You may call me MistressM. Simply Mistress or Ma’am will do as well. At least you may call me that when I ask you to speak, which won’t be often, unless I want to hear you beg. Let me explain so your small one-track man-brain can understand. I have a hobby that I very much enjoy — it’s dominating men like you.
I’ve long known, as most attractive women do, that it’s not too difficult to wrap a man around my little finger. Even a strong confident man is open to a little flirtation and will gladly do my bidding for a smile, a thank you and maybe a little flash of leg or cleavage. For most men, this is all there is and they know it. They know the game. I get a man to do something for me and they get a small flicker in the loins and maybe a fantasy for later for helping me out.
For submissive men, however, a game of flirt and tease is the first step to an obsession. I can spot them in a matter of minutes, there are dozens of clues. Maybe they can’t make eye contact. Maybe they blush or stutter when they speak to me. Maybe they are a little too quick to help me do something menial. It’s not just what they do, but how they do it. They are happy to submit and don’t realize that I know it.
The best ones of all are the submissives with a fetish. It’s only a matter of time before they give themselves away. It might be too much attention to my legs or my shoes. Maybe they are staring at my hair or my breasts. I can almost see them imagining whether I’m wearing stockings or what kind of panties I have on. These are the guys I particularly love to tease and torment.
Since men are so visual, let me describe myself. I’m mid-30s, 5′ 6″ and slender. My breasts aren’t that large, 34B, but I like to show them off and I haven’t had many complaints.
I usually wear a size 8 if that means anything to you. I have natural sandy blonde hair, cut in a business professional style, usually around shoulder length. I have brown eyes. Some people tell me I look like the actress Ali Larter although I tend to wear my hair a little shorter than hers and I’m a little taller.
I’m a senior executive for a major corporation. This means I work a lot, travel a lot and am well paid. As a result, I can afford to dress fashionably and enjoy doing so. For work I always wear dresses and skirts – usually just above knee length. Most of my outfits come from the popular high end mall based women’s stores. I like to dress flirty but classy, low cuts or an extra button undone. I want a second look, not drool.
I love shoes of all colors and styles and have a couple hundred pairs. I have a giant walk-in closet with nothing but shoes in it. A co-worker (no doubt a closet foot-boy) once told me he’s not sure he’s ever seen me in the same shoes twice. That’s not quite true, but I definitely enjoy variety. I prefer heels of around 3 or 4 inches, but would go a little lower or higher if I liked the color or style. The same with boots, I have dozens in a variety of colors, heights and heels.
If you are a guy that is heavy into the dominant boss fantasy or maybe the sexy secretary fantasy, I would probably fit perfectly into your wet dreams. I can tell from the looks I get that several of my co-workers have fantasized about being my submissive slut.
As I said, I’ve known for a long time that I could get men to do things for me. Somewhere along the way however, I began to derive sexual pleasure from seeing how far I can push a guy. At first I didn’t think much of it, but I came to learn that some men are not only happy to serve my wishes, but they secretly get off on being ordered around.
I likewise came to realize that there was a little bit of the dominant female in me that just enjoyed watching a guy squirm and pressing his buttons. It felt good to be in charge and I loved watching a guy crumble. Don’t get me wrong, I love a good fuck as much as the next woman, but I’ve learned that dominating a guy makes my slot moisten and clit buzz like nothing else.
The first time I observed this was somewhat innocent. I had walked into the copy room and accidently dropped a page from a stack of papers. It fluttered down about equidistant between me and some guy that was already using the machine. I made a move to grab it and at the same time he said, “I’ll get that for you.”
Somehow his movement or maybe the copier fan caused the paper to flutter towards me. Just as he reached for it, the paper became pinned under the pointy toe of my grey high-heeled pump. He was already on his knees before me and said, “I guess you’ll need to lift your foot.”
I teasingly replied, “Only if you say please.”
His face reddened and he said it, “Please?”
I slid my foot and he handed me my paper without a word and didn’t even make eye contact to my “Thank you.” As he stood and hastily removed his document from the copier, I could see the clear outline of him hardening in his pants. To my surprise, I felt vaguely aroused by the encounter as well.
The first time I acted on the impulse was shortly thereafter following an interview I did. An MBA grad was interviewing for a position. He was a little younger than me, upper twenties, very smart, good looking and generally well polished in his fitted interview suit.
Part of my office was arranged with a conversation settee consisting of a small sofa, a coffee table and two wing chairs. I directed my guest to the sofa and without any particular thought seated myself across from him in one of the chairs, my right leg crossed over the left with his resume and paperwork on my lap.
That day I wore a sheer white silk blouse, which was ruffled down the front and offered the voyeur just the faintest hint of the lacy cami and bra underneath. I also wore a knee length navy blue pencil skirt that rode up my thigh a little as I sat down. It was a bit revealing, but on the whole a conservative outfit.
What really attracted the attention of my interviewee was my very sheer nude stockings and my teal blue 4 inch platform pumps. I’d ask him a question and he’d start off meeting my eyes but soon his gaze would drift down my crossed leg to my shoe. A couple of times he tried to fight the urge, but before too long he’d drift again.
About fifteen minutes in I knew he had blown the interview, so I began to toy with him a bit. I flexed my ankle, re-crossed my legs the other direction, even bobbed my foot a bit and his eyes kept finding their target. When it was time to leave, I noticed that he strategically held his resume portfolio across his groin, presumably to hide his arousal.
I’m pretty sure he suspected I was on to his problem and his embarrassment was sweet. I conducted him to the lobby and made a point of holding his hand just a fraction of a second too long when we shook hands and I gave him a big smile as we parted. I held him in my gaze until he disappeared into the elevator and was surprised to notice that I had gotten a little soupy as I headed back to my office.
I had an idea about what caused my arousal, but this time I decided to do something about it. A few weeks later, after he had been dinged for the position, I took a chance and called him and offered to meet him at an upscale bar near my office.
The premise was to offer him some pointers on his resume and to provide him a couple of industry contacts to network. The real reason was to try teasing him again to see what sort of reaction I got from him and what that did to me.
I purposely arrived about fifteen minutes late and knew things were going to head in the right direction when he deflected my lame apology by profusely thanking me for even taking the time to meet him and then him offering to buy my drink (which I declined).
He had dressed again in suit and tie and promptly obeyed my request to take off his tie and relax. I had dressed in a black sleeveless A-line dress over which I had worn a short tailored red jacket. My stockings were a sheer and smoky black and I purposely wore 4″ black-patent Christain Louboutin pumps knowing that the red instep would draw his gaze.
We spoke casually at the fairly full bar and I did in fact give him a couple of contacts to help with his job search. He did a little better with the eye contact while we were standing; but once a bar stool opened up and I slid myself onto it (he remained standing), his attention was again drawn to my nylon covered legs and my sexy shoes.
Once he started looking, I started to flirt a bit — touching his arm as I spoke, dangling my shoe, even suggestively removing my jacket and flashing him a little look down my dress as I positioned the jacket over the chair back. He was smitten and I soon had him eating out of my hand, agreeing to anything I said.
After a few minutes of soft flirting, I speared him with a direct question. “Do you like my shoes?”
His blush and stammering were the initial response so I closed in, “You have a thing for heels and stockings don’t you? A foot fetish maybe?”
He started to apologize and I assured him it was ok. I told him, “If you think a woman has attractive shoes, you should compliment them rather than stare at them. Go ahead, try it. Pay me a compliment.”
Barely composing himself he said, “I, uh, I really, uh your heels are, they uh look really great with that dress. It’s a really good look.”
“Thank you for noticing” I said forcing him to meet my gaze, “These shoes are one of my favorites, they make me feel sexy and confident. Can you handle a sexy and confident woman?”
He kept looking at me and didn’t quite seem to know what to say, so I continued, “Maybe you’d like to see some more of my shoes? Would you like to go out some time? Maybe see a movie or something?”
Plainly flustered and not expecting my question he blurted out “Um, Yes Ma’am. I mean, yes.”
The little slip told me everything, so I decided to take one more chance – “I can see my shoes have gotten you very excited” and gave a little nod towards his crotch.
“Why don’t you go into the men’s room and take care of that. I’ll give you ten minutes. When you come back out we can talk about getting together again.”
Confused but obedient and obviously eager, he was only gone about seven minutes. To this day I can remember his look as he came out of the bathroom, and it still makes me tingle. As he looked toward the bar, he at first looked relieved that I hadn’t left and then his face went pale and quickly reddened as he caught my leering gaze and his complete embarrassment overtook him.
When he returned to where I was sitting I gave him a little giggle and said “Feel better?” To spare him curling up like a pill bug in the middle of the bar, I dispatched him a few minutes later with details of when and where to meet for our next date.
Our second outing was at the movies. I suggested we see a fairly poorly reviewed chick-flick that had been out for a few weeks. Not surprisingly, he spinelessly agreed to my request.
I met him straight from work and was wearing a burgundy red short sleeve dress with matching burgundy red pumps and tan stockings.
Perhaps trying to recover some dignity from last time, he started off by saying, “You look very nice tonight. Your shoes and your dress match perfectly, it’s very nice.”
“Thank you,” I said, “I wore these shoes just for you.” Which of course caused him to blush a red almost as deep as my shoes.
I paid for our tickets, but at the snack bar I asked him to buy me a coke. As we walked to our seat I took a big drink and commented, “I get thirsty and I want you to watch how I suck on the straw.”
He didn’t even try to respond to my suggestive comment, just stood their red faced and flustered as I directed us towards seats at the back of the virtually empty theatre.
The seats were stadium style and I made him go first, telling him none too quietly, “I don’t want you staring at my legs while I climb the steps. You can stare at them later.”
Sitting down I made a production of getting myself adjusted in my seat just right. I could tell he didn’t know where to look or if he should try to help me arrange my drink or help me put on the light sweater I had brought with me.
I finished by looking him in the eye and saying, “It’s hard to get comfortable in these reclining movie seats when you’re wearing a garter belt and stockings.”
His wide eyed expression told me everything, he was already jello and mine to do with as I pleased. The movie hadn’t even started and I had him red faced and rock hard, just the way we had parted at the bar.
I’m sure a part of him couldn’t believe his luck to be out with a woman like me. For a foot fetishist it was like a fantasy come to life. Another part of him realized he had no idea at all about to capitalize on his opportunity. The last part, and a growing part of him knew, that he had no control at all about what would happen next. He was simply along for the ride and maybe just a little bit scared at his lack of control.
His feeling of being out of control was what made me feel empowered. His little bit of apprehension was what was making me aroused.
As the house lights dimmed I crossed my leg toward him so that the heel of my shoe was nearly touching his knee. I then proceeded to give him a little foot show. I twisted, bobbed and dangled my 4″ inch burgundy pumps. Never once did his eye leave my shoe.
Each time I turned to look at him I made a point of picking up my drink and suggestively puckering my red painted lips around the straw — “Want a taste?” I whispered. He shook his head no, already lost in shoe world.
At one point I dangled my shoe at the very end of my toe completely captivating him for well over a minute before letting it drop in front of him.
The sound of the shoe hitting the floor broke his gaze and brought him back to reality. As he started to reach down to pick it up for me I tugged his arm and whispered “Don’t you think you should ask permission first?”
“Can I get your shoe for you?” he whispered back.
“What’s that, I can’t hear you” — I made him repeat it three times, each time a little louder before consenting. Although there was no one within thirty feet of us, he kept nervously looking around.
As he started to fit the shoe back on my stockinged foot I said, “Maybe you should kiss the heel and thank me for being allowed to handle my shoe.”
He stared disbelieving for a second before doing as I asked, kissing the heel and saying, “Thank you. Thanks for letting me help you with your shoe.”
I dropped my shoe two more times over the course of the rest of the film and each time he asked permission to retrieve it, kissed a different part of my shoe and thanked me — all to my command of course. After the second time I heard a small whimper and suspected he may have cum a little.
When the movie ended I asked how he liked the movie and what was his favorite part. He embarrassed so easily he turned away from my gaze.
I said in a not hushed voice, “My favorite part was when you came in your pants from kissing my shoe. Did you like that part?”
Burning with shame he meekly replied, “Yes….Thank you.”
I prolonged his embarrassment by inviting him out for a coffee. At the end of which, in a tone that was somewhat more telling than asking I said, “Keep your evening free a week from Monday and don’t plan too much the weekend before. I’ll call you that Saturday and we’ll make some plans –ok?”
“Yes. That’s great, I look forward to it. Thank you.”
That Saturday I called him, “So, have you been thinking about me?”
“Of course I have. You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever known.”
“Thinking about me or just my shoes and heels? How many times have you whacked off?”
His silence followed by an “Uhhhh,” told me all I need to know.
“I thought so. Starting now, that’s done you hear? If you want to earn another chance with my feet and shoes you have to promise you will mind my instructions. Are you ready to do that?”
“Umm. O.K… I, yes. I’ll do as you say.”
“Good, first thing, no masturbating. Your cock belongs to me. Say it back to me.”
“No masturbating. My cock belongs to you.”
“Good. Monday night you’re to meet me at 7pm at the hotel across from my office building, do you know it? I’ll text you the specific room at 6:45 so be in the lobby then and dressed in your best suit and tie. Got it?”
“Yes. I know the hotel. 6:45 in the lobby, I’ll get a text from you.”
“Last and most important. Between now and then I will text you the word “Now” when you see that text, I want you to drop what you’re doing and find a place to stroke yourself to the edge of orgasm, but don’t cum. Understand. Don’t cum, just edge. Do you understand what it means to edge? When you’ve completed this task, reply “Yes.” That way I’ll know you are hard and thinking about me. Got it?”
“Yes. I’m to edge myself when you send me a text that says ‘now’ and respond ‘yes’ when I’ve done it.”
“You’ve got it. You’re a quick learner. See you Monday.”
Upon his response I hung up and sent him the “Now” text. Less than two minutes later I received the “Yes” response. He received that text 21 more times before 7pm Monday including seconds after the 6:45 Monday text advising him of my hotel room number.
I have to admit I was slightly aroused all weekend at the thought of him being constantly hard and constantly frustrated by my little text game. I loved that he was literally getting hard at my command. I also loved that he was getting no release and pleasured myself to several orgasms at the thought of that.
At the hotel I had a room that was a large suite that had been rented as a hospitality room for a function my company had held in the hotel earlier that day. Since I was departing on a long road trip early the following morning, I kept the suite and planned to stay that night in the city to shorten my trip to the airport.
The large living room area of the suite was perfect for my needs that evening. With just a small adjustment I was able to position a chair, coffee table and sofa just the way they were in my office. My outfit was also the same, a sheer white silk blouse, ruffled down the front, a knee length navy blue pencil skirt, very sheer nude stockings and my teal blue 4 inch platform pumps.
To his credit, he caught on right away to the role play I had arranged shaking my hand and taking a seat just like at the interview several weeks ago. Not surprisingly I also caught him take a quick glance at my shoes when I sat across from him and crossed my legs.
He played along diligently for about fifteen minutes as I asked him double edged questions about “What positions have you enjoyed in the past,” “What do you think you can do in this role that no other candidate can?” and “Are you willing to work long and hard to help me meet my objectives?”
Finally I asked him, “Do you like my shoes? Would you like to get a closer look at them? Your eyes have hardly left them?”
“Yes. I like them. The color is so unique. I’d like that”
“Why don’t you kneel here in front of me then and take a good close look at them.”
“Yes Ma’am. Thank you.”
“Maybe you should take off your suit. I don’t want you to get your pants dirty kneeling in front of me. Maybe strip down to your shorts, fold your clothes neatly and kneel in front of me.”
He did as directed. I could see his hard cock straining at the top of his boxer briefs as he stared at the side of my teal platform pumps which were right at eye level and now just a few inches away.
“You thought about kissing them didn’t you? I bet you went home after our interview and brought yourself off thinking about kissing my shoes didn’t you.”
Red faced and shamed he continued to stare at my shoe and uttered a weak “Yes”
“Look me in the eye and tell me what you did.”
From his kneeling position he slowly, with great effort tilted his head up to meet my eyes. I could see the struggle of his emotions and the embarrassment; I could also see his cock remained completely hard inside his shorts. In an uncertain voice he said, “I made myself cum thinking about your pretty shoes and kissing your feet.”
Holding his gaze I replied, “That’s where you belong isn’t it? You belong at my feet. Do you think you could handle serving a woman like me? Do you think you deserve a chance to serve me? What would you do for a chance to kiss my shoes and be my foot boy?”
He tried to hold my eyes, but he was weakening. “Please give me a chance. I’d do anything. Please, you’re so amazing, really I’d do anything for you.”
With a haughty sneer I laughed at him “Anything? Anything? Ha ha. You’re nothing. You have nothing for me. A nice suit and a fancy degree, but you’re still naked begging to kiss my shoes. How impressive is that? Do you think a woman like me would want a man like that?
I don’t need your pathetic little cock either, I’ve got real men for that. Men that don’t beg to kiss my shoes. All you give me is your shame. I want to see you humble yourself for me. Can you do that? Let’s see what you can do. Put your face to the floor and beg at my feet.”
He knelt down all the way and pressed his face to the floor in front of my other foot, the one still planted on the floor, “I know I’m not worthy of you Ma’am. I’m grateful that you’ve taken so much time with me. …..I just, please, I beg you, I just want to make you happy. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll clean your house, make you dinner, please….anything…I want to earn this….to serve you”
“Ok. Begin by worshiping the shoe in front of you. You may kiss the leather and the heel. Show your passion, but I don’t want to feel your lips on my stocking. Just the shoe.”
“Yes Ma’am. Thank you.”
With that he began ardently kissing the toe and the side of the shoe. His head bobbed up and down as he rained kisses on every inch of the teal leather and the shiny black heel.
As he did this I took the opportunity to hike up my skirt and loosen it a bit so I could snake a finger down to rub my clit through my panties. I was already keyed up from the sexual tension of toying with him for the last couple of days and the scene we were playing was becoming more charged than I had expected.
I realized that for him this was extremely real and a fantasy come true. After being edged for two days he was aching to cum, but he was also aching to submit. The foot fetish was just a vehicle for the submission — it’s the two together that made him hard.
Watching him crumble so quickly to my demands was exciting. I’d never felt such sexual power before and it was giving me a rush. I knew what he wanted. It’s a question of what I’d take from him first.
“Enough. Sit back up. My other shoe needs worshipping now. Gently take it off of my foot and let me see how you kiss the heel.”
Sitting back on his haunches he removed my shoe as though it was made of glass. He held the shoe up to his face and kissed the shiny heel with a mixture of reverence and lust that was hard for me to fathom. I truly believed he worshiped my shoe.
He then looked up to meet my gaze, but could hold it for no more than a second before he looked down again and his embarrassment washed over him.
“Very good little one. Sniff it now. You know you want to. You’ve dreamed about it haven’t you?”
Wasting no time he brought the shoe up to his face and buried his nose deep into the instep and toe. Clutching it to his face like an oxygen mask he inhaled deeply. The smells of leather, nylon and foot scent combining in an intoxicating potion of lust inside his pliant brain.
I taunted him, “Breathe me in. Take my smell inside of you. You love it don’t you? Did you dream of this? Did you stroke yourself and dream of sniffing my shoe?
Kiss it now. Kiss the instep. My foot was just there. Taste my shoe. Lick it. Just once. Taste my foot on your lips. Taste the leather. Now hold it there and gently let my scent take over. Give in to your weakness.”
He was lost in his own world now, absorbed in his adoration of my shoe. I could see that pre-cum had moistened the front of his briefs. My own panties were just as moist and I could feel my juices flow at his submissive display.
“You want to kiss my foot now don’t you? Do you want to kiss the foot you’ve been lusting over? The one you’ve been thinking about while edging?”
“Yes please. Can I kiss your foot please Ma’am? Please, may I?”
“I think you still need to earn it. Let me see you edge for me one more time. Can you stroke yourself for five minutes for me? Can you do that to earn a chance to kiss my foot?”
“I’ll try. Thank you. Shall I start?”
“You may begin when I say. Make them good strokes, nice and firm and keep focused on me. You may not look at my shoe or my foot. Look me in the eyes while you stroke yourself. I want to see you submit to me. Begin now.”
He did as ordered and to his credit his strokes were firm and he kept eye contact although I could tell it was an effort for him. To make it more difficult, I stared at him lustfully and occasionally flicked my tongue across my lips with a wanton leer.
Not surprisingly he was having a hard time. During the second minute I could see his neck muscles clench and his stare became glassy as he tried to concentrate on anything other than the stocking foot bobbing a few inches from his face. During the third minute, he started to hold his breath and gasp. That’s when I knew he wouldn’t make it.
At the end of the third minute, in a panic he said, “Please may I stop. Please. I can’t make it. I can’t go any more . I don’t want to cum without your permission. Please may I stop.”
This was an interesting development and deeply revealing of the submissive state of mind he had put himself in. I had never said anything about cumming without permission or asking permission to stop. He had just assumed this would be required and pleaded for approval. Figuring to use this to my advantage, I agreed.
“Yes. You may stop. I wanted you on edge and you’re clearly there. I’m sorry you couldn’t make it the five minutes though. My foot was so looking forward to your gentle kisses. I wanted to feel your lips on my toes and kissing my soles. I guess it will have to wait unless you’d like another chance?”
“Please. Yes please. May I have another chance?”
“Put your hands at your side and lean forward until your forehead is pressed against the sole of my foot. Now just rest up a few minutes and you let me know when you think you are ready to try again.”
For more than fifteen minutes we sat there in that surreal, but classic pose: a near naked man, kneeling before a fully clothed business woman. His eyes stared down at the floor with her teal blue high heel pump just on the edge of his gaze. His forehead submissively pressed against her stocking foot. His still slightly hard cock dangling from his shorts.
Every minute we stayed like that my arousal built. Somewhere along the way I had slipped a hand inside my panties. As he sat with his forehead pressed into the sole of my foot I gently rubbed circles around my clit, the scent of my arousal wafting up like a cloud of sex around us. My nub tingled. I also wanted to climax and wanted his submission to take me there.
Finally I asked him, “Are you ready to try again?”
“I think so. May I?”
“Yes you may, on my command. You did a good job last time as far as stroking yourself firmly and at a fair pace. I’ll expect the same again. I’ll expect the full five minutes from you this time if you want to kiss my feet. This time I’m going to ask that you keep your eyes locked onto my pretty foot. Just to be clear, this is your final chance. If you fail, you will be dismissed and your evening will be over. You may begin.”
Without a word he went to his task. In no more than a stroke or two he was again to full hardness. I wiggled my toes at him as he gazed lustfully at the sole of my nylon covered feet.
Around the one minute mark I began bobbing my stocking foot up and down and his eyes stayed glued to my pretty polished toes. I don’t think he noticed that I was still rubbing my clit, but it was becoming harder and harder to contain my own arousal. I could feel my own needs begin to climb.
He was still breathing easily as he approached the three minute mark, his expression suggested he may have even begun to get confident about completing his task. Hoping to get a little better angle with which to attack my clit, I re-crossed my legs in the other direction with my teal blue high heeled shoe now at his eye level.
For a second he wasn’t sure which way to look whether to follow the nyloned foot he had been staring at or to focus on the shiny blue shoe in front of him. As his eyes traveled between the two, he noticed what I was doing to myself and his eyes flew open, drawn to the hand that was buried inside the waistband of my skirt and also stroking firmly.
Our eyes locked for a second and then his expression changed from gently confident to afraid, shocked, shattered.
“Nooo, ohh, nooo, oooh noo” he muttered over and over as his cock shot white bolts of cum across his still stroking hand, his chest and onto the floor between us. His expression betrayed an odd mixture of joyful release and frustration at not being able to control himself.
After a couple more spurts his head slumped and he panted to regain his wind as he had been holding his breath as he came.
My own emotions were going wild, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. His inability to control himself when he saw me pleasing myself was incredibly erotic and had brought me right to the edge. I leaned back a bit as I tried to apply a bit more pressure.
It was probably less than a minute, but it seemed longer. He looked up at me with a drained and defeated expression. His face was flush from his efforts. As I met his gaze I saw it — a small tear in the corner of his eye. The tear of defeat. He had failed and he knew it.
That did it. I came like never before. It was a deep convulsive orgasm that racked my whole body causing me to emit a deep guttural moan. In all the times I had been fucked, in all the times I been given oral or even brought myself off I had never moaned like this before nor had I ever had an orgasm just course through me like that so deeply or for so long.
He watched without a word, just his own slack jawed expression as I shuddered through my orgasm. He didn’t move as I dragged myself back to the present, spent, sated, exhausted.
There were no words for what had happened. Finally I said, “That was pretty intense.”
“Yeah, it was. It was even better than I had imagined.”
We stared at each other speechless, but I could feel my passions already begin to rekindle. He still looked so defeated and I could see the line where that stray tear had rolled down the side of his face. He was broken. I had never felt more alluring, more erotic, more sexually powerful than I did at that moment.
“I need to get cleaned up and you need to get dressed. You may give my foot a goodbye kiss.”
His eyes watered again as he said, “Thank you Mistress.”
He then lowered his face to my nyloned foot and planted a sincere, adoring kiss on my toes.
When he sat back up I excused myself to the bathroom and told him I’d call him. As soon as I heard him shut the outer door I chained it shut and headed back to the bedroom for some frantic self pleasure as I replayed the events of the evening.
I remember it all – his vulnerability, his weakness his worship of my shoe and his longing to kiss my feet. Each scene made me hotter and hotter until I imagined him shattered before me, cum on his hands and tears in his eyes. Over and over again I came, each orgasm just as intense as the last with “thank you mistress’ echoing in my mind.
Eventually I managed to exhaust my passions and drifted off to sleep, but the images stayed with me and were a regular source of pleasure as I pushed myself through a road trip that ultimately lasted three weeks. I loved the sexual power I had felt and had begun thinking about how I could achieve that same feeling again.
* * * *
While the memories lasted, the relationship did not. As my trip unfolded I reached the decision that I had taken this guy as far as I could go. In hindsight, that was a bad decision and one which reflected my own inexperience or maybe uncertainty about being ‘the mistress’ rather than anything in his character that should have made me doubt his further willingness to serve.
He took it well when we broke up and though I haven’t seen him since I do know where he works as I forwarded his resume along with a recommendation to a friend who ultimately hired him.