Dose of Maya Ch. 08

Chapter 8: Complete Submission

Maya felt bored doing the work. Samantha was not sitting at her side. She moved to another desk on Monday after that infamous video incident, nearly a month ago. The desk was right in front of Joe. She said that she felt uncomfortable with Joe behind her back and she wanted to keep an eye on him. That was good but the problem was that there was no fun in playing with her shoe. Whenever Joe moved his head slightly, Samantha looked at him. That meant he couldn't look at her feet with Samantha in the room. 'What a horrible predicament I'm in?' she thought, 'I have a foot boy who couldn't admire my feet.' She had a slave in the same room but couldn't use him. 'Of course, he doesn't think of himself as a slave. But he will,' she thought. That was the real hell. She was using him at her home for a month, now. She hadn't rewarded him yet. At first, she wanted to do it for a couple of days. But she noticed something wonderful, he worked harder each day. He was saying sorry a lot. She enjoyed him trying to please her. That was when she realized he was working hard because he was sorry, and wanted to impress her. So, she didn't give any other reward. She felt like she woke up to watch him struggle to please her each day.

But now she was playing with her shoes because Samantha went for a bathroom break. It was not a real shoe play as she was wearing ankle boots. She crossed her feet at her ankles, rubbing her boots against each other, and tapping a boot to the ground in a beat. She looked sideways toward Joe, he hadn't lost his concentration from her boots.

'Today, straight to my place,' she sent a text to him. She heard him shuffle, and the sound of a chair moving back. In a moment, Joe was next to her chair, kneeling of course. 'What was this idiot thinking? What if Sam walks in?' she thought.

"What?" she snapped looking down at him.

"I'm sorry, mistress. I have something I need to ask you," he said.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I walk to the office, you know. I don't have a car here. So, I wanted to know how to go to your house after the office."

"What, you couldn't think of another way?" He seemed to struggle with that thought. But his cheeks distracted her. 'Oh! Those cheeks,' she thought. She wanted to slap him so badly. Everything inside of her urged her to do that, 'Slap him, he wouldn't care. It would be his honor,' that part seemed to say. But she didn't want to slap him, saying he didn't do anything wrong. She had searched for opportunities to slap him, nothing was significant to punish him. When he didn't answer her question, she asked it again, "What?"

"Thinking is not for slaves. That's why I wanted to ask you what you want me to do," he blurted. When she said that, it was an accident. She liked it when he quoted it back to her. But now it seems it was ingrained in him. She hadn't intended it like this, but this is what she wanted. She wanted him to leave every decision about them to her. The misquote wasn't what caught her attention, the usage of the word 'slave' did.

'So, he does think of himself as a slave. Oh, this is wonderful.' She thought. She just had to be careful to make him a never disobeying plaything.

"Mistress?" he said.

"Okay, you said it. Leave the thinking to me. You concentrate on how to be a good servant" she snapped, 'Can I slap him,' she thought. If an owner can't slap a slave, then who can? He literally agreed he was her slave. 'Just slap him already,' She turned her chair to face him.

SLAP

He took her hand, kissed it, and said, "Thank you, mistress."

She increased the amount of pleasure in him. She wanted to Surge his happiness too. It left a foul taste in her mouth every time she wanted to do an emotional manipulation. She got carried away last time and it was very bad. She had mostly played with Fear and an overdose of it left the subject, paranoid even of his own shadow. She also knew that the overdose of sadness lead to depression. But happiness, she didn't know what would happen with over Surging of happiness. That was why she was reluctant to use emotional manipulation.

'I made him like this. So, I can always make another plaything. If something goes bad with Joe, I could discard him and get another one.' she thought.

Just as when she thought about it, she remembered her conversation with Joe, all those days ago. He had told her about his previous fascinations linked with feet. She then realized a fatal flaw in her original plan. She never could have brought him to this level with only her pleasure influxes. Because his brain, at least in the beginning, would have tracked back to the origin of the fetish. If the origin of the fetish was her feet, he might've suspected that she had something to do with it. Once a thought comes to the brain, it would very difficult to get rid of. So, she finally decided not to overuse the emotional manipulation on him. It was always best not to touch the emotions unless you want to destroy them to the core. If she wanted to play with emotions, she could always get someone to perform tests on them once Joe was in her complete control. 'What did he always say? Ah, Complete Submission.'

He looked into her eyes with confusion. He also looked sad. She looked into his mind and didn't know everything about what she saw. But she could tell what was happening now, Joe's mind was fighting to say something. She believed it was between still present rational part of his mind and pleasure clouded part. She felt she wouldn't hear his thought if she increased the pleasure. So, she slowly reduced the pleasure and soothed the happiness to a lower level. The conflict in his mind was over. The rational part won. He said meekly, "Have I done anything wrong, mistress?" 'He wanted to question me? Yes, his words are polite but his intention isn't,' she thought 'Aw, He looks cute when he is sad.' She wanted to slap him again.

"Nothing. Your cheeks look good in red," she put her hand on his cheek and rubbed, "So, I wanted to make you beautiful."

He seemed happy and unsatisfied at the same time. She wanted to ask him about that. That's when he turned his face to show her the other cheek and said, "Does my mistress want to make my other cheek look good?"

She smiled at his willingness to please. 'If he is behaving like this now, just imagine what you can do when he is your complete control,' she thought.

SLAP

Now, he looked satisfied. He took her hand and kissed it. "Thank you, mistress." She slapped him again on the other cheek and wanted to continue to slap more. 'Mat,' her thoughts interrupted her. She banished those thoughts because she didn't have the time or energy to think about the similarities between him and Joe.

So, she ordered, "Now, go." He felt dejected. He stood up and walked to his desk. "Hey," he turned to face her, "Today is your reward day," she said. His face radiated with hope. She wanted to tease him.

"What would you say," she said, "if I said that your reward was those slaps?"

His face didn't change, "I am happy that I pleased you. Thank you, mistress." He looked proud. 'He is not lying. He believes that.' She was impressed. She wanted to forgive him for questioning her action. But forgiving was not how you teach good manners. With reluctance, she agreed that she liked him this way too. Being happy. 'No, no. Being happy for impressing me.'

"That was not your reward. It awaits you at home," she said. He thanked her and walked away.

__________

Joe was happy that he became worthy of a reward. His hard work impressed Maya. 'My mistress,' he thought. He repeated that a few times in his mind. He was in pleasure already, with the thought of reward, looking at his mistress' boots, and those slaps. Samantha walked in, he looked at his computer. She started sitting in front of him about a month ago. He suspected that she was sitting there because of him. Because of that video. He didn't feel ashamed, now. Because it was how he fell into the servitude of his mistress. He was sad that Samantha had to see it. It was an unfortunate day. 'Only a slave like me, who can't think properly would leave a video like that in a shared folder. It is best for the world if I leave my part of thinking to my mistress.'

"Hey!" Samantha shouted, "Why is your face red, Joe?" she asked. He rummaged for an answer, but all he could do is stammer.

"He slapped himself," Maya twisted on her chair, "Moron," she looked at him and turned back to Samantha, "He felt sleepy, he said. He has to work, he said."

"Joe, you can't do that to yourself," she sat down, "This is not your life. This is only a job."

"This is important, you know, Sam. It is best if we complete it as fast as we can," he said.

"Still," she said looking over her computer, "Don't do that again." She continued with concern showing on her face, "Somedays, your eyes look red in the morning. You look like you've barely slept. Now you're hitting yourself for feeling sleepy." She shook her head, "Are you okay, Joe? You can talk to me. If not me, you could talk to someone."

"I'm fine, Sam. There is nothing to worry about," he reassured her.

"If you say so. But you have to promise if there is anything you'll get help." She told him

"Yes, I promise," he said. 'I'm taking help,' he thought. He used to be always in two minds, especially when he was with Maya. There were no objections against his actions with her, those stopped a long time ago. It was a conflict between his mind wanting to take decisions and his insistence that it was not his place to decide. More often than not, Maya's order of not thinking won. There were rare cases of the opposite, like today, when he questioned Maya about her slap.

'After the office, I'll wait for you just around the block.' That was a text from Maya. 'Mistress,' he thought and reminded himself multiple times.

Joe got into Maya's car. She had sent him a location to find her. When he got into her car, his first instinct was to kneel. It was impossible to kneel for practical reasons in the front seat. But what does a slave know about practical reasons? So, he asked Maya, "Mistress, should it sit or kneel?" They were already moving.

She whipped her head to him, "Can't you think?" she said, "I want your obedience, not your death."

"Yes, mistress," he agreed, "I only asked because my mind often behaves erratically. That's why it is best for you to decide. Besides deciding is not for me."

She gaped at him, "Remember this," she looked at the road ahead and continued, "If you're working, you'll kneel if doesn't affect the productivity of the work. If you're not working, you'll do so if there is a comfortable place to kneel. Above all," she looked at him, "You'll kneel if I tell you to, no matter what. Understand?"

"Yes, mistress," he said. She shook her head. He apologized. That's what he wanted. Slowly, he would learn all the rules and there would no way that his mind to tell otherwise. Just as he solved one problem, another one propped up. He didn't how to ask her, and he started sweating. After some time, she noticed him.

"What?" she asked, "AC, not cool enough for you?"

"No, mistress. It's the stress."

"Why are you stressed, Joe?"

"It's the routine, mistress," he said. "We are alone. I have not greeted you properly."

She smiled, "You can do that at home," He was relieved after she said that.

She stopped the car in the parking lot of the apartments. He sat ideally for a moment because Maya hadn't stepped out. She looked at him and said, "You have to open the car door for me when we get home."

"Yes, mistress." He opened his door, sprinted to the other side, and opened her door to let her step out. She handed the handbag to him. He walked behind her carrying her handbag.

In a few minutes, they walked into her apartment. She turned on her heel to face him. He closed the door and knelt. Before he could bend to kiss, she caught his chin with her right hand. She made him look at her face, she bent down a little.

"We have to talk about something," she said, "In the office, you questioned me. Yes, you made it polite and sweet. But you intended to question my decision to slap you. Correct?"

"Mistress, I just thought,"

"Now, what did I tell you about thinking?"

"Thinking is not for slaves," he repeated to her as he did to himself, thousands of times.

"That's right," she said.

SLAP

He reeled back to face her. She took hold of his chin again. "Sometimes, slave," she said that word with contempt, "There will be no reason to slap you. I'll just do it for fun."

SLAP

"Now, beg for forgiveness," she ordered.

He bowed down to her feet, his head almost touching the floor.

He begged, "I'm sorry, mistress. I'm sorry I questioned you. Please forgive me."

She pushed her right leg forward and prodded his forehead. He understood what his mistress wanted. He kissed her boot and looked up at her. She landed her other boot on his face and pushed him down.

"Did I tell you to stop?" she said. He continued kissing her right boot while her left boot was on his head.

"I don't hear any apologies," she said. With every kiss he planted on her boot, he said, 'I'm sorry, mistress.'

She might have felt that was enough after a minute or so. She twisted away her boot, that he was kissing, from his face and pushed him down to the ground with her left boot. He turned his head sideways to not get hurt by her crushing boot. He felt a slight shiver as his cheek rub against the cold floor, and he felt her boot grinding on his other cheek. She exerted more pressure on squishing him to the ground. He whimpered under her boot, pain dug through his cheek, and he kept repeating his apologies, 'I'm sorry, mistress.' She didn't let go of him for a minute.

"You dare to question me," she shouted at him.

"No, mistress. I will never question you again. Please forgive me," he said whilst still in pain.

Just when he felt the boot leaving his face, she pushed him with her right foot. He fell and was laying on his side. He breathed relief but his torment hadn't come to an end. Now, her right boot pinned his face to the ground. She kicked him in his gut with her left boot. He gasped. That kick drove the air out of his lungs. He was afraid, more than he should've been. His mistress wouldn't hurt him badly, would she?

"This is what you get for questioning me," she kicked him again in his gut. He felt a stinging pain in his abdomen and on his cheek. When she kicked him, the pain on his face increased. He brought both his hands to his stomach, to protect himself from any more kicks. He knelt again as no kick followed, looked up at her, and apologized again.

"Now, thank me for teaching you a lesson."

He breathed in and didn't contemplate the absurdity of showing gratitude for taking a beating. Of course, he thought of it as a necessary penance for his misdeed. He said, "Thank you, mistress, for teaching me a valuable lesson."

"You're welcome," she said with pride, "Now, that we dealt with it, you can greet me properly."

He didn't think that he had already kissed her feet. No, He only bent down and kissed her feet again. Twice on the right boot. Twice on the left boot. He shuddered while he was kissing the left boot. "Welcome home, mistress," he said. She turned around and walked away. He crawled behind her until they reached the couch. He was filled with so much hope after she mentioned the reward. Now, all he felt was fear and shame. She sat and crossed her leg in such a way that her boot was right in front of his face. He wanted to kiss her feet again. She tapped him on his face with her boot. He looked up.

"Now, your reward," the hope returned to him, "I am impressed with your work these last few days. So, I decided to reward you." He couldn't feel any more fear or shame. It was happiness and pleasure. The pleasure was always there with him, even when he was crushed like a bug under her boot or even when she kicked him. It was more when those things happened. After seeing him smile like that she said, "Now, now. Don't spoil yourself with my praise. I liked your hard work that's why I'm rewarding you. Your goal must be doing the job as best as you can, reward is only encouragement. You shouldn't long for the reward."

"Yes, mistress. To be honest with you, I'm happier that I pleased you and became worthy of reward than having reward itself."

"Take my shoes off, then." He bent down and planted a kiss. He unzipped her boot, gently pulled it off, and kissed her stocking-clad foot. He could smell her foot. It smelled so good. The smell hasn't changed from the first day but he changed. He didn't sniff her feet because he still had the order to follow. He saw she was extending her hand towards him when he leaned back. He handed her shoe and pushed his face forward so that she could smother him with the sweet smell of her boot.

"Not that, stick your tongue out," she held her shoe to the side, "I accidentally smudged it and you're going to clean it." He stuck his tongue out. This was his first time licking a shoe with a woman present. He was excited to do it. The pleasure rushed to him in heaps. He couldn't see any smear or smudge on her boot. But it was not his place to make a decision. 'That is why I shouldn't think, because I couldn't even see a smudge where my mistress clearly sees,' he thought. Maya held his head in the back tightly and rubbed her boot up and down against his tongue. She was biting her lip.

"Clean it well," she said, "I don't want to see any mark left there." She seemed satisfied after a few licks because she pulled back her boot and inspected it. He looked at her boot longingly that he almost followed it. He looked at her with pleading eyes.

"Fine," she said. She brought the opening of her boot to his nose. He felt the hot fumes coming from it. He breathed in the aroma of that boot. The ecstasy of pleasure almost matched the sweet smell of her feet. He was almost certain that her sweat tasted sweet. Even when his tongue already contradicted his opinion. She pulled her boot away from him, and this time he followed it. He breathed loudly and quickly as if there was a chance that he could get some traces of that smell. She laughed at his effort and dropped her boot to the ground. It landed on its side. He could see the opening and wanted to bend down and take in all the smell. But he looked at her like a puppy. He wished that was not the end of the reward. He felt ashamed that he wanted his reward so badly.

"That was not your reward," she said, "It was bothering me so I wanted to clean it. As you're my slave, and your tongue is my property, I've decided to use it." He was grateful that his mistress finally saw him as her slave.

She crossed her legs to the other side and nodded to her other leg. He bent low as much as he could without raising suspicion that he was trying to smell her stocking feet. He was inches away from her foot. He could smell a hint of that stench. He followed the routine of taking her boot off. Kiss on her boot, take it off, kiss on her foot. He raised the boot to hand it to her. She waved her hand to let it drop. But he set down her boot, organized her other boot, and pushed her boots to the side.

She scooted back and pulled back her feet onto the couch. She dropped a pillow on the ground in between the couch and the table and signaled him to get on it. He noticed how much his mistress cared for him. He knelt on the pillow, and he could feel his feet touching the table. It was not a lot of room for kneeling, but it was what his mistress wanted. As he was adjusting himself, she landed her stocking-clad feet onto his face. He closed his eyes. He was wrong, this was the best smell he had ever smelt. He felt the wetness of her stockings. He breathed in even though she was crushing his nose under her feet. She rubbed her feet over his face. He realized he was thankful to her boots for keeping her feet caged in. He was also thankful for her sweat that created this smell. The pleasure increased, and at this point, he was not even surprised that his pleasure soared to a new level. He felt the pressure on his nose also seemed to increase. With that pressure, he felt his breathing slowing down unwillingly. He cursed himself that he couldn't take in more. He was angry that the air will snatch his gift away from him.