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  #111  
Old 23-Aug-18, 04:26
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Hotel Footslave
Author: Patheticus Minimus


Chapter 2 – In The Stocks

It was Friday afternoon – three days later.

The Patel family had arrived at the hotel check-in desk. Mr and Mrs Patel were feeling a little stressed after their long flight from Pakistan. Their two daughters were less so.

At 21 years old Indira was the eldest of the two girls. She was a very feisty and independently-minded young woman, who was studying to be a doctor. Mr Patel had studied medicine himself in the USA, and was very encouraging of his daughter’s career choice. He was very proud of her. Indira, however, at that present moment was thinking only of the fun she was going to have on this family week-end shopping trip to Europe. She had so many clothes she wished to buy – she hoped her father had remembered to bring his credit card with him!

Her younger sister, Amina, was just 19 years old. If anything, she had a reputation for being even feistier than her elder sister. Indeed, some of Mr and Mrs Patel’s friends felt privately that Amina was ‘out of control’. In their opinion, Mr Patel in particular had been too ‘liberal’ with his girls, and had no real idea what they got up to behind his back. He didn’t know, for example, what everybody else, even his wife, knew – that Amina had already slept with several boyfriends.

For her part Amina, who was studying to be a drama teacher, was looking forward to this trip – her first to Europe – every bit as much as her sister, although the fact that she was leaving her current boyfriend, Farooq, behind was causing her some distress – even though she’d only been going out with him for two weeks. Never mind, she had her mobile phone with her.

The two girls were casually dressed in western-style sports clothing. Indira was wearing dark sunglasses, a pink and white T-shirt and black track-suit bottoms with pink stripes down the side, the elasticated hems of which just reached the tops of her high-top, pink and white sneakers.

Amina, whose sunglasses were resting on top of her head, was perhaps less colour-coordinated than her sister, and indeed, it could be argued looked just that little bit scruffier in her light gray top, blue denim jeans that were badly frayed at the bottom, and red and white checked, canvass plimsolls. Amina was chewing gum.

Mr Patel was smartly dressed in a western-style business suit. Even though he was officially on holiday, he always preferred to travel in a suit. His wife, 44 year old Nasreen, was also smartly turned out in a bright blue, patterned, traditional Pakistani ‘Salwar Kameez’ suit consisting of a long silk top that reached down to her knees, bright blue silk trousers that turned in at her shapely ankles, and low-heeled, black leather court shoes.

‘Good afternoon, sir, welcome to the Hotel “Footslave”,’ chirped the hotel receptionist.

It was Trudy again - by coincidence she had been on duty at the reception desk on Tuesday when Mr Patel had rung to make his reservation. The footslave whose upturned cheek was acting as a footrest behind the reception desk under her feet, however, was not the same one as on Tuesday - not that Trudy would have noticed. To her, a footrest was just a footrest -- even if it was a 'human' footrest.

Like his counterpart before him, the new footrest had nothing to do but fixate himself on mistress Trudy's shapely, tan-stockinged left ankle as she booked in the Patel family. Her right, stiletto-heeled foot, was digging into his left cheek.

'So that's one double room and one twin room, each with a resident footslave, is that correct Mr Patel?' asked the receptionist politely.

'That's right, dear,' replied Mr Patel, somewhat condescendingly, to the young receptionist who he guessed was no older than his youngest daughter, 'the double room is for myself and my wife and the twin room is for my two daughters.’

Indira and Amina were happy enough to share a room, and a footslave – even though they had separate bedrooms back home in their large villa in Pakistan. The Patels were a wealthy family, thanks largely to Mr Patel’s expertise as a top surgeon in his field. It was another reason why his two girls were often regarded by their acquaintances as somewhat ‘spoilt’.

The receptionist punched a bell on top of her desk and a ‘porter-footslave’ suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

Both Indira and Amina couldn’t help from bursting out laughing at the sight of the slave. He was a middle-aged man, naked apart from some white slave-shorts on his rather scrawny body. Being a footslave he was, of course, on his hands and knees, but what tickled the two girls was the unusual sight of the large, heavy wooden crate that was attached to his bare back – the receptacle for all their heavy luggage.

‘Ha! Ha! Check him out, Indira,’ laughed Amina, still chewing her gum, ‘I’ll bet his back is aching by the end of the day!’

All the Patel family spoke excellent English, albeit with strong Pakistani accents.

‘Yeah, your stuff alone would be enough to break any slave’s back, let alone that of an old man like him!’ teased her elder sister.

Amina let that particular light-hearted jibe from her sister go – mainly because it was true. Amina just could never bring herself to travel light, even on a short 3 day trip like this!

Before calling on one of the hotel chambermaids to assist the Patel family to place their luggage in the wooden crate on the kneeling slave’s back, the receptionist ordered the ‘footslave-porter’ to kiss the feet of Mrs Patel and her two daughters.

The ‘footslave-porter’ was concerned at the amount of luggage he could see out of the corner of his eye – not because it would inevitably be heavy and exhausting to carry on his back, but because he feared that some of it might fall off if it didn’t all fit in properly – and that, if it happened, would mean only one thing – a spell in the Hotel punishment stocks.

However, for now he had to concentrate on kissing the feet of the new female guests. He shuffled over first to Mrs Patel’s feet. Crawling on ones hands and knees is, of course, incessantly uncomfortable, but it is all the more difficult when one has a heavy wooden crate attached to one’s bare back – even when it is empty.

Mrs Patel, however, kind woman that she was, graciously stretched out her right leg to facilitate the footslave in his humble act of greeting. This gave the slave a good view of her shapely, brown-skinned bare ankle under her blue silk trouser-leg as he lowered his face to her outstretched foot. The slave kissed the top of her black leather court shoe and waited, keeping his head humbly bowed, for Mrs Patel to replace her right foot with her left, so that he could repeat the process. Mr Patel looked at his wife lovingly, enjoying the sight of a dirty, male slave paying his respects to his beloved wife to whom he had been married some 23 years.

He watched with equal satisfaction as the slave then turned around and shuffled over humbly towards his two daughters’ feet – although this was where the incompetent slave made his first major mistake. Hotel protocol would have dictated that he kiss the feet of the eldest daughter, Indira, first – but the stupid, incompetent slave didn’t know which of the two girls was the eldest, and plumped for Amina’s feet first.

Luckily for him neither Indira nor Amina were aware of the ‘hotel protocol’, and most importantly of all, Indira didn’t seem to mind that her younger sister’s feet were the first to be kissed.

Unlike her mother, Amina was not disposed to ‘help’ the slave in his duty by extending her foot towards him, so he had to shuffle that bit further forward until his nose was directly above the red and white checks of her soft plimsolls. He could smell the canvass and the rubber as he lowered his slave lips to the white rubber around the area of the toe of her right plimsoll. Close-up, he could see that the plimsoll was a little worn and tatty – rather a nice match for her frayed jeans – and there were dirty scuff marks on the white rubber covering the toes and along the side of the plimsoll.

The frayed denim brushed against his nose as his lips touched the rubber toe of the young Pakistani woman’s dirty shoe. Amina looked down at the humble slave nonchalantly, still chewing her gum. They didn’t have personal slaves in the Patel household – or even servants, apart from the cleaning lady who came twice a week, but Amina had an innate sense of her own superiority over all the ‘public’ slaves she came into contact with. To her it was perfectly right and proper that she should have her pretty, young feet respectfully kissed by a middle-aged, male slave.

Again she stood still, meaning that the slave had to shuffle slightly to the left in order to ensure that his lips made good purchase on the rubber toe of her equally dirty left shoe.

He then continued to shuffle to the left in order to present himself at Miss Indira’s sneakered feet. Indira’s sneakers were much cleaner than Amina’s plimsolls, and, like her mother, she did the slave the ‘courtesy’ of extending each foot, one after the other, in order to assist him with his efforts to pay her his humble, slavish respects. Because she did so, he could see that she was wearing bright, white thick ankle socks under her black tracksuit bottoms. The tops of the socks, at any rate, looked clean and fresh, and may even have been perfumed, as the slave could detect a refreshing waft of summer meadow mixed in with the rubbery smell of the pink and white high-top sneakers. Like Amina, Indira enjoyed having a male slave on his hands and knees in front of her and kissing her feet. It made her feel superior and powerful. She already loved this hotel!

By this time the black-and-white-uniformed chambermaid had arrived to assist loading the luggage. The ‘footslave-porter’, out of the corner of his eye, could see her dark nylons crease around her shapely ankles as she lifted the first case into the crate on his back. He recognised, just from her feet, that it was Mary, the youngest and lowest-paid of all the hotel’s chambermaids – but still his infinite superior in every way. She was, after all, a woman.

It was Mary who would decide whether he acquitted himself properly in portering the Patel’s luggage, even though the footslave himself had no control over how well or otherwise the luggage would be loaded on top of him.

He remained as still and as steady as possible, surrounded by the feet of the 4 women, as heavy case after heavy case were placed in the wooden crate, adding to the burden on his already tired back.

‘If you’d like to follow me, Sir and Madam, I’ll take you to your rooms on the third floor. The lift is just over there’, explained Mary in her beautiful, soft Irish accent, an accent that turned somewhat harsher as she spoke down to the slave:

‘You, the slave, follow my heels!’

Both Indira and Amina had noticed that neither the hotel receptionist nor the chambermaid had addressed either of them directly at all. It was almost as if they didn’t exist! They felt a little bit put out by this, but it was difficult to feel too aggrieved when you’ve just had your feet kissed by a humble and respectful footslave.

The footslave-porter mustered as much strength as he could and tried to focus his eyes on the backs of Mary’s patent-leather high-heeled shoes. The cases in the crate felt somewhat precariously stacked, but he was very much in her hands now, as she would not be the one to be punished if anything went wrong.

The party of 5 people and one slave entered the lift and Mary pushed the button for the third floor, all the time making small talk with Mrs Patel about the weather, the family’s journey from Pakistan, the sights they were hoping to see that afternoon.

As the lift stopped at the third floor disaster struck – at least for the slave. The slight jolt of the lift stopping caused one of the cases to slide off the top of the crate onto the floor close to where Mrs Patel was standing. It didn’t touch her, fortunately, but it looked very unprofessional, and Mary was furious. As the doors of the lift opened, she berated the footslave-porter and slapped him several times across the face:

‘Stupid, incompetent slave!’

Slap! Slap!

‘How dare you drop one of the cases! Do you think you’re too high and mighty to carry this nice family’s luggage on your slave back?’

Slap! Slap!

The Patels smiled to one another. They realised that much of the chambermaid’s anger was fake, designed to put on a bit of a show for their benefit. No real harm had been done, and, of course, if anyone was to blame for this tiny incident, it was Mary herself for not stacking the cases on the poor slave’s back securely.

Be that as it may, Mary was determined to demonstrate to the hotel guests that she was the one in charge over this mere slave, and that she would have him properly punished on their behalf:

‘I’m terribly sorry about that, Sir, Madam, I can assure you this slave will be suitably punished forthwith. I will report him immediately to the manageress.’

‘Thank you, my dear,’ (Mr Patel seemed to refer to all women as ‘my dear’), ‘but I’m sure it was just an accident!’

Perhaps, as the only other male present, Mr Patel was feeling some sympathy for the male slave, even though he himself was a superior free man.

‘I think he should be punished, Papa – what if the case had fallen on top of Mama’s foot?, opined Amina.

Indira smiled. She knew her sister would just love to see the slave whipped, or even better, would love to whip him herself.

Mary, addressing Amina directly for the first time, sought to reassure her that the slave would receive no mercy:

‘Don’t worry, miss, he will regret being such a clumsy oaf!’

The slave listened, powerless, as his fate was discussed and decided by the superior women standing above him. In the meantime, Mr Patel had gallantly put his wife’s fallen suitcase back in the crate on the kneeling slave’s back, and the party made their way down the corridor to the Patels’ adjoining rooms.

Mr and Mrs Patel’s luggage was deposited in their room first, and Mary then escorted the footslave and the two girls to their room.

As soon as she had entered her and her husband’s room Mrs Patel collapsed on the bed and kicked off her shoes:

‘Oh, my poor feet are killing me!’ she sighed.

Mr Patel laughed:

‘Well, my dear, you’re in the right place for a foot massage, if you want one,’ he replied, pointing over to the alcove in the floor at the far end of the room.

This was the alcove in which the more expensive rooms in the Hotel ‘Footslave’ had a ‘resident’ or ‘room’ footslave for the comfort of the female guests. The slave would lie on his back in the alcove until or unless he was required to serve. Each alcove had a steel trapdoor over the slave’s head, with holes through which he could breathe, which was kept locked and could only be opened by the guests or a member of hotel’s female staff.

Mrs Patel laughed, and dragged herself off the bed, walking over in her bare feet to look down at the alcove. She couldn’t see the slave’s face beneath the holes in the steel trap-door as it appeared to be totally dark inside the alcove.

The footslave, however, could see Mrs Patel’s pretty features staring down at him through the tiny holes. Even though it was an outrageous thought for a mere slave, he couldn’t help but be grateful that he would be serving a pretty woman for the next few days. His previous customer had been rather fat and ugly!

‘Where’s the key, Mazur?’ Mrs Patel asked her husband.

‘It’s hanging just over there on the wall, where it says “Alcove Key”!’ replied Mr Patel, somewhat bemused that his wife couldn’t even spot the key!

Mrs Patel fetched the key and unlocked the trap door. She laughed at the sight which greeted her:

‘Ha! Ha! He looks shocked and scared, Mazur. Come and have a look!’

Mr Patel, who was trying to unpack, walked over and peered down into the hole beside his wife. The slave now saw two smiling faces peering down at him – but they weren’t friendly smiles – they were the mischievous smiles of masters contemplating how they were going to humiliate their slave.

The ‘resident-footslave’ wasn’t, in actual fact, all that ‘shocked and scared’. But he was, quite naturally, somewhat apprehensive whenever a new female guest or guests arrived. They would have total power over him for the duration of their stay, and he could not know whether they would treat him harshly or kindly.

Fortunately, for this particular slave in room 301, both Mr and Mrs Patel were not cruel people.

The slave gave the customary greeting to a mistress whenever she opens the trapdoor above his face:

‘Good afternoon, Madam. How may I serve you?’

Mrs Patel laughed at him:

‘Well, you can start by massaging the soles of my sweaty feet with your face,’ she suggested, and with that she raised her right foot and brought it slowly down onto the top of the slave’s upturned face.

‘You can bring him out of the alcove if you want to, dear,’ said Mr Patel, resuming his unpacking.

‘It’s alright, dear,’ replied his wife, ‘I haven’t got time for a full foot massage at the moment. We do need to get unpacked and ready for our excursion!’

Having said that, Nasreen Patel didn’t seem to be in any particular hurry to unpack her things, and, judging by her little moans of pleasure, was evidently really enjoying rubbing the soft sole of her bare foot up and down the slave’s face. She particularly liked the way his nose tickled her footflesh. She could literally feel the sweat and grime coming off the bottom of her foot and onto the slave’s face.

The slave could feel it, and smell it, too.

Meanwhile, in the neighbouring room, Indira and Amina had found their ‘resident-footslave’ and Amina had already extricated him from his hole in the floor so that he could unpack her suitcase for her.

He was now on his hands and knees, removing her socks and underwear from her case and respectfully and tidily placing them in what would be her sock-drawer.

Indira was happy to do her own unpacking – indeed she preferred to do it herself. She didn’t really want some strange footslave handling her smalls!

Her younger sister Amina, by contrast, was more than happy to sit on the edge of her bed and bark the orders to ‘her’ slave as he did all the work:

‘Put those socks in there! Fold those knickers properly, boy! Don’t touch those tights until I tell you to!’

Once he had unpacked her undergarments, he was ordered to unpack her shoes – all three pairs of them, for a three day stay! But what’s a girl to do? How could she possibly know which shoes she would need in a strange town in a strange country that she had never been to before? And besides, she strongly suspected that her sister had brought just as many pairs with her!

And so the slave carefully and respectfully unpacked mistress Amina’s chunky-heeled, brown leather, zip-up ankle boots; her blue and white high-top sneakers (rather like Indira’s pink and white versions); and her pointy-toed, flat, black leather pumps, placing them all neatly in the bottom of her wardrobe. Amina liked the way, unprompted, the slave respectfully kissed each shoe before placing it in the cupboard. This footslave clearly knew his place, which was good, for Amina could be a demanding task-mistress.

‘It says here that we can take the slave with us out of the hotel if we want to!’ she exclaimed excitedly to her sister as she read through a welcome pack she’d picked up from her dressing table, ‘as long as he stays with us at all times and he’s back in his hole by 10:00 am on the morning of our departure.’

‘Cool!’ exclaimed her sister who by now had finished unpacking, ‘I bags the use of him first when we do go out since you have used him to help you unpack!’

Amina wasn’t happy about that idea!

‘I’ll toss you for him!’ she suggested, and so the girls tossed a coin. Indira, to her delight, won the toss. It was only natural justice!

The room-footslave, of course, rather like the footslave-porter before him, had no say in his fate.

When they had all unpacked, the Patel family made their way in the lift back down to reception on the ground floor. They had pre-booked an excursion leaving at 3 o’clock outside the hotel – a guided tour of the town in a luxury coach. Then, later that evening, the plan was to have dinner during a cruise down the main river in the town. The girls’ parents had decided to leave their resident-footslave in his hole, which Mrs Patel had once again locked after her impromptu foot massage. Indira and Amina’s footslave, however, was dutifully crawling behind Indira’s white sneakers as she held him on a leash which was secured to a metal collar around his neck containing the address of the hotel and the girls’ room number, 303.

Mr and Mrs Patel had changed into fresh clothes. Mr Patel was now casually, although still smartly, dressed and Mrs Patel was now wearing a yellow Sari and strappy, black stiletto sandals on her newly refreshed feet. Indira and Amina hadn’t bothered to change.

Whilst they were waiting in the Reception area for the tour guide and coach to arrive, Amina suddenly spotted something that caused her to clap her pretty hands with delight. In a corner, just inside the front entrance to the hotel, the incompetent porter-footslave who had earlier dropped one of their cases was secured, on his hands and knees, in a set of low, wooden punishment stocks.

The ‘stocks’ were, more accurately, a form of ‘pillory’, as the unfortunate slave’s head and arms were secured through the wooden holes, but, unusually for a pillory, the fact that it was so low down forced the slave to kneel with his face just inches from the floor, making him unable to raise his head or to see anything apart from the feet of those passing by. A fitting pillory for a footslave, some might say.

Amina laughed. The slave looked truly miserable – she just had to go over and torment him:

‘Wow, check it out, Indy!’ (Indy was her occasional nickname for her big sister.) ‘It’s that stupid dolt who dropped Mama’s suitcase in the lift! Let’s go and see how he likes being in the stocks!’

Indira laughed at her sister’s wickedness as the pair, accompanied by Indira’s footslave, strolled over to the footslave in the stocks.

The slave in the stocks recognised immediately the girls’ footwear. He braced himself.

‘Well. Looky here!’, sneered Amina as she stood in front of the kneeling slave, ‘if it isn’t the stupid, bungling oaf who nearly crushed my Mama’s foot with her suitcase!’

She was exaggerating of course, but, as a superior and free young woman, she had every right to do so;

‘How do you feel now, slave? How are you liking it, being cooped up in that horrible contraption? Is it hurting your back and shoulders? Are your limbs aching?’ she teased.

The slave’s limbs were indeed aching. Bizarrely, he wished he could be still carrying luggage around on his back, as at least he could then move about and get some respite from the gnawing pain in his limbs in between guests’ arrivals. But once secured in the stocks, there was no way he could move a muscle.

He knew he had to answer the young mistress politely, and that she wanted to hear he was suffering for his ‘crime’:

‘Yes, mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this dirty, lazy, good-for-nothing slave is in great discomfort mistress, but deservedly so, if it pleases you mistress.’

Amina and Indira both laughed out loud at him:

‘Ha! Ha! It certainly does please me, slave!’ exclaimed Amina. She moved even closer to the wooden stocks so that her familiar red and white checked plimsolls were once again just inches from his face:

‘And how do you like the view from your wooden window, slave? Do you like the sight of my dirty plimsolls?’

The slave answered her, or rather her plimsolls, in the only way he possibly could answer such a rhetorical question:

‘Oh yes, mistress, this slave does indeed feel privileged to be allowed to look at your beautiful shoes, mistress.’

Still laughing, and still chewing on the same piece of gum she had had in her mouth since their arrival at the hotel, Amina then slowly pulled up the frayed hem of the denim jean on her right leg, to reveal a short red, cotton ankle sock with a motif of a well-known cartoon character on it:

‘And what about my sock, slave? Do you like it as well?’ she teased.

‘Yes, Mistress, this slave does indeed like your beautiful red ankle sock.’

Amina was loving this. She adored tormenting helpless slaves:

‘Well then, slave, if you like my sock don’t you think you should pay your respects to it and kiss it?’

‘Oh yes, mistress, this slave would indeed be truly honoured to kiss his superior mistress’s sock.’

This time Amina had to help him, as the confined slave couldn’t move his head even a millimetre. She raised the side of her right foot to his slave lips and thereby facilitated him in placing a humble, slavish kiss on the side of her sock-covered ankle bone.

She giggled as she felt his lips on her sock:

‘Ha! Ha! Come here and make him kiss your socks, Indy!’ she implored her big sister.

Still with the ‘room-footslave’ at her heels behind her, Indira moved over to stand in front of the stocks as Amina obligingly stepped to one side, and, stretched out her right foot until the side of her snowy-white ankle sock was touching the ‘porter-slave’s’ lips. He felt a metal zip at the bottom of her pink and black tracksuit bottom flick against his nose as his lips buried themselves in the folds of her white sock.

The room-footslave felt somewhat jealous.

Meanwhile Amina had seen a note pasted to the wall above the stocks, outlining the porter-slave’s crime and Punishment:

‘For incompetence and endangering the safety of a female guest – 18 hours confinement in the stocks.’

She laughed again :

‘Ha! Ha! 18 hours slave! And you’ve only just started your punishment! Just think, while you are cooped up here, aching in every limb and nerve and staring at peoples’ feet, me and my family will be seeing the sights of the town, then having a nice cruise down the river and a slap-up dinner, then returning to get a good night’s sleep – and you’ll still be here when we come down for breakfast in the morning! How do you feel about that, slave?’

The slave replied meekly, with humility and resignation as befits a slave:

‘If it pleases you, mistress, this slave deserves all it gets, and wishes its mistress and its mistress’s family a good time as you enjoy what our town has to offer.’

Listening to his porter-colleague, the room-footslave no longer felt jealous.
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  #112  
Old 23-Aug-18, 12:53
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Hotel Footslave
Author: Patheticus Minimus


Chapter 3 – The Laundry

The tour coach arrived and the Patel family happily boarded for their guided tour of the city.

Mr and Mrs Patel sat beside each other on the coach, as did their two daughters Indira and Amina. Indira, because she had won the toss with her sister over the use of the footslave, had chosen the window seat -- she felt it would be easier to tuck the slave under her feet on the floor of the coach if she was sitting by the window as it would help to keep the aisle clear. It suited Amina also, as she could enjoy resting her plimsolled-feet on the slave's body whilst her sister rested her sneakered feet on his face.

Indira ordered the footslave to lie on his side with his right cheek on the dirty floor of the coach. She then placed her right sneakered-foot on top of his upturned left cheek and rested her left foot on the floor directly in front of his face. Although he couldn't see them, the footslave could also feel the rubber soles of Amina's canvas-sneakered feet resting on his bare ribs.

The two girls settled into the coach and looked forward to their tour. Their minds were now totally focused on all the interesting new sights they were about to see. The footslave under their feet was no longer given a second thought. He had become a mere footrest.

As the bus pulled off the footslave could feel the vibrations through his right cheek resting on the dirty floor. His whole field of vision was dominated by Miss Indira’s left, pink and white high-top sneaker. It never failed to strike him how large a girl’s footwear, even a relatively slight Pakistani girl’s footwear, could appear when your face was positioned right next to it. Furthermore, even though it was quite dark down on the floor of the coach, he could make out, being so close to the shoe, tiny little scuff marks and traces of dirt on the side of the otherwise pristine sneaker. He could smell it too – the unmistakable rubbery, canvassy smell of young-woman’s sneaker.

In spite of the fact she was wearing high-tops, Miss Indira’s soft, snowy-white ankle sock was visible to him too if he raised his eyes slightly, thanks to the V-shaped gap at the bottom of her track-suit leg where a small zip was undone. The clean white of the sock contrasted somewhat with the creamier white of the sneaker, and he admired the tiny folds and creases in her sock as she occasionally moved or flexed her foot whenever she was straining out the window to see some particular site of interest.

The contrast between his position and that of the superior mistress seated above him was not lost on the humble footslave. Whilst she would be seeing all the interesting sites of the town that day, all he would be seeing was the backs and the sides of her sneakers and socks. And yet, he felt enormously privileged to be allowed to accompany this young woman and her family on this excursion. They could have left him behind in the hole in their room at the hotel. Or even worse, he could be confined in the hotel stocks like his fellow-slave, the unfortunate footslave-porter. Instead, he was to have the honour of serving this young woman and her feet both on the coach and, no doubt, in the fresh air. She was the first guest to take him out of the hotel in a long time, and so, however arrogant and spoilt a young woman she may be, he was nevertheless grateful to his mistress, and was determined to serve her to the best of his ability.

He felt the coach slow down as it approached the first stopping-point on the itinerary -- a panoramic view of the city from the top of a hill. The tour guide invited the guests to step out of the coach and to take pictures if they wished. As it was a nice, bright day, virtually everyone did.

Indira dragged the footslave on his hands and knees behind her sneakered-heels by means of the leash attached to the metal collar around his slave neck, and stood in front of the wall over which the impressive view of the entire city was laid out before her. As she excitedly spotted the various well-known landmarks in the city, the footslave concentrated on spotting little pieces of dirt on the back of her sneakers. He made a mental note of them as he knew he would almost certainly be required to clean those sneakers with his tongue later that evening before his mistresses put him back in his hole for the night.

Nobody in the tour group paid any attention to him as he was nothing unusual – just a common or garden footslave kneeling on a leash behind his young mistress’s heels. They had much more impressive sights to look at. Amina, however, did take one photograph of the footslave kneeling at her sister’s feet, just so that they could show it to their friends when they got back home.

Meanwhile, back in the laundry room of the hotel, located in the basement, things were hotting up. Mistress Lailani, the laundry-mistress, was directing the work of several slaves as they hand-and-mouth washed the female guests’ clothing. The hotel had no need for automatic washing-machines, everything was washed ‘by slave’.

Lailani ran the laundry with a rod of iron. At 30 years old, she had risen through the ranks in the hotel from chambermaid, to supervisor, and now she was in sole charge of the hotel laundry. It was demanding work, but extremely well paid compared to what she could be earning back in her native Philippines, and she was very happy, at long last, to be in a position of real power and authority, with real management responsibility, even if that power and authority was over mere slaves.

Perhaps because she was, in common with most Filipina women, slightly built she kept a brown leather strap ostentatiously hanging on the wall of the laundry as a potent symbol of her authority, but in truth it rarely needed to be put into use – such was her reputation amongst the slaves as a strict task-mistress who demanded, and received, utter respect.

Right now her attention was focused on the unfortunate footslave (appropriately numbered ‘13’) who had been tasked with cleaning the dirty socks and nylons of the female guests from room no 654. Lailani had a particular interest in these guests’ footwear, as they were two of her fellow-countrywomen whom she had met a Filipino Social Club in the town.

Miss Tala and miss Imee were two Filipina students who had recently arrived in the city in order to study English. Lailani had managed to negotiate with the hotel manageress a special discount for the two girls, both of whom were in their early twenties and on a limited budget, for a long-term stay of 6 months. The room they had been allocated was, of course, not one of the more expensive rooms with a ‘resident-footslave’, but the two girls had free use of all the hotel’s other facilities – including the footslave-laundry.

Mistress Lailani was determined that footslave no 13 would do a good job in cleaning the girls’ dirty socks and tights. It thrilled and excited her to see male slaves cleaning by mouth the dirty hosiery of her fellow-countrywomen, particularly as Filipina women throughout the world were so often outrageously exploited by men just because they were poor. Well, not in this town and this hotel!

As she moved to stand over him footslave no 13 was just taking the dirty socks and nylon tights out of the plastic bag that had the girls’ room no. on it.

‘You, slave, put all socks and tights on floor. Quick! Obey!’

Although she had been living in the town for some 10 years, Lailani still spoke with a strong Filipino accent, and was still having lessons to try to improve her English.

The slave, who was, needless to say on his hands and knees on the floor, could see mistress Lailani’s small, dirty-white, flat, slip-on shoes and multi-coloured, stripy socks under her blue denim jeans as, petite though she was, she towered above him. He did not relish having the personal attention of the strict laundry-mistress whilst he began his new task.

But she had ordered him to be quick, and so he quickly extricated the remaining socks and tights from the bag, until they lay in a crumpled heap under his nose on the floor. He could smell as well as see them. There must have been about 8 pairs in total – 4 pairs of socks and 4 pairs of nylon tights.

Two of the pairs of socks were white ankle socks, one pair with a red stripe around the tops and a red-coloured area around the reinforced stitching of the toes, the other pair with a pretty motif of pink and yellow flowers on the ankles. There was also a pair of black knee-length socks, and a pair of calf-length, thick navy-blue boot socks. All the socks looked and smelt well-worn and dirty, with the blue boot-socks in particular showing signs of wear and tear, especially on the heels.

The nylons were all tights, no stockings. Three of the pairs were tan-coloured, the other pair were darker in hue – almost black. The latter pair also differed from the others in that they not only had reinforced toes, but also had a thick line of reinforced stitching down the soles and around the heels. Inspite of that, the slave noticed the beginnings of a tiny ladder in the ankle of the left leg of the darker pair of tights.

Of course, one thing the hapless footslave could not know was which socks and tights belonged to which Filipina mistress – not that it was any of his concern. His job was to clean and freshen the dirty socks and tights of any female guest whose hosiery he was entrusted with. And it was a position of trust – one couldn’t have superior young ladies walking around in dirty hosiery.

Mistress Lailani smiled to herself as she saw the slave involuntarily grimace at the smell of sweaty tights and socks that was now wafting up towards him. There was no smell of detergent in this particular laundry to mask the smell:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave like smell Filipina girls’ dirty socks and tights?’ she asked him mockingly.

‘Yes, mistress, this slave is honoured to smell its Filipina mistresses’ footwear,’ replied footslave no 13, anxious to keep mistress Lailani happy.

‘Ha! Ha! Slave put nose in socks and tights. Sniff!’ she ordered.

Without delay footslave no 13 did as he was told and lowered his face into the pile of dirty socks and tights. For some reason he felt compelled to close his eyes as he audibly sniffed the pile of putrid linen for the benefit of miss Lailani.

As he did so, it occurred to him how far he had fallen in life. Just 3 years ago he had been a successful businessman, often travelling in the Far East, and being served by Filipina waitresses in top class hotels and restaurants, without giving them a second thought – taking their subservience for granted. Now he was reduced to smelling a pile of Filipina girl students’ dirty socks and tights, being watched over and bossed about by a Filipina woman who was at least 20 years his junior.

And all because he had embezzled some funds! Footslavery for life – that was his sentence, and the hotel had purchased him at auction. His only hope, his only ‘ambition’ now, was to work his way out of the laundry room and into the position of a ‘resident-footslave’ in one of the more expensive of the hotel’s rooms. At least then he might get to have some personal contact with his female clients, and be able to do more than just sniff piles of anonymous women’s dirty socks and mouth-wash their dirty nylons day in and day out. Three years as a humble footslave had not totally knocked the ambition out of him!

Lailani was pleased at the sound of the slave sniffing her friends’ stinky socks and tights, but was not so pleased that the slave had closed his eyes:

‘Slave open eyes! Look at sweat; dirt! Slave obey!’ she barked angrily.

She really wanted to humiliate this arrogant slave as she knew something of his previous life from his file. He had been just the sort of arrogant businessman she still encountered from time to time in the hotel – and whatever frustrations stroppy male guests took out on her, she took out on the male footslaves in her charge.

The footslaves, of course, had no-one to take out their frustrations on. They were, quite literally, bottom of the pile. Even the piles of dirty socks and nylons they served were superior to them.

The slave dutifully obeyed the laundry-mistress and opened his eyes. Directly beneath them was the dirty, yellow sweat-stained toe of one of the white socks with the pink and yellow flowers on the ankle. The yellow of the sweat-stain, however, did not match the bright yellow of the flower, for it was tinged with brown, presumably from the inside of the young woman’s shoe. The toe of the dirty, white sock also appeared crusty from the dried in foot-sweat.

Mistress Lailani had noticed this particular sock also, and saw it as a further opportunity to tease the helpless slave at her feet:

‘Ha! Ha! Slave like see sweat on Filipina girl’s dirty sock? Slave want kiss sock?’

‘Yes, please, mistress Lailani, if it pleases you most gracious mistress Lailani, this dirty footslave would indeed be honoured to kiss the female guest’s dirty white sock, mistress.’

Although he still had ambition, footslave no. 13 knew how to talk the talk of a humble slave.

‘Ha! Ha! Slave kiss sock! Honour it! Worship it! Tell sock, sock better than it!’ ordered mistress Lailani.

She loved having her slaves address her customers’ dirty socks as if they were superior, living beings, and not just inanimate pieces of clothing.

Footslave no. 13 obeyed. He lowered his slave lips to place a respectful and reverential kiss on the dirty, yellow and brown stained, crusty toe of the stinky white sock, and then expressed his admiration to the sock:

‘Oh mistress’s sock, truly you are better than me, and I am not worthy to kiss you or the sweat from your owner’s feet.’

Lailani laughed out loud. She was feeling particularly mischievous that day:

‘Ha! Ha! Sock say slave arrogant! Sock angry! Sock say slave not kiss it without sock permission! Slave beg forgiveness of sock!’

The hopelessness of his situation was not lost on the slave. Even if the ‘sock’ had not ordered him to kiss it, mistress Lailani had, and yet she was the one who had decided that the sock was offended! Nevertheless, he was just a slave, and had to obey his mistress Lailani’s new order – or rather, the sock’s new order:

‘Oh pray, mistress’s sock, please forgive this dirty, stupid slave its arrogance. It did not mean to cause its superior mistress’s sock any offence.’

Lailani had decided it was time for the slave to do some actual work:

‘Sock say slave forgiven,’ she announced, much to the relief of the slave. ‘Slave put sock in mouth and suck off sweat. Clean!’

The slave picked up the flimsy white ankle sock that had previously graced the foot of a pretty young Filipina student (it was, actually, one of miss Tala’s socks), and placed it, toe first into his mouth. He could feel the crustiness of the toe and almost instantly began to taste the saltiness of the unknown girl’s footsweat as it came off the sock and onto his tongue. He knew that the success of his sock-sucking would depend not just on how much of the yellow and brown stains he managed to remove from the sock, but also on how soft and ‘uncrusty’ he could make the toe area. And so, he sucked vigorously, sucked and swallowed, sucked and swallowed.

When mistress Lailani finally ordered him to take the sock out of his mouth, some 10 minutes later, it did look a lot cleaner, if somewhat crumpled and sodden with his saliva. The sweaty smell too seemed to have gone, not a huge surprise to the footslave who had tasted copious amounts of salty feminine foot-sweat sliding down his throat.

Mistress Lailani appeared satisfied, and ordered him to put the other matching sock into his mouth.

And so it continued with each individual sock, and each pair of nylon tights. When it came to the tights, the footslave was only permitted to suck on the toe and foot areas. He would have to hand-wash the other parts of the tights later, as, indeed, he would hand wash the socks, in order to ensure that all the hosiery was properly cleaned. His mouth was, if you like, merely the ‘pre-wash’.

Footslave no. 13 found the dark pair of tights a particular challenge when he came to suck on them. They were actually a pair of Miss Imee’s tights (not that he had ever met her either). The problem was the slight ladder on the left ankle. Not only was he concerned that mistress Lailani might not have noticed it before it went into his mouth, and therefore accuse him of damaging the young woman’s hosiery – just about the worst crime a laundry-footslave could commit – he would also have to take particular care not to make the tiny tear any worse. It was so easy, with thin denier nylons in particular, to inadvertently damage the material with ones teeth.

The slave knew it, and mistress Lailani, who had, fortunately for him, noticed the ladder, knew it too, and so she examined the left ankle of the sodden wet nylon very carefully after it came out of the footslave’s mouth.

As he waited nervously for her verdict the slave’s mouth felt dry, partly from fear, partly from the after-taste of the salty, dark-nylon, feminine toe-sweat that still lingered in his mouth.

Footslave no. 13’s luck must have been changing, as mistress Lailani said nothing, her silence indicating that she thought he had done a good job. Slaves were very rarely praised for good work – only scolded and chastised for poor work.

‘Now slave finish sucking. Wash socks and tights in bowl. Move!’ barked miss Lailani.

The footslave, as ever on his hands and knees, and closely followed by miss Lailani, humbly carried the pile of pre-washed hosiery to a nearby bowl of clean, warm water, respectfully placed the superior garments into the bowl, and began gently scrubbing. Again, he had to be particularly careful with the delicate nylons, although the navy-blue boot-socks were also in danger of fraying if he wasn’t careful when scrubbing the heels.

All the time the hotel footslave was working his way through the pile of dirty laundry, sniffing and mouth-washing their dirty, used socks and tights and then scrubbing them by hand, Tala and Imee were enjoying a relaxing drink at a bar in the town centre. They cared not that whilst their pretty mouths were full of the refreshing taste of red wine, some ugly footslave’s mouth was full of the taste of their dirty hosiery and residual foot-sweat.

Nor did they give a second thought to the fact that the socks they were wearing now (thick, black boot-socks inside black, high-heeled ankle boots in the case of miss Tala, and thin, cotton white ‘no-show’ socks inside blue sneakers in the case of miss Imee) would also, in due course, be mouth-and-hand washed by one of the hotel laundry-slaves – perhaps even the same one. They didn’t care because they didn’t know, and they didn’t need to know. They were two, young, free Filipina women enjoying life in the West to the full, and were more concerned to find boyfriends than to worry about how their socks would be cleaned!

Back in the laundry the slave had finished hand-washing all the girls’ dirty socks and tights, and had been ordered by miss Lailani to wring them out and then place each pair on a clothes-horse to dry. In spite of the fact it was rare for any mistress, let alone the severe and strict mistress Lailani, to praise a slave for his work, Lailani felt that some words of encouragement, albeit mocking, teasing words, were due to this particular slave for his efforts in cleaning her girlfriends’ dirty socks and tights.

She moved to stand in front of the kneeling slave, temporarily coming between him and the wooden clothes-horse on which the drying socks and tights were now neatly laid out. Her feet, in their white flats and multi-coloured, stripy socks, were now directly under his nose:

‘Hmm, slave good sock-cleaner of Filipina girls’ socks. Slave like serve Filipina women? Like serve Lailani? Like kiss Lailani feet?’

Of course, like nearly all questions put to a humble slave by a superior mistress, it was a rhetorical question. How could he possibly decline an offer to kiss miss Lailani’s pretty, petite feet?

‘Yes, please, mistress Lailani, if it pleases you mistress Lailani, this slave would be honoured to kiss its superior Filipina mistress’s beautiful feet.’

Lailani giggled, and stretched forward her right foot revealing even more of her multi-coloured ankle sock under her blue denim jean:

‘Slave kiss Lailani sock,’ came the simple command.

The slave lowered his lips to the soft sock and obeyed.

‘Now kiss toe of Lailani shoe,’ continued miss Lailani.

Having felt the soft material of her stripy sock on his lips, the slave now felt, and smelt, the leather toe of her somewhat scruffy, flat, white, work-shoe.

Lailani appeared to give a little sigh of pleasure and satisfaction at the slave’s humble act of obeisance towards her:

‘Mmm. Lailani like feel slave kiss feet. Maybe take slave to room tonight – make slave worship bare feet. Slave like?’

Footslave no 13 could barely believe his ears! In the 3 years he had been cooped up in the hotel laundry he had never once been invited to a guest’s room, let alone to the room of the resident laundry-mistress. Yes, his luck was definitely changing. What an honour that would be!

‘Oh yes, mistress Lailani, this humble slave would truly love the opportunity to pay homage to its mistress’s beautiful, bare feet, most superior mistress!’

As she extended her other foot for him to kiss in humble adoration, mistress Lailani laughed at the power she had over this pathetic slave. Of course she wouldn’t take him to her room! But it was nice to raise his hopes in this way, and then dash them! She would keep him on tender-hooks for a while, and then give him the bad news later, just as she was locking up the laundry for the day:

‘Ha! Ha! Lailani think about it. Now slave stare at miss Tara and miss Imee socks and tights. Watch dry. Concentrate on blue sock.’

She grabbed him by the hair, stepped to one side, and positioned his kneeling face close to one of the lower rungs of the clothes-horse on which one of miss Tara’s thick, navy-blue boot socks was hanging, close enough to dominate his field of vision and to enable him to focus on the individual stitches of the well-worn sock.

And so footslave no 13 spent the rest of his afternoon staring at a young Filipina woman’s navy-blue boot sock, watching it dry, and imagining what it would be like to worship miss Lailani’s bare feet in her room later that evening.

Imagining was all he would be doing.

Several hours later the Patel family retuned to the hotel from their day’s excursions, including a relaxing cruise down the main river through the town whilst having a champagne supper.

Needless to say, the footslave who had accompanied them had not been invited to partake in the family’s delicious supper, and had remained under miss Indira’s high-top sneakers throughout the meal.

He was now, however, having first been ordered to lick clean both miss Amina’s dirty plimsolls and miss Indira’s high-top sneakers (as he had earlier anticipated), back in his hole in the floor of the two sisters’ bedroom as they changed into their night-clothes.

Miss Amina, barefoot and in her pyjamas, was the first to come over to the hole and stare mischievously down at him in his prison:

‘I hope you had a good day today, footslave, staring at my sister’s sneakers and socks, for tomorrow you’ll be serving me! Here’s something to keep you going in the meantime,’ and with that she threw her dirty, red patterned ankle socks, the same socks she had had on her feet all day inside her canvas red-and-white checked plimsolls, the same socks that had begun the day in the heat of Pakistan, down onto the slave’s face.

They stank.

Not to be outdone, Indira then graced the slave’s upturned face with her dirty socks, not that they appeared all that dirty apart from one or two brown stains on the soles.

With that the two girls closed and locked the steel trap-door over the slave’s face, leaving him with only their sock-smell for company, climbed into their respective beds, and, both exhausted, immediately put out the light for a good night’s sleep.

As she drifted off to sleep, Amina had a smug smile on her face as she thought about the clumsy footslave-porter, still cooped up in the stocks in the lobby of the hotel.

Sweet dreams, miss Amina.
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Old 24-Aug-18, 01:25
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Hotel Footslave
Author: Patheticus Minimus


Chapter 4 – ‘Boots’

It was the following Tuesday morning.

The Patel family’s ‘long weekend’ of just three full days in the town was drawing to a close and they were packing in preparation for check-out. They had spent all day Saturday shopping, all day Sunday sightseeing, and on the Monday had gone to see a show. Now they would be flying back to Pakistan with lots of souvenirs and happy memories of their short city-break in Europe.

Being a week-day, the Hotel ‘Footslave’ was now populated with more businesswomen than tourists. One major business conference in particular was taking place in the hotel – the Annual General Meeting of a female-orientated media and publishing company. The footslaves in the hotel were being kept very busy by the female delegates to this conference, most of them in their thirties or younger – and all of whom expected the highest possible standards of service.

Located in a walled garden, at the back of the hotel, was one such footslave – the hotel ‘shoeshine-boy’. The garden was the only area on the hotel premises where smoking was permitted, and so the hotel proprietors had installed the shoeshine-boy there so that those ladies who liked to smoke could have their shoes shined whilst they enjoyed a cigarette.

The ‘boy’ was actually in his forties, but he couldn’t realistically be referred to as a ‘man’ – given his lowly status vis-à-vis his female superiors. Like all the hotel footslaves he was suitably humble, and knew his status in life – which was serving the feet and footwear of his female masters and betters.

He was secured, in a kneeling position, to the garden wall by means of a chain around his neck – a chain which, helpfully, also prevented him from raising his head, thereby ensuring that it remained suitably bowed at all times over a wooden block which was positioned directly beneath his face– ready to serve the women’s feet. He was also, in common with all the other hotel footslaves, naked apart from the metal collar around his neck and his slave shorts.

Although it was still only 07:30 in the morning, he had been chained up in the garden since 06:30 am, just in case any of the female guests fancied a cigarette and a shoeshine before breakfast. Hitherto that morning, however, he had had no customers, and had been left to shiver in the early morning cold air alone.

In fact the first voice he heard that crisp Tuesday morning in the garden was those of one of the chambermaids, 25 year old Natasha, who was apparently showing around a new maid.

As the two female members of staff approached him he could hear Natasha, in her familiar East European accent, explaining his role to the new maid, who appeared to be a black girl with a strong West African accent:

‘…and this is the hotel shoeshine. We call him ‘Boots’, as he spends nearly all his day cleaning the dirty shoes and boots of our female guests’.

Boots heard the African girl giggle as her shapely, stocking-covered ankles moved into position in front of him alongside the much longer legs of Natasha. Both the chambermaids were attired in their black and white maids’ outfits, consisting of black blouses, frilly white pinafores, black knee-length skirts, dark stockings and shiny, black leather court shoes which accentuated the shapeliness of their pretty ankles.

Natasha continued to explain the role of the shoeshine-boy to the new girl:

‘He is woken up at 06:00 am sharp every morning when he is given his meal and washed for the day. At 06:30 we bring him out here to the garden, which is also the smoking area, and tie him by this chain to the hook in the wall. He then has to stay kneeling all day and shine the female guests’ shoes as required until 9 o’clock in the evening.

As you can see, he is allowed to use shoe-polish and brushes and cloths to shiner the ladies’ boots and shoes, but it is very important that he has to lick clean the ladies’ footwear first.’

Boots now heard the African speak for the first time as she asked Natasha a question:

‘What do we do with him if it is raining?’

Natasha, rather rudely, couldn’t help laughing out loud at the naïve African girl’s question:

‘Ha! Ha! We don’t care about that! Remember, Adeola, he’s just a dirty pig – if it rains, he gets wet. Nobody cares!’

20 year old miss Adeola was now embarrassed at the stupidity of her question, and resolved to just shut up and listen to the experienced Natasha’s explanation of the shoeshine-slave’s role:

‘Look, Adeola, I will show you what a stupid, dirty pig he is. Watch this!’ and with that miss Natasha took a step forward raising her right foot onto the wooden block under the slave’s nose.

Adeola thought Natasha looked very dominant, even in her maid’s outfit, as she stood, hands on hips, with one foot raised onto the wooden block and barked down her orders at the kneeling shoeshine-slave:

‘You, the pig, shine my shoe!’

Boots was well used to shining miss Natasha’s shoes. Chambermaids and other female hotel staff were permitted to use all the footslave-facilities within the hotel – subject to the caveat, of course, that female guests took priority over the staff when it came to using the slaves. Nevertheless, as a smoker herself, Natasha had often had occasion to use the shoeshine-boy, and had even, for her own amusement, and as a means of showing off to the new staff such as Adeola, developed a kind of humiliating ‘catechism’ to run through with Boots.

As the latter lowered his slave lips to the shiny top of her patent, black, high-heeled shoe, she began the catechism:

‘Who is the master, and who is the slave, dirty pig?’

Boots knew all the answers to the questions as Natasha had kindly taken the time to teach him:

‘You are the female master, and I am the male slave, mistress,’ he humbly replied – in between his first licks on the top of her right shoe.

The shoe was actually quite clean – just a few tiny traces of wet mud along the lower sides – probably from the garden. He did notice, however, how her sheer, dark nylon stocking had creased slightly around her outer ankle as a result of the outstretched positioning of her shapely foot.

Natasha continued with the slave’s degrading catechism – to the evident amusement of the new maid, Adeola.

‘And what type of female master am I, dirty slave?’

‘You are a supreme and most merciful female master, oh most glorious mistress Natasha’.

Adeola could scarcely contain herself. This middle-aged shoeshine-boy was so pathetic!

‘And what type of slave are you, filthy pig?’

‘I am nothing but a dirty, shoe-licking queer, most glorious mistress Natasha!’

Even Natasha herself had to smile at this stage of the slave’s ‘catechism’, even though she had heard it many times before (indeed, she had composed it!) :

‘And what is your ultimate privilege in life, shoe-licking queer?’

‘My ultimate privilege in life is to lick the dirt from your superior, feminine shoes, most glorious and merciful mistress Natasha.’

And, with that, Boots, ever conscious of the fact that actions speak louder than words, did indeed enthusiastically lick the dirt and the mud off the side of mistress Natasha’s patent-leather shoe, as though it was the greatest privilege he could possibly have in his miserable, slave existence.

‘Oh my God, he is such a wimp!’ exclaimed Adeola incredulously, as Natasha exchanged feet to allow Boots to lick the filth off her left shoe. ‘Can I make him clean my shoes?’

Natasha laughed. She liked this new girl Adeola, even if she did have a lot to learn:

‘Of course, you can, honey!’ she replied, stepping down from the wooden footblock to make room for miss Adeola. ‘Just stretch out your foot onto this block and order him to lick your shoe. Don’t forget to call him a “dirty pig”, because that’s what he is!’

Adeola gave a little ‘whoop’ of delight as she was conscious of the fact that she was currently the most junior of all the female hotel staff, this being her first day in the job, and yet was about to have her shoes licked clean by a male slave who was at least twice her age.

A wicked smile graced her pretty, red lips as she copied Natasha and, hands on hips, stretched out her right foot until it was resting on the wooden block directly under the footslave’s nose.

This was, of course, the first time Boots had seen the new, African chambermaid’s feet close up. Although she was wearing the same, dark, regulation stockings and black, patent leather, high-heeled shoes as mistress Natasha, her feet were much broader than Natasha’s, and he could see little signs that her stocking was somewhat twisted inside her shoe as the stitching was somewhat stretched and skewed around the side of her prominent ankle-bone.

The other thing Boots noticed as he awaited his orders, was a faint smell of stale sweat emanating from the African girl’s nylon stocking-clad foot. This concerned him somewhat, as presumably the stockings were fresh on her, this being her first day. That implied that she was not too fastidious about her personal hygiene, not that he had any right to complain about a superior mistress’s foot hygiene – he was obliged to kiss and lick the footwear of all women who placed their feet on his wooden footblock, whatever the condition of their feet and footwear.

‘Dirty pig, lick my shoe!’ came miss Adeola’s order in her cute West African accent.

As he lowered his tongue to taste the top of her shiny, black leather shoe Boots did indeed notice how much stronger the smell of foot-sweat became. He had not been imagining it – Mistress Adeola needed to have her feet washed! But, sadly for him, that was not his role. His only role in life was to ensure the cleanliness of ladies’ outer footwear – but he would at least try to make sure he did a good job of that!

He licked and licked until Adeola’s pretty, black, high-heeled shoe was sparkling in the early morning sunshine.

‘And the other one, foot-pig!’ barked miss Adeola, really getting into her role as slave-mistress, and replacing her right foot with her left.

Natasha was impressed. Adeola would make a good chambermaid in this specialist hotel as she clearly learnt quickly and had a natural instinct for bossing about inferior, male footslaves – one of the great joys, perhaps the only real joy, of being a ‘superior’ chambermaid in this particular themed hotel.

As Boots lathed away at Miss Adeola’s shoe with his rough tongue, Natasha continued to explain to the trainee-chambermaid some other aspects of his role:

‘As I said before, Adeola, we could also order him to polish our shoes with the shoe-polish, but we haven’t really got time. If he does use the polish he has to apply it to the lady’s shoe with his bare fingers. He’s only allowed to use the cloths and brushes to ‘buff up’ the shoes or boots after the polish has been applied by his dirty, slave hands.

Also, at 9:00 PM we have to bring him inside, as he then has to go around the hotel rooms, with a porter’s crate strapped onto his back, collecting the dirty shoes and boots that the female guests have left outside their rooms for cleaning. Once he has collected all the shoes he takes them to the scullery and cleans them all by hand and mouth, before taking them back to leave them outside the ladies’ rooms. We lock him up in his cell for the night at about 12:00 PM – so he usually gets about 6 hours’ sleep – more than enough for a dirty footslave!’

Boots listened as the experienced maid Natasha accurately explained his miserable existence serving the boots and shoes of women to the new African chambermaid, whose shoe dirt he could now taste in his mouth.

When Adeola was, eventually, satisfied with the condition of her left shoe, she stepped away from the block, and the two chambermaids went on to the next part of Adeola’s induction-tour of the hotel – the laundry room.

Needless to say neither girl had anything to say to Boots on their departure – no words of thanks for his efforts in tongue-cleaning their dirty shoes. He was just a human shoeshine-machine, a ‘thing’ they could use to spruce up their footwear – a ‘perk’ of the job.

And the human shoeshine-machine didn’t have much longer to wait for his next ‘customers’ – two of the young business women who were staying at the hotel for the aforementioned media company’s AGM.

Laura and Carole had much in common. They both worked in the Accounts Dept of the media company, were both blonde, both smokers, and both were in their late twenties. They were good friends as well as colleagues, and having breakfasted, they now wanted a cigarette before the first session of the AGM which was due to begin at 9 o’clock.

Hence they had come to the ‘smoking garden’.

As they approached him, Boots could hear how they were discussing some aspects of the company’s business plan. Needless to say, as a stupid and humble footslave, he could not understand the intricacies of what they were saying. But that only served to emphasise that these young ladies were intellectually superior to him, and that he was fit only to shine their shoes.

Or more accurately, their shoes and boots, since whilst Laura was wearing pointy, flat-heeled , black leather shoes on bare feet, her friend Carole was wearing black, spike-heeled ankle boots with black ankle socks. Both ladies were wearing trouser-suits, grey pin-striped in the case of Laura and black in the case of Carole.

The two young businesswomen appeared totally engrossed in their conversation as miss Laura was the first to step up to the wooden footblock and place the pointy black shoe on her right foot onto it, lighting up a cigarette as she did so.

She interrupted her conversation with her friend only briefly to say:

‘Boy, shine them up!’

And then, having taken a first drag on her cigarette, she continued talking to her colleague who, by now, had also lit up.

As the two smartly-dressed business women continued their business conversation, ignoring the shoeshine-boy at Laura’s feet, the humble Boots duly concentrated on what he did best – shining feminine shoes.

He began by licking and sucking on the pointy, slightly scuffed toe, of the black, leather shoe, endeavouring to extricate with his tongue a tiny blade of grass that had become embedded in the tip. As he did so he could see the joints of the mistress’s toes as her shoe didn’t quite cover her bare toes in their entirety. He admired the smoothness of her white foot-skin, and wished he could place a respectful kiss on her soft, bare foot-flesh, although he knew that was quite out of the question in his capacity as a shoeshine-slave.

The young woman was subconsciously wiggling her toes inside her shoe as Boots licked at it, causing the faint veins on the top of her foot to flex in front of his eyes – a reminder to him that he was serving a living, breathing superior woman, a goddess whose footwear he was truly privileged to lick clean – just as his ‘catechism’ had taught him.

Laura, for her part, wasn’t giving the shoeshine-boy at her feet a second thought. She barely noticed as he finished licking her dainty shoe, and began gently applying black shoe-polish to it with his slave fingers. She just smoked and talked to her friend, occasionally flicking her cigarette ash down onto the kneeling footslave’s head.

She did have the presence of mind to swap feet once the slave had finished rubbing her freshly polished right shoe with his cloth. She also gave her right shoe and foot a cursory glance, to make sure she was satisfied with his efforts and, more importantly, that he hadn’t stained her bare foot or trouser leg with the black polish.

Of course, he hadn’t. Boots was actually rather good at shining ladies’ delicate footwear. In all the years he’d been employed as a shoeshine-slave at the hotel he had never once ruined a lady’s shoes or smudged her bare or stockinged foot with some stray shoe polish. The punishment he would receive for doing that didn’t bear thinking about!

When he had repeated the ‘lick and polish’ procedure with her left shoe, Laura moved away from him to make room for her friend and colleague, Carole, to position her outstretched right foot onto the wooden footblock.

Carole was more ‘helpful’ to the slave insofar as she deigned to pull up her black trouser leg so that the hem was well clear of the top of her ankle boot. She accepted that the shoeshine-boy would not be able to lick clean and then polish the whole ankle boot unless she graciously assisted him in this way.

Still puffing away on her early-morning cigarette, mistress Carole gave her orders to the humble shoeshine-slave:

‘Clean my boots, boy!’

And that was all she said to him. Her conversation with Laura resumed.

Boots observed that Carole was slightly ‘podgier’ than her colleague, Laura, but she nevertheless had very pretty and shapely ankles inside her black, leather zip-up, high-heeled ankle boots. Thanks to the fact that she had pulled up her trouser leg, Boots could also see the elasticated top of her black boot-sock, contrasting nicely with her smooth, white feminine skin. The businesswoman’s sock was slightly creased and folded at the top, and Boots would have liked to straighten it for her. But again, that wasn’t his role. The mistress didn’t care about the slight crease in her sock – nobody cared about it, except him, the pathetic ladies’ footslave.

Mistress Carole’s boots were dirtier than mistress Laura’s shoes, and so Boots had even more vigorous licking to do on the side of the boot in order to remove the traces of street-dirt and mud from the superior mistress’s footwear.

Carole, of course, wasn’t in the least bit concerned that her boot-filth was going down the shoeshine-slave’s throat and into his stomach. Indeed, she had barely noticed the dirt on her boots – she was only using the slave to pass the time whilst she chatted to her friend about important matters of business and enjoyed her cigarette.

Although she was slightly shorter in stature than her friend Laura, Carole still towered above Boots as he knelt humbly at her feet. As he tongued away at her ankle boot, Carole was vaguely aware of her sense of superiority over the cringing male at her feet. But he was never in the forefront of her thoughts – he was just a slave obeying her orders.

Boots had to spend some extra time licking dust out of the zip-fastener down the side of miss Carole’s black, leather ankle boot as a considerable amount of the stuff had accumulated there – and he was such a perfectionist!

He then applied the black boot polish with his fingers, feeling her ankle bone, and eventually, her toes wiggling inside her boot as he did so. After he had buffed the polished boot with a cloth, and brought it to a nice shine with a small brush, mistress Carole graciously replaced her right boot with her left, again pulling up the hem of her trouser leg to afford him a full view of, and full access to, the whole of her ankle boot. If only all mistresses were so considerate, he thought.

When he had finished cleaning and polishing her left boot, Mistress Carole removed her foot from the block, twisted her feet, first the left foot, then the right foot, in order to check the results of the bootblack’s work, and then stubbed out her cigarette on the ground with the sole of her right boot directly in front of the kneeling slave’s face.

The significance of this gesture wasn’t lost on Boots – it was as if she was saying to him: ‘You may have just spent a lot of time and effort cleaning and polishing my boots, but I don’t care if they get dirty again, for they are only the humblest and lowest part of my attire, and I hardly give them a second thought. Just as I don’t give you a second thought – for you are nothing but a down-in-the-dirt boot-licker, fit only to lick the dirt from underneath my boots, and I despise you.’

Like the two chambermaids before them, the two businesswomen moved off without saying another word to Boots, and without so much as a backward glance at him.

Scarcely had the taste of mistress Carole’s boot-muck left his mouth, than Boots’s next customer arrived.

She was evidently another guest, although not with the business conference. The attractive young woman was asian in appearance and looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. She had evidently also entered the garden in order to enjoy a quick cigarette. Boots almost felt a sense of protectiveness towards the young woman, who was probably young enough to be his daughter. Why was such a pretty young woman smoking? Didn’t she realise it was bad for her health?

But, of course, such thoughts had to remain firmly locked in his slave-brain, as it was most definitely not his place to tell the young woman what to do. On the contrary, against the natural order of things though it may be, it was the young female who had all the power, and the middle-aged male slave who would be told what to do. And so, quietly and humbly, Boots awaited his orders.

The young woman appeared to want to tease him first:

‘Ha! Ha! Are you enjoying licking clean women’s dirty shoes and boots, slave-boy?’ she enquired in a heavy Pakistani accent, whilst taking her first drag on her cigarette.

The young woman was wearing a short, white mini-skirt and chunky-heeled, brown, leather zip-up ankle boots, with thick, white, scrunched-up boot-socks which reached almost to the tops of her shapely, smooth, brown calf-muscles.

Boots, flattered that this particular mistress was actually deigning to engage him in conversation, replied submissively, as befits a humble footslave:

‘Yes, mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this humble slave is indeed privileged to be allowed to lick clean the dirty footwear of his superior mistresses.’

The young asian woman laughed as she took another drag on her cigarette, before plonking her block-heeled boot onto the wooden footblock under the slave’s face:

‘What do you think of my boots, slave? Would you like to lick them clean?’

‘Oh yes, mistress, if it pleases you mistress, this slave would indeed be honoured to perform such a humble service for the superior young mistress!’ replied Boots, with a degree of genuine enthusiasm, so conditioned had he become to his role.

The young woman laughed again at his pathetic submissiveness, and her all-consuming power over him:

‘Okay, well you’ll have to be quick, footlicker. I’m afraid I haven’t time to let you give them a full polish – just a quick lick and a shine – but make sure you get all the mud and filth off them!’

‘Yes, mistress. I obey you, mistress!’, replied Boots, getting to work with his tongue straight away.

He started at the top of her boot.

‘And make sure you don’t touch my nice, clean sock with your dirty face, boy!’ barked the young woman down at him.

Boots would have loved to brush his nose and face against the soft material of the top of her scrunched-up boot-sock, but he had to acknowledge in his mind that the young woman was quite right not to allow his dirty, slave face to soil the pure whiteness of her superior sock. And so, as he licked the top of her brown ankle boot, he was particularly careful to ensure that his ugly nose didn’t touch the folds of her white sock.

Boots was aware that, unlike the two businesswomen before her, this young woman was watching him intently as he lathered her dirty, brown, ankle boot with his saliva. And the boot was quite dirty and soiled – she was clearly another young woman who ordinarily had better things to worry about than the state of her footwear, even if she was protective of her ‘nice, clean socks!’

Then, disaster struck! Like miss Laura before her, this young asian woman was repeatedly flicking her cigarette ash down onto the slave’s head as he licked her boot, and a stray piece of ash lodged itself in one of the folds on her precious, white boot-sock.

The young woman was furious:

‘Now look what you’ve done, slave! You’ve allowed my cigarette ash to dirty my sock! How dare you!’ she screamed.

She bent down and slapped Boots twice across the face in quick succession.

Boots, though reeling from the stinging blows, had the presence of mind to apologise at once to the young mistress:

‘Oh please forgive me, mistress. Please punish this ignorant, lazy, incompetent slave for his disobedience. Please report me mistress, and have me whipped.’

This was, in fact, the standard reply that any of the hotel footslaves was required to give to a female guest who had a complaint. It was, of course, in reality not Boots’s fault that the ash had strayed onto the young woman’s sock, but he was nevertheless morally responsible for the accident – for a female guest is never wrong and can do no wrong.

‘Too right I will, you dirty, useless, good-for-nothing slave!’ screamed the young woman, still, apparently, incandescent with fake outrage.

She slapped him again across the cheek.

‘Well, what are you waiting for, boy – get it off!’

Boots quickly made to remove the offending ash with his nose.

This earned him another harsh slap across the face.

‘Just what do you think you are doing, slave! Didn’t I tell you not to touch my sock with your face? I can’t believe your arrogance! Use your slave fingers!’ exclaimed the young woman, her tone betraying her apparent incredulity at his wanton act of disobedience.

Boots could have kicked himself! How could he be so stupid? The young woman’s orders had been perfectly clear – his face was not to touch her sock!

As he, somewhat gingerly, flicked away the tiny piece of black cigarette ash from the white sock with one of his fingers, he heard another female, asian voice calling out to her:

‘Amina, you have to come now. We’re ready to check-out!’

‘Just coming, Indy!’ the young woman replied, quickly stubbing out her cigarette.

Boots was angry with himself and frustrated. He was obviously not going to have time to clean the young woman’s other boot – and all due to his gross inefficiency in allowing her cigarette ash to soil her nice clean sock.

‘You’ll be feeling the lash later today, slave,’ were the young woman’s ominous parting words as she turned to walk away from him.

And Amina meant what she said. She would report the slave to the hotel manageress before her family checked out of the hotel. For Amina loved getting slaves into trouble.

A few minutes later, as the Patel family were checking out at the hotel reception desk, the manageress was assuring Amina, the youngest member of the family, that the recalcitrant shoeshine-slave would indeed be punished with a flogging later that day. She suggested that Amina herself should determine the number of lashes.

Amina, in view of the seriousness of the offence, decided that Boots should be punished with 30 lashes. Her only regret was that she wouldn’t be around to witness his punishment!

Amina’s father was very proud of her.

And the manageress had one final pleasant surprise for the Patel family before they left. The clumsy porter-slave who had dropped one of their suitcases from the crate on his back on the day they had checked-in, was required to kiss Mrs Patel’s black-sandaled feet 20 times by way of a final, grovelling apology to her, since she had been the one who was nearly injured by the falling suitcase.

In a gesture of natural justice the same porter-slave also had to carry the Patels’ luggage, inside the heavy crate secured to his bare back, to their taxi which was waiting outside the hotel to take them to the airport. As he did so, he noticed how much heavier the luggage appeared to be than it had been on their arrival – Miss Indira had obviously succeeded in thrashing her father’s credit card!

In spite of the ineptitude of some of the slaves, the Patels had enjoyed their stay at the hotel, and would come again. However, for now it was time for them to head home.

And it is also time for us to check-out from the Hotel ‘Footslave’.
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Old 28-Aug-18, 03:02
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Overlook the grammatical & language errors in the following set of stories and you'll find them to be interesting:


Story Name: Wife shows control over her Sub Hubby
Author: Aroon M


This is an episode that happened a few years back, shortly after i'd accepted Veena as my full time mistress. She has an elder sister (who ill refer to Rita) who's based in Canada, and visits once in a few years. Though she's close to 40 years of age, shes divorced and looks wise she much like Veena, so i always found her attractive just as i did Veena. However she’s very proper and reserved, and with me (as her brother in law) her attitude had always been polite and smiling and correct. Veena really looks up to her and her approval has always been the most important thing for her. What im going to describe is what happened when i met her for the second time in my life, after my marriage to Veena.

Rita visited india around a year after my submission to Veena . Veena invited her to our new place (Veena’s house). Now when id met her earlier, I’d acted like a typical brother in law, joking, chatty and centre of attention. This time while my situation was totally different, I assumed Rita wouldn’t notice any difference. We were sitting in our living room, and I tried to crack my usual jokes. Rita laughed dutifully, (me being her brother in law), while Veena would give an irritated smile. After some time I noticed Veena looked irritated that I was talking freely, not letting her gossip with her sister. She told me “Aroon why don’t you get some snacks for didi”. I saw Rita look surprised that her younger sis was telling her husband to do that, but I of course got up and obeyed. When I came back with the tray, Veena said “now serve them to her and me”, Rita said “no, no Aroon! ill do it” but Veena said “let him do it didi, you’re his wife’s elder sister after all!” and laughed. I smiled too, while I served her and Veena like a servant. Then I kept the tray on the table and went to my chair to sit. Just as I was about to sit Veena said sharply “Don’t sit there, Aroon. come and sit on the carpet at my feet, you’ll be more comfortable here.” Rita was shocked and said “V!? what are you saying?” she was even more shocked when I meekly obeyed and sat next to Veena’s feet at the carpet, burning with humiliation but starting to feel horny too! Veena laughed “Don’t worry! This is nothing, ive learnt my lesson from your marriage, so I keep Aroon on a tight leash. Isn’t that so darling?” she asked me and patted my cheek, as if I was her dog. I nodded and smiled, while Rita looked shocked and amused together. Rita asked me “but Aroon, it doesn’t look nice!” I smiled meekly and said “its my duty to keep my wife happy” Veena laughed and said “good answer. Rita don’t be so shocked. This is nothing. Ok Aroon, no more talking from you, you don’t have to pretend to be a man in front of Rita. Go to your room, take off your clothes and come back like the good lil dog you are.” By now Rita looked like she was enjoying the control her little sister had over me, and looked amused. I went to my room, got off my clothes and felt my cock was already half erect with the humiliation!

I crawled back into the drawing room like a dog, my balls dangling and my now erect cock fully visible between my legs. Rita started laughing, and Veena smiled “good boy. Here, lick my feet.” I quickly knelt at Veena’s feet and sucked her toes. She placed her other foot on my head and pressed it into the carpet, and I could hear Rita asking Ms V “he’s so horny for you!” Veena replied “I can make him do anything you want, make him beg, dance naked, whatever!”, so Rita said “lets see his cock again”. “stand up” my wife ordered me, so I did, my erect cock twitching. Veena gently ran her fingers over my balls and cock, which was by now dripping precum, because she hadn’t let me cum for around a week by then. Rita asked her “ So how do u guys, you know..?” Veena kept fondling my cock and laughed “I make him use his mouth on me whenever I want, and he gets to cum whenever I choose! Haha, and I have no interest in having his cock inside me anymore so that’s out. Poor guy mostly has to jerk off in front of me, or on my feet, or on my sandals!” Rita laughed and exclaimed “ sandals? What a pervert!” and laughed at me again. All this talk had made me even hornier, so I whined like a dog to beg Veena to make me cum (I am not allowed to talk in dog mode). Both sisters laughed, and Veena said “ill show u didi. Here my darling husband, take off my slippers from my foot and start”.

I quickly took her slipper into the centre of the carpet, and lay down with my throbbing cock inside it and my face on Veena’s feet. My cock was already slippery with precum, and I started humping Veena’s slipper like a dog. I could hear that Rita was becoming horny from the way she laughed and laughed, seeing my buttocks pumping up and down on her sister’s slipper. Their laughing at my humiliation made me even hornier, and I tried to fuck her slipper, imagining her foot in it. “My God, look at him! He's an animal!” Rita laughed, and Veena agreed, “now watch this. Stop u dog!” My face was red from all the pumping, and I was very close to cumming, so I whimpered “M-Mistress..!” Veena leaned forward and slapped my cheek hard. I stopped immediately and got on my knees, my erect cock dripping as Rita laughed again. “My horny husband, did you forget you aren’t supposed to speak?” Ms V said softly, so I said sorry. Then she told me to go to a corner of the room and stay on my knees facing them. I obeyed, with my hands on my head, punished naked by my wife. Rita hugged her sister and said “wow V, im so impressed! You’re really got him as a pet huh? He's just an animal!” Veena smiled with the praise “thanks! Now tell me about whats been happening in Vancouver!” The two of them started chatting like girls, totaling ignoring me in the corner, naked, my cock now limp, still very horny and looking at my wife’s feet imagining what it would be to lick them.




Story Name: Chess with Mistress
Author: Aroon M


Ms Veena and her sub hubby A had a comfortable arrangement - he was a stay at home husband who managed the house, they had no kids, and she was a senior executive a one of the leading real estate firms. she had a friendly dominating style over her husband, by which she would keep reminding him who was the boss with small things, and of course when she decided to use him for her sexual pleasure. He was not allowed to masturbate and of course never got to have 'normal' sex with her, although once in 15-20 days she would make him jerk off in humiliating ways that amused her. She made him use his mouth on her pussy whenever she wanted, and also used a strapon they had bought from their last London holiday for her pleasure.

One of the ways that Veena enjoyed reminding her husband of her control over him was by playing chess with him. She was very good at the game, and could usually win most games against him. But she had a rule - If he won a game, she would reward him with a thousand rupees. This was a big amount for A , as his normal monthly allowance was 2000 rupees! BUT..if she won the game, she would butt-fuck A hard with the strapon, with A making noises and behaving like a virgin girl! Veena found this form of sex more arousing, as it not only gave her pleasure but was the most humiliating form of sex her husband could get. A dreaded being butt-fucked by his wife, and because he got so tense he ended up losing most games to her anyway!

"So you're ready to play? ready to lose again huh?" Veenas asked A laughing. "Yes miss", he replied. Getting ready meant that A had to set the chess board, he had to be totally naked and sit on the floor while his wife sat on the sofa and played. Peversely, because A dreaded being beaten at the game and being butt-fucked, his mind associated chess itself with being butt-fucked. So usually when he sat down to play chess with Veena he already had a half erection, which would amuse Veena more! Their game started, As Veena moved her pieces aggressively, A got more and more tense. Finally Veena said "Checkmate", laughed and clapped her hands. "You know what that means, my sweet husband! you're my sweet lil virgin sissy now!" A went red faced, and said meekly " yes mistress". "Aww..poor guy!" Veena said, as she bent down and kissed A on his lips, slowly and with her tongue in his mouth, causing A 's cock to go fully erect! "M..mistress.." A stammered, as Veena pushed him onto his back on the carpet and started putting on her strapon. "Legs in the air!" Veena suddenly snarled at him, and A quickly opened his legs, lying on his back, his cock stiff and balls dangling. Veena took off her jeans and panties, strapped on and lathered the strapon with vaseline, and said "This is the only sex you're going to get darling!" "Yes mistress" A replied in a sissy voice, knowing thats what his wife liked to hear when she fucked him. Veena slid the entire strapon into her husband's asshole, and he squealed out "uhh..uhhh" and she laughed excitedly. Veena held his ankles high so that he couldnt try and close his legs, and said "good boy" and she rammed the strapon in and out of his ass fast. Her husband moaned, but his cock was fully erect, bouncing with the hard pushes from Veena's strapon, dripping pre-cum. The strapon's rubbing on Veena's pussy was making her hornier, and she finally came, long and hard.

A felt like a used toy, but with his cock throbbing and horny for more. Veena unstrapped the dildo and left it deep inside A's asshole, to humiliate him further. She slapped his ass and snapped "go get me a glass of water, and you better not drop the thing in your ass!" "Yes mistress" A said in his sissy voice. He shuffled to the kitchen with his butt clenched, worried that the dildo might slip out of his ass. He came back with the water and knelt by his wife. She took the water and said " kiss my feet". A dutifully bent and eagerly kissed her silver toes, hoping she would let him cum, holding onto the dildo with his butt cheeks. While he was kissing her toes Veena suddenly yanked the dildo out of his asshole, making A yelp. "oh shutup you sissy! Here take this and clean it." "yes mistress. Mm..mistress can i ..cum?" A asked hopefully. His wife laughed wickedly "of course not darling, what gave you that idea? get dressed after cleaning my toy, im sending you to the market for some stuff i need for the party tomorrow!" "Yes Mistress" A replied meekly, and went to the bathroom.




Following stories were written 2 years after the above. Careerwise the wife seems to have progressed from an executive to Director while Husband has started a small time business.


Story Name: A Hotel Vacation
Author: Aroon M


Veena was a director in a large corporate, while her husband Aroon ran a small e-commerce site based our of his house. Veena sometimes had to travel to attend conferences, and one day told Aroon about her next upcoming travel. "I have a two day conference in Kolkata coming up next week, and there's a lot of work ill need you to do so you'll have to come along." Aroon got excited, because he rarely got to travel, and loved going with his wife, since she got good hotels to stay in and had huge spending allowances since she was a senior executive. "I would love to travel with you mistress!" he said. Veena smiled crookedly and said, "Hello, before you get excited, im not going to let you out of the hotel room during the two days, so dont get a hardon!" Humiliated, Aroon meekly said 'yes mistress".

Aroon spent a day before the travel packing his wife/mistress' clothes, shoes, printing and sorting the documents she needed for her conference. On the early morning they had to leave, Veena went ahead to the boarding gate for business class, while Aroon waited in line with economy passengers. Veena's team was travelling economy, but none of them recognised Aroon, as she never took him for office parties. Once they landed in Kolkata, Aroon waited at the baggage belt to collect her luggage, while she ignored him like he was a stranger while meeting and laughing with her team members. Veena was staying at the Taj Bengal, a 5-star hotel, while the team members were at a lower category hotel. She got into a taxi and left for the hotel, while Aroon collected the luggage and followed in another taxi. While he was on his way, she texted him the room number to come to. Aroon reached the room and rang the bell. Veena opened the door, and Aroon brought the luggage in. "Lost your manners? How are you supposed to greet your wife?" Aroon hastily said "sorry mistress", dropped to his knees and kissed his wife's feet, each toe through the open flat sandals she wore. He felt his cock going hard as he did so, as Veena said 'thats better' and told him to unpack her clothes.

"Now listen carefully to the rules. You are not to get out of the room without my permission, and to ensure that you will stay naked. I will be locking up all your clothes while im away for dinner and the conference tomorrow. You will iron my clothes, get my documents printed, wash my panties and get me ready. Understood?" "yes mistress" Aroon said, and took off his clothes. He could help but get an erection at the humiliation of being naked in front of his wife, his balls dangling and cock throbbing! Veena ignored him as she looked at herself in the mirror and tossed her hair, while Aroon massaged her feet, kneeling in front of her. She watched TV for some time, with Aroon lying near her feet on the carpet, then said "Im going out with my team for dinner, will be back late. Ill order something for you, and you will stay in the room." 'yes mistress' Aroon said. He got busy in ironing her stunning black dress, while she went for a bath. When she stepped out f the bathroom in her bra and panties, Aroon's erection started dripping precum. Veena got a call on her phone, and started walking up and down, while Aroon stayed kneeling waiting for her. She was getting more and more irritated at the caller- "I told you to mail me the sheet by evening and now you're telling me you can't make it? What do you get your salary for??" she shouted at her team guy on the phone. "Dont give me stupid excuses, you will not come for the company dinner tonight till you mail me, is that clear?" she said and angrily cut the call. Then she noticed Aroon's dripping erection and harshly said "are you a fucking animal? No matter how much i try to ignore you, your brains stay in your cock. GET UP!" As Aroon stammered apologies and stood, his cock jutted out even more. His wife angrily held his balls tight, and gave hard slaps on his cock. "ow, ow ss..sorry mistress...please no..ow" he whimpered, unable to get away because of her grip on his balls. Although humiliated and in pain with the cockslaps and hard grip on his balls, seeing his wife's flat stomach, bra and the curve of her buttocks, Aroon could'nt help keep his erection, which was now turning red and bruised. "KEEP YOUR HANDS BACK!" she hissed at him as he tried to protect his cock, and finally reduced Aroon to trembling, with tears of pain running down. She finally let go of his balls and ordered him to get her a glass of water. Aroon staggered to obey, his cock and balls aching, and after she had had the drink of water, she said 'now i feel better. you're such a stress buster for me Aroon!" and smiled at him. Aroon weakly smiled back foolishly, and felt his cock hardening again. "Now hurry up and put nailpolish o my toes. I want silver on tonight", she said. Aroon quickly got started, while she stood in front of the mirror combing her hair, applying makeup, while Aroon knelt naked and painted her toes. Finally he knelt to a side, while she looked at the mirror and said"perfect!". Then she turned and smiled at him sweetly "such a darling husband you are. now im going to the dinner party, where there'll be lts of fun, dancing and drinking. Ill be very late, but of course you'll have to stay up to greet me, wont you sweety?" Aroon eagerly said yes mistress. Veena ordered food for him, locked all his clothes in the suitcase and told him to be a good boy and left.

Aroon rubbed his cock lovingly, easing the bruises his wife had given. Then he put on the TV while he ate, and waited for his wife to return from her party.


It was around 1.30 am and Aroon was half asleep, watching TV and waiting for his wife to return from her office party. His phone beeped and he saw it was a WhatsApp from her. He was immediately fully awake, and read the message telling him she was coming up to the room in 2 minutes with someone and she didnt want him to be visible. In panic, Aroon thought of his being totally butt naked, and felt horror thinking of why and who his wife was bringing to the room in the middle of the night. He thought of hiding under the bed, then the bathroom and finally thought of the room closet.

He had just closed the closet door when he heard his wife’s voice and the main door opening. Through the slits in the closet door he saw her enter the room and throw her purse on the bed, chatting to a young woman dressed in a short dress and high heels. from her voice Aroon figured the young woman was drunk, as she gazed into Veena's eyes and excitedly said “Mam you’re an amazing boss, Im so glad i am under you. You totally deserve the award!" Veena patted her cheek and said "You're so sweet Anshi!" Anshi smiled adoringly at Veena and said "Mam ill do anything for you, anything you want me to!" Veena smiled at her, kept patting her cheek and said "you keep working hard and ill make sure you rise high in the company Anshi". Aroon, looking from the closet, felt a thrill of dread, and felt his cock going stiff. The young woman smiled brightly and said "Thank you mam!" Veena reluctantly said "now go to your room, we'll meet tomorrow for breakfast". The young woman seemed disappointed "are you sure mam?" she said. Aroon saw Veena hesitate and then nod. The woman said good night, and Aroon heard the room door close. Veena called out harshly "Where the hell are you?" Aroon quickly got out of the closet, got on all four and crawled to his wife's feet. Veena sat down on the bed and said "You really are an inconvenient idiot sometimes you know?" Not knowing what to say, Aroon said "sorry mistress". As he was used to doing, Aroon took off his wife's heels, and quickly crawled to take out her nightgown. "What is that? get up!" Veena commanded him. Aroon got onto hi knees, and his stiff cock jutted out, dripping precum.

His wife smiled "well well. spying on your wife thru the closet, hmm?" Aroon looked down, "no mistress". "The why are you hard? were you disobeying me and playing with yourself?" she asked. Aroon quickly shook his head, and mumbled "I just saw you mistress, couldnt help myself". Veena laughed "You're so pathetic. You're such a boring, predictable piece of shit Aroon! I won an award for best country head today, while my darling husband was sitting butt naked and watching TV!," Veena laughed, while Aroon eagerly said " Congrats mistress!" "Oh shut up! I dont need your congrats you useless fool!" she said calmly, and Aroon looked at his wife's feet silently, his cock still hard. Veena said "what would a girl in my team like Anshi would think of you if she could see you now, hmm? She might die laughing of course, or think why i had to turn her out of the room just because a pathetic thing like you is my husband!" Veena cackled. Aroon knelt in front of his wife, turning red with shame.

"But i'll use you for what you're worth tonight!" she said, as she lifted her black dress and lay back on the bed. "Get started asshole!" she snapped, and Aroon quickly took of her panties and gently opened his wife's legs, still kneeling on the floor. Veena has a neatly trimmed hairy pussy, and Aroon kissed her pussy lips and pushed his tongue in. He was super excited, and licked his wife's pussy diligently, while she gave a sigh of satisfaction and opened her legs wider. "Asshole" she said, and Aroon immediately went lower and licked her asshole, pushing his tongue in deeper. He licked the asshole and then went back to her pussy, licking it bottom to top, with special attention to her button on the top of the pussy. After about 10 minutes of constant pussy worship Veena shuddered long and hard, and then put her foot on his face and pushed him away. Aroon's cock was now rock hard and dripping, hoping he would be allowed to cum if she was satisfied. Veena lay motionless for around 5 minutes, while Aroon stared at her pussy like a hungry dog. Finally she got up, took off her black dress and bra. She shook her breasts free, and Aroon grew more excited and kissed her feet, hoping to please her. She stood still looking down at him, as he kissed her toes and his cock dripped precum. "Enough now, get back" she said. Aroon obeyed, and waited eagerly, only to her her say "Now go to the bathroom, brush and pack my stuff. we leave the hotel at 9 am tomorrow. And you sleep on the floor next to the bed tonight. Good night!"

Last edited by jahampanah; 28-Aug-18 at 03:11.
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Old 30-Aug-18, 03:09
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Story Name: Swap Club
Author: WimpHub


Chapter 1

We were at the huge house of my wife Jill's rich friend Sally. Jill had persuaded me to go along to one of Sally's wife swapping parties, which she held once a week.

Jill and I were both 30, having been married for 5 years. She is a gorgeous redhead, 5' 6" very pretty, with a great figure. I only agreed to go to the party because I thought a little variety might do us good.

When we arrived, I noticed five other couples there, including Sally and her husband. I knew some of the faces vaguely, and I could not help noticing that all the men looked bigger than my 5' 2". There was also a huge black man who did not seem to have any one with him.

Sally stood up and announced the arrangements for the evening. She said that to add spice to the swap, she had invited an extra man along. The idea was that each of the girls would draw a number from one to six from a hat, which would decide in which order they chose their man. If the extra man left over was one of the husbands, they would have to wear a chastity belt for one week while the man chosen by his wife would have exclusive access to her for that week.

I was arrogant enough to think I could hold my own with the other men, so it was agreed by all. The girls drew their numbers, and Jill got number one giving her first choice. She immediately picked the black guy, who turned out to be called Lance.

The second girl, Jane was about to pick when my wife said in a loud voice:

"I should warn you that my husband has a very tiny cock!"

This caused great laughter to all the others, and great embarrassment to me. It also meant that my chances of being chosen were nil, and so it turned out. I was made to go over to Sally, who told me to drop my trousers and underwear, so she could fit the belt. I did as I was told.

"Oh dear" laughed Sally when she saw my cock, "how could you hope to satisfy anyone with that? I have seen thicker pencils!" More derisive laughter from the others.

Sally then explained that each couple would take one of her 6 bedrooms for their pleasure. She turned to me and said I would have to go home and wait for Jill to return.

I went home feeling very unhappy that I would have no sex for a week while Lance could have her when he wanted.



Chapter 2

Jill did not arrive home until about seven next morning. I could see from the look of her that she had probably spent most of the night being fucked by her black stud.

"Boy, can he fuck" she said happily "and he has a baseball bat down his trousers!" I was beginning not to like this arrangement.

"I feel a bit sorry for you being locked up John" she went on, "but I am delighted to have Lance all week." Taking off her clothes, she took great delight in opening up her cunt and showing me the large wad of cum Lance had given her about ten minutes ago.

When I got home from work that night, Jill was already dressed up to go out.

"You are not seeing him again tonight are you?" I protested.

"Oh yes I am" she snapped. "I have him for a week, and I will be taking that monster cock every night. You had better get used to it".

She came home at about eleven that night, and got into bed naked with me. Taking my hand, she put it to her pussy to show me that he had given her another large dose of cum.

"Can you feel that John?" she purred. "You know it really turns me on knowing that you can't cum, while Lance is pumping three loads of cum up me every night. No man has ever made me so happy in bed." This made the frustration I was feeling even worse.

Next night I got home, and Lance was sitting in the lounge with Jill. There was also a young black girl in the room. Jill explained:

"John, this is Sarah, Lance's sister. We didn't think it fair for you to be without a woman, so you can have fun with Sarah tonight." I protested that I was locked up, and Jill said it was OK I could use my tongue. She then informed me that Lance would be fucking her in our bed, while Sarah and I played in the lounge.

19 year old Sarah was beautiful, and she knew it She took off her clothes and flaunted her body at me, knowing it was causing me acute frustration. Though she was a lot younger, she insisted on calling me boy to humiliate me. She had me on my knees, giving her feet a tongue bath, followed by licking and sucking her tits. Then I had to lick her young arse for about half an hour, and as a finale, sucking on her pussy for a full two hours.

As if this were not frustrating enough, I had to listen to the cries of my wife upstairs, telling Lance that she loved him, and that he could fuck her whenever he wanted.

When the brother and sister had left, I protested to Jill that this was not working out as I had expected.

"That's too bad", she spat, "you lost at the party because of your tiny dick, so you have to suffer the consequences. I will tell you something else", she went on, "If you lose at the next party, you will have to keep the lock on for another month!" I said then I would not go, but she informed me that in that case I would never get the lock off.



Chapter 3

Jill carried on going to Lance's place, and on the night before the next party she came home at eleven as usual, She had been in bed for twenty minutes when I heard the door open downstairs, followed by footsteps coming up the stairs. Lance walked into the room, and began to undress.

"I haven't had enough of you tonight yet bitch" he said, and got on top of her right next to me!

"Oh look at that cock, John" she said to me,"he's going to fuck me with it in front of you, you are going to see your wife cum on another man's cock." Then turning to Lance, she said:

"Come on you big bastard, show little dick how it's done, show him how you will be fucking his slut wife for the next month!" I could not believe my ears, and was beginning to suspect something was not right about the whole business.

Lance fucked her for a long time, with her again telling that she loved him, and begging him for her fourth load of black cum that night, and for him to give her a baby.

Sure enough, the next night I was not picked out, and once again Jill picked number one. I was now sure I had been set up. I begged Sally to remove the cock lock, and she in turn asked Jill.

"No" said my wife "If I had my way it would never come off. His little dick is no good to anyone."

"Very well" replied Sally, if you want the lock removed at some time John, you will have to agree to my terms" Having no choice, I said I would agree.

"For the next three months starting tonight, you will attend all my parties. You will be naked except for your restrainer. When the couples go up to bed, you will go in each bedroom and prepare each lady with your tongue. You will also perform any other service they may require. When you have completed that, you will go to the landing where Sarah will be waiting for you. You will service her with your tongue as required, until you hear the call for a clean up boy from any of the bedrooms. When called you will suck each lady's cunt clean of cum, and any of the gentlemen who require this service."

This caused much mirth from everyone present, and Jill cut in with her own requirements.

"Lance will be fucking me permanently from now in your place, and you will suck every drop of his cum out of me, not just at the parties, Also while you are wearing the restrainer, you will constantly be cock teased by me, and also the other ladies in the club". They all clapped at the thought of keeping me in total misery.

That was two years ago, and my cock is still locked up. Lance has moved in, and the two of them taunt me unmercifully about my frustrated state..Jill spends a lot of time teasing me and having me on my knees giving tongue service.

Sarah is also a regular visitor, and she takes particular delight in frustrating me until I am sobbing uncontrollably, She does it in front of Jill and Lance while they are cuddled up, and they both delight in my tears.

Why oh why did I agree to that swap party?
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Old 04-Sep-18, 05:24
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First story for today: This story is about a submissive man's desires and a woman using him to pleasure herself. Can be termed as soft femdom.


Story Name: Under Maggie's Desk
Author: Bacomicfan

I had only been working at what we jokingly call "the company" (said phrase always being accompanied by a sarcastic chuckle) for about three months at the time my story begins. I'd met Maggie several times in the course of my duties there, but only briefly and had exchanged only work-related discourse. In the last few weeks, however, we've seen more of each other and have gotten a sort of friendly bantering going on between us.

One day I walked into her office with some paperwork to give her, and found her sitting at her desk with her shoes off and her legs up on her desk, rubbing her feet together as if they were in a bit of discomfort. I made some usual off-the-cuff remark and she returned the favor, adding with a wicked grin that if I were any kind of gentleman I'd offer to rub her feet for her. I chuckled and said that I had a lot to do, but if I had had the time, I'd gladly soothe her achy tootsies. Her grin widened and she asserted that I was just like all men, making promises I'd never keep. With a wink, I mentioned that I had the next day off, and if she needed her feet massaged then she could call me that night to let me know and I'd come in just to pamper her achy feet. While we both chuckled at that, we did exchange sly glances. When she stopped chuckling, she leaned back in her chair, beamed a truly wicked grin at me and said, "Ok, I will....I'll call you tonight."

I figured she was just keeping the joke going, and when I left her office I felt like a total idiot. If I hadn't made a complete dunce out of myself, I was still pretty sure she'd never call. She was nothing if not a tease and a jokester. I thought it was all just our usual quipping and that was it. Needless to say, she didn't call that night, but the following day, at around 1pm or so, I did receive a phone call from the lovely Maggie. I was surprised to say the least, but I got a tingle from just hearing her voice. She came right to the point, saying she'd had a terrible day, and if my offer to rub her feet was sincere, and not just another "man-lie" as she called it, that she'd really like me to come in and keep my word. Incredulous, I asked if she was serious. When she said, "Very," I could tell from her tone that she indeed was.

It only took me about half an hour to get to "the company", and shortly thereafter I found myself knocking on Maggie's office door. From inside the office, Maggie's sweet voice invited me in. When I walked in, I found Maggie at her desk as usual, but grinning from ear to ear. She said, "Wow...that was quick. I have to admit I didn't think you were serious about coming in just to rub my feet for me."

"Well," I replied, "I always keep my promises."

"Great. Pull up a chair and get started then. My feet are killing me."

"What, no hello? Just pull up a chair and start rubbing my feet?"

"Well, that was the promise, wasn't it? I don't recall chit-chat being a part of it...was it?"

To that, I really had no idea what to reply. I had to admit she had a point. Remembering my words when I made the agreement, I did say I'd come in just to rub her feet. So, all I could do was shrug and pull up a chair next to her desk. No sooner had I positioned the chair next to the desk, and myself in it, than she immediately plopped her high-heeled feet into my lap. She was wearing the sheerest black stockings I'd ever seen under a mid-thigh skirt and black heels. Though her skirt was pretty short, I couldn't tell if the hose were stockings or pantyhose. Didn't really matter...whatever they were, they made her legs look great!

Her impatience brought me back to reality. Though she was smiling at my obvious admiration for her legs, her impatient sighs and the wiggling of her feet in my lap spoke volumes that she was anxious to get started. So, with a somewhat sheepish smile, I delayed no longer and began to remove her high heels from her tired feet. The sound of the shoe leather sliding along the heel of her nyloned foot somehow etched itself into my brain for all time. I can still recognize that sound from a mile away even to this day.

Having removed both her shoes, I bent down and placed them on the floor beside the desk. The freeing of her feet from the confines of her high heels alone brought a sigh of relief from Maggie's sultry lips. And when I had placed her shoes on the floor and sat back up, I was greeted with the sight of Maggie's feet playfully squirming and wiggling in my lap in anticipation of their much-needed pampering. I couldn't help but smile.

I grabbed one foot with both my hands....firmly but gently. I began with a gentle rubbing at first, and worked my way up to a firmer and more soothing rub. She sat back in her chair, closed her eyes, and sighed with obvious relief and pleasure. I got a really warm feeling from making her feel so good. The smile on her face as I massaged her foot was worth every bit of effort...even worth going in to work on my day off. As I rubbed her feet, first one, then the other, I couldn't help but admire not only her shapely legs, but the beauty and softness of her feet as well. Her feet were very feminine and lovely, and massaging them was actually a pleasure for me almost as much as it was for her.

After I'd been rubbing her feet for about fifteen or twenty minutes, a knock came at the door. The voice which accompanied the knock was that of our boss, he who we have lovingly dubbed "The Furious Leader" and "The Ogre"....a man who made Satan himself look like a saint. Now the boss had a strict policy of employees not entering the building on days off unless summoned by the High Lord himself....and an even stricter policy of employees not "fraternizing" in any non-business way. So, his knock and growl sent shivers down both our spines. Knowing that the Ogre never waited for a response to his knock, but rather immediately entered after his half-hearted pretense at consideration, I sped into action. Without even thinking, I literally flew off the chair and bolted under Maggie's desk. It was all either of us could do to keep from laughing out loud, despite the fear-driven adrenaline rush.

The Ogre strode in, huffing self-importantly, and handed Maggie another pile of work, thankfully none the wiser as to what was going on before he entered. He barked and growled out instructions to Maggie, gave her a pathetic self-loving wink and strode back out again, actually having the rare courtesy to close the door behind him. After the door had shut, Maggie and I laughed aloud for several minutes, careful not to be too exuberant in our laughter lest Der Fuhrer return.

When we'd finally stopped laughing, and wiping the tears from our eyes, I started to get out from under the desk. My progress was impeded, however, by something pressing against my shoulder. I cocked my head to see what it was and saw Maggie's nylon-clad foot pushed squarely against my shoulder, keeping me from getting out from under the desk. I looked up at her, thinking the Ogre had made a silent re-entry into the office and Maggie was keeping me from making an awkward and ill-advised appearance. Instead, I saw a truly wicked grin inhabiting Maggie's lovely face. She sat there grinning that evil grin, her hand resting against her cheek and her index finger pressed to her lips in an obvious act of contemplation.....of planning. A slight shiver raced along my spine....but not an entirely unpleasant one.

As I tried to fathom what was going on in her lovely head, she sat back in her chair and brought her other leg up, planting her other foot on my other shoulder. I must have had a truly stupid look on my face as she chuckled with glee at whatever look was there. She didn't stop chuckling until I asked dumbly what was up. The evil grin was still there as she replied, "I've always wanted to have a man under my desk to do....things.....for me. Why don't you just stay there? You can rub my feet from under there, can't you? Besides, what if you-know-who decides to make another appearance? We might not be so lucky a second time."

I tried valiantly to reply, but when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I have to admit, that, in retrospect, the idea of being under Maggie's desk and doing...things....for her was a deliciously tantalizing one.

So, grinning myself now, I crawled back under the desk. Maggie wasn't the only one anticipating now. I got as comfortable as I could in that cramped space, made more difficult by Maggie's legs and feet resting on my shoulders as I did so. She obviously had no intention of letting me change my mind. Maggie was once again anxious to start playing, so I was barely in a somewhat comfortable position in my new home when her feet finally left my shoulders and reappeared wiggling expectantly not six inches from my smiling face.

I grabbed one foot to once again begin her pampering, placing the other foot gently on my lap to await its turn. At first she just sat back and enjoyed the soothing rub, but as time went on, she realized she had to get her work done so she busied herself with the tasks at hand while I sat under her desk massaging her feet. While she worked, I rubbed.

I enjoyed the feel of the nylon as I comforted her feet. But as the massage continued, I noticed that Maggie's feet were getting hot, I assumed from all the rubbing. Feeling as though it was my fault that her feet were hot, and fearing that might make them uncomfortable, I thought of an idea to cool them off for her. I lifted both her feet up by the heels and brought them to my lips. I puckered my lips and blew hard on her feet, so that the air I was blowing would be cool, and even spread her toes so the air could cool between them. I kneaded and spread her toes with my fingers to make sure I cooled everywhere for her...giving her toes a gentle massage as I blew around and between them, alternating from one foot to the other. I hoped the air was penetrating through the nylon or it would all be for nothing.

As it turns out, Maggie must've felt it after all, because it seemed to take her by surprise. I couldn't see her face from under the desk, but I heard her chuckling. Then, she slid the chair back a little bit and bent over to peer down at me. Her chuckle and surprised look made me feel a little embarrassed, so I stopped blowing on the foot I had in hand and looked up at her sheepishly. I was surprised when she held her feet in front of my lips and wiggled and flexed her toes playfully.

"Oh,no...don't stop. Keep blowing on my toes....and do it while you rub my feet...just like you were. That feels incredible!"

So, I did just that. I continued to massage her feet, kneading her foot flesh as I blew on her toes and soles...while she did her work above me. As I blew on those sexy toes, the closeness of her feet to my lips made me wonder what nylon would feel like pressed against my lips. How soft or silky would it feel? So, to answer this question, I decided to find out first hand. I brought the foot I was blowing on up against my lips. I kissed her nylon-encased toes, letting my lips brush against and linger on the tips of them, pressing my lips into the nylon to get a good feel of it. It was heaven. In fact, it was so heavenly that I got completely lost in kissing Maggie's feet....my lips caressing every inch of both of them. Sometimes I just pecked little kisses, other times I allowed my lips to barely touch various parts of her foot as I glided my lips along, still other times I pressed my lips firmly into her foot. I kissed those lovely feet....again....and again....and again....my lips not wanting to stop...or, perhaps, unable to.

So engrossed in adoring Maggie's feet was I that it was some time before I realized that she had again leaned back in her chair and was peering under her desk to see what was going on. I had my lips busy caressing the ankle of one foot and I froze that way, lips puckered on her ankle, when I noticed her looking down at me again. While she had a curious look on her face, she was unmistakably pleased with what she was seeing and feeling.

Although my lips were frozen on her luscious ankle, my fingers, with a mind of their own, were still massaging her instep and sole. The smile I saw on Maggie's face was pure pleasure to behold...rewarding.......and encouraging. She sat back up in her chair to resume her work, saying nothing. That plus the contented smile I'd seen on her face told me it was not only ok, but even desired that I continue my present course. So I once again rubbed and pampered her feet...and adored them with grateful lips.

As I worshipped one divine foot, Maggie brought the other foot up and I felt it gently caress the side of my face, stroking my ear, cheek and jawline with nylon-encased heaven. Her toes played with my hair, then slid down to play with my cheek and gently rub all around my face. I still kept kissing and rubbing her other foot, not wanting to stop pleasing her for one single second. In between kisses and caresses, if I felt her foot getting warm again, so I cooled it yet again with my puckered lips. I was not going to let anything bring discomfort to either of her feet if I could possibly prevent it. I hadn't a clue how long the kissing, massaging and cooling went on....but I didn't really care.

Having given me her non-verbal approval of kissing her feet, Maggie went on about the task of carrying out the Ogre's assigned duties. Occasionally my fingers or lips would hit and soothe a particularly sensitive spot on her feet and Maggie would sigh or I'd hear a soft purr from her and she'd stop work for a second to enjoy.

Although as time went by I got uncomfortable in that confined space, I kept pampering Maggie's feet. I felt that my own discomfort was unimportant as long as I was pleasing her. Her pleasure and comfort should come first and I wasn't about to disappoint her. So, cramped as I was, I stuck it out. I massaged every inch of both her feet, giving attention to each toe individually, firmly kneading her soles, bending and rotating her feet to stretch seldom used tendons and ligaments. I gave her as thorough a foot massage as I could...and she seemed to enjoy every second of it. I soothed insteps, soles, heels, ankles....even tried to push the stocking material down between her toes so I could massage between her toes as best I could. And whatever aches my fingers couldn't soothe, my attentive lips tried valiantly to kiss away.

All at once, Maggie's feet flew from my pampering hands. In a gasp of disappointment, I could only try feebly to guess what was going on. Her feet had escaped my grasp in mid-kiss and mid-rub. As my disappointed eyes focused, they saw Maggie now standing in front of her chair. I feared that for some reason our fun was all over. From my position, all I could see was Maggie's fine legs from about mid-thigh down. Continuing to look, I realized that her stockings were pantyhose after all. I discovered this as she slid them down her legs and over her feet to remove them. Once she'd gotten them completely removed, she wasted no time in bounding back into her chair, holding her now naked legs out to me for me to continue their pleasure.

Although it was a bit dim there under her desk, I noticed for the first time that Maggie painted her toenails. In the dimness it appeared to be a hot pink or similar color...and it brought a smile to my face. I looked up to see Maggie peering down at me again, and I flushed when I realized she'd noticed me admiring her toes. She grinned that evil grin again and proclaimed matter of factly, "Now you can do some serious foot pampering for me. Take your time...I have all day." And she immediately went back to her work with no further discussion.

As I took up one bare foot in my hands, I marveled at how soft and smooth it was...so lovely to look at...so pleasant to touch. I continued where I'd left off, kissing and rubbing her feet, blowing on them when I felt they needed it. Kissing her bare feet was even more enjoyable than kissing them in nylon...and I let her know that by the way I kissed them. I let my mouth adore her feet as I rubbed them. I kissed them a bit more passionately than before they were bare. Her skin was so sweet and erotic. I pressed my lips into it in total worship. I was coming to adore her feet. It was wonderful having my hands and lips all over them.

But, I confess that Maggie's acceptance - and, more, her enjoyment - of all this made me bolder. I wanted to try other things I thought she might enjoy...that might feel good to her...that might please her in some small way. Every sign she gave me emboldened me to go ever further in worshipping and comforting her feet. As I kissed her feet, I would part my lips and allow my tongue to play on them, to glide along every succulent inch. My kisses now encompassed licking as well....my tongue massaging as my fingers had done. As my lips slid along the side of her foot, they would suck gently and my tongue would flick at her foot. My kisses became open-mouthed, my tongue enjoying her feet...hopefully pleasing them as well. And then, kissing my way up to her toes again, I could no longer resist. I held her soft foot up to my lips and put them around her big toe, letting her toe slide between my lips and into my mouth. The toe's warm softness made my mind turn to mush. Reluctantly, I eventually let go of that toe, but then moved on from toe to toe, taking each one into my mouth and savoring the feel and taste of it. I sucked her toes slowly, and as I did I resumed hand massaging her sole and instep, and even her ankles and heel.

Again I lost track of time, sucking her toes and massaging her feet for who knows how long. But her sighs and moans encouraged my every lick, nibble and suck. I knew I was pleasing her and that was all that mattered. I barely even noticed the aches in my back and neck. They meant nothing to me....only Maggie's sighs were important. My hands, lips and now my tongue too, were pleasing her immensely, and there was nothing on earth that could've pulled them away from their attention to her feet. Except one thing....Maggie herself. For, at this point, my hands and mouth on her feet was no longer enough...for either of us.

As I soothed and worshipped her feet, I instinctively knew what Maggie now desired. My lips still focussed on her wriggling feet, but my hands began to wander above her ankles,to her well-formed calves. As my mouth tended to her feet, my hands massaged and caressed her calves soothingly. My lips and tongue did their best to stimulate her lovely feet while my hands crept slowly up her calves, gently caressing their way up.

It was at this point that Maggie became intent on a more active role in things. She took her foot from my grasp and positioned it on my shoulder, sliding her chair forward, putting her other foot on my other shoulder. Her sliding her chair further under the desk made me that much more cramped, but it brought her delicious thighs withing easy reach of both hands and lips. Happily, I took this as a sign that she wanted me to explore more than just her feet now. So, gently rubbing the instep of one foot, and letting my other hand slowly caress her thigh, I kissed and nuzzled her calf as I rubbed both foot and thigh. I took my time rubbing and kissing my way up her calves and thighs. There was, after all, no need to rush.

Soon, I was kissing her knee, and then above it. Now the sighs were more frequent and I could tell Maggie had stopped sorting through files and papers altogether. My lips worked their slow way up to her silky thighs, and as I did so Maggie once again sat back in her chair, shut her eyes and smiled contentedly. It wasn't long before her lush lips parted slightly and soft sighs escaped them, her breathing becoming quicker with each passing moment. I decided to go for broke. I might never have this kind of opportunity again, and Maggie sure seemed to be enjoying things, so why not? I moved all of my stroking and kissing above the knee now, with a definite plan of moving as far up as I was allowed.

I stroked her calves and thighs and kissed and even licked her about mid-thigh. In the cramped space, getting to her upper thigh was a bit difficult, but well worth the effort. I even had to come slightly out from under the desk to give her inner thighs the attention they deserved.....and wanted. Since she was lost in her contentment, I had no trouble at all in pushing her chair back slightly to accomodate this.

I kissed and licked back and forth from one inner thigh to the other, and Maggie seemed to appreciate it greatly. Now came the moment of truth. How far would she let me go? Would I be able to give her the kind of pleasure I'd like to, or would I get a stern slap across the face? I decided to go for it. The possible rewards of success far outweighed the probable sting of dismal failure. Besides, I could always say that I had simply misread her signs. The fun might be over for today, but I could apologize and I didn't think much harm would be done. Somehow, I didn't think Maggie would stop me. She seemed to want me to pleasure more than just her feet now......I was sure of it.

It turned out that my self debate was unnecessary anyway. Maggie answered my ques- tion for me, taking matters into her own hands. As I kissed her inner thigh, she lifted herself off her chair slightly and pushed herself forward, her tailbone resting very near the edge of her chair. She leaned back as far as the chair would allow and took her legs off my shoulders, placing them both on top of her desk. Once her legs were over my head on the desk, she spread them invitingly. I couldn't believe this was happening to me..but I didn't hesitate a single second. The dream, after all, could end at any moment.

I bent back to the delicious task of kissing and licking and nuzzling my face into her warm inner thighs. Pressing ever onward, I pushed her skirt upward slowly, exposing more and more thigh flesh, and getting wonderfully close to the heavenly area between her thighs. It was at this point that I became aware that this moment had probably been planned by Maggie all along. For, as I raised her skirt to further access her creamy thighs, I saw that the lovely Maggie wore no panties. I admired both her feminine beauty and her conniving ways. My admration of her love nest stopped me in my tracks for a moment or two as I stared at her curly tendrils and pouting lips in awe and with growing passion. This slight hesitation became noticable to Maggie. Her hands came down and grabbed my head, ending any lingering doubts I might have had when she pulled my face down into her moist, warm crotch. I kissed it....gently at first...and then my lips became more passionate in their worship and exploration of her nest.

As with her feet and legs, my mouth soon was exploring all about her pussy...becoming more and more thorough in it's probing and pleasing. I was lost in her scent and taste. My mouth kissed and sucked on all the juicy pink folds of her flower. I sucked on anything I could get into my mouth. My fingers spread her lips wide to allow my tongue to tease and titilate every moist inch of her womanhood. Her breathing was becoming still quicker and much more shallow, the sighs quickly becoming panting. Holding her open with one hand, my other hand grabbed her buttock and squeezed as my tongue explored her with abandon. I licked her slowly, then faster, letting her approach climax, but then pulling back somewhat, not letting her explode too soon. I wanted to prolong her pleasure as long as possible.

Nuzzling her musky nest, I sought her love canal and pushed my tongue into it, exploring its moistness. I licked inside her and brough my hand from her buttock to play in her juicy folds while my tongue danced inside her. I maintined this dual assault on her pussy until I felt the vibrations begin in her thighs, and felt her begin rhythmic movements with her hips. I played inside her a bit longer, but when I felt her hands tugging at my hair, and heard her gasping sighs, I knew it was time to set her free. Still stroking her soaked sex, I removed my tongue from inside her and brought my mouth to her clit, now peering from it's hiding place and crying out for attention.

As my tongue gently touched and teased her clit, her hips began to rock a bit faster and her gasping became more labored. I teased her clit with my tongue as she rocked and sighed. Keeping her clit held captive between my lips, I now flicked my tongue at it, the tip of my tongue barely touching it. I moved my face up and down to keep pace with her rocking hips, keeping her clit warm and safe between my lips. Her hips rocked fastrer and faster and the trembling in her thighs was reaching a peak, but my mouth held her clit firmly, my tongue now flicking just a bit more forcefully on it. I held her button between my lips and began to suck gently on it as my tongue lapped at it.

When my sucking on her nub became more forceful, she moaned loudly and her hips bucked suddenly. I rode with it, not wanting to lose her clit and bring her down again. I licked and sucked wildly now, moving my face all around her pussy as my mouth gave her clit intense pleasure. Her hands tugged at my hair and her bucking almost caused them to rip some of it out. When she finally achieved orgasm, I rode with her as long as I could. Even as she came I kept sucking and licking to prolong it for her. She bucked and squealed with pleasure, and her squeezing thighs almost choked me in her passion. But, I hung on to the very end.

It was quite some time before her orgasms had ended and her trembling and spasming had subsided. I pulled my dripping face from between her now limp legs, but leaned for- ward briefly to kiss that delicious moist tuft of womanhood, grateful not only for the pleasure it had given me, but also grateful that I'd been able to give so much pleasure to it as well.

I was so sore and cramped by this time that I just had to get out from under the desk. I could barely sit, I was in such pain. But I looked at Maggie to make sure she had thoroughly enjoyed herself, and her look of total satisfaction warmed me. Every ache was worth it. Maggie was sitting back in her chair, energy-depleted legs limp on the desk, but a Cheshire Cat grin plastered across her face. There was no doubt that I'd pleased her, and I felt good about that....very, very good. She looked at me and grinned. "That was wonderful," she said, "You really DID come through for me, after all. It's not every day I can get my feet rubbed and get such a nice bonus too! Mike, dear, you're welcome to crawl un MY desk anytime!"

Well, I'm sure you can understand that that day was one of the most pleasurable of my life...but that was not the end of this story. You see, when I managed to get the kinks out of my achy body, and Maggie had gotten herself put back together, I dusted myself off and prepared to leave. I really didn't know what to say. It was a rather awkward situation...or so I thought. Heading for the door, flushed, and confused as to how to end things, I stammered to Maggie that I'd see her the following day when I came in to work. Maggie ended the awkwardness of the moment and surprised me all in one move. She came over to me, put her arms around my neck, kissed me full on the lips, and asked, "So, when's your next day off? I would love another footrub. I'll even put a pillow under my desk....to make it a little more comfortable for you next time." We both had a hearty chuckle over that, and the awkwardness of the moment was a thing of the past.

But..truth to tell...Maggie did end up putting that pillow under her desk....and from that day to this I've used it many times. And I never forget to thank her for that. Oh, but you'll have to excuse me. I have an appointment to keep. I'd hate to be late for Maggie's footrub. The reward for making her feet happy is just too good to pass up.

I just can't wait to get all cramped up under that desk...





Second story of today:


Story Name: Train Story
Author: Not Known

There were new girl (let's call her Sara) in the class, who never liked me much. She moved from another school and at once broke hearts of all males in my class. She was very selfconfident, not super beautiful, but with some sexy nerve and I was shy, so she used to ambarass or deride me in front of the others. From the beginning she considered me freak, but I've never gave her a reason to think of me that way. She was very seductive and I was the only lad in the class who resisted her lure (she thought of it that way, in fact I had strong crush on her, but couldn't express it). As time passed she'd became more irritated and aggresive, her verbal attacks became little humiliating, but I was too scared she would discover my fetish and use it against me, so I've never defended myself.

So, there's the trip and (to my greatest discontent) I've landed in one compartment with Sara, two other girls (their names were Magda and Monika) and one of my colleagues (his name is unimportant). As there were a lot of space (the compartments were for eight people) and they spent most of time at the corridor - I've laid along one of the seats, with my head to the window. Only Magda stayed in the compartment with me, but she had occupied the second seat and was reading some magazine. It was quite dim in the compartment, only glimpses of light came from the corridor. So she sat at the doors and spread her legs at my seat. At that age most of the girls of my class had no resistance to not take off their shoes when placing their feet on chairs, sofas, beds or seats. It was really great for me, of course . Magda, Monika and Sara counted to that group. And that night Monika was in running shoes (sth. like flat soled white Asics), Magda - in flat soled strappy sandals, and Sara in light strapped sandals with white 1/2 inch flat sole raised to 1.5 inch narrow heel.

I've nearly fallen asleep, when Sara and Monika went back and took their places in front of me, Sara at the window and Monika near her. As Sara was in short skirt (she always exposed her legs!), I've awoken really fast hoping I could cast a few glances at her slender legs. As I've mentioned it was rather dark there, so it was little chance she could catch me peeking. Although she was not beautiful, but slender and rather sexy, she has really worth-the-sin legs. The girls talked to each other for some time when I've watched them with half-closed eyes, when Monika got numb and placed her feet (in shoes!) at the edge of my seat, a few inches from my groin. I've started to harden in genital parts. Then Sara payed attention to me and remarked I've been very selfish ocuppying whole length of the couch while three of them had to sit on one side of the compartment. As I've been officially asleep, I did nothing. Then she also rested her feet on my seat, but not with flat sole on the edge, as Monika did, but with her heels on top of the seat, so her shoes towered above my face, just an inch form it. Whoa! It was great, I stayed motionless, waiting what would happen next. I've smelled plastic aroma of Sara's soles and prayed for she pushed her legs little further and placed them on my face. She moved her feet above my face for a moment, not touching it, but I've given no signs I've noticed her, so the girls returned to chatting. As she had to raise fingers of her feet up not to step on me, she quickly got tired, pulled them back and placed on the edge of the seat. I've been really disappointed. I've stared at her gorgeous feet and seen in my mind's eyes that I lick and kiss them, but it was only a dream. As I've been tired, I started to fall asleep again.

Suddenly I've been awaken again, but this time it was Magda, who leaned her feet on my legs. I've stayed quiet, trembling at anticipation what the other girls would do, following her example. And I was correct. Monika raised her feet and gently placed them on my groin. Good idea said Sara This freak deserves nothing else than lying at our feet she giggled in approval and placed her feet tenderly on side of my head. Now I had to ignore the girls no longer. What are you doing? I've grumbled unclearly from underneath Sara's feet. It was great feeling, she placed one foot on my temple and the other on my cheek, and hold them in the air touching my head with balls using minimum pressure. Don't move, and be useful. You're good as our footrest she giggled. I said nothing and Sara gently increased pressure until she rested her feet full weight on my head. Now she positioned her legs for a moment, but left them on the side of my head, with one heel just above my eye and the second one on my cheek. I felt the edges of her hard soled sandals dug into my skin.

As Monika always strived to make an impression on Sara, now she pushed my groin more and more until her legs were fully extended. She pressed me hard, but it was not enough for her. I'll crush you! she threatened me, then slipped her butt down bending her legs, leaned back so her blades rested on the back of the seat and pressed again trying to straighten her legs once more. After a few seconds she succeeded squishing me against back of my seat. The pressure she applied to my groin was nearly unbearable, as a force human can perform with his legs is much bigger than the one needed for holding the body in standing position, walking, jumping or even carrying heavy load. She forced her sandals into my cock with patient determination, but though it was painful, I was really hard and excited, and she felt it with soles of her feet. She grinded her heels into my muscle and really tried hurt me, but she hasn't knew how tough I am. When she pushed my body against the back of the seat, my head moved form the middle of the seat until I was nearly spread on the back of the seat. Now Sara had to push her feet forward to keep them on my face. But if they were bent in the knees at right angle before, now she had to straighten them and roll her feet from side of my head straight to my face. She placed insteps of her sandals on my mouth and forehead then straightened her feet, too. But her legs were longer then Monika's so she has no real need to slip down, she could just use her sacrum as support. But she wanted to apply much more pressure, so she straightened and raised whole her body, leaned her neck and blades on the wall above the seat and forced herself up to nearly horizontal position. It was much more pressure now I had ever holded on my face, even with flat soled shoes, and Sara repositioned her feet all the time grinding my face with her heels. One step she almost fractured my nose, but then Magda, who was one of the most quiet girls I ever knew shouted Stop it! You'll hurt him! Monika at once bent his legs, but left them on my groin pressing me lightly to back of the seat, and Sara fell down on her seat, removed feet from my abused face and placed them back on the edge of the seat. Did I hurt you? she asked me with inquiring voice. I've sighed deeply and gathered my mind. I could admit and stop the game, but it would not be what I wanted. So I've ventured to answer: I'm fine. You've got awesome, strong legs, but you can't hurt me this way.

You see? Sara turned to Magda. I suspect he almost liked it. With that she placed her feet on my chest and started to rub it with her soles. Did you, or didn't you? She asked firmly. Well... I've hesitated to tell the truth. Well... it wasn't quite unpleasant... I've used all my diplomacy. I knew it! He likes the pain! triumphed Sara You freak! she pressed her foot to my lips and shaked it lightly. C'mon, Magda, you've got rare opportunity to trample over a man! she encouraged her. It was strange, but suddenly there were no derision, disdain nor hostility in her voice. Even her freak sounded fond.

Magda looked at me scrutinizing. C'mon, is that true? You like the pain? she asked me not convinced at all. I had to answer, 'cos my reputation could have fallen to pieces. I don't like pain I've denied thet suspition. But if you like, you can trample me, ultimately. Magda was in a dither, couldn't bear the thought Sara could have been right. She sat back and clearly gave the field up. But Monika again was the one who never give in. She grinded her feet into my groin again and declared: If you're so dreadful, we'll trample him more! She obviously said it for both of them, her and Sara. Sara without much conviction placed her feet on my face again, but didn't press nor move them around. I've seen she is discontented for some reason, but it seemed she didn't want to use my confession against me. As I had a feeling she understood and accepted some piece me that moment, I could have relaxed and opened up to them little more. It was a good moment to turn the foe into a friend. So I've turned to Magda: Go on, you really can do it, if you want to. I have to admit, it... might be quite interesting I've resolved to dare her a little and then Magda nodded as if she made a decision than said: You know, I have to take something from my luggage. As her rucksack was on the shelf right above me, all of us grinned and temperature right off raised up. Sara and Monika took their feet off me again, and I've layed on my back. Turn around Magda ordered me, but I've not complied with her kind request. No I've said, I want to see you. She started to remove her running shoes, but I had to raise an objection again: Wait! Leave them on, please. She looked at me little surprised but hasn't argue.

OK she consented and then placed her foot on my chest. She hasitated for a moment then bounced against the floor and quickly climbed onto me. She examined my face standing still both feet on my sternum, and I've smiled to her. How is it? asked Sara. Fine, quite... gross, but fine! confirmed Magda and made a few cautious steps to my stomach, and chest again, then raised to her tiptoes, to her heels and leaped a little. Tip-top feeling she said and turned to the shelf. She struggled for a while with her rucksack, but as it was at the same bottom, she gave up quickly. Monika she said you have to remove your rucksack first. But she still stood on my chest and was not going to step down! OK Monika stood up on her seat then jumped both feet squarely to my groin! My body leaped for a while on springy seat. Oh... I was in heaven! Two girls trampling me like I was a piece of furniture! Pressure on my dick was quite bearable, absolutely less than when Monika squeezed me against back of the seat. And it was really pleasant, as she placed her feet flat but firmly across my dick. I was nearly ready to cum then! Now Monika took her luggage off the shelf and stepped back to her seat, but Magda's rucksack was still under some piece of luggage. Hey! Magda turned to Sara take it away! then she stepped back to my stomach, as Sara's rucksack was on the window side of the shelf. Sara laughed, stood up, climbed to her seat, made a step to mine and hovered over me standing centimeters from my head. May I? she asked and placed her foot on my chest, and she did it very gracefully and gently. Certainly, sth has changed in her behaviour. With pleasure I've nodded.

She was slightly higher and weighted more than each of two other girls, so heel of her sandal sunk deep into my ribs when she moved to my chest. I was in thin T-shirt (it was quite warm in the compartment), so there were no cushion between my body and her hard plastic shoe. She stood whole weight on one leg, hasn't raised to her toes to lessen the pressure on the sharp heel, so it was little painful, but I was really happy man that moment. My most terrifying opponent became my... maybe not friend yet, but trampler at last. I thought she would place her other foot on my collar-bones, right below the throat, but unexpectedly she placed it on my face, ball on my forehead and heel on my mouth. As the instep area of sole of her sandal was flat, she flattened my nose under the pressure, but it became much more flat when she moved her weight to my face and picked her rucksack up. My head sunk deep into elastic seat, my lips was crushed under enormous pressure of her heel. But I bet no one of the other girls noticed what Sara was trampling over.

And that was the moment Magda has choosen to step with heel of her running shoe on the middle of my penis. Combined pain at the face and feeling of the edge cutting into my groin caused me to cum all over my underwear and shorts. Magda for sure felt the wild convulsions under the sole, but the only think she did was standing harder on her heel then placing the second one next to it, on the tip of my dick.

After a short moment Sara dismounted to my chest (still carrying her additional burden), removed her foot from my face and placed it on my Adam's apple. She examined my face, and even if it was dark, I swear she sought excited grin expressed on my face and deep imprint of her sandal's tread on my skin. She stood on my chest while Monika picked her rucksack up and stepped down to the floor. She removed some food from it, and tightened it up. Meanwhile Sara turned around, checked nobody (except me, but I was not significant) look, walked to my penis and stepped hard on it with bot her heels. As she held additional load and I had emptied myself a moment ago so my key part was little soft. the feeling was... really crusing. She leaped on heels twice then quickly returned to my chest. It was unbelievable, I started to hard on again! Now Magda was ready to put her baggage back on the shelf, so she stepped on me directly from the floor. She placed her foot right on my dick and applied whole her (and rucksack's!) weight to her heel when she tried to climb up and not loose ballance. In a second my organ was rock-hard once more. She transfered to my stomach (great feeling of her running shoes sinking into my flesh), forcing Sara to step back on my face. And then I felt additional pressure on my thighs! It was Monika carrying her rucksack! Wow! I had three girls standing on me with extra weight of at last 20kg per each! I was compressed (especially my nose, which become epicentre of pain, when Sara repositioned her feet and placed her fully loaded heel on the tip of it), but I could die happy at that moment. Girls struggled with the shelf for a moment, repositioned themselves a few times stepping back and forth at my face (Sara only), cock, chest and stomach, then finally managed to place all their rucksacks in proper positions. Now they turned their attention to me.

How do you liked it? asked Sara, standing on my chest now. Delightful I've moaned but now get off of me, please. Oh. Not yet, my sweet she argued with wide smile, and all of them started leaping and bumping, trading places and trampling violently all over me. My body jumped up and down, up and down, but then... Sara stepped with her foot placed along my cock leaped and twisted her heel a little... and I've exploded again!

Suddenly the door opened and our classmate entered the compartment. The girls freezed still, looking at him, he freezed shocked of the unusual situation he cought us in. I... see you girls are busy now... I'll not disturb you then he mumbled with fear in his eyes, quickly turned around, slammed the door and disappeared. All of us bursted with laughter and the girls stepped down allowing me regaing sitting position.

________

Later, when I've talked to Sara about what happened that trip, she confessed to me she was so hostile before, because she was little afraid of me (sic!), as I was the only interesting fella she knew, who treated her assexually and resisted her influence.

Last edited by jahampanah; 04-Sep-18 at 05:24.
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Old 10-Sep-18, 01:56
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Story Name: Trample Story at a Salsa Fest
Author: Sparky

In my quest for adventure, I like to travel to small town festivals, events, or other assorted sordid happen-in's. That when I put on my photojournalist disguise including my vest with a gazillion pockets and my Indiana Jones fedora hat. With all of my photographic equipment hanging off of my shoulders, I look pretty damn official.

The last few festivals I have been to has panned-out beautifully in regard to finding feet action. At the Summer Six-Pac celebration in Austin, I actually fomented a trample fest at the show. At the Wild Hawg Cook-Off in Swinney Switch, I met a chick bass player for a country-western band of whom later trampled me and then, about a month ago, came by the ranch on her way back from San Antonio, picked me up, and took me to Corpus to spend the weekend with her!

For those who like Celtic / Renaissance music, there is the "Prickly Pear Irish Fair" in George West. During the course of dancing jigs with a 'paint' o' Guinness in hand reminiscent of the party scene below decks in the film "Titanic," I met this gal who took a liking to me. She started hanging with me as I went around taking pictures.

She was dressed 'techno-industrio' style like Trinity in "The Matrix." The first thought I had when I first ran into her was how neat it would be for her to tromp on me with her knee-high boots.

The opportunity came when we walked into the wooded area behind the Folklore Theatre to 'burn one.' To the beat of the music emanating from the theatre, she was prancing around Irish style where her legs and feet move like crazy and her upper body is held rigidly upright.

She started doing kicks while she danced around and then aimed one at me. I carried on by making a sound effect of contact, "Doosch!" and then animating an action of being knocked flat on my back. She pranced up to me while I was still on my back and then she looked at me with this obsequiously naughty grin. Before I had a chance to say anything, she stepped on me; right on my member! All I uttered was, "Love your boots!" She giggled and continued prancing around and stepping on and off of me as part of her choreography.

So, the last three events I went to, I was able to score some foot play. Last weekend, I went to the "Salsa Fest" in Three Rivers which is about the half-way point between San Antonio and Corpus Christi. I went with great optimism that I would once again, score.

Oh, boy! Did I ever score!

The Salsa Fest is a hot-sauce competition and a Tejano music festival. There were also attractions, arts and crafts, flea market, food, beer, and live music and dance acts. There were chicks out the ass and I was having a ball carrying-on like Austin Powers taking pictures of the babes while they model and pose for me. "Oooooh, be-haaaaave!"

The first gal I befriended at the event was a gal named Mercedes. She was a singer for one of the Mariachi acts and she approached me while I was taking pictures of three hot babes who did a singing / dancing act. After I took some close-up pictures of their strappy sandals, Mercedes leaned up to me and told me in her Spanish accent, "You must have a 'chew' fetish."

"Something like that." I responded.

Mercedes pulled up her pant leg exposing her shoe and placed her foot on the side of the stage. "Do you like these?" she quipped. I took a picture and then, she started posing giddily for me. In one pose, she took the end of a string of lights that look like red chili peppers and struck a pose like she was going to bite into it. I snapped the picture which wound-up being the headline photo for the whole event! (The top photo on the page.)

I walked around for a while looking for other 'Kodak moments.' Over at the Moon Bounce attraction, I noticed that the woman taking tickets admitting kids into the attraction was standing on a sand bag. Thinking about how closely that resembles a chest stand, I snapped a picture.

After making a circuit around the event getting crowd shots, people cutting-up; being themselves, and feet shots, I ran into Mercedes again and she introduced me to a couple of her friend.

There was a band setting-up that had a lot of pieces: a horn section, a drummer and a percussionist on a bank of timbales, and a percussionist on congas. They just started playing. Their music was in the manner of Santana, but it was their own stuff and the party started rocking!

Iris kicked-in and started dancing to the beat. That's when I noticed her boots. I framed her boots in my viewfinder close-up and started shooting. They were cowboy boots. Her heels were about three inches tall with a slight taper.

I made some kind of comment like, "I see they are made for walk-en'."
Iris started singing the Nancy Sinatra classic as she stepped in her boots. At that time, I had no idea that ". . .one of these days. . ." would be tonight!

After that, all I could think about was how fine it would be to be trod-upon with those boots.

It started getting late and the show was winding-down. Mercedes came up to me and asked me if there was a liquor store near-by. Three Rivers was dry in liquor and the closest one was between George West and Beeville; off of the Interstate about 20 klicks away.

She wanted to get some tequila and she invited me to join her in trading some shots.

Well, you know what a magnanimous person I am. How can I turn something like that down?!!

Mercedes went around getting 'booze orders' from the people in her band and we went to her pick-up, disconnected the trailer that carried their equipment, and set off for George West.

While disconnecting the trailer, I noticed that her license tags were from Nuevo Leon, Mexico. After we got going, I asked her if she was from Monterrey.

"¡Oralé! She exclaimed. "¡Yo soy de Monterrey!" She went on and told me about her family. She is fifth-generation of a family of performers. She also told me that she's never been married which to me is quite unusual for a 27 year-old gal from the interior of Mexico. Usually, they get married in their teens and punch-out 4 kids by the time they are 20. During that time, they usually quit shaving their legs and gain a couple of hundred pounds to boot.

I got a kick out of her accent and when she brought-up my 'chew' fetish, I split a gut. That's when I told her in a Cheech Marin accent, "I guess you got married to 'cho' business."

"Jew bet!" she quipped.

Iris had booked her combo for over 50 performances over the next three months. Mercedes told me that the bookings couldn't have come at a better time. They needed the work.

We finally got back and Mercedes disbursed the booze. Iris and Liz were being interviewed by KIII, TV 3 Eyewitness News, the ABC affiliate from Corpus, so we held their bottle of Jack Daniels for them. We then went to her room at the Best Western.

When we got inside, Mercedes sat down and let out a long exhale. They drove straight from Monterrey all night and arrived just in time to set up their stuff and do their show. Now, she can finally let her hair down.

While I was cutting-up a lime and getting some shots of Cuervo Gold ready, Mercedes went into the bath room to do exactly that. When she came out, she also changed into a short black skirt. She looked so fine with her hair down along with her skirt and shoes that I almost dropped the tequila bottle. Oh, the way she did that walk when she came up to me made my knees weak!

I offered her a chair and she sat down. I sat down and passed her a shot glass and a piece of lime. We both wet the back of our hands with the limes there on the side between the thumb and the forefinger. I shook some salt on the wetted parts of our hands and we held up our glasses.

"¡Salud!" we both shouted as we touched glasses and gulped our shots.

We did two more in rapid succession and while nibbling on our pieces of lime as a sorbé to clear the palette, she brought up the fetish. While doing so, she raised her foot up in the air. I held her shoe in my hands and pecked on her ankle with little 'minnow kisses.' She shuddered and got all goose-bumpily. I looked at her and she was grinning ear-to-ear with this real pleasurable look on her face. That's when she opened-up.

'Jew know, I always had this thing for my 'chews.' Even when I was a little girl, I like nice chews. I would walk around and look for things to step on."

(Needless to say, she had my full attention!)

Mercedes went on, "I like the sounds my chews make when I walk around. I never like to wear soft chews."

"Did you ever walk on any guys?" I asked her.

"There was this one muchacho who always kept bothering me when I was in school. He would pull my hair, 'choot' me with a water pistol, throw food at me during lunch, jew know, that kind of 'chit.' He thought he was a real chingón." (big shot)

We both grinned and started chuckling. That's when I felt a heel press up against my crotch. I looked down and then, back up toward her. With this 'chit,' digo (I mean) shit eatin' grin on her face, she passed me her 'chot,' digo shot glass. I poured another round and cut up another lime. We raised our glasses and hooked our arms around each other Russian style and slammed the shots. At the same time, we turned our glasses up-side-down and slammed them onto the table.

"Good! No scraps!" I said.

"Scraps?" she queried.

"When you drink a shot and turn the glass over, and you see gotas (drops) fall on the table, you have scraps and then you have to drink another and another until there are no scraps, you know, sin gotas. How do you say, 'I want to see drops.' in Spanish?"

"Quiero ver gotas." she said slowly.

"Quieres vergotas?" I came back at her quickly.

She turned red because she realised she was set-up. Whenever you put 'ver' (to see) and 'gotas' (drops) together as one word, 'vergotas,' it means 'big dicks.' I did note her response when I felt a heel jab against my tender cojónes.

When I exclaimed, "¡Ah cavrón!" we both went ROTFLOL!

Mercedes went on with her story: "We were doing a dress rehearsal for a Christmas play called 'La Posada.' I played the part of María. My Mom made me this really beautiful outfit to wear in the play. 'Chee' got me these beautiful black-patent mary-janes that had three-inch heels that I just adored! We were going to do the scene where they break the piñata and I'm supposed to be against breaking it because it was too beautiful to be broken."

"Anyway, we took a break before rehearsing that scene and Enrique, the boy who always kept bothering me 'chot' this red ink all over my white blouse. Oh, I was so mad at him! It was disappearing ink, but I didn't know it at the time. When everyone else started laughing at me, I lost my temper and I kicked him right in the huevos!"

"Dammmmmn!" I said.

"When he doubled-over, everyone else quit laughing. I walked around behind him, kicked him in the butt - hard, and he fell to the floor. Now, everyone was laughing at him. When he tried to get up, I leaped up and rammed both of my heels into his back as hard as I could! I can't remember what I was saying when I was stomping on him, but I was cussing at him for messing-up my blouse and for all the other times he messed with me. Enrique was screaming for me to get off of him."

"I got off of him and walked around to where his head was. I told him to promise me that he wouldn't mess with me any more. When he didn't say anything, I pressed his head against the floor with my 'chew.' He still didn't give. When I stood on his head, he started screaming again. I stepped onto his back and told him to promise me again. With every word I said, it came with a heel stomp.'

He finally gave-in, "I promise! I promise!"

I looked at Mercedes and noticed a pleased look on her face. I reached out with my hands toward her and she reached out and took mine. "Jew know," she went on, "I made him seal his vows by kissing the bottom of my 'chew.' I did that to 'crutch' his ego."

"Oh, I bet that put his knickers in a twist!" I quipped. While pouring another round, I went on, "Of course, that wouldn't be a problem for me."

"Why not?" she asked.

Chuckling, I told her, "I have a 'chew' fetish, remember?"

We cracked-up again while we slammed our shots. I stood up and reached out to her. She took my hands and stood up likewise. We hugged each other and then I gave her a tender kiss. I literally felt her melt in my arms. Before 'going down' to worship her feet, we just stood there locked in a tight embrace.

Utilizing my standard operating procedure for going down to worship a gal's feet, I slowly dropped to my knees and wrapped my arms around her buns. I gave them a tight squeeze as I pressed the side of my head against her abs. She reached down inside the back of my shirt and started stroking my neck with my finger tips. As I wiggled, I reached up under her skirt and gave her buns a squeeze with both hands. She took her hands and press my head against her - hard. I started stroking the back of her legs from her heel straps to her buns with my finger tips. As I was doing so, her knees got weak and she damn near fell down on top of me!

When she leaned forward and pushed me back, I slipped my head inside her skirt when we righted ourselves. I worked my way down to her feet. As I did so, I was kissing and licking her legs as I went. I finally made it to the prone position wherein, I started showering her feet and ankles with kisses. While I was kissing one foot, she was using the other to stroke my head and shoulders. I then rolled over on my back. Mercedes instinctively raised her right foot and held it over my face and then slowly lowered the sole of her shoe onto my lips. After giving her sole a few kisses, she put her foot down and raised her other one over my face. "You better kiss this one, too. It"s starting to get jealous!" she quipped.

During the course of giving her feet my personal undivided attention, I introduced her shoes to my fingers. She began by pressing my fingers with her toes and then started squishing them with her heels. She was actually getting turned-on and I suggested that she do some 'walk-by's." She must have walked back-and-forth at least a dozen times in front of me stepping on my fingers with both her soles and heels. "Jew know?" she said. "We need some walking music."

She opened up a large case that was full of CD's. I noticed one of them she pulled out was by Bon Jovi. "That's it!" I exclaimed.

"What's it?" she asked.

"The 'walking' music!" I responded. "Living on a Prayer!"

While she was loading the disc into her 'ghetto blaster,' I started talking to her about walking up and down my back. Through my experience in training ladies to trample, I knew that the initial tendency is for gals to walk 'carefully' down my back. I told Mercedes that 'careful' walking tends to be a bit unstable. The secret is to 'power-walk' down my back using the analogy of riding a bicycle. "You try to ride real slow and it's hard to control. You are just wiggle in all over the place. With a little speed, you're stable. Of course, walking the beat to 'Living on a Prayer' will set the right cadence for a great back walk; especially in those 'chews'."

Mercedes started the song and when she heard the first few bars, she knew exactly what I meant! I laid back down on the floor and held out my hands. She began walking on my fingers to the beat and then she began trodding up and down my back. After a few times, she started getting in to it and began walking on me more aggressively. I was literally in heaven!

After the song ended, she got off of me and I stood up. She let out a long exhausting exhale and that's when I noticed that she really broke a sweat. I complimented her on how fine she is and kissed her hands. We began hugging and kissing each other passionately and just about the time we were going to jump into the sack and do the 'wild thing,' there was a knock on the door. It was Iris and Liz!

Mercedes opened the door and as they came in, Iris asked, "What have you two been up to?"

Without mincing any words, Mercedes just came right out and said, "I've been walking on him!"

I was sitting on the side of the bed and when the gals all looked at me with these naughty grins on their faces, I turned red. "Dammmmmmn!" I said. "Not much for small-talk, are you?"

All three gals began chuckling and Iris exclaimed, "I need a drink!"

"Me, too!" said Liz.

I got up and said, "Here, I'll get some ice." I grabbed the ice bucket and left the room for the ice machine. When I got back, they had four plastic cups sitting on the table so, I went ahead and filled them up with ice. Iris poured the JD in to the cups and damn-near filled them up to the top. I added some Coke, but there wasn't enough room in the cups to even pour a shot of Coke in them. We each grabbed a cup, held them up, and then slurped our drinks. Boy! That was stiff!

"This needs a little more Coke." said Liz. We all sat down our cups and I added more Coke. We had to slurp some more and add more Coke to get it right.

What I didn't know was that after I met Mercedes and before she introduced me to Iris and Liz, she already told them about my 'chew' fetish. It was then that they decided to have a 'play party' with me.

During the course of having our drinks, Iris asked Mercedes about what we were up-to.

"Here, I'll 'cho' you." Mercedes motioned me to the floor. After I got down into position, she walked down my back and restarted the disc. She walked back to me and stood on my buns and began lecturing, "Jew know, when you walk on a guy, you have to do it fast; like this." She began trodding up and down on me a few times. "If you try to be too careful, you might fall down because it gets unstable."

She stepped back on me and demonstrated. She was actually exaggerating the instability by rocking my body from side-to-side. She rolled me too far to the left and she fell off of me and bhagwaned on the bed.

Iris took a sip and said, "I see what you mean." She then sat her drink down and got up and walked toward me. "Like this?" She walked the floor in front of me pounding her heels into the carpet really hard. Hard enough to smash my fingers had they been in the way.

Of course, I knew she was being facetious, and I uttered, "Oh, you can 'bitch-walk' on me to your heart's content!" Mercedes got off of me and Iris began trodding on me with her boots. While she was doing that, Mercedes began squishing my fingers. She motioned to Liz and had her take over squishing my fingers in her Candies. Mercedes sat down and picked up her drink and watched them do their thing!

After the song was over, they got off of me and we all went back to the table to finish our drinks. That's when I noticed that Iris had also broken a sweat as well.

"I need to get out of these jeans." Iris said and left the room. She came back in wearing a short denim skirt and I was able to notice that the tops of her cowboy boots go right up to just below her knees. Nice!

Meanwhile, Mercedes selected some discs with music from the heart of Mexico. We all finished our drinks and when Mercedes started the disk, I assumed the position again and the gals began dancing and treading on me in a 'follow-the-leader' fashion.

We took another break and I took the bedspread off the bed and started folding it. I think Mercedes had an idea what I was up to and began helping me. I laid it back on the bed and then added some more ice in our cups. One ice cube missed the cup, hit the table, and slid off onto the floor. Iris got up and stomped the ice cube under her heel. She then gave me this 'look' while I was starting to pouring her drink. As I lowered the bottle, she reached out with her hand and pushed the bottom of the bottle back up to fill the cup a little more. Once, again there was only enough room in the cup for a slight splash of Coke. I fixed the others, but not as strong for Mercedes and myself. We already had a head start from slamming those shots of tequila and they needed to catch-up.

When it was time for me to hit the floor again, I laid down this time face-up. Mercedes laid the bed spread on top of me and started another disc. She then stepped up on me and began dancing in place. Each took their turn. It then went to one standing on my chest while the other would dance on the bedspread covering my abs and crotch.

As we got looser, the dancing turned into a game of 'Queen of the hill' where one of the gals would push one of the other two off of me and take their place on top of me.

As time went on, the dancing got more and more aggressive. I laid down again after a break and Iris and Mercedes slid the mattress off the end of the bed enough to cover me and began jumping on me - hard. Gawd, I was loving this shit!

I don't recall how the party ended, but when my beady little eyes opened the next morning, I was laying on the bed with my clothes on with Mercedes and Liz cuddled-up next to me with their clothes on all sharing one pillow. I raised up my body and I saw Iris on the floor lying on the bedspread with the other pillow.

When I raised up, I noticed that my whole body was sore; especially my ribs, chest, and my lower abs. When the gals eventually came back to life, all three were complaining about their leg muscles being sore. I would have to admit one thing: we all had quite a work-out!
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  #118  
Old 15-Sep-18, 12:33
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Found the following in a website/forum. Supposed to be a true real life situation:

I am a happily married man in my mid-fifties with a wonderful wife about the same age. We have been married 23 years. When I first met her, she was very insecure about her looks and her high school level education. She was raised to be a housewife and a mother. I, on the other hand, was a successful "man about town" both socially and in business. I had not had any serious relationships with women because I would attract them, use them, become bored with them and discard them. They fell in love too fast and were no challenge at all. My wife was the opposite.

Anyway, I fell in love with her and over the years I realized that she was indeed much smarter than I and encouraged her to complete her education and pursue a career. She is now a very successful business woman out earning me three fold and getting stronger every day. We both agreed that I should give up my career to stay at home and take care of the kids so she can realize her full potential. She has full control of our finances, takes frequent business trips and is the happiest that I have ever seen her. As for me, well, besides my outdoor chores of maintaining the property which includes the pool, I now clean house (including tubs, toilets, furniture, floors), do laundry, make the bed, shop for groceries, take her dry cleaning in and pick it up, make post office runs, deposit her checks, wash & gas her car, plan & cook meals, clear the table, do dishes, make her fresh coffee whenever she asks but especially in the morning (after I take the kids to school) and bring it to her in bed where I kneel down, kiss her feet and ass and then cheerfully tell her "good morning". She tells me all the time that I am a "good wife" and a "good homemaker". This excites me & makes me feel very happy. It is like I have found my true purpose and I am unbelievably satisfied.

I must also tell you that I am constantly thinking of new ways to please her. For instance, I now draw her bath and bathe her when she asks. I kiss her feet whenever possible. I also try to wait until she is standing there and watching me when I make the bed or empty the dishwasher. I know that she likes all of this and has told me so. As for our sex life, well, it is the best it has ever been. Most of the time, she assumes the top position.
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Old Yesterday, 03:51
jahampanah jahampanah is offline
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Default Re: Femdom Stories of mine

Femdom Between Friends
Author: jack562004

Chapter 1

Karen and I had worked together for a number of years and had developed a close office friendship, frequently lunching together and even traveling together to the half dozen yearly trade shows requiring a company presence.

She was very pretty in that "girl next door" kind of way, with long strawberry blonde hair and a softly freckled face. I admired her sharp intelligence and business skills, and besides having a great sense of humor she had the cutest grin I've ever seen -- a mischievous crooked smile that always warmed me to see.

We were both comfortable with a relationship that was affectionate and at times a little flirtatious within certain boundaries; she was married and I was living with a girlfriend, and since it was understood that neither of us were considering changing our situations we both felt safe in growing close to each other as "just friends."

Well, all that changed within a period of six months. The first thing to happen was for my girlfriend to break up with me and move out of our apartment. It wasn't completely unexpected, as there had been friction between us ever since she caught me browsing a BDSM website a few months earlier; she had no interest in kink, and to her the pictures of women in bondage she found me looking at were offensive. It changed how she thought of me, and no matter what I said there was no going back.

But I could never bring myself to explain to her the real reason I found the images erotic; that even though I was looking at women in bondage, in reality I was a closet submissive. I could barely admit it to myself, perhaps sticking to pictures of submissive women instead of men kept it at a distance, but the fact was I had longings to be tied up myself -- and to be punished. In fact, I learned from a one-time visit to a professional dominatrix that I was somewhat of a pain slut, even though the experience was far from what I was ultimately looking for.

Less expected was when Karen broke the news to me over lunch that she was divorcing her husband Frank. I was surprised, thinking all was well with their marriage, but I didn't press her for the particulars out of a sense that she preferred not to discuss it; I think the only reason she even shared the news with me at all was because I was pressing her about why she had seemed preoccupied for a few days.

As the next few weeks passed by though Karen gradually became her old self, making jokes and laughing at mine, and I was happy to see that crooked grin return. I was always attracted to her, and since we were now both "available" I started to think about what it would be like to be in a romantic relationship with her.

The thought of it was very appealing to me, but I kept dismissing it. I knew she needed time to fully heal from her broken marriage, but I was also really gun shy about beginning a new relationship after the experience of my kinky interests ruining things with my former girlfriend. I assumed Karen was probably every bit as "vanilla" as she was, and I wasn't ready to go through that again.

Eventually another trade show came up, this one in Las Vegas, and it was decided that once again it would be Jack and Karen staffing our company booth. These assignments always fell to us because we were the most personable customer-facing people at the company and the best public speakers as well, but I imagine there were some who wondered if there was something going on between us with all the traveling we did together.

It would be our first such trip since our mutual return to the singles market, but all things considered I had no reason to think that things would be any different between us. We got into town in the morning and went straight to the Convention Center from the airport, where all the signage, literature and giveaways we'd need were waiting for us in sealed cartons. Being well practiced at this we had our booth set up in a half hour and proceeded to put in a full day's work.

At the end of the day we took a shuttle bus to our hotel and checked into our separate rooms to grab a shower and a change of clothes. We met up an hour later in the hotel lobby and headed off to find some dinner, both of us dressed comfortably in jeans. Karen looked great, and as we began chatting about our day at the conference the thought of a romance with her again crossed my mind... and began taking center stage in my thoughts.

I started asking myself why I should resist it just because of my BDSM "baggage" when Karen and I seemed to be such a good match in every other way. Kink isn't everything, I told myself, and even sex isn't everything; we had common interests, conversation was always easy, and I just felt good being around her. I made up my mind that at the right time I'd let her know how I felt, and then the big question would be whether she had any interest in getting involved with me.

Our company was planning to announce an exciting new product on the second day of the conference and we were anxiously awaiting a presentation deck to be sent to us from the home office after some last-minute revisions. Checking her iPhone during dinner Karen saw it had come in, and suggested we go back to her room to review it so we'd be ready to do the presentation in the conference hall tomorrow.

We were both a bit keyed up about the product launch and I asked her if she'd like to drink some wine while we looked at the materials. She said sure, and rather than pay those ridiculous minibar prices I bought a bottle of wine from the restaurant to take back with us. We made our way up to her room and she sat down on a small sofa after setting up her laptop on the coffee table in front of it; I grabbed a couple of glasses and poured us some wine, sitting down to her right.

"Do you mind if I take my trainers off Jack? My feet are killing me, I promise my feet don't smell too bad," she said with a laugh.

"Well of course you can, hey it's your place," I said, "and I think I'll do the same."

It was a long presentation and we had both drained a couple of glasses of wine by the time we finished going through it.

"This came out great!" I proclaimed, putting my arm around Karen and squeezing her shoulder. I moved my hand down between her shoulder blades and gave her back an affectionate little rub, adding, "The office did a nice job on this, I think our presentation will hit it out of the park!"

"Oh, don't stop Jack," she said as I started to take my hand away, "I'm so stiff from standing all day."

"Turn left a little and let me get at you with both hands," I said.

She turned so her back was to me and I began kneading her shoulders and rubbing the back of her neck. "Boy, you really are tense," I said. "Mm-hmm," she replied, "that feels good."

I remember a movie where Matt Damon's character said, 'Sometimes all you need is 20 seconds of insane courage.' Well, I decided it was time for my 20 seconds. It was not the first time I'd given Karen a neck rub... but it was the first time I bent forward, moved her hair aside and kissed the back of her neck while doing it.

I had no idea how she would react, but I was thrilled when she softly sighed, raised her head and arched her back, her body leaning back against me.

Breathing in the scent of her hair, I kissed her neck again and she turned around to face me. Looking into my eyes with that crooked grin on her face she asked, "What are you doing Jack?"

"Oh, just something I've been wanting to do for a long time," I replied, gently brushing her hair from her forehead.

I leaned in to kiss her, my heart racing as my lips touched hers, and it was electric when she parted her lips and I first felt the soft touch of her tongue. We embraced and kissed deeply, exploring each other's mouths as our bodies pressed together.

I was lost in her warmth and the feel of her back and shoulders and under my hands. She was making delicate little sounds as I stroked her hair, moving it back to expose an ear, which I traced with my finger. I was on Cloud Nine thinking she might want me as much as I wanted her!

But after a few minutes she broke away from our embrace and took my hands in hers, bringing them down to her lap. "Jack, I've been wanting this too," she said, "but let's talk about it a little."

"Sure Karen," I replied, "I hope I haven't made you uncomfortable." I wondered if she had concerns along the lines of needing to take things slowly, or perhaps it being unwise to begin a workplace relationship.

Karen kept hold of my hands but cast her eyes downward as she said to me, "No, it's not that. I really have thought about you and I being together. Lately I've been thinking about it a lot, Jack. But... I think I want to tell you something about me, and it's going to be really hard to explain."

"I'm really glad you've thought about it too Karen," I told her, "and you can tell me anything and I'm sure I'll understand, I want to know whatever it is."

I couldn't imagine what she wanted to tell me. Did she have an STD, or some kind of physical issue? At that moment my heart was open to understanding and acceptance out of my feelings for her.

"Well, I've never talked to anyone about this before," she said nervously, "and it's really embarrassing, you'll think I'm super weird and it's probably going to mess this all up, but I'm hoping we can still be friends and work together."

"Karen, I have some weird ways myself." I said. This caused her to bring her eyes back up to meet mine with a curious look. Squeezing her hands I said, "I promise whatever you tell me we'll still be friends and we can still work together."

"Okay, here goes," she said, taking a deep breath and looking down again, "um... well, it's about sex. I know a lot of guys don't think women have sex fantasies, but we do. Some of us do. I do."

My heart started beating a little faster. Where was this going to go?

"I know that's true Karen. I think some guys are threatened by that but I'm not, I think fantasies are a natural thing for both women and men."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say that Jack, but... I've had some kind of crazy ones for a long time, back to when I was a kid. And it's not like I think people have to act out every fantasy they have, Frank and I didn't. I hate to use the word but Frank and I had pretty "normal" sex, you know? And I was fine with that."

"So are you saying you have some weird fantasies?"

"Umm... yeah, and I'm not obsessed with them or anything... it's some very weird stuff I've never acted out, things I've never even thought about acting out... I really didn't think I ever would, and that's been okay! I don't think a relationship is only about sex anyway, or people have to like all the same things, but..."

I waited for her to continue but she seemed to be stuck. I knew it was time for me to start opening up in the same way Karen was, but I was feeling conflicted; on the one hand I was excited about sharing fantasies with her, but on the other I was worried that mine were worlds away from hers.

"But what?" I said. "Karen, you can tell me. Listen, I have to fess up here... there are some weird things I'm interested in too. Are we talking about kinky stuff?"

She looked up at me with an anxious but hopeful expression, and her next words came out in a rush.

"Yes," she said, "and Jack, what's really hard to explain is... there's something about you that makes me think about these things more, a lot more, and now I can't get them off my mind. I know this sounds crazy, but... being with you makes me want to act out stuff I've been keeping inside as just fantasies, and it... it's getting in the way now. So there... I've said it."

"Wow," I said, "I feel kind of flattered!"

"Well I hope you're still flattered when I tell you the things I think about."

I took a deep breath. "Is this about BDSM stuff Karen? Do you want me to, you know... tie you up?"

There was a long pause as she looked away, seeming to study something in the room, and then brought her eyes back to mine. "No" she said, "I want to tie you up."

My heart started beating faster and I felt like an electric current was humming through my body... and I could feel it building up between my legs. Could this really be happening?

"I can't believe I'm telling you this Jack... maybe it's the wine, I should just shut up and take things as they come, I've probably ruined things between us... I really do want to be with you, but these feelings are so strong I thought it might be a problem if we got involved and I kept it a secret... I'm sorry," she said, looking away again.

My mind was racing. All of a sudden a door was opening, did I really want to walk through it? Yes, of course I did.

"So... the thoughts you have are about dominating me Karen? You'd really want to tie me up?" I asked.

"Yes," she said, "and I'm not saying I have to, it's just really distracting me and I had to say something."

It was now or never. "Karen," I said, "I have to tell you... I fantasize about being dominated by a woman. I fantasize about it a lot."

"You do? Are you serious Jack?" she said, turning back to me with a surprised look in her eyes, "you'd really want that, you're not just saying it to make me feel better?"

"Yes, I'm serious Karen. I've had these thoughts for a long time," I told her.

"Oh God," she said. "Jack, I... Jack, it wouldn't, you know, threaten your masculinity or something like that?"

"No, it wouldn't Karen. But how would you think about it, would being submissive make me... less of a man in your eyes?"

"Oh no! Jack, you always seem so confidant, so self-assured, like you don't have to prove anything to anybody. You seem so strong in a quiet way, I think that's why you bring out my 'inner Domme,' she said with a nervous laugh. "I fantasize about... having control of you, and it just makes me dizzy to think about it."

"Well," I said, smiling, "I'd be okay with my masculinity if you were. I'm really attracted to you Karen, so this is sounding pretty amazing... I mean, really amazing! I just, you know, wouldn't want you to think less of me for being submissive."

"Oh Jack, I wouldn't at all," she said, squeezing my hands more tightly and raising them up between us for emphasis, "I'm really attracted to you too, I'm sure that wouldn't change." I could see in her eyes it was true and it gave me the confidence to take it further.

"Do you think you'd like to go ahead and... act some things out?" I asked her.

"Well... if we both want to, I guess we should try," she replied, "but this is all happening so fast Jack, can we talk about it some more?"

"Sure we can, let's start by making a safe space right here Karen. A place that's safe for fantasies, for needs, desires... fears... let's tell each other everything and not worry about being judged or disapproved of. What do you think?"

"Yes, okay... I'm still embarrassed, but I'll try not to be."

I knew I had to open up to her more now but I didn't know how far she wanted to go with this. I didn't know what dominating really meant to her, and I worried that my thoughts might be too extreme.

"Listen Karen,' I said nervously, "Some of my fantasies might be more weird than yours."

"Oh I don't know about that Jack," she said, giving me that crooked grin and bringing our hands back down to her lap. "What do you think about when you fantasize about a woman dominating you?"

"Okay, well... first I have to tell you I don't have much interest in a lot of the stuff I see in BDSM porn, with these angry looking women all dressed up in black leather. The role play turns me off, it's too theatrical; the way I always think about it is I want it to be something... real."

"Oh yeah," said Karen, "I don't want to dress up, I want it to be real too, and I don't need you to call me Mistress or anything like that... I think about it being just us like we are, you know, friends, except that you have to do whatever I want. It's like you lost a bet or something and you have to be my... sex slave," she said with a giggle.

"Wow," I said, "exactly, it seems more exciting if it's really us. And I wouldn't want you to yell at me or call me a pig or make me crawl around, the fantasy that really gets to me would be for you to just be you, friendly like you always are, affectionate... liking me... but using me at the same time, do you know what I mean?"

"Oh yes! God that's exactly how I think about it Jack!"

My erection was growing and starting to feel uncomfortable jammed up inside my jeans. I decided to take another step.

"Do you know what CFNM means?"' I asked her cautiously.

"Clothed Female, Naked Male," she replied with a smirk.

"You've done some homework," I said, smiling. "I fantasize about that Karen, it would make the feeling of being your slave more... complete."

"Oh, I think that's hot, I've imagined it just that way Jack."

"Okay, and now it's my turn to be weird," I said, "in a lot of my fantasies I'm, uh... I'm on a collar and leash. And the woman uses the leash to... make me do things. Is that too weird for you?"

"No... I like that. I like it a lot; I could get a collar and leash for you Jack. So what would you like me to make you do on your collar and leash?"

"Well, uh... pretty much anything that would turn you on," I said. "I think a big reason I like the idea of being a slave to a woman is the idea of her using me to get herself aroused. You know how a lot of guys like to watch women masturbate... its kind of like that but way hotter because you'd be using my body to get yourself off. Does that make sense?"

"Yes it does Jack. God, I have to make a confession... talking about this is getting me, um, kind of excited," she said. "You're sure you're not just humoring me, this is stuff you'd really want to happen?"

"Karen," I said, "it's exciting me too." I guided her hands over to my lap, boldly putting them over the growing hardness in my jeans. "See?"

"Oh! You are excited," she said with that crooked grin as she traced my bulge with her fingers and shifted my arousal into high gear, "so... how do you fantasize about being made to get a woman off Jack?"

"I guess you already asked me that and I haven't really answered."

"Mm-hmm," she said, smiling and still playing with my crotch.

I took a deep breath. "Karen, you can use my hands and mouth any way you want, on any part of your body," I said, looking into her eyes. "And I mean it when I say any part, I'm pretty oral... I'll put my mouth anywhere you want for as long as you want."

"Oh God, that's giving me chill bumps... there are places I've never been... I've always wanted someone to... you know..."

"At some point we'll have to stop talking so politely," I said, laughing.

"Yes, we will," she said, laughing with me. She put her hands to my face and pulled me to her, kissing me deeply... then she turned my head and whispered in my ear, "I've never had my ass licked Jack. I want you to lick my ass... I'm going to make you put your tongue in it Jack. Right after you finish licking my pussy."

"Well, you're making me really hard now," I said, turning back to her and whispering back in her ear, "I want you Karen, and it makes me want to do things for you. I'd love doing that for you."

"What else do you fantasize about Jack," she asked, "tell me what else I can do to you Baby."

Now my heart was racing and I still worried that I was about to go too far, but maybe not... it was time for another 20 seconds of insane courage.

"Um... do you want to hurt me Karen? Would that excite you?"

She looked away, and then turned back to me, seeming to make a decision. "Yes, it would," she said quietly, "It would excite me.... Jack... could I spank you?"

I paused a beat.... There was no turning back now.

"Yes, you can spank me, but..." (Another deep breath), "would you like to whip me?"

"Oh God Jack... wow," she said, looking down again. She was silent for a minute and time seemed to be standing still. Finally she began to speak in a nervous voice.

"Ever since I was a little girl I've been fascinated by scenes in movies of guys getting whipped," she said slowly. "Like in Westerns... I mean, it started when I was really young and I didn't understand the feeling it gave me... I would get these butterflies in my stomach, and later... it started to turn me on."

"I've never figured out why it affects me like that," she went on, "it's not like I hate men or anything, it's just... it's just something about seeing a strong man tied up and helpless, and... being hurt. You must think I'm really sick... I don't know what's wrong with me."

I took her chin in my hand and raised her head up to look at me and I saw her eyes were tearing up a little. I touched her face and said, "You're no more sick than I am Karen, because I want that... I want to be whipped."

"For real? You'd want me to do that?"

"Yes I would... I'm really turned on by whipping scenes too, and I always want to be the one tied up and getting it. Only by a woman though -- I'm sure it's something screwed up about how I relate to women. I think it's also just wanting to give up control and be taken over... you know, escaping from everything else."

"Jack, I don't know," she said, taking my hands again... "I've never actually whipped anyone but I've thought about it for so long... I don't know why I have these thoughts, why it excites me... but it would be hard for me to hurt you."

"You can try it with me Karen, and find out if you like doing it for real... but I have conditions."

"Tell me your conditions."

"That you start off going easy on me and do it harder gradually. And that you really mean it when you say it would excite you. That's what it would all be about for me, feeling you hurting me and knowing it was turning you on."

"Yes and yes to your conditions Jack. I'm so turned on about it right now. Of course I can go easy to start, but... how hard should it end up?"

"Oh... if you take it slow at first and let me get into subspace... you know that word?"

She nodded yes.

"You could end up doing it really hard... I mean, nothing that would break the skin, no permanent marks... but you could whip me pretty hard if you wanted to."

"Oh God," she said again. She looked at me with a faraway look in her eyes, and I knew she wanted to. What was I getting myself into?

"Karen," I went on, "true confession... I went to a pro dominatrix once to see what a whipping felt like and I found... uh, I found out I could kind of enjoy pain. I got off being whipped on my ass and the tops of my thighs, close to the groin. I did some reading and I found out that's because the nerves from those places run alongside nerves from the genitals, so the pain and pleasure get mixed."

"Wow, you've done more homework than me," she said with a smile. "And you went to see a pro? Did it cost a lot?"

"Yeah, but it wasn't really that great because she was into that typical mean dominatrix role. She kept falling into that thing of insulting me, making fun of me like she hated me, and that turned me off."

"Jack, you're like, way ahead of me with this," she said, taking my hands in hers again, "I feel like I'm going down a rabbit hole. I don't know if I can do this, I think I want to try... but what if I get really into it and go too far? We should have a safe word in case it gets too crazy, I want to feel sure whatever I'm doing is okay, that you can stop me if you have to."

"We can use the good old red means stop, yellow means keep doing what you're doing but just dial it back some. Is that okay?"

"Yes... that's okay."

"Good, that means I can cry and beg for you to stop and you can ignore it unless you hear the safe word," I said, smiling.

"Oh... that would be hot! Okay, you got it," she said breathlessly, "but you really won't think I'm too weird if I do this?"

"No Karen," I told her, "as long as you don't think I'm too weird for wanting you to."

"Oh no Jack, I don't at all. I just can't believe we're talking about this... I never thought I would actually do this, it's going to feel so awkward... but you'll help me go through with it? God, it sounds so weird me asking you to help me hurt you!"

"You really want to try it though, right?"

"I think so... I do if you do."

"And you really mean it that whipping me would excite you, right? I don't want it to be like you're punishing me for something bad I did, I just want you to be doing it because it excites you, and I'm letting you do it because I want to please you... that's what I mean by real."

"Yes Jack, it would be real just like that."

"The fantasy I've always had," I went on, "is that you're nice to me about it. I know that sounds funny but I mean... feeling that you like me, you're grateful to me for letting you hurt me because you enjoy it so much. You're even a little apologetic about it, always in my fantasy the woman says something like, 'I'm sorry about how much this is going to hurt, but I really want to do it.'"

"Karen," I added, "I don't mean to be topping from the bottom, like it's called, but that's what really excites me."

"That's all right Jack, everything you're telling me fits in with how I've thought about it, everything! I've read about Loving Dommes and I think that's what you're talking about, and that's what I'd want to be. In my fantasies I think about... loving you for letting me do these things to you."

"Karen... I think we really want the same thing."

"I'm thinking that too Jack."

"There's more."

She brought her hands up to my face and pulled me to her, whispering, "Tell me."

"If you want," I said, screwing up my courage once more, "you can whip my cock."

Karen pulled back, her eyes wide as she looked at me. "Are you serious? Oh God, wouldn't that really hurt?"

"Yes, but it would be a real pain and pleasure thing. You'd have to... make me hard so you could whip it. I come back to that in my fantasies a lot, a woman making my cock hard, and it would feel so good but I'd know she was only getting it ready to be whipped, it's like I love that conflict."

"Jack... that is so hot... I can hardly breathe," she said, her face getting flushed.

"And I'm hard as a rock," I said, taking her hands and bringing them down to my bulging crotch again. "Oh wow, I guess you really do want this," she said, squeezing the raging erection under my jeans.

"Jeez, my head's spinning thinking about whipping your cock, I never thought of that before. I'm getting wet Jack... God, are we a couple of perverts or what?"

"Nothing wrong with being perverts, I love that all this excites you Karen," I said. Then I smiled and added, "I can't wait to see how wet you are."

She put her arms around me and again we kissed passionately. Then she whispered in my ear again, "You'll see how wet I am soon Jack, I promise you're going to know up close and personal," she said.

"Mmm, that sounds good. Why don't we have one more glass of wine and then we can... start."

"Okay," she said quickly. "I'm ready if you are... I think."

I poured the rest of the wine into our glasses and raised mine for a toast. "Here's to safe spaces," I said, and our glasses clinked.

"And to weird fantasies," she said.

Sitting next to this woman that I liked so much and wanted so badly, knowing that she was about to take control of me and have her way with me... and hurt me... had me floating on air. I'm sure I'll never have a better tasting glass of wine... not that I can remember what it tasted like.

"This is amazing," Karen said after draining her glass, "learning all this about each other and getting ready to do crazy things for the first time after working together for so long."

"Yes... and I love this moment right now, when we haven't done anything yet but we both have an idea pf what's going to happen," I said. "This will only come around once! And Karen, these might be crazy things, but for whatever reason they're what we both want."

"Well, I have no idea what made me want to be such a bitch," she said with a laugh, "but you know, I never thought I would feel so much... emotion along with it, I mean the connection to you I'm feeling now."

"Me too," I said, "but the thing is, we already liked each other and now we've let out our deepest secrets, and wow, we found out we not only accept each other but we like these things about each other, so that's a pretty intense connection."

She touched my face and said, "I never thought this could happen."

"I didn't either," I said, "And I sure never thought it would happen with you."

We looked at each other quietly and the electricity in the room was incredible, I think we could both see the near-bursting anticipation... and pure lust... in each other's eyes.

"Karen," I said, "I think we're postponing the inevitable," and we both laughed nervously.

"Yes, we are Jack," she said, "but now I'm wondering... what am I going to whip you with?"

I put my glass down and stood up, unbuckled my leather belt and drew it out of my jeans. "This will work if you double it over like this," I said, handing it to her.

She took it, and grasping the doubled over ends while looking straight at me she gave it a snap. The sound nearly made my heart stop, and along with her crooked grin I thought I saw a hint of cruelty in her eyes.

"Why don't you keep going," she said.

"Keep going?"

"Take your clothes off in front of me Jack. All of them."

Although she still sounded a little hesitant, hearing her order me to do something for the first time was amazing... this was really going to happen!

"Karen, just one more question... after you do whatever you want to do to me... can I cum? I'm not exactly into orgasm denial, and the way I'm feeling right now I think I'll go absolutely crazy if I don't cum at the end. Will that work for you?"

"Of course Jack. How would you like to cum? Would you like to cum in my mouth?"

"Oh God, I would love that."

"You can cum in my mouth if you want Jack, but I'll have a condition of my own for that."

"What condition?"

She thought for a minute. "It'll be a surprise."

I paused for just a second and said, "Okay."

"Now move that coffee table out of the way Jack, I want you to take your clothes off while I watch," she said, sitting back on the sofa.

I moved the coffee table off to the side and stood directly in front of her. As I unbuttoned my shirt I saw that my hands were shaking a little... I couldn't believe this was really about to happen. I took off my shirt and tossed it aside, and then I unzipped my jeans and lowered them to the floor, stepping out of them and then removing my socks.

All that was left now was my underwear, and Karen's eyes were fixed directly on my crotch as I pulled them down and my hard cock sprang out. I stood before her, and it surprised me how degraded I felt presenting myself naked to my fully dressed colleague. I basked in the feeling.

She looked up at me. "Your face is red Jack," she said. "Are you embarrassed?"

"It's a humiliating feeling," I said.

"Do you like that feeling?"

"Yes."

"I think I like seeing you feel humiliated. Please get down on your knees Jack," she said, looking up at me, "and clasp your hands behind your neck. And I'd like you to not look at me, keep your eyes down."

I went down to my knees looking downward, overwhelmed with anticipation. As I knelt before her, my hands behind my neck and my cock standing straight out, she slowly took her socks off and then put her right foot on my cock, stroking it up and down with her toes.

"This is mine now, isn't it Jack," she said, the hesitation now gone from her voice.

"Yes Karen."

"I want to hear you say your cock is mine," she said, as she continued to rub her foot on it.

"My cock is yours Karen."

"Mm-hmm," she said, "now take my foot in your hands and bring it up to your mouth. I want you to lick and suck my toes, each one. I want to feel your tongue in between my toes Jack."

I took hold of her foot and opened my mouth to begin sucking her toes, licking them, taking each one into my mouth and running my tongue in between them.

"Mmm, that feels good Baby. Now the other foot please," she said, lowering her right leg and bringing up her left.

As I worked on her left foot she said, "I'm going to use you now Jack, I'm going to use you in a lot of ways. And I'm sorry but I want to hurt you."

"I know Karen," I said.

"I want to hear you say I can do anything I want to you."

"You can do anything you want to me Karen."

"Tell me your body is mine to use any way I want Jack."

"My body is yours Karen, you can use it any way you want."

She brought her foot down and stood up, my belt still in her hands. "I'm going to whip you now Jack. I'm going to whip you with your own belt, and I'm sorry but I'm afraid it's going to have to go on for a while."

"I know Baby... it's okay," I said, still on my knees, "but, uh... we started out talking about tying me up, but we don't have any rope."

"Oh, I thought about that Jack and I have a solution!" she said brightly, putting my belt down on the sofa and scampering off, returning a minute later with one of those red plastic packing tape dispensers. "This will work," she said with a smile.

"Yes, I think it will." Again I saw that hint of cruelty.

"Stand up please Jack," she said. When I stood up she took me by the arm and led me over to a cushioned chair, positioning me to face the back of it.

"I want you to lie down over the back of this chair and take hold of the arms." She put her hand on my back and gently pushed as I bent at the waist and folded myself over it, grasping the wooden arms in my hands.

She walked to the front of the chair and bent down to begin wrapping the clear packing tape around each of my wrists, securing my hands to the chair's arms. When she was finished she walked back around behind me.

"Jack, spread your legs so each of your feet is against the back legs of the chair." I complied, and she knelt down to wrap tape around each ankle.

Finally she stood up and said, "There... Oh God Jack, I love seeing you this way. I don't think you're going anywhere for a while."

"I don't think so either," I said, testing my bindings. I was tightly bound, my hard cock pressed against the back of the chair, my legs spread and my ass up and out for Karen to do her worst. I stared at the chair's cushion inches below my face, knowing I was about to get beaten.... maybe beaten long and hard.

Karen went back to the sofa to pick up my belt and walked to the front of the chair. I raised my head and all I could see were her legs and the belt hanging down by her side. She reached down with her left hand and stroked my hair.

"Are you really sure about this Jack? I guess this is your last chance," she said.

"I'm sure Karen," I replied. "You can start."

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll start out slow like you asked."

I lowered my head as she walked behind me. She put her left hand on my ass and said, "I'm so turned on seeing you like this. I can't believe I'm really going to whip someone and it's going to be you, Jack."

Her hand left me and she stepped back. There was a pause while I guessed she was measuring her distance, and then the first blow came. It wasn't too hard, but as she continued striking me again and again a warm stinging heat began to grow.

She was working her way down over my ass, not hitting the same spot twice. After about ten minutes of this she stopped and put a hand on my back.

"Is this okay? Should I start doing it harder now?"

"Yes, that's fine Karen."

"I have to tell you Jack... I like doing this."

"I'm glad you do, I like it too."

"Oh God, this is so wild," she said, "I'm so turned on really whipping someone... well, I'm sorry Jack but this will start hurting more."

She began whipping me harder, starting at the top of my ass again and working down. It was hurting a lot and the pain began to take me away. There was a sexual jolt each time she struck me as I moved my hips to her rhythm, jamming my hard cock against the back of the chair.

After another ten minutes of this I was grunting with each blow and she showed no signs of stopping. She started on my ass again, swinging the belt even harder, and I wondered how hard she was capable of hitting me. I could hear her breathing becoming harder and faster, either from exertion or excitement. Probably both.

Finally she stopped. "I'm not through yet but I'm going to give you a little break Jack," she said. She ran a hand over my ass, saying "You're getting pretty red back here. Are you still okay?"

"I'm okay Karen," I said, "are you still enjoying this?"

She came around in front of me and bent down to stroke my hair. "It's really exciting me Jack," she whispered in my ear, "I can't believe how much it's turning me on, it's making me dizzy. But I'm so sorry to be hurting you Sweetheart, I know I was hitting you pretty hard. Are you getting off on it?"

"It hurts but it's okay Karen," I said, "it's good, and I'm getting off."

"God, I'm so wet Jack... I'm going to take off my jeans before I soak through them."

I heard the sound of her taking off her jeans and I wished that I could see this. Not being able to made me feel more degraded, like I had no right to see her body... the only thing I was entitled to was to be a body for her to whip.

After they were off she walked back up to me and pressed herself against my bound left leg, spreading her legs a little so that my thigh was in between hers. I could feel the warm wetness of her sex through her panties and my cock was so hard it was hurting.

Then she put her hand on my ass and trailed her fingers slowly down my crack, finally coming to my cock and balls. When she touched my cock for the first time I thought I might explode, but after a minute she brought her fingers back up, this time pushing them in deeper between my cheeks.

"This is mine too, isn't it Jack? Tell me it is."

"My ass is yours Karen, you can do whatever you want with it." I said as her fingers wriggled closer to my asshole.

"Are you sure? Do you have any idea what I might want to do back here Baby?"

"I can guess," I said. "Do you know what pegging is Karen?"

"Oh yes," she said with a giggle, "I covered that in my homework too. Would you like me to do that to you?"

"Yes, if it's something you want to do."

"Jack... yes, I've fantasized about fucking a man's ass... I've never done it before but I'd like to try," she said. "I want to get one of those strap-on things. Not too big... at least to start," she said, mischievously.

"That would be good... I'm a virgin back there."

"Mmm, I like that. But you won't be for long."

Her hand left me and she walked away. A moment later I could hear her opening her luggage and it sounded like she was getting something out. Then she came back to me and I heard a plastic bottle being opened.

Then I felt her fingers covered in a cold lotion slip between my ass and find my asshole, and I knew I was about to be explored where I'd never been before. She rubbed the cream on me and then pushed a finger in... her middle finger, I guessed. I moaned.

"How does that feel Baby," she asked.

"That feels good Karen," I said, feeling like a piece of meat.

"Let's see how two fingers feel, okay?"

I felt full as she slowly pushed two fingers into me, deeper and deeper until I could feel her knuckles against my ass.

"Do you like that Jack?"

"Yes Baby. I can't wait for you to fuck me with that strap-on."

"Mmm, I can't wait either. You're so tight back here." She withdrew her fingers slightly and pushed them right back in, slowly fucking my ass with her fingers as I grunted like an animal in time to her rhythm.

"I wish I had that strap-on right now. When I get it I'm going to have to fuck you hard Jack. I'm going to hold your hips and fuck you hard and deep," she said, increasing her pace.

"I know Karen," I said, "you can fuck me as hard as you want."

After another minute of this she pulled her fingers out. "I'm going to go wash my hands Sweetheart," she said, "and then I'm going to whip you some more."

She laid the belt down over my lower back and walked away, leaving me with my ass still stinging and knowing the worst was probably yet to come from the belt I could feel draped across me. I heard water running in the bathroom sink, and after a few minutes she was back.

"I'm going to take off the rest of my clothes now Jack," she said, "and then I'm going to make myself cum while I whip you." She seemed to instinctively know how it degraded me to not be able to see her body.

I heard the rustle of her disrobing and followed in my mind as I imagined her removing her top, bra and panties. "I'm sorry Jack but I'm so turned on... I guess this is going to hurt really bad now," she said. Then she took up the belt and the whipping began again.

She whipped my already red ass even harder than before and I was on fire. She punished my ass from top to bottom and kept moving down until she was whipping the tops of my thighs. The pro dominatrix didn't whip me this hard and my eyes began tearing up.

Finally I broke and started to cry. I sensed Karen hesitating for a moment, but she quickly resumed whipping me as hard as she could. I was sobbing in gasping breaths like a small child and it was cathartic. As I cried I became aware of Karen moaning and I knew she was pleasuring herself, my crying probably exciting her even more.

Her moans became louder and louder until she suddenly dropped the belt and threw herself on top of me. I could feel her breasts on my back and her hand between my ass and her crotch as she frantically rubbed herself to orgasm. Her moans turned into cries and then a scream inches from my ear as she came hard.

She relaxed her full weight on top of me after her climax, panting. "Oh God Jack!" she said, reaching down to run her hands over my face. I could smell her sex on her hands and I felt the sweat on her body. "Oh God Jack, that was amazing. Oh Baby, that was so fucking good."

She lay on me for at least 5 minutes, slowly grinding her body on mine, reaching around me to touch my cock and balls. "That was so good Baby, so good," she repeated.

Finally she slid off me and walked away. She came back in a minute and began cutting through the tape around my ankles, freeing my legs. Then she walked around to my front and knelt down to do the same to my wrists. I lifted my head but could only see the top of her hair until she stood up.

I took in the sight of her lower body, wetness coating the insides of her thighs up to her sex. She moved beside me and, taking my arms, guided me off of the chair and to a standing position. Then she turned me to face her and put her arms around me, holding me close as I embraced her as well, my cock pressed against her and the sweat from our bodies mingling.

"So good Jack, that was so good Baby," she said again, and we kissed passionately, rubbing our hands all over each other as we greedily explored each other's mouths. After a few minutes of this we broke our embrace, took each other's hands and stepped back from each other. I greedily took in the sight of her.

"How do you like me now?" she said, flashing me that crooked grin, and we both laughed.

"Karen," I said. I putting my arms back around her and pulling her to me, "I think I love you."

"I think I love you too Jack," she said as we embraced and kissed again, running our fingers through each other's hair.

"That was a hell of a first date," I said to her.

"Was?" she said, "I didn't think it was over Jack. Can we keep going?"

"Hmm, sure I guess we can keep going Karen," I said, "but, uh... what do you have in mind for me next?"

She kissed me once more and turned my head to whisper in my ear, "I still want to whip your cock."

"Oh God," I said, "please don't do that Karen, it'll hurt too much."

"I thought you wanted me to?"

"You only have to listen for the safe words," I whispered. "I like begging."

"Oh... okay, right," she said, kissing me again, "well, I think I like hearing you beg."

"Please don't whip my cock Karen."

"I'm sorry but I have to Jack. Put your hands behind your back and stay here."

She walked over to pick her jeans up off the floor and drew out the thin leather belt she was wearing, holding it up for me to see when she came back.

"I think this will work nicely Jack."

"Please don't."

"Stay still."

She reached down and took the head of my still hard cock, held it up and quickly slashed her belt across the shaft. It hurt like hell.

"Oh God, that hurts Karen!" I gasped.

"I know Baby, I'm so sorry," she said. Then she quickly whipped my cock again, harder this time. I was quickly losing my erection.

"We've got to get you hard again Jack so I can whip it some more," she said. Then she knelt down in front me and put her tongue to my cock, swirling it around the head and finally taking it into her warm mouth.

"Oh God, Karen, please don't whip it again," I pleaded as I felt my cock start to stiffen again, knowing what the consequences would be. "Let me eat you out and lick your ass instead, I'll do anything you want."

She took her mouth off my cock, looked up at me and smiled. "You'll do that anyway Jack," she said, and went back to working on me until I was fully erect.

Then she stood up, quickly taking the head of my cock back in her left hand, and slashed her belt across it even harder. I screamed.

"Just one more Baby," she said, "I know it hurts but I want to do it just once more."

"Oh God, please no, please..." I cried, but she whipped it one more time with all her strength. My cock was on fire and as red as my ass.

"I like whipping your cock Jack," she said. "I could do this for a long time. Maybe some time I'll pour some hot wax on it after I've whipped it and made it all tender and raw like this."

"God, you've got a hell of an inner Domme Karen," I said, panting like a dog. "I know," she replied, "I guess I do. Well it's all your fault for letting my inner bitch out."

"Guilty as charged."

She smiled and said, "Now it's time for you to get to know me better Jack," and led me around to the front of our whipping chair.

"Please kneel," she said, "hands behind your back." As I complied she walked over to get the packing tape dispenser and came back behind me. She took my wrists and wrapped tape around them. "I'm going to use your mouth now Baby, and only your mouth."

After my wrists were bound she walked off into the bedroom and came back holding something in her hand, sitting down in the chair and showing me what she had. They were a pair of small plastic clothespins.

"I always keep some of these when I travel," she said. "I'm ready for you to eat me out now Jack but I want you to be hurting a little while you're doing it."

She bent forward and clamped a clothespin on each one of my nipples.

"These can come off after I cum Sweetheart. Now, I want you to start kissing the insides of my thighs, working your way up my leg to my pussy. First one leg and then the other. Kiss them and lick them Baby."

I crawled forward on my knees and as I bent down to start on her left leg she took my head in her hands. I started kissing and licking her along the inside of her thigh as she guided my head up towards her crotch. I could taste the salty mix of sweat and excretions coating her skin.

"Mmm, that's good," she moaned. "Now the other leg."

I switched to her right thigh and went through the same journey up to her crotch. When I got to it she took my head more firmly in her hands and pulled it to her sex.

"Lick my cunt," she said.

I put my tongue to her and licked her pussy from the bottom to the top, running my tongue between her lips.

"Push your tongue in me Baby," she said, holding my face against her. I put my mouth on her and pushed my tongue in as deeply as I could.

"Mmm, oh yeah that feels so good Baby. Eat me out Jack."

I lapped her pussy like a starving man, filling my mouth with her juices, loving the taste of her. I took her swollen clit in my mouth and circled it with my tongue, doing everything I knew to please her and take her over the top.

She began to moan and pulled her legs up to wrap them around my head. I felt like I was one with her, feeling her sensations mixed together with my still burning cock and the dull pain from the clothespins on my nipples. I couldn't get enough of her in my mouth and I devoured her, wanting her pussy like I've never wanted one before.

"Ah... ahh... ahhh, oh God, I'm cumming again Baby," she cried out, throwing her head back and gripping me between her wet thighs as she exploded, bucking her hips and grinding herself against my face as my mouth filled with her flow.

I kept my mouth on her as she slowly came back to Earth, my tongue gently exploring her. Finally she opened her eyes and looked at me, saying, "Mmm, so good Baby, I love seeing your face between my legs all wet from me.

She leaned forward and said "Let's take those clothespins off you now, although I'm afraid they're going to hurt a lot when they come off." and she reached for them. They did indeed hurt coming off.

"Now let's trade places Jack, it's time for you to cum."

I sat down in the chair and Karen knelt between my knees. Without another word she bent down and took my cock in her hand, swirling her tongue around the head and finally opening her mouth and taking it completely in. My cock was incredibly sensitive from the whipping and her warm mouth felt amazing.

She took me in deeper than anyone ever had and I was soon building up to an orgasm. Just as I was about to explode she took her mouth off me and asked, "Do you still want to cum in my mouth Jack?"

"Oh please Baby yes, I'm so close," I said desperately.

"You remember I said there would be a condition?"

"Anything Karen, please, what is it?"

"You can cum in my mouth... but I'm not going to swallow it."

"That's fine, okay!"

"But you are Jack, after I feed it to you," she said with that crooked grin.

Swallow my own cum? The thought was repelling, but I really had no choice.

"Yes Karen, I'll swallow it," I said.

She opened her mouth and went back down on my cock, taking me in deeper still until her nose pressed against my belly, and in seconds I had the most explosive orgasm of my life. My cock jerked again and again as I pumped my load into her... I thought it would never stop.

When my cock finally settled down I looked at Karen and could see she was holding all of my cum in her mouth, her cheeks bulging out a little as some of it dribbled down her chin. Then she rose up, and I will never forget her 'cat who ate the canary' expression as her face came towards me, closer and closer, until her mouth was on mine.

I closed my eyes as our mouths opened and she began pushing my warm cum into me. I swallowed as fast as I could as she kept squeezing it in until finally her mouth was emptied and I had swallowed it all. The transfer then turned into a long and deep kiss as our tongues met, both coated with my own cum... and I made sure to lick all the remaining drops off of her chin.

When she broke away from our kiss she said, "Now I want to use your tongue somewhere else... you know what I want now, don't you Jack?"

"Yes, I do Karen."

She got up and lay face down on the carpet and spread her legs apart. I got down on the floor between her legs, my face directly above her ass, and began gently running my tongue over her the length of her crack, starting at the bottom and moving up.

After a couple of passes I gently parted her ass with my hands and repeated the motion, this time licking deeper between her cheeks. She began to softly moan as I continued, gradually pushing my tongue further down until it was close to her asshole. When I finally touched it with my tongue she gasped, and as I slowly circled it she began moaning more loudly.

Then I put my tongue directly on her asshole and slowly pushed it in. "Oh God," she cried, "I can't believe how good that feels Baby. Push it into me Jack, fuck my ass with your tongue. "

I pushed it in as deep as I could and held it still for a moment, then I began moving it in and out and around the inside of her, thoroughly exploring her most secret place with my tongue. "Mmm, oh God I love this," she said, raising her ass against me, urging me even deeper. "This is the perfect after play."

And that was the final act of my submission to Karen that evening, although not the end of our lovemaking. After showering together we got into bed and made wonderfully sweet and caring "vanilla" love, gently exploring each other, giving and taking pleasure as equals and feeling an incredibly intimate connection.

I wondered how often Karen would want to dominate me. Was it a one-time thing to experience her long-held fantasies, or would she want to do it regularly? Were there be more things she'd want to do, other fantasies to act out, or even new things to try that she hadn't even thought of yet?

Lying beside each other in the afterglow of our lovemaking, I told her that I never thought I could ever feel this connected to someone. She replied that she felt the same, never expecting she would have a lover who shared her darkest fantasies.

"Especially someone I really liked and wanted to like me," she added, and then laughed. "I figured that if I ever talked about this stuff I'd only be doing it to get someone I didn't like out of my life!"

"So, you're saying you like me Karen?"

"I love you Jack," she said.
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