split open; the rear of her foot pushed out, giving the woman temporary relief from where the shoe had been rubbing against her for the past five blocks. The upper of her right shoe slowly lifted up over her thrusting toes, the glue reluctantly giving up its hold. As her feet destroyed the shoes, Delia could feel her nipples and clit standing at attention. She noticed a pressure that had been pushing on her mid section slightly let loose with the pinging sound of an object hitting the porch floor. Looking down, Delia saw that the copper button had popped off of her jeans.
Delia knew what was about to happen and she was not going to do it within the public’s view. She pulled her attention from the burgeoning want in her body to turn the door handle. Throwing the door shut behind her, Delia fell to her knees in the living room. The throb ramped up and Delia leaned back, pushing her chest out. With no one else in the house, the dorky girl let out a wild moan. It was not a sensual coo; it was the wail of a woman who had totally lost control of her own pussy, just like the little closeted foot fetishist beta she was. A floodgate opened right there in the living room. The sexual tension that had built with every foot sighting that day reduced Delia to a cumming mess. Without much thought, she jammed one hand onto her pant-covered crotch and the other squeezed one of her breasts. “Oh my god!!!!” Delia screamed as she actually felt herself cream, right through her panties and jeans.
Having climaxed, the throb slightly subsided but still lingered as an annoying ache in her vagina. Completely humiliated from having just came there right on her parents’ living room carpet, Delia spun around on the floor and pulled off what was left of her ruined shoes. She inspected her feet and found them completely swollen. Thankfully, her white, frilly socks were still intact, albeit pulled tightly over her feet.
Having been completely shamed at what had just taken place, Delia really did not want to look at herself. She especially did not want to see the wetness and cum on her jeans, but decided she needed to inspect what had happened to her sweater, why it was now so short. Slowly rising, Delia found that any friction against her sex still drove her crazy. Even the straightening of her sweater from standing that pulled down over her handful of tits sent a chill straight down to her insatiated pussy.
Delia slowly climbed the stairs and walked into her room. It was a fairly mundane bedroom, though a few girlish items, such as a One Way poster on the wall, served as décor. Not bothering to close the door behind her, Delia walked up to the cheval mirror off to the corner of the room, beside her bed. She did not want to be shocked by what she saw, so the sexually destroyed woman slowly let her eyes come into focus on the mirror.
Her heart sank. The first thing she noticed was the butterfly shaped stain on the front of her jeans. A dark spot of sexual juices started on the front and then seeped down onto both inner thighs. And the legs – in addition to being mom jeans, they were now also flood pants. The hem of each leg appeared to have risen up past the tops of Delia’s socks. Then there was the popped button on the front, hinting at the still seeping flower just below. Delia’s sweater did not cover much either. Her flat but toneless stomach was on full display and the sleeves stopped just below her elbows. Knowing that she had shown that much skin made Delia sick. It was enough humiliating cumming from the sight of Mrs. Condon’s foot, but having looked like this in front of the neighbor – Delia knew she could never face Mrs. Condon again. The most bizarre thing was that Delia looked…taller. Was the way the mirror had been adjusted accounting for this queer visual?
While letting all of this sink into her head, out of the periphery of the mirror, Delia saw her bedroom door quickly slam shut behind her to reveal a figure who had apparently been standing there all along. Shrieking at seeing a stranger in her home, Delia twisted around. She attempted to step backwards, but accounting where the bed sat, fell backwards on the floor, up against the frame and mattress. Before she could get up to meet the would-be burglar, Delia saw that it was Amelia standing before her. Immediately, this triggered some sort of subservient mechanism in the primordial area of Delia’s brain, which caused her to freeze.
A simpered grin came across Amelia’s face as she strode across the bedroom. She was clearly a woman in control.
“Y..you’re A..Amelia, right?” Delia whimpered, “Wha…What are you doing here? What is happening to me?”
“Oh poor…Delia, is it?” Amelia looked down with feigned disapproval at the girl’s sock covered feet. “Didn’t I warn you to be careful or your feet would swell up? Such a naughty little girl for not listening.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in mocking objection. Delia did not answer back. “I saw you looking at an anatomy book in the store. Are you thinking of becoming a doctor? Perhaps a neurologist or a cardiologist or a gynecologist?” In the midst of her lecture, Amelia stopped and looked down, towering over Delia pushed up against the side of her bed. “No, actually, I know what kind of doctor you’d like to be. You’re like to be a…podiatrist.” Amelia’s statement cut through Delia. The disheveled nerd’s dirty little secret was out.
Amelia continued, “I know that everyone around this town here thinks I’m a witch. Well, guilty as charged.” With that statement, it was clear that Amelia liked playing the bad girl. “When I saw you checking me…let me rephrase that. When I saw you checking out my feet at the bookstore, I thought I’d have a little fun with you. Such a hot little nerd girl is born to be the sexy plaything for those who wield power.”
Delia saw Amelia stepping out of her flip-flops while talking; Delia, however, dared not look directly at the witch’s feet. That’s exactly what Amelia would want.
Amelia bent over and poked Delia on the nose. “You see, I took your little secret fetish, that is not so secret anymore, and used it against you. Every time you laid your eyes on another woman’s foot on the way home, you became horny. But not only did you become horny, you grew too. You see, I love the idea of a totally unsexualized girl as yourself being forced to undergo a sexy transformation against her will.” The witch’s voice then growled, “And honey, you’re not done growing yet.”
Still towering over the frightened girl, Amelia lifted her foot and pushed it down into Delia’s crotch.”
'Delia shrieked, “Oh, god! Please don’t. Oooh, god!”
The witch could feel on the uncalloused sole of her foot Delia’s wetness, and this pleased Amelia greatly. Amelia laughed, “You like that; I know you do. You’ve fantasized about a strong woman putting her lovely foot on your pussy for years, haven’t you?”
The familiar pressure shot through Delia’s body and she squealed in pleasured agony. In any other situation, this would have been the dorky little foot lover’s ultimate wish fulfillment, but the humiliation of the situation denied her any psychological enjoyment, regardless of how her body responded. Delia could feel another shot of her steamy girl juice spray the insides of her legs.
Tightness took hold of the girl ensnared by Amelia’s teasing curse. The witch pushed her foot harder into Delia’s crotch, driving up the victim’s unwelcome physical pleasure. Delia’s legs visible stretched and swelled in circumference. Her jeans constricted, heaving and straining at the seams. Slowly, the threads popped up the pant legs, exposing more of the toning muscle underneath. Contradiction flowed into Delia’s mind: if felt as though the seat of her pants could explode at any minute, yet she felt as though she were not sitting on a cushion. Panic set in her eyes when she realized that her ass was ballooning up. The need to make room in her pants forced her fly down, exposing the top of her cream colored panties adorned with a blue floral print. The feeling of her zipper being yanked down as if by some unseen force made Delia feel as though she were being violated. Squirming, her trunk expanded upwards, pulling her sweater taut around her modest boobs. Her sleeves popped and tore, showing more and more of the skin that she had so meticulously hid.
Smugly satisfied, Amelia took her foot off of Delia’s vag. Exasperated, Delia begged, “Please…please stop this! Change me back! You’ve made your point. I won’t ever look at a woman’s foot again. I don’t want to grow or cum anymore.” The young lady was on the verge of sobbing.
A look of pity came across Amelia’s face, but it only was momentary. “I could stop this, but I want you BIG and CUMMING!” The witch punctuated the intentions in her words as she grabbed Delia by the hair, pulling the nerd forward and forcing her head down. Delia was face to toe with Amelia’s bare feet.
“How cruel!!!” Delia thought. Amelia wanted Delia to smell the witch’s feet. And how so! They smelled exquisite! Amelia was wearing some form of perfume on her feet. Delia noted that this was a woman who gave a lot of attention to her feet – moisturizing creams, pedicures, sand stones. The effervesce of the fragrance flowed into Delia’s nose, straight up to the olfactory bulb, triggering all kinds of new, naughty sensations in the girl. Like a shotgun blast, Delia came hard and wet. Barley getting the orgasm fully out of her, the girl’s ass, stuck straight up in the air, puffed outwards with new growth. Her billowing pantied butt pushed down her jeans, now resembling something more like a pair of shredded shorts. The pants rode down her bulging legs, showing a nice view of her big ass, until they could go no further and split apart at the crotch.
Deila’s tits vibrated before violently swelling out, lifting her sweater, causing it to split down the back. Almost instinctively, she pushed her chest out, tearing the garment down the front. The ruined top fell off of her trembling body. The dorky little girl instantly grew an enviable pair of melons that sat cradled in her now too small white bra adorned with subtle lace. Her nipples were clearly hard underneath the cups. Delia’s face burned with shame, being a swollen, wet, little prude in her undies right there on her bedroom floor.
She looked down at her body and sniveled at what she had become. Her plain, featureless frame was filling out with the curves she had been denied during puberty. The understated nerd was being swollen up into a fuckable body, as if she were just a living blowup doll for Amelia’s perverse fun.
Another orgasm struck Delia. Grabbing her crotch with one hand in a futile attempt to prevent yet one more forced cumming, she toppled onto the bedroom floor. Her new height taking up much of her small bedroom floor, Delia kicked and moaned as she stained her girly panties any further. The tightness in her feet intensified. Her toes forced their way out of their socks. The cottony fabric screamed its death throes as her own plain, soft digits were exposed to the cool air. Never one for makeup, her nails lacked polish. Instead, they were almost ivory white with little contrast to the rest of her recently revealed skin.
Delia looked down at her formerly delicate feet. They had retained their shape and features but had grown from a size 6.5 to a size 9. Strange feelings roused inside of her, which was saying much considering the forced cumming, growth, and humiliation she had to endure throughout the morning.
“Oh look,” Amelia teased, “your legs appear to be growing at a more rapid rate than the rest of your hot expanding body.” A mischievous smile came across the witch’s face. “So you wouldn’t have much of a problem reaching your feet with your mouth then!”
The thought absolutely terrified Delia. “No! No! Anything but that! You’ve proved your point! Anything but that!”
“Nonsense,” quipped the witch, “You’re gonna blow your own feet and flood this quaint little bedroom before tearing it apart with your out of control growth.” Amelia waved her hand, causing the frightened, half-naked victim’s right leg to lift up and bend, placing her foot right in front of her face. Delia’s foot waved up and down in the air, taunting her, completely out of her own control. Delia closed her eyes and tried to look away, but Amelia’s sexy, dark powers forcefully pulled the nerd’s face straight.
Wind whipped through the room, lifting Amelia’s hair as her eyes burned sapphire with power. “Please struggle. It pleases me greatly. Now! Taste your own foot.” Amelia struck her arm out, causing Delia’s foot to jam itself into her mouth.
Fear, pleasure, humiliation, shame, helplessness: All of these emotions clearly shone in Delia’s eyes as she sat there with a big pale foot in her mouth. She tried to pull it out. She tried to spit it out, but that only caused her tongue to sensually rub and tickle her toes. The thought of sucking her own toes had always been at the edge of her mind, but here she was, actually being forced to do it. Delia’s briefs pulled tight up into her genitals. A sticky, clear puddle formed where she sat, her feminine secretions spilling all over.
Something broke within Delia’s mind. As much as she hated herself, Delia lost control. In a shame-filled display, she began voluntarily sucking on her own toes. With every wet, tongue-lashing suck, Delia’s tits inflated. Her bra stretched out across her righteous mammaries. Delia knew that her cheap, department store brassiere was going to snap and ruin any modesty her heaving chest had left. The thought repulsed her, but she could not quit sucking on her feet. Her formerly unnoticeable frame was filling out. She was tight in all of the right places and she jiggled in all of the right places too. With a loud tear, her bra ripped apart across the front and her tits flopped free. Who had known that the shy girl had two of the most painfully perfect nipples, with pleasantly pink areola? Amelia concluded that it had been a crime against humanity for the girl to have hidden them away for so long.
Delia’s latest orgasm forced her jerk back. Not realizing her new size or strength, she pushed her bed against the wall. At the same time, Delia unconsciously straightened out an arm, knocking over a small dresser.
Growth overtook Delia’s entire body, concentrating on her thighs and ass. Unable to hide away her most precious region anymore, the woman’s panties tore away. Amelia was surprised to see that her victim maintained a well-coifed blonde bush. Painful pressure reached across Delia’s temples and the bridge of her nose right before her glasses broke in two.
“Amelia…are you happy now? You made me cum and grow like a giant slut!” Lying on the floor, Delia held back tears. “Please, please, PLEASE, change me back!”
Amelia’s voice was saccharine in its mocking tone, “Sorry. You are a big, hot foot fetishist, and changing you back would allow you to deny yourself what you really are.” The dark haired woman looked around the bedroom and then down at the big horny babe in front of her. “Well, in your current state, I don’t think you’re going to make it through the door to leave this room. Guess there’s only one way out. You’re a smart girl. I’m sure you’ll figure it.” Amelia turned to leave. As she reached the doorway of the bedroom, she looked over her shoulder, back and the fledgling giantess, and said, “See you around. You’ve always tried to hide your little dirty little secret from everyone, but I suspect it will only be minutes before everyone in this town learns with their own eyes who you really are.” With that, Amelia walked out.
Delia laid strewn about the floor. She contemplated her lack of fortune and tried to come up with a rational solution to her predicament. But the desire burned too strongly inside of her to allow anything resembling a cogent thought. Mustering all of her strength she sat up. Delia looked down and saw her lovely feet. She decided her own fate in a millisecond. She lifted her left foot up and began kissing her toes. The feeling was such a tease and only served to ramp up her big, chaste pussy. Not content to simply tease herself anymore, Delia opened her mouth and slowly pushed the tip of her foot past her pale lips.
Tits bloating, ass softening, legs and arms elongating, torso stretching, Delia expanded in every conceivable direction. Her out of control growth knocked over furniture; the mirror she had used to inspect the extent of her degrading walk home only minutes before was on the floor, smashed. Delia was completely aware and shamed at the carpet-swamp in the room that seemed to grow with her; any attempt to stop the evidence of her debasement was overridden but the pleasure of her own feet. Just as Delia felt the top of her head begin to rise up through the ceiling, she realized Amelia’s prediction was true. The townsfolk would, with their own eyes, see her dirty secret and learn who she really was: a dirty, horny, awkward, hot young woman who desired women’s feet.