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Old 15-Jan-18, 02:17
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Racquetball Bet
Author: Unknown

Chapter 4

I was a mess after my day’s slaving, out in the yard doing all the mowing and edging, raking and all the while waiting on my sister, Lisa, literally hand and foot while she lounged in the hot sun working on her tan. The work was not hard really, but grueling in the heat and humiliating as Lisa had dressed me only in the tight pink bottoms of one of her swim suits and a pair of pink flip flops. I had been sweating buckets all day and the edges of my feet were tinged green from the freshly cut grass. Despite being allowed to hose down I still felt grimy and knew that I probably smelled. My long black hair was plastered to my face in sticky strands and my skin had turned a bright pink from my time in the sun.

But of course my comfort was the last thing on Lisa’s mind, and my mother apparently agreed as I was now on my knees tired and filthy and licking away at my mother’s shoes. She was sitting contentedly relaxing in my father’s plush leather recliner, her long legs propped up on the footrest while she flipped through the program guide on the television. She looked beautiful, regal almost even though dressed in a simple gray tanktop and pleated black skirt, sipping occasionally from a bottle of California Cooler. I knew that she was enjoying having me as her slave for a week, catering to her and my sister’s every whim, like now; cleaning her favorite work shoes with my tongue.

I had never known that either my mother or sister had a bit of a kinky side to them, but they were both enjoying putting me through my paces, parading me around wearing nothing but panties or the swim suit bottoms, making me do all of the drudge work and chores around the house and making me lick and kiss their shoes and feet. Of course I am not being judgmental. It was humiliating, but I loved the attention and I admit that I have been hard almost constantly since my week of slavery began.

Especially now, I had been on my knees for almost a half-hour licking away at my mother’s dirty pumps. They were almost two years old she had said, well worn and scuffed along the edges and heels. Too, they smelled their age, still rich and exotic of the soft, expensive leather but coupled with the scent of my mother’s perspiration, foot odor and various bodywash and powders. To make it even worse, she was wearing her dark hose that I learned she had worn a few times without washing, ‘just for you,’ she had said.

As a result I was almost overwhelmed by the myriad array of scents as I licked feverishly, loving every moment. I had a few fetishes too it seemed, and Mom and my sister were pushing all my buttons. My tiny hard on was raging as I dragged my tongue along the side of my mother’s pump, heady from the strong smell of her sweaty feet encased in the soft leather. Occasionally she would angle her foot, twisting her ankle a bit to allow me access but for the most part I had to adjust, craning my neck to get at her shoes and clean them thoroughly all over.

“Mmmm…” I heard my mother moan as she wriggled a bit in the recliner. “You do have a hot tongue, slave. I can feel it through the shoe.” She tapped me on the side of the head with her foot and I stopped licking, looking up expectantly. She held out her empty wine cooler bottle.

“Go get me another,” she ordered waving the empty bottle at me casually, watching whatever was on the TV, ignoring me otherwise.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said taking the bottle and crawling to the kitchen. I dropped the empty into the recycle bin, retrieved another cooler from the fridge and crawled back into the living room to find my mother talking quietly on her cell phone ordering the pizza she had promised earlier. She motioned for me to open the bottle, which I did and handed it to her as she finished the call, setting her phone on the table beside the chair.

“Take off my shoes now, slave,” she said taking a sip from the bottle as I nodded.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said as I gingerly slid her shoes from her feet. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as her foot scent washed over me in full, no longer trapped within the confines of her shoes. She had said that the air conditioning had been out at work and her feet had suffered. I saw a TV show once where a woman said that ‘horses sweat, people perspire,’ but perspiration was too kind a word for the reek that assaulted me. I could almost taste the bitter, salty flavor of my mother’s feet, the damp dots of sweat trapped in her dark hose as she wiggled her pretty toes right before my face.

“Aww, don’t like that?” my mother said with a chuckle. Without a thought to my discomfort she moved her leg and pressed the sole of her foot flat against my face. “Take a good, long whiff, slave boy. I know you love it.”

I did as I was told, inhaling deeply of the foul stench. It was intense, but I sniffed loudly as my mother laughed, mashing her foot into my face, rubbing the sweat into my skin. I felt dizzy after just a few seconds, but my mother kept on adding her left foot to the right and cupping my nose between her pretty feet.

“Lick,” she ordered and I did. My tongue was already aching from attending to her shoes but I stuck it out and lapped away at her sweat-stained hose. “And rub them too,” she added and I raised my hands to knead the soft soles of her feet as my tongue caressed the balls of her feet and around her toes. With a contented sigh my mother settled back in her chair enjoying my ministrations.

Laughter broke me from the daze that had settled over me and I glanced sideways to see my sister come into the room. Her long, brown hair was a bit damp yet and she was wearing nothing but an over-sized NY Jets tee shirt and a pair of black canvas casuals that she used as slippers sometimes. Her long, tanned legs glistened from her shower as she paused, grinning widely as she watched me licking our mother’s smelly feet.

“Having fun?” she said with a laugh as she strolled through the room and into the kitchen. I heard the refrigerator open and close but said nothing figuring that she was talking to Mom and not to me. Mom answered when Lisa came back into the living room drinking from a bottle of Poland Spring.

“You know it,” Mom said dreamily. “This must be Heaven.”

Lisa laughed and flopped down on the sofa dropping her feet on the coffee table. “What’s on?” she asked indicating the television, ignoring me then as she and my mother chatted, enjoying some quiet time and family bonding.

I looked up startled when the doorbell rang a few minutes later. I was about to get up and run from the room when Mom thumped her heel into my forehead. “What’s wrong with you?” she asked, scowling. “That’s probably the pizza. Get the door, slave.”

I stared at her in shock, my pink skin blushing a deeper shade of red as she pulled my wallet from her purse and tossed two twenties at me. It fluttered to the floor as I looked between her and Lisa numbly. Lisa was wide-eyed as well as she looked at our mother.

“Mom,” I said as the doorbell rang again. “I can’t – “

The recliner folded in on itself as my mother leaned forward. I never saw the blow coming as her hand lashed out and her palm caught me full on the cheek. I sprawled to the floor from her slap, tears welling from the pain. I looked up at her pathetically as she glared down at me.

“Can’t is no longer in your vocabulary,” she hissed. Her eyes were a bit pink and glassy and I knew that she was a little buzzed already from the wine coolers. “Now go answer the door!” I nodded, grabbing the money and starting to get up but she slapped me again, this time on the shoulder. “Crawl, stupid.” I glanced at Lisa but she was just staring in wide-eyed fascination.

I crawled to the door then got up on my knees to reach up and undo the chain, blushing furiously as I unlocked and opened the door. I was greeted to the sight of a grinning East Indian girl about Lisa’s age and dressed in the red and blue of a Dominoes’ uniform. She was pretty, if just a bit plump, holding the hot delivery bag and wearing a bike helmet. Her eyes went wide as she took me in, naked but for my bikini bottoms and on my knees.

“Uhh…” she stuttered uncomfortably wondering what was going on no doubt. “Delivery…”
I held out the money and exchanged it for the pizza, both of us flushing in embarrassment. I held the warm box as the girl added napkins and crushed red pepper packets. “Keep the change,” I heard my mother say from right behind me. I had not even heard her join us at the door and glanced back to see her smiling warmly at the delivery girl.

“Are you sure?” the girl asked, her eyes flicking between the money in her hand, my mother and me. “The tip is more than the pizza.”

“I’m sure,” my mother assured the girl, adding, “for your extra effort. You probably weren’t expecting my sissy son to answer the door on his knees half-naked.” I don’t know how red I was at that point, but I felt I must have been glowing in embarrassment.

The girl grinned receiving over twenty-dollars in tip, pocketing the money. “Thank you,” she said in accented English. “I wasn’t expecting that, no, but I see many strange things in this job.”

“I can imagine,” Mom said with a chuckle. “My son lost a bet, you see, and now has to be my slave for a week.”

“I understand,” the girl said nodding and smiling as she looked down at me again. “In my homeland, indentured servitude is an accepted way of paying debt. Many are poor and it is the only way they can pay. This is fine.”

“Good,” I heard my mother purr. “What’s your name? We may want pizza again and I’d like for you to deliver it, if that’s all right?”

“Yes,” the girl nodded enthusiastically. “My name is Pratchi. Thank you.”

“Thank YOU, Pratchi,” Mom said and the girl’s grin widened. She started to turn away.

“Give her a tip.” My mother’s voice was cold and I heard Lisa’s gasp and giggle from the living room. The girl stopped, looking back expectantly for more money.

Still holding the pizza I leaned down and forward to kiss the toes of the girl’s worn, leather Nikes. They were old and I could smell the leather and the rank odor of her feet as she had probably been in them and on call for hours on that hot summer day. I heard her gasp, then giggle as I humbled myself at her feet for over a minute before she finally said that she had to go.

“I am off tomorrow,” she said, “and my shift ends at ten o’clock when I work.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Pratchi,” my mother said as the girl stepped out of the doorway. “Have a good night.”

“Get in here,” my mother said between bouts of laughter as she closed and locked the door. I then crawled back to the living room on my knees and one hand carrying the pizza. I set it on the coffee table seeing that my sister had gotten paper plates and a potholder to set the box on. She was sitting there laughing, wiping at her eyes.

“Omigodomigodomigod…” she howled, “that was hilarious!” Lisa rolled her head back and held her belly, stamping her feet she was laughing so hard. I heard Mom join in and though I was still blushing with shame it was infectious and I was soon giggling as well.

I could not believe it. Just a few minutes earlier my mother had slapped and berated me and now I was laughing at my humiliation. Despite my shame, or more likely because of it, my tiny penis was rigid. My stomach was roiling as my emotions fluttered, wondering what was wrong with me, what was happening to me.

“Serve us, loser,” my mother commanded as she flopped back into the recliner, extending the footrest. I did as I was told and served my mother and sister, giving each a slice from the medium pepperoni Mom had ordered, offering up their meal on a paper plate from my knees.

Mom directed me back to her feet as they ate…

***

It did not take them long to devour most of the pizza. I remained on my knees first kissing then massaging my mother’s sexy feet watching as slice after slice disappeared from the grease stained box. I was starving, and the smell of the pizza alone was making my stomach rumble and groan, my family giggling every time.

“We’re being too cruel,” my mother said as she scooped up the last slice from the box. I looked up into her dark eyes as she seasoned it, then with a wide grin put the slice to her lips and took a huge bite. She stared at me while she chewed and I continued rubbing her feet, my stomach gurgling. “Is sissy hungry?” she said about the mouthful of pizza.

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said meekly pressing my thumbs into the arches of her nylon-clad feet.

“Well, come closer and open your mouth,” she replied holding up the slice. “Mommy will feed you.”

I licked my lips and eagerly shuffled forward on my knees and opened my mouth. Mom held the slice close to my mouth then leaned over and spat out the piece that she had been chewing onto the floor. It hit with a wet splat and she laughed as I stared down at it in disbelief. I heard Lisa howling again behind me.

“Well, eat up,” Mom said as she leaned back into the chair with a wicked grin. “Don’t let it get cold.” I bent low and ate the sodden, half-chewed bit of pizza from the floor. I gagged in disgust but chewed and swallowed even as another wad landed on the carpet in front of me.

Thus my mother fed me my dinner that night, one slice of pizza that she pre-chewed for me. And god help me I ate every bite…

***

After I had swallowed the last bite of pizza that my mother had graciously chewed for me and spat onto the floor at her feet she leaned back in the recliner and commanded me to clean up the mess from dinner...

She had ordered Dominoes for the three of us (using my money I might add to pay), and even made me answer the door on my knees and dressed only in my slave attire; a dirty pair of pink panties that my sister, Lisa had ordered me to wear. It had been totally humiliating to be seen by a stranger like that, but the delivery girl had taken it all in stride after her initial shock. She had even enjoyed it when my mother ordered me to kiss the girl’s shoes and hoped to deliver to us again soon, especially after the generous tip I had included. Mom and Lisa had eaten the entire pie while I continued to kneel and kiss, lick and massage my mother’s smelly, nylon clad feet. Finally, more out of degrading me than pity, Mom fed me the final slice, pre-chewed and spat to the floor…

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said as I gathered the dirty napkins and paper plates into the empty pizza box. Lisa giggled and leaned forward to help, picking up the potholder that the warm, greasy box had been sitting on.

“Open,” she said dangling the holder in front of my face and when I opened my mouth she poked one corner between my lips. I bit down as they laughed and crawled awkwardly away towards the kitchen.

“Make sure you clean that stuff before you put it in the recycle bin,” Mom called after me, adding, “with your tongue, slave.” They both laughed as I mumbled another ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ around the potholder gagging my mouth.

I stayed on my knees on the hard, linoleum floor in the kitchen as I went about my latest task in my week of slavery to my mother and sister. I had had my doubts about my debt after losing a game of racquetball to my mother and sister, wondering what my week would entail and thinking it would be simply doing the chores around the house and harmlessly waiting on the winners. Little did I know that my mother and sister had different plans, or at least exaggerated?

Certainly I was slaving for them, doing the yard work most of today, and waiting on them, but it seemed that they both had a bit of a dominant nature and actually delighted in seeing me humbled and humiliated, even degraded. Neither had any reservations about dressing me in my sister’s frilly pink panties (or her equally pink bikini bottoms while I was working in the front yard), or exposing me to the neighbors, and now a total stranger. Too, I learned that they could be cruel and devious whether teasing me sexually or punishing me. Mom had actually slapped me when I had hesitated in answering the door for the pizza and hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. That had shocked me, and Lisa as well and I think we all knew that this was all a bit more than harmless fun.

But even as I learned the limits of their domination I was starting to realize just how submissive I was as well. Sure, the work was hard at times, but I found that I was ironically, coincidentally hard throughout. I seemed to enjoy their… abuse? I loved the tone of authority in their voices as they ordered me about, the wicked amusement on their lips and in their eyes, and though at first some of the tasks they demanded seemed disgusting I did as I was told and quickly relished them.

Mom had set the ground rules to which we all agreed, and it seemed that ‘anything goes’ was the rule of thumb, excluding sex. That of course did not mean that they would not tease and torment me, keeping me at the brink of frustration throughout my servitude. They seemed to know what made me hot and delighted in keeping me that way. I was made to touch them, massage them, lick their feet but it ended there. It left us all horny and hot I knew, and Mom had even admitted to pleasuring herself the night before; something that I was not allowed. I wanted to, desperately, but I had been denied that pleasure and had spent a restless night obeying.

Did I want release: yes!

Did I want them? Well…

I shook my head to clear my lustful thoughts and set about my new task. I hung the potholder on its hook by the stove then tossed the dirty napkins in the paper recycle bin. As ordered then I licked the paper plates and the pizza box clean, remnants of their meal on both; bits of cold, dry cheese and crust mainly, and grease. It was nasty but I did as they ordered, rooting around in the pizza box on the floor like a pig.

“Get yourself some water when you’re done,” my mother called from the living room. “Rinse your mouth then get back in here.” I did as she said after I dropped the plates and box in the recycle bin, glad to get the taste of pizza and feet out of my mouth, a unique combination.

I crawled back into the living room to the smiling faces of my mother and sister. Mom was still in the recliner, kicked back with her ankles crossed on the extended footrest, my sister on the sofa legs extended on the coffee table. Lisa was flipping through the cable guide on TV as Mom watched smoking a cigarette and sipping at her wine. After a quick glance at me I was ignored for a bit, left kneeling there as the two women debated what to watch. I had no say in the matter of course, and it was apparently a bland night for television.

“That one,” my mother finally said after a few moments. Lisa groaned but complied and clicked on the channel and I heard music blare from the TV. It was one of the cable music stations and an old song from the 70’s or 80’s, from Mom’s youth as I knew she often listened to the Classic Rock station for the background noise when she was doing things around the house. Rod Stewart I knew, but not the name of the song.

“Dance for us, slave,” my mother said taking another sip of wine. “Entertain us.”

I got up and started to dance, feeling stupid and blushing to be the center of attention. Being fairly much a geek I was not much of a dancer. I had gone to a few dances at school, stag of course, and had danced to a couple songs when I had gotten up the nerve to ask a girl to join me, but I was stiff and awkward to say the least. I waved my arms and swayed to the music a bit, trying to find the rhythm of the song.

“C’mon, shake that ass,” Mom shouted laughing.

“Jiggle it, baby!” my sister added as I wiggled my panty-clad butt for them, dancing in a circle. “Thrust your hips!”

“Grab your nipples,” my mother said as I gyrated for them. “Rub ‘em like a horny little girl.” I flushed red but started fondling my hard nipples as I shook my ass, lifting my legs high and dancing about. “Do the Funky Chicken!”

Lisa howled as I bent over, still holding my nipples and flapping my folded arms like wings, strutting about the living room like a chicken for them. “Cluck for us!” she screamed, barely able to get the words out. I made clucking noises as I pranced about the room, burning with shame.

I was sweating like a pig and exhausted when Mom finally called a halt some twenty minutes later. “Kneel, boy,” she said pointing at the floor in front of the recliner, “Rest a minute.” I dropped to my hands and knees before her, breathing heavily and trying to get myself back under control.

“It’s getting late and I’m beat,” she said as she folded in the footrest on the recliner standing with her feet right under my face. I stared at her pretty feet, her painted toenails sparkling beneath the dark nylon, wanting to lean in and lavish them with kisses of adoration but held my position. “I have work tomorrow, dammit, and much as I want to I can’t call out.”

“I’m ready to call it a night too,” Lisa added standing and stretching. “Nothing on TV. Might go on my computer for awhile.”

“Okay,” Mom said as she slid a foot under my face. “Kiss.” I leaned in and kissed her foot. It was warm and the day’s odor had receded after my ministrations. I willingly humbled myself, screwing up my courage as she exchanged feet, letting me kiss the other. I wanted more. I was burning with desire and did not want this to end. “Clean up our glasses then get to bed, slave. You have a lot to do to- “

“Mom…” I whispered cutting her off, “Ma’am…” I kissed her feet again, blushing. “Please…” I bit my lip embarrassed at what I wanted to ask.

“What?” my mother snapped, hands on her hips and towering over me as I planted reverent kisses to her toes. I trembled in excitement and shame as Phil Collins sang of ‘Mother’ in the background.

“Please….” I swallowed. “Tie me up…”

“What…”

Lisa guffawed with laughter as I kissed Mom’s feet even harder. “Please… Please… I want it.” Mom pulled her foot back, out of reach but I was too ashamed to move or even look up. Burning with shame I put my head to the floor as Supertramp’s ‘Goodbye Stranger’ came on the TV…

‘Never look behind me my troubles will be few’…

“Tie you up?” she asked as I leaned in again and planted kisses on her toes.

“Please…” I said, my voice quaking with emotion. I was almost crying, wanting it so much, my skin smoldering red, my body quivering. I don’t know where it came from, but I knew I needed it. I had seen bondage websites before and had been interested, excited even at the images and stories, but to be begging for it…

“Just like your father,” she said her voice calm and soft, motherly. She slipped her foot out of reach and told me to stay, walking away before I could answer.

“You are one sick puppy,” Lisa mocked as she leaned in after Mom left the room. She slid her foot under my face and I started licking until Mom returned a few moments later.

I squealed as Mom without warning pulled my arms back behind me and I felt the harsh slap of metal as she locked a pair of handcuffs tightly about my wrists. I winced as they bit into my skin but she ignored my whimpering as she began looping nylon cord about my ankles, then my knees. Once she was satisfied she stood upright, her feet right before my face.

“We’ll go easy tonight,” she said as she placed a bare foot on my head. Queen and David Bowie sang of Pressure as she ground down pressing her toes into my face. “If you survive, maybe tomorrow there’ll be more.”

I looked up and saw her raising her skirt. I stared wide-eyed as she grabbed the waistband of her hose and slowly, erotically rolled them down her legs and eased them off. She balled them with a wicked grin as she stared at me. Suddenly she squatted again and stuffed the wadded nylon into my mouth. It tasted of her and I whimpered as she poked it deeply within my willing mouth. She grinned and stood.

“Hold those tonight,” she said. “I won’t seal them in yet. Maybe next time. I don’t want you choking. If there’s a problem, spit them out. Suck them clean though.” With that she placed her foot on my head and pressed. “Sleep tight, slave.”

My mother stepped off my head then, turned on her heel and strode away down the hall towards her room. I groaned rolling about on the floor and heard my sister snickering.

“God…”

I felt her foot on my throat then as she pressed down. It smelled sweet and lotioned as I squirmed helplessly. “So hot,” she purred pressing down, making me gasp for breath. I glanced up and saw Lisa looking down on me fingering herself. I was rock hard. Finally she stepped off, quivering, shuddering with excitement.

“God…” she gasped again, pulling her hand from between her legs, her fingers dripping with her sex. She seemed to sway there for a moment, towering above me, finally focusing with a grin. “You are such a perv,” she said giggling then wandered away towards her room sort of staggering. She clicked off the living room light and a few moments later I heard her door close.

I lay there in the darkness squirming, writhing in my bonds. Where Mom had got the handcuffs I have no idea, but I was helpless at her hand and hard and my sister had no mercy enjoying my plight. I sucked on my mother’s hose tasting the lingering nastiness, wild-eyed and wide-awake and awaiting the third day of my enslavement, my servitude to my mother and sister…
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