Don't Judge the Judge

"Thanks, Judgey," she said whilst snatching the notes from my grasp. Her smile gleamed at the unspoken submission I had just offered up to her. I cringed at being called that name but couldn't find the right words to stand up for myself, with having just handed her money for her pedicure a second time.

It was now official, I had become Emilia's pedicure provider, and from that point forth she'd expect me to fulfil my responsibility whenever she required it. If I didn't, I wouldn't be seeing those feet.

The next few months saw that trend continue. I got to see Emilia's feet in her sexy shoes every time we worked together, and when the flats made an appearance I knew it was time to fulfil my duty. I didn't let her down once. She even let me pick the colour of her pedicure on one occasion.

Emilia seemed quite content with the arrangement. She had it good after all. She didn't even have to ask to get what she wanted, plus the money she was saving had to have been a help. I too was content. I got to see those feet on a daily basis, and I revelled in some perverse sense of fulfilment by being her secret pedicure funder. It was naughty, and so wrong, but I liked it. It made me tingle inside to know I was the most powerful person in that courtroom, but the newbie court typist had me paying for her pedicures. It was all teetering on the line of acceptability. I hadn't done too much that had crossed the line professionally. Sure, it was embarrassing paying for her pedicures, and the fact she knew I was helpless to resist pampering her feet made my stomach turn. However, only the two of us knew and she didn't seem intent on pushing things any further. In actuality, she showed little interest in me other than on a professional sense and me fulfilling this one duty when required. Part of my enjoyment was the secrecy of it all, and I hoped she felt the same way too. She hadn't given me any reason to assume otherwise.

Emilia was adept at keeping me on my toes though. Whenever I felt settled, she'd change things up. She was a most astute manipulator and I was naively completely out of my depth.

One Friday, Emilia approached the bench after the courtroom had cleared and only the two of us were left. "Hey Judgey, I'm gonna head to the salon tonight," she said. "My nails need a touch up."

I still hated her calling me that, but I felt powerless to correct her now that we had this secret between us. It was just such a symbol of disrespect on her part, but she got away with it every time.

Her telling me she was going to the salon was new however. I looked down to double-check that the flats hadn't made an appearance that day; on her feet were a pair of strappy sandals. My eyes drifted back to Emilia's and I saw her waiting expectantly. The message was received. I reached over for my purse and fished out a couple of notes. Seconds later they were in her possession.

Emilia smiled and swung her handbag around her waist. She pulled out the familiar pair of flats and placed them gently on the bench. "I guess I won't be needing these anymore." She said. "Be a dear and throw them in the trash for me, will you?" She gave me a cheeky wink, spun on her heel and left.

She knew damn well those flats wouldn't be going in the trash. I spent the whole drive home with one held to my face, intoxicated by her young, feminine scent. The smell wasn't overbearing, but it was present. I took deep breaths, trying to extract the stinky fragrance from every inch of the fabric. They smelled good. Oh, so good.

I mentally revelled in being Emilia's personal pedicure provider whilst her shoe was plastered against my nose. The knowledge that I was at the beck and call to the needs of my typist's feet turned me on immensely. I took perverse pleasure in the idea that I was training myself to form an attachment to Emilia's scent with every sniff, addicting myself to the natural perfume of her feet.

Each night after that, it would be my secret tribute to her feet's perfection. I would sniff them intently before joining my husband in bed. It made me extra frisky and heightened our lovemaking. I felt guilty, but that guilt never surpassed the euphoria felt when inhaling Emilia's tatty flats. She'd now invaded my home, even though she'd never stepped a foot in there.

It was a Sunday that things stepped up a further level and I felt my control of the situation dwindling. I'd spent the afternoon with my husband shopping, and had just dropped him off at the local social club. He was an avid football fan and enjoyed spending his weekends watching the game with a beer amongst old friends.

Whilst driving home, I spotted Emilia huddled on a bus stop. She was such a petite girl and for once looked fragile for it. She wasn't dressed in her usual designer clothes and shoes, but rather gym gear. With it belting down with rain I felt a bit sorry for her, so I did the decent thing and pulled over. I wasn't given the opportunity to lower the window and offer her a ride home. As soon as she recognised me she'd opened the door and climbed in before I could mouth a word. Her respect for me was almost non-existent by this point, not that I could blame her.

"Thanks, Judgey," she said. She flipped down the sunshield and checked herself in its mirror. She spoke while wiping the rain from her forehead and untangling a few strands of matted hair. "What a crappy day, huh? You're a saviour."

"Not the best weather," I said. "Are you soaked?"

"It's mostly sweat from the gym. I've just had a long workout; been on the treadmill for about an hour." She continued playing with her hair while looking in the mirror. Even after a workout and being caught in the rain, she was still a pretty girl.

I looked down at her beat up sneakers and my thoughts lingered to her sweaty socks. An hour on a treadmill must have really made them nice and ripe. Would the smell be even more intense than her flats? It had to be. I must have stared a bit too long as Emilia caught me in the corner of her eye.

"Really?" She said. She leant back in the seat and gave me a look of disbelief. "Even like this you still like them?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. I tried to act like I had no idea what she was talking about.

"Come on, after everything, you still can't just say it to me?"

It was true that we'd been through a lot together the past few months. Though it was plainly obvious to us both that I was obsessed with her feet -by this stage I was paying for her pedicures on a weekly basis- it had never been explicitly spoken between us. How it had gotten to this level without me having to admit the obvious was a mystery, but here we now were. Emilia had finally called me out. My only response was silence.

"Just admit it," she said. She sat with her arms crossed and stared blankly at me. I felt like a scolded child having to own up to breaking something.

"Okay." I took a deep breath and stared straight out of the windscreen. My fingers gripped tightly at the steering wheel. I closed my eyes and finally admitted the truth. "I like your feet Emilia." My face burned with the humiliation of being forced to finally state out loud what had been obvious for months. I, a respected judge, was completely obsessed with this young girl's feet. This was a huge step for me. I'd been lying to myself that it was about the shoes; it was all about her feet. She knew that now too.

Emilia was quiet and I feared that our arrangement had come to an end, and possibly all professional respect with it. I peeped over and saw that she was playing around with her phone.

"Does it bother you that I like them?" I asked with trepidation.

She looked up at me with annoyance. "Huh?" She said. "As long as you keep taking care of them-it's fine. Now are you going to take me home or not?"

At Emilia's direction I drove her home and pulled up outside her apartment. It was modest and on the outskirts of the city, not the best area and I was surprised she caught the bus home every day. Perhaps she didn't really have a choice; she didn't appear to own a car.

I waited in silence for her to get out. We hadn't spoken at all during the drive and I was still unsure how she felt about my finally admitting the truth. From her body language she didn't seem bothered, but she was a tough one to read.

Emilia finished texting on her phone and looked at me with a smile. "Thanks for the ride, Judgey. You're always taking care of me, aren't you?"

"Could you please not call me that?" I whined. All those years of law school and countless cases and this was my reward.

She laughed and shook her head. "I'll see you Monday, Judgey." She opened the door and was halfway out before she stopped and turned. "You know what. I've an idea. Like I said, I've just been running on the treadmill for an hour and my feet are killing me. You want to take care of me a little bit more? Rub my feet for a bit maybe?"

"Yes!" I said, way too enthusiastically. By this point I figured I may as well jump at the opportunity. Since everything was already out in the open and she was offering it on a plate, how could I resist?

Emilia almost burst out in laughter at my excitement. "They're sweaty. You know they're gonna smell, right?" She bit her lip and nodded her head. She was testing me again; seeing how far she could push me. She already knew what I was going to say. "You'd actually like that, wouldn't you?"

I closed my eyes. "Yes."

"I want to hear you say it."

"Yes, I'd like that."

"No." She shook her head. "Nuh uh. Tell me what it is that you'd like."

Once again, my face burned with humiliation at being made to state things how they were. She seemed to love watching me squirm. Her brown eyes were brimming with enchantment. I took a breath and told her what she wanted to hear: the truth. "I'd like to rub your sweaty, smelly feet for you, Emilia." What had I become?

"Better come inside then," Emilia said with a smile, and she turned towards her apartment.

Emilia was stretched out on her sofa, her socked feet propped up on a footrest. With a glass of red wine in her hand and eyes closed, she was completely relaxed. I meanwhile had been massaging her soles for the past ten minutes, soothing the stresses from her tired muscles and drawing moans of approval from her. Her sneakers were discarded close by, but their pungent, damp smell lingered.

She wasn't shy in telling me where she wanted her feet rubbed or ordering me to apply more pressure. I did everything I was told. It was actually the first foot massage I'd ever given, but I found the experience exciting and exhilarating. It was like a calling. I was finally where I belonged.

Emilia looked at me through narrowed eyes while taking a sip of her wine. "I should have had you doing this for me a while ago. It feels so good."

I simply nodded my head in agreement and continued rubbing. The fact she implied I had no say in it only made me rub with further intensity.

"How do they smell, anyway?" She wiggled her socked toes right beneath my nose. "Take a deep breath. Don't be shy."

I sniffed loudly and that seemed to spur Emilia on. She put down her wine, and with an audible snigger, she stretched forward and cupped her socked toes over my nose. "Sniff," she urged while she ground her toes around my defenceless nostrils. I sensed she was experimenting. Testing me once again. Seeing what she could get away with.

I took another deep breath and my eyes rolled back at the pungent intensity of Emilia's foot funk.

My suffering prompted her to clap her hands in glee and squeal with delight, before grinding her socked feet against my face a final time. "Take my socks off," she said abruptly and she sat up on her elbows to get a better view.

I peeled both of her socks down her ankles, noting that they appeared stuck to her skin from sweat. Once removed, I placed them delicately atop her sneakers. I'd barely turned back to face her before I felt her damp soles press against my face. She ground them forcibly against my skin and wiped the sweat from her soles all over my cheeks and forehead. I could have got up at any moment and told her to stop. I dwarfed her in size after all, but I didn't. I just knelt there and let her do it. And she did it to the point that it became awkward. It was awkward that I let it go on for so long without voicing any opposition. Instead, I wallowed in the shame of it all.

I learned that there's something about letting another girl rub her sweaty feet in your face. It's a different level of humiliation and understanding. It speaks volumes between you; the fact you'll let her do it freely and get away with it. As her greasy soles slid up and down my cheeks, I caught peeks of her determined face. Her teeth were grit and her eyes focused. It was as if she was forcibly rubbing it into my face that I belonged right there.

"You're so obedient when you're in the zone," she said. "It's like a foot zone you go into. Your eyes glass over. Look at you, you're just letting me rub my feet all over your face. " She exemplified her point by tracing a toe over my lips. "I wonder what else you'll let me do."

She was lost in thought for a moment, before a grin took over her face. "You know, I could shower before making you do what I'm about to, but I'm not going to. You get to appreciate my feet every day at their best, so you can clean them at their worst."

Emilia withdrew her feet from my face and rested them atop the footstool once again. "Lick em," she said with a smirk. "Lick all over them. Lick them clean. I want to see you slobbering all over my sweaty soles and stinky toes. Get to it." She cocked her head slightly and watched with curiosity to see if I'd actually do it.

I looked between her face and her sweaty feet multiple times before I made my decision. The rings of Emilia's laughter pinged my ears as my tongue made contact with the sole of her foot for the first time. I initially flinched at the acrid taste, but then with the second lick I knew I was hooked. I lost all control and mindlessly lapped at her soles, all the while she watched me with eyes wide and mouth aghast. She appeared to be in true disbelief that I would debase myself this way before her. My tongue greedily made its way between every toe, licking out the funk in between that she'd worked so hard at the gym to build up and swallowing it with satisfaction. I was like a beast possessed.

Licking Emilia's feet opened up a whole other side of my personality and like a catalyst it unlocked a beast within her too.

"Tell me you're my pedi girl," she demanded.

I ceased my licking in confusion, but with a second prompt from her and a kick to my cheek, I did as she wanted. "I'm your pedi girl," I said. The words made me blush.

"Tell me you're my foot licker," she whispered.

"I'm your foot licker," I replied, almost robotic in my response, before returning my tongue to her foot.

She cracked up in laughter. "Say you're Emilia's foot licker."

"I'm Emilia's foot licker." I reddened at that one. Hearing it out loud really hit home. I busied myself with taking another lap at her sole to occupy my mind away from her taunts. The taste of her feet calmed and settled me somewhat.

Emilia was far from settled. She was buzzing above me. I'd never seen her so excited over anything. She seemed to enjoy the extra humiliation of making me state out loud what I was doing and why. She grabbed my hair firmly in one hand and pulled me up on my knees at her side. She crossed one foot across the opposite knee and forced my face against her sole. With her other hand she held out her camera phone. She positioned our heads close together, and snapped photo after photo of the pair of us. Her face contorted and twisted amongst laughter and disgust, whilst mine was captivated in the throes of passion, my tongue dragging along her sweaty foot sole. "That's it. Lick it like you love it," she said while posing us for another photo.

"Kiss it." Click. "Suck them." Click. "Get your tongue in between." Click.

She held her ankle and twisted her toes into my mouth. And another photo was taken. She was almost an expert at it, and ever so flexible. She somehow squeezed both our faces and her foot into every photo. Not a detail was left out. She had evidence of everything. Me licking her sole, sucking her toes, and digging out the crud between them with my tongue. She even had one with her sock stuffed in my mouth while my eyes rolled back into my head, with her at my side giving a thumbs up. Throughout it all I didn't try to stop or fight it. I didn't have it in me. It was all so overbearing and her determination was relentless. I wasn't given a single opportunity to oppose her will. Emilia had completely tamed me with her feet and all thoughts of my dignity, both personal and professional had dissipated.

"Say what you are again," she said and I repeated that I was her foot licker, this time for what I assumed was a video. "Say you're Judge Foot Licker," she ordered, camera held out and I did.

Eventually it was all too much and I just sat there with my head resting against the sofa's cushion. Emilia still put her toes in my mouth for a few more photos, but my unresponsiveness seemed to stem her fun. She sensed my exhaustion and toned down her antics. She resumed her spot on the sofa and hugged her knees, pulling the elasticated hem of her sweater midway down her shins. Her bare feet rested on the footrest with her toes poking out off the edge. "Come," she beckoned me. "Kiss my toes."

I conjured up some strength and crawled forward to place a peck on each of Emilia's toes, breathing in the stinky smell of her workout as I went along. Despite my tongue-cleaning, her scent was still both stifling and intoxicating. I struggled to escape its pull and went through each toe again for a second kiss. As my lips left her big toe, she pushed forward and I felt her toe enter my mouth and rest on my tongue.

"Why are you letting me do this to you?" She mused, while slipping the big toe of her other foot in my mouth alongside the first. She parted her feet slightly and stretched my mouth open with her toes. It hurt, but I didn't stop her. "I mean, look at you. I can do this to you whenever I want, can't I? You don't even try and stop me."

I didn't answer her, not that I could with my mouth full and lips stretched. I merely closed my eyes in shame.

"Open your eyes," Emilia said. She held her phone up in front of my shamed face. "And hold still."

I did as ordered and let Emilia snap another humiliating photo for her collection. If any of these pictures ever got out: I'd be ruined. My career would be a shambles and my marriage a wreck, but still, I couldn't stop her. Something inside me liked the unfairness of it all, letting Emilia do what she wanted just because she could; because of those feet.

She giggled at how ridiculous I must have looked. "Imagine what everyone at work would say if they knew you were my personal toe sucker."

I blushed once again and felt my face burning up with shame.

"Go on, suck them." She said. "Show me what you are."

I sucked those toes like my life depended on it. I did it for two reasons. Firstly, because I wanted to; I loved the taste of Emilia's toes, especially that sweaty crevice between them. Secondly, I did it because Emilia wanted me to. She seemed to relish humiliating me at her feet and I liked seeing her giggle and laugh while tormenting me. Her sadistic enjoyment made worshipping her all the more intense. The more she put me in my place, the more obedient I became. It was a vicious circle. I only feared what depths she'd take it to.

Her demeanour was almost scientific and watchful as she rolled her toes around, slipping a new one in my moist mouth and urging me to suck once more. Her expression would shift between disbelief and bemusement, seemingly amazed that I would let her treat me in this way. Paying for her pedicures was one thing, but this was a whole other level of depravity; one that I feared there was no way back from.