Mmhh... Feet

Who the hell gets hard over toes?

That question had plagued your mind for years—some weird, shameful and disgusting kink in your brain you figured you’d die with.

Until IU started stuffing her perfect little feet into your mouth one random night after a shoot wrap party, and you ascended. Enlightened. Reborn as the pathetic foot slut you always were destined to be.

The suite smelled like fresh white lilacs and whatever expensive champagne had spilled across the hardwood earlier. Scattered green-stemmed glasses lay tipped over, petals everywhere, but none of that mattered. IU was perched on the low green ottoman in the middle of the room, that ridiculous strapless white gown pooled around her like spilled cream, ruffles soft and delicate against her skin. The contrast was insane—sweet, angelic IU in her elegant dress, while her bare feet flexed lazily on the cool floor and her mouth ran with curses and insults.

She had one leg crossed over the other, the top foot dangling, toes painted that soft nude pink she always wore. Her head tilted slightly, long dark hair falling over one shoulder as she stared at you with that half-amused, half-exhausted look. “God, today was endless,” she groaned, voice soft but edged with irritation. “Sixteen hours on set, then that stupid fucking radio interview, then my shitass label meeting that ran late because some idiot couldn’t read a fucking calendar. My calves feel like they’ve run a marathon.”

You listened to her complains, and without a word, you dropped to your knees right there on the hardwood. The gown’s hem brushed your shoulder as you crawled closer. She didn’t even acknowledge it at first—just reached into the little clutch beside her and pulled out her phone, thumb already scrolling like she was checking messages. You figured it was just her usual post-schedule doomscroll of doom. You had no idea she hit record, camera angled down toward her feet and your face, lips curved in the tiniest private smirk because she already knew exactly how she was going to touch herself to this footage later.

Your hands moved on its own. Gentle and careful, you lifted her right foot first. Her skin was warm, still slightly damp from being inside heels all day, the arch high and elegant. You pressed your lips to the sole, slow and worshipful, feeling the soft give of it against your mouth. Then the left. You kissed every inch, from heel to ball, before moving to her toes. All ten. One by one. Slow, open-mouthed kisses, tongue flicking out just enough to taste the faint salt of her skin.

IU sighed in satisfaction, but didn’t pull away. Instead she uncrossed her legs and planted both soles flat against your face, pressing hard enough that your nose sank between them. The scent hit you—warm, slightly musky from the long day, your favorite scent, that perfect smell that made your cock twitch instantly in your boxers.

“Sniff, you little pervert,” she said casually, like she was asking for water. “That’s what you came over here for, right? Noona’s tired feet.”

You inhaled deep, eyes fluttering shut, cock already starting to strain against the fabric. She held you there for a long moment, soles smothering your face, toes wiggling against your cheeks like she was testing how desperate you were. Then she lowered them back down, resting them in your lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Massage them properly,” she ordered, voice sweet but commanding. “Start with the toes. You know how I like it. And don’t you dare touch anything above my ankles, That’s not for tonight.”

You nodded, already wrapping both hands around her right foot. Your thumbs pressed into the soft pad under her toes, kneading in slow, firm circles exactly the way she’d trained you. IU leaned back on the ottoman, gown rustling, one hand still holding her phone like she was just bored-scrolling.

“Ugh, seriously, that annoying choreographer today kept making me redo me bridge like fifty times, stupid motherfucker, I'm fucking Lee Jieun!! I know what I'm fucking doing” she complained, eyes half-lidded as your fingers worked. “My feet are killing me. Harder on the big toe—yeah, like that. Don’t be gentle, I’m not made of glass.”

You digged your thumbs deeper into the ball of her foot, rolling each toe between your fingers, pulling them gently to stretch. Her skin was impossibly soft, the kind of pampered idol feet that still somehow carried the weight of a twelve-hour day. You lifted the foot higher and dragged your tongue slowly from heel to toes, long wet stripe that made her toes curl.

“Disgusting,” she muttered, but there was no real heat in it. “Licking Noona’s sweaty feet like a dog. You’re actually getting hard already, aren’t you? You're fucking pathetic like that.”

Your cock throbbed visibly in your boxers, a small wet spot already forming at the front. You switched to the left foot, repeating the massage, thumbs pressing into the arch until she let out a tiny satisfied hum—the closest thing to praise you’d get tonight.

“Left one needs more on the heel. Press harder, idiot. I stood in those heels for the entire practice and press conference.” She flexed her foot in your grip, toes spreading. “Yeah… right there. Don’t stop. I trained you well."

Your hands kept working, never leaving her feet, mouth following—kissing, licking, sucking each toe into your mouth one by one. When you got to the pinky on her right foot, you swirled your tongue around it like it was candy. IU’s phone stayed pointed down, recording every wet sound.

“Oh fuck, that feels good,” she admitted under her breath, then immediately corrected herself. “Don’t let it go to your head, foot bitch. You’re still just my stress toy.”

While one hand massaged her left sole, you took three toes of the right into your mouth at once, sucking gently, tongue sliding between them. IU’s breath hitched, but she played it off by kicking her free foot up and pressing the sole hard against your crotch. The ball of her foot rubbed slow and deliberate over the tent in your boxers, feeling exactly how hard you were.

“Feel that?” she asked, voice dripping fake sweetness. “That’s Noona’s foot owning your pathetic little dick.”

You moaned around her toes, hips twitching involuntarily. The wet spot on your boxers grew. She laughed softly.

“Don’t you dare fucking hump my foot. I said no touching above the ankles. That includes your nasty hips.” She pressed harder, toes curling over the head of your cock through the fabric, smearing the precum. “Just take it. Take what Noona gives you.”

You tried to stay obedient, focusing on licking the sole she’d pressed to your face earlier, tongue flat and wide, cleaning every inch. But the foot on your crotch felt too good. Your hips rolled once—tiny, desperate.

Big mistake.

IU’s eyes narrowed. The foot on your crotch pulled back and then snapped forward, hard. The top of her foot cracked across your cheek with a loud smack, snapping your head to the side. Your face stung and your cock grew harder.

“What the fuck did I just say?” she snapped, voice sharp now, all pretense of casual gone. “You stupid, desperate fucking little foot slut. Can’t even follow simple instructions? Noona tells you not to hump and you still fucking try?”

The kick left a red print on your cheek. Your cock jerked hard in your boxers, another spurt of precum soaking through. You loved it. Loved the pain, loved the way her soft gown and elegant posture made the insult hit harder.

“Sorry, Noona,” you mumbled, voice muffled because you immediately went back to kissing her sole in apology.

She snorted. “Sorry doesn’t fix your tiny brain. Now get back to work. Both feet. Suck the toes properly this time—all ten, one. by; one, like you mean it. And keep massaging the arches while you do it. My schedule tomorrow is even fucking worse—photo shoot at 5 a.m., then fittings, then that stupid variety show.”

Your hands worked both soles at once now, thumbs digging deep into the arches exactly how she liked, while your mouth moved from toe to toe on her right foot. Suck. Lick between. Kiss the pad. Repeat on the left. The wet sounds filled the quiet suite, obscene, filthy and oh so perfect.

IU kept talking, phone never moving. “You know what’s funny? I was on stage earlier in those six-inch boots, dancing for two hours straight, and all I could think about was how good it was going to feel making you clean them tonight. Look at you. So pathetic.”

She switched feet without warning, shoving the left one into your mouth, toes spreading across your tongue. You gagged a little at the depth but kept sucking, eyes watering. Her right foot went back to your crotch, rubbing slower this time, deliberate circles right over the wet head of your cock.

“Feel how wet you are? All from Noona’s feet. You’re not even a man anymore, you're not a person, just my personal foot masseuse and toe sucker. My foot slut, say it.”

You pulled off her toes just long enough to gasp, “I’m just Noona’s foot slut.”

“Louder. And don’t stop massaging.”

“I’m just Noona’s foot slut,” you repeated, voice hoarse, hands never stopping their work on her soles.

She hummed, pleased for half a second. “Good boy.” Then immediately, “But still pathetic. Keep licking. Deeper between the toes—I want to feel your tongue cleaning every bit of the day off them.”

You did. Tongue sliding into every crevice, tasting salt and skin and the faint trace of whatever lotion she’d used that morning. Your cheek still burned from the kick, but it only made you harder. The foot on your crotch kept rubbing, slow and teasing, never letting you forget how completely she owned you.

Minutes blurred. Ten. Fifteen. Probably thirty. You lost count. Just the endless cycle of massage, lick, suck, kiss—her soft complaints about tomorrow’s 5 a.m. call time, the way the director was too demanding, how her calves were going to kill her during the dance practice. Every order was precise: “Higher on the arch.” “Suck harder on the big toe.” “Don’t forget the heel—lick it properly, you lazy ass bitch.”

At one point she pressed both soles to your face again, smothering you completely while she scrolled through her actual messages on the phone, still recording somehow. You couldn’t breathe properly but you didn’t care—your tongue kept working blindly, licking every inch she offered.

When she finally pulled them away, your face was flushed, lips shiny with spit, cheek still marked. She looked down at you, expression almost bored except for the dark glint in her eyes.

“My phone’s almost at 50%,” she said casually. “You’re not done until both feet are completely relaxed and my soles are shining with your spit. And if you even think about touching yourself—or touching anything above my ankles again—I’ll kick you so hard you’ll see stars. Understood, foot boy?”

You nodded, already leaning back in to drag your tongue slowly up her left arch, tasting every soft ridge and curve.

“Good,” IU murmured, toes flexing against your tongue. “Now shut up and worship. Noona still has a lot of complaining to do and you're going to listen while you suck.”

The night stretched on like that—pure, filthy feet worship in the middle of the luxurious suite, her elegant white gown a soft contrast to the sharp insults and the hard kicks when you slipped up. Your boxers were soaked through by the time she finally let you switch feet again, cock aching, face burning, but you’d never felt more enlightened in your life.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t really stop.

Your hands stayed glued to her soles, thumbs digging deep into the arches while your tongue slobbered messily from heel to toes and back again, leaving long, shiny trails of spit that glistened under the warm suite lights. IU’s white gown pooled around her like a cloud, the delicate fabric brushing your forearms every time she shifted, but her voice stayed sharp as a whip.

“More spit,” she ordered, barely glancing up from her phone. “I want my feet shining, you disgusting foot pervert. Noona’s been on her feet since dawn and you’re going to make them feel brand new.”

You obeyed instantly, gathering saliva and letting it pour from your mouth onto her right sole in thick, sloppy strings. The wet sounds were obscene, loud, filthy schlicks as you spread it everywhere with your tongue, licking every inch between every toe until they were soaked and shining. She flexed them against your lips, toes spreading wide so you could get your tongue deep into the gaps.

“Oh hey, that tickles a little,” she muttered, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “Don’t you dare stop. Left foot. Now. Slobber all over it like the pathetic dog you are.”

You switched, mouth watering so much it was embarrassing. You pressed your face right into her left sole, tongue flat and wide, dragging it up and down until the entire foot was coated in a thick layer of your spit. It dripped down her arch, onto your chin, onto the hardwood. Your cock was throbbing painfully in your soaked boxers, the wet spot now a dark, obvious patch that made the fabric cling obscenely.