Any guy would’ve taken notice. She was on the subway and looked to be in her mid-twenties. Full breasts contoured a red blouse beneath her open jacket. An above-the-knee skirt hugged hips and thighs. Spikes and dark nylons completed the outfit. But it was her legs and shoes that got my attention. And she knew it. In a subtle tease, she moved a foot and dropped a hip, making a show for me through eight stations.
At my stop, she got off just ahead of me. I lost sight of her as all the other people left the train. But, when I reached the street, she was standing there looking confused.
It gave me the perfect opportunity. “May I help?” I asked.
“Thank you,” she responded. “I’m looking for the King Edward Hotel.”
Luckily, it was just around the corner from my office so I offered to walk her there. We introduced ourselves. I told her my name was Don. Hers, she said, was Deanna and that she was going to the hotel for a day of interviews leading, she hoped, to an important new job.
I asked if she’d be free for lunch, mentioning that we could meet in the hotel coffee shop. She agreed and, after a morning of anticipation, I rushed over to the restaurant and had a table staked out by 12:25. Ten minutes later, she arrived. We talked about a number of things during our lunch – her interviews that morning, what she faced during the afternoon, which part of the city she lived in – that kind of small talk. Over coffee, Deanna said the way I’d looked at her on the subway that morning had made her feel good. It gave her confidence, she said, as she headed for the interviews.
“You’re easy to look at,” I said.
“Most guys,” she said, “tend to fixate their attention on my bust line but I noticed you’d concentrated lower.”
“Well,” I responded, “ I guess I’m just a foot and shoe freak, though I sure noticed your upper body, too.”
“Do you really like shoes and feet?” she asked.
I told her that high-heeled shoes and boots turn me on and that I often fantasized about worshiping a woman’s feet. She perked up, wanting to know more. I told her I’d regularly go on mental merry-go-round rides with fantasies about being submissive to a beautiful woman. It got back, I said, to all those cliches about “I’d be your slave if only...”; “worshiping the ground she walks on”; and “kneeling and begging (for her hand, for forgiveness, for another chance, and so on)”. Unlike others, I said, I took it literally, that a beautiful woman in spike shoes got me into a mind-set involving adoration.
A thoughtful look appeared on her face as she said, “Perhaps you’d be appreciative if I gave you a chance to explore this fetish of yours for shoes, feet, and submission.”
“I’d love it,” I told her.
“Then pay the bill and follow me.”
I did, then followed Deanna to an exit door at the far side of the hotel lobby. She went up the stairs first, me lingering behind as I watched her ass, legs, and shoes ascend before me. At the first landing, she moved ahead four steps, then turned and faced me. Smiling, she said hotel stairs were rarely used and this would give us a bit of privacy. Extending a leg so that her shoe was level with my face she said, “Give it a kiss.”
I leaned forward a bit and kissed the toe of her shoe.
“You can do better than that,” she said. “Come up two steps, kneel and give it a good licking. Do the whole shoe.”
I licked her leather, from toe to heel. She even tilted her foot for me in an unspoken command to suck her spiked heel. The more I licked and sucked, the more I wanted. And Deanna knew it.
“We can’t keep this up for long,” she said. “Someone’s bound to come along. Stand up.” She said she had more high heels and boots at home and perhaps I might come over sometime to have a look. “Would you like that?” she asked.
I said I’d love it.
We arranged for me to drop by her place that very night.
After working the rest of the afternoon, in total preoccupation, I went directly to her apartment. After letting me in, I noticed Deanna was still wearing the shoes she’d let me kiss and lick earlier. She poured wine while I made myself comfortable on her chesterfield.
Sitting beside me and sipping from her glass, she got right to the point. “I enjoyed seeing you in that subservient manner today. The rest of the afternoon, I couldn’t get out of my mind the fact that you were on your knees before me.”
I said I, too, had enjoyed being at her feet and admitted to the hope that I would have the chance to do it again.
“Then what are we waiting for?” she asked. “Kneel before me right now.”
I got down on the floor before her – on my knees and head bowed. She crossed her legs, looked down at me and said she felt like a queen with a slave.
My submissiveness shone through as I whispered, “Yes, I am your slave.”
“Do you genuinely feel you have enough of a slavish mind-frame to serve me?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” I responded.
“I know I enjoy seeing you on your knees. Maybe my need is a perfect foil for your slavish desire to serve femininity.”
I observed that this could be good for the both of us. Deanna said she’d never done anything kinky but admitted she liked how this was shaping up. A moment later, she said, “Well, slave, I want my shoes kissed, licked and sucked again. Get busy.”
Automatically, I said “Yes, Mistress” and began laving the high heel of her crossed leg.
“Mistress!” she exclaimed, “I like that. If a man is a master, a woman in control is a mistress. Say it again, slave.”
“Mistress,” I said, “I love the thought of being your slave and I’m deeply grateful that you have given me the opportunity to express that desire.”
“Good,” she responded, “because I intend learning all I can about this facet of our sexuality. There are books dealing with foot fetishism. In fact, I think I have some old Forum magazines where heels, foot worship, and slavery are discussed. But I need to know more. Drop some off tomorrow night. Knock on my door, leave the package, and then go. I’ll call you in a few days when I’m ready to take both of us deeper into my ownership of a male slave.”
I promised I would.
“Before you leave,” she said, “I want you to suck my toes through the nylon. Every one.”
I slipped her shoe off and began with the small toe, sucking and kissing it, then each of the other four. As I was loving them, Deanna had moved her other foot to my crotch and was rubbing my erection with her shoe. Jamming all five toes into my mouth, she manipulated my cock and balls to the point were I ejaculated in my underwear.
“Now,” she said, “crawl over to the door and get out. I expect to see that material at my door no later than tomorrow night.”
The next day, I got what material I could on the subject of Female Domination, high heels, bondage and discipline, humiliation, and exotic apparel. I even found a very old copy of Mistress Natalies’ Guide to Foot Worship. That night, I knocked on her door, dropped the package and got out of sight. I saw her appear and pick it up.
For the next few days, I kept wondering if Deanna would ever call again. But, a week later, she did. Deanna told me to come to her place after work that night. At precisely 6:45 – the time she’d said – I rang her bell.
“Come in,” I heard her call.
She was on the couch, legs crossed, wearing a black leather skirt, a black push-up bra under a thin white blouse unbuttoned to the point where her magnificent cleavage was in view, elbow length gloves, seamed stockings, and knee-high stiletto-heeled boots. Breasts spilling over her bra and the flash of bare thigh at the top of her nylons only enhanced her dominant presentation.
I stared for longer than I should, then heard her command to “close the door and get in here.”
Coming to my senses, I obeyed. I was in awe. She was a vision of a magazine-perfect dominant female.
“It seems you approve of what you see, “ she said.
“Yes, Mistress. You’re gorgeous.”
“Tonight, we’re going much further than that session in the stairway. Take off every stitch of clothing and then get down on your knees here at my feet.”
I rushed to take everything off, put my clothes in a pile on the floor, and went to my knees before her.
“Lick my boots, slave,” she ordered.
I bent my head and began as I heard her say, “I read everything, slave, and I even looked up some old letters I’d seen in Forum. I’m surprised I didn’t twig to this scene earlier. The photo guide was great, too. I didn’t know a slave would take a whipping just for the privilege of jerking off onto his mistress’ boot and then lick it clean. Does your slavishness go that far?”
I said my lust, passion and obsession for her was so overpowering that, yes, I would suffer such humiliation at her hands . . . and revel in it.
“I’ve never whipped a man,” she said, “but seeing you so obsequious and watching you lick leather is a strong motivator. I’d like to try it. Any objections, slave?”
“No, Mistress. You’re so beautiful.”
“Good, because I’ve already bought some toys. I took a lot of guidance from the photos you dropped off last week. Here’s something. Let me buckle it on. And I’ve got a leash for you, too.”
While I’d done this sort of thing before, I couldn’t help my contradictory feelings of shame and being sexually turned-on. After snapping the leash onto the collar’s D-ring, Mistress Deanna produced a cat’o’nine tails whip and, shaking it out, said: “Now that you’re collared and leashed like a dog, I’m going to take you for a little walk. Stay on all fours.”
She was a pace ahead of me as she led me around her apartment. The stimulation of seeing the leather skirt snug on her ass and the spiked heels just ahead of my eyes caused a throbbing erection. And seeing the whip in one hand and my leash in the other made my obsession take over, the shame dispelled.
She returned to her seat, putting my tongue back to work on her boots. Her dominant ability and natural poise were amazing. Mistress Deanna apparently felt completely at ease having a slave on her leash as he licked her boots in appreciation. Seeing my erection, she said, “I’m glad you’re in the right frame of mind. If you think you’re turned-on now, just wait.”
She put leather cuffs on my wrists. Ordering them behind my back, she attached the restraints, putting me into bondage before saying, “You know, slave, I’m betting that since you had the chance to look beforehand at all those books, you were hoping I’d tie you up. Am I right?”
“Yes, Mistress. You’ve already gone much further than I could have hoped. I find you exciting ... and I did from the first moment I saw you on the subway train.”
“Yes, I know you did, slave,” she said as she rubbed my cock with her boot in a slow, sensual rhythm. “And when you told me about being a shoe and foot freak that day, did you ever imagine it would get to this point?
My cock was gushing a stream of pre-cum as I answer, “No, Mistress Deanna, I didn’t.”
“And now you’re naked, bound, collared, leashed, and on your knees before me. And my boot is stroking your cock. I love the power and, I admit, I’m turned on, slave. Here, let me get a little of that on my toe so you can lick it off.”
She fondled my cock with her foot, then offered her boot for me to lick clean. I slowly used my tongue to wipe the clear fluid from her leathered toe.
“We talked about giving you a whipping. In all seriousness, do you really want me to whip you?”
“Yes, Mistress. Please.”
She asked why.
“It’s not because I like the pain, Mistress. Rather, it’s the symbolism. For days I will know I was whipped by a beautiful woman, that she whipped me because she enjoyed it, and that it reinforced my slave status to her.”
“Good,” she responded, walking me by the leash to the end of her couch. “I’m anxious to begin. Lean over the couch so your ass is in the air. I want a good target.”
Before I bent over, Mistress Deanna got a small strip of leather, wrapped it around and between my balls, and asked, “Does that hurt?”
She pulled tighter and I winced. “It hurts properly now?” she asked.
“Yes, Mistress, “ I said.
“Good, now drape yourself over the arm of the couch and get set for your new mistress’ first whipping.”
It was difficult getting into position. Finally, I just fell forward on my face. Mistress Deanna got down beside me and drew my head to the tops of her breasts, telling me to kiss and lick them. Doing so, I became more addicted to her femininity, kissing them with passion. Slowly, she withdrew, pulling away but then bringing her lips to my face and giving me an open-mouthed, deep-tongued kiss. Disengaging herself slowly, she stood, took the whip into her gloved hand and said, “I’m looking forward to this. Who could ever imagine that a woman, by whipping a man, could make him even more of a slave.”
She bent, ran her hand over the surface of my buttocks, then stood tall. A moment later, I felt the first lash of the first sexual whipping Mistress Deanna had ever given a man. Tentative, her blows were far from full force. She had a sensuous way of using the whip and I was lifting my ass to meet her lashes. Seeing I wasn’t suffering major discomfort, she flogged harder.
“I like the way your bum comes up in anticipation, slave, and – more importantly, I like whipping you.”
Taking two final strokes, Mistress Deanna then sat on the couch. I struggled off the sofa’s arm rest at her direction and once again knelt before her, licking her boots and thanking her for my discipline. Holding the leash and the whip, she said: “Slave, I’m enjoying this. I like having a man who, because I whip him, adores me all the more. I feel incredibly desirable and sexy. Those welts on your ass will be gone in a couple of hours but just seeing them and knowing I did it makes me feel great. And your cock is telling me all I need to know about how you feel. Does it still hurt having your balls tied and separated?”
“Yes, Mistress Deanna,” I said, “it does. I want to cum so bad.”
“You’re a long way from that, slave. These new rules mean that I get mine first and then, maybe, I’ll let you have yours. I want that dog tongue of yours to work its way up my boot, the stocking, the skin of my thigh and, if I think you’ve done a good job, my beautiful, little pussy. Get busy.”
This was a wet dream come true. I couldn’t believe my luck at finding a beautiful woman – a female domination novice – who loved being a mistress. I did as I was told, working my tongue up one leg and then the other. When my face got to her crotch, she had me lick her panty-covered pussy. I made the surface wet before Mistress pushed my head away and took them off. She pulled my hair and leash, guiding me back to her sweet triangle. I sucked, kissed and licked her clitoris until my face was covered with her juices. She ground her muff onto my face, fucking it as she moaned in ecstasy. She rested for a few moments before ordering my face back down to the floor. Taking the whip, she said, “Now, slave, you pay the price for enjoying my boots, legs, thighs, and pussy.”
I felt her whip land on my buttocks. Mistress Deanna punctuated my whipping by saying between blows: “I want you to ... come here every Thursday .... night. And every Thursday ... night, I’m going to have you ... lick and worship anything I put ... before you. You’re my slave, slave ... and being my slave means ... that you can expect ... to have your ass whipped ... whenever I feel like it ... and I think I’m going to be ... feeling like it a lot.”
Moving away from me, I heard her command, “Get back up on your knees. Here.”
Mistress Deanna emphasized her order by snapping her fingers and pointing to the floor at her feet.
“Turn around,” she ordered. Mistress released my cuffed hands but I felt only a moment of freedom as she connected them again at the front of my body.
“Now it’s your turn, slave. I want you to use your left hand to play with your balls and your right hand to wank that cock for me. That’s it, slave. Make your hand a blur. Fuck your fist. Squeeze those balls. Roll them in your palm. I want you to cum for me. You’re getting close, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Mistress. Please. Please may I cum?”
Crossing her leg and positioning her boot directly below the head of my cock, she said, “Cum, slave. Cum all over the toe of my boot. Now.”
In a frenzy, I released. My orgasm was intense, combining the excruciating eroticism of Mistress Deanna’s attire, her dominant attitude, her poise, and the satisfaction I felt being the slave of this beauty. When I’d fully ejaculated, she looked at me with a slight smile and commanded, “Lick it all up, slave. I want my boot to glisten and I want all of your cum in your mouth. Swallow every drop.”
I licked her boot in long, loving motions – scooping my cum into my mouth and swallowing – until her boot gleamed.
Deanna had become a Mistress.
Mistress Deanna owned her first slave.