Employee of the Year - Pt. 01

My forehead had wrinkled, my eyebrows had furrowed as I had silently plead for her to let me go, but it had been like I had lost control of my body. As her sweaty foot had remained pressed against my face, my breaths forced to pass between her stinky toes, I had found myself becoming further lightheaded. Stacey had looked on, baffled and mesmerised by my inability to break free. Her eyes had danced between my own and her toes. She had wiggled them joyously as she'd seemed to figure out exactly what had been happening. I had looked up at her, feeling weak and hopeless, as my pride had been battered by the worst humiliation a man could ever bear.

And then, she had said it, while leaning down as she had looked me straight in the eyes, just as her toes had scrambled to clutch and wrap around my nose completely. She had captured my breaths and settled them straight into the warm, damp sweaty groove between her biggest and second toe. "Sniff it," she had said; her eyes broadened in wonder, shocked and excited at what had been unfolding. "Sniff my foot, you stupid boy."

And I had. I had sat there, cramped and contorted in that chair, as I had obediently breathed in the pungent scent of Stacey Cleaver's putrid toes. With each further breath, I had felt my resistance dwindling, almost like the stink had some kind of anaesthetic-like effect on me. Yet, throughout, my limbs had shaken, my skin had tingled, as deep inside, I had been ravaged by the acceptance that I had been doing something truly absurd: sniffing the foot of the very weak and meek girl that I had bullied for years. But, I had no power to oppose her, as my manhood had been slain. I had suffered a blow to my pride that had rippled throughout every inch of my body. At Stacey's insistence, I had done it again and again, responding with a loud sniff, each time she had ordered me to do so, in increasing volume and through gritted teeth.

"Sniff," she had demanded, gripping my wrists with greater force and shaking my arms. "Sniff my foot, you stupid boy. Sniff it right now." I had done so, again and again, breathing in that powerful stink with an unfathomable obedience that I could not understand.

As I had become overwhelmed by my inability to refuse her, I had begun to whimper in distress, disgusted by my own feeble docility. Stacey had increased the pressure, and pushed the back of my head against the rear of the chair as she held me in place. I had struggled, writhed, squirmed and whined, yet, all of my masculine size and strength had been useless, my body had seemed paralysed by her soft, feminine toes as they had lightly gripped at my nose, freely smearing their sweat and odour in a place it should never have been: my face.

"Stay still," she had ordered with a curiosity. "Stay still and sniff my foot."

Her eyes had then flickered, seeming to glimmer, and she had gasped, noticing how my body had immediately ceased all movements, remaining still, accept for my chest as it heaved with each breath.

"Sniff it harder," she had said, bemused as my body had responded in an instant, the sound of pained wind whistling between her toes. "Sniff them all. Sniff all of my toes. Smell my stinky foot." Her fingers had fidgeted on my wrists, till eventually, the pressure had eased, until she had no longer been holding my arms at all; she had stood the picture of relaxation, her hands settled on her hips. My own had dropped at my sides, freely able to grab at her leg and rip her foot from my face, but they had not done so, because I had been ravaged and decimated by the smelliest part of a girl's body. Even though they had been prettily pampered, with their shiny black polish, I had been exposed to and gained a respect for their true power.

Stacey giggled to herself, her amusement only compounding my failure more, and then, she had pushed me from the chair, causing me to collapse and slump to the floor. Before I could regain my senses, she had taken my place on the seat, the sound of her other sandal as it had dropped free causing me to tremble in fear. I'd hopelessly raised a hand in surrender, just as both of her feet had pressed into my upturned face, with a comfort and determination as if they had belonged there. With that, my body had gone completely limp, and I had laid there beneath her, unable to do anything as she had freely ground and smeared the sweat from her soles all over my blushing features.

"Sniff them," she had said a final time. "Sniff a girl's feet, you know, because I'm so much weaker and all." And at that moment, something seemed to crystallise within me. I had been completely frozen in place and unable to act, paralysed, not by her strength, but rather, through the embarrassment of her stinky foot shoved in my face. It had been like the reality of smelling that sweaty odour, stomped all over my apparent superior size and strength, and it broken me as I realised that none of my manly advantage mattered, because Stacey had a weapon in her arsenal that I didn't know how to defend myself against. There had been nothing as a boy that I could ever do to undo the humiliation of having a girl's foot in my face. A smaller, weaker girl that hadn't even had to exert any effort to tame and subdue me. All it had taken was the simple act of her putting her moist sole in my face, and to clutch at my nose with her grimy toes after having ordered me to sniff and inhale her intoxicating, feminine stink. A stink that had festered for hours as she had walked around the school in those cheap and rancid sandals. Sandals that I had previously belittled and mocked, and had now been forced to cower beneath.

While I had remained slumped against the floor, held in place by Stacey's small feet as they had pressed my head into the cold, hard concrete, she had reached down and plucked the book up for herself. And then, she had sat there and read. She had read for the next hour, the two of us alone in silence and completely undisturbed in the empty library. Stacey had flicked between pages as she had absorbed the knowledge of that book, despite my insistence that she could not. She had done so to defy me, all while I had remained defeated on the floor, her stinky, sweaty toes plastered to my face as they had kept me obediently in place. As she had muttered words she had found interesting out loud, her toes had gripped at my nose, all while I had continued to take exhausted breath after breath through the sweaty grooves, feeling myself becoming light-headed as I had endured a fate worse than being beaten up. I'd lost to a girl, once and for all and I had been taught a severe lesson.

As she had read, she'd occasionally glanced from the pages, smirking to herself as she had twisted and flexed her toes, urging me to sniff with greater vigour, to which I had inexplicably obeyed. "Sniff," she had demanded. "I don't know why you are letting me do this to you, but I don't care anyway. Sniff while I read my book, footstool."

I had groaned, I had wriggled, I had whined, and each time, Stacey had stared down between her legs and looked at me as the irritation I had been in her life. One foot had been pressed to my nose as I had continued to inhale its intoxicating stench, while the other had flexed and flattened my lips. "Shhh," she had encouraged, while concentrating on her book. "Be quiet while I read. Stupid boy." And I had done so. I had remained quiet, humbled and broken, tamed and subdued beneath Stacey Cleaver's sweaty little feet. I had accepted my place as a weak, pathetic boy, having been conquered under her meaty, feminine soles and cute polished toes.

Eventually, finished with her reading, Stacey had closed the book, before she had casually removed her feet from my face, one at a time, and slipped them back into her sandals. And then, had she mocked me? Had she taunted me? No, she had simply looked down, smiled, and said, "Don't bother me anymore." Then, she had left me there on the floor, my face slippery and reeking of her foot sweat, because I had no longer been a threat to her. She had vanquished me as her bully, and unbeknownst to her, had forever imprinted her feminine power upon me.

Until the library had closed, I had laid out in place, my head resting against the floor as I had replayed the events over in my head, stupefied at how things had turned out. Despite me being bigger. Despite me being a boy, that petite girl had taken that book from me. Why? Because she'd shoved her foot in my face and had completely subdued me with its smell. I couldn't fathom how such a small, fragile girl could have bested me in such a way, and it had made me doubt everything that my father had ever told me.

Yet, the longer I had laid there and shivered, and the more my nose had twitched as I had recalled the scent of her little toes, the more my head had felt heavier. I had sniffled and wept, baffled at how she had easily kept me pinned while she'd done whatever she had pleased. It had ripped apart everything I thought I had known about the way the world worked, and I had suddenly developed a real fear of Stacey. No, I had developed a fear of all women.

I never saw Stacey again after that day, but in the years since, I had often worried about what would happen if we ever crossed paths again. How she might shove her foot in my face once more, this time, while all of my friends watched and mock me for being dominated and humiliated by a girl. I feared such a thing, because I knew if it happened, I'd be powerless to fight her off, once more subdued by that odour as it worked its way into my senses. It had left me completely enamoured by her, and the power she held, and from that day forward, I'd hidden a secret respect for women's feet. They terrified me, but, they fascinated me too.

Gradually, over time, despite my utter disgust at myself, I'd focused on that incident. I'd replayed it in my mind, and eventually, I'd sexualised it, perhaps as the only solution to deal with my trauma and humiliation. Night after night, I'd masturbate to the memory of Stacey taming me with her feet, despite hating everything about her, and gradually, whenever I saw another woman's foot, I'd recognise it for the beauty it held. If a woman snapped back at one of my taunts, I'd secretly fantasise about her taking the initiative. I'd grow aroused while imagining that some other girl would look at me and recognise that weakness, that like Stacey Cleaver, her eyes would widen as she realised how weak I was for a girl's feet, and she'd press her toes to my face and order me to sniff. She'd completely seize my will, and I would be helpless to resist. With each passing day, I longed for it to happen, no, I needed it to happen, even though the desire disgusted and embarrassed me.

That was the reality. That was my true weakness. It wasn't just about a girl's dainty and pretty feet, it was about what they symbolised, and the power they held over me. It was the power they took from me. Whenever a girl wore boots, or shoes that hid her feet away, I felt emboldened, like I could win any exchange and put her in her place. That I could be the man that my father had always wanted me to be. I'd think back to that day in the library, and wonder how things could have been different if Stacey had been wearing sneakers. How the tightly tied laces would have stopped her sweaty foot from breaking free and forever changing the direction of my life.

I'd stare at women's shod feet, and think back to Stacey, fearing that if they ever took their shoes off, suddenly, my composure would disintegrate. I'd find myself sneaking glances or in some cases, lewdly staring, as I recalled the way I'd previously been defeated by a girl's little feet all those years ago. I'd imagine myself in various situations, even as I mouthed off and antagonised women, wondering how I'd react if they actually stood up for themselves and shoved a foot in my face. How once again, I'd end up on the floor, tamed and defeated. Over time, it began to bizarrely excite me more and more, the mere thought of a woman being able to get one over me in that way leaving me hard as a rock; a secret shame that I harboured, yet longed to become a reality with a greater desire.

That day, Stacey had left a lasting impression on me; her exquisite, stinky feet, with their graceful black-polished toes, had left a lasting impression on me. Ever since, I'd had this insecurity about women and the unspeakable power they actually held over men. That despite the disparity in size and strength, a woman could shove her pampered, feminine foot in your face, paralyse you with the stink of her feet and take whatever she wanted from you. That her soles weren't just soft, but they were formidable, and belonged pressed against a man's face. That women shouldn't be belittled, but instead, revered and respected.

Growing up, whenever I hung around with my friends and we'd laugh and joke, wolf-whistling at girls while I gave it the big un, I'd often wonder if any would lash out and do to me what Stacey did all those years ago. In some ways, I felt like I was so committed to demonstrating my masculinity and abhorrent views, just in the hope that I could once again experience what it was like to be overpowered by the smell of a girl's feet. I even felt it, lingering beneath the surface, whenever I'd cockily insult a woman or demean them. I'd wait a second, to see if they knew who really held the power. I'd long for that sparkle in her eyes as she'd recognise that all of my bravado and cockiness could be stamped away with a mere unsheathing of her feet. Yet, no girl cottoned onto the front I constantly hid behind, no girl until...now.

Even as I was staring at Maya's luscious soles, the memory of Stacey left my body tingling all over. I suddenly felt like I wasn't in the senior position anymore, and that Maya could surpass me, simply by baring her feet in my direction. Maya, the annoying little brat that had no place putting herself as competition to me, now had me staring at her soles like an insatiable idiot. It was like she'd unleashed a weapon upon me, and now all of my male superiority didn't matter anymore. I was suddenly back in that library, and I needed to be taught my place all over again.

I wiped my brow of sweat and fidgeted. I stewed uncomfortably in my seat, trying to focus on my laptop, but finding my eyes drawn to Maya's soles for longer and longer. I stared at them, completely hypnotised, my nose flaring as, from across the room, I desperately tried to inhale her womanly scent and return to my path of depraved submission once more. Whenever she'd look up and catch me, I'd immediately dart my eyes away, my face reddening as I squirmed and worried that Maya knew what was going on in my head. That her sister had told her everything, and she now understood that I was completely weak when it came to her feet.

Yet, she said nothing throughout that whole painful hour. She just kept those nylon soles up on her desk, wiggling her toes sporadically, and occasionally shifting position. Each time she re-crossed her feet, I'd find myself unable to fight the urge of looking over. I'd try to play it off, grimacing and letting out a sigh, as if the movement had disturbed me. However, I'd blush as I noticed the way she'd tilt her head in observation, or narrow her eyes as she watched me with curiosity, sure to shift her feet and keep a watchful look on me as I struggled not to look over. I'd fail every time, and catch Maya's lips parting in surprise whenever I lost and gave into the draw of her feet.

"Are you looking at my feet?" I was suddenly startled by, and my eyes lurched from Maya's seductive, hosed toes, to look straight into her dark eyes piercing through me. Her head was cocked, while a wry smile lay on her lips. Even though she'd clearly busted me once and for all, there was a hesitance to her, almost like she wasn't entirely sure. "Because I thought the other day that you weren't interested in feet. You know, that they didn't make you...weak." She observed my reaction as her toes spread, stretching and splaying the sheer nylon material. "That you don't like the smell, right?"

"Ummm, no," I said while frantically fumbling with my keyboard. "It's not what you think." I could feel the moisture drain from my mouth as I was put right on the spot. Previously, though she'd obviously been teasing me, she hadn't explicitly called me for my sneaking looks and tempted me with the way they smelled. God, just sneaking a glance at them, and noting how shiny her meaty soles appeared beneath that material; I knew they must stink so damn much. The little groove beneath her biggest and second toe was so enticing, and the perfect size for my nose to nestle. It would be so easy to just go over there and slip it straight in. "I just kind of smelled...um...zoned out while thinking about sniffing...um...finishing this work."

"Right..." she said, in a clearly sarcastic and unconvinced tone. "If you say so."

At that moment, there was a noise in the remainder of the office as others began to arrive. Maya flinched, then dropped her feet and slipped them back into her boots. For a second, I felt my stomach plummet, as if I was riding a wave of disappointment, and then, like a fool, I watched the entire process with interest, only managing to shake my head and look away when she caught me staring a final time. She cocked her head randomly as she tied her boots, and scrunched her pretty little face up in thought, before chewing her lip and nodding to herself, as if she'd once and for all confirmed her suspicions.

Once her boots were fully tied back up, I suddenly was overcome by regret, and cursed myself for the foolish way I'd been acting for the past half hour. It's just her feet, for Christ's sake, I thought to myself. Pull yourself together, man. It's just feet, and Maya's bloody feet at that. This isn't like what happened with Stacey. Oh God, Stacey, she'd completely owned me with her feet, the same way I wanted Maya to own me too. Wait, what? I was almost disgusted with myself, that by Maya offering me a casual glimpse of her soles, my entire armour had been pierced through. She'd witnessed that despite all of my talk and confidence, that hiding away inside this cocky man, was a little boy that could be silenced with the strangest of things: a girl's stonkingly, funky feet.

I flicked my eyes back towards my laptop and realised I'd wasted the past half hour gawping at the bottoms of Maya's feet and barely paying attention to what I was supposed to be doing. Even though I'd prepared in advance, I flicked quickly through my notes and realised that I'd been thrown off my game. I ran down the list of bullet points, and instead of being prompted, I just kept envisioning Maya's soles and the way they'd stolen my preparation time from me.

The whole time I'd been focused on her feet, even when I was trying to concentrate on my work, Maya had been relaxing there and reading through her notes. Other than the occasional glimpse in my direction, almost as if to check that her feet were adequately bothering me, she'd silently worked through her papers, preparing herself for the presentation ahead.

"I guess my sister was telling the truth," she said, as she brushed passed me, and I instantly felt my heart pounding in my chest. "You made me doubt myself the other day, but now I know it's for real." She walked up right close to me, crouching down to whisper, "I want you to think about my feet during the presentation."

I blinked, and looked up at her surprised. "Wha...what?"

Maya backed away and flashed me a bratty grin. "You heard me. Think about the bottoms of my feet all through your pitch." She rolled her eyes down towards her booted feet. "Think about how they must smell right now." Her breath was warm and tickled my ear as she spoke, probably as warm as her toes in those enclosed, humid booties. "Think about my black polish and cute little toes." There was a little giggle. "Think about how you can't resist them."