My First SubmissivebyMistressMtoyou©
You may call me MistressM. Simply Mistress or Ma'am will do as well. At least you may call me that when I ask you to speak, which won't be often, unless I want to hear you beg. Let me explain so your small one-track man-brain can understand. I have a hobby that I very much enjoy -- it's dominating men like you.
I've long known, as most attractive women do, that it's not too difficult to wrap a man around my little finger. Even a strong confident man is open to a little flirtation and will gladly do my bidding for a smile, a thank you and maybe a little flash of leg or cleavage. For most men, this is all there is and they know it. They know the game. I get a man to do something for me and they get a small flicker in the loins and maybe a fantasy for later for helping me out.
For submissive men, however, a game of flirt and tease is the first step to an obsession. I can spot them in a matter of minutes, there are dozens of clues. Maybe they can't make eye contact. Maybe they blush or stutter when they speak to me. Maybe they are a little too quick to help me do something menial. It's not just what they do, but how they do it. They are happy to submit and don't realize that I know it.
The best ones of all are the submissives with a fetish. It's only a matter of time before they give themselves away. It might be too much attention to my legs or my shoes. Maybe they are staring at my hair or my breasts. I can almost see them imagining whether I'm wearing stockings or what kind of panties I have on. These are the guys I particularly love to tease and torment.
Since men are so visual, let me describe myself. I'm mid-30s, 5' 6" and slender. My breasts aren't that large, 34B, but I like to show them off and I haven't had many complaints.
I usually wear a size 8 if that means anything to you. I have natural sandy blonde hair, cut in a business professional style, usually around shoulder length. I have brown eyes. Some people tell me I look like the actress Ali Larter although I tend to wear my hair a little shorter than hers and I'm a little taller.
I'm a senior executive for a major corporation. This means I work a lot, travel a lot and am well paid. As a result, I can afford to dress fashionably and enjoy doing so. For work I always wear dresses and skirts - usually just above knee length. Most of my outfits come from the popular high end mall based women's stores. I like to dress flirty but classy, low cuts or an extra button undone. I want a second look, not drool.
I love shoes of all colors and styles and have a couple hundred pairs. I have a giant walk-in closet with nothing but shoes in it. A co-worker (no doubt a closet foot-boy) once told me he's not sure he's ever seen me in the same shoes twice. That's not quite true, but I definitely enjoy variety. I prefer heels of around 3 or 4 inches, but would go a little lower or higher if I liked the color or style. The same with boots, I have dozens in a variety of colors, heights and heels.
If you are a guy that is heavy into the dominant boss fantasy or maybe the sexy secretary fantasy, I would probably fit perfectly into your wet dreams. I can tell from the looks I get that several of my co-workers have fantasized about being my submissive slut.
As I said, I've known for a long time that I could get men to do things for me. Somewhere along the way however, I began to derive sexual pleasure from seeing how far I can push a guy. At first I didn't think much of it, but I came to learn that some men are not only happy to serve my wishes, but they secretly get off on being ordered around.
I likewise came to realize that there was a little bit of the dominant female in me that just enjoyed watching a guy squirm and pressing his buttons. It felt good to be in charge and I loved watching a guy crumble. Don't get me wrong, I love a good fuck as much as the next woman, but I've learned that dominating a guy makes my slot moisten and clit buzz like nothing else.
The first time I observed this was somewhat innocent. I had walked into the copy room and accidently dropped a page from a stack of papers. It fluttered down about equidistant between me and some guy that was already using the machine. I made a move to grab it and at the same time he said, "I'll get that for you."
Somehow his movement or maybe the copier fan caused the paper to flutter towards me. Just as he reached for it, the paper became pinned under the pointy toe of my grey high-heeled pump. He was already on his knees before me and said, "I guess you'll need to lift your foot."
I teasingly replied, "Only if you say please."
His face reddened and he said it, "Please?"
I slid my foot and he handed me my paper without a word and didn't even make eye contact to my "Thank you." As he stood and hastily removed his document from the copier, I could see the clear outline of him hardening in his pants. To my surprise, I felt vaguely aroused by the encounter as well.
The first time I acted on the impulse was shortly thereafter following an interview I did. An MBA grad was interviewing for a position. He was a little younger than me, upper twenties, very smart, good looking and generally well polished in his fitted interview suit.
Part of my office was arranged with a conversation settee consisting of a small sofa, a coffee table and two wing chairs. I directed my guest to the sofa and without any particular thought seated myself across from him in one of the chairs, my right leg crossed over the left with his resume and paperwork on my lap.
That day I wore a sheer white silk blouse, which was ruffled down the front and offered the voyeur just the faintest hint of the lacy cami and bra underneath. I also wore a knee length navy blue pencil skirt that rode up my thigh a little as I sat down. It was a bit revealing, but on the whole a conservative outfit.
What really attracted the attention of my interviewee was my very sheer nude stockings and my teal blue 4 inch platform pumps. I'd ask him a question and he'd start off meeting my eyes but soon his gaze would drift down my crossed leg to my shoe. A couple of times he tried to fight the urge, but before too long he'd drift again.
About fifteen minutes in I knew he had blown the interview, so I began to toy with him a bit. I flexed my ankle, re-crossed my legs the other direction, even bobbed my foot a bit and his eyes kept finding their target. When it was time to leave, I noticed that he strategically held his resume portfolio across his groin, presumably to hide his arousal.
I'm pretty sure he suspected I was on to his problem and his embarrassment was sweet. I conducted him to the lobby and made a point of holding his hand just a fraction of a second too long when we shook hands and I gave him a big smile as we parted. I held him in my gaze until he disappeared into the elevator and was surprised to notice that I had gotten a little soupy as I headed back to my office.
I had an idea about what caused my arousal, but this time I decided to do something about it. A few weeks later, after he had been dinged for the position, I took a chance and called him and offered to meet him at an upscale bar near my office.
The premise was to offer him some pointers on his resume and to provide him a couple of industry contacts to network. The real reason was to try teasing him again to see what sort of reaction I got from him and what that did to me.
I purposely arrived about fifteen minutes late and knew things were going to head in the right direction when he deflected my lame apology by profusely thanking me for even taking the time to meet him and then him offering to buy my drink (which I declined).
He had dressed again in suit and tie and promptly obeyed my request to take off his tie and relax. I had dressed in a black sleeveless A-line dress over which I had worn a short tailored red jacket. My stockings were a sheer and smoky black and I purposely wore 4" black-patent Christain Louboutin pumps knowing that the red instep would draw his gaze.
We spoke casually at the fairly full bar and I did in fact give him a couple of contacts to help with his job search. He did a little better with the eye contact while we were standing; but once a bar stool opened up and I slid myself onto it (he remained standing), his attention was again drawn to my nylon covered legs and my sexy shoes.
Once he started looking, I started to flirt a bit -- touching his arm as I spoke, dangling my shoe, even suggestively removing my jacket and flashing him a little look down my dress as I positioned the jacket over the chair back. He was smitten and I soon had him eating out of my hand, agreeing to anything I said.
After a few minutes of soft flirting, I speared him with a direct question. "Do you like my shoes?"
His blush and stammering were the initial response so I closed in, "You have a thing for heels and stockings don't you? A foot fetish maybe?"
He started to apologize and I assured him it was ok. I told him, "If you think a woman has attractive shoes, you should compliment them rather than stare at them. Go ahead, try it. Pay me a compliment."
Barely composing himself he said, "I, uh, I really, uh your heels are, they uh look really great with that dress. It's a really good look."
"Thank you for noticing" I said forcing him to meet my gaze, "These shoes are one of my favorites, they make me feel sexy and confident. Can you handle a sexy and confident woman?"
He kept looking at me and didn't quite seem to know what to say, so I continued, "Maybe you'd like to see some more of my shoes? Would you like to go out some time? Maybe see a movie or something?"
Plainly flustered and not expecting my question he blurted out "Um, Yes Ma'am. I mean, yes."
The little slip told me everything, so I decided to take one more chance - "I can see my shoes have gotten you very excited" and gave a little nod towards his crotch.
"Why don't you go into the men's room and take care of that. I'll give you ten minutes. When you come back out we can talk about getting together again."
Confused but obedient and obviously eager, he was only gone about seven minutes. To this day I can remember his look as he came out of the bathroom, and it still makes me tingle. As he looked toward the bar, he at first looked relieved that I hadn't left and then his face went pale and quickly reddened as he caught my leering gaze and his complete embarrassment overtook him.
When he returned to where I was sitting I gave him a little giggle and said "Feel better?" To spare him curling up like a pill bug in the middle of the bar, I dispatched him a few minutes later with details of when and where to meet for our next date.
Our second outing was at the movies. I suggested we see a fairly poorly reviewed chick-flick that had been out for a few weeks. Not surprisingly, he spinelessly agreed to my request.
I met him straight from work and was wearing a burgundy red short sleeve dress with matching burgundy red pumps and tan stockings.
Perhaps trying to recover some dignity from last time, he started off by saying, "You look very nice tonight. Your shoes and your dress match perfectly, it's very nice."
"Thank you," I said, "I wore these shoes just for you." Which of course caused him to blush a red almost as deep as my shoes.
I paid for our tickets, but at the snack bar I asked him to buy me a coke. As we walked to our seat I took a big drink and commented, "I get thirsty and I want you to watch how I suck on the straw."
He didn't even try to respond to my suggestive comment, just stood their red faced and flustered as I directed us towards seats at the back of the virtually empty theatre.
The seats were stadium style and I made him go first, telling him none too quietly, "I don't want you staring at my legs while I climb the steps. You can stare at them later."
Sitting down I made a production of getting myself adjusted in my seat just right. I could tell he didn't know where to look or if he should try to help me arrange my drink or help me put on the light sweater I had brought with me.
I finished by looking him in the eye and saying, "It's hard to get comfortable in these reclining movie seats when you're wearing a garter belt and stockings."
His wide eyed expression told me everything, he was already jello and mine to do with as I pleased. The movie hadn't even started and I had him red faced and rock hard, just the way we had parted at the bar.
I'm sure a part of him couldn't believe his luck to be out with a woman like me. For a foot fetishist it was like a fantasy come to life. Another part of him realized he had no idea at all about to capitalize on his opportunity. The last part, and a growing part of him knew, that he had no control at all about what would happen next. He was simply along for the ride and maybe just a little bit scared at his lack of control.
His feeling of being out of control was what made me feel empowered. His little bit of apprehension was what was making me aroused.
As the house lights dimmed I crossed my leg toward him so that the heel of my shoe was nearly touching his knee. I then proceeded to give him a little foot show. I twisted, bobbed and dangled my 4" inch burgundy pumps. Never once did his eye leave my shoe.
Each time I turned to look at him I made a point of picking up my drink and suggestively puckering my red painted lips around the straw -- "Want a taste?" I whispered. He shook his head no, already lost in shoe world.
At one point I dangled my shoe at the very end of my toe completely captivating him for well over a minute before letting it drop in front of him.
The sound of the shoe hitting the floor broke his gaze and brought him back to reality. As he started to reach down to pick it up for me I tugged his arm and whispered "Don't you think you should ask permission first?"
"Can I get your shoe for you?" he whispered back.
"What's that, I can't hear you" -- I made him repeat it three times, each time a little louder before consenting. Although there was no one within thirty feet of us, he kept nervously looking around.
As he started to fit the shoe back on my stockinged foot I said, "Maybe you should kiss the heel and thank me for being allowed to handle my shoe."
He stared disbelieving for a second before doing as I asked, kissing the heel and saying, "Thank you. Thanks for letting me help you with your shoe."
I dropped my shoe two more times over the course of the rest of the film and each time he asked permission to retrieve it, kissed a different part of my shoe and thanked me -- all to my command of course. After the second time I heard a small whimper and suspected he may have cum a little.
When the movie ended I asked how he liked the movie and what was his favorite part. He embarrassed so easily he turned away from my gaze.
I said in a not hushed voice, "My favorite part was when you came in your pants from kissing my shoe. Did you like that part?"
Burning with shame he meekly replied, "Yes....Thank you."
I prolonged his embarrassment by inviting him out for a coffee. At the end of which, in a tone that was somewhat more telling than asking I said, "Keep your evening free a week from Monday and don't plan too much the weekend before. I'll call you that Saturday and we'll make some plans --ok?"
"Yes. That's great, I look forward to it. Thank you."
That Saturday I called him, "So, have you been thinking about me?"
"Of course I have. You're the sexiest woman I've ever known."
"Thinking about me or just my shoes and heels? How many times have you whacked off?"
His silence followed by an "Uhhhh," told me all I need to know.
"I thought so. Starting now, that's done you hear? If you want to earn another chance with my feet and shoes you have to promise you will mind my instructions. Are you ready to do that?"
"Umm. O.K... I, yes. I'll do as you say."
"Good, first thing, no masturbating. Your cock belongs to me. Say it back to me."
"No masturbating. My cock belongs to you."
"Good. Monday night you're to meet me at 7pm at the hotel across from my office building, do you know it? I'll text you the specific room at 6:45 so be in the lobby then and dressed in your best suit and tie. Got it?"
"Yes. I know the hotel. 6:45 in the lobby, I'll get a text from you."
"Last and most important. Between now and then I will text you the word "Now" when you see that text, I want you to drop what you're doing and find a place to stroke yourself to the edge of orgasm, but don't cum. Understand. Don't cum, just edge. Do you understand what it means to edge? When you've completed this task, reply "Yes." That way I'll know you are hard and thinking about me. Got it?"
"Yes. I'm to edge myself when you send me a text that says 'now' and respond 'yes' when I've done it."
"You've got it. You're a quick learner. See you Monday."
Upon his response I hung up and sent him the "Now" text. Less than two minutes later I received the "Yes" response. He received that text 21 more times before 7pm Monday including seconds after the 6:45 Monday text advising him of my hotel room number.
I have to admit I was slightly aroused all weekend at the thought of him being constantly hard and constantly frustrated by my little text game. I loved that he was literally getting hard at my command. I also loved that he was getting no release and pleasured myself to several orgasms at the thought of that.
At the hotel I had a room that was a large suite that had been rented as a hospitality room for a function my company had held in the hotel earlier that day. Since I was departing on a long road trip early the following morning, I kept the suite and planned to stay that night in the city to shorten my trip to the airport.
The large living room area of the suite was perfect for my needs that evening. With just a small adjustment I was able to position a chair, coffee table and sofa just the way they were in my office. My outfit was also the same, a sheer white silk blouse, ruffled down the front, a knee length navy blue pencil skirt, very sheer nude stockings and my teal blue 4 inch platform pumps.
To his credit, he caught on right away to the role play I had arranged shaking my hand and taking a seat just like at the interview several weeks ago. Not surprisingly I also caught him take a quick glance at my shoes when I sat across from him and crossed my legs.
He played along diligently for about fifteen minutes as I asked him double edged questions about "What positions have you enjoyed in the past," "What do you think you can do in this role that no other candidate can?" and "Are you willing to work long and hard to help me meet my objectives?"
Finally I asked him, "Do you like my shoes? Would you like to get a closer look at them? Your eyes have hardly left them?"
"Yes. I like them. The color is so unique. I'd like that"
"Why don't you kneel here in front of me then and take a good close look at them."
"Yes Ma'am. Thank you."
"Maybe you should take off your suit. I don't want you to get your pants dirty kneeling in front of me. Maybe strip down to your shorts, fold your clothes neatly and kneel in front of me."
He did as directed. I could see his hard cock straining at the top of his boxer briefs as he stared at the side of my teal platform pumps which were right at eye level and now just a few inches away.
"You thought about kissing them didn't you? I bet you went home after our interview and brought yourself off thinking about kissing my shoes didn't you."
Red faced and shamed he continued to stare at my shoe and uttered a weak "Yes"
"Look me in the eye and tell me what you did."
From his kneeling position he slowly, with great effort tilted his head up to meet my eyes. I could see the struggle of his emotions and the embarrassment; I could also see his cock remained completely hard inside his shorts. In an uncertain voice he said, "I made myself cum thinking about your pretty shoes and kissing your feet."