In Her Room

So weird. This was beginning to feel too weird. Just too strange. I was on the verge of just getting up and finding my clothes, walking out, when she finally spoke.

"I have to say, I didn't know if you would actually go through with this. You did a good job."

Caylee was inspecting her room, the room I'd spent most of the day cleaning for her. Not just cleaning, but thoroughly scouring, moving furniture to dust the baseboards style cleaning, on my hands-and-knees scrubbing the hardwood floor with a rag style cleaning, all while stripped down to nothing but a thin t-shirt and my briefs, while Caylee occasionally checked on me from the door, leaning against it smiling or laughing. Now she was apparently climbing on top of her dresser to check the corners near the ceilings for cobwebs. At least that was my impression. It was hard to tell, because I was lying on that same hardwood floor, face down, perfectly still and silent. Like I said, way too weird. Topped off by the most humiliating part of this whole ordeal, the fact that I was now stripped completely naked.

I was naked, and Caylee was in the room, and it was the first time anyone had seen me in that condition, or at least anyone who counted. We were both eighteen. It was the middle of summer, the summer after senior year. I was naked, and she was completely dressed, and god I was embarrassed, and I kept breathing harder and harder, could feel my breath against the cold wood of the floor. This was the kind of thing I'd imagined forever, but would never in a million years have predicted any part of it would have come true, but here I was, wondering whether such activities were better left in the imagination. I felt so stupid. At that moment, I hated myself. I wanted to get up and leave, but was too much of a coward, I was too far into this already, so what was the point, and besides, I felt like I could barely move anyway. The floor shook with a thud as Caylee jumped down from her dresser, then I jumped a bit as the rubber tip of her shoe grazed my bare leg while she stepped over me to inspect the other side of her room, her shelf, the inside of her closet.

That damn party. That damn game. Late night, post-graduation, with alcohol, truth-or-dare, and everyone spilling personal secrets, so why not, and everyone seems to be open anymore about perverted stuff anyway, so why not open up a bit when my turn comes for truth? Why not admit to some friends that I've always had some fantasies about sexual submission, BDSM, serving girls, er, women, that sort of thing. You know. It's not that uncommon. Lots of laughs, oh my god. That damn walk home with Caylee, not a particularly close friend, but an acquaintance since back in fifth grade, known her forever, and laughs turn into serious talk, what exactly did you mean, Chris, what sorts of fantasies, and talk leads to more talk, and walking leads to sitting on her back porch, and discussions of slavery, domestic service, foot-kissing, spanking, chastity.

I could hear Caylee moving clothes in her closet, hangers sliding along the bar, checking to see that every outfit she'd told me to iron had been ironed, and ironed well. I heard her opening desk drawers. She must have been looking inside, making sure I'd organized her things just like she wanted. God, it had been a long day. Had it been worth it? I'd been working - but not just working, I'd been serving Caylee. There had been that sickening, delicious pit in my stomach from time to time when I'd thought about what I was actually doing, just who I was obeying, especially when she would appear unexpectedly in the doorway with that beautiful smile, laugh at me a little, shake her head, then leave. I felt my throat sort of heave in an awful, incredible way every time.

Occasionally as I worked I'd think about the morning after the party, when Caylee showed up unexpectedly at my door. I still got the chills thinking about it. My stomach was churning now, remembering it, and the submissive feelings were flooding back.

Early morning doorbell. Opening it to see Caylee's beautiful face right there outside our front door. First time that had happened, ever. Brown hair slightly unkempt, light brown eyes locked on mine, serious look, slight smirk. She wore an old t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops, her hand on her hip. Conversation through the doorway. Matter of fact question, point blank. She didn't even bother with a "Hello."

"So Chris. What would you do if I let you serve ME?"

I almost choked. I couldn't answer. I think I nearly fainted.

"I mean not like all the time or anything, but just like maybe once. One time, one day to serve me. To do everything I tell you, and work for me. Serve me. Submit to me. Would you be up for it?"

"Y-y-yeah! I mean yes!"

"Good!" Caylee smiled, an actual full smile now. "Some conditions though. One time only. And you do everything I say. But not until after you've proven yourself." Caylee looked down, smiling, twirling one finger around another in thought. "You talked about chastity, right?"

"That's right..." Suddenly, I wondered if the previous night's conversation was such a good idea.

"Well, Chris, I need to know, and you HAVE to be honest..." I remembered her chirping giggle, then Caylee suddenly covered her mouth with her hand. It's an image I'll never forget - Caylee's smooth hand, short-cut nails painted a very light blue covering, then clamping down on her own mouth, obviously covering up a laugh, trying not to reveal how funny this was to her. The night before, she had listened seriously, had been so understanding. In the morning, it was obvious to her that she couldn't help but laugh at my fantasies. She bit down a little on her hand, then took it away, her face showing something between a grimace and a smirking smile. "How often do you masturbate?"

Oh god, this was even more embarrassing.

"I, um..."

"Come on, I know you do it, obviously. Jeez, just tell me." I recalled Caylee's suddenly serious stare. "For real, Chris. Tell me... I mean now!"

"Yes. Um. Usually every night, Caylee. Sometimes twice a day?"

She had put both hands over her mouth this time, bent over, and started laughing, this time not even trying to hide it. Caylee was actually trembling with laughter. Already, I was beginning to die a little inside.

"Oh my GOD this is gonna be tough for you." She breathed a sort of long, groany sigh as she finished her laugh, throwing her hair back, running her hand through it. "Still, you have to do it. And you can. And you WILL! OK. One month. One month from today. That's when you get to serve me. But between now and then, chastity. Like, total chastity. You may NOT masturbate. No doing this." She mimed a back and forth motion with her hand. She laughed again. I think my mouth just dropped a bit as I began to take in what would be in store for me over the next month, the fact that Caylee would know about it, the fact that Caylee was in CHARGE of it. I watched Caylee's hand, the erotic motion she was imitating with it, and just stared. "Oh god, this is funny. So like, no wanky wanky for you. And obviously, no sex with anyone. None. Nothing. No orgasms. Got it?"

She gave me a sort-of-sympathetic smile. As it began to sink in, I had just sighed. This was going to be horrible. I'd had no idea how I would make it. I had never gone that long before. "Yes. Yes ma'am?"

"That's 'Yes, Caylee.' I'm too young to be a ma'am."

"Yes, Caylee."

"And I mean it. You HAVE to be honest with me. You, like, before you serve me, you'll have to look straight into my eyes and promise me that you haven't. I'm dead serious about this, Chris. Understand?

"Yes, Caylee." Saying it again had felt so weird, almost unbearably weird. I'm sure I mumbled a bit trying to get used to it.

"DO you UNDERSTAND?"

"Yes, Caylee!" At that point I was almost shaking, and my stomach had felt pleasurably sick. Oh my god, something was happening. I remembered becoming amazed at how good it felt to say those words. But it had still seemed bizarre and even wrong on some level. I'd imagined women - grown, intimidating, imperious women telling me what to do. Or at least women with some sense of authority. Caylee was a friend. A peer. This was Caylee from my fifth period Chemistry class last year. The idea that I'd be submitting to her, it was, well, humiliating. I'd felt sick. But almost a good kind of sick. This seemed more twisted than ever.

Now, lying on Caylee's bedroom floor, face down naked, that feeling returned, overwhelming me. Dear god, so brutally, humiliatingly weird. Suddenly, Caylee plopped onto her bed, just in front of me. With one foot, clad in a low-cut Chuck, she lightly kicked the top of my head.

"Hey, Chris. You did a good job. Or should I say, Hey slave, good job?"

"Thank you, Caylee." My voice was shaking.

"Now I promised myself something. When we talked, I could tell one thing you were really excited by was the idea of kissing feet. So I decided that if you did a really excellent job, then I would let you kiss my foot. Well, you did a really excellent job, Chris. Slave." She laughed. "So...after we have a little talk, I'm gonna let you kiss my foot. Sound good?"

I was both excited and embarrassed beyond words. "Yes. Oh, yes Caylee."

She laughed, and I was surprised by how much her laugh embarrassed me.

"But first we talk. Now remember. Today, you're my slave. For now, keep your face down to the floor. You may NOT look at me. So slave. You spent a whole long agonizing month without a single jerk. Just so you could spend the day obeying me. Be absolutely honest. Was it worth it?"

"It was so hard, Caylee." She laughed. "Not that kind - well, that kind too. It was difficult, Caylee. So awful. But yes, it was worth it."

"Just to obey me today? To work for me? To clean my room?"

"Yes, Caylee."

"Oh my god. So serving me like this - it's worth more to you than sex?"

"Well, yes Caylee. Yes it is." This was embarrassing to say, but it was the logical conclusion. It was strange speaking into the floor, loud enough to be heard by Caylee above me. And still being naked. Caylee was still laughing a little.

"OK. Chris, have you ever had sex?"

I took a deep breath. I didn't want to answer her, but I knew I had to do it. "No, Caylee. I'm a virgin." I winced as I said it.

"I see. So you don't really know. But you're confident this is better?"

"Something about this, even though it feels so humiliating, and so awful, I'm just drawn to it, Caylee. I always have been. This is the first time I've ever done anything, but I've always imagined it. Always. It's just powerful."

"When you were serving me, and now while you're laying in front of me naked like this..." I shuddered as she spelled it out for me... "All this time, do you see me, HONESTLY see me, as your superior? Think I'm better than you? Not just in a make believe, fantasy sort of way, but for real?"

I took a very deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I think I do, Caylee, while I'm in the middle of the serving you mentality, and I do think highly of you and have great respect for you. I couldn't serve you if I didn't, Caylee. But, like, in everyday life, do I honestly think you're better than me? I don't - I honestly don't know, Caylee."

"I see. Well, Chris. I want you to know something. Since I've known these things about you - that you want these things, or maybe that's not right, maybe it's that you're willing to DO these things, my view of you has changed somewhat. Yes, I've enjoyed letting you live out your desires. But...I can't help it. I do look down on you. For real. Honestly, I think of you as somehow less than me, as my inferior. Not as an equal, you know, as just a friend doing things together. I don't think you're the same as me - I think you're somehow beneath me in some real way. For real, Chris. When I'm laughing, I'm not just laughing along at what's going on here. I'm actually laughing at YOU. I need you to know that, OK? I'm not trying to hurt you, but..." She sighed, long and deep.

"I can tell these desires are strong in you. Extremely strong. I know this won't be the end of these kinds of encounters. You'll probably serve lots of dominant women, I'm sure. And I'm sure they'll tell you about respecting your desires, and our desires and actions are all equally valid and beautiful and blah blah blah, but Chris, you need to know, for real, they're going to look down on you. Those women are better than you, and they're going to know they're better than you. They may not tell you, but they'll know. That's why you'll be willing to pay them money to serve them and have them abuse you - because they're actually for real better than you. You're not their equal. And if you're going to live this life, you can be happy in it, but you need to accept that fact, sooner rather than later. OK? Listen, Chris. People, like, normal people, who see each other as equals, don't lie naked on the floor at someone else's feet, much less kiss them. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

I tried to answer through the sob I was supressing. "Y-yes, Caylee."

She rested the soles of both her shoes on my bare shoulders, and was silent for a few minutes. Finally, she spoke, quietly and gently.

"I want you to think for a few minutes, whether you still want to kiss my foot. OK, Chris."

"OK, Caylee."

"Know that if you do, I absolutely expect you to do so exactly as I tell you. And don't EVEN act like you're embarrassed to be doing it, OK? This is about accepting your place - not being embarrassed by it."

"Yes, Caylee."

She waited a few more minutes, occasionally tapping her shoes on my shoulders. Oh god, the things she said. I was stunned. Part of my drive to submit was indeed a desire to serve women I saw as superior, but that was at least partially a function of my imagination. I didn't really like the idea of being looked down on like that. But didn't it sort of follow? If I wanted to live out these desires in reality, wouldn't the women I served naturally look down on me? I guess it sort of hurt that Caylee actually thought of me this way, for real. I didn't know what to think of it. Just lying here, naked, I again felt so weird, so humiliated. Why had I gotten myself into this situation? Oh hell oh hell oh hell. I wanted to fold myself up and float away, anywhere. I was still trying not to cry.

But I'd had fantasies like this since I was six. Two thirds of my life. My earliest, most primal, sexual desires. If these thoughts, these drives, made me somehow inferior, wasn't there somehow some truth to it? I started to actually cry for real, just a little. Caylee gently stroked my cheek with the side of her shoe, the black low-cut Chuck scratching yet somehow caressing as it wiped away a few tears. Oh hell. Caylee was most likely right about me. She was amazing, and there was nothing shameful about being her inferior. At her feet was exactly where I belonged, and I was proud to be there. Oh god, what was happening to me? This was a roller-coaster of emotions.

Finally, Caylee spoke.

"Are you ready to kiss my foot, slave?"

I took a very deep breath.

"Yes, Caylee. I will be honored to kiss your foot." She laughed, genuinely laughed, and I cringed. Nobody promised this would be easy.

I felt both her shoes lift from my skin. Her right shoe remained in front of me, on tiptoes, while her left shoe was raised to the bed. Within seconds, Caylee's bare left foot was directly in my face, beneath my eyes. Pale and smooth, a little sweaty. Toenails unpainted, cut short. Her feet were on the small side, but this close, directly in my face, her left foot didn't seem so little. Deep breath, smell of foot sweat, oh god. This was very unsettling, far stranger than my fantasies, and I died a little inside, Caylee's words in my brain, and I repressed a sob. Her toes wiggled a bit in front of me. This, this actual, living foot, real skin, real sweat, real motion, was so far removed from what I'd fantasized about kissing, that I didn't know how I'd possibly go through with it. My stomach turned. I squeezed my eyes shut; it was too much.

"Chris. Slave. To show that you understand and accept your place before me, that you are INFERIOR to me, you will kiss my foot. You don't have a choice. This is an order. You will do it exactly as I say. First, kiss the top of my foot, ten times. Ten slow, long kisses. That is an order. NOW."

I squeaked out a reply. "Yes, Caylee." Then I opened my eyes, and let my lips descend, until they touched Caylee's instep. So weird. Caylee's foot felt warm and clammy against my lips. I kissed, finished. Kissed again.

"LONGER. SLOWER."

"Yes, Caylee."

I pressed my lips against her foot again, for a few seconds, a few more, then a few more before closing off the kiss. Then I had to take a deep breath, inhaling her sweaty smell, before starting again. I wasn't allowed to act like I was embarrassed to be doing this, but I certainly was. Oh my god, I'd had no idea of the humiliation involved. If anything could humble someone, it had to be this. The fourth and fifth kisses slowly went by. Caylee was right. She certainly was better than me. No one could make themselves do this if they weren't truly inferior, and somehow knew it deep down inside. It was a matter of coming to grips with my deepest, truest, self. Oh my god, it was hard to describe, but I hated every second, yet loved the fact that I was doing it. Finally, kiss number ten came and went, and I let my lips hover over that foot.

I hardly had time to catch my breath and get a grip on my emotions. Immediateley, Caylee turned up the end of her foot, holding the bottom of her toes right in my face.

"Now kiss the bottom of each toe. One long slow kiss to each. Right now."

"Yes, Caylee."

This was even worse. I started with the big toe, which had the biggest area to kiss, although to be honest, none of Caylee's toes were all that "big." I made sure to press my lips against it for a long time, then even longer, to make sure I didn't get into any trouble for not kissing long enough. The ridges on the bottom of her toe felt weird against my lips, as did the pressure - she pressed her toe hard and firm against them as I kissed, her other toes resting gently along my face, and my chin. I then moved to the next, separating her toes with my lips to kiss the bottom. The sensation down here was so odd, and had the effect, for some reason, of making me feel my nakedness more acutely. The next, then the next. These toes were small, and it was difficult to isolate them, to kiss. Finally, the little toe, a lingering kiss, before Caylee let her foot again rest on the floor. I tried to rest my neck by again looking straight down, but it didn't last long. Caylee immediately flipped my face back up with her toes beneath my chin, then pressed the ball of her foot to my lips.

"Twenty slow kisses to the ball of my foot. Now."

"Yes, Caylee." I spoke this into her actual foot, just before beginning to kiss.

I presumed that slow meant slow, so I took my time. These were the most humiliating so far. Oh god. The ball of her foot, for one thing, when she flexed her foot to let me get my lips to it, had bone just behind it, so it was a fairly hard surface. In addition, it was rough. I was basically kissing a callous.

And, well, as I kissed, and tried to make the kisses linger, and tried not to seem embarrassed, which made them seem quite passionate, quite intense, it occurred to me that what I was kissing was essentially the lowest part of Caylee's body. The surface which took most of her weight when she stood normally. Absolute bottom. My lips, my face, the part of my body I present to the world, pressed passionately into the roughest part of Caylee's foot, the lowest part of her body. Her discussion with me about looking down on me, about my standing in the world, it suddenly rung more true than ever. I felt a surge of shame. And I felt a deep conviction that the only way to make sense of it was not to avoid it, but to go through it. So, as awful, as shameful as I felt, I kissed harder, kissed deeper, kissed with every bit of honest emotion that I could muster, pressed everything I had into the ball of Caylee's bare left foot. After twenty intense kisses, I let my lips linger just millimeters from its surface. She didn't move it.