Submission to the Sundress

In case it's not your kind of story: "We're only voyeurs, and never learn their names." Story tags: female domination, femdom, male submission, teasing, CFNM, foot fetish, mutual masturbation, cum eating

Submission to the Sundress

He noticed her as he walked from the elevators to the front desk of the hotel. The broken ice machine on his floor necessitated a trip to the lobby to fill his ice bucket. It was a minor inconvenience, but one that would lead to rich rewards.

The brilliant white and blue of her calf-length sundress captured his attention as it contrasted against the medium browns and greys of the marble counter of the front desk and the dark wood wall behind. From a distance, he could see that the fabric pattern was one of bold white flower shapes against a blue background, leaving a mostly white effect.

Her form and height next caught his attention. She was over six feet tall in the heels she wore. Broad shoulders and broad hips gave her a sense of presence that dominated the space. He couldn't help but watch her as he took slow measured steps across the lobby, his pace stretching out the time he could spend admiring her form. He felt diminished by wearing only a loose t-shirt and old running shorts with sandals, ‛his lounging clothes' as he referred to them in his mind, in her presence, even if she didn't know he was there.

While he waited for the front desk staff to acknowledge him and fill his ice bucket, he took furtive glances to where she stood at the other end of the counter. She had long, light-brown, hair in a loose braid that reached the centre of her back. Her bare arms were tanned and toned, and her fingernails were done in a perfect French-tipped manicure, the white tips trimmed square with rounded corners. The wedge heels she wore added four or five inches to her height, with wide ribbon laces that crossed over her instep and then rose to wrap her ankles where they were tied in white silken bows. He noticed that her toenails, on display in the open-toed wedges, matched her fingernails. She was, perhaps, a few years older than he was, but guessing women's ages was never a skill he'd mastered.

Trying to be inconspicuous, which seemed to be his lot in life with confident women, he took his ice bucket, thanked the staff member who returned it and headed back to the elevator. He waved his key card over the detector above the buttons, a necessity for reaching the modest suites on the sixth, and highest, floor of the hotel.

"Hold the elevator, please," the voice was feminine and confidently clear.

In an automatic response, he slid his hand between the closing doors to trigger their reopening. As the doors reached their fully open position again she swept around the corner and into the small elevator car. In an instant, he realized that in her shoes she was a good six inches taller than he was. The dress flowed around her body, dominating the space with color and motion. She went to wave her key card over the sensor but dropped her hand when she noticed the lit button for the sixth floor.

"Thank you," she said with a soft smile on her lips, "for saving me from waiting for the next one."

"You're welcome," he said politely, "and may I say that is a beautiful dress."

She smiled at the compliment, pausing the slow rhythm with which she worked the gum in her mouth.

"Of course, you may," she said with a bright smile as she held the skirt of the dress wide to display it, "And what do you like about my fashion choice?"

"I like the bold pattern, and that it's a clothing choice made for your comfort, and not, as so many feminine fashions tend to be, one to place you on display for others."

"Those are well-chosen words," she replied calmly, "Tell me, is that your usual pickup line, to say I've effectively screened my assets from observers."

A blush rose on his face, to him it was evident by the warmth he felt on his cheekbones. The slightest reddening of his skin was enough to inform her.

"Uh,... no, ma'am,... I wasn't trying to be so forward."

"Ma'am, I like that, it shows respect," she said softly, "I like respectful men."

Watching his blush intensify, she grinned and added, "It's okay, you don't seem like the threatening type."

"I'm not, really," he stammered, "but perhaps I can buy you a drink to make up for any offense I may have caused?"

"A drink would be nice, do you have wine in your room?"

"I have whisky," he replied, "Irish."

"Oh..."

An edge of disappointment at having failed to meet expectations weighed on his heart in the brief moment that simple word was spoken.

"Shall I bring my wine to join you in your room?" she asked, recovering the spirit of potential pleasures.

"If it would please you, and using my room ensures that yours remains your private space," he replied carefully.

She remained silent as the elevator completed its slow climb to their floor of the compact hotel tower.

"That is a good point," she noted as the doors began to open, "When we step out of the elevator, I will wait until you go into your room. That way I'll know where yours is, and mine will be a secret."

Allowing her to exit the elevator first, he stepped past her as she paused in the center of the hall and he began to turn toward the empty hallway.

"Wait," she says.

He turned and watched as she plucked the gum from her mouth.

Holding the gum out she says, "Take this, put it over the peephole on the outside of your door. It will mark it for me and you can't spy on me to see if I pass your room."

The gum, soft and warm and moist between his fingertips, provided an almost overwhelming sense of intimacy.

As directed, he stuck the gum over the peephole before swiping his card to open the door. Without looking back, he slipped through the doorway and closed the heavy hotel door behind him.

In the quiet darkness of the hotel room, he paused and wondered if she would show up. With a hopeful mood, he quickly surveyed the room, making certain the bed had been made, straightening the sitting area, and tidying the small bathroom vanity where the contents of his shaving kit were strewn. The austerity of a modern hotel room struck him as he considered it a sparse setup for entertaining.

A quick wash, a fresh application of deodorant, and a clean shirt filled the time as the clock ticked inexorably. The few minutes that passed each felt like an hour as he wondered if she may have changed her mind and he might never see her again.

The soft rap of knuckles on the door was both startling and comforting. He opened the door wide to welcome his guest, stepping back with the swinging door to clear a path for her into the room. Her words came even before he could speak to invite her inside.

"You changed shirts," she noted as she strolled past him into the room.

His first impression was that she was shorter. Looking down he saw that while she still wore the blue and white sundress, she had traded her cork wedges for off-white leather ballet shoes. They were comfortably broken in to fit her feet like a second skin. Even in the low shoes, she was still a few inches taller than he was.

Before walking past the end of the bed to the sitting area of the small suite, she paused. Holding out the bottle of wine for him to take, in her other hand she held a wine glass and a bottle opener.

"Since I knew you weren't prepared for serving wine, I brought these. Why don't you pour our drinks."

He took the offered wine, the glass, and the opener. As he busied himself opening and pouring the wine, a Shiraz he noted, she walked into the sitting area and made herself comfortable on the small sofa, curling her legs up on the center section of the seat to leave the other end clear for her host.

Handing her the glass of wine, he slid an occasional table into position near the sofa where they could each set their drinks down.

"Why don't you bring the bottles," she suggested, "it will save you from going back and forth."

"Yes, ma'am," he said softly, reflexively, as he hurried to follow her suggestion.

Finally taking his seat at the opposite end of the small sofa, he saluted his guest with his glass before taking a small sip. For some minutes, they occupied themselves with small talk,... why each of them was at the hotel,... hometowns and education and family sizes,... nature of employment and cuisine preferences. A lingering and building sense of attraction seemed to go back and forth with their conversations, some remarks almost inviting or almost delving into the territory of double entendre. She was careful about not making the invitations for such comments too open, and he was careful to not overstep the bounds of casual polite discourse. After a while, when both were on their second drink, the conversation lulled.

"You keep looking at my shoes," she said softly.

"They are very nice,' he replied carefully, "but I also liked your wedges, they let me see more of your feet."

"Ah, you wanted to see my pedicure."

They both noticed the blush on his cheeks rise again as he softly admitted that were true.

"My feet get sore after a day on heels, these shoes let them relax a little."

"I understand," he said politely as he looked down again at the comfortable ballet flats that encased her toes and feet.

"Would you prefer it if my feet were bare?" she asked in a calm tone, neither offering nor challenging his desires.

He looked up and met her eyes, seeking clues as to her willingness to do that for him.

"Yes, please, I would like that very much."

"My feet are still a bit sore from the day," she said, "if I let you take my shoes off would you massage them for me?"

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered his reply.

She began to adjust her position and he followed suit. In a moment they were each facing one another from opposite ends of the sofa, he had his inside leg curled up on the sofa cushions and she stretched her legs out to place her feet, still wearing her shoes, in his lap. Her dress slid back along her legs, the hem rising past her knees until the mass of fabric pooled across her lap, modestly hiding any more of her legs from his view.

"You may go ahead," she said softly before taking a sip of her wine.

With careful tenderness, almost reverence, he supported each of her feet in turn and gently eased the ballet slipper off each foot. He admired the smooth skin texture of her feet, the perfectly polished toenails, and high rising arches of her soles. His fingers immediately noted as each shoe was removed that she had no callous tissue around the edge of her heels and all the skin on her feet was soft, smooth, and supple.

He gently massaged each foot in turn and worked the soles of her feet with his thumbs. He stroked the sides and top of each foot with firm fingertips to avoid any ticklish touches, and each toe received attention from caressing fingertips. As he began to lose himself in his task, she took control of the conversation.

She asked if he was seeing anyone.... a few friends with benefits on irregular schedules, he replied.

Ever married?.... once, but the relationship had ended without acrimony years before, with no children.

"Kinks, besides feet?" she queried.

"Some," he replied, but not volunteering more information.

"Do all your kinks involve dominant women?" she asked boldly.

That caught his full attention and his hands paused as he looked up at her. She had a peaceful smile on her lips and the question did not appear to have a mocking intent. But he was naturally guarded on such a topic, especially with a new acquaintance.

"We can stop now if that makes you uncomfortable," she said, the words if not the tone offering a brief hint of threat she might leave in his vulnerable mind.

"Please, don't go...," he whispered.

"Well...?"

"Yes, they do," he admitted.

He felt the tension fade from her legs as the chance she was about to remove her feet from his lap passed. He resumed caressing and massaging them.

"Does it feel better to have that in the open?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, almost with a sigh of relief.

"Are there any other women you should tell me about?"

"Yes, ma'am," he admitted, "There is one more."

"Go on."

"She lives close to me. She's married. We met on a dating site some years ago. We only started chatting because she had long, lonely evenings while her husband worked late shifts. He knew she was on there chatting. We started with vanilla subjects but then I told her about my desires. It seemed to awaken something in her and she has developed a dominant streak. The thing is, her husband doesn't play that way, but doesn't mind if she relieves that tension with someone else. So, sometimes I get invited to visit and to play with her in order to let her work out some stress with kinky play."

"So, you visit them and submit to her?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And what does she like to do to you?"

"Teasing... ‛cee-eff-en-em'... oral worship, of her feet and...,... spanking with her hand or paddles... she also likes to do fire play and wax play sometimes...."

She noticed how he tried to skirt around some of the juicier details.

"What is this ‛cee-eff-en-em' you mentioned," she asked while knowing full well what it was.

"Um,...," he hesitated and then explained, "it stands for ‛clothed female, nude male,' it's a way for the lady to assert her dominance in a simple way that keeps a man in his place."

"And it is just for her feet you provide oral worship services?"

"Uh... no, ma'am."

"Please be specific," she instructed in a calm tone that simply sounded like fact-finding and curiosity.

"Her feet, her breasts, her pussy, her ass, sometimes her full body," he admitted as the blush rose again in his cheeks to her amusement.

"Tell me, does your Mistress know about your other friends with benefits?"

"Yes, ma'am, she does. She actually knows both of them well enough to talk to them and they are all aware of one another."

Thoughtfully, she sipped her wine and watched him as he tried to regain his rhythm of massage with her feet. A mischievous smile flitted across her lips as she phrased her next question.

"So, all this time I could have had you naked and serving my feet with that slutty mouth?"

He bit back a soft moan as his mind processed the imagery in that question.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied softly.

"Would you like it if I told you I want that now?"

"Yes, please," he whispered.

She smiled broadly at his immediate willingness to submit.

"First," she said, "tell me, does your dominant friend let you cum when you visit her?"

"Sometimes she takes my orgasm," he admitted.

"Takes," she repeated, "that is an interesting choice of words. Does that mean that she alone decides when, how, and where you cum?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"How does she do it during one of your more regular visits."

"After whatever play activity she has chosen, she will lay me down and tease and edge me, ma'am," he described, "I must tell her if I am too close and she will delay my orgasm by ceasing stimulation or adding something like spanks. When she chooses, she takes and ruins my orgasm."

"Hmmm," she said with a light laugh, "I like your friend very much. I think we'd be great friends."

"And what happens after you cum?" she asked.

He paused, a reaction that received a raised eyebrow of warning.

"She... she feeds it to me," he admitted.

"And you like this to happen."

"Yes, ma'am," he admitted, realizing it was probably the first time he had vocalized it, "I desire the depth of submission it takes to accept and consume it."

"How clinical," she laughed softly, "...'to accept and consume it'... tell me it excites you to be expected to eat your own cum."

"I am excited by the act of eating my own cum." he admitted.

"Such a slutty boy you are," she smiled, "what if it wasn't your cum she fed you."

His eyes widened at that suggestion. She spoke again before he could try to answer.

"Something for your slutty mind to ponder. Now, I believe I am waiting for a naked slutty boy to suck my toes."

He looked up and met her gaze, seeking confirmation or to discover she was joking.

"Get up, strip, and get back to work on my feet, slut boy."

Her instructions need no further clarification and he obediently followed them. Back in his position on the sofa and trying to be nonchalant about his erect cock that neither referred to, he lifted one of her feet to softly kiss the tips of each toe when he felt the toes of her other foot stroke across the tip of his dripping cock.

Sliding his open lips and mouth down over her big toe, he felt her relax her foot to let her toe fit the curvature of the inside of his mouth. Their combined actions let it slide as deep into his mouth as it was possible to achieve.

"Mmm," she said, "somebody likes to have his slutty mouth filled, not just for sucking and licking."

He submitted to his task as she sipped her wine and made suggestive comments chosen to stimulate but not demean or humiliate. She realized quickly that he was enjoying himself in his submissive role as much as she was in having her feet so thoroughly spoiled by his practiced hands and mouth.

Delighting in the ease with which he had begun slipping into subspace as he served her, she leaned forward and stroked one of his cheeks with her fingertips.

"You missed a spot," she teased gently.

In response to his quizzical look, with the same finger, she pointed at the outward curving shape of her calf muscle on the leg he held.

"Right around here, on both legs," she said.

He began to lean forward to do her bidding when she stopped him.

"It will be more comfortable for both of us if I am lying down," she said.

He watched as she pulled her feet from his lap and stood up.

"Give me a moment," she said.

She disappeared into the bathroom. A few minutes later she reappeared. She still wore the sundress but from her fingers dangled the delicate lace and ribbons of a thong and matching bra of pale blue.

"There," she said with a smile, "now you know what I was wearing under my dress, and that now I'm not wearing anything under it."

Sprawling diagonally on the bed, she lay face down with her upper chest and head supported by the soft hotel pillows. Her dress still covered most of her body down to the knees as she spread her legs and turned her head to look at him.

"Where were we?" she asked.

He crawled onto the corner of the mattress between her feet. Lowering his face toward her legs, for the first time he had a clear look at the back of her calves. In beautifully detailed black line-work with red accents, each calf was graced by a small tattoo of Betty Boop, one an angel, the other a devil.

"Be thorough as you work your way up to kiss Betty," she said, "and imagine as you go how it would please me if you licked a nice load of cum from Betty's face."

Planting an open-lipped kiss on the side of one heel, he let a soft moan escape his lips as he reacted to the knowing way she was playing with his kinks and desires.

He alternated between her calves, kissing and licking his way toward the tattoos.

"Mmm," she said, "that feels very nice, "I like it when a good boy takes his time and shows how careful and thorough he can be. I was thinking about you licking a nice load of cum from Betty's face on each side. I sometimes play with a set of twins, they were swimmers in college and still compete. I like to watch them shave each other to have nice smooth bodies before competitions and then I oil them up to play with them together. I can just imagine them painting both Betties with their cum while you watch and wait for your treat. Would you like that? Would you do that for me if I asked you to?"

He moaned, his open lips about to plant their first lingering kiss on the Betty drawn as an angel.