Five hours?
Cite!
She paints his porch!
Well, if you met my girlfriend, you’d realise that I usually just ask for five hours of peach and quiet.
Your stories fascinate me and I would like to subscribe to your newsletter.
Toesucking works very well on both me and the missus.
I want to tell my story but I dont know if I can stand another ladle incident. Let me think it over some more and I’ll make a pronouncement tonight.
[whine]awwwww, come-on… pleeeasee [/whine]
You have permission this time.
Erotic or romantic, not so much, but a good foot massage is heavenly.
Oh, come on. I promise we won’t make fun of you.
::crosses fingers behind back::
Just kidding, of course. We’d never make fun of you. I want to hear your story.
That is entirely different. As different as a “french” kiss and oral sex.
I assure you, I have no room to judge. I too have a sordid past with kitchen utensils.
:o
[Auto]It was when my last gf came over from Japan to visit. I thought she was a shy, and cute girl but all that changed when I picked her up at the airport. “You have a lot of luggage,” I noticed. “Those are for my toys,” she explained. I briefly thought it was odd that she would bring over so many dolls and action figures for just a couple of days, but meh, to each their own.
As soon as we got into the car though she started rubbing my leg and crotch, smiling at me. It was so hot, and I thought I was just taking her back to unpack for the trip but she seemed like she wanted something else. RIGHT NOW! “Um, what do you feel like doing?” I asked coyly. “I want to go to the aquarium,” she said while continue to massage me in ‘stimulating’ areas. It wasn’t the answer I expected, but hey, I just want to make the girl happy.
We parked and continued to make out in the parking lot, really getting to know each other, until she finally asked that we go and take a look inside. My ‘happy time’ seemed eventual so I figured we could take a short detour to see some fish. While I was buying the admission tickets she surprised me from behind by sticking her hands down my pants. My voice went high and I looked shocked mid-transaction, but I don’t think the cashier knew that my Japanese gf was making me a butt-puppet with her two fingers by surprise.
After a quick visit to the restrooms (for her) we were observing the penguin exhibit. “Do you think they like being so far from home?” She asked. I asked how she felt being away from her home. She replied, “Probably same as them, I feel hot!” Then she pulled me away to a dark corner of the aquarium, where she found that read ‘Staff Only’. The door was unlocked and we snuck in. Feeling a surge of horniness by the seclusion I pulled her into a corner and began kissing her, that’s when she pushed me off and pulled me further into the employee only area. We were surrounded by open fish tanks, all sorts of fish, big and small, tropical and dull. To my surprise she lunged and pulled a fish out of one of the tanks! She looked at me with desire, a fish floppy around and gulping for air in her hand.
Then she said, “Take off your shoes.”
[/Auto]
Heh, heh, heh. Actually, the diamond necklace is the quickest way to my black little heart.
While not as exciting as BBS200’s story, mine should still entertain. Here goes nothing 
A long long time ago, in a high school far far away, there was a marching band. OK it was Charlotte, NC about seven years ago. So, I was in this marching band of course. I know what you’re thinking, but unfortunately I did not get any American pie. Nay, I was shrimpy, dorky, and lacking the brash confidence and wit I display now. Life kinda sucked. Anyway, a teacher at my school was in the New York Irish League or some such thing and he was able to hook up my conductor with a spot for our band in the St. Patrick’s Day Parade in NYC.
The trip up was uneventful, and we actually marched well despite our being a completely pathetic marching band. We could barely heel-toe and our tone was of a duck that smoked three packs a day. But I digress; we got all the leprechauns out of system and were returning home.
I was tired. No, I was fucking tired. The bus ride back was about sixteen hours long and four snack breaks wide, and I didn’t want to be conscious for any of it minus maybe the occassional need to defecate and/or eat a McDonalds burger. Shit in shit out, as I like to say.
So, I wanted to sleep. Apparently though the force was not with me that day, as my seatmate was the kid from Hell, particularly the secret 10th circle where-in Satan gets his ear nagged off by his mother while being poked and prodded by a legion of fuckwit cousins. My seatmate was the avatar of annoyingness. I forget his name, so let’s call him Fucky McDouchebag, or Doug for short.
Here’s some of the minutes of my bus-ride
1-10: Feign interest in conversation about Hawt bitches or something…
10-15: Try to sleep
15: Wake up from being poked in the shoulder repeatedly.
16: Go back to sleep
17: Poked again
18: Politely ask “wtf are you doing?” Response is ‘nothing.’
20: Yet another attempt at zzzzzz
25: This time my face is poked…anger…rising…
26: I ask him to stop. “Stop what?” You damn well know what!"
30: Brush off conversation about w/e music he likes
40: Woken OUT of sleep by something, probably Doug.
This goes on for a long time, until finally my biological need for rest overcomes my human dignity and I proceed to sleep in the aisle, the garbage-laden, gum-ridden, stinky-ass aisle. Still, for me it was a 5 star Hilton, as I proceeded to dance with the sandman. In other words, I got some sleep.
Or so I thought, as I woke up to the sensation of being kicked repeatedly in the leg. I tried to ignore it, thinking that if he fails in waking me that he’ll give up. One minute, still going, five minutes, still kicking. Then he starts kicking harder. At one point he got dangerously close to bruising the royal family, at which point I slouch uped and with the voice of a lost soul I uttered: “What?” … “nothing.” AaaaaAaaaRgh! I knew then how Ransom felt in Perelandria. In retrospect, I think nobody would have faulted me for slugging him, but I was not the type to be violent or break any rules back then.
“What will it take for you to leave me alone?” I say in a begging fashion.
He thinks for a while and replies with the fateful line, “Suck my toe.”
What? Yes, his big toe. I’m not sure if he said this because it was the grossest thing he could come up with at the time, or whether it was something much more homo-erotically sinister. In any case, my tiredness had broken my brain at that point, because my response to his outlandish was request was “Yeah sure. It’s just a toe.” Smell, hygiene, sexual matters, these did not matter, for the toe had become my obstacle to overcome, an oral adventure standing in the way of rest.
I get out of the aisle and into the seat. He’s in the window seat. Shoes come off, then socks. Soon enough I’m faced with the foot in all its pale and hairless glory. I start having second thoughts, but they are over-ridden by a stronger feeling of personal auto-pilot. Closer and closer the foot comes to my virgin mouth. There is no smell. There is no feeling. My focus is absolute. The moment came when impact iwas imminate; the podal missile was preparing to enter the oral docking bay. Permission to come aboard was granted, and the toe had breached the last line of defense. A big toe was in my mouth! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!
Just as my humanity rushes back to me and I comprehend the grossness of this moment, he immediately pulls out. He never said it in words, there were no words, but from his face it was clear that he never expected me to actually do it. Before I can ruminate on the moment, I remember our bargain, which the shitstain fucktard actually kept. I told him to not tell anyone about what happened, he agreed, and I slept well for most of the trip.
It wasn’t until the last hour that I realized he had told everyone on the bus. Of course my bandmates said their lips were sealed, but naturally the whole school knew the next day. For the next two years until my family moved, I was branded a toe-sucker and forever ridiculed and disliked…the end.
Maybe you should have just hit him.
Well, that was a pretty good story. I expected something much yuckier.
Thanks for sharing.
Me? I gonna laugh. 
Oh, those desperate years!
To answer the OP, women can be much more sensitive (in a pleasurable sense) in many more areas than men. Areas which normally would be ticklish can provide a great deal of pleasure, which goes for toes. Very erotic and extremely pleasurable.
OTOH, having my toes sucked would only make me wonder why I wasn’t having a beer, so I don’t need recipicality.
It bugs me to hear of men who only concentrate on a woman’s breasts and pussy. There’s the whole body to toyed with.
Well, that story answered the question that’s been burning in my mind every time I see this thread title.
That question being, of course, “When would one have their toes sucked in a non-romantic way?”
So, I guess you could call this act a “Toe Job”?