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Old 11-Aug-18, 09:06
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine



Story Name: Political Capital
Author: John Blaze


Oh How the Mighty Have Fallen

“I could have been president!” James thought to himself. His eyes were fixated on his hands. The hands that were firmly and vigorously massaging Tara’s foot. At least, they were massaging the half that wasn’t crammed into his mouth. His sucking lips and active tongue were massaging the other half. James continued the mental debate he was having. “No. Not could have. I should have been president!” His thought pattern was disrupted as Kerry’s foot slammed into his backside again. He wondered if she would ever grow tired of kicking him? “Tara... fucking... Lawton! This bitch stole everything from me!” he continued, growing uncontrollably sad and angry at the same time. His roller coaster of emotions took his mind for a vicious ride. His mental condition resembled that of a two year old who had his candy cruelly snatched away and was being teased and taunted to the point of tears. He was still in the middle of this emotional breakdown when Tara flexed her foot and spread her toes in his mouth. Taking the cue with no other instruction, he started forcefully running his tongue between each of her toes while he sucked.

For her part, Tara was actually surprised at how much she enjoyed the sensation of getting her toes sucked and her feet licked. What she was not surprised by was how much joy she derived from completely demoralizing this man. With nothing more than the spreading of her toes she gave a clear command and this one time proud and powerful man knew just what to do. As she wiggled her toes on the inside of his face, his vigorous sucking and licking continued to transfer the day’s sweat and any dirt off of her foot and into his mouth. Unlike earlier, he didn’t wince or make faces. By this point, he was used to the taste of her foot sweat and toe cheese. What a horrible realization that was for him. While the shame, humiliation and disgust remained painfully new, the actual taste of her feet seemed... familiar. She had broken in his mouth like a familiar old shoe, making her foot right at home.

After another minute of sucking and massaging, and a few more kicks to the butt from the giggling Kerry, it was all over. The foot resting atop James’ head slid down until her bare heel rested against his forehead. With her foot pushing against his forehead, she pulled the other one out of his still sucking mouth. She wiped the excess saliva from her foot on the shoulder of his dress shirt. “That will be all James. Put my shoes on now” she sad softly. James moved slowly but obediently like a traumatized and abused dog. As he carefully put her shoes on, Tara spoke to Kerry. “Thank you so much for that suggestion Kerry. My feet feel refreshed. But honestly, it was worth it for so many other reasons.” Standing up, she smiled down at James. Rising to his knees, James stared back at her with such hatred that it would have likely made someone else uncomfortable. Tara, however, loved it! She knew he could do nothing about it. All he could do with his hatred would be to eat it!! This delighted Tara and added to his humiliation. To punctuate that point, she returned his gaze not with hatred, but with a raised eyebrow as if to say “Yes? You have something to say?” The two locked eyes for a few seconds and then James broke the gaze, looking down at the floor...at her feet. The red toenails peeking out the front of her shoes seemed to mock him. Tara walked bye him, roughly bumping him out of the way. She walked towards the door. Pausing right before she exited, she turned to address him. “That was nice James. I think you have a real talent and I’m looking forward to having you join the team. President might have been an over reach for you. But personal assistant? Well, let’s just say I think you are going to be my favorite employee at the end of my long days!” Still kneeling at the foot of the chair, James turned bright red. The tears which had stopped falling down his cheeks threatened to turn on again, but he choked them back.

“Well, I’m off to the after party. Lots of potential clients waiting to be courted. I’m sure Governor Smith will want some photos with me. You know... to celebrate the endorsement.” James’ efforts at any dignity collapsed as his tears returned. Tara’s cold pouring of salt and lemon juice into his open wounds had worked. Almost as if making him cry again was the only thing she was waiting for, Tara turned to walk out. “Come on Kerry. We have a party to attend and some business to discuss. James, call me in the morning and we can work out the details of your employment.”

James plopped down on the floor. Sitting alone and in shame, his tears fell freely. The lingering smell of Tara’s feet danced in his nostrils, continuing to taunt him relentlessly. He cringed as he realized the aroma was coming from his own face. Her foot sweat had been rubbed into his skin...her final gift. He was too dejected to move. Even though he knew he had to wash his face in order to begin any healing process, he just sat there in a deep depression. He was absolutely convinced that no amount of toothpaste or mouthwash could remove the taste of her feet from his mouth just as no amount of therapy could remove her footprint from his spirit.

How had this happened? How could he have let this happen??!! He thought back to his excitement from that very morning. He had left his house filled with high hopes of gaining Tara’s endorsement and setting himself up to be president. PRESIDENT!! Tara had snatched his hopes and bastardized them, using his ambition as part of a sick plot to make him her foot sucking flunky. He mentally re-lived the nonstop humiliation of the day. Massaging her feet on the plane - first with his hands, then his nose, then his face. The docile way he just sat there when Kerry spit in his face, unable to do anything. The words “Governor Smith" coming out of Tara’s mouth instead of his name. Instead of taking sweet revenge for this betrayal, he was humbled again with humiliating foot licking and demeaning toe sucking. The degrading verbal abuse. Kerry tormenting him with kicks and nonstop laughter. The smug look on Tara’s face throughout the day as she basked in her victory. His thoughts turned to his future as a servant to Tara and probably Kerry too! He curled up in the fetal position and wept uncontrollably. This was the absolute worst day of his life. The day his hopes were dashed, his dreams were crushed and his dignity became a punch-line.


Joining the Team

The next few weeks were filled with one small embarrassment after another. It started the day after Senator Bronson’s day from hell. The news media was all over him. How did he feel about the endorsement? What was discussed on the plane? Was he betrayed? Was he played for a fool by Tara Lawton? Was his campaign dead? James had to answer these questions without losing his cool. But he also knew that he would be dropping out of the race, and eventually the senate, to go work for Tara. Despite his desire to rip her to shreds in the press, he didn’t want to bash her because he would look silly later.

For her part, Tara spent the next few weeks traveling with, and on behalf of, Govorner Smith. She too was asked about Senator Bronson and what deal, if any, they had struck on the plane. James caught the interview on television. “Senator Bronson and I had a very positive and productive working session on the plane and again that evening after my endorsement of Governor Smith.” James fumed at her subliminal chiding. She continued, “James is a great public servant. In fact, it cannot be overstated how dedicated he is to serving... and how good he is at it. But, ultimately, I believe Governor Smith gives our party the best chance at winning. He will be the leader we need moving forward. But, again, make no mistake, Senator Bronson has a lot to give and I think we found some common ground... about how he can best use his talents.” James bristled with anger at all of the subliminal messages meant for his ears. She was rubbing her victory in his face through the television screen.

A week later, James dropped out of the race. The press once again had a field day discussing how Tara Lawton had all but single handedly destroyed his candidacy. Even more than that, everyone was surprised a few months later when he announced his resignation from the senate to go work for Tara at Lawton & Associates. All of the headlines were about how the whipped little puppy first got played... then got owned. His “favorite paper”...the one that had tormented him with the humiliating political cartoons... ran a story entitled “How to Crush a Rival Like a Boss.” It discussed all of the ways Tara had publicly humiliated James and ended his career, only to then “buy him off” and put him to work for her. James cringed when he read the article.

The day finally came where James reported to “work." He was somewhat scared and apprehensive as he approached the door. Slowly, he walked into the glass office building in downtown Washington DC and under the gold Lawton & Associates sign. Tara’s firm was the fiercest and best paid army of political strategists, lawyers, consultants and publicists around. The elegance of the building reflected that fact. The receptionist escorted him to the elevator and up to the top floor. She could barely contain her excitement at having him there. “Everyone is so happy you joined us! You’re such an inspiration to so many of us." James allowed the compliment to boost his ego a little. It had been a very long time since he even remotely felt good about himself.

They walked down a long corridor past cubicles on either side. At the end of the hall were the executive offices. A vaguely familiar woman greeted him and walked him down another short hallway to a separate glass door. Using a security card, she swiped them into an area where there were three offices. James tried to place where he had seen this woman before. Then it hit him. She was on the plane with Tara and Kerry. She had witnessed them abuse him as Tara massaged her feet with his face! Embarrassment caused his face to turn red as they kept walking. To the right he saw Kerry sitting at her desk. She had a nice sized office with a nice view of the city below. He had loosely followed her career after she left him. She had quickly made a name for herself working for Tara. She was too busy typing on her computer and talking on the phone to notice him as he walked by. To the left was a door that already had his name on it. His office was apparently back here as well. Straight ahead was Tara’s office. James didn’t know whether to be happy or scared that his office was apparently among the top executives and this close to Tara.

The woman knocked on the open door. “Ms. Lawton, James Bronson is here to see you.”

“Thank you, Jane. Come in James.”

James watched as the familiar woman went back to her desk at the front of the executive corridor. She was apparently the chief of staff. He then realized that everyone in this closed off executive area knew his secret relationship with Tara. He realized they were free to treat him however they chose behind these doors with no fear of anyone ever suspecting anything! He shivered at the potential this situation held. But, he hoped for the best.

“James, please sit down.” As he walked into the room, he couldn’t help but notice how massive her personal office was. The room seemed bigger than many studio apartments he had seen. She sat on the far end behind a beautiful mohagony desk. On either side of her were giant book cases loaded with volumes of books as well as separate sitting areas with glass coffee tables and comfortable looking cream colored leather sofas and recliners. The hardwood floor was a gorgeous parquet pattern. Bright, natural sunlight poured through the window behind her which took up the entire wall. Clearly she was doing well for herself.

James sat in the seat across the desk from Tara. He had not seen her since that fateful night. Although they had spoken on the phone several times, this would be their first meeting since then. He was both dreading and looking forward to this moment. He had put a lot of thought into how today would go. He had planned and rehearsed and he felt very good about his ability to negotiate a decent life for himself here. Tara had already abused him enough to prove her point. Based on his brief conversations with her, he knew her focus would be on making money. James possessed a contact list of powerful connections that could bring in a lot of money... and she knew it. He had leverage now and he would not allow himself to be relegated to an office slave! Besides, both he and Tara knew that she had already won and already taken everything from him. Surely, the rivalry and the feud were over.

Tara began to speak. “Welcome to Lawton & Associates. We are happy to have you here. You will find that if you do your job to the best of your ability you will not only thrive here, but you will be able to really make a difference in the world - even more so than when you were actually a senator!” James paused, almost caught off guard. This conversation sounded very... normal. Tara continued, “We are the best at what we do here and we are counting on you to help take us to an even higher level. I, personally, am counting on you to land some major accounts for us and advance the business with some of our top existing customers. The strong relationships you bring with you from your days in the senate will serve you and the firm well.” James nodded his agreement. Tara continued. “Good. Now, a few more details. As a member of my personal team, everyone inside and outside of the company will treat you as a major player...and they should. It will help you make money... make me money. But make no mistake. I ...can’t ...stand...you!” James was slightly surprised by the obvious disdain in her voice. “I think you are a fool...a joke... not even worthy to shine my shoes.”

James blushed a little but kept his composure. He was ready for this moment. “Tara,” he said calmly but with a noticeable firmness. “I was hoping we could focus on the business and move past any personal grudges. Clearly you’ve won. You’ve beaten me severely. I have been humbled in ways I never thought imaginable.” He paused and leaned forward in his chair. “It’s over. Be the bigger person. Let’s focus on making big money and big policy... together.”

Tara paused for an uncomfortably long time. She just stared at James with a look he couldn‘t place. She was either amused or annoyed or perhaps, he hoped, just thinking about his firm and mature response. Tara leaned forward in her seat to match James’ posture. “You know James, some of the things you said about me after the last election... about my family, about my husband leaving me, about my parenting...about my children. They were really over the line. Really hurtful and malicious."

Clearly Tara was holding a grudge but James stuck to his plan. “Tara, I acknowledge that. But, if any retribution was needed, I think you took it the last time we met. You also went too far. I apologize for my words and, as hard as it is, I forgive you for your actions. Let’s start from a clean fresh place. What do you say?"


Tara looked at him as though she were sincerely considering his words. “Well..., she began. “Let’s just say... I don’t forgive... and I don’t forget... and I will not grow tired of making you my bitch and reminding you just how beneath me you really are. Nor will I bat an eye if you force me to send you to jail for a long, long time.”

James’ face turned a little pale and he stared blankly at her as he thought of what to say next. While he sat there looking dumb, Tara continued. “I know you don’t like me. I know it embarrassed you when your friend picked me instead of you as his running mate four years ago. I’m sure you think you deserve everything I’ve earned. In fact, after our last few encounters, I’m sure you hate me. I’m sure you spent the last months plotting how to get revenge and make me pay somehow. Listen to me... I...don’t...care." James shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. Tara continued. “This is my company. You will do what I say, when I say and I will not tolerate disloyalty. If you make any trouble for me here...if you do anything to disrupt my business... if you so much as show any small sign of disloyalty... you will be punished. And don’t think for a minute I will hesitate to send you to jail. Because I won’t. Are we clear?”

Her words were chilling and direct. James was scared of her. She held all of the cards and she was used to getting her way. He didn’t know what to say. He just nodded and tried to switch the subject back to normal conversation. “Compensation?"

Tara smiled. “Here’s how its going to be. I needed to figure out a compensation plan that would keep you motivated to both land big accounts and to be a good boy. So here’s what I’ve decided. You will be on Kerry’s team. You will be paid minimum wage.” James’ eyes widened and his mouth flopped open. Minimum wage in Washington DC was $7.25 an hour! Tara laughed. “Have your attention do I? Well, here’s the good part. I am going to pay you BIG monthly bonuses for the accounts you actually land. You know... to make sure you have some skin in the game. If you do what I know you can, you will earn over $1,000,000 this year.” James relaxed a little and sat up in his seat to listen to this part eagerly. Tara continued. “Well, technically...” she smiled a devious smile before continuing “50% of your bonus money each month will actually go to Kerry and 25% will come to me. We will decide each month how much...if any... to give back to you.”

James was fuming but he was determined not to show it. He leaned forward in his chair again and spoke as calmly as he could. “So, to be clear. I am supposed to support myself on minimum wage and 25% of what I break my neck earning.... unless you see fit to give me more money? More of my money?” His voice was failing to conceal his frustration.

Tara nodded. “Pretty much.”

James had practiced for months how he would stay calm no matter what. He had a master plan to bargain for his dignity and he refused to give this bitch any satisfaction from his reactions. He steadied his resolve to keep negotiating but this was starting to get out of hand. How does one negotiate with no real power against a vindictive sociopath? He looked for a silver lining. Something positive he could rally around and work forward from. The good news, he decided, was that even if these bitches didn’t give him any money back he would have the potential to make more than his salary as a senator. If he worked hard he felt he could always renegotiate his salary after he proved himself a valuable asset.

Almost as if she could read his mind, Tara continued, “Oh, and one more thing. I spoke with both of your ex-wives. Seems your alimony payments were very, very low. You must have wielded some of your power as a senator to keep them so low.” Tara shook her head from side to side and pouted her lips. “What a gross abuse of power!”

“Isn’t THAT the pot calling the kettle black!” he thought...but he didn’t dare say it.

Tara smiled. “Well, I had our legal team take a look and your payments will be going up...substantially - direct wage garnishment from your gaurunteed 25% of the bonus. We can't have any of our people being accused of unethical behavior." James didn’t know what to say. He just sat there looking silly while Tara pulled out a folded piece of paper and adjusted her glasses to read. “The ladies were very grateful. Your second wife said to tell you... and I quote... ’Did you think you could get away with this forever? Well, ha, ha... who’s laughing now. You arrogant prick, good luck being Tara’s errand boy.’” Tara put the paper down on her desk. “I don’t think they like you very much either.” James fumed. What a violation of his personal life! He was having a hard time controlling his anger. His “negotiations" had failed miserably. Tara leaned back in her chair. “Well, I guess that’s everything. I hope you’re good with a budget ol’ boy. Stretching $7.25 an hour to last between bonuses... or more accurately, whatever portion of your bonuses you actually get to keep... well, that just won’t go very far in this town.”

James just sat there and let all of the conditions sink into his head. Far from being president, if he wasn’t careful he might be homeless soon! Reality sank in. He was not working for himself, but for Tara’s empire. Everyone got a piece of him now. Tara...Kerry... even the ex-wives he despised would benefit from his misfortune - improving their lifestyles with no effort whatsoever. While James continued to sit there with a dumb look on his face, Tara got up from her seat and walked around to approach him. Despise her as he did, he still couldn’t help but be impressed by her appearance. Her long brunette hair draped her pretty face on either side. Her red skirt suit was fitted in just the right way. Her curvy legs seemed to glow in her nude stockings. Her look was completed by the expensive nude Louboutin heels on her feet. For a woman in her forties, she kept herself in great shape. Indeed, as much as he hated to admit it, he found her stunningly beautiful. Standing next him she asked “So, do we have a deal?”

James looked at the stunning but arrogant woman in red standing in front of him. He could no longer hide it. He hated her so much he felt as though he could strangle her right where she stood! Was that a rhetorical question? She knew he had no choice in the matter. Going to jail for years was not in the plans. His face betrayed his true feelings but James did his best to remain civil and focused. He stood up and extended his hand. “Yes we do Ms. Lawton.”

Tara stared at his extended hand with an amused look. James didn’t know what the right move was, so he just stood there with his hand extended for an awkward period of time. Tara chuckled and looked him in the eye. She spoke with an extremely condescending tone. “Silly boy. Dogs don’t seal deals with their masters by shaking their hands.” Humiliated, James let his hand drop to his side. Tara‘s tone changed. It turned cold and stern. “Now then, get on your hands and knees and kiss my shoe... like a good... little... doggy.”

James’ face flushed red from both humiliation and anger. He balled up both fists and for a split second he contemplated cold cocking her! He stared at her angrily for a few more moments but was met in return by the same arrogantly expectant look he recognized from months back when she had easily reduced him to sucking on her toes. It was as if she were crumpling up his rage like an old newspaper and forcing him to eat it in front of her. James slowly dropped to his knees before her. Shame and defeat were written all over his face. He loathed himself as he lowered his mouth down to her foot. He placed a quick peck on the toe of her expensive cream colored shoe. He went to quickly stand up but her hand touched the top of his head when he got to one knee. “Now the other one.” James reluctantly got back down on all fours and placed a kiss on the toe of the other shoe. This time before getting up he looked up to her for permission. Before he could say or ask anything he heard her speak. “Now, crawl around behind me and kiss the backs too.” James squeezed his eyes tight and literally swallowed his anger. He crawled behind her and lowered his face to the back of each expensive shoe placing a quick kiss on each one right below her exposed ankle.

“Have we sealed the deal yet? Can I stand up now?” James asked in a frustrated tone from his groveling position.

Tara raised her hand to her chin and looked up as if she were thinking about a complex business problem. “I dunno James. I’m just...” She paused as if searching for the right words. “ I’m just not feeling the commitment. There’s no... passion. Where’s the passion to work here?”

Was his bitch serious? It was all James could do to stop himself from tackling her right there and pummeling her to within an inch of her life.

Tara shook her right foot a little to loosen her shoe until her heel popped out. With his chin still inches from the ground and his face mere inches from her shoe, her nyloned heel almost touched his nose as it popped up and out of her Louboutin. He felt a familiar tinge of embarrassment as the heat from her foot made its escape from her shoe and wafted into his face. He smelt the familiar scent of Tara’s foot, but it wasn’t overpowering. The aroma was a feint mix of her foot’s scent and the leathery smell of a new shoe. James scooted his face back and out of the way as Tara slid her foot all the way up and back until her toes rested on the shoe back and James was staring at her nylon covered sole. “I need to feel your passion... your energy James. Show me that you want to be here. Prove to me that this isn’t all a big mistake and that I shouldn’t just send you off to jail right now.”

James was almost in disbelief. How had he wound up in this position again? He was a fool to think any other outcome was possible. James felt himself filling with anger as he struggled to contain his hatred. This was an evil bitch who needed to be put in her place in the worst way. Someone needed to wipe that smug look off of her face. Someone needed to make her suffer...to laugh at her for a change...to take all of her prestige away... to forcefully remove the carefree life of opulence she felt so entitled to. Ultimately, James accepted that he would not be the one to teach her that lesson. He, instead, was being put into his place. He stared at her nyloned sole. What did she want from him? What else did she expect? Passion huh? She wanted a demonstration of passion? “Okay...fine. Let’s get this over with.”

He rose to his knees, grabbing her foot with both hands and pulling it towards his face. Tara kept her leg flexed, resisting just enough to let James know not to lift her foot any higher than it was. He knew then that kneeling wouldn’t be good enough for her. To get the best angle for what he was about to do, he now laid down flat on his belly. Holding her foot firmly in his hands he pulled it into his own face like it was his long lost lover. Pressing her warm foot firmly into his own face, he placed a firm long kiss on the ball of her foot right at the base of her toes. The arch and heel of her warm foot were planted firmly against his nose and forehead through her damp nylons. He continued to plant long, firm, full-lipped kisses on the sole of her foot. Ignoring the damp foot sweat accumulating on his lips and face, he worked his way up the sole of her foot from the ball of her foot. Dragging his face up her sole, he kissed her over and over until he got to her heel. The firm way he pressed her foot into his face as he kept kissing served to massage her foot with his face. As he kept his lips working she could feel the intensity of each kiss. She smiled at how easily she had once again broken him as she reduced him to this. He made out with her foot like a highschool sweetheart. He willingly used his face as her personal foot massager. Tara was filled with such exhilarating power that she was almost in awe of herself. Never once did she turn to look down at him. She simply stood there while he groveled on the floor behind her and debased himself. When he had worked his way to her heel he stopped. Still grasping her foot firmly in his hands about an inch away from his face he said loudly “I’m excited to work here. I really am. Please accept me. I want this deal.” He placed a final firm kiss on the heel of her foot.

James bowed his head and stared at the ground. This was partly to demonstrate his subservience and partly out of shame. Tara wiggled her foot out of his hands. Before he could react, she placed it on the back of his head and gave him a firm shove downward. Tara’s foot quickly guided James’ head downward until his forehead hit the hardwood floor with a thud. Tara’s nylon covered foot slid off of the back of his head until it covered the side of his face, pinning him to the ground. James’s right cheek was pressed to the floor as he stared at her other foot. With Tara’s sweaty foot firmly holding his head in place, he was forced to stare across at the Louboutin she still wore. He felt pressure mounting in his head as she slowly shifted her weight to the foot on his face. James was trapped as Tara stood with one high heeled shoe planted firmly on the ground and one nylon encased foot planted firmly on the side of his face. She reached over and buzzed her intercom. “Kerry, could you come in here please?”

James cringed at the thought of his former employee walking in and finding him in this humiliating position. He used to think her a sub-par publicist and as such she was an easy target for his anger. In the brief time since leaving him, she had quickly proven herself a success and found notoriety in the DC circles. Her star seemed to be rising even as his continued to sink to new depths. Now, she would yet again get an opportunity to laugh in his face. James shook with anger as he thought about how she had laughed at him on the plane while Tara humiliated him. How she was all too happy to spit right in his face when the opportunity presented itself. How she had suggested Tara make him suck her toes. How she had laughed hysterically at his expense while he was forced to grovel and do it! How she had mocked him relentlessly while literally kicking him when he was down. How she had betrayed him and gone to work for his hated rival. And now she was to be his immediate supervisor and she would be in a position to literally take money out of his pocket for herself. At that moment he had a crystal clear realization that Kerry had been every bit as much his foe as Tara the whole time! Worse yet, while Tara took quiet confident pleasure in his misery, Kerry displayed blatant joy at rubbing his various humiliations in his face every chance she got!

James dreaded hearing the sound of Kerry’s laughter again. It always made him feel so pathetic. He wondered what she would say when she saw that their mutual boss was standing on his head like it was the most natural thing...like his face was her other shoe. The pressure on the side of his head and jaw felt as though it might cave his skull and served to bring his thoughts back the sweaty foot planted firmly in his face. He heard the click clack of Kerry’s shoes as she walked in.

Kerry saw James in his ridiculous and humiliating position. “Well, that didn’t take long.” she said to her boss. “What... has he even been here ten minutes yet?”

Tara chuckled and said. “We needed to firmly establish the hierarchy around here. We’re clear on where you stand, right James?” she asked as she shifted more weight to the foot on his face.

Under the increasing weight of her stockinged foot James groaned out “yyyyeeeeesssss.”

Tara lifted her foot off of James’ face and balanced on her one high heeled foot. “James, be a dear and put my shoe back on.” James slowly rose to all fours and did as he was told. Tara continued speaking to Kerry “He accepted the terms.” Kerry smiled, knowing what that meant. She would be taking more of his bonus home than he would with the option to give some back. Tara continued, “More importantly, he demonstrated his passion to join us here. His willingness to be a part of the team.”

Kerry looked at her former boss lying on the ground at her new boss’ feet. Having just witnessed Tara use his face as a shoe, Kerry genuinely wondered what else had transpired. “And just how did he demonstrate passion as you say? I think I should know since he’s technically joining my team too.”

Tara pointed at Kerry. “Show her how much you want to be on her team, James. Do it the exact same way you did it for me.”

James looked across the floor at Kerry. She was smiling widely in anticipation of what was to come. James started to crawl over to Kerry across the hardwood floor, his grey suit getting dirty at the knees. He stared at the floor as he crawled. It was a much better option than looking at Kerry’s smiling, expectant face. James knew, and Kerry suspected, that they were about to break new ground. While Kerry had always been a part of his ordeal and she had always taken it upon herself to humiliate him any chance she got, she had never had the pleasure of watching him humiliate himself directly in servitude to her. Until now. There was something incredibly disturbing to him about how Tara had passed power to Kerry. About the way she had somehow decided it was okay for Kerry to consider him her bitch too.

James stopped when he reached Kerry’s feet. He looked her up and down once. The young blond was in her mid twenties. Hell, she could have been his daughter. Her shoulder length blond hair was tied back in a ponytail and her pretty face had very little make up on, except for a deep red shade of lipstick. She was smiling down at him with a mix of uncontrollable anticipation and cockiness that taunted him. She thought back to the brutal and disrespectful tongue lashings he had given her time after time... now he knelt at her feet. She was wearing a nicely tailored black pinstriped pantsuit. James noticed her sheer white pantihose that emerged from beneath her pant cuffs and disappeared again into her black Tory Birch ballet flats. James stopped to ponder what he was about to do. Was he really about to give this young bitch some satisfaction? Was he really about to place his lips against the foot of this disloyal bitch who had become a royal pain in his ass? Yes. Yes, he was.

James huffed in frustration and self loathing. His audible sign of frustration made Kerry giggle. There was that damn laughter again!! Slowly, he lowered his head and kissed each shoe on the gold Tory Birch insignia. Kerry let out another little giggle as the former senator who used to bully her squirmed on the ground before her and kissed her shoes. He then crawled behind her and once again groveled on his belly as he kissed the backs of her shoes. James cringed at what he knew was next. He grabbed her ankle with both hands and lifted gently. When Kerry took the cue and let her foot be raised, he removed her flat and pulled her foot into his face just like he did with Tara. Kerry’s foot smelt much more like... a foot. Clearly, these were not new shoes as the shoe leather’s aroma was older and more musky.

As he pulled her sole towards his face, James noticed the bottom of her foot was a little dirty. In contrast to the white pantyhose, the slightly blackened areas on her heel and the ball of her foot stood out. There were even a few black flecks stuck to her sole. Were they old shoe leather? Were they broken off pieces of a well worn insole? He tried not to think about it. James paused. Could he do this? Where was his pride? He lay there and stared at the foot in his hands. Thoughts of getting up and walking out seriously danced around in his head. While he paused he caught another whiff of her foot. This was a crucial moment of truth! Thoughts of jail replaced the thoughts of walking out as his will to resist once again crumbled. He scrunched up his nose and pulled the sole into his face. Her foot was much sweatier than Tara’s was. If Tara’s nylons were damp, Kerry’s white pantyhosed foot was soaked. Still, James firmly pulled her foot into his face as ordered and planted a firm kiss on the ball of her foot by her toes.

Kerry giggled like a little girl on her birthday. “He’s kissing my feet!” she said to Tara in near disbelief. “This is awesome.” She closed her eyes to enjoy the moment as the office bitch firmly kissed her foot at the ball, the arch, and the heel. He moved slowly planting firm, long kisses as he pulled her foot into his face like he had done with Tara. Her wet foot greasing his face with musky foot sweat. As he pressed his face into her foot, Kerry took an active role. Unlike Tara who just let James humiliate himself, Kerry pressed the sole of her foot backwards into his face, increasing his discomfort and humiliation. She shifted her foot around on his features to increase the “massage” she was getting from his lips and facial features. Her motions served to slather her foot sweat around his face, grinding it into his pores.

When James was done he placed her foot back into her shoe. He noticed the specks of shoe leather were missing and had presumably been transfered to his face. He looked down and forced the words out of his mouth “I am happy to be on your team.”

Kerry was silent for a second and then said “That... was... AWESOME!!. I must say... I’m glad you finally learned your place, senator." The insult obviously dripped with sarcasm since he was no longer an official holder of that title nor did she offer him any of the respect that would come with it. “But I didn’t get to see any of it. Crawl around here where I can see you and do it again.”

James was livid. This little bitch who had once been his employee was taking vindictive pleasure in humiliating him. James wanted to crawl into a hole and get swallowed by the earth. Instead, he crawled back around to face Kerry. She slightly lifted her foot and he stared at her shoe for a long moment before slipping it off. He held her wet foot in his hands and without even raising it to his face he could smell her aroma. Then, he lifted the foot to the level of his eyes. As he pulled the sole towards his face he noticed that, like the other one, the ball and heel of this foot were darkened by a slight layer of dirt. As he reluctantly pulled her foot towards his face, he also noticed more specs of what he presumed to be shoe leather and even a few hairs that she must have picked up from walking around in her stocking feet on the floor. Nonetheless, he pulled the white pantyhosed sole into his face and began kissing again. This time, due to his new position, he started at the heel and worked his way up. He pressed his lips into her sweaty foot and kissed. He dragged his face up her sole, planting firm kisses on her foot. Kerry giggled at the show of degrading obedience. That damn laughter... damn he hated to hear this bitch laugh in his face all the time! This time, after kissing up the length of her foot he found himself in the position of ending in the only obvious way he could think of - kissing her toes. And so he did. He pressed his lips to the underside of her toes, kissing them four at a time. Having completed his humiliating assignment to show his new boss his “passion”, he looked up over her toes at her condescending face.

“Much better, senator. Now, place your hands back on the ground and look up at me like a good little puppy.” James did as he was told and kneeling on all fours looked up at Kerry’s face. She was smiling smugly, but she also had a stern look on her face. “I remember every mean thing you ever said to me. Every word.”

James dared not look away from his new boss. So he just knelt there and offered meekly “I’m...sorry.”

Then Kerry raised her foot again. He saw the dirty sole of her sweaty pantyhosed foot slowly descend toward his face. He cringed just as the sweaty sole slowly but firmly pressed into his face. Kerry leaned into that position as if doing a lunge against his face. It was all James could do to not get pushed over. He bulled his neck to support her weight. She began to grind her foot back and forth into his face, her wet sweaty foot continuing to coat his face with foot sweat like it was his own special lotion. Kerry just leaned into his face and continued to grind her foot. Her foot distorted his features as he knelt uncomfortably and struggled to not be kicked over. She looked like a pretty young female version of Captain Morgan from the rum bottle except with the kneeling James’ face as her tree stump. “How does it feel senator? How does it feel to kneel and just let me rub my foot into your face?”

James didn’t answer her rhetorical question. He just turned a different shade of red and let the sweaty foot assault and massage his face. Or maybe, massage itself on his face. The force of her foot was pressing his nose uncomfortably back into itself. Her grinding heel mashed his lips as it went back and forth across his mouth like a windshield wiper. Kerry was taking her time and punctuating her point - he was now her bitch just as much as he was Tara’s. Kerry slowly changed the direction of her grinding from side to side to front to back. Now, instead of rubbing into his face, her foot slid up and down. The ball of her foot not only continued to crush his nose but repeatedly turned it up and back. Part of her heel roughly forced his upper lip open as it slowly pressed into his face with an upward motion. The rest of her heel followed, forcefully pressing into his front teeth and the exposed inside of his upturned upper lip. After a few more moments of sliding her foot up and down on his face, Kerry pushed off his face with her foot and stood upright. She held her foot in front of his face and wiggled her toes expectantly. “One more kiss to seal the deal.” His face still sore, James leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the sole of her foot. He couldn’t help but notice the lack of leather specks on her sole or the fact that the ball and heel of her foot looked a little less dusty. He knew it was all on his face, stuck to his features by her foot sweat. He could taste some salty residue and some grainy dirt in his mouth from where the inside of his lip had no doubt been forced to clean her dusty heel off. Kerry had gone out of her way to exact revenge directly...not through Tara - and she had loved it. James cowered on all fours like an abused Labrador Retriever.

James heard Tara’s voice from across the room. “It’s settled then. You start tomorrow. How does that sound?”

James, still kneeling, dropped his head to the floor. He saw Kerry’s feet slip back into her shoes. “Sounds...great." he said in a completely dejected voice. “I’m happy to join the team."

Kerry smiled down at him. “And I’m happy to have you. Now get up and let me show you to your new office.”

James stood up and walked over to his new boss Kerry. He could hardly look her in the eye...but he had to. He was determined to show these bitches that they could NOT break him. He walked right up to her and stared at her from a few inches away.

Kerry wrinkled her nose. “James, please go clean yourself. You...stink. You smell like...like... someone used your face as an insole. We have some general hygiene rules around here you know!” Kerry looked him directly in the eye and said her next words with obvious delight. “Go clean the sweat from our feet off your face and meet me in the hallway”

James wanted to spit in this bitch’s face! He didn’t. He walked to the restroom slowly to clean the sweat and grime off of his face. These two bitches ... his new bosses... had him right where they wanted him. They didn’t just have total control over him, they would be making money from his blood, sweat and tears all the while. He was Tara’s indentured servant with her foot on his face and her hand in his pocket. She was using him to pad her pockets and sharing him with her friends...and his enemies...as she saw fit. He had to figure a way out of this! He HAD to. As James approached the bathroom he realized that Kerry was right, he caught a whiff of himself and realized the smell of his own face almost made him gag.His eyes turned red and welled up with tears. So much for not letting them break him.
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Old 12-Aug-18, 13:31
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Teaching Him A Lesson On The Flight Home
Author: John Blaze


Shalini was used to being stared at. Mainly because she was a beautiful woman. She was a mix of several different cultures ethnically - Indian, Arabic,, Greek, and Italian. She looked like a mixture between the beautiful Bollywood actress Aishiwarya Raye and an ancient Greek goddess. The combination amounted to what can only be described as a “Cleopatra” like quality. Gorgeous and delicate looking, her caramel skin was silky smooth and her deep hazel eyes were almost hypnotizing. Today, her long black hair was in a ponytail and she wore loose fitting sweat pants that almost hid her sensuous curves. She was a petite woman, only standing about 5’5, but her presence in a room was larger than life - yet still understated in a regal, ladylike manner.

She was also used to being stared at for her intellect. Today, she was returning home to Wisconsin from L.A. after completing another semester at UCLA. She was working on her third degree. At the young age of 26, she had already completed her college education , received an MBA, and was now studying psychology as an extra degree. When in conversation, her intellect and wit always caused people to become captivated and often intimidated.

And lastly, unfortunately, on days like today - she was used to getting stared at because the Middle Eastern features of her face made people uncomfortable in an airport - a sad byproduct of racial profiling in the post 9/11 world. Traveling was never a favorite pastime of hers, but traveling on the holidays was always a major hassle. This being the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, she was already getting frustrated by the rude and overwhelmed staff. The other passengers all had short tempers, all the flights were being delayed, and the overall atmosphere was deteriorating. As everyone waited at the gate for any update on the flight, people were packed together like refugees - some sitting, some standing. Shalini was one of the fortunate few who had a seat. Unfortunately, she really had to go to the bathroom. She looked up at the first person she saw, a tall business man in a nice suit and top coat. He was in his 40s and was a pretty large man with a round torso and a potbelly that protruded out so that his tie lay on it in an arc instead of straight down. He was visibly frustrated with the situation, just as everyone else was.

“Excuse me sir…” she said politely. The man seemed to either not hear her or ignore her. “Excuse me sir…” she said again, this time a little louder.

The man turned around and looked down in a frustrated manner. “What?” he asked in a huff.

“Could you please watch my seat while I go to the bathroom?”

The man looked very frustrated, then paused and finally said “Fine. But be quick about it girl!”

As Shalini walked off to the restroom, she wondered what the big rush was - since obviously all planes were delayed. When she returned, she was amazed that the man rudely refused to giver her back her seat. Despite the protests of a few bystanders who knew she was already there, he laughed at her and said to move along. Shalini was at a loss to deal with such rudeness. She stormed off and found a spot on the floor. She spent the next hour reading a book and waiting for the plane. When it finally arrived, there was a disorderly dash to board. The crew had no control and the line was pushing through. Shalini felt herself being bumped forceful from the side. After almost being knocked out of the line she turned and saw it was the same rude, business man. She shouted “Excuse you!”. This only made him turn for a quick second and upon seeing her he gave her a quick look as if to say “oh… its you again!” and kept walking! Shalini couldn’t wait to get the flight over! When she got to her seat she turned to get help putting her carryon bag in the overhead compartment. While she was looking, the rude business man came and almost knocking her out of the way again, put his bag in the last available space above her aisle! Shalini was convinced she was on some prank show to see how much she could take, but alas it was all real!! She maneuvered her way to the window seat. She had to place her bag at her feet under the seat in front of her. This, even for petite Shalini, made the space cramped. Then, the final cruel twist of fate. The rude business man plopped down in the seat in front of her . GREAT!

His behavior was no better with anyone else. He immediately started berating the flight crew and was especially nasty about the fact that no snacks were to be served on board. “I’m starving!” he demanded. Shalini looked at the fat man and thought how ironic that statement was. The flight took off with no further delays and everything seemed to be progressing fine. Shalini thought that if she could make it through he flight, this would all be over shortly. Just at that moment, and as soon as he was allowed, the fat, business man forcefully reclined his seat. Because of his weight, the seat seemed to come back extra far and made Shalini feel like he was sitting on her chest!

This was too much. She leaned forward and said “Sir, since you took the overhead bin I have my bag here. I barely have any room! Can you please not recline so far?”

The man turned around and looked her in the eye. “That’s not my problem! I’m hungry and cranky and I WILL be comfortable.” With that he took out two pills and swallowed them quickly. “In a few minutes, I will be dead sleep! These pills will have me sleeping so good it will be like a coma! You should take some… or just deal with it! Either way, I’m fine!”

This final insult sent her over the edge. The generally mild mannered student lost it. She slapped him in h\the back of his head and said “You rude, fat pig! Were you raised by a pig too?”

The man was so angered by her comments that he slammed backwards in the seat just to be a jerk… and he broke it. The seat made a snapping noise and he fell back all the way into her lap! Shalini reached up and rang the bell for the stewardess. When she came over, and saw the situations he asked what had happened. Shalini simply said, “This fat pig of a man broke his seat!” He turned bright red and looked ashamed., The stewardess made everyone stand and crawled under the seat.

“There.” She said when she stood up. “Its fixed, but you cannot recline it for the rest of the flight. When we land I’ll get it repaired.”

The man sat silently. Shalini had finally had a turn of luck. Furthermore, she had noticed how embarrassed he was about what had happened and decided this was a great time for some revenge! “Hahaha” she laughed. “You fat bastard! What a fat, bloated, pig of a man! Can’t even ride a plane without breaking it!”

“Are you going to let her talk to me like that?” he insisted towards the stewardess. The stewardess, whom he had berated earlier simply shrugged and walked away. Within the next twenty minutes, everyone around her had fallen asleep. However, Shalini kept reading her book. Then … her right leg cramped up… bad! With the bag in front of her and a sleeping passenger to her left, there was no real way to stretch. She quickly measured the space between the plane wall and the seat in front of her and decided to extend her leg. She tried to maneuver and saw there was no way to squeeze her foot through. She quickly reached down and removed her low cut white sneaker which she was wearing with no socks. Again he tried and managed to extend her leg and rest it on the armrest of the seat in front of her. Immediately, the cramp started to go away. She looked at her foot through the narrow space and wiggled her toes. Her deep burgundy pedicure on her caramel colored feet looked nice to her. However,\, she was in these sneakers all day. She held the shoe up to her face and caught a whiff of her smelly shoe. She knew her foot didn’t smell too good. It wasn’t enough to make the plane reek… but certainly the man in front of her would be offended by the smell…. If he was awake. She could tell by the snoring he wasn’t and remembered what he said about the pills causing a “coma”-like sleep. She continued to read her book for a few minutes and enjoyed the newly extended leg and the cool air refreshing her feet. She thought about how mad the rude man would be if he were awake… then she got an idea!

She wondered how deep he really would sleep? She stood up and gently placed her hand on his head. She guided it towards the right and his entire body seemed to move with it, re-positioning himself to sleep comfortably. Soon she forced his head to the window. Then slid it down the window until he had his head propped up with his chin laying on the armrest. Then she positioned it just how she wanted it. His fat body now partially laying on the lady next to him… who was also sleep and didn’t budge. Shalini sat back down and then carefully positioned her leg again. This time, looking through the seat space to watch her handiwork, she slid her leg forward again. Slowly. Until…the tip of her middle toe touched the tip of his nose. She paused to see if he would budge,,, he didn’t. She continued to straighten her leg. The sole of her dainty and moist foot pressed against his lips. She pushed a little more… the ball of her foot was under his nostrils. She pushed a little more,,, her toes cupped his nose. Finally she completely relaxed. She sat comfortably. Her leg comfortably, if only a little snugly, extended. Her foot, pressed firmly into the face of this man who had been so rude to her. She positioned her sole so that it blocked his mouth and he started to snore though his nose. His nose that was gently buried into the base of her toes. As he breathed deeply through her toes, she giggled at how refreshing the sensation was. Then, she looked at his face. “I wonder if her can smell them as he sleeps?” Almost as if on cue, he grimaced his face and crinkled his nose as one would do if they smelt something foul! Shalini smiled a wide , content smile! Se naughtily thought to herself, “Good! Lay there and smell my foot! Sleep tight fat boy!” She continued reading her book relaxed. She played with his nose with her toes. She slid them all around his nose and occasionally slipped the pinky toe into a nostril She found it very relaxing to use his face this way and reveled in the thought of what she was doing to him! Her foot truly felt nice using his breath for relief and his features as a toy to pass the time! The fact that she was forcing her foot sweat into his memory banks? Priceless.

Then she got a great idea!



Shalini was quite pleased with herself. She usually was not one for drama and conflict, but this guy had pushed her over the edge. Quite frankly, usually her charm and beauty disarmed everyone anyway. But to have the mental satisfaction of shoving her foot in his face was quite nice. Now, she had devised a clever and fiendish scheme to both truly capitalize on the situation and to really get firm revenge. It was one thing to get her silent revenge in this manner, but it would be even greater to force him to accept it! To let him feel shame and know she had won! In her mind, the plot thickened. It would be a bit of a gamble, but hey… what did she have to lose?

She reluctantly pulled her foot away from her new toy, put her sneaker back on, went into her bag to get the necessary “equipment” and left for the bathroom. The bathroom was the most quiet place to do what needed to be done. The equipment? Her mp3 playing, highly advanced phone (equipped with a small voice recorder, mp3 player, and some other software that would prove useful for the task at hand). For the next 20 minutes she recorded herself into he phone. She made tracks of her voice speaking slowly and seductively into her phone - her voice almost hypnotizing. She was in the restroom for a good 20 minutes. When she returned to her seat she had a “soundtrack” carefully recorded and in order of necessity. Her plot? To discover whether or not, in his deeply sedated and doped up state, her nemesis would be open to suggestion. If so…. Whoa boy!! The fun, and the torture, would really begin. On the way back to her seat she noticed that the stewardess had taken drink orders and had just finished delivering drinks to the few passengers who were awake. “Do you want something honey?”

Shalini smiled and said, “can I have a coffee with a ton of sugar? Don’t bother putting it in yourself, just bring me about 8 sugar packs. After returning to her seat being careful not to awaken any of the sleeping people that surrounded her, Shalini reached over the seat back in front of her and placed an expensive set of earphones on the head of the rude business man. They were the type designed to block out all sound. She ran the wire from his head to her seat through the same window/seat space that she would soon resume putting her foot in his face. The stewardess brought her her drink and sugar packets and left. This was it! Everyone was sleep around her, and she had what she needed,! Her plan had several stages which she thought of as “Chapters” in this story. She was amused with how mischievous and exciting this all felt.

CHAPTER 1: Shalini pressed play on her phone and sent her pre-recorded voice streaming into the man’s ears. This was the critical point. If this worked… REALLY worked… than the rest of the flight would be some of the most gratifying moments of her life! She watched his face closely for his reactions to gauge the success of her experiment an whether or not to move on.. Her voice cooed into his ears in a soft seductive tone:


--Can you believe there is no food on this flight? Can you believe how bad the service is! You’re sooo hungry! How can this be? You’re sooo hungry! This airline is horrible! You’re sooo hungry!--​


Her words were soft and rhythmic. She watched his face as she looped that 8 second clip repeatedly into his ears. Then… jackpot! Slowly at first, his facial features started to move. Then, he appeared visibly agitated. Then he grimaced. After a few minutes of looping this sound bite, Shalini was convinced that the next few chapters would work fantastically! She was ecstatic!

CHAPTER 2: Now she knew she had him. She poured one of the eight sugar packets into her coffee and place it on the table tray of the sleeping man next to her. She reached down and removed her right sneaker, exposing her bare foot once again .It had gotten sweaty and moist again. Then, she started to open the sugar packets and spread sugar over her toes. All over each one, in between them all, everywhere! She covered all of her toes with sugar and it stuck to her foot sweat like glitter! Then, just as carefully as before she extended that foot towards the man’s face, through the window / seat opening. Resting her heel on the armrest, she slid it slowly forward just as before. But this time she stopped with her toes a few inches from his face. She advanced the sound track:

--But I’ll take care of you! I’ve got something sweet for you. Do you want some sweet candy? You’re so hungry… poor boy! I’ve got some good candy for you! Here… take some candy. Stick out your tongue! Lick the candy! You will feel better.--​

Shalini looped this sound lip into the man’s ears now. Slowly, his face turned from a scowl to a smile. She watched closely as he ever so slowly opened his lips and his tongue protruded… searching for the candy. This was the moment of truth. She slid her foot forward slightly,,, watching with excited anticipation! The tip of his tongue touched the underside of her second toe. She felt a shot of tingling electricity shoot up her leg and give her face goose bumps. She slid her foot forward a little more and his tongue ran one long lick up that same long, second toe. The taste of sugar filling his taste buds… the suggestion of her voice compelling him to continue. She fully extended her leg so that her toes were pressed against his lips. She saw and felt his tongue slide in between her second and third toes! AHHH what a sensation. It tickled and felt refreshing. She laughed out loud at what she had done to the once rude man! Then she advanced the sound clip to track 3. It was a very short loop that she would play for a very long time!


--Lick! Lick the candy! It tastes so good! Make sure you get it AALLL.--​


She looped this clip and sat back into her seat comfortably. She could not take her eyes off of him! She watched and giggled as his tongue slipped in between each toes. He searched for more “candy”! The sensation felt great! It tickled a lot at first. Then, it felt really really special - like she had discovered a great feeling foreign to her at any other time of her life. She looked at the shiny burgundy toenails being maneuvered about as his tongue licked greedily at the bottoms of her toes and all in between them. She had no idea it would feel this good. Then, as she became accustomed to how this felt, the sensation changed again. This time to a very very soothing feeling. She went back to reading her book. She sipped her coffee and read her book and enjoyed the feeling of having her toes licked by her personal sleeping fool!

As she read her book she felt the trip starting to catch up to her. With the soothing feeling of her toes being licked and the warmth of her coffee, she was starting to fall asleep. And she could have contently ended it there… but there was so much more to do! Couldn’t sleep yet! Now, was the time for the true revenge!!!

CHAPTER 3: She advanced the track once more.


--Wait… what’s this? You’ve been tricked! This isn’t candy! It’s the foot of that woman behind you! The little one you had been mean to? Why are you licking her foot? But you cannot stop! You cannot stop! You are licking the foot of a stranger but you cannot stop! She’s enjoying it! She’s laughing at you! But you cannot stop! Lick her foot! Lick her foot!--​


She studied his face carefully to see what would happen! Slowly his expression changed. He looked agitated and frustrated. His faced turned the same shade of red that it had been when she had verbally humiliated him. He looked confused and disgusted… but he kept licking. His tongue, despite his best efforts to stop, ran up and down and through her toes with even more energy than before! This was the beauty of her plan! This was the most satisfying part! She was controlling his thoughts, his dreams! Forcing him into humiliating subjugation even in his “deep sleep”… the one he had so been looking forward to. It was one thing to make him lick her toes… but she wanted him to KNOW it! She advanced voice clip again. All the while she carefully studied his face!


--Lick her foot! You are like her dog! Lick her foot! You are beneath her! Lick her foot!--​
Now she put her book down and watched him intently. Enjoying both the look on his face as it contorted frustratingly, his tongue sliding in and out of the crevices of her toes. MMM that felt good! Now she advanced her plot a little more.


CHAPTER 4: The sound bite changed ever so slightly in manner that advanced her plot


--Lick her foot! You are like her dog! Lick her foot! You are beneath her! Lick her foot!--​


changed as she advanced the sound clips to


--Lick my foot! You are my dog! Lick my foot! You are beneath me! Obey me!--​


He kept licking. After 10 more minutes of this she advanced the clip again.


--When I tell you, you will wake up. You will not be able to move or speak. You will be paralyzed. You will only move on the sound of my voice!--​


He kept licking her toes but seemed less agitated now. More deeply asleep then before. She looped this sound bite a few more minutes. Slowly the licking almost stopped. Was she loosing him or was he waiting for her next command? The pseudo hypnotist was curious about how this experiment would turn out. At the minimum, if he woke up with her foot in his face, she could laugh and she would still have won. At the best… the torment would continue! She advance the clip.


--OK. Wake up--​


He slowly opened his eyes. He looked dazed and confused. He was staring at the sole of her foot. She moved her foot to make eye contact and he looked shockingly up at her. She looked smugly back down at him. She smiled at him widely and he stared into her eyes with a mix of fear and anger! She advanced the clip He stared at her smiling face while her pre-recorded voice echoed into his ears..


--- Hello fat boy! Do you see what I’ve done to you? You’ve been licking my toes for me! Why? Because I said so. You are a rude pig but you will learn your place! Beautiful women like me use fat pigs like you to get what we want! And right now, I want to teach you manners. Do you want to keep licking my foot?--​


The clip paused. The man looked scared as he tried to talk but could not. So he shook his head “no“.


--Too bad! I want you to lick my foot and you will do whatever I tell you to do! If you understand lick the sole of my foot from the heel to the big toe. --​


Shalini giggled as the man surprised himself by extending his tongue and licking her foot, slowly. Now partially awake, he could taste the salty foot sweat. Shalini advanced the clip.


--Now, I’m going to sleep while you lick my foot for me fatty!--​


He looked up at her through her toes. She waved at him, blew him a kiss and closed her eyes. Sliding forward to get comfortable, she forcefully shoved the sole of her foot into his face.


---Lick my foot. Taste my foot! Suck my toes! Make me feel good!---​


Those words looped again and again into his ears as he lapped at her feet. He could not stop or control himself. He used his tongue to lick her toes, under her toes, the soles of her foot, the ball of her foot, he sucked her pinky toe into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. All the while he was horrified. Shalini wanted to sleep, but couldn’t. She was too excited, too impressed with herself. She watched and giggled as he debased himself.

Finally she decided she needed some rest. She advanced the clip one more time. It was simply the sound of her voice giggling. She played it in a continuous loop. The defeated business man watched as she drifted to sleep. He licked her foot, unable to move. The sound of her giggling voice echoed in his ears, she laughed at him even as she peacefully drifted to sleep. The very sleep he had so been looking forward to. The content and peaceful look on her sleeping face, the uncontrollable compulsion to lick her foot, and the continuous sound of her giggling voice was too much. He started crying. As silent tears streamed down his face, he kept licking to the sounds of her laughter.

CHAPTER 5: She slept peacefully for at least an hour. When she awoke, she was in a dazed state and wondered what felt so good on her foot. Than it all came back to her. She glanced down at her slave and saw him licking. His tongue was sore from an hour of licking. His mouth was dry and tasted like feet. Her foot was his world! The taste, the smell, the close up view!, they were all he could experience! His eyes were red from crying and his face red from shame. Shalini laughed at his expression and then retracted her now completely refreshed foot. He lay there and stared at her, still unable to move.

She smiled at him and advanced the track, finally relieving his ears of her laughter.


--Its ok now. Go back to sleep. You were a good little fat pig for me. Now go back to sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Sleeeep.--​


Slowly, the man drifted back to sleep and Shalini programmed her final thoughts.


--You will obey the sound of my voice above all else. You will do whatever I say when I call you “fatty”--​


She let this loop for the next 5 minutes as she put her shoe back on. Thensh advanced it one lat time.


-- If you understand nod yes -​


To her sheer delight, the man nodded. She stood up and took back her headphones. Packing her bag neatly she went back to sleep. When she awoke again, the plain had landed. Everyone was upset. When she asked what had happened she was told that the plane had an unexpected layover and had been grounded due to bad weather. Everyone was preparing to get off the plane. The fat business man in front of her seemed to look at her strangely. He almost seemed to remember some of what happened, but was unsure if it was a bad dream or not.

As she walked into the aisle to de-board, she casually turned to him and said.

“Excuse me sir, can you help me with my bag?”

The man returned to his rude form from before and shook his head no adding “What the hell do I look like, a bell hop?”

Shalini smiled again and said “Fatty, I said get my bag!”

Immediately, and surprising himself, the business man grabbed her things. Shalini smiled from ear to ear! This layover might actually be fun!



Shalini was wondering how this would all play out. She had read enough books on mental suggestion and the human mind to feel comfortable that she was in control… but for how long? Would it suddenly wear off? She figured “Oh what the heck! When will I ever have this chance again?” Looking at the large business man in the designer suit, she thought of all of the rich, rude men she had met in her life. He was so stereotypically … “that guy”. She knew his type all too well. He was used to being in control, having power, getting what he wanted. He had little compassion for the less fortunate and he was rude to everyone…especially women… because he could be! The more she thought about the way he had treated her and those around her, the more excited she got that she had him in this situation.

As the passengers were preparing to disembark from the plane, the captain made an announcement. “Looks like we are going to be grounded here for at least two hours folks. I think they are keeping the restaurants and bars open, but you better hurry if you want to get a seat.” The frantic crowd started to disembark with more fervor now. Pushing and getting impatient. Shalini decided to not take part in this mess so she sat back down.

“Hey fatty, put my bag down and sit down. We will wait for this mess to be over”

The business man was still very hungry and he looked angrily at her. Still, as he was programmed to do, he sat down and waited patiently. He was so confused as to why he felt compelled to obey her every whim. As the people passed by, Shalini talked to him to confirm her suspicions.

“Fatty, how much money do you make”

“Its none of your business, but..” he was driven to answer “about $350,000.” He finished speaking and looked at her as if to say “I’m way more important than you”.

Just then the stewardess was walking by and asked the two of them, “Are you going to leave? You’re free to wait on the plane but you are probably better off getting something to eat at one of the restaurants.”

The business man looked up at her and snapped, “Why would I wait on this plane with fools like you and your crew who don’t even serve any food! I should complain to your…”

“Shut up fatty!” Shalini interrupted. “Miss, I’m sorry that my friend here has been so rude to you on this trip.”

“You two are friends? ”

“Well,” Shalini smiled, “let’s just say we’ve gotten to know each other much better since then. I want to show you something”

The captain and the other crew members were about to leave the plane. “Are you going to stay on board Cara?”

She glanced toward the doors where her teammates were leaving. “Just for a minute. I’ll see you inside”. They left, leaving the stewardess, Shalini, and the business man alone.

“You see, Cara is it? You see, Cara, this fat pig of a man is a rude ass. And, well, I’ve decided to teach him to be nicer. So, without getting into details, lets just say I’ve convinced him to be REAL nice to me. You see, he will do whatever I say and in fact…” she leaned in as if to tell a secret, “he’s been licking my foot for me this whole trip.” She emphasized the word FOOT and looked mockingly at the business man.

He was confused. Wasn’t that a dream? Wasn’t that a nightmare? How did she know? He couldn’t have… he wouldn’t have…!

“I don’t know what you two crazy bitches are talking about, but this is nonsense! I will not sit here and listen to some third world little brat and some minimum wage stewardess tell me this crap.”

“Then why don’t you just leave!” shouted the stewardess, sick of his verbal abuse and starting to get angry.

“Because he can’t.” answered Shalini. At that, the business man tried to get up but found himself sitting patiently for Shalini to tell him what to do. “Now, fatty, get on your knees and apologize to this nice lady. Cara looked on skeptically and somewhat surprised as the business man knelt down in front of her and apologized. It was the strangest thing. He was doing it, but all the while he seemed so reluctant and disgusted.

Cara raised an eyebrow and said “Is this some sick fetish or something. Do you like to be submissive? I want no part of…”

“Fatty,” Shalini interrupted. “Answer the woman”

“No. I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don‘t like this at all! In fact, if its true what she said…then I must be insane because I hate feet and I just met her today!” His face looked scared

“Fatty, tell the Cara how you feel about her”

“I think she is an incompetent server who is lucky to have a job”

Cara looked down angrily. Not sure what to make of all this, but somehow certain that he was not acting of his free will.

“So, Cara. What I’m offering you is a chance to make him eat those words.” Shalini looked at Cara as the stewardess seemed to grasp the situation and smiled back. “Had a long shift today?” Shalini asked. Cara nodded. “Been on your feet much?” Cara nodded again. “Fatty, show how sorry you are by giving the nice lady a foot massage!. Cara looked down somewhat amused. Then looked around he empty plane, double checking for bystanders. She then leaned back sitting on the aisle seat arm rest and lifter her dainty leg, curious as to what was to come next. She wore the standard dark navy stockings and a ratty old pair of black flats. The business man reluctantly knelt forward and removed her shoe. He grabbed her foot in both hands and started kneading. Her foot was soaked! The stocking felt like a damp rag wrapped around her foot. He was disgusted and yet he could not stop. He massaged that foot for the next five minutes.

Cara closed her eyes as she enjoyed her free, surprise massage. Shalini asked her “Do you often deal with rude animals like this? Do you often have to grin and bear it?”

Cara looked frustrated. “Yes”

“What do you wish you could tell them?”

“I just wasn’t some respect and common courtesy. I’m not a slave! I work hard for my money!” She looked angrily down at the man massaging her foot. She grew increasingly angry at the pent up frustration she had dealt with over the years. “I work hard!” she said again. “In fact…” she grabbed him by his hair with her right hand and pulled him towards her. The business man started to pull away until Shalini scolded him. ”Fatty, don’t resist her!” With that, he stopped fighting back and allowed his head to be guided by the stewardess.

She slipped her other nyloned foot out of her shoe and pulled his hair guiding his face towards it. His eyes got wide with fear. She planted her sweaty sole on his face with the ball of her foot pressing up against his nose and her toes turning it up wards. “Smell how hard I work!” Pulling his hair and pushing her foot forward, she pushed the nose of her former tormentor deep into the base of her wiggling, sweaty nyloned toes.

Shalini, laughing at the sudden mean streak and controlling nature of the once skeptical stewardess, commanded “Fatty, breathe forcefully through your nose!”

Unable to resist , the business man breathed deeply into the base of the stewardesses toes. Knowingly, willingly, he allowed her to pull his face into her foot and bury his nose in her toes. Shalini was cracking up. Cara just kept repeating “Smell how hard I work fat boy! Smell how hard I work for, what did you call it? Minimum wage!” Her foot forcefully crammed the days funk into his nose. Her sweaty digits slid around his nostrils as he breathed in the horrid smell. To the sounds of Shalini’s laughter and the stewardesses taunts, unable to control his own body, he started to cry. No longer needing any prompting, she was now enjoying herself. “But what about my massage?” With that, still forcefully controlling his head by his hair, she started to use his face to massage her sole. Sliding his head up and down on her foot with enough force to make it ”feel good” she massaged herself with his face. Her wet nyloned foot slid around his face leaving it covered in a thin film of her foot sweat. When she was satisfied, she pushed his face away forcefully with her foot. He crumpled to the floor in a sobbing heap, crying in shame.

Cara looked at Shalini and thanked her profusely - saying that she had no idea how much pent up rage she harbored or how good it would feel to get revenge. She slipped he shoes back on and looked down at the pathetic business man. “And as for you, fat boy! When you get back on this plane you treat me with some damn respect!” Then she placed the sole of her shoe on his face and stepped on him. Pausing at the top of the motion long enough for him to feel her weight crushing his head for a few seconds, she stepped off of him and walked towards the plane door to disembark.

As the stewardess was leaving, a young woman in workers clothes came on board. “I hear there is a broken seat to fix?” The stewardess pointed towards the seat. Upon seeing the man in a heap on the floor crying, she asked “Is everything alright?”

Shalini responded, “Yes. He lost his contact and he was looking for it. Get up fatty! Stop crying, you can get another one later. Grab my bag and lets go!” Immediately, the man got up, grabbed Shalini’s bag and waited for her to walk in front of him. As the two people left the plane the worker heard Shalini command to the business man, “Heel, fatty! Stay right behind me.” The woman shook her head, amazed at how some men let beautiful women talk to them.

The airport terminal, as one might expect was a zoo! People were sitting in every available seat, sleeping on the floor, and filling the bars and restaurants. As he walked behind Shalini, he could still smell the feet of the stewardess. His mouth was still sore, from hours of licking Shalini’s foot. He was miserable. He had to speak up! “Listen you little bitch…” Shalini stopped walking. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing but you’ll never get away with…”

Shalini interrupted. “Oh no, no, no. This will never do! When you wish to speak to me from now on you will say, ‘Excuse me my princess may I please have your attention! And whenever you talk to me you must treat me with the utmost respect. Otherwise, do not address me unless I address you. Got it, fatty!”

The business man immediately shut up. He couldn’t speak. He really didn’t want to say those words. Finally, needing to speak his mind he forced the words out. With a face that looked like a child forcing down medicine he said the magic words. “Excuse me my princess, may I have your attention?”

“Much better! What is it?”

“I am not sure what is going on. What did you do to me and why are you doing it?”

“Well, fatso. You are a rude pig and I am teaching you some manners. Period. In fact, lets go spend some of your money!

With that, she led him around to the designer boutiques in the airport. While others waited for their planes to leave, Shalini shopped with the rich business man’s money. He bought her designer shoes, bags, sweaters, and jewelry. Lastly, she made him by her a comfy pair of plush flipflop/slippers and a cheap mp3 player. Each time he ran his credit card he looked like he was shot with a dart. Yet, he was unable to resist. Finally, as he walked behind her carrying all of her bags like a bellhop following a Hollywood actress, they went to the gate to check on their flight. It was still an hour behind. She made him take the bags to get checked. He needed to pay a special fee for all the new “luggage”, which of course he did. Then, they returned again to the sitting area. There was only one seat available. She walked over to it and sat down comfortably while he stood there and looked dumb. After a few minutes of reading a magazine, she said to him “Fatty, don’t just stand there! Make yourself useful.” Pointing to the floor she added, “Sit here and massage my feet.” While the people around him looked on, he sat at her feet in the packed waiting area and removed her sneakers. He started to massage her bare feet. He had never massaged anyone’s feet in his life, now he had massaged the feet of two different strangers against his conscious will. Even licked one for over an hour! As the minutes passed along in bunches, Shalini read her magazine and let her little toy massage her feet in front of the masses. Eventually, people stopped looking and just went about their business. However, it was a weird sight - this well dressed business man sitting uncomfortably at the feet of this beautiful woman in sweats. People assumed she must have been someone very important. Shalini couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of the fact that this had all started when he refused to give her back her seat! “Look at you now!” she thought.

Then, Shalini spotted an old woman. She slipped her sneakers back on and offered the woman her seat. “Come on fatty” she said as the two of them walked off to a quiet corner. “I’m not going to stand! Fatty, on you knees against the wall.” The business man dropped to his knees against the wall. “Curl up like a ball.” This was not easy for the less than limber fat man, but he drpped his but to his heels and prostrated himself on all fours. Sitting on is back, Shalini leaned against the wall and continued reading her magazine on her knew “bench”. “Are you comfortable fatso?”

“No!” he huffed. Shalini giggled and kept reading. After twenty minutes of this, the business man started to cramp up and get stiff. His arms hurt from holding her weight on his back. Eventually, his arms gave out and he dropped to his elbows. .

“Oh great! A recliner!” Shalini chuckled. She swung around so that she was sitting on his back/butt with her legs bent, following the natural decline of his torso. Then, she reached down and removed her sneakers. She grabbed his hair, lifted his head, and put her two shoes under his face. Placing her now bare feet on the back of his head, she forced his head face first down into her shoes. So, for the next twenty minutes, she relaxed on his body like a recliner and rested her feet on his balding head. Both of her feet pressed his face firmly into her right shoe. He felt her sweaty feet playing with his hair and relaxing on his head while he was forced to breath in the aroma of her sneaker. In this uncomfortable position, he sat for the next twenty minutes. Breathing deeply though her sneaker. Miserable… while she relaxed… ON HIM. Although, they were mostly out of sight, occasionally someone would walk by and stop to do a double take

Finally there was an announcement. “Boarding call for flight 879 to Wisconsin. All aboard!” Shalini calmly sat up on his back.

“Fatty, how bad would it be if you missed this flight?”

“He picked his head up out of her sneaker and said “I cannot miss this flight! I have a crucial meeting in the morning! I will lose thousands of dollars in business… possible\y millions for my company! Maybe even get fired!”

“Then beg me to let you catch the flight! Lick my toes!” She stuck her foot in his face and wiggled her toes! More shame was thrust upon him. He let his tongue run under all five of her toes slowly. This time he was awake! This time he knew what he was doing! Shalini laughed at him and he felt a new low of degradation, even with all that he had been through.

For the next few minutes he licked her toes. She wiggled them around an played with his lips. Just then the boarding call sounded again! Panicking now, he licked with more fervor.

Then he stopped licking. “Excuse me my princes, may I have your attention?”

“What is it fatty?”

“I really have to go to the men’s room!”

“How badly?”

“Very badly!”

Shalini reached in her bag, the one bag she had not forced him to re-check at a price. She pulled out the fluffy slippers she had bought with his money and put them on. Laughing she said, “Ok. Count to 10,000 using 1 Mississippi, 2 Mississippi, and then you can get up and go to the bathroom and catch the plane!”

“Final boarding call for flight 879 to Wisconsin! Everyone needs to board now!”

Tears welled up in his eyes! “I’ll never make it!”

“Then you better start counting!” Shalini laughed. With that she placed a slippered foot on his head and forced his face back down into her sneaker. “When you are done counting I will release you from my control. The second you finish counting, you are free Fatty!”

Breathing into her shoe from his prone position, sore and cramping from being her chair, she heard him start mumbling into her sneaker.

Shalini started cracking up. “That’s why I made you buy me these slippers fatso! So I could leave you my old sneakers as a present to remember me by! I know you love the smell of my feet!” Then she went into her bag again and pulled out the very cheap MP3 player and cheap headset she had him buy. She wasn’t going to leave her phone or her great headset! But she quickly transferred her sound file and then put the mp3 player on the ground by his head. She pressed play and put the headset on him. It was her “laugh track” the sound of her giggling voice that she had recorded on the plane. He was forced to kneel there with his face in her shoe and listen to her laughter loop in his ears.

The business man knelt there, talking into her shoe, unable to move as Shalini walked off laughing. Turning around, she saw his big, fat butt just sitting there like a drum. She couldn’t resist. She turned around and wound up, delivering a hard swift kick to his backside. He almost lost control and fell, but did not. The final insult as she walked away.

Shalini boarded the plane and immediately fell asleep. This day had been lke a dream come true, the chance to put a rude bum in his place! She had surprised herself with how far she was capable of taking it, had also discovered a new strength within herself.

As the plane took off, Shalini slept comfortably. Meanwhile, still kneeling with his face in her shoe… her “present”, the business man was only up to about 1,500 when the plane took off. He was only at about 3,000 when he finally lost the war with his bladder. Having missed his plane, having been humiliated and forced to willingly stoop to new lows, he now continued to kneel with his face in her shoe and wet himself. The warm fluid spread through his expensive suit pants as he listened to her laughing at him. Even as she flew away never to see him again… he endured her laughter. He took a deep breath in frustration, and by default inhaled her foot funk again… and then kept counting in shame.

Last edited by jahampanah; 12-Aug-18 at 13:44.
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  #103  
Old 14-Aug-18, 18:54
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

This is supposed to be a "true experience" from about 10 years back.


Story Name: Goddess Shruti
Author: [Only Registered Users Can See LinksClick Here To Register]


Hi. this incident took place years ago in New Delhi, India. There was this girl 3 years senior to me. Her name was Shruti. The whole school used to drool over her. Believe me she was very, very beautiful. At school when I used to see her, I never got chance to see her bare feet. but I beleived her feet would have been as sexy as she herself was. The very thought of having her sexy feet all over me drove me crazy. Many a times she'd caught me staring at her shoes and my face used to go red.

She used to stay in the school hostel. We had a common entrance (boys and girls hostel). Once I was going for dinner I saw her sitting on the stairs alone, probably waiting for some friend to come. But there was no one there at that time. As usual i glanced at her feet. And this time to my luck she was wearing no shoes. Completely bare foot. What should have been a normal glance turned into a stare. I just couldn't stop myself but look at those perfect so beautiful pair of feet. Her feet were milky white and would've been a perfect size 7. Her toes were painted light green (my favourite) and looked amazing. My heart stopped. Not to my surprise, when I looked up she'd caught me again.

"You want them. don't you?" she asked. I was getting red and just couldn't speak. " I've noticed you many times staring at my feet. You want them very badly, dont you?".

"uuuuhh..... yessss..". was all I could say.

"Come over here Bond". I went to her a bit surprised and a little hesitant. She signaled me to get down on my knees with her gorgeous right hand. I bent down. I didn't know what she had in her mind and I didn't care. All I knew was that I wanted those feet very badly. Then came the magical words," you can start by licking the floor beneath my feet."

She moved her feet a little and I began to lick the spot on the floor where her feet had been and she rested her feet on my shoulders. This was enough to give me a hard on. My cock was forcing itself out of my pyjamas. Slowly she began to rub her feet on the side of my face. She raised my face up with her feet and gently inserted her big toe in my mouth and let me have a taste of it. It was delicious and now I wanted it even more.

She took her big toe out of my mouth and began smiling. "I want you to suck each and every toe of mine and in between and lick my soles clean" (her soles were a bit dirty as she was bare feet). I couldn't believe what was happening. The most gorgeous girl of the school was asking me to suck her toes. It was like a dream come true. I was in heaven. Anyways i started following her command as a slave and raised her foot to my mouth with my hands and started licking her soles first. The taste was amazing. Better than anything I ever had in my life. I slowly licked her soles from her heels and worked my way upto her toes and again to her heels. Then I started sucking her toes. beginning with the smallest one i carefully and gently sucked each toe of her foot and licked her insteps. This was too much for me . I had alredy cummed in my pyjamas. Then i started with the other foot and repeated the same.

After this she stood up and ordered me to lay down on my back. I obeyed my goddess. She stood on my face with all her weight. The feeling of having such sexy feet on my face were killing me.

"Have you ever experienced this before Bond?" she asked.

"No" I replied as she moved down on my chest.

She walked for about 5 minutes and then came down. She'd noticed my cock's position so asked me to get my pyjamas down. Without any fear of somebody might come I responded. It was my day. This was awesome, I shall never forget it. She then asked me to get up as we heard someone coming.

I thanked her for all she did for me. I told her how i wanted her feet and never wanted this moment to end. To this she replied, "Bond, you are deserving of my feet and we shall meet again so that you can worship me. Henceforth you will call me Goddess Shruti and I shall call you slave. You will never talk to me in public. But when we meet in person you will get on your knees and show respect by planting a good big kiss on my shoes."

"Yes Mistress", I replied. I kissed her toes once again and then she left.

After that day, we used to meet once in 2-3 days and she let me worship her feet. Sometimes she used to bring with herself her female friends and I used to worship their feet as well. This continued for 2 years till she finished her schooling there.
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Old 16-Aug-18, 08:21
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Trip With The Seniors
Author: Wingspan


Part 1: The Party

It was almost summer, and Lilly Carlton threw a party to celebrate. We had become really good friends from the spring musical, and we talked often. She even invited me over to her house sometimes to help her with math because we were studying pretty much the same thing, or she invited me to fix her computer or massage her feet sometimes. She loved foot massages, and whenever she called or texted me I would walk over there (it was only about five blocks to her house) and she would let me in and sit on the couch. I would get the footstool and put it in front of her, and she would kick off her flip flops and put her beautiful feet up. I would get down on my knees and massage her feet while she watched TV or called her friend or something. It was fun when it happened, and she always rewarded me with a light kiss on the cheek and a big hug saying “You’re the best! I always know I can count on you!” It was a good agreement.

Anyway, she had a party and invited me. I would be the only freshman there, but I knew most all of the seniors, juniors, and sophomores going to it wouldn’t be too awkward. I walked over there at 7 pm. It was already pretty loud and the party was raging. I kept brushing past a bunch of people I knew, and I gave a short “Hey, how’s it going!” but hurried on to find Lilly.

Eventually I found her sitting on the couch in her pool room with her closest girlfriends. She had obviously just been crying. I was about to leave, but she called me back.

“Alex! Come over here.”

I went over to her and stood in front of Lilly and her friends sitting around her, comforting her. I realized I had unconsciously stood up straight and put my hands behind by back, as if awaiting my orders from her. I was becoming obedient.

“Thanks for coming” she said, still audibly holding back tears “I’m upset.”

“May I ask why? You don’t have to tell me if-”

“No, it’s okay. Tell him Jessie.”

Jessie Cohen, a gorgeous blonde who also goes to our school and with whom I am also quite good friends with, turned to me.

“Adam broke up with her.”

With this said, Lilly went back to some crying, but it shortly abated.

“Well, Alex, you always cheer me up some. Could you rub my feet or something?”

All the girls’ eyes turned to me. Jessie Cohen, Kathy Carter and Skyler Percy’s eyes all anticipated whether I would accept Lilly’s request. Obviously I did, and I knelt in front of them.

Lilly was wearing shiny black pumps, and as I looked at them my eyes began to travel up her beautiful svelte leg, which she raised and extended to me so her foot could rest in my hand.

As I knelt before her, I slid Lilly Carlton’s shoe off her beautiful, size 8 foot and placed it on the floor. I did the same for her other foot. Then I looked up at Lilly, who smiled gratefully, and I began to massage the sole of her foot.

I could feel her whole body relax as she sighed and leaned back, enjoying the foot massage I was giving her. After about ten minutes, she thrust her other foot forward, and I took it and began to rub it firmly, making sure my thumbs kneaded the ball and arch of her beautiful foot just so it was firm but not in the least painful. Lilly had frequently praised my massage skills, and repeated it now.

Finally, after about forty-five minutes of massaging Lilly Carlton’s feet, she felt better, and stood up. She pulled me up off my knees and gave me a huge hug. Then she whispered in my ear:

“Come upstairs at 1, okay? I have something to talk to you about.”

With that, Lilly and her girlfriends rejoined the party. I looked at my watch. It was just about midnight. In an hour, I would find out just what Lilly had in store for me, which I suspected would involve a lot of feet.





Part 2: After The Party

Once people began to leave (some complained, but Lilly made them go), I was eager to hear what Lilly wanted me for. Lilly came into the living room, still kind of littered with cups and stuff, and sat down. Jessie sat next to her on the sofa, Skyler sat in this big armchair, and Kathy sat in a third cushioned chair. I sat on the floor.

“Now, Alex” started Lilly “for a week in the early summer, we are taking a trip to Los Angeles. We want you to come with us.”

I was amazed at this. I trip with four hot senior girls? Definitely!

“You may be wondering why,” she continued.

I hadn’t been for some reason, probably because I was so excited.

“Well, see, I’ve seen that you don’t mind serving me from time to time, right?”

I nodded, as one would to a higher authority.

“Well, we need a servant kind of, to take care of us when we’re there. Are you up to that?”

I nodded, and then asked “What would it entail?”

Jessie interrupted. “You would probably carry our stuff, hold our bags, do laundry or something. Get us drinks, hail a taxi, and maybe give us massages or something after a long day.”

Kathy added “God knows I’m gonna need a foot rub at the end of the day.”

“So are you up to it? We’d pay for you, but you would be our servant. Totally.”

“Our slave, basically” added Jessie.

My eyes brightened at her mention of this. I could manage that.

“Do you have a foot fetish or something?”

I looked over at Jessie, who had asked me this. I looked back at Lilly for some
help.

“Be honest” she said.

I turned back to Jessie.

“Yeah, kind of.”

She laughed. “Let me try this out. Come over here.”

I crawled to where her finger was pointing and knelt in front of her. She really was stunningly beautiful, and had a commanding goddess-like presence. She raised her bare foot to my face.

“Kiss my foot then.”

I hesitated for a second, but then took her hovering foot and brought my lips to the sole, kissing Jessie Cohen’s soft foot. She laughed with pleasure.

“This is going to be an awesome trip” she said.

The other girls joined in, as I knelt there, kissing my new mistress’s feet.




Part 3: The Hotel

It was just after noon when the five of us arrived at the airport. We had talked over the flight, but mostly I had stayed to myself while the girls chatted. Every so often they would turn to me and tell me to get them something, or hold something, or they would laugh at me while they brainstormed things for me to do. It was mostly in jest, but they were still obviously treating me as a servant.

When they got the rental car, and Jessie drove us to the hotel, the girls walked in and I was left to take care of the luggage. A bellboy helped me, thank God.

By the time I actually got into the hotel, they had gone upstairs to the huge suite the girls had rented. The lady behind the desk gave me a key and pointed to where they had gone.

I opened the door to the room to find a lovely suite fit for ten people, with a bar and a giant TV and beautiful sofas surrounding a table, which all the girls had their feet up on.

“There he is!” yelled Skyler, and all heads turned to me.

Jessie immediately grabbed her list of chores in her hand. “Come down here, boy.”

I stood in front of them.

Jessie looked up at me dauntingly. “Kneel, slave.”

I knelt in front of her.

“Now, while I read the rules and your first list of chores, why don’t you take off our shoes and massage our feet? Now, slave.”

I crawled towards Jessie and got low on my knees so I could work off her shoes to expose her mildly smelly (but still beautiful) feet. She paid her slave no attention as she giggled with the girls about all the fun stuff they were going to do. I took off her other shoe and crawled in front of Skyler.

Skyler stuck out her foot, clad in stylish flats, and I gently slid off her shoe to expose her beautiful small foot, equipped with some stink from the walk and warm weather. I did the same for Kathy and Lilly. Jessie, flexing her now bare toes, began to read.

“First, you will take off our shoes and massage our feet. You’re already on that. Then, you will arrange our rooms as we tell you to so they’re perfectly how we want them. Then you shall unpack our suitcases and put everything neatly into drawers or closets. You shall then come back here and worship us or something. The rest will be decided later. I think it’s time I got my foot massage.”

She said this as I took off Lilly’s second shoe. Lilly raised her beautiful leg so her foot was under my mouth, and I planted one kiss on it. She giggled and put it back down.

“Jessie told you to massage her feet! Go to it, boy!” Lilly pointed for me to return to Jessie. I went over to her, picked up her foot, and massaged it as best I could. As I ran my hands over her smooth soft soles and worked out any tension, she read the rules.

“No shit. Basically that means don’t screw around or act stupid. You have to be on your best behavior. We’re paying quite a bit of money for you to come out here and serve us, so you better pay it back in servitude. Harder on my toes.”

I pressed harder on Jessie’s toes as I rubbed them.

“Also, whenever we give you an order, say yes ma’am, or yes Miss whatever. Got it?”

“Yes Miss Jessie.”

“That’s right. Also whenever you greet us, kneel immediately and kiss our feet if we tell you to. We probably will. My other foot now.”

She stuck out her other foot, and I began to rub her left foot.

“When it comes to our feet, you will do whatever we tell you to. That includes sucking toes, and licking feet. Got it?”

“Yes, Miss Jessie.”

Skyler suddenly joined in, “But we won’t make you lick feet. That’s too gross.”

Kathy nodded her head and Lilly shrugged as if she really didn’t care.

Jessie objected, “But he’s our slave! We can do whatever we want with him.”

Skyler continued. “Hey, kissing’s fine, but let’s leave out licking.”

Jessie, annoyed, turned back to me.

“Kiss it.”

I kissed her sole.

“Good slave. Also we may order you to do other things, like a manicure or pedicure, or get us a drink, or go out and buy something, or be a footrest. You will do this without question, or you may be punished.”

I stopped the massage for a second and looked at her.

“Punished, ma’am?”

“It probably won’t be too bad, but we may make you do something more humiliating like strip or dance for us or kiss our ass.”

“What?”

“If you are insolent, you’ll kiss our ass. You heard me. You’ll get down on your knees, and put your lips on my butt, to show you’re our true slave.”

I looked at the others in surprise. They were all watching intently, and smirking. I found it ironic how they thought licking their feet was too gross but kissing their asses wasn’t. I would much rather lick their feet than kiss their ass. In fact I was a bit disappointed they weren’t making me lick their soles. But I had to obey whatever they said. They knew I was totally going to submit to them. I was their slave. They wouldn’t let me forget that.

I put down Jessie’s foot, and moved to Skyler, who giggled as I began to rub her foot.

After twenty minutes, I moved to Kathy, who stuck out both her feet.

“Rub both. Use two hands.”

I rested both her fairly big, sexy feet on my lap and used the thumbs on both hands to rub her feet up and down. She had a nice, tender sole, which scrunched when I rubbed up and down it. She wiggled her toes every so often when she relaxed.

I moved on to Lilly eventually. I massaged her feet for about ten minutes, and then she withdrew her foot and raised it to my mouth. Without a word, she pried my mouth open with her dexterous beautiful toes and slid her foot into my mouth. I just sat there, kneeling, with her foot just resting in my mouth. Her toes wiggled every so often as well, and they ticked my tongue, which snaked over her foot cautiously. She then withdrew that foot but quickly replaced it with her other. I could see even she was seeing me as their lowly slave, willing and bound to do anything ordered of him.

“Well” said Lilly, as she took out her foot from my mouth and I stood, awaiting further orders, “You’re getting off easy today. You have a pretty short list. I think you should thank us for that.”

I turned to face all of the girls. “Thank you so much for letting me have such a short list of chores for today, ma’ams.”

They all laughed at me. I was taken aback.

Kathy piped up.

“When we tell you to thank us, you will do it properly, like a slave would.”

I was still lost. Lilly helped me.

“Get down on your knees and kiss our feet so you can show us your gratitude!”

I immediately got down on my knees and kissed Lilly’s foot over and over, expressing my gratitude and apologizing for my ignorance.

“Thank you, thank you, ma’am! I am sorry for my ignorance, I kiss your feet to show I am your true obedient slave!”

“Not just me, boy.” Lilly gestured to her friends, and I hurried to Kathy and kissed her feet over and over and over, saying the same thing. I continued to Skyler, kissing and kissing, digging myself into the floor to show my obedience. I came to Jessie, who kept her foot on the ground so I could kiss the top and toes, and then she raised her foot and put it on my cheek, while my other cheek was pressed against the floor.

With Jessie Cohen’s bare foot resting on my face, keeping me down in my servile position, I knew this week was going to be without limits. These girls were going to make me into their slave, as much as they could. I just stayed down, and let Jessie Cohen use my face as her footrest.

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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Trip With The Seniors
Author: Wingspan


Part 4: The Next Morning

I had worshipped the girls’ feet for a few more hours that night. They had watched a movie that evening and I had knelt in front of them, massaging their feet when ordered and fetching drinks and snacks for them. Finally they decided to go to bed, but not before making me kiss the soles of each of their feet and thank them for letting me be their foot slave.

In the night I slept on the couch until about 6:30 AM when my alarm went off and I went to do my morning chores. I cleaned the room, scrubbed the floors, and cleaned the girls’ shoes with some polish. About an hour later I went to make the girls some breakfast. Once it was made and ready to be served, I set to the task of waking my mistresses up. They had each had specific instructions on how they were to be woken up.

Jessie liked to have her feet massaged in the morning so when I woke her up I knelt at the foot of her bed and massaged her beautiful soles until she awoke. She drowsily got up and had me fetch her slippers. She sat on the side of the bed and I knelt in front of her. She raised her beautiful foot to my hands and I slipped her slipper on. I repeated this for the other foot and she smiled, patted my head and walked to the kitchen. Then I went to Kathy. Jessie and Kathy were sharing a room and slept in the same bed.

I had been instructed to kiss her soles until she awoke so I nestled my head under the covers to find her feet. When I did I began to kiss them, up and down the sole, on her toes, her ankles, and her heel. Kathy must have been a little startled because soon after I started kissing her foot kicked and got me right in the face. She sat up suddenly and apologized but then she realized it was me, her slave.

“I don’t need to apologize to you, slave. In fact, apologize to me for startling me!”

“But you told me to wake you up like that. I was just doing what you said”

She cut me off. “Are you talking back to me, slave?”

“I’m sorry Miss Kathy. And I’m sorry for startling you.”

“Never talk back. Kiss my foot and beg me not to punish you.”

I was scared. I instantly lowered my head and kissed and kissed. I really worshipped that foot like my life depended on it. Finally she relented and told me to put her slippers on her feet, which I did, and she got up and walked to the kitchen to join Jessie. I made a mental note to never talk back.

I went to Lilly and Skyler’s room next and knelt at the foot of the bed. Their beautiful soles stuck out from the sheets. Maybe they had done that intentionally so I could wake them up like they had instructed me. I did Skyler first. I moved to her plump soles and began to massage them with my nose, like she had commanded. This was a strange way to wake her up I thought but if she says it, I must obey. Soon she was awake and again I fetched slippers and put them on a beautiful girl’s feet and again she left for the kitchen. Now just Lilly remained.

I had been instructed to just stick my nose in her toes and massage her foot with my hands until she awoke. I moved close to her beautiful tan foot and daintily inserted my nose in between her perfect toes. Then I reached my hands up and began to gently rub her soles. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, inhaling her foot scent and warming her foot with my mouth simultaneously. She had such beautiful feet.

It had always been a fantasy of mine to lick a beautiful girl’s sole. Especially Lilly. I had gotten close once when I was massaging her feet at her house and she had said she her feet were dirty and she wished someone would clean them. I jokingly stuck my tongue out to lick her feet and I was really about to when she told me to forget about it. But now I had an opportunity.

Lilly was a deep sleeper. It would take more than a lick of the feet to wake her up, so I could sneak some quick tongue action in. So as I was massaging and sniffing, my tongue snaked out and slowly went up her sole. I closed my eyes and enjoyed it. It was heavenly. And she stayed asleep!

I was sure I had gotten away with it when I saw Jessie standing in the door. She had an evil grin on her face. I froze in place, stupidly, because my tongue was still out, in contact with sleeping Lilly’s sole. Jessie then yelled “Lilly!”

Lilly sat up at once and saw me with my tongue on her foot. Her eyes widened.

“The slave was licking your foot, Lilly. Did you order him to do that?” Jessie asked.

“No. I never ordered him to do that.”

Jessie laughed. “Hey Sky, Kathy, come in here. Don’t you dare move, footboy.”

So I stayed on my knees at Lilly’s feet, my tongue frozen still in the act of caressing her sole.

Skyler and Kathy entered and both gasped.

Jessie continued, “Turns out our foot slave likes licking feet. Does this mean foot licking is still off limits?” She looked at her three friends. Lilly spoke first.

“Jessie, if he does it on his own, without even our permission, we should make him do it every day. Coming home after walking around in flip-flops, making our foot slave lick the dirt off our bare feet, I would love that. Wouldn’t you, Sky? Wouldn’t you, Kathy?”

Kathy then said “Hell yeah, Lilly. I will make him suck the dirt off my feet and love every second of it.”

This was getting serious. I was becoming a bit nervous. The girls then turned to Skyler, who had a puzzled expression on her face.

“You know what,” Sky finally said, “Make the bitch lick our feet. I don’t care what you do to him. He wants his mouth full of foot dirt, so be it.”

The other girls cheered and Lilly got out of bed. I was too shocked to move, so my tongue stayed out.

“What a loser, “ Jessie said, laughing at me still kneeling, “we’re going to have so much fun on this trip.”

The three girls in the doorway went to the kitchen to have breakfast. Lilly put on her slippers and stood in front of me. She stuck out her finger and pushed my tongue back in my mouth. Then she patted me on the head, smiled, and walked out of the room.



Part 5: The Day Continues

For the rest of that morning I was told to go under the table and lick the girls’ feet clean. First I got on my hands and knees in front of Jessie and licked her
beautiful feet, up and down the sole like a dog. The rest of the girls put their feet all over my slave body and they all laughed at how low I was to be licking these mistresses’ feet clean.

I moved on to Kathy, who actually rammed her toes into my mouth and told me to suck on them, which I did for a while until she pulled out and ordered me to lick her soles as well. I obliged.

I wasn’t unhappy with the way I was being treated, but I was again a bit nervous. What if these girls made me do more serious, more humiliating things? I decided to think about that later and focus on licking feet right now.

When I crawled to Skyler’s feet she stuck her plump foot in my face and ordered me to kiss, which I did. I pressed my lips to her sole, worshipping my mistress’s lovely foot. Then she ordered me to just hold her toes in my mouth. So I stayed there, on my hands and knees under the table, just resting her little toes in my slave mouth. She wiggled them around and brushed against my tongue. She giggled and began pushing her foot deeper into her slave’s mouth. Finally she relented and just rubbed her feet all over my face.

Finally I came to Lilly, who suggested that because the girls were done with breakfast that they adjourn to the TV room. So they did, and I crawled from under the table and began clearing the plates but Lilly called to me.

"Slave! Handle that later. Come attend to my divine feet.”

So I stopped my chores and went and knelt in front of Lilly Carlton. She continued: “So, foot bitch, I liked what my friends were doing with you. Suck my toes, now.”

She raised her divine foot to my face and I positioned myself so I could slide her lovely toes into my waiting mouth. They tasted heavenly. While I knelt and sucked on her feet, Lilly began to smile and push her foot deeper into my mouth, like Skyler had. After she had pushed it far in, I almost began to choke. I suddenly did and my head drew back quickly, dropping her toes out of my mouth.

“Oh no, bitch, you never take my foot out of your slave mouth.”

She immediately slapped me hard across the face so I almost fell to the floor. When I regained my balance she rammed her toes right back into my open mouth but now she leaned forward and grabbed the back of my head with her hand. She began pushing my face down on her foot, harder and harder until I was really choking.

“That’s right bitch,” she laughed at me, “suck my toes. Suck them like you’re giving my feet a blowjob. Harder. That’s it bitch.”

It really felt like I was giving her foot a blowjob now. She began pushing my head up and down her foot faster and faster. Finally she stopped and replaced the foot I was sucking with her other foot, which she proceeded to ram my face down on, same as before. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the other girls laughing at my ordeal, especially Jessie, who I was seeing as more and more sadistic.

Eventually it was too much for Jessie and she got up and stood behind me.

“Here, let me, Lilly.”

Lilly laughed. “Thanks, girlfriend!”

Then Lilly leaned back and relaxed while Jessie grabbed my hair and chin and forced my head down on Lilly’s foot, even harder than Lilly had done. This was real agony and thankfully eventually Jessie got tired and flopped back on the couch. Lilly removed her foot from my mouth and wiped it on my face as Jessie spoke.

“That was tiring. You know what I could go for right now? A foot blowjob.”

Lilly smirked and grabbed my face. “How convenient, because this little foot bitch right here gives great foot blowjobs! Show her, slave.”

So Lilly got up and dragged my head over to Jessie’s foot. Jessie slid her toes into my mouth, and so began the same ordeal. Lilly slammed my mouth down over and over on Jessie’s beautiful smooth toes, which don’t get me wrong I loved having in my mouth, but I had never wanted to be forced like this. There was something too sadistic in it, and too natural. These girls really treated me like I was nothing but a toy, to be used and abused at their leisure. But then again, isn’t that what I signed up for?

I didn’t have to give many more foot blowjobs that morning. Kathy and Skyler both passed. They just made me kiss and massage their feet while they all watched TV and planned out what they would do that day. They decided on shopping.

Soon they all left, but not before leaving a huge list of chores. They had changed a few rules. I was not to clean their shoes with polish any more, but with my tongue. Jessie, when I had knelt in front of her and put on her leather ankle boots, had made me preview what cleaning their shoes would entail. I began licking the sides of her shoe, and even the sole. She laughed and gave me a kiss on the forehead and a light kick in the face.

“I love having a slave!” she had announced, before getting her things and joining the other girls to leave the room. I was left alone with my chores.

I did all of them. I cleaned their room, washed their clothes, scrubbed the floors and counters, arranged their closets a bit, and of course I licked their shoes clean. They each had these flip flops which they expected spotless. Jessie’s had quite a bit of gum on the sole. I was almost sure she had stepped in some on purpose for me to clean up, no matter how I did it. But now it was even more degrading. But not as degrading as what happened when they all returned late that evening.



Part 6: Guests

After I had licked clean Skyler’s last high heel, and replaced it in her closet, I relaxed for a second. I surveyed the room, which was now shining and clean from my meticulous cleanse. I looked at the time. It was already evening, and the girls might be back soon, or maybe late. I didn’t know, but they had been very clear that I better be kneeling at the door when they get back, mouth open and tongue out and ready to lick their shoes and the soles of their feet clean. Jessie had told me if I wasn’t doing exactly what they had ordered when they returned they would beat me or make me do very, very degrading things. Part of me wanted to disobey, if only to discover what those things would be, but I knew it would be too painful or disgusting, especially if Jessie came up with it.

I knelt at the front door. I may as well be ready. That was a mistake, as hours later, around 10:00, I was still there. I stood up and watched TV for a little. At every sound I would jump and look about wildly in case they were unlocking the door. Eventually it got very late, 12:30 am, so I just knelt there and waited.

Around 1:00, the door handle wiggled. I had gone into a bit of a daze in my immense tiredness, (I had had barely any time to sleep this whole trip!), and now I was jolted fully awake. The first thing I noticed out of the ordinary was the noise. The four girls on their own made a lot of noise as they chatted and laughed quite loudly all the time, but this was much louder. It was like there was a mob of people outside. I heard tons of giggles and chatter. The door finally opened and I saw the source.

Jessie stood in the doorway, holding her leather boots, her bare feet gripping the carpeted floor. Lilly, Skyler, and Kathy were with her, and about ten other girls as well. My jaw would have dropped open if I didn’t have to keep it open anyway. All the girls started laughing even louder at this slave on his knees, mouth wide open for his mistresses’ foot dirt. They were all very obviously drunk. I wondered how they had made it back from whatever party or dance club they had gone to. They were all too hammered to drive without incident. But that was a later conversation.

Now Jessie just ordered me to “Begin.”

“What does that mean?!” one of the girls asked. She was very attractive, with tan skin and black long hair. Her eyes were all hazy like she had taken way too much of something earlier that night. I snuck a look at her feet, which were bare, as she was holding a pair of three inch heels in her hand. She had incredibly attractive feet, and I had no doubt I would be ‘getting to know’ those by the end of tonight.

Jessie turned to her. “Watch.”

And miraculously without falling over, she lifted her bare beautiful foot to my face. I now noticed her entire sole had darkened from dirt. They must have walked blocks with no shoes. This was really disgusting. But I wanted to serve these girls, I loved it so much, so my tongue got to work on Jessie Cohen’s sole.

I began licking her dirty foot. Most of the guest girls began groaning in disgust, as I was aching to do. It was truly disgusting. Bits of dirt began sticking to my tongue and lips as my head slowly went up Jessie’s sole over and over. And so began a night where my mouth was constantly filled with feet.

It was now 2:30 am. Most of the girls were asleep, some I had already served and some I had not yet. I was hesitant to serve the girls I hadn’t attended to yet if they were asleep, because even though I may have licked their feet and worshipped them to a perfectly acceptable degree, I couldn’t prove it and they might make me do it again.

I should explain what happened in the interim. After my slavery and willingness to lick dirty feet was established, Jessie had drunkenly dragged me by the hair behind her and finally positioned me in front of the couch, where she sat and invited all the other girls to join her. They all filed in and sat in various places. Including my four mistresses, there were now fourteen girls in there, all of whom I would serve that night. I got some drinks and food for them, and then quickly reassumed my role as total foot slave. I was ordered to serve each girl. Everyone could change what they wanted, but what I was guaranteed to do for every single pair of feet was lick them completely clean, kiss them for as long as wanted, massage them, and finally smell and suck the toes. So I did this for each girl.

They were all quite attractive girls, thank God. I would have had a difficult time if they’d made me serve some butt ugly women but the girls had brought back some very fine girls. Some had very dirty feet, others quite clean. But the ones with clean feet just made me suck on their toes and once Jessie brought up the foot-blowjob idea again, then I started giving a lot of those. My mouth and throat were sore quite quickly, which didn’t mean the girls let up on me at all.

I served twenty-eight feet, sucked 140 toes, and was 100% sore by the end of this ordeal. The girls began using me as furniture, resting their now clean feet on my back and on my face, sitting on my shoulders and sometimes my head, and putting cups and plates on my body. One girl, Hannah, was seriously cruel. She made me suck her toes and give her a foot-bj, and she had really forced her toes deep into my mouth, almost making me vomit. This gag reflex had ticked her off so much that she had stood up and shoved my face in to the back of her jeans and made me take her fart directly to the face. She laughed and laughed while I reeled in horror, but she did not relent. She put a cup on my neck and said that if it fell off I was a dead man. I did a pretty great job holding it steady until she got bored and kicked me in the head. Of course the cup fell off, spilling vodka on the floor. She had grabbed my hair and forced my face to the ground.

“Look at the mess you’ve made, stupid slave! Lick it up like the worthless dog you are.”

She actually pulled my tongue out of my mouth and made me lick the carpet. Then she pulled my face back up to her and inserted two of her long toes into my nose. Then she maneuvered her other foot into my mouth and held her feet there. She was suffocating me! I started slightly twitching my head to show she had to stop but she just laughed. Finally, when I was really choking she let up. Two minutes later she passed out and I didn’t hear from her the rest of the night.

My mistresses for the most part sat back and let their guests use me. They all got their feet worshipped as well, but otherwise they just encouraged other girls with suggestions on how to get a funny reaction or maximum humiliation out of me. Lilly told this one girl Jennie about how funny I had looked when she had caught me licking her foot. So Jennie, who looked like Jessica Alba, forced me to freeze in place, kneeling at her feet with my tongue caressing her sole. Then she had just stuck her big toe in my mouth and told me to suck it like a cock. So my head went up and down, up and down, like I had seen in porn movies. Eventually Skyler, who had joined the conversation, and whom I had previously thought to be rather nice and kind of against being cruel to me, stood up, walked behind me, grabbed my hair and chin, and began pushing my head down so Jennie’s toe moved into my throat as far as it could go. The girls laughed so much about their little toe sucking slave.

Eventually they got tired. They all stuck out their feet as I knelt in the center of all of them and I was ordered to move around the circle and kiss each girls’ feet at least three times. I gave each foot a kiss as I went in circles, and I was really worn out by the end of it. After that the girls went to sleep. I was left to clean everything up, and if I woke any of them up, there would be dire consequences …
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Old 18-Aug-18, 02:31
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Trip With The Seniors
Author: Wingspan

Part 7: Making Money

While the girls were passed out, and I was sent to do my chores, I had slipped on some drink a girl had spilled, and I made a loud noise. Jessie’s head shot up in shock and her eyes quickly narrowed when she saw me on the ground. She stood up, walked over to me, careful not to wake up the other girls, and slapped me hard. She didn’t say anything, she just hit me and then spit on my face. I got low and kissed her feet apologetically, but she kicked me away, and started really hitting me. She finally rubbed her eyes and laid back on the couch, never having uttered a word. With eyes closed, Jessie stuck her feet straight out and wiggled her ankles when I didn’t respond quickly enough. I got on my hands and knees and served as her footrest until she fell asleep. Once she was good and passed out, I tenderly moved her lovely soles off my shoulders and continued my chores, quieter than ever.

In the morning, almost afternoon, all the girls had risen and I made them breakfast and greeted them each with a foot kiss and lick. Soon the guests left, and as they went out the door, I knelt and kissed all of their feet, right on the sole. Then I rejoined Jessie, Lilly, Kathy and Skyler, who were sitting on the couch.

I must say the room looked fantastic considering the pigsty it had turned into last night. But I was good maid, and I cleaned everything up very well. But I got no comments or compliments. They just moved on to my next task.

I knelt in front of my mistresses and awaited orders. Jessie snapped her fingers, pantomimed a rubbing motion, and pointed to her foot. I moved to her and got to work massaging her perfect feet.

“Now slave,” Jessie began, “we spent a buttload of money last night. Drinks, taxi, everything. Bottom line is we need money, and as we have a slave to do whatever we say, you will get us money. I don’t care what you do, just get us money fast.”

Lilly piped up then, “Actually I had an idea. Slave, you’re pretty decent at foot massages, and the working women of the city would undoubtedly appreciate a foot rub at the end of a long day. How about you sell foot rubs? On the street or something.”

The other girls had loved this idea, and after a morning of pretty basic foot worship, we got a bunch of things together and set up my station just outside the hotel. I had a little area, with a chair and oils and such. The girls each demonstrated by sitting in the chair and ordering me to give them a foot massage, and I slavishly rubbed their feet for a while, with whatever lotion or oil they desired. They deemed me open for business and I braced myself. I was selling my talents and giving the money to my superiors. I felt like a used and abused prostitute. But I’m sure the girls would have just told me I was less than a prostitute, I’m just a slave, I exist to serve and worship women’s feet and that is what I will do on this street.

Business was surprisingly booming. Many women paid me good money for my services. They would sit in the chair and I would kneel, take off their shoes, and massage their feet for a good twenty minutes. They would pay me $10 for 20 minutes, $5 for ten more minutes and so on. I was mainly able to snag tourists because they were the fastest to trust the guy on the side of the street giving out foot rubs for money.

Many times tourist groups would pass by and I would offer them foot rubs and the entire group would accept, and they would line up and I would give them all foot rubs. I rubbed big feet and small feet, I pampered sweaty soles and smelly toes, and gave at least sixty women foot rubs that first day. I got plenty of money from working all day, and I knew my mistresses would be proud of me. They turned up around 11 at night. I was massaging this high school girl’s feet, while her friend who I’d already taken care of stood next her, waiting patiently and laughing at how low my job was. As my mistresses approached, they began joking with these girls about how pathetic I was and Jessie explained just what I was to them. Then the high school girls had made me kiss their toes and bow down to them before they left. And they just dropped the money they owed on the pavement for me to pick up. My mistresses took me back to the hotel room and I knelt on the floor in front of them.

“I made good money for you today, my mistresses.” I showed them the over $800 I had made. I was ordered to put it in my mouth and pay them their money like a dog. I crawled to Kathy’s outstretched hand and deposited the money in it. I gave her hand a quick kiss, and then kissed all of my mistresses’ feet while they counted it out.

“Oh this is the life girls” Jessie sat back and relaxed while her money was counted, “We just make this slave do a job and reap the rewards. He deserves to serve us with his life and livelihood, and what better way to show him that than by sacrificing his entire day every day for our benefit? I love having a life dedicated to serving me. We own this slave, girls! We can do whatever we want with him!”



Part 8: A Deal Is Struck

After two days of rubbing sweaty sore feet on the sidewalk and daily foot worship of these four beautiful and sadistic girls, I realized this was not what I had imagined this week being like. I had thought I would get to spend quality time with them and, you know, be around their feet too, but I wasn’t expecting to be actually working every day, making money for them so they could lounge around somewhere else all day. I was supposed to be rubbing Lilly’s feet, not some tired tourist’s!

As I knelt, massaging the feet of some college-age girls who would rest their feet on my head when I wasn’t massaging them, I thought about this. This wasn’t too pleasurable of an experience, to be honest. My hands were so tired, I had been on my knees all day, and my mouth still hurt from all the times Jessie and Lilly and the rest had made me suck their feet so hard. Much of it was also pretty disgusting too, actually. Last night Kathy, of all people, had made me clip her toenails and when I was done I was told to eat them! I had protested a bit, but she had just kicked me in the face, and I had kissed her feet in apology and swallowed the toenails like a good bitch. Later Lilly had made me soak her feet for a long time while I also gave her a manicure, and when that was done I had massaged her shoulders, brushed her hair, and bowed down at her feet. Then she had made me drink the dirty foot water she had just used and she laughed as I swallowed the disgusting concoction, which really tasted exactly like her foot sweat. Speaking of that, I had swallowed a lot of foot sweat from the girls, as when they came home late each night, I would kneel and perform my routine. I would take off their shoes when they arrived, lick clean their soles from the floor, make a point of swallowing any sweat that had stuck in my mouth (Jessie loved that part), kiss their feet, and then move to the next girl.

Anyway, on the last day before our departure back home, I had been let off foot massaging duty on the sidewalk, and I was serving the girls as they lazed around in their beautiful hotel room. Jessie was stretched out on the couch, napping and letting the pedicure I had just given her dry. Skyler was on her laptop, chatting with her boyfriend. Lilly was lying on the seat next to the window, texting a younger girl she was good friends with back home. And Kathy was sitting in the big chair, enjoying an especially sensual foot massage I was giving her, on account of the oils she had had me buy and apply to her feet once daily. As I was on my knees, smoothing the oils into her slippery feet, pushing my liquid-covered hands into her soft soles, Lilly spoke up.

“Haha! I’ve been texting Allie, telling her about Slave”

That’s what they called me now, just ‘Slave’. It was always ‘Slave, foot massage.’, ‘Slave, kiss my feet’, ‘Slave, clean the room.’ I was really their bitch. Anyway, she continued. “Allie says she would pay to use Slave when we get back home, and she knows tons of other girls who would love to use him too! We’ve been thinking of all kinds of degrading stuff to make him do!”

My heart sank. I didn’t want the whole school to know about my slavery to these girls! I would be a laughing stock if everyone knew I rubbed, kissed, and licked these girls’ feet whenever they commanded!

I stopped rubbing Kathy’s feet immediately.

“Slave, what the hell?” Kathy began.

“I can’t be your foot slave when we get back. This was only for this week!”

Lilly looked at me evilly.

“No, boy. You’re wrong. You will never stop being our foot slave. We own your life, bitch. You love being our slave and you will worship our feet whenever we tell you and you know it. Now kneel.”

I hesitated. Jessie had woken up and she rose up behind me and pushed me to my knees in front of Lilly.

Lilly looked down at me. “Beg. Beg to worship our feet.”

The other girls had gathered around her by now and I was kneeling in front of all four of them, their commanding feet so close to me.

“Beg to be our slave forever,” said Jessie, “Beg to be used, abused, degraded, and humiliated.”

“I – I can’t” I began.

“Or you will never touch our feet again.” This was Skyler, who was really looking like a goddess with her blond hair flowing and eyes fiery.

This was all too much. I had to come to terms with it. I loved their feet. I couldn’t bear to never serve them again. I began to grovel.

“Please, goddesses, please let me serve you!” I said through forming tears, “Let me worship you and your beautiful feet forever! I am nothing but your foot slave to be used and abused however you like!”

I was kissing their feet and rubbing them with my face, really digging myself into the ground so I could be beneath them. Jessie had recorded the whole thing as they all laughed at my subservience. It was so humiliating, but I really wanted this. I wanted to be owned by these lovely women.

They had accepted my pleas, and I had set about worshipping their feet some more. And as the afternoon progressed, things got more and more serious …



Part 9: The Slave Gets Abused

Just a heads up, this part's a bit gross. I had to show these girls are cruel and willing to use him so, voila: Lilly had called Allie, her friend who wanted to use me.

“Allie! He just begged us to be our slave! He said he would worship our feet forever! Yeah! I’ll send you the video! You and every girl back home can expect lots of foot rubs from this slave. He’ll serve so many feet he’ll never get the smell off his hands or the taste out of his mouth! Yeah, he licks feet! And sucks toes! He’s sucking Skyler’s toes right now!”

I was kneeling as always, sucking Skyler’s plump toes, making sure to get between every toe to clean all the dirt out and swallow it all. I couldn’t help it, I had been hard this whole time. Somehow devoting my life to serving these girls’ feet aroused me an incredible amount and the girls had taken turns getting me really hard and then kicking me, causing extreme pain.

That evening, after an entire day of humiliation and degradation, licking, sucking, massaging and kissing various body parts of theirs, the girls decided to step it up.

“What the hell, girls? It’s our last night here! Let’s have some fun with him!”

They made me strip naked, jerk off, cum on my own face, drink my own cum and smear it all over my face. It was horrible. Jessie had brought out a dildo she had bought the day before and I was terrified. Rightly so, it turned out because they began making me do all sorts of nasty stuff. I had to take it in the mouth and ass, they even slapped me with it a lot. They had attached it to the wall and made me ride it while videotaping me too. When I had begged for them to stop, they took turns whipping my naked ass with a towel while I bent over and sucked the dildo, which tasted absolutely disgusting.

Jessie loved messing around with the dildo, forcing it down my throat and strapping it on to make me blow her. It was really an awful experience. Skyler loved riding me around like a horse, which got me really tired, and whenever I stopped to catch a breath she would whip me with the TV remote, so I had to keep being her pony. Lilly actually made me rim her a lot, and her sadistic side made her laugh and laugh when she farted on my face. Kathy made me give her tons of foot massages using nothing but my face, which was the most pleasurable ordeal of the night. Whenever the girls weren’t being attended to they were either whipping me, resting their feet on me, telling their friends about me, drinking, or plotting new ideas.

They were getting more and more drunk as the night progressed, so much that at one point Jessie had made me lie on my back and she rammed the dildo into my ass. I had let a little scream escape, it was so painful, and she hadn’t liked that.

“We can’t have you screaming, boy, that just won’t do” she managed to say in her drunken stupor. She pulled down her panties, straddled me and climbed up to my head, forcing my face into her crotch. “That should keep you shut up! Now lick me til I cum on your bitch face!”

I licked and licked her sweaty, tight pussy until she came all over my face. She leaned back, sitting on my stomach, and rubbed her feet all over my face, smearing her cum everywhere. Then I she had forced me to lick her own cum off her feet and swallow every bit.

I had licked all the other girls’ pussies too, and they had done the same as Jessie. Lilly, Skyler, and Kathy had all come in my mouth or on my face, they had smeared it around with their feet, and I had been forced to lick their cum off their feet and swallow. They recorded most of it, and threatened that if I ever had second thoughts about my lifetime of slavery, they would send all of it to literally everyone I knew. I was ordered to grovel and beg for them to keep the videos a secret, and I had licked and kissed their feet yet again.

Kathy had had to pee once, but she didn’t want to go all the way to the bathroom. Jessie had suggested she use me. I had really begged them not to, but Jessie had violently grabbed my face, forced my mouth open, and shoved me on my knees in front of Kathy, who dropped her panties and positioned her opening directly in my mouth. Jessie was actually really strong, because as much as I tried to stop them, as much as I struggled, I couldn’t escape as Kathy’s piss flooded my mouth and I had had no choice but to start swallowing. I drank each girl’s piss too that night, although Skyler had drawn the line at shitting in my mouth, much to Jessie’s annoyance. I was so thankful.

They finally fell asleep around 4 am. The room was a mess. Their cum, my cum, beer cans, vodka bottles, and massage oil were strewn around, and I knew I would have to clean it all up. I finally wiped some of the girls’ cum off my face and got to work.

I got no sleep that night. And sure enough, come the morning, as always, I got on my knees in front of Jessie, and began massaging her feet.



Part 10: The End Of The Week

After I had woken the girls up with their usual rituals, and reluctantly swallowed any morning piss they needed to release, I was ordered to pack their bags, pronto. In an hour, miraculously, I had more or less gotten all the girls’ belongings into their suitcases, running around frantically (because they had threatened to beat me if I took too long), dashing from room to room to get everything packed, all while they lounged on the sofa and watched TV. I had carried all the luggage down to the lobby and loaded it in Jessie’s car. I came back upstairs to do one last clean and to tell the girls everything was ready.

I had gotten on my knees as always, put the girls’ shoes on their feet, gave the soles of their shoes one kiss and a lick, and bowed down for each goddess.

Lilly made me crawl behind them on their way out, and I had stayed on my hands and knees, following while they left the room, went down the hall, took the elevator down to the lobby, and walked around to the parking lot, making sure the maximum number of people could see me crawling like a dog behind these four beautiful women.

I had crawled all the way through the garage to the car, and I opened every door so the girls could get in. Jessie was driving, Skyler was in the passenger seat, Kathy and Lilly were in the back. I was told to lie across the floor below them, licking Lilly’s feet while Skyler played with my dick with her feet. She would get me hard then kick me, which hurt like hell, and when I squealed because she’d kicked me really hard Lilly threatened to gag me with her feet if I made a peep so I shut up. But then Skyler had pressed so hard on my balls I had groaned, so Lilly proceeded to stick her foot in my mouth, and she shoved it in deeper and deeper until her toes hit the back of my throat. Tears formed in my eyes from the pain, and fortunately we reached the airport in time so I didn’t vomit or suffocate on her foot.

I had been left the task of dealing with all the bags while the girls checked in. When we were in the lounge waiting for the flight, the girls were sitting in chairs, reading magazines, and Jessie turned to me, and in the middle of the busy airport lounge, said: “Slave, massage our feet. Get in between my toes and go hard on my soles.”

Kathy and Skyler had started giggling as they all slipped their flip-flops off and wiggled their toes at me. I looked around and as I had feared, many people had heard and many curious eyes watched what I would do. Of course, I got to my knees in front of Jessie, and began rubbing her soft white soles. I moved all around her foot, rubbing the heel, really kneading the soles firmly, and making sure to get in between her toes like she had ordered. I had massaged each girls’ foot, and when I looked around now and then, people were still watching, some pointing, many laughing, and some giving thumbs-ups to my goddesses. One group of twenty-something girls had come over to watch the spectacle.

“OMG, how did you make him do this for you?”

“Yeah, I’ve always wanted a guy to rub my feet for me!”

Jessie grinned. “He’s our slave. He does this because he worships us. And he does more than rub feet ladies, I’ll show you,” she turned to me, raising her foot to my face, “Lick my sole, boy.”

I did as I was told and began licking the sweat and dirt off of Jessie’s soft sole in front of the entire airport lounge. It was so embarrassing, and the girls had made me wear sweatpants too, so everyone could see I had a raging hard-on while I licked this girl’s foot.

The group of girls laughed, some groaned, some cheered. As if anything else could have happened, in the next hour (we had a long wait for the flight) I was told every one of those girls had to be served too, and I was forced to massage so many feet, lick so many soles, kiss so many shoes and feet, that my mouth and hands were utterly worn out by the time the flight was boarding. It so happened the twenty-something group were on the same plane we were, so they all exchanged numbers so they could rent me out sometime when we all got back home.

While I followed the girls to the gate, Lilly filled me in on what was going to happen for the plane ride. Her cousin was actually a flight attendant, and she had arranged with the airline to let me fly free, though I wouldn’t have a seat. Instead, I was “relaxation” for the stewardesses on our flight, which was going to be six or seven hours. When I asked what that meant, Lilly only responded “My cousin loves foot rubs, and getting her feet kissed, so I think you know what it means.” I definitely did. I braced myself as we boarded. Lilly greeted her cousin, Rachel, who also addressed me as ‘Slave,’ and I was ushered to the stewardesses’ section of the plane, and ordered on my knees …



Part 11: The Plane Ride Home

It wasn’t long before I was situated at the back of the plane, on my knees for all eight on board stewardesses to use me when they weren’t working. Rachel had had me give every stewardess a foot massage before the plane took off. There were three women under 25, including Lilly’s cousin. One woman was about thirty, Latina, and quite hot. Two were in their forties, and the last woman looked about sixty. I knelt before all of them and massaged their feet, as smooth, wrinkly, calloused, small, big, sweaty or stinky as they happened to be.

Six of them went out to do safety announcements and stuff, while Rachel and her best friend Julia hung back and ordered me to lick the sweat off their sexy smooth feet and smell how stinky they were. They made me decide whose was smellier, and Rachel had won. They enjoyed the game so much, they told the other women when they returned, and I was forced to smell every foot very deeply and decide whose was the smelliest. It turned out to be one of the other young women, and Rachel and Julia had sworn to get their feet really stinky so by the end of the 6 hour plane ride I might change my decision. Either way, I spent every hour on my knees, without relieving myself, in the dark back room, massaging or licking the feet of whichever stewardesses decided to use me.

Rachel and Lilly had talked every now and then during the plane ride, and Lilly had told Rachel that I had been forced to drink piss, and Rachel wasted no time in telling Julia, who quickly began to ignore the staff bathroom and instead pull me aside and make me drink their urine as they sprayed it into my slave mouth. When serving Julia, the second time, I hadn’t swallowed fast enough, and some had spilled down onto her feet, so I was ordered to lick her feet clean.

Eventually the other stewardesses got tired of using me, some even seemed sorry for me, and stopped coming back to my dark room. But Julia, Rachel, and Maya, who was 23, just used the opportunity to make me do more. Julia wanted to see my cock so they made me show it to them, and they took turns jacking me off to the point of orgasm and stopping at the last moment, laughing at the pained expressions of discomfort and agony I instinctually displayed as they gave me blue balls over and over. Rachel threatened that if I came without their permission, I would have to swallow my own cum, which I really didn’t want to do, so I kept desperately holding it in. Until Maya, who was especially good at using her hand and also stopping at the last possible second, decided to really push me. She just slowed down so at the very end she was very slowly moving her hand up and down, which was still too much, and I came, spraying gobs and gobs of cum all over, hitting Rachel and Maya on their uniforms.

As punishment, they first beat me with their fists and shoes, then stroked another load of cum out of me, collecting it in a cup, and pouring it down my throat. Then they each sat back and made me suck their big toes like they were cocks. The girls eventually had to get back to work, but they would return one at a time, each with their own favorite things to make me do.

Maya loved to shove her toes in my mouth, and she would sometimes order me not to make a sound, then push on my balls so hard I couldn’t help but whimper, and when I did she would shove her soft round toes deep into my mouth and hold my nose until I was really choking, then she would let up and make me lick the bottoms of her feet clean, my tongue running from heel to toe, continuing for each toe, and repeating.

Rachel would make me kiss her sole as hard as I could and she would have me worship her as passionately and devotedly as possible. I would bow to her, kiss her feet, lick her toes and in between them as well, and let her use my face as a foot rest and foot massager.

Julia loved getting foot massages, so I spent most of her time in the room rubbing her tired feet, and when I was done, she expected no sweat left, and if her foot was the tiniest bit moist, she required me to lick her foot totally clean. Of course this made her foot wet from my tongue and she would have me rub her foot with my face until it was dry.

All this continued until we finally touched down. As I left I was required to kiss every stewardess’s shoe and thank them for letting me serve them. I heard Rachel, Julia, Maya and Lilly talk about renting me out to them for a party she was having soon. Lilly agreed wholeheartedly, and that’s when I realized I was really going to be used by these girls. They would use my servitude for financial gain, no matter the task, no matter who it’s for. I realized as long as these girls let me serve their beautiful divine feet, I would have to do anything for them, no matter how much my limits were stretched. And in the coming weeks, my limits were indeed stretched...



Part 12: The End Of The Trip

I had carried all the girls’ luggage off the plane, making many trips, and just when I thought I was done I was ordered to go back and take all of the stewardesses’ stuff as well. I was exhausted by the time we finally were leaving. As I hailed a taxi big enough for us all to fit in, the girls discussed what life was going to be like for me from now on.

They talked about what they would do with me, considering they were going off to college and I had to stay here. It was settled though that they would rent me out to people and basically run me like a business for weeks at a time. They decided I wouldn’t be their slave forever, but I would always be subservient to them and follow their commands whenever they wanted me to, so it was almost the same deal.

Jessie and Kathy sat in the first row of seats in the minivan taxi, while Skyler and Lilly sat in the back row, with me situated on the floor in front of Skyler while she rested her feet on my head. Lilly’s legs were stretched diagonally across and down from where she sat, her feet resting in my hands as I gave her a foot massage.

“Hey!” Lilly suddenly cried, “I know just what he should do!”

The girls all looked at Lilly quizzically. Lilly’s slender feet remained in my hands and my thumbs tentatively smoothed her soles as she continued.

“Remember being on the volleyball team, Skyler and Kathy? How tired we were after every practice and game? I mean the whole team was always exhausted, and we could totally have used good foot rubs every day. Now here’s a slave to do just that!”

“Oh my god, yes!” Skyler chirped, her little feet still planted on my head, “We could rent him to the team! They could have plenty of use for him this season!”

“Settled then, we’ll loan him to the girls’ volleyball team this fall!”

They did end up doing that, but I’ll return to that shortly. The focus now has to be on my last week with the girls before they went off to their respective colleges.

They had decided to release me (temporarily) for the last week of the summer, mainly so they could have time to say goodbye to their families at home. But this meant I only had a few days left in their service. And so they stepped it up.

Lilly and Jessie lived only a few blocks away from me, so the two of them had me come over every day for that last week. They traded off, so Lilly would get me for the morning on Tuesday, and Jessie would have me on Wednesday. Of course, I was never consulted about this, I was just texted my orders when the two girls decided them. In a way it was arousing being at these two hot senior girls’ beck and call, and kneeling to kiss their beautiful 18-year-old feet and be their servant. In another way, however, I felt totally used and worthless sometimes when they had me.

I never honestly wished for them to let me go, which I’d attribute to my submissive side, but I definitely had some reservations about the things these girls would make me do for them. Forcing me to lick dirt off of their feet was something that complimented my foot fetish, but repulsed every other part of me. Twice I had had no choice but to hastily get up and run to the toilet to vomit because my gag reflex couldn’t take the amount of feet my mouth was forced to service. Of course when that happened, I was punished, and I was either spanked or slapped for so long wherever they’d hit me would be red for hours. Those kinds of things, in which I am not their servant, not their footboy, but their property, to be beaten and abused to their heart’s content, was when I had the most internal upset. But in this last week I knew it was all almost over.

I do have to mention that the punishments I endured weren’t a constant threat. Really it was only Jessie and Skyler who delighted in sadistically tormenting me. Skyler, in the numerous occasions when she joined Lilly, Jessie and I at one of their houses that week, would giggle with joy when I was given tasks involving putting unappealing things in my mouth, such as their dirty sweaty feet, their urine, or their private areas. Yes, I was forced to give them oral pleasure plenty of times, and all the girls would enjoy pulling my face close into their vaginas so they could cum in my mouth and on my squashed face.

Jessie loved tormenting me more, but it was more psychological with her. She enjoyed the constant patronization and domination they inflicted on me. Not an hour went by without her calling me her bitch and her slave and forcing me to thank her for using me while I bowed or groveled or kissed her beautiful feet. See, right there as I called the feet that I was forced to worship beautiful, that comes from her indoctrination over the past weeks of my mind, to see her as perfect, to see her as better than me, to see her as someone I should serve and lay down all my services to. To see her as a goddess. That was the conclusion I came to during this week. Jessie wanted to be seen as a goddess, and I her lowly slave destined to do her every command and worship the ground she walks upon. And I did end up treating her as if she was divine,

Whereas Jessie wanted goddess treatment, Lilly wanted to be treated like royalty. She wanted a slave for every hand and foot, attending to her needs and exalting her name. But, she only had one slave, me. So I was expected to act for the whole lot, and be ready to serve her in any way she liked. The key difference between Jessie and Lilly, I came to unearth, was that while Jessie liked inflicting torment on me to make me see her superiority, Lilly assumed her superiority was already apparent, and just used me to make herself feel royal, and perfect. And so I did, as i knelt every time I saw her and kissed her lovely feet, savoring the smooch I gave them, because I really did enjoy the contact with these hot girls’ feet!

Anyway, I served the four of them for those last few days, until the final one came. The day my mistresses would leave me.

Unlike their last day in LA, the girls did not torture me sexually, or psychologically, or really even physically. It was all very clean.

The four of them sat on the large sofa in Lilly’s house, all barefoot. Jessie pointed to the ground.

“On your knees.” I knelt before them. Lilly spoke.

“Slave, you have performed valiantly this summer. You have proven yourself to be a worthy servant to us beautiful ladies, and we’re sorry to leave such a good servant behind.”

“But we’ll be back,” Jessie added, “so don’t forget what we like, slave.”

“Yes, boy, we will come back and you will serve us with all the vigor and enthusiasm you’ve served us with so far, right slave?”

I nodded. “Of course, Miss Lilly.”

“Good boy. Now lick all the way up the sole of my foot.”

Her leg was outstretched, and I leaned forward to come to her beautiful, tan, royal foot. My tongue extended, and I made contact with her soft, lovely heel. I then began sliding my tongue all the way up the bottom of her excellent foot, smoothing every soft crevice and wrinkle of this beautiful girl’s warm sole. It was one of the most sensual moments of my life as I went over the ball of her foot to her lovely toes and finally finished with a flick of my tongue on the tip of her big toe. I put her foot down. She had her eyes closed and an orgasmic smile on her face. I was entirely happy then. Seeing Lilly Carlton, this beautiful, superior girl, whom I had come to love, and love to serve, seeing her happy, in total bliss, because of my service to her made me the happiest I have ever been.

And that, my friends, is the conclusion of my story. I could go on about that evening, how I performed the same submissive tasks on all the girls, licking the soles of their feet and causing them pleasure as well, pleasure from my touch and pleasure from my subservient position, but I’ll leave that up to your own creative minds. The girls did end up sending me to serve the girls’ volleyball team at my school, and my high school career was filled with submissiveness and women’s feet for the rest of my days. But those are stories for the future.

I hope you enjoyed this, and I hope you too will find the happiness I did. The happiness of when you achieve the ultimate achievement of submissiveness; serving and exalting a beautiful woman, and giving her joy. That is a most wonderful feeling.
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Three Wishes
Author: Patheticus Minimus


Part 1 – The Genie of the Slippers

George, the shoeshine man, was a well known figure at the central railway station. He didn’t have to shine shoes for a living. He chose to. At the age of 50 he had resigned from his top ranking, highly paid job as the CEO of a major finance company precisely in order to shine shoes simply because it was his lifetime’s ambition to do so.

Why? Because George was a submissive, heterosexual male who dreamt of nothing else but serving the feet and footwear of beautiful young women. We say ‘heterosexual’, but it’s a bit of a moot point – for whilst George was attracted to women he didn’t want to sleep with them. All he had ever wanted to do was to be their slave, their ‘footslave’ specifically, licking their pretty shoes and boots whilst they berated and verbally abused him. That was the only thing that turned George on.

And so, after years and years of frustration George had finally bitten the bullet and jacked in his high-powered job, which gained him nothing but the unwanted respect and admiration of women, in favour of a job where he could be the servant of women; where women could regard him as an ‘inferior’; where women could, quite literally, look down on him as he shined their pretty, feminine shoes and boots.

He had thought about other jobs – a salesman in a ladies’ shoe shop; a cobbler in a heel-bar; a chiropodist; a pedicurist; a reflexologist. But none of them seemed to have the same connotations of humility and submissiveness as the humble shoeshine man – shining the boots and shoes of passers-by in the street or at the railway station. And so he had purchased an ornate shoeshine stand, and paid for a pitch in a prime location at the busy railway station, so that he could live out his fantasy of shining women’s shoes.

Of course, it wasn’t a perfect set up. This was the real world – and there were several drawbacks to his new position in life. Firstly, he had to shine men’s shoes and boots as well – and George hated that. He had thought long and hard about where he could possibly pitch his shoeshine stall so that he would be shining the shoes exclusively of women – in the lobby entrance to the ladies’ restrooms perhaps? Or outside a ladies-only health club? But whenever he had approached the relevant authorities they had become suspicious and permission was denied. The railway station concourse was, therefore, the best he could do. Beggars can’t be choosers! And if that meant having to shine male shoes as well as female – tough! It was a price worth paying for the privilege and honour of shining superior women’s shoes as well.

Secondly he could only shine the superior female customers’ boots and shoes with polish, brushes and a cloth. He really wanted to lick them clean – to polish them with his ‘slave’ tongue. But bootlicking in public was a complete no-no, at least in the real world if not in George’s fantasy world. How he longed to feel the lash of a woman’s tongue as his own tongue licked away her shoe-dirt!

But the third major disadvantage of shining shoes in the real world was that his customers, especially his female customers, just weren’t verbally abusive to him. How he yearned for his female customers to truly despise him and hold him in contempt as he performed the humiliating and degrading task of humbly shining their superior, feminine shoes and boots! But, women being women, they were kind and compassionate creatures, and were just plain ‘nice’ to him as he serviced their pretty footwear. None of them spat on him as he worked; none of them barked their orders down at him in a haughty and commanding voice; none of them addressed him as ‘slave’ or ‘footslave’. George was perpetually disappointed by this, and frustrated that out of sheer good manners and customer service he had to engage in friendly and polite ‘small-talk’ with his female superiors as he shined their shoes. He wished he could address them as ‘mistress’, or even ‘goddess-mistress’, but instead could only just about get away with ‘Madam’ or ‘Miss’. For their part they just called him ‘George’.

And fourthly, perhaps the greatest frustration of all, he was confined to shining superior women’s dirty shoes and boots and was never required to take off their outer footwear in order to clean, or even to sniff or kiss, their inner footwear. George was just as keen on ladies’ socks and stockings, and indeed their pretty, soft, feminine, bare feet, as he was on feminine shoes and boots. How he ached to have a sniff of the pretty, white socks he could see so close up inside a lady’s black, leather, zip-up ankle boots. Oh to be allowed to pull down that zip with his mouth and humbly kiss the creases on the side of her dirty, white bootsock! But he couldn’t. Such things were not done in public – not in the real world.

His one consolation was that some women brought him several pairs of well-worn shoes and boots to ‘take away’ and clean at home – ready for collection the at a later date. And so George, in the privacy of his own home, was at least able to sniff and smell the insides of his female customers’ shoes – to lick them even; to taste the residual feminine footsweat that stained the inner linings of their pretty shoes and boots. He spent hours every night buffing up the ladies’ dirty shoes and boots in ways they could never have imagined! But the results spoke for themselves – George had quickly built up a reputation as a thoroughly good shoeshine-man who left a lady’s boots and shoes sparkling! He soon had a regular and loyal customer-base.

His shoeshine stand was, as we indicated before, ornate and opulent. It had cost him a small fortune at auction. The customer sat on a comfortable, leather-backed, high-chair with their feet resting on two, metal footrests at George’s eye-level. But this was his fifth, and final, major frustration – he had to shine shoes whilst standing up. George didn’t feel right standing up like a free human being whilst he shone shoes. He felt he should be on his hands and knees – kneeling humbly at the feet of the superior woman as she towered above him on her shoeshine-throne whilst he, her underling, polished her dirty, black leather ankle boots and admired the elasticated tops of her feminine, white, ankle socks.

So, despite all the lengths he had gone to realise his fantasies, life still had its frustrations for George, the onetime Chief Executive Officer of a major financial institution-cum-shoeshine man.

It also had its rewards, however, and one such reward was approaching his stand at that very moment!

It was one of his many female regulars, the exotic Arab lady whom he knew only as miss Basmah. He called her ‘miss’ not because of her marital status – he knew she was married to a man called Hatim – but because of her age. She was only 23 years old, and George liked to flatter his younger female customers, basically any woman under the age of about 35, by addressing them as ‘miss’ rather than ‘Madam’. None of them seemed to mind, and certainly not miss Basmah.

She was truly an exotic-looking young woman – superb figure; slim and svelte, quite petite in build, and with rich, dark, shoulder length hair and dark, brown Arabian eyes – eyes that spoke of the mysterious orient, even though she was quite ‘westernised’. Because of the small-talk he was obliged to engage in with his customers he knew that miss Basmah was Egyptian born, but had moved to Europe at the age of 18 to study medicine. She still spoke with a slight Egyptian accent, although her English was now word-perfect. She was a very intelligent young woman – the sort George would have happily employed in a managerial role in his company when he had been CEO.

Miss Basmah always wore western clothes, but often with a hint of the orient – he could see that today, for example, she was wearing lightweight, loose-fitting pink trousers that were elasticated just above her shapely brown ankles – the sort of ‘pantaloon’ style trousers he imagined an exotic, Egyptian belly-dancer might wear, and yet the rest of her outfit was quite ‘conventional’ – a short, blue denim jacket over a pink T shirt, and shiny, black, low-heeled court shoes on bare feet.

She smiled at George as she approached him, although her smile disappointed him, and he would have preferred her to be approaching him with a look of disdain on her pretty, Arabian face. George’s natural instincts meant that he had, of course, to smile back.

‘Good morning, George, how are you today?’ asked the young Egyptian woman in a happy, sing-song voice.

‘Good morning, miss Basmah! How lovely to see you again!’ replied George in as humble a tone as he felt he could get away with.

He was, genuinely, glad to see her. She always stopped to let him shine whatever shoes or boots she happened to be wearing – and she was a good tipper (not that George needed the money!) More significantly, George was delighted to see that miss Basmah had brought a carrier bag full of her dirty shoes and boots with her again, as she had done the week before. She must be going to leave them for me to take away and shine at my home for her, thought George, delighted by the realisation that once again he would get to smell the insides of the charming miss Basmah’s shoes!

She was continuing to chat to him as he gallantly took her delicate, right hand to help her climb up onto her seated position on the comfortable leather chair of the shoeshine stand:

‘I’m afraid I can’t stop long today, George, I’m on my way to attend an important lecture at the teaching hospital and my train leaves in 10 minutes…’

Good for you, miss Basmah – increasing your knowledge of important medical procedures whereas I am fit only to stay here all day and shine the shoes of my betters, thought George to himself.

‘… I do want to look my best, however, and I’m afraid I stepped in a muddy puddle on the way to the station. My right shoe in particular is now splattered in mud – can you see?’ continued miss Basmah, holding her right foot up in the air under George’s nose and dangling her shiny, low-heeled, black leather court shoe off the end of her toes so that he could better see the offending streak of wet mud along the lower side of her shoe.

George knew she was only shoving her dirty shoe in his face so that he could better see what needed cleaning. She was not, he presumed, dangling her shoe in front of him in order to turn him on. But that was the net effect, especially since the black, leather court shoe was so close to his face that he could smell it!

Miss Basmah giggled somewhat embarrassedly:

‘Ha! Ha! Do you think you could get all that muck off and give my shoes a nice shine, George?’ she asked him politely.

‘Of course, miss!’ responded George, almost offended at the implication that he might have some difficulty in cleaning up the young woman’s dirty court shoes!

Due to her newly seated position the elasticated bottoms of miss Basmah’s lightweight, pink trousers had risen even further up her shapely, brown-skinned, calf muscles thereby revealing even more of her equally shapely ankle bones – including the small tattoo of a crescent on her right, outer ankle bone. How George had come to admire that small, crescent-shaped tattoo on miss Basmah’s right ankle over the weeks and months he had been serving her. It spoke of mystery; of a certain rebelliousness perhaps; of hidden depths to her character. He ached to kiss her tattooed ankle bone. But ache was all he could do.

Miss Basmah’s right foot was now resting on the metal footrest in front of George’s face again ready for him to wipe off the mud with his shoeshine-cloth.

He began rubbing the cloth over the young woman’s shiny black shoe leather. Again, he couldn’t help thinking that his tongue could do a much better job removing the muddy stain, and the young Arab woman’s shoe-mud would have tasted so sweet to him. But licking the mud off a young woman’s shoe in the middle of a busy railway station in the rush-hour wasn’t the done thing.

Other commuters, men and women, were busy rushing by but George was oblivious to them all as he focused in on miss Basmah’s dirty, mud-stained right shoe. He now noticed that one or two specks of mud had even splashed onto her bare footflesh above the upper rim of the low-cut, court shoe. But he would have to ask the young woman’s permission to touch her bare foot-skin with his dirty cloth:

‘Miss Basmah, I see that you have some specks of mud on your bare foot. Would you like me to wipe them away also?’ asked George expectantly.

‘Oh, yes please, George!’ replied miss Basmah, bending down to inspect the damage herself with her big, brown eyes.

‘Very good, miss,’ replied George, his hand beginning to shake with excitement as he realised he was about to have the honour of touching miss Basmah’s bare footskin – albeit through a cloth. He was glad, for once, that she wasn’t wearing socks, for, much as he admired women’s socked feet, there was something especially intimate about wiping the dirt off a young woman’s soft, bare footflesh – especially the exotic, brown footflesh of a beautiful young Arab woman.

Once the mud stains had been removed from miss Basmah’s feet and shoes George began to shine the court shoes properly – applying black polish with his bare fingers and then rubbing the shoes vigorously with a clean cloth before buffing them up with a soft brush. George didn’t mind getting his fingers dirty in the service of women’s footwear.

As he diligently polished her shoes whilst she sat comfortably above him, miss Basmah clarified what was in her carrier bag:

‘I’ve brought some more of my dirty boots and shoes for you to clean at home again, George. You did such a good job on the last ones I left with you!...’

George’s heart leapt with pride. The young mistress had been satisfied with his previous shoe-cleaning work! His tongue had done a good job on her shoes and boots, and she was pleased with the results:

‘…You even managed to get the treads in the soles of my hiking boots clean! How on earth did you do it, George? They were truly filthy with totally ingrained mud!’

George remembered well miss Basmah’s thick, heavy, brown leather hiking boots, and he remembered the caked-on mud on the soles! He wanted to tell her the truth. He wanted to reply to his superior mistress as follows:

“Oh pray, mistress Basmah, if it pleases you, mistress Basmah, this dirty shoeshine-slave had the honour and privilege of using his inferior, slave tongue to extract the mud from each and every tread on the bottoms of your superior, brown leather, hiking boots, if it pleases you most beautiful and feminine superior mistress Basmah; and he then had the inestimable honour of swallowing every last morsel of your sweet, hiking-boot mud, after he had spent several hours sniffing the insides of your sweat-stained, brown leather hiking boots, if it so pleases you, supreme goddess-mistress Basmah.”

But, of course, he couldn’t tell her the truth, and instead had to lie:

‘Oh, I admit I had to use a special boot-scraper, miss Basmah.’

‘Ha! Ha! Well, I’m sorry that I had to give you such a messy pair of boots to clean but I must say you did a really good job. Even my husband Hatim was impressed with the results!’

George had never met Hatim, but he was glad to hear that his young mistress’s husband, his ‘master’, was satisfied with his efforts in cleaning his charming young wife’s dirty hiking boots!

‘You’ll be pleased to know that I don’t think any of these other shoes and boots are anything like as dirty, but they could still do with a nice shine!’ continued miss Basmah.

George was not pleased to hear that! He wanted truly dirty, well-worn, female shoes and boots to clean – he craved them. The smellier and dirtier the better!

George had nearly finished shining miss Basmah’s black, leather court shoes now, and he could hear her opening her purse:

‘Here you are, George. Thanks again! I really must go now. I’ll collect the other boots and shoes on Friday if that’s alright?’

‘Yes certainly, miss Basmah,’ responded George as he once again held out his arm to assist miss Basmah as she stepped down from the high chair of the shoeshine-stand – her black leather court shoes now gleaming and without any trace of mud left on them.

‘Okay. See you then, George!’ shouted miss Basmah as she ran off towards platform 3, leaving her carrier bag of dirty, but seemingly not too dirty, shoes and boots for George to take home and lick clean later that evening.

Be they dirty or not George couldn’t wait to get them home. He even ‘knocked off’ early – at about 7:00 PM (he normally worked from 06:00 AM until 09:00 PM – so much did he enjoy his new job!)

After a quick and rather unappetising microwaveable meal and a whole bottle of wine (George drank too much) he opened up the carrier bag to see exactly what delights miss Basmah had kindly supplied him for his dessert. There were 5 pairs of boots and shoes in all. He went straight for the ankle boots first – he always did, for George adored women’s ankle boots, especially leather, zip-up ankle boots like these ones. He adored them because they enclosed a woman’s foot enough to ensure that her feet couldn’t breathe and therefore quickly became hot and sweaty – which he liked – and yet they were also short enough to enable a shoeshine man to see down into them when a lady was seated on the shoeshine stand in front of him. He could therefore see what type of socks, if any, the superior ankle-boot-wearing mistress had on inside her boots - unlike say with knee-length or even calf-length boots, when it was often impossible to tell what inner footwear, if any, a lady was wearing.

And such details were important to a ‘footslave’ like George. For he needed to know whether a lady’s footsweat was going directly onto the inner lining of her boots, or whether it was being absorbed by her socks. How he wished there were such things as public sock-cleaners! He might well have set himself up as a ‘sock-cleaning man’ rather than a ‘shoeshine man’ if there were such a thing! He would be happy to mouth wash his female customers’ dirty socks, either whilst they were still wearing them, or if they wanted to leave them for him to clean at home, if such a service were considered socially acceptable! But, of course, it wasn’t – not in the real world – and so George never got to smell his female customers’ sweaty socks.

But he did get to smell the insides of their sweaty ankle boots, as he was doing now with miss Basmah’s stylish, pointy-toed, spike-heeled, brown leather, zip-up ankle boots. George held the right boot up to his nose and breathed in deeply. He breathed in miss Basmah’s stale foot sweat. Judging by the yellowy-brown stains on the light grey inner lining of the boot she may well have been wearing these particular boots without socks. The sweat appeared to have gone straight into the lining of the boots. He resolved that he would do his best to lick clean the insides of miss Basmah’s boots as well as the outsides, for her inner footsweat was every bit as precious to him as her outer boot-dirt.

In addition to the stylish, spiky-heeled, pointy-toed, brown leather ankle boots there were a pair of bright yellow Wellington boots with dirty, grey drawstrings at the top. George loved the smell of women’s Wellington boots, although he rarely got the opportunity to clean them – either on the shoeshine stand or at home. He held the top of one of the Wellingtons over his nose and took a deep breath. It was a delicious, heady smell that made him quite dizzy – the smell of the inside of a young woman’s sweaty Wellington boot mixed with the strong scent of rubber. Surely she must have worn thick, yellow bootsocks or thick, woolly, yellow tights inside these boots, he thought to himself? He would enjoy licking those boots later – he loved the bitter taste of a young woman’s soft, feminine, rubber, Wellington boot on his tongue mixed in with the detritus and mud from her garden (it was an acquired taste!)

Then there was the inevitable pair of sneakers – the mainstay of any ‘westernised’ young woman’s footwear. George had mixed feelings about girls’ sneakers. He liked the look and the smell of them, and he liked the way most young women wore them with very low-cut sneaker socks, the elasticated tops of which were often just visible inside the rim of the sneakers. He liked these low-cut ‘sneaker socks’ because it was almost as if they were meant to be a secret – a secret that only the mistress and her footslave knew about. After all – they weren’t for show. They were often specifically referred to as ‘secret socks’ or ‘no-show’ socks – their sole purpose, if you’ll forgive the pun, being to keep the young woman’s feet nice and comfortable inside her hot sneakers and to absorb her footsweat.

George recognised this particular pair of blue and white sneakers, and he knew for a fact that miss Basmah had worn them with short, plain white sneaker socks just last week, for he had attempted to clean the sneakers for her whilst she was wearing them seated on his shoeshine stand. And therein lay the reason for George’s mixed feelings about sneakers – they were notoriously hard to clean and, of course, impossible to ‘shine’. He always felt that the results of his labours on women’s sneakers left something to be desired – that the customer was being short-changed as it were, as the sneakers rarely seemed to show much sign of improvement however much cream he applied to them, or, in the case of sneakers left for him to clean at home, however hard he licked them. He had even ‘cheated’ once or twice and washed ladies’ sneakers in the washing machine, though it pained him to think that any ingrained dirt was being washed down his drain rather than down his throat!

Be that as it may, it wouldn’t stop him from trying to lick clean miss Basmah’s dirty, blue and white, well-worn sneakers. He would lick them inside and out, hard and long. He would suck the dirt out of her grey-white laces, and polish up the little, white plasticy bits at the end of her laces inside his mouth until they, at least, gleamed.

Then there was a pair of block-heeled, round-toed, black patent leather, mary-jane style shoes with a single strap across the tops. George loved strappy shoes – especially if worn with trousers or slacks, as the straps across the tops afforded a better view of the lady’s socks, tights or bare feet inside the shoes. Whenever he saw a strappy shoe on a lady’s foot he ached to kiss the area of her foot between the strap and the main body of the shoe – be it socked or bare. It was as if that area was just made for a ‘footslave’s’ mouth – bordered by the strap as a kind of designated area for him to kiss and worship.

He liked ladies’ strappy shoes also because of the challenge they presented to a shoeshine-slave – how to polish the shiny, black leather strap without smearing the polish on the pure, white, feminine sock or the soft, bare, feminine foot beneath it. It required care and attention – and he was pleased to know that he had never once smeared a lady’s nice, clean socks or bare footflesh with his black shoe polish.

Yes, George would enjoy paying homage to miss Basmah’s block-heeled, strappy, mary-jane style shoes with his slave tongue later that evening!

George was beginning to feel a bit squiffy (the effects of the wine, no doubt) as he extracted the final pair of shoes from miss Basmah’s carrier bag. They were most unusual – more slippers than shoes. Exotic, oriental-style, soft, silver-sparkly slippers; again, the sort of footwear George imagined an exotic, Arabian belly-dancer might wear.

The slippers caused George some momentary consternation. They were very nice – obviously quite well-worn, judging by the staining on the grey inner lining of the slippers were miss Basmah’s delicate, feminine footsweat had reacted with the coating of the lining. The inner lining was even beginning to show signs of rubbing away altogether on the insides of the heels. Yes, he would definitely enjoy sniffing and licking the inner lining of the slippers.

But how would he be able to clean the sparkly silver bits on the outside of the delicate slippers? He was slightly concerned that some of the silvery bits might come off in his mouth if he licked the outside of the slippers too hard. He also wondered what the outside of the slippers would taste like and would feel like on his tongue. Very different, he imagined, from the smooth, feminine boot and shoe leather that he was accustomed to licking.

He decided to try them out there and then. He ran his tongue carefully across the upper toe of the right slipper.

There was a sudden flash of light and a puff of smoke that momentarily stunned George and sent him reeling onto his back on his kitchen floor. As soon as the smoke cleared he saw a young Arabian woman standing over him, dressed in the style of the beloved, exotic belly-dancers of his dreams and fantasies, with a transparent, light blue veil over her pretty face that only seemed to accentuate the deep brown of her pretty, Arabian eyes:

‘I am Johara - the genie of the slippers,’ declared the young woman. ‘Whosoever shall lick these slippers shall have three wishes. Tell me your first wish, and so shall it be, oh mortal one!’

George was…well… stunned! The genie of the slippers?! He rubbed his eyes.

No, the young woman was still standing dominantly over him, hands on hips, the silver, sparkly slippers now on her feet. His initial thought was, I wish I could kiss your feet, exotic genie-mistress Johara!

But he thought again! ‘Whosoever shall lick these slippers shall have three wishes!’ – that was what she had said. George knew exactly what his first wish should be. After all, he had been wishing for it all his adult life:

‘Erm… Mistress-genie Johara, if it pleases you mistress-genie Johara, I wish that I could serve as a public footslave to women in a society where enslavement of the submissive male by the female is the norm, and where public footslaves are taken for granted and held in contempt by the haughty, superior women whom they humbly serve.’

Mistress-genie Johara smiled wryly:

‘Very well, mortal male. This is your first wish. As you wish so shall it be! You may summon me by licking my slippers again when you are ready to make your second wish!’

And with that she gave a contemptuous wave of her pretty hand, there was another flash, another puff of smoke, and George suddenly found himself transported back to his pitch in the railway station.

Only there were differences:

* It was daytime again, the morning rush hour by all accounts
* He was dressed in a plain, brown, short, slave tunic and had a rough, metal slave-collar around his neck
* He was attached to the shoeshine stand in front of him by means of a thick, metal chain
* On the right hand side of the shoeshine stand there hung what looked like a brown, whippy, riding crop
* He was positioned humbly on his knees, but his face was nevertheless level with the two metal footrests

It really was a dream come true – just the way he would have wished it!

Suddenly a pair of black, feminine, pointy-toed, spike-heeled, zip-up ankle boots were positioning themselves in front of his kneeling face. The booted feet appeared to belong to a young, blonde, pony-tailed businesswoman in her mid-to-late twenties. He could tell she was a businesswoman by the pin-striped jacket and trousers she was wearing - trousers which she pulled up slightly as she now made herself comfortable in the seat above him thereby revealing the elasticated tops of her smart, black, ankle-length bootsocks inside her boots:

‘Shine them up, slave!’ barked the young woman down at him.

Slave! She had called him slave! At last, after all these years his dream had finally come true. He was a woman’s slave – her shoeshine-slave; her footslave! And he noticed that he had no cloths, brushes or shoe polish to hand. That could only mean one thing! He had to shine her boots by means of his slave tongue!

‘Get a move on, slave, I haven’t got all day!’ snapped the young, smartly dressed businesswoman down at him as she took a newspaper out of her black briefcase and began to read the financial pages.

George – slave George – couldn’t believe his good fortune! He was a true boot-licking slave at last!

‘Yes mistress, at once mistress!’ he fawned as he lowered his lips to touch the dirty, scuff-marked, pointy toe of the arrogant and impatient young businesswoman’s stiletto-heeled, right ankle boot.
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Three Wishes
Author: Patheticus Minimus


Part 2 – The Public Shoeshine Slave

George the regular shoeshine man was not unfamiliar with the taste of young women’s bootleather. He had, after all, been licking their boots in the privacy of his own home for some time now. But to be able to lick a superior, young, twenty-something, blonde, pony-tailed businesswoman’s black, leather, zip-up ankle boots in public in his new capacity as a women’s public shoeshine-slave – that really was a dream come true!

The leather boots somehow tasted all the sweeter due to the fact that she was still wearing them as he licked them; his sense of humility and inferiority was all the greater; and the fact that the young woman was haughtily ignoring him and pouring over the financial pages of her newspaper whilst he humbly licked the filth off her boots somehow made his feeling of degradation all the more complete – he, George, the former CEO of a major financial institution was now nothing more than a young woman’s public bootlicker, fit only to taste where she had been walking.

He began to speculate about the exact profession of the pin-stripe-trousered young mistress whose boot-dirt was currently swilling around inside his mouth. He guessed she worked in the stock exchange – probably a fairly junior financial trader, given her age. But so accustomed was he now to engaging in small-talk with his customers, he decided the polite thing to do would be to simply ask the young woman where she worked. She might, after all, be interested to know that he used to be a big-shot in the financial world himself. She might find that curious and interesting.

Slave George therefore decided to break the rather embarrassing silence which was being disturbed only by the background bustle of the busy railway station, the rustling of the young, blonde woman’s newspaper, and the slapping sound of George’s bootlicking tongue:

‘Do you work in the City, miss?’ he politely enquired in between bootlicks.

The next thing he was aware of was the young businesswoman setting aside her paper, unhooking the riding crop that hung to the right of the shoeshine stand, and a flash of searing pain suddenly coursing down across his right shoulder.

She had hit him with the whip!

‘How dare you, slave! How dare you speak to your superior mistress without being spoken to! Just who do you think you are? Do you think you’re my equal or something? Do you think a free woman like me would be interested in having a conversation with a down-in-the-dirt bootslave like you?!’ exclaimed the young woman incredulously.

She whipped him hard across the shoulders again.

Slave George bit his lip. The pain was significant, and the flimsy, plain, brown slave tunic that covered his back wasn’t affording him much protection from the sting of the whip.

How stupid could he have been! He had forgotten his place already! He was no longer George the shoeshine man; he was now just a public footslave. How dare he seek to engage one of his superior, female customers in polite conversation!

‘Oh pray, mistress, please don’t beat me, mistress. I beg your forgiveness, sweet feminine young mistress!’ he implored.

Thankfully, the pony-tailed, sweet feminine young mistress put the whip back onto its hook. But she clearly hadn’t ceased being offended:

‘I think you need to learn some slave manners, bootboy! What, is the dirt on my boots not interesting enough for you, or something? Are you so high and mighty that you need to concentrate your slave mind on something else?’

Slave George blushed with embarrassment. Here he was with a unique opportunity to live out his deepest fantasies and dreams, and yet he was blowing it! Of course the dirt on the young woman’s boots was all that interested him, and all that should interest him! There was no need for polite small-talk any more – he was a shoeshine slave, not a man; his tongue was for licking young women’s dirty boots and shoes, not for chatting them up!

He must make amends:

‘Oh pray, mistress, if it pleases you mistress, please forgive this stupid, ignorant slave for his indiscretion. This slave is truly honoured to taste the superior dirt on his beautiful young mistress’s boots, if it pleases you mistress.’

‘Then shut up and lick, slave!’ barked the young woman exasperatedly, ‘Lick the upper parts of my ankle boots. Shine them with your dirty, slave tongue and make sure your ugly, slave nose doesn’t brush against the tops of my socks!’

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress’

Slave George realised this particular polite conversation was over. The superior young woman didn’t want to hear him talk – she wanted to hear him lick. And so that’s just what he did – he licked the tops of her boots taking great care not to brush his ugly, slave nose against the elasticated tops of her black, ankle socks, or even worse against the smooth, bare flesh of her leg above the tops of her socks!

As he did so, it occurred to George that not all his dreams and wishes were going to come true in this new situation in which he found himself, for he would, if truth be told, have loved to brush his nose against the tops of her socks – to sniff her socks; to kiss them respectfully as they were the bootsocks of a superior young, blonde, pony-tailed, be-suited businesswoman. Clearly his wish to be a slave overruled any subordinate wishes he may have – and quite rightly so! A slave should not have any say in which items of his mistress’s footwear he is permitted to worship at any given time!

Fortunately for slave George the tension was eased when the young woman’s cell phone rang. George heard a man’s muffled voice on the other end of the phone and surmised from the snippets he heard of the young woman’s part of the conversation that it must be her boyfriend or husband:

‘Hi, honey!...No, I’m still at the station…I’m just having my boots shined by the public footslave…Yeah….Yeah…Ha! Ha!...Nah, he’s an ugly old dork, and stupid with it...Ha! Ha!...Yeah!...What?...Sure, yeah, what time?...Are Angie and Philip coming too?...Okay, should be great…Where do you want to meet up?...Yeah I know it…Cool….OK, honey, see you there!... Love you!... Bye!’

All the while the telephone conversation was going on slave George was trying his utmost to concentrate on tongue-shining the uppers of the young woman’s boots whilst taking care not to touch her socks, just as she had commanded. Subconsciously, though, he was making mental notes about this strange new world of his dreams. He surmised, for example, from the overheard conversation, that some men must be free in this world – equals with women. That somehow made his own position all the more humiliating – which, after all, was what he wanted. It wasn’t men per se that this arrogant, young, junior female financial trader despised – it was just him, for he was in her pretty eyes nothing more than a ‘down-in-the-dirt bootslave’.

And so whilst the young woman sorted out her busy social life, slave George made himself busy sorting out her boots, bringing them up to a nice shine with his slave saliva, his only reward being the furtive view of the elasticated tops of her black bootsocks.

When he had tongue-shined her boots to her satisfaction, the young woman stepped down, unaided, from the high chair of the shoeshine stand and simply walked off. No words of thanks; no tip – just as George had always wanted.

He savoured the taste of the young businesswoman’s boots in his mouth for a few minutes until the arrival of his next customer.

Or rather – customers. For their arrival was heralded by girlish giggling and laughter. They were two young women in their twenties – tourists, backpackers; from Australia, judging by their accents. One was a black girl, dressed in very short beige shorts, black, calf-length, lace-up, Doc Marten style boots, and bright red, calf-length socks which were scrunched up on her bare, black legs above the boots. The socks would probably have reached her knees if she had been inclined to pull them up straight.

The other young woman was white, and was wearing light blue, denim jeans with turn-ups at the bottom containing a fetching pink stripe down the sides, and white, or rather dirty-grey, somewhat ‘flaky’, well-worn sneakers. From his kneeling position George couldn’t see what the two superior young women were wearing on their upper bodies. He was learning to keep his head, and his gaze, suitably low, and to concentrate on his customers’ feet and footwear – as befits a humble, public footslave. He only knew the second young woman was white because he caught a glimpse of her hands.

The two young out-of-towners were evidently talking about whether or not to avail themselves of his services. It sounded as though they were as unfamiliar with the situation of public slavery as George was:

‘Go on, Sheila…’ the young black woman in the Doc Marten boots and thick, red, scrunched-up bootsocks was saying. ‘…Your sneakers are truly filthy and need a good clean!’

Her companion, the young white woman Sheila – mistress Sheila to slave George – was laughing:

‘Ha! Ha! And what about your dirty, stinky socks, Chanelle? Are you gonna make him take off your boots and wash them in his mouth?’

‘Ha! Ha! No – but I will make him sniff them if you make him lick the dirt off your sneakers first! Deal?’

‘Deal!’

Mistresses Sheila and Chanelle appeared to have reached an accommodation – an accommodation in which slave George would have no say even though he would be a major player: he would, it seemed, be required to first lick clean the dirty, flaky, white sneakers of the white girl, mistress Sheila, and then sniff the sweaty, red socks of the black girl, mistress Chanelle.

But how would these two apparently inexperienced, out-of-town mistresses cope with the equally inexperienced slave?

Admirably, it seemed. Mistress Sheila took off her backpack and climbed up first into the high chair of the shoeshine stand as per the girls’ agreement. When she rested her feet on the two metal footrests in front of slave George’s kneeling face the turned-up, pink and blue hems of her denim jeans rode up further to reveal a delightful pair of short, white sneaker socks with a tiny coloured logo on the elasticated tops. Slave George immediately noticed that the sock on the left foot had slipped further down inside the back of the young woman’s sneaker than the sock on her right foot. Therefore he could see more of her pale, white, ankle flesh and pink heel on her left foot. Such a tiny, insignificant detail excited him, for it held out the prospect that the young woman might order him to pull her left sock up. He might get to touch her precious, white feminine sock whilst she was still wearing it! It would be a wonderful preamble to the certainty of having to sniff mistress Chanelle’s sweaty, red bootsocks!

But first there was the small matter of having to do what mistress Sheila herself wanted done:

‘Slave, clean my sneakers. Lick away all the grime and filth!’ she barked down at him in her antipodean accent, in between chewing on some gum.

‘Ha! Ha! Way to go, Sheila!’ exclaimed her delighted friend (it had been Chanelle’s initiative to kill some time by tormenting the public footslave. The girls had over an hour to wait for their train, and not enough money for a coffee. The services of the public footslave were, however, completely free!)

‘Yes mistress. At once mistress,’ responded slave George, his back still stinging from the attentions of his previous pony-tailed customer.

Speaking of which, slave George was immediately struck by the contrast between the smart, if dirty, black, pointy-toed, spike-heeled ankle boots of his previous customer - the young businesswoman - and the scruffy, tatty, well-worn grey-white sneakers of his current customer - the young Australian backpacker. Her white socks looked clean – or at least the elasticated tops did for they were all that was visible – but that only served to highlight how dirty and ‘off-white’ the sneakers were. As he lowered his lips to the flaky toe of mistress Sheila’s right sneaker slave George was sure he could smell the delicate aroma of sweet, feminine footsweat – sweat that had seeped into the very fabric of the sneakers over the many years of wear and tear.

He was sure he could taste it as well as he began to run his tongue along the part of the round-toed sneaker that covered the tops of the young woman’s toes. The sneaker tasted of rubbery salt!

‘Eww…gross!’ exclaimed the female owner of the sneakers.

‘Ha! Ha! Don’t worry, Sheila, I expect he’s used to it! He has probably grown to like the taste of women’s sweaty sneakers over the years. Isn’t that right slave?’ enquired mistress Sheila’s friend, mistress Chanelle, who was standing just to the left of the shoeshine stand so that she could get a good look at slave George’s humiliation at her friend’s feet.

Slave George had to admit that he had acquired a taste for young women’s sneakers since he had taken up his job as a shoeshine man, and, as with the young businesswoman’s boots, the feminine footwear tasted all the better for still being worn by the mistress whilst he was licking it:

‘Yes mistress,’ was all he could say. He resumed licking.

Miss Chanelle clearly wasn’t satisfied with his answer:

‘Well go on then, slave, tell my friend Sheila how much you are enjoying licking her dirty, sweaty sneakers. Tell her what an honour and privilege it is for you!’

Slave George clearly still had a lot to learn about when a mistress wants a slave to speak and what she wants him to say. He stopped licking momentarily:

‘Oh pray, mistress Sheila, if it pleases you mistress Sheila, this dirty footslave is truly honoured to taste your dirty sneakers and humbly enjoys the taste of your sneaker-sweat, if it so pleases you, most beautiful and superior mistress.’

Both girls creased up laughing. In fact, mistress Sheila was laughing so much that she couldn’t keep her feet still and slave George was accidentally kicked in the nose by her right sneakered foot as it swung uncontrollably in the air. Not that mistress Sheila felt any compulsion to apologise to the footslave – it was his own stupid fault if his ugly, slave face got in the way of her dirty sneaker!

Slave George never did get to straighten mistress Sheila’s left sneaker-sock, for her friend Chanelle was impatient to have him remove her Doc Marten boots and sniff her sweaty, red bootsocks – and both girls had known all along that Sheila’s sneakers were never going to be cleaned up by a slave’s tongue alone! They were beyond repair, and Sheila would have to simply buy a new pair as soon as she could save up enough money to be able to afford them!

The dirty, white-sneakered feet of mistress Sheila were, therefore, soon replaced by the black leather booted feet of mistress Chanelle on the two metal footrests in front of public footslave George’s now throbbing nose.

Unlike mistress Sheila’s dirty, white sneakers, mistress Chanelle’s black, lace-up, calf-length, Doc Marten style boots were actually quite new. The boots themselves were also quite clean – for a young female-backpacker’s boots. It was her socks that let down mistress Chanelle’s footwear hygiene – for she had been wearing the same pair of thick, red bootsocks for three days now as she didn’t have any clean socks to replace them with. In fact, the smell emanating from her now discarded backpack suggested a number of items of feminine underwear that needed a good wash.

Slave George wondered, as he began to unlace her boots, whether mistress Chanelle, who appeared to be the more dominant of the two girls, might actually make him suck clean all her dirty underwear from inside her smelly rucksack – her dirty pants and socks!

His mind, however, was soon focused on the job in hand as mistress Chanelle’s first boot came off. The stink was, quite simply, overwhelming and most unfeminine! The cheesy, vinegary stench of truly rancid socks!

Even miss Chanelle herself noticed it, as she pinched her nose with her fingers:

‘Strewth! Those bitches really do stink!’ she exclaimed.

Slave George, whilst he would not himself have been so disrespectful as to describe the young woman’s superior socks as ‘bitches’ (for he regarded all young women’s socks as his betters), nevertheless had to agree that they did reek! Unfortunately for George, however, he was not permitted to pinch his nose. Indeed, miss Chanelle’s next order made it clear he was to do his utmost to sniff in the cheesy aroma of her three-day-old bootsocks:

‘Slave, sniff up all my sock-stink. Get your nose deep inside the folds of my socks over the area of my sweaty toes and audibly sniff!’ she commanded, still holding her own nose thereby causing her antipodean voice to sound very nasal.

Mistress Sheila, meanwhile, was exaggerating the smell of her friend Chanelle’s socks by moving several yards away from the shoeshine stand:

‘Oh my God, Chanelle, how can you do that to him? I wouldn’t wish those socks on anybody! Ha! Ha!’ she laughed.

Slave George, however, had, indirectly, wished for it – for he had made a wish to be a women’s public footslave, and his wish had come true. Smelly socks came with the territory! And so, as directed by miss Chanelle, he audibly sniffed.

She made him sniff her thick, red bootsocks for a full five minutes – almost as if she thought that by vacuuming up her sock-stink into his slave nose the smell of the sweaty socks would go away. But, of course, it didn’t and, having humbly and self-deprecatingly sniffed the young black woman’s sweaty, red bootsocks, slave George then had the equally humiliating task of lacing the young woman’s Doc Marten style boots back onto her sweaty socked feet. His work had been nugatory – other, perhaps, than achieving his humiliation and entertaining his two young, twenty-something, back-packing, antipodean tormentresses.

They soon bored with him and moved off.

It all went downhill thereafter. Several hours, and dozens of female customers’, later George - the middle-aged former CEO and shoeshine man, now the young women’s public boot-licker, sneaker-licker, and sock-sniffer - was finding the reality of his fantasy life as a women’s public footslave difficult to endure. His knees ached. Even though it had previously been his dream to live life on his knees, he now actually found himself wishing he could stretch his legs for a bit – perhaps have a fifteen minute coffee break, like he used to do as a shoeshine man. But a slave, a real 24/7 slave, secured by a heavy chain in a kneeling position to the shoeshine stand, doesn’t have that option.

Furthermore, his shoulders ached, not just from his permanently crouched position kneeling in front of the shoeshine stand, but from the frequent blows of the riding crop from many seemingly ‘dissatisfied’, and probably unsatisfiable, arrogant young female customers. It began to feel like everything he did to clean their shoes, from licking off foul-tasting, ingrained dirt to removing chewing gum from the dirty treads of their scruffy sneakers or boots, just wasn’t good enough for them. He received no words of praise – just a constant barrage of criticism. One or two young women even slapped him across the face, or spat on him. To his surprise, the constant verbal and physical abuse was actually getting him down!

Above all, he was disillusioned by the fact that he had absolutely no say over which women’s shoes and boots he had to lick clean, or which women’s dirty socks and sweaty, bare feet he had to suck and sniff. Being a shoeshine man had had its drawbacks in that regard too – a shoeshine man can’t pick and choose his customers either. But at least the worst he had to do then was shine the shoes of some unattractive person with a cloth. Now, as a public footslave, even though he at least wasn’t having to clean the feet or footwear of male customers, he was nevertheless, in amongst servicing the feet and footwear of the occasional attractive young woman, having to suck the dirty, deeply unattractive, fat toes of grossly overweight, middle-aged women, and to feign respect for them whilst doing so. Some of the unkempt feet and footwear he was having to service with his slave mouth and tongue were, quite frankly, making him feel sick. Oh why hadn’t he specified to mistress-genie Johara that he should be the public footslave of attractive young women only!

If truth be told even if he had made such a wish, slave George was already fed up with his new fantasy life. Reality never seemed to live up to fantasy!

George therefore, somewhat to his own surprise, after just a few hours of being a proper, public footslave for women, wanted out! But there was no sign of mistress-genie Johara’s sparkly-silver slippers, so, worryingly, he wasn’t currently in a position to wish for anything! He began to wonder how and when he would be able to find the silvery slippers again and wish his life back to normal. A horrible thought occurred to him. What if genie-mistress Johara has deceived me? What if I was only ever going to be able to make one wish? What if I will be stuck as a public footslave for the rest of my life? Do I really want that?

No!

Somebody, it seems, however, was looking over slave George, for whilst he was pondering these questions who should approach his shoeshine stand but the exotic miss Basmah – the real owner of the silver slippers. And, what was more, she had the same carrier-bag full of her shoes and boots that she had had with her the previous day – including the silvery slippers. Indeed, she was dressed in the same clothes too – the blue denim jacket, the pink top, the matching pink, eastern-style, pantaloon-type, lightweight trousers that tapered in at the ankles, and, of course, the pretty, low-heeled, shiny black, court shoes on her shapely, brown ankles.

It was like some kind of time warp – a repetition of their encounter yesterday morning, only this time her tone of voice reminded George that he was no longer the friendly, neighbourhood shoeshine-man; he was the public shoeshine-slave:

‘Clean the muck off my shoes, slave’ miss Basmah barked down at him as she climbed up unaided into the high seat of the shoeshine stand.

Slave George had never heard miss Basmah speak in such an aggressive tone before. But then, he had never been her slave before. As she rested her feet on the metal footrests in front of his face he noticed something else that caused him some consternation. The small tattoo of a crescent that had been on her right ankle now appeared to be on her left ankle! ‘Oh my God!’ he thought to himself. ‘I’m in some sort of parallel universe! This is miss Basmah – but not as I know her. She is a doppelganger! Where exactly am I?'

‘Didn’t you hear what I said, slave? Clean the filthy muck off my shoes. Do it this instant!’

Miss Basmah’s piercing voice brought him back to his senses - you know where you are – you’re the public footslave in the main railway station, and your mistress Basmah wants her dirty shoes licked clean! So do it!

‘Yes mistress Basmah. At once mistress Basmah!’ he cringed; and he began licking away with his slave tongue the very same dirt that yesterday he had wiped away with his shoeshine-man’s cloth.

Mistress Basmah didn’t seem to bat an eyelid at his use of her name. So she must be a regular customer of George the footslave, just as miss Basmah is a regular customer of George the shoeshine-man in my own universe, thought slave George to himself.

He couldn’t quite get his slave head around all of this, but then, he didn’t have to. All he had to do was lick the muck off the side of miss Basmah’s left shoe (unlike yesterday it was her left shoe that was the most splattered with mud, not her right one).

Also as yesterday, slave George noticed that mistress Basmah’s left foot had some specks of wet mud on it. What should he do? Should he offer to lick it off – or, rather, beg permission to lick it off? Is a slave permitted to speak to his mistress without first being spoken to?

Slave George wasn’t sure. He only knew that he had to do something. He braced himself for a possible further encounter with the riding crop:

‘Oh pray, mistress Basmah, if you would be so kind, mistress Basmah, this dirty slave begs his superior mistress for forgiveness, but humbly beseeches his mistress’s permission to lick some specks of mud off his superior mistress’s divine foot, if it so pleases you, most gracious and merciful, feminine mistress.’

Mistress Basmah appeared to click her teeth in some annoyance:

‘Tch! Very well, slave – just get on with it!’

Slave George’s gamble had paid off! He was learning how to talk and act like a humble slave:

‘Yes mistress. Thank you mistress.’

He gently tongued the dirt off the side of mistress Basmah’s soft, brown foot, and swallowed it. It tasted like manna from heaven!

Indeed it was, pathetically, the highlight of his day so far – licking clean his Arab mistress’s bare foot – and slave George found himself suddenly wishing he could be her personal footslave. Her next words, as she stepped down from the shoeshine-stand, her feet and shoes now gleaming thanks to slave George’s tongue, reminded him that he had the opportunity to be just that:

‘Slave, I’ve brought some more of my shoes and boots for you to clean. Have them ready for me by Friday!’

‘Yes mistress Basmah. As you wish, mistress Basmah. Your wish is my command!’

For all his humility and self-deprecation George had not lost his sense of humour. ‘Your wish is my command’ – that was what genies normally said, wasn’t it? (although genie-mistress Johara had not struck him as the kind of genie who treated men’s pathetic wishes as her commands. She presumably fulfilled their wishes out of choice and the kindness of her female heart. Like so many women, she indulged men’s fantasies!)

Whatever, George’s mood had vastly improved again. Lust and fantasy had once more triumphed over common sense, and George now decided that he wished not to return to his old life as a shoeshine man after all, but to be mistress Basmah’s personal slave. That would be his second wish, and he now had the sparkly-silver slippers to be able to summon genie-mistress Johara and make his second wish come true. They were in the carrier bag mistress Basmah had just left him, along with the other pairs of boots and shoes she had left in the carrier bag in the parallel universe the day before – the brown leather, zip-up, pointy-toed and spike-heeled ankle boots; the bright yellow Wellington boots with the dirty, grey-white drawstrings; the blue and white sneakers; and the shiny, black, block-heeled, strappy mary-janes.

He crawled over to the bag on his knees as far as his slave-chain would allow and took out the soft, silvery slippers. He hesitated for just a few minutes before licking them. ‘Do I really want to remain a real-life slave – to be the personal footslave of mistress Basmah?’ he thought to himself. ‘Yes, I do,’ he concluded, ‘and if I don’t like it I can still use my third and final wish to wish myself back as a normal shoeshine-man again!’

It was a logic of sorts. He therefore picked up the slippers and licked them.

There was another sudden puff of smoke and genie-mistress Johara appeared in front of him – once again in her ‘belly-dancer’ outfit, with the transparent, blue veil covering the lower half of her pretty face, and with the silvery slippers somehow magically transferred onto her pretty feet:

‘Why have you summoned Johara again so soon, oh mortal one? Are you already desirous of making your second wish?’ asked the exotic mistress-genie in a somewhat incredulous tone.

‘Yes please, most beautiful and kind genie-mistress Johara. I …I now wish to be the personal footslave of mistress Basmah!’

Once again, genie-mistress Johara appeared to sneer at George’s pathetic request. Indeed, this time she even seemed to query it:

‘Are you sure, pathetic mortal? You should have learnt by now that you must be careful what you wish for! As you have discovered, fantasy can sometimes be better than reality!’

For all his innate submissiveness George was somewhat taken aback at genie-mistress Johara’s questioning of his desires. I mean, she was quite a scary genie – clearly superior to him as a mere, male mortal. More of a ‘goddess’ than a genie. But it was his wish and, as far as he knew, she had to fulfil it. So it was with an air of entirely inappropriate and uncalled for impatience that slave George repeated his request:

‘Yes, genie-mistress Johara, I think I’m old enough to know my own mind!’

A flash of excruciating pain suddenly traversed the entire length of George’s feeble, middle-aged body like a bolt of electricity. It snapped his heavy, metal slave chain and forced him to lie contritely on his belly at genie-mistress Johara’s silver-slippered feet. She truly seemed to tower over him now like an Arabian goddess:

‘Insolent fool!’ she declared. ‘I shall grant you your second wish, and may your back feel the sting of a thousand whips!’

Genie-mistress Johara then waved her hand contemptuously and the next thing George knew he was kneeling at the end of a couch on which mistress Basmah was reclining, massaging her bare, brown feet with his slave hands.

He was alone with mistress Basmah in what must be her living room! He was her personal footslave! His second wish had come true!

Thank you, goddess-mistress genie Johara! Thank you!
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Old 21-Aug-18, 05:54
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Three Wishes
Author: Patheticus Minimus


Part 3 – Miss Basmah’s Personal Footslave

After just a few minutes of massaging mistress Basmah’s bare feet slave George had already decided that being a personal footslave was much better than being a public footslave. Sure he was still wearing the same old plain slave tunic, and he was still down on his increasingly sore knees, but this was a much more pleasurable and intimate experience than being a public footslave in the busy railway station. He was, at least, kneeling on soft carpet at the end of mistress Basmah’s couch in the privacy of her living room and rubbing her beautiful, soft Arabian feet with their beautifully painted and varnished, bright red toenails with his bare hands and fingers, whilst she reclined, haughtily ignoring him, and concentrating instead on reading her glossy magazine.

He could also smell her glass of red wine, and his one regret was that he couldn’t join her in a glass, for George, as we already know, loved his wine! Personal footslaves, however, presumably weren’t allowed to join their mistresses in a glass of wine! They had work to do – gently rubbing and massaging their mistresses’ bare feet.

Mistress Basmah was now wearing a black T shirt and matching, black ski pants that hugged her shapely Arabian legs all the way down to her shapely, bare ankles. Slave George admired the crescent tattoo on her left, outer ankle bone again – it reminded him that this was the mistress Basmah of the ‘parallel universe’; the universe in which male slavery was the norm.

However, the sound of the living room door opening, and a male voice, reminded him of another feature of this strange, new world – that not all men were slaves:

‘Hi, darling!’

George’s heart sank. He had forgotten that he would not be the only man in mistress Basmah’s life! She was married! This must be her husband, Hatim – ‘master Hatim’ to slave George.

‘Oh hi, sweetheart!...’ replied mistress Basmah, rather unceremoniously withdrawing her bare feet from slave George’s hands as she swung her pretty, ski-pant clad legs off the end of the sofa in order to stand up and embrace her beloved husband.

‘…How was your day?’ continued mistress Basmah in an affectionate tone that reminded slave George of the other miss Basmah he knew from his own universe, as opposed to the ‘stroppy’ mistress Basmah who had barked her orders down at him when he had been serving her not long ago as a public footslave.

‘Oh, not too bad, honey – a bit knackering, though!’ replied master Hatim.

George was already beginning to feel jealous at the loving care and attention his mistress Basmah was showing towards her husband. How arrogant can a mere footslave be!

If truth be told, personal footslave George wasn’t sure what he should be doing, or quite where to look, as the superior mistress and master embraced in a passionate kiss above him. He decided that the correct thing for a young Arab lady’s white, middle-aged, personal footslave to do in such circumstances was to humbly kneel with his face behind his mistress’s bare heels as the light, brown, Arabian skin on the back of her heels wrinkled and folded as a result of her raising herself up on tiptoe to kiss her beloved Arabian husband on the mouth. How he wished he could kiss the backs of mistress Basmah’s heels as she kissed his master - her husband - on the lips! But George had the good sense to know that a footslave never kisses his mistress’s feet without her explicit permission.

‘Well, never mind, sweetheart…we’ll go out and see that movie tonight and I’ll treat you to a nice slap-up meal!’ continued miss Basmah.

She’ll treat him! Very modern, thought George to himself. Why was it that none of the women he ever met paid to take him out! Then he remembered that he wouldn’t be going out on dates with women any more. He was a full-time slave – the personal footslave of mistress Basmah!

‘Great! I’ll just go and freshen up!’ responded master Hatim, who still hadn’t even acknowledged slave George’s presence. Is it because in this strange new parallel universe I am literally invisible to him, wondered George momentarily.

No George, it’s just because you’re a mere slave! Why would a superior, free man bother to acknowledge the presence of his wife’s personal footslave? You’re just a thing; an object; an appendage to his beloved wife’s feet! You are no threat to him, and of no interest to him. Get over yourself!

Whilst superior master Hatim went to freshen up, mistress Basmah, her tone suddenly reverting to one suitable for addressing a personal footslave, barked an order down at the slave lying on his somewhat podgy, slave-tunic-covered belly behind her soft, but wrinkly, brown-skinned heels:

‘Slave, fetch my black ballet-flats!’

It was a simple enough order. Mistress Basmah was getting ready to go out to the cinema with her husband and she wanted her personal footslave to fetch her soft, black ballet-flats to match her black top and ski-pants, and to presumably then put them on her delicious, bare, brown feet. But where did she keep her shoes? Where was her shoe cupboard?

George didn’t know – yet she clearly expected him to know!

He began to panic and, as always, panic manifested itself in hesitation – a fatal error for a slave:

‘Slave! Did you hear me? Fetch my black ballet-flats this instant!’ mistress Basmah was now screaming at him!

Her raised voice attracted the attentions of her husband who re-entered the room:

‘What’s the matter, honey?’

‘Honestly, Hatim, this slave just gets more and more disobedient by the day! I’ve just ordered him twice to fetch my black ballet-flats and he still hasn’t moved! He really is nothing but a lazy, good-for-nothing, insolent, disobedient wretch!’, and with that miss Basmah scrunched up the toes on her petite and delicate, feminine, right foot and kicked slave George in the face with her red-painted toenails.

Master Hatim did his best to calm his irate wife down:

‘There, there honey! Calm down, you’ll only hurt yourself! Leave him to me. You go and get your shoes while I discipline him!’

‘Thank you sweetheart,’ responded mistress Basmah in a much more conciliatory tone. ‘Don’t spare him!’

As she left the room slave George wondered what she meant. ‘Don’t spare him!’ What exactly was master Hatim going to do to him? He didn’t much like the idea of being ‘disciplined’ by a man!

He felt scared and vulnerable.

He felt terrified as he became aware that master Hatim now had a cruel-looking whip in his hands – a three-thonged, brown leather whip with nasty-looking knots at the end of each thong:

‘So you think you’re too good to go and fetch my wife’s shoes, do you slave-boy? Well, let’s see if the whip can’t instil a sense of humility and obedience in you! Take off your tunic!’

George couldn’t believe this was happening! Where was genie-mistress Johara when he needed her? This wasn’t meant to be part of his fantasy – being whipped by a man!

It probably isn’t part of your fantasy either, so we’ll gloss over what happened next. Suffice it to say that by the time master Hatim had finished with slave George the latter felt that genie-mistress Johara’s ‘wish’ that he should ‘feel the sting of a thousand whips’ had come true! Never had a slave tunic been so difficult and painful to put back on again!

Suitably chastened slave George found himself blubbering with self pity and a sense, unbelievably for a slave, of grievance as he knelt at mistress Basmah’s feet and gently slipped her soft, black leather ballet-flats onto her bare, brown feet. It hadn’t been his fault that he didn’t know where mistress Basmah kept her shoes! Didn’t this haughty and arrogant young, married couple realise that he had only just been transported into their world?

Apparently not!

And so slave George realised that he would be spending the rest of the evening in the doghouse – viewed by his masters as a recalcitrant, disobedient slave when he wanted to be the opposite; he wanted so much to be a good personal footslave to the beautiful mistress Basmah!

Of course, he wouldn’t literally be spending the rest of the evening in the doghouse. There was no rest for the ‘wicked’, and he had to accompany his mistress to heel as she hit the town with her husband. He would have preferred to stay at home, at their home, and lick his wounds like a whipped cur if not mistress Basmah’s large collection of shoes and boots – but instead he would have to crawl after his mistress’s black ballet-flats on his increasingly painful knees along the harsh, unforgiving pavements of the streets outside, and with the additional discomfort of his now stinging back rubbing against the coarse material of his slave tunic.

He was quickly discovering that a personal footslave, just as much as a public footslave, has no say over his fate, and is at the constant beck and call of his superiors and betters.

In short, he was discovering that being a slave, in many ways, sucked!

Yet, for all that, he still found it a fascinating position to be in – crawling along the pavements behind his mistress’s heels as she walked, arm in arm with her husband, the short distance to their local bus-stop to catch the bus into the town centre. And then having to lie face down on the dirty, dusty floor of the bus whilst miss Basmah rested the dusty sole of her soft, leather, right ballet-flat on his upturned left cheek whilst her left ballet-flat-clad foot rested directly in front of his face. He was now reduced to being nothing more than miss Basmah’s personal footrest under her seat!

Even though it was quite dark down on the floor of the bus he could make out the tiny, individual folds and creases coming and going in the soft leather of her ballet shoe as she subconsciously twisted her foot-muscles inside the shoe. And he realised with a deep sense of humility that he too was little more than a part of her subconscious. She was barely aware of his presence as she rested her foot on the side of his face. She only had eyes for her husband Hatim. It was another painful lesson for a personal footslave to learn – that you were not the centre of attention; that you were largely ignored; that you were a piece of furniture rather than a human-being – albeit a whipped and sore piece of furniture!

Things didn’t get any better when the happy couple and their slave reached the cinema. Again, slave George was compelled to lie on his belly in the dark on the dusty floor of the cinema – his footslave-face acting as a footrest for miss Basmah’s ballet-flat-shod feet. Naturally, he could hear the film, but couldn’t see it, and so he would have liked to have focussed his attention instead on miss Basmah’s feet and footwear, but it was so dark he could barely make out her left foot even though it was resting just inches in front of his face. True, he could smell the soft, pungent leather of her ballet-flat shoe, but it was small consolation. He wanted to see it in all its glorious detail, to give it his full and undivided attention – to kiss it even; but as he was fast discovering a slave’s wishes, a real slave’s wishes, are of supreme unimportance.

Things were slightly more interesting in the restaurant afterwards. At least, as he knelt under the table at miss Basmah’s feet, he could see them again in the light – he could see the intriguing little wrinkles and folds on her bare footflesh inside her shoes as she again involuntarily flexed the muscles of her feet whilst she ate and chatted away happily above him to her beloved husband Hatim.

But now all slave George could think about was his own stomach; and how hungry he was; and how he could murder a glass of wine! He realised it was incredibly selfish and inappropriate for a slave to think like that – but he just couldn’t help himself! Perhaps he just wasn’t cut out to be a personal footslave, or any kind of slave, at all!

The couple got a taxi home, but slave George still found himself in the ‘boring’ role of being miss Basmah’s personal footrest. It wasn’t until they entered the house again that things started to liven up a bit:

‘Slave, my feet are hot and sweaty. Fetch a bowl of water and a towel; you’re going to wash my feet!’ snapped miss Basmah down at him as she took off her coat.

‘Yes, mistress Basmah. At once, mistress Basmah!’

If the whip had taught slave George anything, it had taught him not to hesitate when your mistress gives you an order. Even though he had no idea where to locate a basin of water and a towel in this unfamiliar house he would quickly find out. His back depended on it!

Luckily for George he saw the bowl just as soon as he crawled into the bathroom, and a towel wasn’t hard to locate either. He also had the good sense to ensure the water he put into the bowl was neither too warm nor too cold for bathing a superior mistress’s bare feet. It was only the act of crawling back to the living room with the bowl of water under one arm - without splashing the water all over the carpeted floor - that he found a bit difficult.

But he managed it, and soon was kneeling again in front of the leather sofa on which mistress Basmah had earlier been reclining but was now seated, patiently waiting for her inefficient and unsatisfactory personal footslave to remove her hot, sweaty ballet-flats and wash her bare, sweaty feet. Somewhat ominously she was holding a short riding crop in her hands – rather like the one his female customers had used on the shoeshine-stand when they had been dissatisfied with his performance as their public footslave.

At least I’ve got my slave tunic back on to protect me, thought slave George to himself, although even he realised that the riding crop would be extremely painful if brought down on the old sores of his already well-whipped back and shoulders.

‘Kiss my ballet-flats before you take them off my feet, slave,’ pronounced mistress Basmah.

At last! At last I am to be permitted to kiss my mistress’s sweaty shoes, thought slave George to himself – selfish as ever. He quickly lowered his lips and could smell the pungent aroma of soft leather mixed with dainty, feminine footsweat as his slave lips touched the toe of his mistress’s extended right shoe. She then quickly withdrew her right foot from under his nose in favour of her left, which, again, he dutifully kissed.

Kissing his mistress’s shoes turned out to be the highlight of his evening, for George was to prove to be a much better foot-kisser than he was a foot-washer. Mistress Basmah was not at all satisfied with his efforts at washing her feet. She accused him, at various junctures, of scratching her feet; of not ladling enough water over her pretty, brown feet; of neglecting her tired and chapped heels; of not extracting enough toe-jam from between her toes with his ‘arrogant’ slave tongue; of hurting her as he scraped out the debris from underneath her toenails with his slave teeth.

And with each perceived failing – she whipped him. She whipped him hard – with the riding crop, across his already tender shoulders underneath his flimsy, plain brown slave tunic. The constant criticism and beating was wearing slave George down. This wasn’t how he had imagined being mistress Basmah’s personal footslave would be! He was sore, tired and hungry.

The final straw came when she made him dispose of her now dirty bowl of foot water by drinking it. She actually made him drink her dead foot skin and sweaty toe-jam!

Luckily for George, he was to have his way out, for, once he had dried mistress Basmah’s feet with the towel, and ‘disposed’ of her dirty foot-water, she ordered him to fetch her slippers – her ‘silver slippers’. George was now determined to find his mistress’s shoe cupboard, for he needed those slippers every bit as much as she did.

They were, in the event, easy to find – at the bottom of her wardrobe in the master bedroom – along with all her other familiar shoes and boots: her yellow Wellingtons; her blue and white sneakers; her brown leather, pointy-toed, spike-heeled, ankle boots; and her shiny, black, strappy mary-janes, to name but a few.

He grabbed the exotic, sparkly-silver slippers and promptly disobeyed his mistress, for he did not crawl back with them to the living room and place them on her freshly-washed feet, as he had been ordered to do. Instead, he licked the silver slippers, and summoned genie-mistress Johara.

Again there was a flash of light and a puff of smoke, and goddess-mistress genie Johara was once more towering over him:

‘Ha! Ha!’ she laughed, ‘the foolish mortal has summoned me so soon again! Is your life as mistress Basmah’s personal footslave not to your liking, kind sir!’ she mocked, a look of withering contempt in her pretty, brown, Arabian eyes above her pretty, veiled, Arabian face.

Slave George decided to swallow his pride and to admit defeat. Goddess-mistress genie Johara had been right, and he had been wrong. Fantasy was better than reality. He wanted his old life back as a shoeshine man in the real world. At least he wouldn’t go hungry, and be whipped and spat at! He would be in a position of servitude, as it were, but without all the horrors of true slavery!

‘Oh pray, goddess-mistress genie Johara, if it pleases you, supremely wise and all-knowing goddess-mistress genie Johara, this pitiful mortal has made a foolish mistake, and now wishes for nothing more than to return to his old life as a humble shoeshine man. This pathetic male is not fit to be a slave of superior women!’

‘Ha! Ha! You have learnt a valuable lesson, oh pathetic mortal!’ exclaimed genie-mistress Johara. ‘Fantasy is often best left as fantasy, and reality as reality. Did Johara not caution you to be careful what you wish for?’

Slave George lowered his head to goddess-mistress genie’s silver-slippered feet and kissed them. In so doing he acknowledged the wisdom of her words, the superiority of women over men, and his unworthiness to be their slave in reality.

‘Ha! Ha! Very well, submissive and contrite mortal. As you wish so shall it be! This is your third and final wish, pathetic man!’ and with that superior genie-mistress Johara dismissed slave George with a derisory wave of her hand, there was another flash of light and puff of smoke, and George came to his senses on the cold tiles of his kitchen floor – an empty bottle of wine lying by his side.

It took him a while to get his bearings. Where was he? What had happened? He saw the empty bottle of wine, and he saw the silvery-sparkly slippers lying beside it on the floor.

He must have passed out! His head was throbbing! Too much alcohol again!

It must all have been a dream – everything that he thought had just happened to him! And yet it had all seemed so vivid and so real – genie-mistress Johara; the arrogant, young, pin-stripe suited businesswoman; the two Australian backpacker-girls; the trip to the cinema; the painful beatings from master Hatim and mistress Basmah!

He checked his clothes. They were normal – no slave tunic in sight; he felt his back and shoulders under his shirt – no whip marks; he picked up the silvery-sparkly slippers and licked them – nothing happened.

I need another drink thought George!

---------------------------------------------------------------


Two days later, on Friday morning, George was back at his shoeshine stand in the central railway station. He had just polished the knee-length, black leather, block-heeled, zip-up boots of a charmingly polite young office-girl who had left him a generous tip, when he saw the exotic miss Basmah approaching him with a big, friendly smile on her pretty Arabian face as usual.

‘Hi, George,’ she chirped as she held out her arm to facilitate him in gallantly assisting her once again up into the comfortable, leather-backed, high chair of the ornate shoeshine stand. ‘How are you today?’

‘Fine, thank you miss,’ responded George, although if truth be told he wasn’t fine. He was still nervous and confused, and wanted to ask miss Basmah something.

She rested her pretty feet on the two metal footrests in front of his face, although this time she was wearing blue, denim jeans and pink and white sneakers with cute, matching, low-cut, pink and white sneaker socks with a thin, pink stripe along each of the elasticated tops:

‘Could you just try sprucing these sneakers up a bit please, George? I know you hate trying to polish sneakers, but if you could even just get some of the dirt off the pink areas that would be great!’

It was such a polite request from a beautiful young woman that George could hardly refuse!

‘I’ll certainly try my best, miss!’ he responded politely, as he dipped a clean cloth in some water ready to wipe as much dust and mud as possible off the pink areas of miss Basmah’s pink and white sneakers.

He couldn’t help noticing also the familiar crescent-shaped tattoo on miss Basmah’s left ankle above the elasticated top of her short, pink and white sneaker-sock. Such a charming little tattoo!

‘Oh, and did you manage to clean up those other shoes I left you, George?’ she enquired from her seated position above him.

‘Yes, miss, I have them here ready for you,’ replied George indicating the carrier bag by the side of the shoeshine stand with a nod of his head.

‘Great! Thanks!’ replied miss Basmah, happy, as ever, with George’s service.

George hesitated. He wanted to ask miss Basmah something, but his innate submissiveness made it difficult for him to initiate a conversation with an attractive and superior young woman. George might have been a bad slave, but he was still a polite and respectful submissive male:

‘Erm… miss Basmah…erm…do you mind if I ask you a question?’ he stuttered.

‘Sure George, go ahead – spit it out,’ responded miss Basmah, apparently amused by his nervousness and diffidence. Perhaps, even, secretly quite enjoying his fear and submissive demeanour towards her?

‘Erm…those silvery slippers you left for me to clean…can I ask where you got them?’

Miss Basmah had to pause for a moment:

‘Um...I think I brought them over with me when I moved here from Egypt. I think I picked them up in a bazaar, or something. Why, did they smell a bit or were they difficult to clean?...Ha! Ha! Don’t worry about it, George – I don’t expect you to work miracles!’

George laughed politely:

‘No, no, miss, it’s not that …it’s just that ….oh, it’s nothing really! It doesn’t matter, miss!’

‘Come on, George, don’t leave me in suspense! What is it you want to say about my slippers? Don’t you like them?’

‘Oh yes, miss, I like them very much…it’s just that, well, I hope you won’t be offended, but I had a really strange dream about them!’

Miss Basmah laughed:

‘Ha! Ha! Oh really, George? Well, I’m not offended at all! In fact, I’m rather flattered that you have dreams about my manky old slippers! Would you like to tell me about this dream, then?'

George felt himself turning pink with embarrassment – pink to match the now gleaming pink stripes on miss Basmah’s pink and white sneakers. He couldn’t possibly relate to miss Basmah the contents of his bizarre, erotic dream – about genie-mistress Johara; about wishing to be her, miss Basmah’s, personal footslave; about her husband Hatim whipping him. It would all be just too embarrassing!

‘Oh no, miss…it was nothing really! It was just a dream!’

Miss Basmah was still laughing as she inspected her sneakers and held out her hand for George to assist her down from the shoeshine stand:

‘Ha! Ha! Well, you’ll have to pluck up the courage to tell me all about it sometime, George, but I must admit I am in a bit of a hurry right now. Perhaps you can recount your dream about my slippers some other time?’

‘Yes, miss…perhaps I will,’ responded George, relieved that he was, temporarily at least, off the hook.

Miss Basmah picked up the carrier bag containing her shoes, including the silvery-sparkly slippers, gave George her money and turned to walk off:

‘Bye, George. Keep the change! See you next time!’ she chirped happily.

‘Good bye, miss! Thank you!’ answered George politely.

After just a few steps, however, miss Basmah suddenly stopped, turned around, and shouted back to him:

‘Oh, just one more thing, George!’

‘Yes, miss?’

‘Be careful what you wish for!’

She then winked at him, and walked off, swinging her carrier bag by her side.

George was, not for the first time, stunned! His heart skipped a beat and his brow furrowed.

Which pretty, brown ankle had that crescent-shaped tattoo been on? Her right ankle or her left ankle?
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Old 23-Aug-18, 02:44
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Hotel Footslave
Author: Patheticus Minimus


Chapter 1 - Room Service

'Hotel "Footslave", can I help you?'

The hotel receptionist answered the phone in her usual chirpy, happy voice. She loved her job -- her first real job since leaving school. Trudy had just turned 20 years old, and all her family were impressed at the fact that, despite leaving school with virtually no qualifications, she had at last managed to secure a potentially good career in the hospitality industry. She may be just the receptionist now, but Trudy had a very high opinion of herself and had ambitions to rise to the very top. She was determined that one day she would be the manageress of her own hotel.

'Oh, hello. My name is Patel, and I’m ringing to make a reservation for myself, my wife, and my two daughters this coming weekend.'

'Yes certainly, sir,' responded Trudy, twiddling her long, blonde hair, 'how many rooms do you require?'

'Two please - a double room for myself and my wife and a twin room for my daughters, if that's possible?'

'No problem, Sir, we have two such rooms available this weekend. I’ll just take your credit card details if I may?'

And with that the blonde, bubbly 20 year old receptionist proceeded to process the reservation.

As she did so, lying beneath her feet under the reception desk was one of the hotel’s footslaves. It was a ‘themed’ hotel, and as the name of the hotel suggested, the theme was foot slavery. Many of the rooms had 'resident footslaves’ - secured in alcoves in the floor -- who could be released from their confinement if the female guests so wished in order to service their feet. Some of the other cheaper rooms did not have the luxury of a resident footslave. But the female guests could call upon the 'footslave room-service' facility as and when required. And then there were the 'general use’ footslaves, scattered throughout the hotel, who were at the disposal of both female guests and staff. These footslaves were the hotel’s porters, shoeshine boys and laundry slaves.

The footslave whose left cheek was currently acting as the receptionist's foot rest was one such 'general use’ footslave. He didn't mind being a ‘general use’ slave -- in fact, quite the opposite. Sure, in the slave-hierarchy within the hotel, the ‘general use’ slaves were regarded as bottom of the pile. And it wasn't that he wasn't ambitious -- he could see himself, eventually, 'rising' through the ranks to the elevated status of one of the room-footslaves. But he had only been at the hotel for a couple of years, and the 'life' of a general use footslave was, at least, varied - you could be serving as a porter one day, polishing feminine shoes and boots the next day, washing dirty female socks and hosiery the next, or, as he was today, serving as a footrest for a female member of the hotel staff. No two days were ever the same!

The hotel receptionist’s foot-rest didn't know much about his mistress- even though he had served her in this capacity many times before. He knew only that her name was Trudy, that she was bubbly and attractive (he knew that because he could hear how some of the male guests flirted outrageously with her -- and because she had great legs!) He knew also that she had a preference for wearing tan-coloured stockings and high-heels. At that very moment the young woman was digging the sharp, albeit rubber-tipped, heel of one of her shiny, red, patent-leather pumps into his upturned cheek, whilst the other, pretty, high-heeled foot was resting on the ground just inches in front of his face. A special light under the reception desk made sure that her feet were fully illuminated -- the hotel authorities wanted to make sure that the receptionists’ foot-rests had a good view of their mistresses’ feet and footwear, be it day or night.

As she spoke to the customer, Mr Patel, on the phone Trudy subconsciously flexed her feet, causing a little crease to appear in the fine denier stocking around the ankle of her left foot which was resting in front of the footslave's face. Were it not for that tiny crease in the material the footslave might have been forgiven for thinking that mistress Trudy was wearing her heels on bare feet. But in the bright light he could see every crease in the stocking-- he could even focus his eyes on the individual stitches of the material of the stocking, especially where it was stretched over her shapely ankle-bone.

However, at that particular point in time, the footslave was focusing on a tiny black mark on the side of the otherwise ultra-shiny red shoe. It was a tiny scuff mark on the patent leather, unnoticeable to anyone, including the wearer -- anyone, that is, apart from a pathetic down-in-the-dirt footslave whose whole field of vision, not to say ‘universe’, was dominated by his young mistress’s footwear. He so much wanted to lick off the offending mark on his mistress's shoe. But he knew that he could not do so unless he was so ordered by the mistress. And mistress Trudy had more important issues to deal with -- like processing Mr Patel's reservation politely and efficiently. So the slave at her feet just had to put up with the frustration of staring at the slight imperfection on the otherwise perfect mistress’s shoe.

If the footslave knew little or nothing about the life of the young mistress towering above him, she knew even less about the miserable existence of the foot-rest under her feet. Indeed, she never gave him a second thought. He was just there -an object for her to rest her feet on whilst she was on duty at the reception desk. She never bothered to speak to the foot-rests, and scarcely even noticed which slave was fulfilling that role on any particular day. If truth be told she didn't even care. And why should she?

Having finished processing Mr Patel's reservation, Trudy stopped fiddling with her blonde locks and resumed filing her fingernails. She readjusted herself in her chair to make herself more comfortable, causing the heel of her right foot to momentarily dig even deeper into the footslave's cheek. The tiny crease in the stocking around her left ankle also disappeared again, giving the pathetic footslave even more reason to obsess about the tiny scuff mark on the side of her left shoe.

It was a busy hotel, and the phone was soon ringing again. This time even the footslave could tell it was an internal call by the different ring-tone.

'Reception, can I help you?' chirped Trudy.

'Yeah, ah’d like one of them footslaves sent up to mah room’.

Trudy grimaced. It was that fat cow in room 16. American, she believed. Quite abrupt, quite rude.

‘Yes, certainly, Madam, I’ll have one sent up right away. Will there be anything else?’

‘No thanks, honey-pie. Just git that slave up here – mah feet need a good wash!’

Trudy knew enough about American accents to know that this woman was from the deep South.

‘Very well, Madam. Good-bye’

Fat cow or not, the woman was a guest in the hotel and was entitled to a professional service. Trudy paged one of the room-service footslaves who scurried along on his hands and knees, naked apart from his white slave-shorts (in common with all the male footslaves in the hotel), to the front of the reception desk:

‘Slave, go to room 16’, she ordered abruptly, lowering her normally chirpy voice to make it sound as authoritative as possible. Trudy had two ‘voices’ – a polite one for the guests, and a dominant one for giving orders to the footslaves. She made sure that she always, quite literally, spoke down to the slaves.

The room-service slave immediately scurried off on his hands and knees up the stairs (slaves were not allowed to use the lifts unless accompanying a female guest), whilst Trudy, again, resumed her nail-filing, and her foot-rest, again, focused his attention on that infernal scuff-mark on the side of her left shoe.

The room-service footslave knocked somewhat gingerly on the door to room 16. He was, as ever, on his hands and knees with head bowed – the hotel footslaves were never allowed to stand up. He had no idea who was staying in the room, all he could be sure of was that there was a woman in there as male guests were never allowed to make use of the footslaves, just the female guests.

The first thing he saw when the door was opened was the black mistress’s socked and sandaled feet – white ‘no-show’ ankle socks with a colourful floral pattern just beneath the white elasticated tops, and beige flip-flop style sandals, but with shiny silver buckles on the thick leather straps across the top of her feet. He noticed, in an instant, that the socks were quite dirty around the exposed toes.

‘What kept you, boy?’ barked the young woman, who was, to put it politely, somewhat overweight. ‘Ah ordered you nearly 5 minutes ago. Git yoh ass in here now, fore an ah whup yoh ass, you lazy good-for-nothin’ footlick!’

The slave knew it wasn’t true that he had taken five minutes to scurry along to her room, but arguing with a mistress was totally out of the question. In the Hotel ‘Footslave’, not only was the female customer always right – she could do no wrong! He therefore sought to apologise for his tardiness:

‘Please forgive me, mistress. I apologise for not getting to you sooner, mistress.’

His attempt at a cringing, groveling apology earned him a kick up the backside:

‘Shut up, boy! Don’t you try an’ sass me, boy. You is nothin’ but a dirty, no-good footslave and ah wants mah feet attended to. Now git in that room, boy!’

The room-service footslave, in his early fifties, must have been at least 20 years older than the young woman who was now clearly enjoying bossing him about and referring to him, disparagingly, as ‘boy’. But it was right that she should do so – for he wasn’t a ‘man’ in the true sense of the word: he was just a male slave, infinitely inferior to this superior, young black woman.

She continued to kick him with her scrunched-up, white-socked toes as he scurried hurriedly on his hands and knees into her room. He heard her slam the door behind them.

‘Git yoh ass in front of mah bed, boy!’ barked the young, black mistress in her heavy, sexy Southern drawl.

Although she was quite overweight, Marcia was nevertheless, an attractive young woman. At 31, she was a successful self-employed business-woman, selling beauty products to salons specializing in black womens’ hair and beauty. She was in town on business for a couple of days, and had had quite a busy day trawling around the numerous such salons in the area. Her feet were now hot, sweaty and tired having been in her white socks and sneakers all day and, although she had changed into her sandals, which also served as her house-slippers, she knew she could do with a foot-rub. She knew also that her feet needed washing, but she would have her foot-rub first. She didn’t care if it meant that the unfortunate footslave would have to endure her foot-stink.

She relaxed back on her bed and rested her sandaled feet so that they were just inches from the face of the room-service footslave who was now kneeling at the end of her bed:

‘Take off mah sandals, boy, and rub mah socked feet,’ she barked. It wasn’t that she was in a particularly bad mood. Marcia just despised male slaves, and enjoyed shouting orders at them.

‘Yes, mistress. At once, mistress’, whined the hapless footslave. He knew that he was in the power of a demanding young woman, who would tolerate nothing less than his utmost submissiveness.

As he gently raised each socked heel off the bed in order to slip off her sandals, his nose came much closer to the socked toes. He caught quite a strong whiff of feminine sock-sweat. The floral pattern around the top of her short ankle socks was doing nothing to improve the fragrance of the socks. As the sandals came off he could also see the source of the smell – yellow sweat stains beneath the toes. But his features betrayed none of his discomfort. He was a footslave, and the smell of a woman’s foot-sweat was a smell fitting for his slave-nostrils.

‘Make sure you rub hard on mah toes, boy. Ah wanna feel yoh slave-fingers rubbin’ through mah socks. Do you hear me, boy?’

‘Yes, mistress. I obey you, mistress’.

‘You sure will, boy, or ah’ll whup yoh sorry ass red-raw.’ She picked up the brown, leather single-tailed whip that was supplied in every room, and ran it through her fingers. She liked the feel of it, the texture. She betted it would really sting if applied to a bare back or shoulders.

The room-service footslave began obediently rubbing the dirty white socks of the black mistress. Now, he could feel the source of the pungent odour – the socks were quite damp under the toes. He knew that the woman’s sock-sweat would be transferring onto his hands – that his fingers would smell of her sweat when he had finished. But that was precisely where her foot-sweat belonged – on his fingers, and, later, down his throat as he sucked it off.

Mistress Marcia cracked the whip in the air, as much to test it out as anything else:
‘Ah said rub mah feet hard, boy! You deaf or somethin’?’

‘No, mistress, sorry mistress,’ pleaded the pathetic footslave, spurred into even more vigorous sock-rubbing by the mere sound of the cracking whip.

Marcia laughed, and let out a little moan of pleasure:

‘Hmm, that’s better, boy. You just keep on rubbin’ mah socks while ah has me a cigarette.’

All the rooms in the Hotel ‘Footslave’ were non-smoking, but, needless to say, it was not the slave’s place to point this out to the superior mistress. As far as slaves were concerned, a mistress could do no wrong. If she wanted to smoke, she damn well would, and if she wanted to, she could subsequently blame it on the slave. He was, in effect, like all the slaves employed in the hotel, a potential ‘whipping-boy’ for the misdemeanours of the female guests, as well as a footslave.

Marcia was clearly enjoying her relaxing foot-rub, and grabbed the remote control to switch on the television. The TV was behind the footslave, so he could hear the programme if not see it. It was the latest episode of a long-running soap opera which he had once enjoyed watching before his enslavement nearly 15 years ago. But he had long since lost touch with the characters and the plot – needless to say slaves never got to watch television - and so he didn’t find the dialogue in the least bit distracting as he concentrated on the job in hand – giving a relaxing foot-massage to the superior mistress Marcia.

He could smell her cigarette smoke. That was something else he hadn’t had the pleasure of consuming in over 15 years, nor had he had a drink. Since becoming a footslave his senses had been dominated by the smell and taste of female feet; they were his only real sustenance, apart from the disgusting slave gruel he got to eat every day.

But he was now fully conditioned to his life as a footslave. Just as mistress Trudy’s footslave would have liked to lick off the offending scuff-mark from the side of her red, leather pump, so the room-service footslave would have liked to respectfully kiss mistress Marcia’s dirty white socks as he rubbed her socked feet. He admired the way her socks creased as she wiggled her toes under his now sweaty fingers. There was one yellow-stained area on the underside of her left sock in particular that he longed to kiss, as a demonstration of his humility and servility. But mistress Marcia had not ordered him to kiss her socks, and, like all slaves, he had the frustration of being completely subject to her wishes and whims. If she wanted her socks kissed, she would order it. If not, she wouldn’t. His role was but to obey.

In fact, Marcia was getting bored with her foot-rub. It was time for the slave to wash her dirty feet. But, with a mischievous grin on her face, she had already decided she would have him do it in a way befitting a footslave:

‘Boy, stop rubbin’ mah feet and go git a bowl of water and a towel from the bathroom. You is gonna wash mah dirty feet. Move, boy!’

The slave obeyed as Marcia swung her legs round to the side of the bed. She stubbed out her cigarette and switched off the TV using the remote. She wanted to concentrate on the slave-boy’s humiliation as she made him clean her feet. She also picked up the brown leather whip again and placed it in her lap.

When the slave retuned awkwardly on his hands and knees, or rather ‘hand’ and knees as he was carefully carrying a bowl of warm water and a towel in his left hand, and moved round to kneel in front of his mistress who was now seated on the edge of the bed, he could see that she still had her socks on.

Mistress Marcia could, of course, have removed her socks whilst she was waiting for the footslave to return from the en-suite bathroom, but why should she? What was the point in touching your own stinky socks when you had a footslave to do it for you?

The humble footslave placed the bowl in front of mistress Marcia’s socked feet and awaited his orders.

‘OK, boy, take off mah socks and wash mah sweaty feet. Ah wants you to start by dippin’ yoh tongue in the water and then lickin’ ‘tween mah dirty toes. You hear me, boy?’

‘Yes, mistress. At once, mistress.’

The slave gently and respectfully raised mistress Marcia’s right foot off the carpeted floor in order to peel off her sweaty white ankle sock, from the top downwards. Although she was undoubtedly overweight, she was one of those ‘obese’ women who still had shapely ankles and pretty feet. As the sock came off her toes the slave saw that her toenails were freshly painted purple. He could never work out why some women still liked to have their toenails painted even if their feet were hidden inside socks. Perhaps she had originally planned to wear open-toed stiletto sandals? Perhaps she had made some other slave do it for her just to humiliate him? Whatever the reason, the toes looked pretty.

However, mistress Marcia’s feet were not all-perfect. As the second sock came off the slave could see areas of rough skin on both her feet, particularly around the balls of her heels, and one of the toes on her right foot showed signs of a bunion beginning to form. No matter, they were the brown feet of his superior black mistress, and the footslave almost had a sense of unworthiness in their presence.

Marcia was becoming impatient:

‘Git yoh tongue in that water and on mah toes, boy!’ she barked down at him, reinforcing her command with a swipe from the coiled up whip across his naked right shoulder.

The sting made the lazy slave get a move-on. He lowered his slave-head over the porcelain bowl of water and dipped his tongue in the lukewarm water. It was quite refreshing for a footslave to feel water on his tongue, even if it was bath-water and not drinking water. But, parched though his throat was, there was absolutely no question of him taking advantage of the situation to drink some of the water. That water was for use on his mistress’s precious feet.

And so, he dutifully raised his slave-tongue out of the water, and moved his head over to mistress Marcia’s left foot.

Marcia giggled as she felt the slave raise her now bare left foot off the ground and insert his wet tongue between her big toe and second toe. It tickled!

For his part, the slave felt the stickiness of her foot sweat as it came off her soft toe-skin and onto his tongue. How privileged he felt. It was humiliating, even degrading – yes. But it wasn’t as though he was some free human-being who was being debased at an equal’s feet. He was nothing but a dirty footslave, and the toes he was licking were the toes of a superior young woman. It was not only right and proper that he should be doing this – it was an honour!

As she looked down on him, watching his balding head dip in and out of the bowl of water and then feeling his slimy, moist tongue licking the dirt and toe-jam out from between her stinking toes, mistress Marcia realised too that she was actually bestowing a great honour on this dirty footslave – the honour of touching her bare feet with his slave-tongue. She enjoyed her sense of superiority and power.

Of course, however hard he tried, no amount of toe-licking and sucking was ever going to remove all the day’s accumulated sweat and dirt from mistress Marcia’s soft, black feet. The footslave knew it, and mistress Marcia knew it – and so, once she was satisfied that his tongue had done its best, she ordered the footslave to wash her feet properly in the bowl.

The water turned darker as the remaining sweat and dirt washed off Marcia’s feet. The footslave then dried his goddess’s feet with the white towel and, on her command, crawled back to the bathroom to empty the contents of the bowl into the bath. He would have preferred to drink the dirty foot-water.
When he returned into the bedroom, mistress Marcia was still sitting on the side of the bed. He crawled round to be in front of her feet again and to await his mistress’s next orders.

Mistress Marcia was now tucking into some chocolate biscuits. As he knelt humbly in front of her, the slave could smell them. It made him feel hungry. He only got the one bowl of tasteless slave-gruel per day, and that had been hours ago. But, even though he probably needed the biscuits more than Marcia did, there was absolutely no question of her sharing even the smallest crumb with him. Marcia had another snack in mind for the slave – the street-dirt from the soles of her sneakers.

‘Put mah socks back on mah feet, slave-boy,’ she ordered.

Again, the humiliating nature of this command was not lost on the slave. Not only was the mistress perfectly capable of putting her own socks back on for herself; not only was there no need for her to wear socks in the hotel room as the floor was comfortably carpeted and the room was perfectly warm; but the very act of putting the dirty, sweaty white socks back on her freshly-washed feet was meant to reinforce the point to him that his work had been entirely nugatory. Mistress Marcia’s washed feet would continue to smell as they would once again be covered by her smelly socks. And she didn’t care.

‘Now fitch mah sandals and put them on me, boy,’ she continued.

The slave obeyed unquestioningly as always. He felt he must be doing well getting away with only one cursory stroke of the whip so far, bearing in mind that this was obviously a very demanding young mistress.

However he wasn’t done yet. Mistress Marcia had one more task for the room-service footslave:

‘Boy, see them-thar sneakers over in the corner. You is gonna lick them clean. They’s been on mah feet all day and picked up some dirt. You is gonna eat that dirt, boy!’

‘Yes, mistress,’ agreed the slave. He had no choice but to agree. He was going to eat the dirt from her sneakers because she had commanded it.

‘Well, what you waitin’ for, boy? Git yoh ass over there and start doin’ it, or does you want another taste of mah whup on yoh bare back?’

‘No mistress. I mean, yes mistress. I obey you, mistress,’ stammered the pathetic, whipped slave, crawling hurriedly over to the discarded sneakers.

Because they were predominantly white, the dirt showed up quite clearly on the sneakers. There would be no excuse for missing any. What did worry the slave was that the sneakers were obviously well-worn, and much of the dirt, particularly on the sides, appeared to be ingrained. He really needed some shoe-whitener if he was to get the superior young woman’s sneakers looking fresh and clean:

‘Mistress, if it pleases you mistress, may I go and get some shoe-whitener from the store-room, mistress?’

There was an ominous moment’s silence whilst mistress Marcia took in the audacity of the slave’s request. She stood up, whip in hand, and stormed over to the kneeling footslave in the corner of the room:

‘What’s that you sayin’, boy? Is you askin’ to be excused so as you can fitch some shoe-polish? Didn’t ah say that you was to clean mah sneakers with yoh dirty slave-tongue?’

The way mistress Marcia was putting it made the footslave realise the arrogance of his request. Of course it had been utterly presumptuous of him to suggest to a mistress how he should do a job, or what ‘equipment’ he should be allowed to use. He braced himself for the inevitable cut of the whip.

It came.

‘Ah ain’t never heard such uppitiness from a slave. You is forgittin’ who you is, boy. You is mah slave, and iffin ah tells you to lick mah sneakers, you licks ‘em! Is ah gittin’ through to you, boy?’

Another cut of the whip fell on his now tender right shoulder.

‘Ouch! Yes, mistress. Please forgive me, mistress. I don’t know what came over me mistress. It won’t happen again, mistress!’

‘Too right it won’t, boy. Now git yoh tongue lickin’ mah sneakers fore an’ ah loses mah temper!’

If this was mistress Marcia before she lost her temper, the slave had no intention of finding out what she was like after she had lost her temper! Chastened, he picked up his mistress’s right sneaker and licked vigorously at the side and on the sole, ensuring that as much of the street-filth as possible, ingrained or not, went into his slave mouth and down his slave throat.

All the time mistress Marcia towered over him, watching him, pleased that he was so evidently frightened of her, pleased that she was the mistress, and he was the slave. As he humbly ate her sneaker-dirt, she happily continued to munch on her biscuits.
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