Right out of my law school in New York, I joined a small firm with a very high end boutique law practice. Having a dual degree MBA as well I was very proud and even cocky. But I was thankful for the job because the economy was bad, there was a lot of competition, and I had been looking since graduation in May. It was now October and each month that passed with me be unwanted and unchosen left more of a stigma on me.

I had really let my grades go in my final year because I was working two part time jobs to pay off loans. This necessity of multiple part time paid jobs also prevented me from doing the customary unpaid co-ops and unpaid summer internships during throughout grad school that many others were doing to get a leg up so that they had experience on which to market themselves.

I think I was hired only because I had Ivy League credentials. Most firms were hiring based on grades or experience which I did not have. This boutique firm was owned by one lawyer who was very busy in business development, hob-nobbing with wealthy clients, and she hired me based on pedigree, so she could tell her clients she had Ivy League employees.
As far as her staff, she had a very hot but not so bright receptionist who doubled as a secretary, and one paralegal who was her “right hand man.” Grace, the receptionist, was a gorgeous 24 year old hard body, blonde, who always wore black nylons, and loved heels. She was 5 foot five inches, blue eyes, dumb as a stump but definitely made up for it in looks. Grace was a workout fanatic, going to aerobics, spin or other classes or running before work, coming straight to work from the gym, then changing at work, and then changing back into gym clothes at the end of the day and going back to the gym after work for more exercise classes.

Grace had a small heart tattoo on her ankle, another spider tattoo on the top of her foot, listened to all sorts of head banging music in her portable player, and did her nails in jet black or dark brown or deep blood red, giving me the impression she had a wild side. Unlike Linda, the paralegal, she did like hosiery, usually sheer hose and often black. Occasionally I’d find a reason to be nearby her desk after she changed and was peeling off her sweaty wet socks, and pulling on hosiery to slip into pumps. No harm in observing. She had nice, toned, pretty feet, with lots of sinew and veins in the top due to her extensive exercise.
The paralegal, Linda, was 27 and had been there for about 6 years. She was extremely bright and was basically performing lawyer work even though she had no law degree. Linda was not an exercise buff or anything but had one of those naturally lean, very toned bodies where every muscle shows. She would run once or twice a week and catch an aerobics or spin class weekly. I’d guess she was about 5 foot 5 inches and maybe 112 lbs. Cute face, light brown hair, brown eyes, real nice body, and since she liked to kick her shoes off a lot while working, I noticed she had small, pretty feet. Kind of a tom boy. Never wore any make up or did her hair. And seemed to have a thing against hosiery always preferring to go bare foot with no hose in her flats and heels, and surprisingly no socks even in boots.

I was little put off my first day when my new boss told me that because she was too busy, Linda would be delegating work to me, but it was my first job out and I figured I’d roll with the punches for now. She explained that she was rarely in the office, out socializing, networking, meeting potential and existing customers, going to closings, depositions, court hearings, trying to land a big fish to take the firm to the next level, and that other than stopping in to catch up on the weekend, Linda was her eyes and ears.
As it turned out, Linda was also proofing and checking my work and sending it back to me with comments to fix things and what I did “wrong,” often times writing the word “WRONG” in big letters right on my work. Over the next month things got to bother me more, not just because I had a paralegal between me and the boss, since Linda was curt and snappy and talked down at me in a very condescending manner as if she were my boss, and as if she were just on a power trip all day. And to make matters worse, the boss was never in the office and would just call in for updates from Linda once or twice a week, making an occasional appearance but usually just having Linda bring whatever files she needed wherever the destination.
Linda on the other hand was always there early, working late, working weekends, and didn’t even seem to have a life. Work was it, this job was her life. She wasn’t unattractive so I began to wonder if she was just a workaholic and loner, or just so bitchy that no one wanted anything to do with her.
During my second month, in a warm mid November, I needed to go do some research at the library, and as I was leaving, Linda said, “Where do you think you are off to?” I wanted to say, “I don’t report to you.” Or “What business is it of yours?” But instead, I settled for “Research. The Library.” She replied, “What are you researching?” This interrogation of my time usage from a lesser educated person, who was supposed to be ‘support staff’ for attorneys, irritated me, but I told her anyway, choosing not to pick a fight.
She said, “We have adequate books here for that, I have digests in my office.” Being more annoyed but still non-confrontational, I swallowed my annoyance and replied, “OK, that will save me a trip.” So when I went in her office and grabbed a few digests, she said “Uh uh uh, where are you going?” Then she explained she did not want the materials leaving her office.

Her office was about 8 feet wide by 12 feet deep and she had her desk facing out and moved to the front with room at the front for one guest chair facing sideways touching both the front of her desk and the wall, and this chair was covered with files. All the room was behind her desk, much of that also covered with files, labeled piles of papers and a few boxes, and the book shelf was behind her desk off to the side. So when I looked at her dumbfounded as if to ask where the hell I was supposed to work, she made a sweeping hand gesture as if to welcome me to sit on the floor beside her chair.
Not wanting to make waves, I said nothing and knelt on the floor off to her left facing the book case with my back to her and began to look over the digests. I camped out there, reading and marking and taking notes. As usual she had her shoes randomly kicked off, and I had to move one that was by the book case in my way.
I did notice that she liked to kick her shoes off, though. Over time, it seemed she did not have an extensive shoe collection since all but a few of them seemed really well worn, and since they were so frequently kicked off I noticed they had dark stained interiors in them outlining her heel, ball and toes, probably from sweating barefoot into the innersole. She mostly wore leather flats or leather pumps, usually black or navy or brown, plus beige and white pairs when in season, and occasionally leather boots, also flat, some with a tread and some without.
When a client was coming in or when she was going to accompany our boss at depositions or in court, she would sport a pair of plain pumps, leather upper, leather sole, tapered toe, simple pointed three inch heel, nothing fancy. She was a very simple dresser, blouse, blazer and knee length skirt or pants. She commuted in to work on the subway wearing socks and sneakers, which later got stripped in favor of shoes once at work. If she commuted to work in her boots, it would always be with no socks, which seemed kind of raunchy to me, and she would usually keep those on for the day, unless clients were coming or she needed to meet the boss somewhere, in which case, she would change into her heels.
I had already been annoyed by the nature of her edits and comments, and then she started putting paperwork on my desk with notes for me to draft cover letters to send the mail to clients, something which the receptionist could have done or Linda could have done herself, and not requiring a lawyer. My gut told me she was doing this to tie me up in scut work, so she would not have any of the more substantive work taken off her plate and placed on to mine. She was protecting her turf. Really nothing personal I suppose, but it still really bothered me since it was work I was overqualified for and depriving me of experience that would make me more marketable.
Worse still, she also would at times literally throw paperwork back at me demanding that I “get it right the first time” in cases where I disagreed with her edits and didn’t make them, even though I had tried to be polite leaving a sticky note that said “Let’s chat about this.” Her rudeness and condescension grew, perhaps even more so because I never stood up for myself. I had given her inches and she had taken miles. She loved to talk to me like that in front of Grace too, and this really annoyed me since I wanted Grace to be impressed with me.

I eventually requested a meeting with my boss which I had to do on a Sunday to fit her schedule, during which I complained to my boss about Linda’s manner of addressing me, about the work she was saddling me with and her overall attitude. After contemplating for a minute my boss said, “This office does not run without Linda, so I suggest you find a way to get along with her. She isn’t going anywhere.” My boss let that one hang in the air so I would understand the implication that if push came to shove, I would be the one going.
She went on, “If she wants you to type cover letters, then that’s what you need to do. She wants you to make coffee, then that is what you need to do.” I then asked, “So basically Linda is my boss?” My boss then said, “Well I suppose she is if you put it that way, but really I am the boss and she stands in my place when I am not here so you can think of anything she tells you to do as being automatically sanctioned by me. I don’t care if its drafting letters, taking out the trash, swabbing the decks, whatever. I’m too busy to get involved in pettiness and jealousy or massaging egos. But I’ll talk to her and see if she can’t involve you in a little more of the substantive work. There should be plenty of work to go around.”
This wasn’t going well since she was framing this as an issue of me being oversensitive and egomaniacal. Maybe rather than just describing Linda as arrogant, condescending, always on a power trip, and other inflammatory adjectives that weakened my credibility, I perhaps should have just stuck to the facts and given details about being interrogated, having to work on the floor of her office, having paperwork thrown in my face, and related direct quotes like “Get it right the first time.” I wished I had saved the papers with “WRONG” scribbled in big letters.
She continued, “Linda knows what she is doing, she is indispensable here, so I need you to do whatever she says.” I absentmindedly repeated, “Whatever she says.” She replied, “That’s right, whatever she says, scut work, no scut work, beneath you, not beneath you, doesn’t matter.” I added, “So basically, she says jump, I say how high.” My boss replied, “Yeah basically. So are we clear?” I had no choice but to say, “Yes, of course.”
I really needed this job because I had capriciously bought a new car and rented a new apartment that was a stretch for me on top of loans and the cost of living in New York. On top of that, this lawyer was immensely popular and well known and it would be a big glaring mark on my record if I was fired or left such a reputable firm after only a short stint. So, I had to hang in there.
I think the owner made a rare Monday appearance the next day solely to speak with Linda about my complaints because Linda seemed a little nicer on this occasion while the owner was around for an hour or so early in the morning, presumably just for the sake of talking to Linda about my complaint. But as soon as the owner left Linda was a lot bitchier, something I did not think was possible. All the litigation work I got to part take in after that was of course with me on the floor of her office while she sat above me in a chair, probably partly so she could see, hear, monitor and control everything I did, but also because I suspect she enjoyed the symbolism of me having to sit a level beneath her on her floor.

A few hours later, I was laying down on my stomach in her office reading an open case file because my knees were sore from kneeling as I was going through a box of documents. I heard her approaching talking to Grace who was accompanying her. She came in, sat down in her chair, rolled a little closer to me and stepped her brown leather shoe right under my nose on the open pages of the file and said “What do you think you are doing?” I was immediately pissed off at her addressing me this way in front of the cute little receptionist Grace, and so I just ignored her.

I just stayed where I was, not looking up just for spite, but conveniently staring down at the top of her foot observing her skin and where the base of the toes disappeared into the shoe. The shoes were shiny black patent leather flats with a low ballet style cut at the toes, showing the cleavage of her toes. I noticed that she had a high arch, leaving a gap between her arch and the shoe. And I noticed the whiter skin in her arch and where the wrinkles of her sole began. I thought I could also detect a faint whiff of her feet, the sweat of her bare foot mixed with leather.
She got angry that I ignored her, and was apparently not going to withdraw from the standoff, especially not in front of the other employee.
So after a long 5 to 10 second stand off, she actually hooked the top of her shoe under my chin and used her foot to lift my face to look up at her, and said, “Hello, I asked you a question.” I could feel my face flush, and got all flustered and was so shocked that I didn’t fight back, react or even know what to say.
I really had not expected her to actually touch her shoes to my face. I mean who would actually do that? Now what was I supposed to do?
Short of pushing her away, I had lost this little psychological skirmish, so I figured I would just stay quiet, and not provoke her and this would go away, sparing me any more embarrassment in front of Grace.
But she was going to press her advantage and several awkward seconds took an eternity to pass as she kept her foot holding my chin up to look at her. Thankfully she released my chin and let her foot drop back down, so I thought this little incident was over, but unfortunately for me, it was not. Taking it one step further, she brought both feet up and grabbed my cheeks using the soles of her shoes to squish my cheeks, and pucker my lips, and lightly shook my face side to side rubbing the shoe soles alternating directions on each cheek, basically wiping the soles of her shoes on my face, while saying “Hello, earth to zombie. I asked you a question.” Then she dropped her feet flat to the floor.
I heard Grace who was standing in the doorway start to laugh which made this so much worse. I was still in shock and now even more in shock that she would dare rub her shoe soles to my face, looking up at her in disbelief. I had to speak up since I looked weak in front of Grace that I wanted to be impressed with me. From my prone spot on the floor all I could think to say was, “You don’t touch my face with your shoes–” but Linda’s feet returning roughly to my face cut me off in midsentence.
Linda smirked and replied, “Oh you mean like this,” and she again began rubbing her shoe soles on my face, this time sliding forward a little in her chair, so she could catch more of my face with each shoe sole, pressing each to a cheek with the toe of each shoe up near my eyes, and plastering both soles vertically right against my face, then sliding alternating up and down, wiping them on my face. Then she brought them even, still covering my whole face and squeezed them together, smushing my cheeks and puckering my lips, so they came to rest right next to each other with my nose and lips all squished and peeking out at her from between her shoe soles.
She left it there for emphasis for what seemed like a slow 10 second stand off that felt more like an hour, as if she was challenging me to see what I would do. I didn’t know what to do. I had just been dressed down by the owner of the firm and told to do whatever Linda said. I heard Grace crack up and say “OMG I can’t believe you just wiped your shoes right on his face, hahaha. Linda you crack me up.” Hearing Grace describe out loud what just transpired made it even more embarrassing.
Out of left field, Grace then added, “What did that feel like rubbing the bottoms of your shoes on a guy’s face, hahaha?” I couldn’t believe she had just witnessed this and all that was in her head was wondering what it must feel like to rub the soles of her shoes on a guy’s face. And after what felt like an eternity Grace finally walked away saying, “I gotta get back to work.” Linda then continued to address me with her soles roughly gripping my face, “This is what you were talking about right? I just want to be clear.”
I was stuck there like an idiot, supporting myself on my elbows, with my head pulled up and back and unable to even roll away to the side. For almost 90 seconds now I had to lay there like a weak fool while Linda rubbed the soles of her shoes on my face with impunity, while Grace watched and laughed. Linda must have been good and pissed off that I had talked negatively to the boss about her since her job was her life.
Realizing I was not in a winning situation here, I patiently waited for her to remove her soles from my face. But she was obviously enjoying herself, and was not going to let me off the hook until I answered. I felt the pressure increase a little as she repeated a little louder to match the increase in pressure with an increase in volume, “Just wanted to be clear, this is what you were talking about, right?” I tried to mumble out a sound to indicate yes, immediately feeling like a total loser forced to concede defeat in a most humiliating fashion.
She then finally pulled her feet off my face and without even dignifying me with a response, she just said, “Seriously, I need you to put that away and help me prepare the XYZ case.” Thankfully, she had released my face, so I just decided to let the matter drop. I figured I would just make notes of where I was leaving off and then close up the file, put it back in its box and move on.
I was kneeling on both knees hunched over on to my elbows making a few notes, when she actually tapped me in the side of my face with the sole of her shoe like a soft kick, saying, “Hello, I said put the fucking file away.” Just operating more out of shock, I closed everything up. I later reflected that perhaps I should have made a stand instead of agreeing by silence that it was ok for her to touch my face with the soles of her shoes. I think she was just pushing the envelope to see if she could make me quit. But I still couldn’t believe she had put the soles of her shoes on my face, and then done it again, as if to emphasize that I was in her territory. The kick was just to rub salt in the wound.
The case we needed to prepare seemed like we could have spread it out on the conference room table but she said we would work in her office because she didn’t want the conference room messy. So I had to retrieve the boxes from storage, then kneel on the floor at her feet and hand her documents one by one. She would decide where they went, and had me make labeled piles on her floor. Then she would point with her foot to piles. Another task the receptionist could have handled or that Linda could have done herself, but for spite she was using me like a file clerk, and she was intentionally doing it with me in a symbolically demeaning position, kneeling before her.
Once these papers were all categorized, I was sitting on her floor with my back against her three drawers of her desk, and she was in her chair, while we were discussing a defense strategy. When I had said I wanted to use a chair, she said she preferred that I did not move anything off her chairs because she had the papers organized a certain way. But sitting I supposed was less symbolically subservient than kneeling, and besides, despite being forced to camp out on the floor I was excited to finally have some strategic work where I could exercise my brain and where I would have superior skills to her given my education!
Maybe she would learn something from me and realize I had a lot to offer. I had my arms by my sides, bent at the elbows, palms up, forearms outstretched with the large 11 by 18 files 1, 2, 3 and 4 all opened stacked on one another, plus a text book open on that sideways on the left hand page and my legal pad on the right hand page. These were starting to get heavy so I was a little on edge. She was facing me, had her shoes off and her left leg crossed over her right, bobbing it occasionally and flexing her painted toes about 12 to 14 inches from my face.
I noticed her toenails were French manicured, done in a shiny flesh tone, with a white frosted edge on each nail, and they had a nice shiny topcoat. I thought I could smell the aroma of her sweat mixed with worn shoe leather, even from this distance. It wasn’t pungent, and was actually almost pleasant, a gentle smell. I became mildly curious, looking at the lines of her feet, the contours, the shapes of the toes. Her toes were small, as were her feet. I wasn’t losing focus though, and was about to really impress her with a brilliant theory I was explaining.
I was in mid sentence sharing my theory and all of a sudden she interrupted me and said “Wait, shhh, I just thought of something.” I reacted testily and replied, “No, I’m in the middle of talking, let me finish.” She then moved her left foot across, turning it vertical and pressed the ball of her bare foot against my lips, the arch against my chin, banging and pinning my head up against the desk drawers, and angrily said “Seriously, shut up for a sec this is important.” She began thinking through her own theory out loud. Her big toes and second toe were flexed back just below my nose so that the tip of my nose was touching the base of her first two toes. Once again, I was completely in shock.
This girl just knew no bounds. I was angry, fuming at the interruption, and in disbelief that she had actually just brought her foot to my face.
I couldn’t believe she took the liberty and thought it was her place to shut me up by actually pressing her foot against my mouth. But I was totally at a loss for what to do, thinking of how to react and stand up for myself against such unacceptable, presumptive behavior.
But then I noticed the smell emanating from the base of her toes. I was actually drawn in, and found myself drinking it in. I wanted to yell at her but it was almost like her foot had not only shut me up but intoxicated my senses. She droned on for a few minutes, paused mid sentence looking down at me with a confused look, and I then realized I had been taking what must have been exaggeratedly deep breaths through my nose and wasn’t sure if my eyes might have fluttered or taken on a look of enjoyment. I noticed that my loins had stiffened.
She must have been wondering why the man who had just taken such offense at having shoes on his face was now noticeably sniffing and perhaps even enjoying her foot pressed against his lips and nose. I began to feel my face heat up with her staring at me, but fortunately her phone rang. She twisted to her right to grab it, causing her left foot to press tighter onto my lips. The distraction had also caused her to unflex her toes, her foot having grown tired of flexing the toes back, so her toes came to rest on and around my nose, imprisoning it with her big toe on one side of my nose, the second toe resting atop my nose and the third toe on the other side of my nose, with the remaining two toes splayed across my cheek.
I just became lost as minutes ticked by on her phone call and I felt powerless to do anything, and I suppose I really didn’t want to do anything, and I couldn’t stand since I had become quite erect and had paperwork spread all over me. My mind drifted off as I became consumed with sniffing and inhaling the aroma of her toes snugged right up against my nostrils. I felt my member climbing around sideways, extending to capacity. I then noticed her staring at me while on the call.
I began worrying if she was thinking, ‘why isn’t he protesting or moving?’, or worse yet if she actually had noticed me sniffing and if it was clear that I was enjoying it. But still I did nothing. Ten minutes or so later, the call ended, and she said, “Well, do you like it? What do you think?” I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the case itself asking for my theory, or if she was asking me about her theory. And she hadn’t lifted the ball of her foot off my lips yet.
As she lifted the ball of her foot off my lips, I heard her say, “Are you just going to sniff my toes all day or answer me?” I cringed at her verbalizing it as a fact that I was sniffing her toes, and also worrying that her comment was awfully loud, hoping Grace didn’t hear it, and feeling all stupid inside wondering if she was joking because she had placed her toes on my nose, or if I had been too obvious in my involuntary sniffing. Maybe I was over-thinking this.
I tried to spin it, ignoring her remark, saying, “Oh, so I am allowed to talk now? Jeez. And I wasn’t sniffing, I was just breathing.” She snickered and said, “Ahh OK, coulda fooled me. Looked like you were getting high off the smell of my feet.” Then she laughed. I was all discombobulated and figured I’d get this back on track, and redirected the conversation by saying, “You asked me ‘Do I like it? What do I think?’ What were you referring to?”
I was still unsure if she was soliciting my own theory or asking for feedback on her own. She gave me an exasperated look and said, “Duh! What the hell do you think I was referring to? You think I was asking if you like the smell of my feet? I was asking you what you thought of my theory, you idiot. Weren’t you even listening? My feet must smell pretty good.”
I did not like where this was going so I had to make sure I at least made an effort to protest, I said, “Don’t ever put your foot in my face again.” Linda laughed in my face, and said “Or what? You’ll sniff them and space out so we can’t get any work done?” My dick continued to climb higher in a clockwise rotation with each of these biting remarks.
Without taking her bait I asked her to walk me through her theory again. She smirked and said “I knew you weren’t paying attention.” I wasn’t sure if this was another insinuation that I was being entranced by her foot smell. But fortunately she didn’t wait for a response and walked me through again. I listened and commented diplomatically on it, and then said, “Now I’d like to bounce my theory off you.”
So I once again began recounting what I thought was a brilliant strategy that she had so rudely interrupted before. Then just a few sentences in, she interrupted me again, saying, “Hold on a minute, that reminds me, I just thought of something else.” This time I wasn’t going to be interrupted, so I said, “No, that’s bullshit, you already cut me off–” but once again she slammed the ball of her foot onto my lips to shut me up. But this time I was not going to sit idly by and have her press her foot on my mouth. Seriously, who the hell would actually think it was OK to put their foot on another person’s mouth.
I shook my head side to side to free my mouth from her foot, and started to say, “You are so fucking rude, I am in the middle-“, but she got even angrier, slid her chair back and over a smidge, pushed my head hard against the drawers with her foot again, prompting me to open my mouth to say “Oww’. This enabled her in the same motion to briefly pull her foot back, straighten it to point her toes, and jam her bare foot toes-first into my mouth as I opened my mouth from the impact with the desk. She then pushed it in all the way as far as it would go, and brought the other one up to my face pressing against it, saying, “I said shut up! So shut the hell up! This ought to keep you shut up. I need to concentrate. This is important.”
I was positively dumbfounded that she had just actually shoved her foot in my mouth. As if what I had to say wasn’t important. She actually felt she had the right to stick her foot into another one’s mouth. Something was terribly wrong here. This was the second time today she had gone beyond mere words and physically humiliated me, specifically using her shoes in the first instance and her feet in this skirmish. Was she just trying to get me to quit, or was there some symbolic message to this use of the lowest, dirtiest part of her body not just touching me but specifically abusing my face with her feet to provide the highest level of humiliation?
‘I should do something,’ I thought to myself. But before my brain could think anymore, my taste buds took over, as I began to notice the taste of her bare soles on my tongue, distracting me from my indignation at being gagged with her foot. I began to salivate at the slightly salty taste. It actually was not a bad taste, and I found myself involuntarily trying to continue to sample the taste, my anger forgotten.
My senses were overwhelmed: with her foot straining the capacity of my lips and cheeks and violating my mouth, the tips of her toes pushing to the beginning of my throat; with my taste buds engrossed in the flavor of her foot bottoms and her toes pressed onto my tongue; with one half of my face being roughly pinned against the desk by her other foot bottom, the eye forced shut; with my nose being the only way to breath and that pressed right next to her arch; and with my one free eye looking at the close up of the side of her foot, up her shin and to her triumphant face. Hers was a totally dominant position and I was being physically, mentally and emotionally humbled by her feet.
I wasn’t quite sure where this bipolar rage came from. Could she really be that pissed off that I went to the boss? She has always been moody. And I had seen her flip out on a secretary before on my first day to the point where the woman cried and then quit on the spot, which is why there were no other support besides Grace.
I kind of didn’t know what to do or say, my head was against the drawers and I think the shock of having her actually use her foot to shut my mouth up and then gag me with her toes had kind of stunned me into inaction. And the taste of her feet had consumed all of my attention. My cock had totally stiffened against my will though so I just prayed the files would not fall away and it would not fly way up and be noticeable.
So I just stayed there stunned with one of her feet crammed into my mouth, the other foot pressed over my cheek and eye, the arch hovering over my nose. I could feel myself reddening too. She kept her foot pressed deep into my mouth and started talking through a line of legal reasoning for the case, which given the circumstances I had trouble paying attention to. I continued to notice the taste of her foot, slightly salty but also now becoming a little sweet, perhaps from the oils in the leather having mingled into her sweat as her foot heated and sweated lightly in the shoe. The taste was still surprisingly not unpleasant. I noticed I was salivating and swallowing, which resulted in her foot being welcomed further into my mouth.
After a few minutes of babbling on, she then looked at me and said “I like it.” Only then did I notice that I had been again exaggerating my breaths in, in an involuntary effort to sniff her foot, and staring at her other foot with my uncovered eye, and worse yet that I was not fighting the foot in my mouth, even accepting it in further as if I wanted it in there deeper every time I swallowed, and I could have sworn my tongue might have even moved along the bottom of it tasting it. She began to look at me curiously almost like the wheels of her brain were on the same wavelength. Luckily, her stare broke away when her phone rang again and she answered it, removing her right foot off my face to turn slightly to her right, but never removing her left foot from its position of control jammed deep in my mouth.
I guess she had been sensing something, because while she was listening to the person on the other end of the phone, she kind of looked to me, then to her foot, then to me, then cocked her head a little, kind of taking in my redness, my lack of struggle with her foot rammed between my lips, and a curious look came across her face. I tried to avert my eyes, but couldn’t move my head since her deep controlling foot gag had pinned it in place, and I am not sure but I thought she glanced down.
This call went on forever. Thankfully the files were on my lap. I wondered if she heard or felt or sensed me smelling or licking her foot, or knew that something was odd about me not flinching or maybe she had a sixth sense about the arousal. Had I sucked it in further? Did I lick it? Maybe this was a bad idea for me not to protest since she might use this technique again and again and again. ‘Thank God Grace didn’t see this’, I thought to myself. I need to get out of here.

This phone call went on for what seemed like 30 minutes with Linda’s foot rudely rammed into my mouth, her toes threatening my tonsils and pinning my head against the desk while she sat haughtily above me in her chair. Linda’s escalation of her routine verbal condescension into humiliating forms of physical contact on this day made me regret lodging my complaint with the boss. Linda made no effort to take her foot out of my mouth as if it were her perfect right to stick her foot into my mouth as a means to forcibly shut me up. I was stuck there with a mountain of paperwork on my lap but fortunate to have all those files covering my swollen straining member. It was just about lunch time.
When she finally hung up, Grace came to Linda’s door and told her there was a call for me. Linda gave an exaggerated look down at me and snapped back, “Nah, he’ll have to call them back.” I didn’t think Grace could see me but I was panicked because I knew Linda was trying to make it obvious given her exaggerated glance and the angle of her leg that Grace could see. Grace said, “They said it was important.” I cringed inside when Linda replied, “He can’t talk now because I’ve got my foot shoved in his mouth.” I could not believe she had just said this.
Grace replied in disbelief, “What? Are you freaking kidding me?” And Linda could not of course leave it at that, and felt the need to totally humiliate me, explaining, “No, I kid you not. I had to gag him to shut him the hell up, my foot fits perfectly in his mouth, and I’ve had my foot shoved in his mouth for almost a half hour.” These words for some reason made me pulsate down below.
Grace said, “Get outta here.” Then Linda added, “I’m serious, and before that I had my foot pressed over his mouth and my toes over his nose for another half hour with him breathing through my toes. He actually sniffed under my toes for a half hour and shut his eyes like the smell under my toes was some type of hypnotic drug.” Linda looked down at me and said, “Isn’t that right?” My cock continued to pulse.
I knew I was beet red now and felt so helpless sitting there with all those books and files on my arms, her foot jammed into my mouth, my cock inexplicably hard as a rock, and throbbing. I wanted to deny this and defend myself but I said nothing. I would have spoken up but I was gagged. To my utter disbelief, Grace said, “You have your foot shoved in his mouth? Right now?” Without waiting for an answer she then asked, “Is that a rush? How does it feel to stick your foot in a guy’s mouth?” And Linda laughed. ‘What a stupid fucking question,’ I thought to myself, ‘well stupid girl, stupid question.’ I pondered, ‘that is what actually comes into her head: curiosity at what it feels like to stuff her foot into someone else’s mouth.’
Sensing my discomfort, Linda said with a devilish smile, “do you need to get anything in these files” inviting Grace in where she would see my predicament, despite the fact that Grace would have no need for anything in the files. Grace, being a total moron, fortunately did not pick up on the hint. I felt relief when I heard “No, not right now” as the immediate reply, but then the relief washed away as the Linda decided to be more direct and said, “Wanna come take a look?” I felt a sense of doom. I heard Grace say “Yeah, actually, I do” in what was much too excited a voice.
Grace stepped into Linda’s office, walked past the desk, turned to face me and stood looking down at me, and her face actually lit up like a Christmas tree. She was wearing a black slacks, pink blouse, black hose, black leather pumps. As if that wasn’t bad enough having her see me like this, she then surprised me even more, when she asked Linda, “Can I try putting my feet on his face?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. I couldn’t even protest with Linda’s foot jammed in my mouth. And now not only was this little dipshit looking to try her hand at humiliating me underfoot, but she was actually asking Linda, as if I was a piece of Linda’s property with no human rights. Before I could even process it, I heard Linda say, “Sure, pull up a chair.” I couldn’t believe what was happening. I thought Linda didn’t want anything moved off her chairs, either. What a bitch!
So I watched in wretched disbelief as the hot little receptionist went deeper into Linda’s office, cleared off the wooden guest chair and brought in right up over my outstretched legs so it was directly in front of me, but the pile of files, book and legal pad were in the way keeping her at a distance. In order to get her chair nice and close for a facial foot assault on me, she tossed aside the digest, then the legal pad. I began to grow worried about them seeing my erection as she began to remove one by one the case files 1, 2, 3 from my lap eyeing how much space she needed for the cross bar. The lightened weight on my lap made allowed my organ to continue to rise clockwise to the side and fully extend, still pulsing and throbbing.
Fortunately she left one very thin file, probably because she was too lazy and was only trying to enable herself to get the chair closer. But that last file was the furthest away and the clockwise extension of my member left it lined up horizontally at the end of the thin file, so one more surge and I risked being exposed if they were observant. I prayed they weren’t because I knew it was only a matter of time before the erection would climb even further around the clock and out from under the thin paperwork.
She then placed the chair down so the thin cross bar was pressed right down on the paper thin file on my thighs, trapping me even more with my outstretched legs pinned tightly under her chair. She then plopped daintily into the seat, her bony knees just inches from my face, and one black pump planted on either side of my hips. She pulled her knees up and began to take off one of her shoes. The smell of her foot hit me right away like a blast the minute the shoe came off. Even Linda spoke up and said, “Wow, your feet stink. Holy shit. Why don’t you try washing them or something? Jeezus! You need to start showering at the gym before coming here. That is gross!”
Then Linda’s face lit up as if a light bulb went off in her head and she said, “I got a great idea.” She pulled her own foot from my mouth then grabbed Grace’s shoe, and pressed the opening of Grace’s pump vertically right over my face so my nose was in the heel area and my mouth toward the toe. The shoe really stunk. My eyes even started to tear up because of the acrid stench of the damp air in her shoe that was contaminated by her foot stench. Linda continued, “Breathe nice and deep,” then both of then cracked up laughing.
To my own surprise I did start to breathe deep. I thought to myself, ‘How could such pretty little feet smell so bad? And why am I actually sniffing?’ Grace shouted, “OMG that is hysterical. He actually did it.” I was just soaked in humiliation at this point, taking deep nasal breaths of Grace’s very damp, very warm shoe, which actually smelled a lot sweatier and harsher than Linda’s feet, probably due to Grace working out at the gym before work and not showering, then wearing pumps all day with her already sweaty feet. They both went into a laughing fit.
Compared to these Linda’s feet were like aromatherapy. But I did find myself sniffing, taking in all Grace’s foot accumulated foot sweat even though I really didn’t want to, and I felt my member inexplicably extend to the maximum, work itself even more clockwise and upward breaking free from the edge of its wafer thin camouflage, and it began to throb ever harder in my pants. I could not stop sniffing and apparently getting turned on even though the odor was offensive. My brain began to race: ‘It must just be because she was so gorgeous and had such a great body in spite of the smell and in spite of the fact that her toes are wiggling all over my nose? Please don’t let them look down, I really don’t need them knowing I have an erection. They will think I am weird and it gives them even more power.’
Linda pulled Grace’s black pump off my face and suggested in a much too excited, sadistic voice, “Go ahead, stick your foot in his face.” Grace hesitated and replied, “I don’t know my feet always sweat a lot, especially in these shoes, but they are really sweaty today and smell worse than usual.” I was dreading it because the smell was so bad, but couldn’t understand why I was so uncontrollably aroused down below. Perhaps it was the idea of being forced into something that was gross and not actually desirable because the smell was beyond the pale. It had to just be a nervous erection, or due to Grace’s attractiveness.
Linda continued, instructing her, “Put the ball of your foot right on his lips and get the toes all around his nose.” Grace hesitated again. More throbbing in fearful anticipation of those pretty but raunchy feet imprisoning my nose in a stinky, wet toe cage. Maybe her hesitation indicated that she had some shame after all. Grace answered her, “These black pumps really make my feet smell a lot. I don’t know what it is about them. But I’m telling you I can even smell them every time I slip off my shoes, and I have to keep my shoes on all day when I wear these because the smell even bothers me, and they are my own damn feet.”
Linda replied, “Mark my words he’ll sniff them. I’ll bet you $50 he will sniff them.” Grace said, “I don’t have $50 right now. And I have a small confession to make. I skipped my shower last night after the gym because I took two classes in a row, and then I had to do laundry when I got home because I had no clean underwear and no gym socks. I’ve had to re-wear the same cotton socks to the gym and to work three days already. I’m three weeks behind . . .”
Linda interrupted her, saying, “That is really gross, Grace. You’re telling me you couldn’t do laundry on the weekend?” Grace answered, “No, I waitressed and bartended two long shifts, and I ran a road race Saturday, and I was just exhausted after working out Sunday. And my saga goes on, I had no hot water, so all I did was wash up at the sink, you know face, armpits, privates.”
Linda cut her off again, “OK, OK, TMI, too much information that is really gross and now I know why your feet stink like holy hell. You really ought to shower at the gym because it is really nothing short of disgusting to go three or four or five days without washing your feet, despite working your day job, bartending, waitressing and working out twice a day and running road races. But I tell you what. You don’t have to pay me if you lose. But I will pay you $50 if he doesn’t sniff them.”
Grace apparently needed the money since I immediately saw the dark stained wet black stocking heading straight for me. She wasted no time and pressed the ball of her foot directly over my mouth and began aggressively wiggling her toes over my nose, and gripping it on and off. I cringed inside, but as soon as I felt the moist black sheer hose on my skin, my nose began illogically sniffing under her toes. It was almost like my sense of smell was curious and my body just decided it was going to sniff Grace’s sweaty panty hose covered toes even though it was going to harm my nasal membranes and humiliate me.
I mentally decided not to sniff, but failed the instant the acrid vinegary smell assaulted my nostrils. My eyes got watery, my throat hurt a little. Worse yet, as she extended the foot to my face, she adjusted her hips and shifted her other foot with the pump still on to the center to compensate, lifting it up and bringing it to rest on the very thin file on my thigh. Fortunately, that foot was to the opposite side of where my erection was.
Then I tried to stop sniffing but I just couldn’t. The smell was overwhelming. It was strong, pungent, offensive and acidic. But I continued to sniff her toes ever more deeply in through my nose. I couldn’t stop even though the smell was really bad. I heard Grace say, “OMG, you were right, he is smelling my toes, like he’s getting high! That is so gross. I can’t believe it, my feet are so sweaty that my stockings are moist. But this is awesome.” Linda then said, “You go ahead, keep at it while I make a call or two.”
For some unknown reason I put up no fight and just kept smelling and inhaling the scent of those toes until I lost track of what I was doing. I still could feel my member pulsating nonstop in my pants. I had lost all focus, and then heard Grace say, “OMG, I really can’t believe he is actually sniffing my sweaty feet! At my last job they gave me a warning for taking my shoes off because people were complaining about the smell, and then HR moved me to my own office for some anti discrimination law stuff. How can anyone enjoy that? I can’t even stand the smell of my own feet. And today they are the ripest they have ever been because of my water situation.”
I snapped from my reverie when she unfairly accused me of ‘enjoying’ this because I never said that. But I then realized I had shut my eyes, and wasn’t sure if it was to avoid the humiliation of having to look up at Grace while I got humiliated by the receptionist, or if I was in what looked like a state of arousal over having her sweaty, black panty hose covered toes clamped and wiggling over my nose. It felt like a film of her foot sweat had been transferred to my mouth and nose, because the skin felt all tight like she had applied a foot sweat mask than had not been rinsed off.
After 10 minutes or so, she must have grown bored, because she pulled that foot off my face for a moment and slipped it back into her shoe, giving me a temporary reprieve with a 50% reduction in the nasal assault now that the undersides of her toes were no longer in direct contact with my face. Some of the rancid moisture must have been transferred to my skin though because the smell was still there. I was nevertheless thankful for my nose being paroled from its jail sentence under her sweaty toes.
But she then removed her other pump, hitting me with another gust of foul smelling foot freshly out of the damp shoe leather. The freshly removed stinking foot even offended Linda, who yelled, “Good God, those stink, WTF Grace!” Grace then said, “Well I have another small confession to make. I only got to do two loads of whites which I never even got to fold, and I had no darks, so I already had to re-wear these hose . . . twice last week, and on both of my shifts at the club.” Then she gave Linda an embarassed smile and giggled.
Linda replied, “OMG, you pig. So you worked out in the morning and came to work without showering, worked out yesterday with still no shower, ran a road race the day before with still no shower and did what . . . two exercise classes a day over four or five days, all in the same cotton socks and wore them to and from work every day, and on top of that wore those same nylons for two whole days last week, two shifts at the club this weekend, and again here today? Please tell me you showered this morning.”
Grace then defensively replied, “I overslept and I never even got to take the clean whites out of the bag and had to get to the gym before work and the water heater is broken.” Linda decried, “Grace that is fucking disgusting. That’s like five days, a road race, four days of double exercise classes in the same socks and then a day and half of work and two long night club shifts in those same hose, and all with no goddam shower. And if you didn’t unpack the whites, you wore the same white socks in today.”
Grace tried to defend herself, “I told you I had no hot water. I had no time. I’m working two jobs, and both my other black ones ripped. They had runs in them. So I only had this pair and no time to get to the laundry mat until last night, and I never got to darks.” Linda retorted, “I can’t believe this is the fifth wearing on those stockings. No wonder your feet stink like holy hell! Those are like an environmental hazard. But I’ll give you another twenty bucks if you stick it in his mouth.” I thought to myself, ‘What a mean spirited bitch!’ Grace retorted, “Well apparently the sniffer here doesn’t think so, and you already owe me fifty bucks. Hahaha. I’ll take another twenty from you. I can really use it.”
After hearing all this, it was not just a matter of putting on a show of protest. It really was disgusting. I couldn’t take anymore and had to speak up, berating her, “You are disgusting. Take a fucking shower. For crissakes, how much does a pair of clean nylons cost? Two bucks? Give us all a break. Get those fucking these away from me, you ruthless bitch. Don’t you have any shame? Your feet fucking stink. You are not putting that in my mouth, you sadistic bitch. You’re a pig and you should be ashamed of yourself and embarrassed to take your shoes off.”
Surprised but re-emboldened by my sudden bravado and insulting outburst, Grace’s eyes opened wide, then she said, “You asked for it,” and pointed her toes on this second foot and tried to force her sweat soaked stocking clad foot into my mouth. But I resisted, clamping my lips shut tight, and crinkling my eyes in disgust. ‘WTF’ I thought to myself. I did not for the moment want to have this humiliation repeated, especially not after her ‘confessions’ and I was still shocked at how smelly her feet actually were.
But worse than that I was amazed that she would not feel the least bit self conscious about placing her unwashed foot right over my nose, and now attempting to stick it in my mouth even though she just admitted she hasn’t showered in five days, over the course of which she did four days of double exercise classes and ran a road race all in the same socks, commuted to work every day in those socks, and also had re-worn the same nylons three full days of work and two nightclub shifts. Gross.
I thought to myself, ‘Shouldn’t she feel embarrassed about the smell of her feet and nylons and shoes, and ashamed to even admit all that? And what about some compassion for me? That is totally fucking RUTHLESS to stick that in my face and make me smell it. Jeez that’s really gross that that was on my face. I can’t bear the thought of that in my mouth. She must actually have to be a sadist to want to shove that thing in my mouth. Why am I still hard? It has to be residual blood flow. Geez, I can’t even stand up to make a run for it. I’m hard and my thighs are pinned under her chair.’ I was also worried that I might actually involuntarily reach orgasm from this humiliating experience. What would that say about me in their eyes?
Despite her apparent disgust with Grace’s foot hygiene and her revulsion at the smell, when Linda noticed the flexed pointed toe of Grace’s nyloned foot meeting the resistance of my tightly pursed lips, she sadistically advised her, “If he isn’t letting you in, bang his head hard against the desk. And by the way I really hate the word ‘bitch.’ It is so degrading to women, so stick it in far to teach him a much needed lesson in humility.”
Grace immediately shifted her hips, bringing the other foot, now back in its pump, up on to the thin file on my thighs, precariously close to the edge nearest me, but this time on the same side with my erection, just an inch or so from my engorged, manhood which was in danger of exploding.
Before I could open my mouth to avoid another slam of my skull into the desk, Grace shifted her weight on the shod foot and slammed the ball of her foot into my lips causing a stab of pain on the already bruised rear of my skull against the desk. When my mouth reflexively opened, Grace slid her disgusting nyloned foot into my mouth, and she let out a shriek of laughter, followed by a giddy scream, “OMG I can’t believe I’m sticking my foot right in his mouth!”
Linda said, “That is about the grossest thing I have ever seen. No offense but you really are a ruthless bitch to even put that against his nose, not to mention in his mouth. But there is a silver lining in every cloud. At least it chokes off some of the smell and stops it from permeating my whole office.” They laughed. Linda added, “And it shuts up Mister Bitch this, Bitch that.” Grace added, “Trudat!”
Worse still for me though, when Grace shifted her weight up on the heel of the shod foot on the thin file on my lap to slam me in the face with the other hosed foot, the sole of the weight bearing shoe on the file had slid forward on the paper with the toe raised slightly, passed the edge of the file and come to rest with the sole right on the underside of my upturned cock, just below the head. And I was so close to the edge of losing it that any movement of her pump was going to set off an orgasm against my will. I thought to myself, ‘this can’t be happening.’
For the next several minutes or so Grace was staring at me and making comments about how “cool” it is to stick her foot in a guy’s mouth, how she could “definitely get used to this,” and how she “can’t even imagine how humiliating that must be.” She continued on like I wasn’t even human, “That has to taste awful, my sweaty foot in his mouth but he’s not even fighting it . . . I wonder if he likes the taste or something like some exotic food that only people with eccentric tastes will eat, like pickled herring, fish eggs, ugli fruit, pig knuckles, ya know . . . .”
I was trying so hard to concentrate on not losing control of my sexual functions but I knew I was near the edge and the pressure from her shoe, unbeknownst to her, right on my throbbing member was not helping matters. My concentration was broken by Linda egging her on, “Go deeper. Wiggle it in farther.” Grace replied, “You’re just trying to have me get the whole thing in there so you won’t have to smell it.” More laughter.
Grace wiggled her panty hosed foot side to side and insistently pushed it deeper and deeper into my mouth with no regard for my comfort or safety, no concept of the inappropriateness of putting her foot in another human’s mouth, and no self consciousness about how bad they smelled. The tips of her dainty little toes were wiggling and poking into my throat and forcing me to have to concentrate on relaxing to stave off a gag reflex. But her wiggling and rocking caused her weight on her balancing leg to rhythmically press the sole of her other shoe on my cock, on off, on off, on off, jump starting an involuntary and uncontrollable process of contractions in my pelvis.
My lips were getting stretched and my jaw was aching, but then I soon lost track of that thought as I continued to taste Grace’s strongly flavored foot sweat and couldn’t help salivating, and swallowing her cider vinegar flavored foot sweat, the secreted salts from her foot sweat glands mixed with the leather from her shoe, coming directly off her toes through the sheer hose, and also being released from the accumulated sweat stored in the fabric of her stockings. I felt and dreaded a massive orgasm building and only seconds away, as her other foot continued pumping, on off, on off, on off, but there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Grace continued, getting ever more excited, and screaming directly at me so loud I opened my eyes, “You are actually sucking on my foot . . . Everyone I know complains about the smell of my feet when I take my shoes off . . . But you’re swallowing my sweat . . . Ew, that has to taste awful . . . But it’s almost like he is feasting on it . . . . Look he’s closing his eyes . . . I think he actually likes the taste! Gross!” I must have been getting intoxicated by inhaling and sucking her sweat from her stockinged feet because even her words designed to insult and degrade me, were inexplicably bringing me nearer to the edge.
Linda then added, “Give him a little extra,” then and picked up Grace’s shoe and handed it to her. As Grace then leaned forward to put the smelly damp pump over my nose, her toes drove deeper into my mouth, and her other foot slid slightly more forward up my shaft with more weight on it stepping the sole of her pump but now directly onto the underside of the head of my erection, causing me to start to explode right then and there in my pants, as the stinking, damp, dark, dank inside of her smelly black leather pump clamped down over my nose with the top of the shoe pressed to my forehead. “Nice deep breaths, BITCH!” she ordered, followed by a laugh.
As my pride and self control and dignity was being expelled right in my pants beneath her shoe sole, my senses were all overloaded. I was tasting her salt and vinegar flavored sweat, swallowing it, while my lips and cheeks were stretched to the max, her sole pressed on my tongue, her toes extending and wiggling into my throat, and the ammonia and wet leather smell of the shoe mask on my sticky face blocking out everything else.
My ears heard Linda laughing hysterically, exclaiming, “Ahh what a picture that is your foot wedged in his mouth and your shoe over his nose.” She then extended her own foot lightly touching her toes to my cheek and pinching it during my climax, saying, “Let me get in there too.” As the waves shuddered through me, I had to look at Grace leaning in at me with my stereoscopic vision split by the pump being pressed over my nose.
And with each contraction in my pelvis I heard Grace’s words degrading me from the very first one all the way through the end of the orgasm, “This ruthless enough for ya? You are sucking my smelly foot, sucking the sweat out of my nylons and swallowing it. Suck on those five little stinky piggies being rammed down your throat. You like that taste, huh? Ew! Who’s the pig, now? Your breath is going to smell like my feet. Hahaha. And you’re sniffing my sweaty shoe. These shoes effing STINK! How can you possibly like this? Gross. OMG, I can’t believe you are doing this. Who’s the bitch, now?”
As the orgasm concluded and shame set in, her words began to embarrass me and then very quickly annoy me. She made it sound like I volunteered for this and accused me of ‘liking’ it. I never frigging said I ‘liked’ it. What was I supposed to do, hit her? This had all just happened so fast and I needed the job and I had been getting hard and I couldn’t stop sniffing and sucking.
It had just seemed easier to give in at the time. But it was so embarrassing to have them innocently suspect I was enjoying it and then verbalize this out loud, and so humiliating to have them continually describe what they were doing to me and pointing out that I was not resisting. Maybe they believed I was just worried for my job. They had forced this on me. I didn’t volunteer. I couldn’t believe I actually just came. How did this happen?
I was broken from my thoughts when Grace exclaimed “Oh shit” and she pulled her foot out of my mouth, slipped back into her pumps and got up and ran out of Linda’s office. ‘Thank God’ I thought to myself, ‘I am so humiliated.’ I felt weak, tired, and just wanted to make myself vanish and go off to sleep. I thought I was home free, and I needed to get out of there, so tired, but she returned with a sandwich, plopped back down, and pulled her rank feet back out of her pumps, the waft of foul smelling air re-waking me like smelling salts shoved in the nose of a punch drunk boxer, breaking me from my thoughts of escapism.
She then once again pressed both over her hose-clad clammy, smelly feet squarely over my face with just my nose and lips exposed between them. They were already sweaty again. I heard her say, “Do you mind?” I thought to myself, ‘Is that a rhetorical fucking question, she has her feet on my goddam face, of course I fucking mind, and don’t you ask someone before you do something, not afterward . . .’ but my thoughts were interrupted when I heard Linda say, “No, you enjoy while I run out and grab a sandwich.”
Inside my head I was screaming ‘WTF, she is actually asking Linda for permission to press the soles of her feet on my face, and Linda is matter of factly answering like I am her personal slave. This is ridiculous. As if I haven’t been humiliated enough already.’ So Linda left while Grace ate her whole lunch with her stinking feet glued to my face.
At some point she said, “I’m gonna ask Linda if you can lay under my desk at lunch tomorrow.” I couldn’t reply with my face imprisoned under her smelly hose-covered feet and in this surreal moment had no idea what to say anyway. I laid there in silence while Grace ate lunch like a princess using my face as her human footrest. The silence was unnerving as I was forced to contemplate how ridiculous I must look.
Worse than that, I had to wallow in my humiliation trapped there with my soiled pants on, having been brought to sexual release under the shoe sole of a ruthless receptionist inflicting a sadistic humiliation on me using nothing but her dirty, unwashed, sweaty foot in a filthy nylon shoved into my mouth, and her shoe over my nose, while she laughed in my face and berated me. How embarrassing. And now my face was being whored out for Grace to rest her sweaty, stinky feet on during her lunch, feet that she never washed for five days, eight exercise classes, a road race, two night club shifts, and while wearing stockings that were now on their fifth wearing. But I suppose as unnerving as it was, the silence was better than listening to her stupid moronic banter. And it was also fortunate that neither of them had noticed the power Grace had just exercised over me sexually.
Every so often, her feet would start to sweat again from contact with my hot red embarrassed face. And every few minutes Grace would re-adjust, and take the liberty of wiping her sweaty stockinged feet all over my face, making sure she transferred her foot sweat to my face, rehydrating my skin with another coat of fresh foot sweat every couple of minutes, shellacking me in coats of her foot sweat. She would then re-secure her raunchy feet to my face for an extended press.
Linda eventually returned, and Grace finally pulled her feet off my face, thankfully stuffed them back in their pumps choking off the stench, and as Grace left for her station, she said, “Now your face is gonna smell like my feet. Hahaha.” Linda looked down from her chair, kicked off her own pumps and began laughing at me again. It was then that the accumulated humiliation of the last hour made anger rise up in my and I said, “How dare you stick your foot in my mouth?”
She then immediately kicked into my face again so the back of my head banged into the desk yet again and then re-inserted her foot in my mouth the instant my mouth opened to say “oww.” She replied, “This is how I dare.” She had to be trying to get me to quit. I couldn’t reply with a foot once again stuffed in my mouth and I had already been literally and figuratively emasculated under Grace’s pump.
Linda looked at me, keeping her bare foot rammed in my mouth, and then after staring me down, made a personal phone call. 15 more minutes. My overstretched jaw had grown so weak that I couldn’t even fight the foot that was raping my mouth. But my lower regions had not grown weak and were surprisingly beginning to re-stiffen, hopefully not from the continued symbolic humiliation of being gagged by Linda’s foot. I wished my body would stop responding like that.
There were a few silent seconds, before she said, “Hello, are you going to just suck on my foot all day, or get some work done?” Then she burst out laughing. And then she briefly grabbed my nose with the toes of her other foot and gave it a squeeze. “Smell good?” she asked, then laughed and added, “How does my foot taste?” More laughter. In actuality, her foot was like candy after suffering the forced fellatio on Grace’s unwashed, sweaty feet in those multiple use nylons.
Linda then pulled her foot out of my mouth, and said “so what did you think of my theory?” Now I felt really flushed. I had to admit, “Uhh I really lost my train of thought.” She replied, “Ah yeah I noticed.” And with that she tapped my nose with her toes and swiveled away, as we continued discussing the case.
I couldn’t think of anything to say to defend myself or explain things away and I was not sure what she was thinking, and I was thankful to have the humiliation over with and the subject changed. So I just said nothing about the fact that her feet and the receptionist’s feet had been violating my mouth, that she had invited Grace to press her sweaty toes over my mouth and nose, and that she had farmed out my face as Grace’s foot rest for lunch hour. I was too embarrassed to even look at Grace the rest of the day.

The next day I had been lying on my back on the floor reading document after document until my eyeballs were ready to fall out. Lying on the floor beat squatting, kneeling, standing, crouching as far as comfort goes, since I wasn’t allowed to move her important papers off her wooden guest chair and upset her special order. I had to read a transcript and she was typing in relevant quotes into a memorandum she was writing. My head was off to her left right by the drawers, close enough so I could hand the transcript up to her if she didn’t believe me or if we needed to confer in interpretation of the stenographer’s incomplete transcription.
She had worn pumps today, one of very few new pairs, nice navy ones with a low cut vamp in the front and very pointed toe that looked very good on her. One was kicked off though, and the other she was dangling and bobbing on the toes of her suspended foot less than a foot from my face, causing me to sneak peeks, just because there was movement and I was intrigued at how she could keep it balanced there and not have it fall off. I noticed that the stiff unbroken in leather of the shoes had left lines and creases on the skin of her foot, and the dye in the new shoes had left a few blue stains in the few dry porous callused areas of her foot at the heel, the ball and the side of the big toe.
Several times, I read too much too fast and she couldn’t keep up so she yelled at me in her usual rude, condescending manner, “How many times do I have to tell you to slow down . . . Stop when I say stop . . . When I say stop, it doesn’t mean keep reading . . . Do you know what the word stop means? . . . Can’t you follow simple directions?” And then I would start again too soon prompting another berating session again. She had a bad temper and I was definitely pushing the limit.
Then on about the tenth such time that I overloaded her, she swiveled out slightly and just clamped her left foot right over my open mouth sideways and gripped my lips and nose with her toes, saying “Stop!” It was again one of those shocking things where I had not expected it and didn’t know what to do. So I just laid there with her foot pinning my face to the floor and her pinky toe and second to last toe gripping my mouth and her big toe and second toe gripping my nose while she typed.
This time I knew I was smelling it and I just felt like I could not control myself. It had the most gentle odor that was reminiscent of salt and vinegar blended with wet leather but only if you really struggled to find it. It was elusive and I couldn’t help but try to locate it again. After a painfully long time, she asked “Are you sniffing my foot again?” “No,” I replied, “just clearing my nose.” I noticed that I had become erect. She replied, “Well it sounded like you were sniffing my foot. You were sucking air in, not blowing it out.” She lifted her foot keeping it hovering there over my face and said, “OK, go.” I tried to defend myself, saying “I was breathing, for chrissakes.” I found myself staring at her foot and it was actually a pretty foot. “Come on, Go!” she said, ignoring my excuses, so I started reading again.
I was all flustered from that interchange and my screw ups got worse, not only was I reading too fast resulting in her stomping on my lips over and over but I was screwing up sentences so she’d have to correct them when I stopped. I noticed that because the shoes were newer, her foot smelled more like leather than sweat, like a 70/30 mix. But despite the physical response of my body down below, I soon grew tired of the berating, so I then began arguing that Grace should be reading script while I did more substantive work. This caused a drastic escalation.
The conversation got more and more heated, and louder, over the course of 5 solid minutes, the argument veering off to another source of anger for me, when I told her she had some nerve thinking she can just step her feet onto my mouth, and that if she wasn’t such a bitch on wheels with such a bad attitude that we’d get a lot more accomplished. At this time, her patience boiled over.
She stomped on my stomach with her left foot, then leaned forward, pressed her right foot over my forehead, rolled my face toward her, and roughly jammed her left foot right into my mouth while the right foot pinned my head to the floor. “I’m tired of hearing you. Time to shut you up again,” she said. This was so embarrassing, to have her feel like she can just shove her foot in my mouth, gagging me with her toes, whenever she didn’t feel like hearing from me.
After a full minute, she pulled her foot out for a second, and I felt compelled to let her know I was “sick and tired of-“and her foot was forcibly reinserted in my mouth, with the other foot still pinning my head to the floor. Again, I noticed my loins were even more involuntarily aroused. She said, “OK, let’s try 20 minutes. Let’s see if my foot will work as a pacifier since you’re acting like a big baby. Maybe after 20 minutes of my toes in your mouth, you’ll be nice and calm.” Then she yelled, “Suck on my foot for a while you big cry baby!” She then proceeded to laugh.
Grace must have known I was in there and heard the escalating loud arguing, punctuated by Linda’s final humiliating words because she came to Linda’s door about 10 minutes later as if on cue and told Linda I had another call. This was probably bullshit, a pretext to witness my humiliation again, and her looking to get in on the action again. I was beginning to grow annoyed with Grace and her ‘curiosity’. Didn’t she feel any shame? Who does she think she is asking to take turns shoving her sweaty feet in my face and in my mouth? And her stupid fucking comments!
And on top of that her feet are offensively smelly. Doesn’t she have any goddam self consciousness, not washing her feet after the gym? Who the hell does she think she is that she has the right to stick her dirty feet in my face when she freely admits they are sweaty and smelly? Shouldn’t she be self conscious about her smelly, sweaty, unwashed gym feet, being all grimy and gross and then put into her shoes without even being washed? Does she actually believe she has the right and is entitled to stick her feet in another person’s mouth?
Linda made it a point to look down where my legs were sticking out beyond the desk, and then said, “No he can’t talk right now.” The dumb shit receptionist asked “Is he OK?” Dumb as a fox perhaps. Linda looked down again, at my face, at my crotch, back at my reddened face. Then she replied, “Oh he’s just fine. He just can’t talk with my foot shoved in his mouth. He will call them back.” I cringed at Linda’s comment wondering if she knew I was hard and upset that she had to reveal my humiliation at her feet once again to Grace.
Grace then said, “Again? Can I see?” Linda replied, “Come on in.” Then Grace entered, looked upon my foot-gagged face and exclaimed, “OMG, that is so effing hilarious! You’ve got your bare foot shoved right in his mouth while he is flat out on his back, helpless. That looks like a blast.” I then winced inside when I heard Grace say, “Do I get another turn soon?” Linda replied, “Sure if you want. But right now I am adjusting his attitude. For some reason the smell and the taste of my feet both seem to have an EFFECT on him.” What did she mean by emphasizing that word? Just that it subdued me? Or that it was a means of adjusting my supposed attitude? Or perhaps something more erotic in nature?
Linda made another phone call all the while keeping her foot stuffed in my mouth. My mouth was salivating from the salt of her foot sweat glands as if a demand driven cycle of sweating was under way, so I had to keep swallowing, which only invited her foot deeper into my mouth. I found my tongue moving on the bottom of her foot, probably just so it wouldn’t stick I told myself, or reflexive curiosity on the part of my tongue because my mouth was not used to having something shoved in there.
She hung up eventually and stared down at me pinned there by the arch of one foot pressed to my forehead and temple, and the other bare foot crammed deep into my mouth. She said, “Now let’s see if sucking on my foot for a while has brought you to you down to size.” She pulled her foot out and said, “OK, let’s try this again. Pick up where we left off.” Before I could start reading, she added, “That worked like magic, must be some special attitude-adjusting chemical in my foot sweat. I’ll have to make a note of that. A foot in the mouth works like a charm.” I figured it was best to let that comment go. So we started the process again of reading the transcript, and my errors were thankfully fewer. She had a foot hovering over me and I must have spaced out.
She turned to me and said, “Are you going to read or just stare at my foot?” I was reddening and speechless. She then had to push the envelope further and said “Here, have a closer look,” and turned all the way toward me and pressed both feet right on my face, so one was sideways over my lips with the arch snugged right up to my nostrils and the other was over my eyes. My member irrationally sprang to full attention with my face imprisoned there under her royal bitch feet.
She continued, “That better? Maybe get this out of the way and then you can get back to reading.” I was effectively shut up and blinded with her feet over my whole face so I couldn’t even protest, explain or defend myself. And worse yet, my cock was approving everything she did, saluting each humiliation inflicted by her feet and every degrading word uttered from her bitch princess mouth. Luckily her phone rang and she answered it. She took the phone call, never removing her feet from my face, using me as a foot rest for her royal bare feet.
After what felt like 10 minutes, the call ended, and she said, “Your face actually makes a good foot rest for my feet. And it’s warm, much better than a stool.” For some reason, those words made me throb even harder. Then Grace came to her office and asked her if she needed anything before she left. I was thoroughly embarrassed, unsure if Grace was able to extrapolate given my legs sticking out and her facing toward me that her feet were in my face. Linda then had to be a total bitch and said, “I actually, I need to run out for a quick errand, but I tell you what, you want the ‘turn’ for 15 minutes or so before you go?”
Grace needed no urging, and entered Linda’s office without hesitation. She was already changed into sneakers and her leotard pants and had her coat on, apparently going to the gym again for another class in her vile gym socks. She would usually go early in the morning, change at work, and then go again at night. She once again cleared off the wooden chair with no objection from Linda over the important order of the piles of paperwork on it.
Not being very shy at all now as if yesterday had whetted her appetite for debasing me, she attempted to place the chair high over my chest. But since the cross beam didn’t fit over me, she turned it sideways. When she set it down, the other cross beams running front to back, being slightly higher, fit over me but the one closest to my neck pinned my upper chest tightly to the floor. Then she plopped down in the chair facing me, one sneaker on either side of my head, her added weight sinking the legs of the chair infinitesimally into the plush carpet fiber, micro-adjusting the cross bar to dig into the tissue of my chest muscles and the high ribs beneath them. I wasn’t going anywhere. Despite the pain though, at least she was sitting in such a way that she would not see my crotch area and what had arisen.
She shrugged off her coat, then looked to Linda as Linda rose and was putting her coat on and Grace said, “I worked out in these socks and sneakers this morning so they are still a little wet.” I should have been grossed out but for some reason, I wasn’t and actually felt myself growing still harder. Linda on her way out, said, “Hey more flavor for him” and they both laughed. Grace then asked her, “Can I put my sneakers on his face, too?”
‘WTF,’ I thought to myself, ‘she is asking Linda for permission like I am a piece of goddam office furniture.’ Linda said, “Sure do whatever you want, just don’t take them off until I leave because I don’t want to be within 50 yards downwind of those socks.” Grace then stepped both of her sneakers directly onto my face parallel to each other, with each sneaker sole covering an entire cheek, an eye and part of my forehead. Just my nose and lips were un-assaulted. “This is diesel!” I heard her say. Linda had apparently waited, delaying her departure to observe Grace trampling my face in sneakers, and said “Glad to see you are enjoying yourself.” Then Linda ducked out.
Grace had to continue her inane commentary which made this even worse. Comments continued to stream out for the next 5 solid endless minutes: “Wow, I’ve never actually stepped on someone’s face, but I’m glad it’s someone who called me a bitch . . . I actually have the soles of my sneakers pressed onto your face. Who’s the bitch, now? Hahaha . . . Holy crap, you are so getting owned right now, hahaha . . . You must feel like such a tool with your face getting stepped on by my sneakers . . . .” She began to twist them a little as she pressed them harder into my cheeks. “This is so cool. How’s it feel to have my sneakers pressed on your face? . . . Do you feel like a total loser? I bet you do. Don’t you feel like a loser?” I treated these as rhetorical questions.
When she finally lifted her sneakers off my face, she ordered “Answer me! How does it feel?” She then began laughing hysterically, and observed, “OMG you have my sneaker treads imprinted on your face. Hahaha.” I didn’t appreciate this commentary and the sneakers had started to hurt on my forehead and cheeks especially once she started grinding the soles into my face. I struck back verbally, “Did you ever think it might be a little rude to step on a person’s face? Or presumptive to just think you have the right to step on another human’s face? Ask yourself what gives you the right to rub the soles of your shoes on my face? And yesterday, how would you feel if someone did that to you? I bet you would not like it very much.” To my surprise her expression softened a bit and looked thoughtful.
Maybe I could get through to her, appeal to her sense of reason, and talk my way out of this. I was definitely smarter than her. After all, it should be pretty easy to outsmart a really dumb chick. As I heard myself though, I was even convincing myself how right I was and how unjustified she was. I grew bolder, my indignation welling up within me, “Seriously, what gives you the right to put your feet in my face? You answer me!” The softness left her facial expression and a bitchy look came over her face, which made me even angrier as it brought back memories of all her stupid commentary and her presumptuousness and her sense of entitlement, and the previous day’s unacceptable abuse resulting from her apparent overly supreme self confidence thinking it was okay to press her unwashed feet on another human’s face and stick sweaty feet in re-worn hose in my mouth, and then laugh about it.
I was incensed, I heard myself continue, “You may be pretty and have a nice figure but you are trash, and have bad hygiene, you’re a pig, and dumb on top of it all. A dipshit. Did you decide to shower today or wear clean fr*gging clothes for change? You are a rude, ruthless bitch.” She said, “Oh you still wanna call me names, insult me and be a tough guy?” I realized I had stepped a tad beyond the line of a sensible protest and a persuasive argument. So I replied, “No I wasn’t trying to insult you, I –” But she interrupted me, yelling, “You weren’t trying to insult me? Calling me a pig, trash, dumb, rude, dipshit and a bitch. You must not have studied real hard in grad school, because I learned when I was about 5 years old that those are insults. I’ll teach you a little lesson in manners.”
She then took off her sneakers, releasing a toxic draft of foul ammonia rich air, and pressed her sweaty socks right onto my checks. The smell was overwhelming, like enough to possibly make me pass out. It was just a few steps short of bioterrorism. She continued, “OMG those stink even from up here. And I got a surprise for you. After your little insult session last night, which I haven’t forgotten and you have not apologized for, I decided to re-wear the same unwashed socks for last night’s double classes, and again this morning at the gym, and I wore them to work AGAIN. And these are the socks on your face right now. That’s why they’re wet. So how do you like that, you arrogant jerk?”
Strangely, I felt my hardness begin to throb at this brow beating, despite the poisonously awful smell and the description of how that smell was generated. I was ashamed of myself for being turned on and not protesting, and even shuddered and I thought a little moan escaped, which if it did had to be one of pain rather than pleasure. If I did moan, it must have not gone unnoticed, because Grace began rubbing her sweat-soaked socks all over my face, saying “That’s what ten or eleven classes in these, plus the race and how ever many commutes to and from work, I even lost count.” Then she pressed the toes over my nose, as if waiting for me to sniff on cue.
For some reason I felt powerless and actually found myself taking that cue the minute the moist sweat logged sock hit my mouth and nose, sniffing and drinking in her pungent foot odor through my nose. They were very offensive, harmful. I could not believe socks could get that sweaty and stay that sweaty, and smell this bad. By anyone’s standards these socks reeked and should probably be thrown out for fear of stinking up the restof the laundry, corroding through the metal drum in the washer, or even contaminating the local water supply. She then said, “I actually rubbed my dirty, sweaty socks all over your face. That’s gotta be humiliating! Your face is going to really smell like sweaty feet now. Hahaha.”
She went on, “I can’t believe you started sniffing when I just put my sweaty toes over your nose. I didn’t even tell you to sniff them. Why are you sniffing my feet? Aren’t they gross? Doesn’t that smell awful? If my socks weren’t so totally gross, I’d almost swear you were enjoying this. My feet always get so sweaty. That would be really weird if you were into this.”
Her stinging remark brought my attention to the fact that I was hard as a rock and throbbing down there, even though my nostrils were burning, and eyes were watering and throat was burning as if I’d been hit with mace. I felt so confused and stupid for my rising, building state of arousal. She continued on, “My feet smell terrible. My friends and family don’t even let me take my shoes off at their houses. One guy broke up with me a few years ago because my feet smelled so bad all the time. I have to sleep in thick socks when I don’t shower at night or the smell keeps me awake. And guess what, just for you I washed off standing up last night and this morning, so my feet would remain unwashed for a fifth day, just for you, asshole! I can’t believe you are sniffing my feet . . . And lovin it! hahahaha.”
I was annoyed by this rant as she was the one imposing this on me and she was making it seem like I sought it out, but I suppose I did sniff without being told to do so. But on the other hand, I had to breathe and my mouth was covered by the ball of her foot. But she did have a point in some sense because I had to admit whether curiosity or involuntary desire or whatever the cause, I was more aggressively sniffing, rather than gagging or thrashing or muttering or offering even the slightest resistance. And the proof seemed to be in the pudding judging by my ever increasing state of arousal.
Then she continued, “I should see how you handle it after a few more workouts in these.” Figuring I should put up some protests, I said, “Gross. Those things stink. Get your disgusting feet off of me. You’re makin’ me sick.” She sarcastically replied, “Right, that’s why the minute I placed my toes over your nose, you started sniffing my sweat logged socks without even being asked, and then closed your eyes, and started taking deep breaths on your own. OK, sure.”
To make matters worse, she then just tapped on my mouth with her toes like her foot was knocking for entry, and like a fool, I obeyed and immediately opened it to accept her foot’s entry into my mouth. My brain began to race with thoughts and self doubt: ‘What was I thinking? Why did I just open my mouth? Did I actually want that sweaty, disgusting thing in my mouth?’
She immediately inserted her sweaty socked foot into my mouth and wiggled it in as deep as it would go, while she wiped her other sweaty sock all over my face. Then I noticed I was actually sucking on the wet fabric of her socks trying to consume the sweat. I couldn’t believe it. I was sucking and swallowing as if the sweat soaked sock encasing her foot was a bandana soaked with cold spring water on a hot day in the desert. I didn’t understand why I was doing that, it was just an uncontrollable urge. And my loins were pulsating.
Then she said, “If you think they are so gross and you are not getting some perverse enjoyment from sniffing my feet, why did you just voluntarily open your mouth to accept my foot in it?” In an effort to try to keep my cover or what was left of it, I struggled a little and tried to make sounds like I was really grossed out. Grace continued, “Yeah, you’re really grossed out, that’s why you were sniffing my foot like it was a bouquet of roses, and just popped your mouth open to invite me to insert my foot in it without me even telling you to. Duh! I know you call me dumb, but I can feel you sucking my foot sweat out of that sock like its nectar. And I can see your cheeks flexing and your adam’s apple moving as you swallow. Why are you sucking the sweat out of my socks and swallowing it like there is no tomorrow if your so grossed out?”
Soon, Linda returned and Grace had to run to yet another exercise class. When Grace pulled her socked foot from my mouth, she said, “Hey you actually sucked the sweat right out of these, they don’t feel as wet. Hahaha.” Keeping up my bravado, I said, “Oh that was gross, get those disgusting feet the fuck away from me you dumb-ass, trailer trash, filthy, swamp-footed, pig-pen bitch.”
When her jaw dropped, I realized I probably overdid it a bit. She replied, “Dumb-ass, trash, filthy, pigpen bitch? What was that for? Oh, you think that was bad? You are in for it tomorrow. Not only am I gonna re-wear these tonite, I’m gonna wear them in the morning class too, commute in to work in them again, and I’ll continue to spare my feet a washing till then. I, I . . .,” she looked to Linda, “Can I use him at lunch or some other time tomorrow? I mean under my desk?”
Linda chimed in at me, “Oh so now you are insulting the staff. Don’t try to be a tough guy or I’ll make you LICK her feet clean tomorrow!” Linda looked to Grace, “Sure, you got it.” Grace gave me a look as if to say, ‘There, I got the last laugh.’ Linda chimed in again, saying, “Hey, he must have sucked the sweat right out of those socks because they don’t smell as bad as I thought they would. He’s good for something around here. Hahaha.”
Linda moved the chair off of my chest, making me realize how much pain I had blocked out, either because of my emotions or because of the humiliation of Grace’s assault of my face and mouth with her sweaty socks, or as a result of erection related endorphins. Then she parked in her seat, kicked off her apparently somewhat new high heeled shoes, revealing those refreshed imprints of where the unbroken in leather had cut in to her flesh, and those blue dye stains where the sweat from her foot had bled out some of the color from the cured leather only to be osmotically soaked up by the dry dead skin of the callused parts of her feet.
She then planted her feet on my face again as if it was her perfect right to do so, and took a few minutes to rest after being on her feet in heels all day. I found myself not objecting, but instead, inhaling and trying to smell the mix of leather and sweat from her feet, wondering if it was 50/50, 40/60 or still about 70/30. I re-assured myself that my failure to protest must have been because I realized I was still very erect and without any chair or files or anything covering my groin area and that moving might reveal the accidental erection. Fortunately, my dick was pointed directly up toward my torso, and fully extended so the tip had actually extended past the top of my pants and was under my shirt at my belly button, rather than sticking up toward the ceiling in a conspicuous tent.
Something about her ‘farming me out’ to Grace and making it known that she was abusing me, and the way she had to imply that it was within her power to make me debase myself by threatening to make me lick the receptionist’s feet really rubbed me the wrong way. No fucking way was I going to lick someone’s feet. Screw that. When Grace had been gone for some time and Linda lifted her feet off my face, she peered over and, as if nothing had happened, inquired, “You ready to continue reading?”
My anger had welled up again over this threat to make me perform the most humiliating act in the world of actually licking another person’s feet. It got the best of me. I glared, “You know you really don’t have the right to just stick your smelly feet in someone’s face.” I wasn’t sure why I added the word smelly, especially since compared to Grace, Linda’s feet were a treat. And the new leather of her current shoes mixed with her mild sweat from her dainty feet was actually not offensive. The word had just come out, just angry talk.
Linda laughed out loud, and said, “I know you complained to the boss about me behind my back, told the boss I was ‘arrogant’ and condescending’ and ‘on a power trip every day’ and had a ‘bad attitude’, and I don’t appreciate it. Too bad for you I know she said you need to do what I say, so I’ll stick my feet in your face or shove my feet in your mouth whenever I feel like it.” She paused, letting those words sink in so I would comprehend the futility of my situation.
Her words surprisingly made my cock strain and swell at the head despite the waist band of my boxers lightly pressing further down the shaft. She continued, “I’m gonna make you pay dearly for that. And guess what? If I want to I’ll put my goddam shoes on your face! You got that! So yeah I’ll show you a power trip.” I felt the head of my cock throbbing against my belly button. She went on, “Maybe that will fix your attitude. How’s them apples?”
Even though I was on the verge of exploding down below, I must have lost my temper because I was pissed at the way she was abusing me like it was her total right to do so. It was a strange mix of emotional anger in spite of physical arousal. So I laid into her about being a “snotty little, stuck up, power tripping asshole,” “control freak” and a “royal bitch.” She was turning crimson red with anger, and I hadn’t noticed her slip into her shoes, but the very pointy toe of the right shoe kicked me in the side of the head, her knees rolled to her right as she leaned her weight to her right hip.
With no pause, she then stomped with her left shoe onto my forehead, and rolled it to my left facing her, and as the left shoe pressed it squarely over my upward cheek, digging the heel into my cheek where the molars meet, it not only pinned my face there to the floor but forced my jaws open, while her sexy leather pump on her right foot supinated slightly then soared roughly past my lips the instant I yelled “Owww”. As soon as I felt the toe of that right pump raping my mouth and the exaggerated taper of the toe of her pump jabbed deep into the back of my mouth, tickling my epiglottis, she had already stomped onto my belly with the left shoe, unknowingly pinning the head of my cock to my belly under my t-shirt and shirt, with the heel fortunately missing but the part of the flat area of the sole pressing right on the head of my erection. This took my mind off the fact that I was being gagged by her shoe, and actually made the early pre-orgasmic tingling feeling begin deep in my pelvis. ‘Not again’ I thought to myself.
She glared, “You fucked with the wrong girl, asshole. You just earned yourself an attitude adjustment,” punctuating the statement by pressing with her high heel shoe on what she thought was just my stomach. She then continued on her angry tirade with her other shoe shoved forcefully in my mouth, “Royal bitch, eh. OK, you must be a fucking peasant then, because the soles of my royal shoes were pressed on your face earlier like you were my fucking doormat. And my royal shoe is stuffed in your mouth right now. You want royal bitch, you got royal bitch. You must be a serf then.” She was punctuating each sentence by pressing on my stomach, not knowing that she was pressing on and off on my throbbing cock with each sentence. My pelvis muscles began contracting faster.
She continued her lesson, “Control freak, eh? Well since you need this job and I control this job, I’m gonna make sure you know just how in CONTROL I am, EVERY F*CKIN DAY! I’ll show you what control is.” More punctuation on each sentence. There was more meaning in this than she knew because she was unaware that her pump was controlling my reproductive organ and bringing it closer to an orgasm with each mini-stomp.
She went on, “Today is only the beginning. And you are gonna learn how to show me respect, and you’re gonna learn the hard way, starting at my feet.” Press, Press, Press. “That’s right I can think of no better way to humiliate you than with my feet . . . Arrogant and condescending? You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Press, press, press. “How is having my shoe stuffed in your mouth for condescending?” With that sentence and its associated stomp, I felt myself pushed over the edge and started to lose a load right then and there in my pants, helpless, humiliated, with her leather pump raping my mouth, gagging me so I could not speak, the taste of shoe leather in my mouth, and her degrading, berating me and unknowingly milking my manhood of its essence beneath the sole of her shoe.
She went on, the bottom of her shoe continuing to milk me of my manhood with each sentence, “Oh you’re right, this is a power trip. I admit it. Gagging you with my shoe while I tell you what a piece of shit you are definitely works for me. Pressing my feet on your face like it’s a worthless footstool, yeah, that’s a power trip.” Milk, Milk, Milk. “That nice new high heeled shoe workin for ya? Ramming my shoe down your throat is a nice power trip for me. Does it feel good? Oh, that’s right can’t talk.” Pump, Pump, Pump. “So you wanna be a tough guy, fine, be a tough guy, and you’ll make it tougher on yourself. I’m gonna punish you, punish you for what you did behind my back! And I’m gonna inflict this punishment in the most humiliating fashion . . . yup you guessed it, with my FEET!”
I was convulsing in the final throes of release and she must have thought I was resisting or struggling, so she rose her weight up with her hands on the chair and desk, and then sunk all her weight into her feet, the tip of the shoe so deep in my mouth it was pressing into my throat, and my top lip reaching all the way to the flesh of her instep. I tried to slow the convulsions and fortunately they reached the point where they slow down but are more pronounced contractions at the tail end of an orgasm, and her increased weight on the underside of my erection slowed those down as well, controlling and stringing out and threatening to choke off my humiliating release, even without her trying.
She registered the look of fear in my eyes as the whole front of her shoe vanished into my mouth, surprising even her as it went even past the widest part of the taper, triggering an involuntary moan or grunt, and she relinquished her weight sitting back in the chair but keeping my mouth deeply gagged with her shod foot at its new dangerous depth, and her milking foot still on my member. She continued milking me past dryness with her punctuating presses on my stomach and emotionally debasing me, “You know this was a losing battle for you. You need to atone for the stupid mistake you made complaining to the boss about me. And you are going to do so under my feet. You are going to pay dearly for that for a long time, and you are going to do so at the mercy of my feet. You’re gonna see a power trip all right, every single day, and for a very long time I’ll be punishing you. So take your punishment like a man.” She had drained me mentally and physically.
She made a few personal phone calls, making it a point to stare down at me, all the while relishing in the fact that she had her foot jammed deep in my mouth with her shoe still on, and one on my stomach, which unbeknownst to her was symbolically crushing my now spent, limp manhood. Thank God she didn’t know she had just totally controlled me, owned me and forced me to expel my essence in humiliating fashion under the sole of her shoe, solely by gagging me with her other shoe and verbally degrading me.
For 20 minutes, I had to once again wallow in that humiliation of how I was forced to ejaculate under a shoe sole, during a barrage of degradation, the pump still crushing my now emasculated male part, all the while with a leather pump still on her foot rammed in my mouth, with her staring at me, relishing in the supremacy of her position, smirking. She must have saved up that speech for a while.
Later, she continued, “Now if you see the error of your ways, we can continue.” “Shall I keep my shoe rammed down your throat? Or can I safely assume you are all done with you little outbursts, now, right?” she said as she nodded her head for me to answer correctly. I didn’t know what to do or say. I couldn’t quit my first job in a recession and a terrible job market. And I was broken, spent in every sense of the word. So I nodded like a docile little pet with her shoe in my mouth and tried to mumble out “Mmm-hmm” through her shoe.
She then continued, “Thought so. So yeah, just so we’re crystal clear, I’ve got the right to do whatever I want. If I want to stick my foot in your face, or shove it right in your mouth, I’m gonna do it whenever I feel like taking a little power trip. And your gonna like it. And your disloyalty and sneaky little attempt to go behind my back is gonna be the reason why you’re gonna be my little bitch. And I’m gonna stick my shoe in your mouth, and fuck your mouth with my shoe whenever I feel you need to be brought down a few pegs. That’s your punishment which will be generously doled out by my feet.”
She concluded with, “And that’s not all. You are even gonna be Grace’s little foot bitch because I think she enjoys it. And you’re gonna be her little toy foot bitch or you’re gonna lose your job and then have no way to pay for your new apartment and your new car. Maybe you should have settled in before taking on new debt on top of your loans. Now let’s get back to work, bitch.”
She pulled her shoe out of my mouth, then just to prove her point, she then proceeded to use her foot on, foot off method of telling me when to “Stop” and when to “Go.” But this time with her pumps on her feet. So I had her shoe sole being pressed to my lips on every stop command. And a double shoe bottom press on my face when her next phone call came in. A few times I thought I heard her snicker. This was not a good day for me. I was so humiliated and just wanted to go home.


The next day in the afternoon, we had two more lengthy transcripts to do, and I was in my usual spot on the floor of her office while she was in her throne like a royal bitch. Over on the floor were her subway sneakers du jour with the little white ped socks she wore on the subway each to day and from work stuffed into them. They were low cut, white, trendy sneakers with a thin sole and treads. I had had a good day since she had accompanied our boss at a deposition elsewhere earlier in the day. I hoped a whole slate of these depositions would be scheduled so my punisher would be out of the office as much as possible.
My day was so good without her there that earlier in the day, when Grace, still angry from the previous two day’s insults in her small mind, had the gall to say, „I’ll need you at lunch if you know what I mean, I re-wore the same socks last night and in this morning’s class, and two work. That’s three classes in a row, asshole. And like I promised you, it’s day six for these unwashed feet, and we are up to 13 exercise classes. They are really gonna need a good cleaning if you know what I mean.“

Tired of being shoved around by a paralegal/secretary and not about to be owned by some two bit, dumb shit receptionist, I spoke right up and said, „Fuck you, you dumb shit. Who do you think you are? You actually think you deserve to have another human actually lick your feet? Are you out of your mind? Why are you so full of yourself? I am an attorney, and you are a dipshit dime a dozen receptionist. So get over yourself. Get back to the phones, you moron, and try not to fuck that simple task up. All you got do is lift the friggin handset and say hello all day. It shouldn’t be too hard for your pea sized brain.“
She turned red, looked like she was going to cry, and said in a wavering voice on the brink of tears, „I’m not just a receptionist. I went to secretarial school, and have a secretarial certificate, my last job was as a secretary, and I was hired as a secretary, and I do secretarial duties too. I am just temporarily on the phones.“
I laughed out loud in her face and pressed my advantage, my rage at being repeatedly humiliated for two days having reach a crescendo, „Ohhhh, excuuuuuse me, a SECRETARY. Sorry. A certificate, well pardon me. I’m a licensed attorney with a college and a graduate school degree, and you are a ‘secretary’ here to facilitate and assist me. So as far as going to your desk for anything, then „Go fuck yourself you dumb shit, two bit, dime a dozen, SECRETARY. How’s that? I am certainly NOT going to lick anyone’s feet, especially not some nitwit secretary that can barely spell. Go grow a brain, answer the phones, file papers, make coffee or do whatever other simpleton tasks your primitive shit for brains intellect can handle.“
She gulped and warned in a cracking voice as she turned and ran away, „Linda is gonna hear about this.“ I replied, „Whoopee! I don’t care, you little brown noser. Your nose is always up Linda’s ass all day anyway. Maybe I should take a picture of you with your nose up Linda’s ass and tape it up at your desk to remind you of your status as brown noser in chief. Why don’t you go cry now, you little shit for brains piece of white trash! And while your at it TAKE A F*CKIN SHOWER. HAHAHA.“ In my gut I was a bit worried and wished I had not quite gone so far. But to be honest I didn’t feel bad for the sadistic bitch. Oh excuse me, ‘sadistic secretary!’ I mused to myself. Pardon me, a secretary not a receptionist. I laughed to myself. A few minutes later she ran out of the office in tears.

Linda came in later in the day. Linda was dressed nice this day in a brown pant suit and brown leather pumps with a three inch heel, and was actually quite pleasant to look at. I was pleased thinking there would be several days where she would be partially out of the office for the first part of the day and then would actually be eye candy to look at in her pant suits, skirts, blouses, blazers and high heels the rest of the days. Let’s hope for a skirt tomorrow. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to lay on the floor holding up a transcript if I was looking at some good scenery.

Late in the afternoon, I was again lying on my back, the position least stressful to my knees, ankles, hips, back and neck, since I wasn’t allowed to sit in a goddam chair in her royal highness bitch’s office. I was reading and she was typing in quotes with me telling her the punctuation. We got into a heated argument over something, but this time I argued back since my patience was short and I was tired of her royal bitch attitude, and I felt re-masculinized after dressing down that little, uppity, self-assuming, sadistic bitch of a secretary.

Linda threw a greater than usual yelling fit tantrum, finishing with „that did it, that was the last straw for today.“ In a rage with lightning fast movements that just stunned and confused me, she took out a roll of brown packing tape, ripped off two pieces each about eight inches long, hung them by the tips off the side of her desk, leaned over, and grabbed one of her dirty socks with one hand.

I had no idea what she was doing. Tape? This chick was weird. Are we wrapping Xmas presents early? Is she going to ship some boxes? And do it herself rather than dumping the scut work on me? Why was she going to put socks on? Was she leaving? Had I succeeded in getting under her skin enough to drive her out of the office for the day? If so, what an effing coup!! Break out the champagne. Good riddance.

In a blur of movement, she squeezed my cheeks open with one empty hand, stuffed her worn moist sock in my mouth, grabbed a masking tape strip and slapped it over my mouth, and rubbed it roughly onto my skin. „There, that ought to shut you up for a while.“ I was absolutely shocked into inaction. What the fuck had just happened. „How do my socks taste? Salty?“ she chuckled. She went on, „I know it’s a little wet, because I ran today just before I got here.“ All I could taste was a lightly saline liquid and a mild acidic pH.

She then pulled out the remaining sock from her other sneaker, stuffed it right under my nose on top of the first piece of tape and taped the second longer strip right over the first tape strip pinning the second damp sock right up against my nostrils. „Take a sniff on that,“ she added. Then as if that weren’t enough, she pressed her brown leather pumps roughly onto my face, and said, „You’ve earned yourself another attitude adjustment.“ She sat there fuming with her pumps on my face like a foot stool. I thought to myself, ‘What the hell just happened?’

It was almost as if she had grown angrier and angrier every day about me talking to the boss. She added, „How’s that smell, good?“ and then let out another chuckle. Surprisingly for a girl with feet that didn’t smell that bad, these socks did smell bad, sweaty. „Now you can reflect on your attitude for a bit while you suck on my socks and sniff my socks with my pumps on your face.“ I knew I was red as a beet but I noticed I had an uncontrollable erection throbbing in my pants.

I prayed she didn’t notice and I did not want to draw attention to it so I just adjusted my hips a little to allow it to swing up clockwise then tried not to move. I had to really focus on trying to breathe as my mouth was taped shut and I had to really struggle to get air through my nose since it had to filter through her worn wet sock. I was kind of scared, and that was probably the reason for the erection. A nervous arousal I told myself.

She then began making phone calls to customers while I lay there with my face pinned under her pumps, and my cock at attention, and growing by the second, passing my waistband and coming to rest at full mast once again by my belly button. My manhood had once again betrayed me, saluting its loyalty to the queen bitch. I heard her call Grace and say, „You left a message on my cell that you needed to speak to me“ and I thought, ‘Oh shit.’

As I listened as she was saying things like „He did? Really? He actually called you a moron? Dumb shit? Nitwit? He really told you that? How fucking rude is that . . . What an arrogant piece of shit . . . Trailer trash? What a total asshole! Cocky, bragging, typical alpha male crap. What? Brown noser, eh? Oh, your nose up my ass? OK, I’ve heard enough. You said you are gonna come back . . . Oh, OK, come see me when you get here and we’ll take care of it. He’ll get his punishment.“ Grace was apparently filling her in on the events of the day.

For some reason, I found myself sucking on the socks and swallowing the sweat that I extracted from them. I told myself it was definitely a reflex of having something moist in one’s mouth. It had to be. There is no way I would actually want to drink her foot sweat.

For the next 30 minutes she kept me pinned there so I had to feel all ashamed that I was physically aroused by being in this humiliating, demeaning position. She then adjusted her shoes on my face, one over my forehead and one over my mouth so my eyes were showing. She then leaned forward to peer down at me, so I’d have to look at her staring me down. This caused her weight to drive further into my face, causing pain on my already injured lip and digging the pointed heels into my cheek and temple. She growled, „You need a good lesson in humility, and that lesson is going to be conducted of course by my feet. Get ready for your punishment.“

Then she admonished, „We ARE going to adjust your attitude, and you WILL apologize to Grace. Your rude comments were way out of line, appalling, mean-spirited and show your total lack of respect for women. You are gonna learn respect for women from the ground up, and I mean that quite literally. You can consider my socks stuffed in your mouth and taped up under your nose, and my pumps on your face as your punishment for your misogeny.“ She stayed there staring at me digging the heels into my face while I panicked and struggled to get air, as the shoe pressing over the tape on my mouth secured her sweaty sock tighter to my nostrils. Several minutes passed and I began to make a muffled scream sound and my eyes pleaded for mercy. None was forthcoming.

When Grace arrived, she yelled for Grace to come to her office, and continued, „So unless you want to sniff my dirty socks and suck on them for the rest of the day, I suggest you get ready to apologize and I’ll peel off that tape. You haven’t done shit for past hour.“ I was annoyed by this stupid, unnecessary comment since she was the one who gagged me with her dirty socks and then pinned my face there under her shoes. How the hell was I supposed to work? „Are you ready to be released and apologize to Grace for being a woman hater and condescending, arrogant, male chauvinist pig?“ As much as it irked me I had to lie and mumble a meek „Mmm-Hmm“ into the sole of her shoe through my dirty sock gag in order to escape at any price from that punishment.

She peeled off the first tape, and then the second and pulled the sock from my mouth. She continued, „Maybe I should have a talk with the boss about your attitude, since you are not getting shit done.“ I was so flabbergasted at this ridiculous statement that I blurted out, „Are you fucking kidding me, you . . . .“ But before I could finish she stomped the ball of her shoe down on my mouth and said „No back talk“. It felt like my lip split open. When she lifted her foot, I felt wetness on my lips. I touched it with my tongue and tasted that metallic blood taste. I informed her, „I’m bleeding for crissake.“

She gave an evil smile, a contemptuous smirk, and sarcastically replied, „Punishment!“ I got even more angry at her nerve, talking to me like a captive, or a child, and at her self appointed right to physically assault me, actually drawing blood, and at her total lack of any humility thinking it perfectly appropriate to put her feet and shoes all over another person’s face. And in that moment of anger I roughly slapped at her leg and grabbed her ankle hard with my left hand. I just lost my temper.

I surprised myself and even her, but she quickly adjusted, scraping my hand from her left leg with the sharp heel of her right shoe, lifting her left leg and stomping on my groin with all her might, which brought immense and immediate pain since my balls were unprotected with my penis pointing north and extending up to my belly button. This caused me to lose my breath. Then she stomped on my stomach with the same foot in quick succession but landing on my erect cock, and coming to rest there. I was seeing stars. Two shots with a high heeled shoe.

She then immediately lifted the right foot up and slammed it right onto my throat, so I couldn’t even recover my air, making me wonder if my windpipe was crushed and I was going to die. Fortunately the flat part of the sole had struck my trachea rather than the sharp heel, but it then came to rest with the heel and the rest of the sole dangerously straddling my windpipe. I was seeing stars from the impacts and no where near recovered, when all of a sudden, with skipping a beat, she grabbed her tape, swiftly moved off her chair and sat high on my chest, straddling me, grabbed my hands and began wrapping tape around them like a rodeo. I still couldn’t even breathe.

„How dare you lay a hand on me“, she glared. I heard Grace right in her office say, „You tell him, girlfriend.“ She sounded psyched. Linda then flipped around sitting the other way and hopped down onto my thighs and taped my ankles together. I panicked at my pain, my inability to breathe and my sudden state of being bound and helpless, pulled my hands down and over my body and began trying to free my hands and starting to sit up.

Grace saw this and immediately stomped on my chest with her pump flattening me back down pinned to the floor, saying „Get back down there, asshole! You ain’t goin’ nowhere.“ Then when Grace lifted her foot, Linda briefly lifted herself up just long enough to leap frog backward, and re-straddled my chest pinning me to the floor again with my arms down by my sides and hands taped in front of me. She was still facing the other way, so her ass was right on my neck under my chin and I was looking up at her ass and her back. Grace then stepped her high heeled shoe right onto my forehead, saying, „You’re in for it now buster. You think I was a sadistic bitch yesterday, you just wait.“ Linda was applying more tape to my hands, around and around, securing them together inescapably.

I had barely recovered enough to speak and groaned, „What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch? You can’t do this! Get your fat ass the fuck off me!“ She then said, „Oh that’s the way you wanna play it, huh. Maybe we’ll fix that mouth of yours right now.“ She then hopped back a few inches to sit right on my face, crushing my mouth and nose under her ass, resulting in a mad panic where I uselessly thrashed, and began muffled screams with my breath cut off as my lungs ran out of oxygen, while staring up at her ass and up at the tip of Grace’s pump that was pressed onto my forehead, the toe of which extended into my field of vision. Had the asphyxiation caused the pulsating erection, or was I aroused by her ass on my face? Had to be hypoxia.

Linda added verbal torment in to the mix while facesitting me, „Now who has their nose up my ass? I’m glad you introduced this whole nose up the ass concept. This is almost as humiliating as rubbing the bottoms of my feet on your face and gagging you by shoving my feet in your mouth.“ Grace began laughing, so excited to see me getting paid back for making her cry earlier. Thankfully Linda finally lifted her ass up off my face, rising to her knees, peering around at me and smirking victoriously. I gulped in air and blurted out, „What the fuck? Who do you think you are? You can’t just sit your stinky ass on my face.“

„Oh,“ she said and said right back down hard, imprisoning my nose and mouth once again in the fabric of her ass crack, adding „and what’s this with calling me fat? You know I’m not fat, you idiot. And stinky? My ass is not stinky, here take a good deep whiff so you get it right.“ Then she wiggled side to side pressing her ass down harder and leaning forward a little so her cheeks would spread wider, engulfing my face between her cute little ass cheeks covered by the sheer fabric of her thin pants, and forcing my nose further up into her anus. Then she repeated her earlier taunt, „Yup looks like you’re the one with his nose up my ass crack now, bitch.“ My dick continued to commit treason to its owner, throbbing harder and harder in worship of its new unholy queen.

She stayed there, keeping me in that humiliating position and yelled out, „Well this ‘royal bitch’ after all does need a throne for her royal ass.“ They both laughed hysterically, and my traitorous cock began to throb ever harder. During another pitiful, humiliating, stretch of being suffocated in the most degrading fashion under her ass, I consoled myself that I wasn’t really getting aroused by this demeaning act and that it was solely a mechanical response to asphyxiation like those people that put bags over their head to heighten their sexual response.

Finally she lifted herself off me, but only to flip around again facing me in a straddle, keeping me pinned to the floor. Grace then waved her cell phone at me and said, „Since you suggested it, I took a picture on my cell phone of YOU with your nose up Linda’s ass. How’s that fool? Now we know who the real brown noser in chief is. Maybe we’ll tape this picture up.“

Linda spoke up again from her dominant position sitting astride my chest, „So,“ she said, „I think Mr. Smart Mouth needs another lesson in humility.“ She then slipped off her brown pump, grabbed it up near the heel and stabbed the toe down hard on to my already injured lips, hard enough that it hurt and I had no choice but to open my mouth. Then she began jamming the shoe toe-first in and out of my mouth. „Here“ she said, „let’s give that dirty, foul, arrogant mouth a good hard fucking with my shoe. That’s a good appropriate punishment.“ This was so humiliating but I felt like I was in danger of coming again. ‘Please no,’ I thought to myself.

Then she held it in there deep, and continued, „Let’s get a few things straight. You don’t ever lay a hand on me, number one. Number two, you need to show me some respect. Number three, you owe me an apology and you ain’t leaving until I hear it. Then you are going to apologize to Grace. Why don’t we start with your apology to me then we will get to the other two.“ I was totally shocked and still angry as hell. This lunatic bitch thought it was her right to stick her feet in my face, press the bottoms of her shoes on my face and stick her dirty socks in my mouth, sit her ass right on my goddam face, then go so far as to wiggle my nose up her ass like a big joke, and then violate my mouth with her shoe. And now was asking ME to apologize? But why was my organ so hard and pulsing?

„For what?“ I yelled out. „OK, she replied, we can play it that way.“ She stood up, leaned her right hand on the desk then proceeded to step one of her pumps onto my forehead and said, „I will wait for your apology.“ She stepped the other pump across my lips with the heel on my cheek, then as she added weight I began to scream into the bottom of her shoe, „OK, OK, I’m sorry.“ She stepped off, sat in her chair and said, „I thought you’d see it my way.“ She continued, „Now about your attitude.“

At this point, I said, „My attitude? What makes you think you have the right to stick your filthy, stinky feet in my face, step on my face with your dirty shoes, shove your sweaty socks in my mouth, gag me with your gross shoe still on your foot, rape my mouth with your filthy shoe and sit your ass on my face?“ She paused, her face turned red again with rage and then she yelled, „Jeez, you just don’t fuckin learn. There is that goddam attitude again. Fine then, we’ll step up the level of your punishment.“ And she furiously stomped one heeled shoe on my face and the other on my stomach very hard. Luckily the left one that landed on my dick over my belly button area did not hurt since my penis was like stone, but the one that hit my face hit the same lip and I once again tasted blood.

She moved one shoe off my face to my throat causing me to panic. She then pressed both feet down hard on each word, demanding, „Why do you have to insult me and use the words dirty, sweaty and stinky and fat? WTF. You know I’m not fat.“ At this point, I wasn’t sure if she was insane. I grew worried that I was going to get unknowingly milked to another humiliating orgasm again under her shoe sole pressing on and off my cock to punctuate her emasculating lecture. I didn’t think I could endure the humiliation again of being forced to soil my pants again against my will in this degrading position.

She continued, „First of all my shoes are not dirty. There no mud on them, no gum stuck to them, no road salt caked on them. I can arrange that though, I can make sure I step in all sorts of funky stuff and I’ll make you eat it. These little socks I only wear on the commute to and from work in my sneakers on the subway and walking maybe 10 blocks each way, and I wash them every other Saturday. And I only run in them twice a week. They can’t really be that sweaty.“

I wanted to scream, ‘What was she on crack?’ That was like four days of running a couple of miles in them, and in addition to those 8 miles, that was about 200 blocks or 20 miles of walking in them to and from work? How could they not be sweaty if she only washes these once every two weeks? No wonder why the socks smelled. The punctuation of each sole press on my face and cock was leading inexorably to one place, but not, I told myself, due to any enjoyment of this humiliation, strictly as a mechanical response to contact down below.

She continued, „But I can stop washing my socks permanently for your punishment and tape them in your mouth and under your nose every day for an extended suck and sniff.“ Convulsions beginning. „And furthermore, my ass is not stinky. You just had your nose up it for a few minutes and we have it on camera.“ Press, press, press with the left. „And I really don’t think my feet are stinky. Are they really that bad?“ she asked as she removed the right one from my throat, kicked off the right pump, shoved her moist foot roughly to my face with the underside of her toes right up forcefully against my nostrils, and gently cupped her toes around my nose. More pumping and milking with the left shoe as she attempted to accentuate her words by trying to step on my stomach. It was on the way, it was starting, the early rumbles of another orgasm.

Like a fool, I found myself sniffing as if to answer her question. Without waiting for an answer she continued with the under side of her toes wiggling against my nose. „Now Grace’s feet are stinky, and you sniffed and sucked on those like they were going out of style, so don’t even tell me my feet are smelly. That’s bullshit and you know it. I can wash these little tootsies less too if you really want. Besides, you’ve never once objected before, and the last few times, you seem to be more than distracted by my feet, even staring at them, unable to concentrate, and sniffing them . . . . like you are right now.“

I was startled from the reverie I had once again fallen into. Damn. It happened again. I felt that hot, burning feeling go into my cheeks again, and then realized she was looking down at my crotch. Fortunately, there was no erection tent because my engorged, throbbing dick was up by my belly button under her shoe that was inadvertently bringing me to climax against my will. She added, „Hell if the thought of you enjoying my toes wrapped around your nose while you sniff my feet, sucking on my foot, and having my shoes shoved in your mouth wasn’t so goddam weird, I’d even think you were getting off on it.“ For some reason those words stung and the first orgasmic contractions started and I was again forced to begin a long lasting, pent up sexual release under her high heeled shoe during the following degrading tirade.

„So,“ she continued degrading and milking me, „the way I see it, you ask me what gives me the right, and I say, what doesn’t give me the right? Seriously, what are you gonna do, tell the boss that I’ve been rubbing the bottoms of my shoes on your face, sticking my feet in your face for prolonged periods while you sniff them, pressing my bare feet against your lips while you do nothing about it while I make phone calls, using your face like a footrest to place my feet on for 30 minutes at a time, pressing the bottoms of my shoes right on your face for 45 minutes at a whack while you voluntarily lay on my floor by my desk, sticking my feet in your mouth while you suck on my foot for a half hour at a time, ramming my shoe into your mouth while you lay there not even struggling, stuffing my worn socks in your mouth and leaving them there while you suck on them?“

She continued inadvertently pumping the life out of my manhood and berating me, „Maybe you should also tell the boss how you laid there while Grace rubbed stockinged feet all over your face and how the two of us watched you sniff her feet for 15 minutes. And how she rubbed her sweaty gym socks in your face for 20 minutes? What about how she shoved her feet in your mouth while you sucked on her feet? And how you had Grace use your face like a foot rest while she ate lunch, with her feet pressed on your face? Are you gonna also tell the boss that this has gone on for days and you’ve done nothing about it, and you’ve said nothing about it, never complained about it to her even once? And that’s without Grace and I both telling her that you requested that we do it, or that it looked like you were enjoying it, or maybe we’ll tell her you had an erection from it and were touching yourself. We can call her right now for you if you want! And look, you’re still sniffing my toes.“

My male essence and life force continued to flow out of me as she derisively went on, „My toes are cupped around your nose and rather than thrashing side to side like someone would do if they were truly grossed out, you are inhaling deeply and pressing your face up harder into my feet like your having some kind of epileptic seizure.“

She continued unknowingly milking me dry with her shoe during this humiliating verbal onslaught, „So, we are gonna have an understanding. Your attitude is gonna change. You don’t dare ever lay a finger on me again, and you are gonna do exactly as I say. You are not gonna talk back to me and I am gonna do whatever the hell I feel like. I’ll stick my feet in your face, shove my feet in your mouth, wipe my shoes on your face like a doormat, and fuck your face with my shoe whenever I feel like it, which I think is going to be every goddam day. That is your punishment for being a sneaky bastard and a woman hating, rude, arrogant pig. And my feet will be administering that punishment for maximum symbolic humiliation.“

She persisted in her degradation through the final waves of my release, „And if Grace tells you to lay under her desk so she can stick her feet in your face, use your face as a footrest during lunch or stick her feet right in your mouth, you’re gonna fuckin do it. If she wants you to lay there all day like a freakin doormat under her desk with her stinking feet on your face, you’re gonna do it. And even if she wants you to kneel down and lick her raunchy feet your gonna fuckin do it.“

She still went on beating me down mentally even after I was emotionally and sexually drained of all power, the words getting even more threatening and humiliating, „And eventually you are gonna go back to the boss and tell her how you made a mistake about me and that you were the one with the bad attitude. How dare you try to sabotage me in my career, all because you don’t like reporting to a woman. You know what, I’m even gonna make you LICK my feet from now on. Those are good punishments.“

I thought to myself, this was bullshit, my problem with her had nothing to do with her gender, she was just an asshole. She continued, „Well I tell you what, I gotta go pee. You reflect on this for a few minutes.“ She pulled her toes off my nose and said, „Here just so you won’t miss my stinky feet,“ and she pressed the opening of her pump over my nose, ripped off a piece of tape and taped it there. Her parting comment, „How’s that? Smell good? Get used to the smell of my feet, asshole.“

As I reflected on it, what was I to do? Was I actually going to tell the boss all this? It had spiraled so far so quick, and it was embarrassing enough to imagine just that, not even the fact that I had apparently allowed it to go on for so long. And what about her little hint that they would gang up and lie to the boss saying I asked for all this, not to mention the part about being sexually aroused.

It did really piss me off though that she had threatened to blatantly lie to the boss making up a total fabrication about me touching myself. This was not a good situation. And WTF, it’s one thing to assault me with her feet, pressing them on my face, wiping them on my face, and forcibly gagging me with them against my will. That is inappropriate enough with me being a passive victim. But it’s entirely another thing, way out of line, to ask me to voluntarily debase myself and take affirmative steps to actually LICK her feet. No way I was going there. This is where I have to draw the line.

When she returned, she sat down and just stared at me with her pump over my nose like a breathing apparatus. I felt very stupid. „OK, she said, times up. Let’s begin with a little test.“ She pulled her pump off my face. She continued, „Now your next punishment. Time to lick my feet.“ Things were happening too fast. I looked at her incredulously. „Well what are you waiting for, chop chop. Lick my feet, loser,“ she ordered. I said, „You are really a whack job, get this tape off me, untie me and knock it off, seriously. You’ve obviously taken a perverse enjoyment in inflicting these humiliations on me as some type of twisted revenge plot, but I am not going to volunteer and act affirmatively like some little slave. I am not licking anyone’s feet.“

She replied, „Oh, you haven’t quite figured out your place here yet I see. I want my feet licked and I want it done now. You ARE going to lick my feet.“ When I still refused to allow myself to be humiliated any further she said, „OK, maybe a few minutes of standing on your face again in my pumps will clear things up.“ She slipped into her pumps and I said, „No no, that won’t be necessary.“ „Oh good,“ she replied, „so you are interested in licking my feet then.“ I said, „Well no I wouldn’t put it that way.“ She looked surprised, and said, „Oh, ok, then maybe I need to do some more convincing.“ And with that she stepped back onto my face in her pumps full weight this time. I let out a scream at the weight on my skull was painful but the point of the heel biting into the flesh was far worse. „OK, OK, I yelled into her shoe sole.“

She stepped off and said, „I’m glad you have come to your senses. So you are interested in licking my feet?“ I hesitated, and she lifted one foot as if to step back on my face. „Yes, yes“ I cried out. „Yes what“, she replied with the pump still hovering over my face. I hesitated. She continued, „I want to hear you tell me you are interested in licking my feet.“ When I hesitated again, she said, „The next time you disobey me, question me, or even hesitate to follow my orders, I am going to stand on your face for a full minute and I don’t care if you scream, so speak up now unless that next level of punishment is what you really want.“

I heard myself croak, „I am interested in licking your feet.“ She laughed out loud, rummaged on her desk, and said, „louder . . . now“ as she lifted a pump over my forehead. „I am interested in licking your feet,“ I said in a loud voice. She let out an enormous peal of laughter. I heard a click sound, then she lifted her pump over my face again and said, „Now ask in a sincere voice, nice and loud, if you can please lick my feet.“ Looking up at the shoe that was going to stand on my face again, I heard myself loudly say, „Can I please lick your feet?“ Another click sound and she went into another fit of laughter, and this time I heard Grace laugh, who had apparently heard the loud voices.

Linda then replied to the question she had forced me to ask „OK sure you may lick my feet if you insist, but first, I want you to lick the bottoms of my shoes.“ I had a look of total disbelief as if to say ‘this is not happening.’ Her brazenness was getting worse and worse, and her demands growing more and more humiliating. I said, „Linda please, please, please don’t make me do that, I don’t know where those shoes have been.“

She then added very calmly, „Oh, that’s very simple, I can tell you where they have been. They have been walking, in the office, all through the streets of the city, in subway stations, on the subway cars, in Dunkin Donuts, in various restaurants, cafes, in malls, stores . . . oh, and of course, let me not forget public restrooms.“ She continued, „Bottom line, you can either lick them or have them digging into your face while I stand on your face for a full minute. Your call, pick your punishment. What’s it gonna be?“

I heard myself croak, „OK, Ill do it.“ She sat and extended her legs to my face with her pumps on. „Now lick the bottoms of my shoes, dirtbag. Get crackin!“ she ordered as she continued to laugh. I began to slowly and reluctantly lick the sole of her shoe. She of course called Grace in. Grace said, „OMG, I can’t believe he is licking the bottoms of your shoes.“ Linda said, „Well they did need a cleaning.“ Then they both laughed like crazy. Linda told her to pull up a chair. Why was it that the important papers that can’t be moved off her chair for me to sit are not so important when Grace needs a perch directly over my face?

At first the leather was dry, but as it got lubricated, it became more slippery and easier to lick, and the flavor of the leather began to get stronger as it got wetter. Grace had to of course ask, „OMG what does it feel like to make a guy lick the soles of your pumps?“ Linda replied, „Well it feels like a guy licking the bottoms of my shoes.“ And they both laughed. Linda eventually rotated each shoe instructing me to lick the side edge of the sole, then the sides of the pumps, then up and down the heel. During this humiliating process, Grace went on, „That must be such a power trip.“ Linda replied, „Funny you should use that term, it’s become quite a popular phrase around here.“

Grace persisted, „So seriously what’s it feel like to have a guy lick your shoes?“ Linda said, „Good I suppose. Sort of thing to keep a loose cannon in check and make sure a person doesn’t get so cocky that they cop an attitude to me or you.“ Grace replied, „Oh I copy you on that attitude thing. After being called a moron, trash, dumb shit, bitch, dipshit, pig and all the other rude shit he said to me, his mouth can probably use a lot more punishment from our shoes. It probably will force him to learn some respect for women if he licks our shoes enough.“ Linda replied, „Good call. I was thinking that same thing myself.“ Linda went on, „And it does serve a good function. Nice clean shoes with nothing stuck to the bottom and the sides nice and shiny. See?“ Then they both cackled again with laughter at my demise.

After about 15 minutes of me lapping at Linda’s shoes like a totally conquered human slave, and listening to Grace’s ever so stupid commentary, Linda finally retracted her legs, took off her shoes, and then extended her bare feet to my mouth, saying, „OK, now lick my feet.“ Her and Grace both laughed excessively. I gave her a pissed off look, and she said, „You prefer I stand on your face for a minute?“ I obediently stuck my tongue out and began licking her bare feet.

As I was licking her feet, I heard my earlier words played back out loud. The bitch had actually recorded me saying I was interested in licking her feet, and asking if I can please lick her feet. The shit for brains receptionist actually believed it was a voluntary @@%+$$!, and said, „OMG I can’t believe he actually asked to lick your feet.“ Now there was no way I could tell on her even if I had the guts. In fact, the recording made it sound like I was propositioning her with a weird @@%+$$! since there was no context showing the duress I had been under. I was fucked. She read my mind and then said, „Looks like you will be following my orders for a long time, and doing a lot of foot licking into the foreseeable future.“ Grace chimed in, „And don’t forget, shoe cleaning, hahaha.“

At first I had to lick the soles of her feet, which tasted a little salty but mild, and actually had a pleasant soft feel to them. Linda said, „Wow, that actually feels kinda good.“ She then shifted weight into my face and said „Press harder with your tongue and use long strokes all the way up my arch.“ Then after 10 minutes or so, Linda transitioned me to the heel, and took pleasure in forcing the heel of her foot into my mouth, and told me, „Press harder, really hard with your tongue because the callus tends to trap dirt tighter than on the smooth skin of the sole.“ She continued, „I don’t feel that enough. Use your teeth to pumice off some of the callus.“ Then she transitioned me to the inside of the arch, then to the ball of her foot and the pad below her toes, which she pressed hard into me and said she wanted it ‘mouth pumiced’ with my teeth. During this time, Grace’s pointless comments continued, „OMG he’s actually licking your feet . . . OMG that must feel so empowering . . . OMG, I can’t wait to make him lick my feet, and my feet are soooo sweaty . . . .

After several minutes still just on the first foot, Linda said, „Now lick in between each toe.“ She immediately said, „Oh wow, that actually feels really really good in between the toes. I think I can get used to this.“ There was some lint or other dust or sweaty little pieces of sediment in the last three spaces between the smaller toes, which wound up in my mouth. I didn’t know what to do with them so I slowed down contemplating how I could spit them out and where I could do so.

Linda must have felt the particles chafe by her skin as they were removed from between her toes, because when she noticed me slowing and hesitating slightly, she said, „Just swallow it, there is nowhere to spit it and you’re interrupting the flow of things.“ She then added matter of factly, „A little scum from between my toes won’t kill you.“ I ended up swallowing the crud from between her toes, I was not getting a break and I was salivating from the salt content in her foot sweat. Grace screamed, „OMG, tell me he did not just eat your toe jam. What an effing loser. OMFG, you just swallowed her toe cheese. I must have a ton of it. hahaha“

After ten minutes licking the undersides and crevices between her toes, she wanted each toe „polished“. When I looked confused, she said, „In other words, suck my toes, bitch!“ They both laughed like crazy. Linda presented each toe to my mouth, and gave detailed instructions, „Suck it in deep, a little bit of suction, more suction, more suction, there, hold that pressure there for a bit . . . OK, now rub along the side of that toe with your tongue while its in your mouth, keep the suction strong . . . now under it, don’t lose the suction, keep sucking on my toe while you lick it . . . now over the top, keep the suction on it . . . now just suck on and off to loosen the joint for me . . . OK, and now swirl your tongue around that toe like a French kiss. Perfect. Round and round, keep going. Yeah just like that. Ok, next toe.“ This process was repeated for each toe on that foot. Then the whole process was repeated on the other foot, with Grace’s stupid little comments and dialogue the whole time grating on me like sand paper.

After 15 minutes of having her feet licked, she wanted them massaged. When that was finished, she said it was time to go, but „One more thing.“ I thought to myself, ‘Oh great.’ Linda continued, „Now I want to hear you tell Grace that you will obey her orders from now on, you are truly sorry for insulting her and that you’d like to make it up to her by licking her shoes.“ Grace giggled. I looked at Linda in disbelief. Linda said, „Oh, OK, I warned you about needing convincing,“ and she stepped into her pumps, then stood on my face again, while I screamed and groaned, and said, „OK, OK, I’ll say it.“ But she remained on my face and replied, „I warned you what the punishment would be if you questioned my orders.“

Grace said, „Let me do it this time, since I’m the one he owes the apology and after all I am the so called sadistic bitch.“ Linda fortunately stepped off my face, and replied, „OK, fine, I gotta go anyway. He’s all yours.“ Linda put on her coat, looked down at me and said, „I’m heading out but I’ll leave it to Grace to untie you when she is through with you.“ Linda left me all alone with the ruthless receptionist turned sadistic secretary.

Then Grace said, „Before I deal with you I need to run a fast few errands. I need cash, I need to grab a caffeinated pre-workout drink and I need to pick up drycleaning. Don’t go anywhere.“ I cried out, „What? Wait, you can’t leave me here all bound up. What if the boss comes in or if there is a fire?“

She replied, „Don’t be such a little pussy. I ain’t untying you. I’ve got you right where I want you. If I set you free, you just leave, and I am definitely not through with you after today. The boss isn’t gonna come and there isn’t gonna be a fire. So just relax, I’ll only be gone 15 minutes, during which time you can anticipate what I am gonna do to you when I return. Sweet dreams.“

Then she put the chair over my chest, the cross bar pinning me to the floor, piled three heavy file boxes on it from the back corner of Linda’s office, boxes that I didn’t even think she would have been able to lift. Then she used a little more tape to secure my bound hands overhead to the leg of Linda’s desk. She walked out leaving me there all alone and tightly bound. I struggled and tried to free myself to no avail. I gave up, and waited, and waited and waited. 15 minutes passed, then 30 minutes, then an hour, then what seemed like an hour and a half. Nothing. What a bitch, she had left me tied up here.

Grace returned just over a full hour and a half later. The heartless bitch had left me lying on the floor, restrained by Linda’s reinforced tape job, with my arms secured overhead to the desk leg and the chair cross bar digging into my chest with the weight of three heavy boxes on the chair. My arms ached, my chest ached, I was tired, hungry, grouchy and it was so rude to leave me their alone for over 90 minutes.

She shed her coat and began moving boxes off the chair that was over me, and restacked them in the back of Linda’s office. I said, „WTF, you asshole, that wasn’t fifteen minutes. You’ve been gone like a fucking hour and a half.“ Grace coldly replied, „You are in no position to mouth off. But be my guest, it’s gonna be a long night for you. You’re only making your punishment so much worse.“

Grace then stepped her first foot pump right onto my face and I screamed, „What are you doing?“ Grace replied, „My, my, how quick we forget, you questioned Linda’s orders earlier and were to receive one minute of standing on your face in pumps as punishment for refusing to apologize then say you would obey me and do everything I ask.“ In a panicked voice I quickly replied, „I told Linda I would say it, I’ll say anything.“

Grace sadistically replied, „Too late. She warned you what would happen if you questioned orders, and you did anyway. And you already mouthed off to me calling me an asshole the minute I walked in just now. You got a minute coming with your face under my pumps.“ I screamed „No!“ as she stepped the other pump up onto my face and stood there full weight. She stayed on there sadistically standing on my face in her heels until a full minute went by while I pleaded and begged as a result of the intense pain, imploring her, „Please, I’ll do anything, PLEASE.“ Grace’s sadistic reply was, „OMFG, what a total fucking pathetic loser. I can’t believe you actually begged. Have some goddam self respect.“

When she stepped off, my head was throbbing and it felt like the heels had ripped holes in my face, especially at the temple. The sadistic secretary said, „Oops a little blood from the heels, but that will heal up, no problem. Just a nasty scrape.“ Then she looked to me and said, „What do you have to say to me?“ I heard myself say, „I will obey your orders from now on, I’m sorry I insulted you and I’d like to make it up to you.“ Grace prompted, „By . . .“ and I had to reply, „by licking your shoes.“ Grace was absolutely hysterical with laughter. For good measure she added, „And tell me you’ll be my little foot bitch from now on.“ So I dutifully added, „And I’m your little foot bitch from now on.“ More peals of laughter.

So Grace adjusted her chair turned sideways to pin my chest to the floor, which was unnecessary with my hands bound and my arms overhead secured to the desk leg. Then she extended her pumps to my face. She said, „I accept your apology and yes you can lick the bottoms of my shoes now, you little foot bitch loser.“ She shrieked with laughter and said, „I can’t believe I have you licking the soles of my shoes.“ Grace’s feet were so smelly that I could smell them even with the shoes on. I had to lick Grace’s shoe just like Linda’s while Grace verbally abused me: „That’s right, who’s the dumb shit now? . . . Get over myself, huh? Why don’t you get over yourself, Mr. Lawyer? You ain’t nothing but a little bitch licking the soles of my shoes . . . Shine up those shoes for me . . . Lick all the dirt off the bottoms of my pumps.“

This particular pair of pumps had a modest three inch heel and a dainty tapered toe that was blunted flat just at the end. They were matte black leather uppers with a thin firm rubberized sole and red innersole. They had fancy little cut outs on the sides, and a decorative seam running from the toe up to the center of the vamp. Toward the heel there was a small fake diamond stud at the back on each side. The shoes had a light criss-cross pattern tread on the bottom creating a dimpled surface on the sole.

There were pockets of dirt, or some other dark matter trapped in the dimple treads of the soles, and some white matter. The stuff actually started coming off in my mouth. Grace noticed me making a face that expressed my disgust with having the particles from the bottom of her shoe in my mouth not knowing what the hell it was or where it came from. She lifted her shoe off my face to inspect the underside, then compared it to the other one. She exclaimed, „OMG, you actually are cleaning the dirt and stuff out of there.“

I was sticking my tongue out and in rubbing it against my lips as if to say ‘Bleh,’ trying to eject the particulates from my mouth. She noticed this, stepped her pump right back on my outstretched tongue, and said „No, swallow it! I want you to eat the crud from the bottoms of my shoes.“ When I hesitated, she prodded me by pressing down harder on my mouth, and ordered, „Swallow it, loser! Or I’ll stand on your face for 10 minutes.“ I gulped painfully and dutifully swallowed the unknown contaminants that had been embedded in the treads of her shoe, and she said, „That’s right, you arrogant asshole, eat the scum from the bottom of my shoes. That’s a little humble pie for you. How’s that taste?“ Without waiting for an answer, she continued, „Now keep going until it’s clean. Lick the soles of my pumps clean, loser.“

When on the fourth inspection, she deemed it clean enough, she said, „Awesome, I can’t believe you actually ate the crap off the bottom of my shoe. This actually works to clean my shoes. What a great call!“ Then she rotated the shoe administering it to my mouth at different angles, ordering me, „Now lick the sides to shine them up.“ She pumped the toes in and out of my mouth to get the front end nice and polished.

After that the leather upper on that first shoe was thoroughly licked, she presented the other one and commanded me to commence licking the sole. She made sure she took particular delight in verbally emphasizing that I was licking the soles of her shoes, adding in derogatory remarks like „That’s one thing your good for, eating dirt from the treads of my shoes . . . Yup that’s right tough guy, swallow the slime and garbage stuck to the underside of my shoes . . . Mmm, that taste good? . . . That’s about the grossest thing I’ve ever seen . . . You ain’t so tough now . . . .“

Eventually, after being cajoled into swallowing more shoe sole crud while she laughed n my face and told me just how gross it was, that shoe sole was also clean. She scorned me, „That has got to feel totally humiliating, being forced to clean the bottom of my shoes with your tongue. But after the way you treated me yesterday, you deserve it.“ She then instructed, „Now tongue polish the uppers on this one just like the other one.“

When that was done, she said, „Wow, I’ll have to have you lick my pumps clean more often. I’ve got lots of other shoes and sneakers that probably have shit caked in the bottom. I know some of my boots with treads have stuff caked in there. You’re gonna clean them all and eat all the gunk from the bottoms of my footwear, like a good little shoe licking bitch.“

Grace then told me she was going to change for the gym. ‘Thank God’ I thought to myself, ‘I’m finally out of here.’ She left Linda’s office. I was psyched for her return so she could untape me and I could get the hell out of there. Grace came back in her sneakers and spandex. She sat above me again and said, „After yesterday’s insults, I figured I’d have you lick my sneaker bottoms too.“ And with that she pressed the soles of her sneakers in my face and said, „Lick my sneaker soles clean.“ I implored, „Please Grace, I can’t even imagine where these have been. Please don’t make me do this. I’ll do anything.“

She icily replied, „First of all, begging is totally pathetic and makes me have even more contempt for you. Secondly, you should have thought of the consequences when you were busy telling me what a lowly piece of shit I was compared to all your education and credentials and calling me a filthy, disgusting, pig, bitch, trailer trash, loser, brown noser, dipshit, moron, dumb shit. So I have no sympathy for you. Third, if you ‘can’t imagine’ you don’t need to because I will tell you where they have been. They walk the filthy streets of this fine city, stroll through the subway system, frequent the food store and pharmacy and movie theaters, enter into eating establishments and bars and nightclubs, run races and routes on the city streets and through the park, glide through my gym. Oh and let’s not forget, when I gotta pee, I gotta pee, so sometimes that’s in a restroom and sometimes its outside if the line at the ladies room is too long, and if I’m not on level ground outside some of my pee might run under my sneaker and maybe that’s why the dirt sticks in there. Or it might be dark, or I might be drunk so I end up stepping in my own urine. All sorts of things can happen. All I know is they really need to be cleaned. So get going!“

I felt sick already. The discussion of stepping in pee was just pure sadistic psychological abuse. The first one had some large piece of what looked like dough or bread stuck in it. I began licking after yet another threat of stepping on my face in pumps again. On one of her inspections to verify I was actually licking them clean, she loosened the chunk of debris with a pen, and then said, „Remove it with you mouth and eat it.“ It was too large to swallow whole so I actually had to chew it. There was also black sticky matter that she made me scrape off with my teeth, crumbs, dirt and God knows what else, all of which she commanded me to swallow.

After I painstakingly finished that sneaker and got to the second sneaker, I discovered a little clump of grass blades encased in dirt that felt all gritty on my tongue. Then some sticky candy or jellied treat that she generously pried free with her pen. There was also some chocolate she must have stepped on, all of which she insisted that I swallow under the threat of standing on my face in pumps again.

After what seemed an excessive 30 minutes of licking sneaker soles, she removed them from my face. She then stood and lifted the chair off me, so I thought she was done, but she told me the wooden chair was just uncomfortable. She then told me she was going to sit on me since that would be softer than the wooden straight back chair. She ordered me to bend my knees with my feet flat on the floor so she could lean back against my thighs like I was a human chair and footrest all in one.

I said, „Don’t you have a class to get to?“ She said, „I already took one. That’s why I took a lot longer than the 15 minutes for errands. And I figured I’d get one more class in, and get my socks nice and wet with fresh sweat from a 13th or 14th class in the same socks. I lost count. Now I won’t be rushed or limited to a set time and I can take as long as I want to make you pay for being a total asshole to me.“

She then sat on me and leaned back on my thighs pressing her sneakers back on my face for a few more minutes. She was sitting right on my organ, but fortunately it had gone slack during the truly gross forced consumption of whatever was stuck in the bottoms of her shoes and sneakers. Grace then took off her sneakers, and said, „Remember what I told you, smart ass? Over a dozen classes in these socks. Then she pressed her more than damp sweaty socks right on my face and laughed heartily. She was rubbing her overly moistened sweaty socks all over my face.

Even though the smell was awful, beyond vinegar, I felt myself harden again, and prayed she didn’t feel it right under her ass. She then said, „How’s that smell? Who’s the dumb shit now? Or was it a dumb bitch?“ After a few more minutes she clamped her toes over my nose while she made me breathe her foot odor from the wet socks, she said, „These have got to be really, really gross.“ Her socks reeked so bad it was like straight ammonia making my nose hurt and my eyes water, but to my surprise, and against my will, I continued to sniff more aggressively. „OMG,“ she shouted, „you are actually sniffing my feet again, sniffing my filthy socks. These socks are so gross I didn’t even want to put them on again.“

My cock was really hard now and pulsating, but it had to be only because she was sitting on it, and definitely not from being forced to inhale her foot odor while she rubbed her sweaty socks all over my face. I was worried not only that she would feel it but that I was going to ejaculate right there. How embarrassing would that be to end up reaching an orgasm with her sweaty socks and feet clamped over my nose, so she would conclude I came from sniffing her disgusting sweaty feet while she verbally abused me. I tried to think of road kill, rotten food, anything but it was a losing battle. Despite her foot odor in my nostrils and her sweaty socked feet pressed on my face, her ass pressing on my member was making it impossible. There was no way I was getting aroused over the smell of her feet I assured myself.

„OK, open up,“ she ordered. For some reason, I obeyed without any protest whatsoever, willingly opening my mouth. She said with some surprise, „That was easy.“ She then peeled off her disgusting sweat-soaked socks and stuck them into my mouth, the strong acidic taste assaulting my taste buds immediately. My mouth closed over them without even being told, and she said, „Start sucking and swallowing.“ For some reason I obeyed. Then she pressed her clammy, sweaty bare feet right over my face while she began a nice long speech.

The orgasm pre-contractions began rumbling as her buttocks threatened to squeeze the contents out of my member during a brutal verbal degradation: „You are now sucking the sweat of over 13 exercise classes and a 10K road race and 5 commutes out of those socks. Since you decided to be such an arrogant jerk the other day, I’m gonna keep wearing these and make you suck the sweat out of them after my morning class every day. How do you like that? Oh, that’s right, can’t answer, got my dirty socks shoved in your mouth.“

As she talked, she was sliding her slimy feet up and down and side to side on my face, grinding the soles of her stinking bare feet onto my face, embalming my face in a sticky, pungent film of her foot sweat. Her motion with her feet was also causing her hips to move around, which resulted in her tight little ass grinding more aggressively over my crotch, bringing me just moments away from another sexual release in a very demeaning position.

Finally, she pulled the socks out of my mouth, so I thought she was going to let me leave, sparing me the humiliation of another involuntary forced orgasm at her feet, but then said, „Now you are going to clean my feet. I told you they needed a cleaning. I need my feet licked clean.“ I hesitated, since enough was enough, and I was about one second away from coming in my pants so I really just needed to get out from under her and wanted to get out of there. She lifted up her pumps in her hand and said, „Do I need to put these heels back on and stand on your face again?“ I immediately replied, „NO!“ She said, „Good, then start licking the bottoms of my feet.“

I wasn’t fast enough and she yelled, „You heard me, LICK MY FEET! And don’t grimace. Do it like you mean it, like you are into it, or I’ll stand on your face for FIVE minutes.“ I began licking diligently and aggressively. The taste was horrendous, beyond vinegar, stinging my tongue like battery acid. But there was no way I could handle another face stand, not even for one minute, not to mention five minutes.

She continued, „From now on, I’m gonna march right into your office, make you kneel down in front of me and lick my sneakers. Then I’m gonna peel off my socks, stick them in your mouth, and make you suck the sweat out of them and swallow it while press my filthy soles right on your face. And I am going to wipe my sweaty feet on your face and make you lick my feet clean every fucking day.“ At that point, I lost control and I felt my organ begin to let go of its contents once again right in my pants.

She continued deriding me as my pelvis went through its contractions and emptied my manly fluids right under her ass during this humiliating verbal assault: „You’re gonna give my feet a tongue bath every day. Your mouth is gonna be my personal foot washer. My smelly, sweaty feet are never gonna need to see a soapy washcloth again because you are gonna scrub them with your tongue and swallow all my foot grime. And like you said to me today, ‘Don’t fuck it up.’ That way we’ll wash your cocky little mouth out with my foot sweat, instead of soap. And every time you taste the sweat from my feet, you can remember why. Every time I make you swallow my foot sweat, you can remember that you have to obey me. You will learn to love the taste of my feet.“

In the final throws of my orgasm and past the end of my release, her brutal interrogation echoed, „How’s it feel to lay there on the floor with your secretary’s feet pressed on your face like a useless foot rest? How does it feel to have the lowly secretary wipe her sweaty feet all over your face? How does it feel to have my sweaty wet socks shoved in your mouth? How does it feel to suck the sweat out of my socks and swallow it? And how does it feel to have to LICK MY FEET?“ This little speech went on and on and on. The annoyance of hearing her drone on and on took the edge off my embarrassment at the prospect of actually being brought to release by further humiliation at her feet.

She made me repeat the process Linda had taken me through licking and sucking and tooth pumicing every square inch of the soles of her sadistic feet. This went on for 20 more minutes. This was the first I had seen of her bare soles close up since the few other abuses were with hosiery and today she had just had them pressed over my face a few minutes ago. They were actually very pretty feet, soft underneath, with soft little wrinkles and a size smaller than Linda’s. These were 6.5 while Linda’s were 7.5. I must have been really getting into getting into it as a result of the orgasm without realizing it because she said, „Gee my feet must taste pretty good.“

As I reflected on it, they didn’t taste bad anymore. I must have swallowed all the harshest accumulations of sweat and foot grime, leaving her feet close to their natural state. I must have actually cleaned them! And now that I thought of it I was already getting really turned on and growing hard again. Was her premonition accurate already that I was going to learn to love the taste?

„Don’t forget in between my toes,“ she said, and began maneuvering each foot and spreading the toes for my tongue to clean the crevices. Several of these toe creases had balled up lint from her socks, which she ordered me to swab out with my tongue and swallow. Some also had small dark microglobs of what looked like dust but was probably a mix of fine dirt glued together by her sweat that had the consistency of a soft spreadable cheese.

She coached me, „That scum is stuck in there stubbornly, so I need to you to saw your tongue back and forth between my toes until you work all that cheese loose.“ As I was performing this humiliating task, She derided, „That’s it, lick all that slime and gunk out of there. Eat all my toe jam, swallow it all.“ She critiqued me, „Yes, but press in there a little harder . . . Yeah that feels good like that. I like that.“

After I had loosened, removed and swallowed every molecule of her toe scum, she ordered, „OK, go back through and do all the spaces between my toes with that pressure. That soft skin in there can really use some work. After I had tongue massaged all her toe crevices again, she presented each toe to my mouth one by one. To my own surprise I began obediently and passionately sucking each individual toe without being ordered.

She said, „Wow, that actually feels pretty good. Looks like you will also be sucking my toes every day, in addition to licking my sneakers, licking my pumps and licking my feet.“ After sucking her toes for about 20 minutes, she said we were done for the day. I felt like I had been licking her feet for what seemed an eternity, and my jaw ached. She finally got off me, let me out of the tape restraints and we left.


My demeaning, degrading daily routine continued into December. The punishing, power tripping paralegal and her ruthless receptionist turned sadistic secretary must have grown bored with the current level of daily degradation inflicted on me, because one day a new level of abuse was added. On this particular day it was pouring rain.

Grace came right into my office in the morning, still wearing her rain coat and holding her dripping wet umbrella. „Get up“ she said. I stood, and she sat in my chair. Then she pointed down to her soaking wet sneakers, lifted one up, and still pointing at it, said, „Kneel down and lick the bottoms of my sneakers.“ I hesitated, so she said, „Do I need to stand on your face again?“ I knelt down and began licking the sole of her sneaker.

„Splendid,“ she said, „I just walked here in these after taking class in them and I stepped in a few puddles when I was running too fast to pay attention. That might be a good thing for you since the puddle water might dilute some of my sweat. Hahaha.“ After I licked the soles of her sneakers, she said, „Take them off for me and lay down on your back.“ I did so, and she began rubbing her drenched socks all over my face. They were wetter than usual from the rain that soaked though the canvas sections, and the puddles she walked through adding the dirty water to her sweat.

I could see the socks had had as usual become dingily discolored from sweat but now also from the dye in the innersoles and uppers of her sneakers she wore this day. „Up to 10 classes in these before the rain diluted your sweat feast,“ she said. After she had amused herself with rubbing soaking wet, gross socks all over my face, she peeled them off and said, „Open up.“ I hesitated and she yelled, „NOW!“ prodding me into action.

After I opened my mouth, she leaned over, reaching so she held them right over my mouth and began squeezing the socks in a ball so a stream of warm gray liquid poured into my mouth. It tasted like salt, vinegar, must, dirt, metal and so many other awful qualities, I mentally stopped categorizing, and my throat automatically closed up. I could feel my face grimacing as this was truly gross, and the liquid was filling up my mouth.

She then commanded in a loud bellowing voice, „SWALLOW IT!“ I cringed, squeezing my eyes shut and shivering as I gulped it down the warm, vile fluid wring from her socks as she stared at me with deep satisfaction. „Excellent,“ she said, „OK, lick the sweat off my feet before I go change.“ After licking the bottom’s of Grace’s feet fresh from morning aerobics, she wanted me to kneel in front of her to suck her toes and lick the tops of her feet. She then told me to pat them dry with my tie. Finally she left to go get changed.

Linda buzzed me when she got to the office in the morning. When I entered, she crossed her legs and smiled. She looked nice. Skirt, blouse, but still wearing her subway sneakers. „Lay down“ she ordered. I hesitated as if to say, „Not again“ or „This isn’t a game.“ But she held up a hand and said, „Listen, you can get this over with or I can play back your sick little proposition for the boss.“ ‘What a wicked little bitch,’ I thought to myself. „Now lay down!“ she ordered.

I had no choice but to comply. „Bring your head closer,“ she said, „right here,“ she pointed. After I did so, she hovered the first sneaker over my face, and said, „Lick the bottoms of my sneakers,“ and pressed it to my lips. I began licking and continued for minutes until she switched to the other sneaker. She decided to call Grace in to watch. When she was satisfied she had humiliated me and elevated her own ego enough, she looked at the bottoms and said, „These have small treads. Let me try to loosen some of that debris in the treads with a paperclip so you can get more of the sole clean.“ Like Grace, she made me swallow every bit of crud that she picked loose from the treads of her sneakers.

If we do this every day, I’m sure I’ll get a lot more life out of the sneakers.“ I looked at her with a mask of surprise. She said, „That’s right. From now on, you are going to lick whatever boots or sneakers I wear to work upon my arrival to clean them from my commute.“ She then took off her sneakers, peeled off the socks, rubbed her bare feet on my face as if wiping the sweat off, laughed out loud at her ability to do this, and slipped on her pumps that she removed from her bag. Then she said, „OK, enough goofing off, go get some work done.“

As I was leaving Linda’s office, Grace said, „I really like that paperclip idea for some of my thin treaded sneakers. I’m gonna make sure I make good use out of you too, you’ll be eating the crud from the bottoms of my sneakers too from now on.“ I didn’t bother to reply. My job had become a living hell. She added, „Oh, don’t go too far, I haven’t had my work shoes licked clean yet.“ I ignored her and continued walking back to my office, but she sped after me, grabbed my tie and yanked me back to her desk, pulled me by the necktie down to a kneeling position, then lower into a position of worship crouched over with my forearms and shins on the floor. Then she stepped on my necktie and said, „Lick my pumps, tops and sides first, then you will do the bottoms.“

On this day, she had actually changed into red pumps and sheer clear hose because as she explained, she had a Christmas party to go to after work. She had worn a matching red belt with her black outfit, and had a red silk scarf, and some red broche-like adornment on her blazer. Very festive. I began licking from this submissive position, and she goaded me along, „That’s it lick my shoes clean, and get the tops, sides and all the leather.“

After that 5 minutes of humiliation, she said, „Oh while your at it, lick the inside since I sweat a lot there,“ as she removed her shoe and pressed her foot on the back of my head forcing my face into the shoe, with the other shoe still stepping on my necktie. She kept a tight reign on me, and eventually rotated the shoe so I could do the bottoms. The angle forced me to have to worm my head sideways right on the floor and really extend my tongue like a dog. Linda walked by and said, „Grace, that is utterly humiliating. Very creative.“ Grace said, „Thank you.“ After she made me do the other red pump in the same fashion, she took my tie and wiped out the insides of her shoes with it, saying „OK, back to work, dumb shit.“

At lunch time, Grace called me and said, „Get out here, you are gonna to lay under my desk while I eat lunch so I can use your face like a footrest.“ I said, „I need to eat my sandwich.“ She said „Oh sorry, why don’t you bring it out here and we’ll have lunch together.“ I thought to myself, „Wow, that’s a drastic change.“ So I got my tuna sandwich all unwrapped and went to her desk.

I noticed she had shed her pumps and stockings and changed into her sneakers and socks in order to run to the post office for Linda right before lunch. She kindly said, „Oh here,“ and reached for the ends of the sheet of wax paper my sandwich was on, as if to help me get situated at her desk for our lunch. Then she proceeded to drop it on the floor, and stomped all over it, as my jaw dropped. „Oops“ she scorned and warned me, „next time don’t question my orders. Now get down there and lick your stupid lunch off my sneaker soles, and make sure there’s none left in the treads.“ When I hesitated purely out of shock, she yanked me down by my tie.

After I licked her sneakers, she proceeded to run the tines of a fork between the treads forcing me to eat not only my tuna but whatever else came loose with it. She then wiped then sneaker bottoms on my shirt, took them off, took off her socks and stuck her bare feet in my mangled but still uneaten sandwich remains, grabbed a chunk of it in her toes and lifted it to my face, then told me, „You can eat it from my feet. You have 5 minutes to eat whatever you are going to eat from my toes, then I’m throwing the rest away, so eat up now, and when time’s up you’re gonna lay under my desk like I asked.“

So I proceeded to eat the mangled remains of my sandwich from her bare feet, then was told to lick her feet clean again. She wiped them on my shirt and told me to lick then wipe in between the toes with my tie. I spent the remainder of lunch with her bare feet resting on my face while she ate.

Linda left but returned later in the day after depositions. This was after Grace had left telling me to watch the phones. WTF. Linda called me and asked me to come to her office. I stopped in the doorway. She was sitting in her chair. She beckoned me in by curling her index finger, then pointed to the floor in from of her chair. I entered and walked past her desk, but did nothing else. She was in the same skirt and blouse as earlier in the day but wearing a sexy pair of beige and light brown pumps with a triangular leather patchwork design. They had a v-cut vamp showing just the cleavage of her first two toes. It was the pair she had changed into for work this day.

She snapped her fingers, and said, „Kneel down.“ I knew that putting up a fight was useless, so I knelt down. She crossed her legs and extended the top one, so her pump was right at my face. „Lick em,“ she ordered. She then continued, „From now on, you are going to lick whatever shoes I wear to work, and you’re gonna lick my feet at the end of every work day. Now get going on my shoes. I think you kneeling before me is a good humiliating position to be forced to lick my shoe soles from.“ I began to grow erect for some reason beyond my control.

I proceeded to lick the first pump and then the second. There was a slight salty taste at first which quickly disappeared so all I could taste was leather once my saliva had darkened the entire sole and got it dampened. She inspected the bottoms. Fortunately, they were well worn and the leather sole had scuffed and smoothed making it impossible for much to stick to it.

With the soles of her pumps licked to her satisfaction, she then placed her feet on the floor and said, „OK, now the top and sides.“ She made phone calls while I licked her shoes kneeling humbly before her, bowed forward with my face lowered like a meso-american from a conquered tribe being forced to worship before some pagan shrine. Something was making me get harder and harder but it was fortunate I was bent forward, eliminating the chance of her discovering my condition.

After what seemed like a half hour, she said, „My feet sweat a lot today. These shoes always make my feet sweat a lot and they get smelly. As you know, my feet usually don’t smell at all, but they might actually smell today. Lay down on your back,“ she ordered. As I did so, I deftly adjusted my manhood so it would point up and slip under my waistband extending to my belly button, avoiding a conspicuous pop tent. After I was on my back as ordered, she removed her pumps, and then wiped her feet on my face. I felt my member fully stiffen. „See, sweaty,“ she said, letting out a sardonic chuckle. „OK, lick my feet.“ I licked her smelly, salty, leather-flavored feet for what seemed like 45 minutes.

I hadn’t realized just how aggressively and hungrily I was licking her feet until she said, „You seem to be kind of passionate about this today, what do you like them all sweaty?“ I felt my face redden. I realized that I had been kind of enjoying the rich smell of sweat and leather and that my dick was throbbing. Then she said, „OK, time for my massage.“ After I massaged her feet, she took one, lifted it to her face and smelled, saying, „Whew, those reek, you didn’t do a good job, you’re gonna need to lick those some more. But your mouth must already be saturated with my foot sweat and that’s why there is no further reduction in smell. We are at an equilibrium with your mouth smelling just like my feet. So why don’t you lick them, and periodically wipe them on your shirt. I don’t want them to smell since I’m going out after work and I don’t want to be self conscious.“

While I was re-licking her foot, she smelled her own shoe and said, „Wow, these shoes smell.“ She then interrupted my task, and said, „here lick the inside of this,“ and pressed her inverted shoe tightly down over my face so my lips were in close, rough contact with the innersole. My loins surged harder. I noticed that I followed her orders a bit too eagerly, licking the innersole a bit too greedily. She then leaned over and used my tie to scrub the inside. She repeated this about 5 times each shoe, and then re-tested it, claiming that it actually smelled a lot less, but added that she thought my tie had seen better days. She then told me that cleaning the insides of the shoes would become a daily duty of mine.

The next day, Linda was in early, and when I was summoned for Linda’s morning post-commute cleaning of her sneakers, she was sporting a different pair of sneakers and picking at the treads with a paperclip end. Today she wanted me lying down instead of kneeling. When she lowered the sneaker over my face and I began licking, I noticed my mouth was full of particulates. I started to shake my head and expel them and she ordered, „Just swallow it, it takes too long for you to spit out every little particle and I don’t want you littering in here. And like I said a little eating a little scum from the bottoms of my shoes won’t kill you.“ She made it a point to inspect and re-pick at sections before reapplying the sneaker to my mouth. „Over time,“ she told me, „these will become spotless, as will my Uggs and whatever other commuter shoes I wear.“

When Grace came in to my office that morning she was wearing boots. She noticed my bagel open faced on a paper plate on my desk, half butter, half cream cheese. She took a bite, then dropped the dish on the floor, and then stomped all over it with her boots. ‘What a bitch’ I thought to myself. I was starving and that was like stealing from me. She then said, „Get up,“ and after I reluctantly got up, she said, „Well don’t just stand there, get down on your knees and start licking the goddam food out of my boot treads, moron!“ I did as I was told, and she inspected the soles. Then she said, „I don’t want to see chunks of food in my boots.“

Without thinking I replied, „Then don’t step on my goddam bagel, you bitch.“ She looked at me as if appalled at my nerve, then kicked me right in the chin hard enough to knock me right over like a straight jab knocking out a boxer. She then sat right on top of my chest straddling me still with a totally shocked ‘how dare you’ look, and slapped me twice across the face hard enough to redden my cheek and leave my head ringing. Then she actually spit right in my face, looked at me with her eyes opened wide and challenged me „What are you gonna do about it?“

Then she spit again, and again. Then she stood, lifted her boot over my face, smiled, lowered it to my face and rubbed her spit in my face with her boot sole. Then she trounced all over the bagel remains once again, then ground her heavily caked boot treads over my spit covered face, mashing the bagel shrapnel into her spit on my face until it was a gruel. Then she spit into the bagel, sat back in the chair and said, „Now lick my fucking boot soles clean, you arrogant piece of shit before I kick your teeth in.“ I did as I was told until I had humiliatingly choked down most of the gluey paste.

She then took the plastic knife that had come with my bagel and proceeded to carefully remove every morsel of food, dirt, and whatever else was caked into her boot treads, and force fed it to me. A couple of times, I hesitated and she growled, „Eat it! That’s right get all the sidewalk and subway grime out of my boots for me, pig!“ When she was done, she wiped her boots on my shirt, then grabbed my tie, and said, „Follow me to my desk . . . on your knees,“ but she dragged me there.

She then ordered me to lie down, removed her boots to reveal bare feet and then proceeded to rub her sweaty leather boot smelling feet all over my face. My face had still been paper mache’d with the compound consisting of her saliva, cream cheese and my mangled bagel that she had previously ‘mortar and pestled’ on my face with her boot sole. Satisfied with her efforts to raunch my face with her bare unwashed boot leather scented feet but noticing that some of my breakfast bagel mask had transferred to her soles, she ordered, „Now lick my feet clean, asshole. Get all this gross goo off them.“

After that 20 minute cleaning, she pulled a pair of maroon pumps from her bag and said, „Now lick my work shoes clean, insides and out.“ After she wiped them using my tie, she said, „Now get to work, you fucking slacker. And from now on, when I want you to eat the crud from my shoe soles, don’t give me any back talk or I’ll stomp on your face after I kick it . . . Oh, and one more thing, here,“ she said as she handed me a glass with her dirty socks soaking in water. She commanded, „Down it, now!“ I drank the gross water, grimacing and feeling totally violated to the point that I just needed to go collect myself. But then she ordered, „Now suck each sock out.“ I did as I was told, barely able to choke down the grayish fluid. „Now get out of my sight,“ she said as I walked away humbled and broken.

I was not relieved of my day’s end shoe and feet licking duties, as both wanted their bare feet extensively licked, their toes sucked, their heel calluses chewed and scraped, and then their feet massaged for 30 minutes each. Grace had painted her toenails blood red, and Linda’s toenails were done in a very dark brown that matched a lot of her wardrobe. My disloyal penis once again grew turgid on its own during this hour.

During my time with Grace at day’s end though, as I was laying there under her feet, she looked down at me, smiled and said „I have a special treat for you.“ „Really?“ I asked, surprised that she would do something nice for me. She continued, „Most of the blisters on my feet from another road race finally broke open, so I need you to bite off the dead skin and eat it.“ WTF, I thought to myself, ‘How is that a fucking treat? What a fucked up bitch.’

I asked, „Have you ever heard of a file?“ But it only took about 10 seconds of her stepping on my throat with one foot and digging her big toenail into my ear with the other foot for me to agree that I would be honored to remove her dead skin for her. We started on her left foot. I had to eat dead blisters off her left pinky toe and from the back of her left heel. On the right foot, the opened blisters were on her pinky toe and her big toe. There was a big stubborn one on left big toe and a huge one on the ball of the right foot that had not yet popped, which I was happy to avoid and thankful she had not mentioned.

What my teeth couldn’t get on the opened blisters, she plucked off with her fingernails and hand fed it to me. Finally, she snipped the smallest remains off with a clipper to get the skin flush, making me eat and swallow those small fragments as well, holding the clipper over my mouth and taping it with a pen to shake the remains free for my ingestion. After I had obediently swallowed the dead skin from four of her open foot blisters, she concluded, „These last two blisters here my left big toe and on the ball of my right foot are just about ready to pop anyway, and I am really tired of them. So I need you to carefully and gently bite each of them open, suck the water out and then get rid of that dead skin for me.“

This was so far beyond the pale, for her to be able to honestly think it was ok to tell someone to suck the fluid from the blisters on her feet. I rebuffed her, „Fuck you, seriously, I am not going to suck the pus out of your foot blisters. Are you fucking crazy?“ Without warning, Grace then flexed her toes over, dug her blood red painted toenails deeply into my cheeks and scratched hard down my face. The pain was so intense and the act so unexpected that I screamed.

Grace mercilessly looked at me and said, „Only the two big toes drew blood, but I’ll keep going and make more stripes if I need to repeat myself again. So are you ready to take care of my blisters?“ I paused only briefly and she reset her toenails roughly into my cheeks and I immediately screamed, „Yes, yes, yes!“ So while my cheeks bled, I gently bit open the first of the live blisters and dutifully sucked out the so called „water“, and pitifully forced myself to swallow it. Grace jeered me, „That’s right, suck out all the water from my foot blisters and swallow it, loser. And for the record, pus is white, the liquid in my blisters is clear.“ She then made me repeat the process of consuming the moist remains of the second blister, scorning me, „Good, now eat the rest of my foot nectar from the last blister, and don’t grimace because I find that insulting.“

The very next day, Linda had worn a pair of knobby soled knee high clunky leather boots. These were actually kind of sexy on her small, thin frame, and I noticed her as she walked by. When she called me in and ordered me to lay down, she amused herself incredibly by saying, „I treated you to breakfast.“ She was all giddy and I looked at her like she had three heads. After she finished laughing, she explained that she bought an egg and cheese sandwich on a bagel for me. I said, „Wow, Linda, thank you that was so nice of you.“

She unwrapped it, held the open wrapper by its opposite edges, stretching them taut and displaying it for me, but instead of handing it to me she lowered it and spread the wrapper out on the floor of her office, opened the sandwich, and stomped all over it with her chunky, sexy leather boots. She then plopped into the chair, and lifted her soles over my face. They were caked with bread, egg and cheese. She then said, „You’re welcome. Don’t say I never did anything for you. Now make sure you finish every drop. If you don’t that sticky stuff is going to pick up whatever I step on while on the way home and the way back in and you are going to end up eating a lot more mysterious stuff that way.“

This took a while to clean, and at some point she made some triumphant sound like „Hmmph.“ She was staring at my crotch, where I knew I had an erection but couldn’t stop it. Fortunately I had already pre-adjusted myself northward. In a sarcastic voice she added, „you must really like eggs, because you seem to be pretty eager and almost passionate in licking the soles of these boots.“ She picked the bottoms clean with the handle end of a plastic spoon from her coffee, force feeding every drop to me. The she wiped her boots off on my white shirt afterward, and kept them on my chest.

She was staring at my crotch as if straining to find something, and then looked at me, her unspoken words making me redden again. „These are nice boots aren’t they“ she asked. I stammered, „Uh yeah, they are nice.“ Holding one up toward my face, she prodded, „You think they are sexy?“ I stuttered, „Uh, yeah, sure, I suppose.“ Enjoying my torment, she said, „Well go get to work,“ and kicked my cheek with the treads of her boot sole. On my way out she said, „Nice racing stripes on your cheeks, you should be more careful when shaving,“ referring to the two long cuts from Grace’s toenail torture that had scabbed over.

As it turned out Grace wore boots to work too with jeans that looked great on her. She had hand carried her workout sneakers and socks, as she liked to go barefoot in her leather boots for some reason. So I had to lick two pairs of boots that day.

While I was eating my turkey sub for lunch in my office, Grace came in to my office, grabbed the ends of the open wrapper, dropped it onto my floor and proceeded to stand squarely on it in her boots, then twisted herself left and then right. Then marched and kneaded it a little with her boot soles. I just sat there appalled, and said „Why the hell did you do that, I was starving.“ She said, „Seemed like you really enjoyed eating breakfast from the soles of my boots so I figured you’d like your lunch served directly from my boot soles as well from now on.“

I just sat there. „Well,“ she said, „don’t just sit there, eat up!“ She sat in my guest chair and crossed her legs and extended a boot. „Well,“ she said, „get going.“ I got up and knelt down, attempting to pick up the remnants of my sandwich.“ She interrupted me, „No, moron, from my boot. Eat it from my fucking boot soles!“ Exasperated, I sank to the floor before her and did as she ordered, eating my third meal in a row from female boot soles. She made me lick every morsel out, and used a pen from my desk to free anything I missed, insisting that I ingest every morsel of boot sole slag. Then she wiped her shoes on my war torn shirt and left.

Linda had run errands at lunch, and came back to the office with pizza. After she had eaten, she offered some to Grace who declined, then came into my office, dropped two paper plates on the floor each with a slice of cheese pizza. She then smiled and said, „Chow time, doggy,“ and stepped one boot on each slice and proceeded to march in place then twist side to side, getting it good and caked into her boot treads.

Then Linda ordered me to get up, and she sat in my chair while I was forced to lick all the pizza from her boot treads. She used the eraser from a pencil on my desk to remove every morsel of pizza from her boot soles and force fed every drop to me. Then she made me lick the boot soles one more time, wiped them on my shirt, then made me kneel in front of her while she detailed the bottoms with my necktie.

As she was leaving my office, she said, „From now on start bringing a change of clothes. You are going to be eating a lot of meals like this, and we have a dress code here. We need some decorum around here. We can’t have you walking around like a messy slob with food all over your shirt and tie.“

When Linda summoned me at days end, she was sitting in her chair, legs lifted, and said, „You know the drill. Time for my daily feet licking. You’re gonna love these today, those boots made them real sweaty. But lucky for you, my feet never smell.“ I laid down at her feet, face up, disturbed at her implication that I would enjoy her feet if they were more sweaty. She removed her boots and rubbed her hot, clammy, sweat covered feet on my face, saying „See, are those sweaty or what?“ I grew instantly erect and went into a trance like state because for some reason the smell was actually not only non-offensive, but intoxicating.

I couldn’t believe I was enjoying it and I was salivating wildly, actually desiring to lick her sweaty feet. The constant daily reinforcement of me licking her feet over and over again for several weeks must have created an addiction. And the many times I had been inadvertently milked to orgasm while licking her feet must have created a psycho-sexual connection causing these erections like an unwanted Pavlovian response. Whenever I saw Linda’s marvellous bare soles hovering above my face I became instantly aroused. She made some short phone call while she was rubbing her feet all over my face and wiggling her toes over my nose, and signed off.

She continued rubbing her feet on my face and then said „oh, one more thing . . . open your mouth, please.“ Like a zombie being controlled by the wrong head, I did as ordered with no hesitation and no real interest in protesting, and she dumped a small Dixie cup of something the consistency of grated cheese into my mouth. I began swirling it around my mouth, and as I chewed it, it was a little more chewy than cheese but salty like cheese, like a mild parmesan. It wasn’t bad. Not great, but not offensive in any way.

I had been too busy all day and forgotten to drink any liquids so my mouth was excessively dry, and as I was struggling to chew and generate some saliva, I asked what it was. „A type of cheese blend,“ she replied, „I’ve been doing a lot of cooking at night, taking cooking classes with my sister and trying to come up with a blend for my lasagna. You’ve seen my twin sister in the picture on my desk right?“

I answered in the affirmative, adding, „Yeah, she’s hot.“ Linda digressed a little, „Yeah story of my life, we’re identical twins but according to every guy we’ve ever known she’s the one who’s hot.“ I decided to leave that subject alone, regretting my comment, and coaxed her back to the previous dialogue, „So, lasagna, cooking classes, cheese blend and what about your sister?“

She said, „Don’t swallow it all too soon, savor it a little so you can tell me what types of cheeses are in it, if the taste changes at all and if the aftertaste is good or bad. And focus not only on the flavor but the consistency.“ She continued as the substance was permeating all of my taste buds, getting lodged under my tongue and in my cheeks, „So yeah, my sister and I are having a little competition, and I want your opinion.“ She then inquired, „Do you like it?“ I said, „Yeah, sure it’s OK.“ She insisted, „Please I need you to be specific, and I won’t be insulted, whatever you say. So specific answer, good or bad?“ I replied, „Umm, well I like almost all aged, salty cheeses, and it’s really not bad, so yeah, it’s good.“ She pressed, „So was it good enough that you’d eat it again? You’d use it on pasta, pizza, salad? It really tasted good?“

„Yes!“ I said, „I already told you. It’s good, it’s good! I like it.“ She shrieked, „Oh that’s awesome, I am so psyched,“ and broke into a huge fit of laughter. ‘Well that’s quite an overreaction,’ I thought to myself. I asked, „You got a sip of water or something I can wash it down with?“ She answered, „Oh yeah, actually, here“ and handed me a full plastic Lemon Lime Gatorade bottle, that was chilled and perspiring on the outside. She added, „I got Lemon Lime because I noticed you had a 12 pack of that flavor in the fridge and only had one left.“

She let me sit up for a second to chug it and I said, „Thanks that was thoughtful of you,“ before I washed all the salty cheese down, draining the entire bottle, swirling the last mouthful in and out of each cheek, and saying „Ahhh, nectar of the gods!“ at the end. She said, „More than you know.“ I didn’t know why she was being so nice to me but it was a welcome change. So I said, „Thanks, that’s was good stuff, I appreciate it. I got so busy I haven’t drank anything all day. I could actually probably chug two more of those.“ She said, „No problem. Actually, I’ve got another one, and if you taste test one other cheese blend for comparison, I’ll hook you up with the other bottle.“

‘Wow this is different,’ I thought to myself. Hell, being a food tester and having someone buy me drinks sure beats being tied up, having her sit on my face, wiping her shoes and feet on my face, sticking her feet and shoes down my throat, stomping on my throat and stomach, getting kicked in the face, having my cheeks ripped open by toenails and having my face stood on in pumps until my skin ripped open. So I replied, „Sure, no problem. Bring it on.“

She answered, „Oh, OK, great, thanks I really appreciate it.“ She reached down with a second Dixie cup and said, „Open wide,“ then dumped the contents of cup number two into my waiting mouth. This one was much more voluminous, like double the size, and tasted much different. It was saltier than the first one, more chewy and gluey, and it had some of the gratings being stronger than others as if some bleu cheese were added in for zest. It grew more and more foul and became offensive. She repeated, „Savor the taste and texture and aftertaste for a minute or two and try to give me feedback as to which is better or what improvements I can make.“ This one also had a number of larger pieces in it: moist tender flakes that broke apart when chewed, dense little kernels and some rubbery chunks pieces that were harder to chew like shredded tires.

After distastefully swirling, chewing, sucking, savoring and considering the different tastes and textures, I filled her in on what I thought. She seemed to be taking notes and making facial expressions and sounds of consideration like my feedback was super helpful and that she was carefully deliberating on it. She asked which I liked better, and I said „Definitely the first one. The second one was, no offense intended, kind of too pungent, too strong and something was kind of disturbing about the texture but I couldn’t put my finger on it.“

She exclaimed „Oh, I’m so glad! The first was my blend and the second was my sisters. I won!“ Glad that no offense was taken, I decided to be more candid and elaborated, „Oh, well in that case, to be honest, the second one was really kind of gross.“ Growing desperate to get the second more pungent blend out of my mouth for some reason, I reminded her, „You got that second Gatorade?“ She replied, „Oh yeah,“ and handed me down a second chilled plastic bottled of my favorite flavor Gatorade. I swilled the whole thing eager to rid myself of the vile compound invading my mouth, once again rinsing the final slug all around my mouth to clear and particles from my cheeks and teeth, after which I once again uttered a lip-smacking „Ahhh. I love that stuff.“

She giggled then said, „I’m so glad you do. Can you please lick my feet now? They are so tired and achy from walking around in those pumps.“
I still couldn’t believe she was asking, and saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and buying drinks for me rather than ordering and coercing me with threats and actual physical violence. She had me lay down on my back under her feet. I was still erect from before the ‘tasting’ and stayed that way while I licked every drop of sweat and black boot leather dye from her feet, licked in between her toes, sucked her toes, and then without being asked, commenced licking her feet again on auto-pilot with my dick throbbing. I couldn’t be sure but I thought a little sound of enjoyment escaped my lips against my will. She perked right up, leaned forward and said, „Did you just moan?“ I pretended I didn’t hear, and luckily her phone rang and it was a long call. A long while into the call, she covered the handset, and whispered, „Massage.“

Grace then poked her head in and said, „When you’re done with him, I need him under my desk because I want my red pumps cleaned before the party tonight.“ Linda gave her a thumbs up. After 15 minutes of massage, she concluded her call, hung up and said, „I’m all set. I gotta run. You can go take care of Grace now.“ Then she stood up and began to put on her coat.

Before she left her office, I figured I’d keep the cordiality going and asked, „So which blend did you like better?“ She definitively replied, „Oh I didn’t taste those.“ Surprised by the tone of her response and confused as to why a cook would not taste their own creation, I inquired, „Oh, why not? So what types of cheeses were in the two different blends? And why pick me as a tester?“

She said, „Well if you must know, that first cup of cheese was my ‘foot cheese’ consisting of all my dead skin filings from the last month, and all the scum that I could dig out from under my toenails with a pick for the last month and all the toe jam I scraped out from my cuticles and the sides of my toenails for the last month. Actually six weeks, sorry.“ I was speechless, frozen by what I just heard.

She continued, „And see that picture on my desk of me and my twin sister that you thought was so hot? Well, we live together and the first night she saw me cleaning out my toenails and saving it in an airtight container to preserve the moisture, she wanted to know what I was doing. So when I told her, she said it was gross; ‘disgusting’ was her words. So I teased her and told her hers would be a hell of a lot grosser since she works out more, waitresses five nights a week, spends a higher percentage of time in socks and sneakers than me. And I told her, ‘All the time I’ve known you, your feet stink and mine don’t smell at all.’ She also tends to skip showering for a day or two, whereas I never miss a day.“ My stomach started to churn.

Linda went on, „So she said ‘Bullshit my feet are not grosser,’ so I challenged her to do the same thing for the six weeks, at the end of which I told her I’d trick you into eating both and bet her that hers would be grosser. It was two parts. The main bet was that hers would taste worse than mine and that was for $100. But I also bet her that not knowing you were eating my foot scum, you would actually say that it tasted good. She said that was total bullshit and would never, ever happen. And frankly I was a little surprised that you actually said it was good, that you like it and that you would even put it on your food, hahaha. That was for an additional $200. The second cup was her foot concoction.“

I had heard enough but Linda persisted for the sole purpose of making me sick, „I knew I was going to win the first part because as this progressed, she was carving out huge gobs of scum from under the edges of her big toes, and plowing out big piles of sludge along the side of each toe when she dug in there with a file. That white toe dough smelled when it was being unearthed from her nails and cuticles. I also suggested she trim her toenails because she keeps them kind of long so they end up with larger reservoirs of that toe paste. I further advised her she should shower more often, and to dry her feet good before putting them in shoes or socks because I’ve seen her rush it and just get dressed wet because she is always late and the moisture gets trapped in the toes can create a haven for bacteria and fungus to grow and ferment.“ My stomach was roiling as I heard her scientific, pragmatic analysis of the accumulation of her sister’s toenail pudding.

She continued this torment, „And worse yet for her, part of the rules were that everything had to go in that was removed from our feet. That put her at a distinct disadvantage because all her additional time working out, running and standing on her feet especially in her night job, tended to give her bigger calluses, so more shavings and big chunks she was picking off, plus a ton of blisters and some corns. So between all those extra hunks of callus, the white creamy gobs from her toenails, the secretions she drained from the blisters, the actual flakes of skin from her blisters and the corns, I knew hers would have to taste way more pungent and that the consistency would probably be gross too.“ The first of several dry heaves and gag urges hit me on this last bit of information.

She then optimistically said, „So you just won me $300. She is slightly prettier than me I’ll admit even though we are identical twins. And she’s thinner than me because she works out more and runs five days a week instead of two times. So while the money is nice, it’s also a nice victory for me in our sibling rivalry. That short call I made was to her, and I knew she wouldn’t believe me so I put the phone her on speaker for her to hear but I muted her out. So she heard everything. I couldn’t help gloating when you told me mine tasted good and that hers was gross and offensive. I can’t wait to rub her nose in that one.“

She began to approach the door to the office suite, but stopped to add to her parting remarks, „And the ‘nectar of the Gods,’ as you appropriately called it was Gatorade that I soaked a dirty pair of my socks that I wore exclusively for the last six weeks without washing them. I soaked them overnight in a big bowl at room temp, then wrung them out by hand several times to get all the sweat out using a funnel to get the ‘new and improved’ Gatorade directly back in the bottle. I kept going until I had used up just about all of the Gatorade. Then I poured it into a slightly bigger bottle to save for you, and I topped of the remainder of the Gatorade bottle with my pee just to bring the color back to equilibrium since it had lost it’s yellow tinge as it removed all the sweat and footwear impurities from my socks. Then I spit in it once just for good luck like you do on a pair of dice, shook it up and chilled it. So it might be more accurate to call it ‘Nectar of the Goddess.’“

She concluded this disturbing lecture, „My sis did the same thing on bottle number two, using re-worn nylons and socks, one pair each for all purposes for the whole stint. So even though she lost the bet, she’ll be glad you said ‘Ah I love that stuff’ with reference to her home brewed foot sweat, urine and saliva cocktail. Now I have mild pee because I drink a lot of water so I wasn’t surprised when you called my foot secretion microbrew ‘good stuff.“ But I must admit I was surprised by your enthusiasm for my sister’s foot potion because her nylons were gross, her workout socks were grosser, and her waitress shift socks are black inside back shoes. Because the Gatorade had become so discolored and had actual sediment in it, she had to increase the urine ratio and decided to drain her bladder into it in the morning when her urine was stronger and darker in order to cover up the sediment and obscure the graying of the beverage. Well, have a good night.“ And she left.

Grace was in the bathroom, and I was sick to my stomach and pissed off over this duplicity to get me to voluntarily consume such a sickening snack. So I figured ‘Screw her’. I went to my office, got my coat, then headed for the door, flipping the bird to her empty desk in the doorway and saying „Fuck you, Grace.“ One small victory in a long losing war.

The next day I was so thrilled to have stuck it to Grace the previous night by absconding into the night before she returned to her desk. It was a delicious desertion, a brilliant bailout. Better yet, she was a no show in the morning. Maybe she got drunk at her party and was hung over. Who cares? On top of that, Linda had left early and I was alone. It was the happiest I’d been at work in months.

Late in the afternoon, Grace came fuming into my office, wearing the same red pumps as the previous day, and barked at me, „What the fuck, I said I needed my shoes cleaned yesterday.“ Emboldened by my defiant departure the previous evening and by my morning’s freedom from foot oppression, I replied, „Listen, I’m working here, all right? I got a ton of work done today without you here haranguing me. You and Linda keep eating up my time with your sick little games and its costing the firm money. Linda and I bill hours on the work we do, and you just cost us overhead. My work pays your fucking salary. Call yourself a receptionist, call yourself a secretary, whatever, you are an administrative assistant. You are nothing but overhead. So that’s enough of your stupid fucking games, I ain’t playing anymore, now fuck off you stupid bitch.“

I eventually caught myself, realizing I had gone overboard and remembered how Grace had lost it on me once already. „Listen,“ I said in a softer tone, „I don’t mean it like that, I just -” but Grace grabbed me by the hair and pulled me out of my office and dragged me to her desk, then surprised me by kicking me right in the groin, very hard, not once but twice, then in the stomach, in the chest, then once in the face. My hands flew up from my groin to my face, she had her heels on still. The first shot had hit me in the mouth, then she kept going, to the body again, then again to the face, this one to the nose, then another kick to the crotch, then a stomp to my kidney, the a third kick in the face hit the cheek bone. I noticed blood on my hands probably from my split lip, then her shoe stomped into my ribs, then right onto the side of my head, the heel grinding into my skull. I was a mess.

I had rolled to my stomach to protect my body from any more kicks but my head was pinned sideways to the floor with the heel of her shoe digging into my cheek. Grace was still in a fit of rage like I had never seen. I wondered if she had a real neurotic condition that should be medicated. She opened her draw to get something, then sat on the back of my head and neck facing my lower body. While my face was painfully mashed into the floor by her weight, she tightly bound my hands behind me with a CAT5 cable, then took a box cutter tool with the attached roll of packing tape and began taping my hands and arms. Then she did the same to my legs. Then she rolled me over and sat on my chest, still facing my torso and punched me in the stomach, once, twice, three times.

I tried to speak, „Listen,“ but Grace still wanted none of it and she hopped herself backward and sat her ass right on my face, as if emphatically shutting me up. My face already hurt, but I was strangely turned on at the thought of Grace’s great ass right on my face. I felt myself get hard as I looked up at her ass. But then I noticed that her ass smelled, and realized she had probably already clocked one or two exercise classes. Did her rage overcome her sense of shame about putting her sweaty ass over my face? Or did she just have no shame or self-consciousness?

Then I became scared when she didn’t move for a minute or so because I couldn’t breathe. I began to struggle, getting breathe here and there when I could buck her a little. Eventually this fight for air stopped when I began to pass out. She must have figured this because she moved forward a little toward my torso so just my eyes were peeking out and my nostrils were pressed against the thin fabric stretched across her buttocks cleavage. I took some desperate, frightened breathes through my nose fighting to pull the contaminated air through the filter of her soiled undergarments and pants, while my mouth was mashed shut directly under the weight of her ass. I realized I was bound and immobile, beaten, bloodied, and in an utterly demeaning position, forced to sniff her ass just to breathe.

„This is the punishment for your attitude, your arrogance, your insolence,“ she said, „Don’t you ever talk to me like that or next time you will end up in the hospital.“ With my mouth pressed into the seat of her pants, I could only lay there bound and listen to her explain to me the importance of listening and not questioning. She droned on for 5 more minutes about men and their attitudes towards women, etc etc. ‘This chick is jaded,’ I was thinking to myself and I just tuned her out as I stared up at her gorgeous ass. Then I realized I was getting harder despite the aroma of her unwashed post workout ass being forced onto my nose. But I was hoping she didn’t see.

She finally stood up allowing me to take normal breathes of fresh air, then sat beside me in her chair, and said, „Open your mouth.“ Then she shoved the toe of her red pump right into it, and pressed it in as far as it would go. She looked down at my pants, and stared but said nothing. Then she pressed her shoe in harder and deeper, then began to rub the other one on the side of my face. I got harder and harder and felt myself beginning to throb. She then looked at my pants again, this time staring a little longer. „Now lick my shoes, you dumb shit,“ she ordered.

I began licking and she continued, „You need to remember, your place is on the floor under the receptionist’s feet, licking the bottoms of my ‘secretarial’ shoes. All your big education and training, and here is where you are: licking the bottoms of a receptionist’s shoes.“ The taste of the leather became more pronounced. She made me eat what looked like a piece of brownie pancaked into a small circle on the bottom of her sole. She saw the look of disgust on my face and said, „That’s right, Mr. high value, my hours are worth more than yours, is nothing but a shoe sole cleaner. How’s that shit taste from the bottom of my shoe? That’s right, swallow it. Your job is the eat the scum off the bottoms of my shoes.“

She then said „Do you have a hard on? Are you actually getting hard over this and can’t control it? You must feel so weak getting abused by my feet but not being able to control yourself. Or was it my ass in your face that got you hard? You like sweaty asses, you perv?“ She then stepped on my cock with her left pump while I was licking her right shoe sole and I felt like I was seconds away from exploding but prayed that I wouldn’t. I definitely didn’t need her knowing she had that kind of power.

She must have sensed this as slipped off her right pump and clamped her discolored, stained, sheer clear hosed toes over my lips and nose, saying, „How’s that smell? I re-wore yesterday’s knee high hose after sweating in them all day and then partying in them. Knee highs, easy on, easy off. And I’m re-wearing those shoes so they never even got to dry inside. Does that smell of my sweaty toes turn you on? Are you a sick little fuck? Do you actually like sniffing my feet? That’s it sniff my toes, bitch.“

The vinegary smell emanating from the roots of her toes instantly assailed my olfactory, overcoming me like a strong winter wind that makes it tough to inhale, but my body forced itself to sniff her sweaty toes against my will. I felt my hips bucking under her other shoe but I couldn’t do a goddam thing to stop it. She must have known this too, and continued on, „Open your mouth, I want you sucking on my foot when you come in your pants.“

She jammed her right hosed foot in my mouth, pressed her left pump on my crotch, saying „that’s it eat my sweat, suck the sweat off my foot while you come right it in your pants you twisted little perv.“ And despite my embarrassment at her taking charge over my sexuality, I lost it, my load and all my self control and my dignity, and with every contraction and buck of my hips, she thrust her nyloned foot further into my mouth.

When I was done, I felt so low and so humiliated and exposed. „Well she said, why don’t you lay there for a minute all tied up and reflect on how foolish you look with my foot rammed in your mouth and your pants all soiled.” She then slipped out of her left pump and clamped her sweaty hosed toes over my nose and lips while her right hose covered foot remained jammed to the hilt into my mouth. She continued, “Now I know your weakness, and boy am I going to exploit it.“ She made me lay there soaking up the humiliation for a good 10 minutes with the toes of the left foot squeezing my nose, and the right foot gagging me, before she pulled her foot out of my mouth and said, „Do you have anything to say for yourself?“ I didn’t.

She left me tied up there and draped her sweaty gym socks over my nose while she made a few phone calls with one foot on across my mouth and one across my forehead. She had removed the knee highs so her bare slimy perpetually unwashed feet were secured to my face. As the minutes passed, I couldn’t help but refocus on the stronger ammonia smell of the moist socks smothering my nose and mouth and the feel of the weight of her soles on my face. The blood began to flow again in my loins. As much as I tried to will it away, my mind could not resist the lure of the socks and feet dominating my face, and more blood surged back into those regions as my focus went back on her feet. It was a vicious circle.

When she finally finished her calls, she said, „Now it’s time for the aftermath of your little AWOL adventure last night. She then opened her drawer, pulled out a nail clipper, extracted the file, and pulled up her right knee to set her heel on the edge of the chair. As I looked up under the toes, I watched her approach her toenails with the file pick. I spoke up, „Grace, listen, that is really gross, I . . . .“ But without waiting for me to finish, she slipped her bare feet into her red pumps, ripped my shirt open with her heels, sending buttons flying, dug both red heels into the exposed skin of my chest, then began scraping stripes. Powerless to defend from my restraints, I screamed in agony but she continued for what seemed like ten long gouges.

I felt the urge to cry. Grace then asked me, „Are you ready to follow orders.“ I croaked out a feeble, „Yes.“ She chided me, „You sound like you are gonna cry. That would be pretty pathetic. Are you gonna fucking cry? Don’t be a little pussy. It’s just a few small scratches.“ She then removed her right pump and returned to her earlier knee up position and re-took a hold of the mini file pick. I lifted my head to sneak a peek at my chest and saw the blood everywhere that had surfaced in the scratches and began to form beadlets on the deepest ones. She reminded me, „I can always scrape the other way and get a nice criss-cross pattern going.“

She let that last sentence hang in the air, and she dug the file into under the corner of her big toe, carefully extracting a wad of toenail tapioca, then lowered it to my mouth, the foul, pungent smell hitting me and giving me the urge to gag. „Open!“ she ordered. When I opened my mouth, she wiped the rancid buttery wad off on my tongue and commanded, „Swallow it!“ I did as I was told despite the taste, convincing myself that if I swallowed it at least I wouldn’t have to smell it. It took me almost a minute to do it because it was so disgusting, but finally got it down when she screamed „„SWALLOW IT!“ The atrocious aftertaste lingered as if it had burned a stain onto my tongue.

She then said, „We are going to play a little carrot and stick. You’ve already experienced the stick.“ She nodded to my bleeding chest. She then lowered her left foot to my crotch and sought out the underside of my erect penis with the sole of her red high heels. She began pressing it and moving up the shaft firmly but not too aggressively, coaxing it harder and harder. She continued, „And this is the carrot. This is going to cement an erotic association with even the most disgusting aspects of my feet, and the most vile acts carried out relative to them.“ She then proceeded to burrow under the corner of each toenail of her foot, uncorking the paste from the nail bed and smearing her toenail batter on my tongue, like cream cheese on a bagel, as keeping me there bound and helpless, while continuing to manipulate my manhood under foot, physically forcing me to stay erect during this revolting act.

She drove her point home again and again while forcing me to eat the sludge from under her toe nails, „That’s it, stay nice and hard while you eat my toe jam. How gross is that? You have a hard on while swallowing the gunk from under my toe nails. You sick little fuck.“ This really pissed me off since the act was disgusting, not a turn on at all, and she was forcing me to get hard by physically stimulating my organ. But I was in no position to protest. She saw a flash of anger in my eyes, and warned, „If you wanna be a tough guy, I’ll make your chest a goddam checkerboard with my heels. You got anything to say, punk?“ I swallowed my pride with her disgusting toe cheese, and said nothing. She continued, „That’s right, you little toejam bitch, just lay there like a wimp while you eat the shit from under my toes.“ She then let out a huge cackle of laughter and continued, „I bet people would think it is pretty effing gross that you are about to come in your pants from eating my toe scum.“

She then shifted her position above me slightly so the ball of her foot came to rest on my chin, and she hooked her toes over my bottom lip so they were hovering over my open mouth. The disturbance of the nail bed under her toes, and the removal of the whitish plugs that had dammed up the crevice had trapped in the smell. Now that the freshly unsealed source of the secretions was just millimeters from my nasal membranes, the smell became more offensive.

Before I could gag, she began using used the tip of the file to plow out arcs of a firm white cuticle cake batter along the sides of her nails, depositing it into my mouth. The taste was not as foul as the subsurface paste, but the close up act of trenching it out from deep in the side cuticle was such a display of depravity that I squeezed my eyes shut. She continued to manipulate me under the other foot, bringing me very close to another orgasm, despite the foul force feeding underway being the furthest thing from arousing.

The caulking along the sides of toe after toe was furrowed out into my defiled oral cavity while she continued to adeptly work me under the sole of her other shoe. Then she made me suck each toe and run my tongue over the nails to make sure there was no mess. She told me she wanted a „nice neat job.“ She then moved her chair to the other side of her bound captive, and inserted her right foot into her pump and continued to massage and stroke my cock under her shoe right to the precipice of release.

I felt the contractions begin far off and new that an orgasm was already underway and I was powerless to stop it. It was so disturbing, depressing, worrisome and loathsome that I was going to have my seminal fluids manually, or rather pedally, extracted from me against my will during this heinous, putrid despicable act. With inevitability, she then removed her left bare foot from the suction of its red pump and brought the knee up resting her heel on the edge of the seat, toes dangling off the edge.

She must have sensed the rate of pelvic muscle contractions through her sole, because she sped up the process and immediately attacked the largest toe knowing it would have the biggest payload of sludge packed under and beside the nail. She bulldozed a massive crescent from the side of the nail and as I started to let go she deposited it into my mouth and to add insult to injury commanded me, „Eat that toe scum, swallow it, loser!“ while returning to furrow down the other side of the nail. It was awful to feel myself ejaculating while being disgraced like this.

Then, after depositing the second cuticular crescent, as if wanting to get the largest most sickening clumps into me before I was spent, she quickly harrowed in under the corner of her big toe and harvested a huge mound on the file which she spread over my tongue, as she milked the life out of me with her red pump, ordering, „Swallow all that toe cream. That was a big gob. Learn to love that taste. Come to it, loser.“ As she said these words she leaned over and spit in my face, then shoved her free hand right in my face just inches away with her fingers in the shape of an „L“, the universal symbol for loser, while I was coming in my pants.

As she continued to pedally progress the orgasm, she quickly drove the pick into the other corner of the big toe, unearthing yet another hunk of unholy toenail jam and plastered my tongue with it once again, taunting, „You just ate six weeks of sludge. Six weeks I haven’t cleaned these out. And worse yet, you came while I smeared it on your tongue, and made you swallow it. LOSER!“ As I was in the throes of it, I had to watch as she again spit in my face while I was coming, and shoved the loser sign in my face again.

Wave after wave of orgasm came in this humiliating fashion. She then continued to pump me completely dry, overruling my feelings of disgust, while thoroughly defiling my tongue with her toe caulk. After she had drained me with her red pump, each time she thereafter tainted my tainted my tongue with sludge reaped from her toes, it became more and more emotionally painful and psychologically damaging now that the endorphins of the orgasm were gone and all my senses were focused solely on the depraved act of this forcefeeding.

She then ordered me, „Now clean up after yourself.“ I looked at her quizzically, since I was bound and helpless, glancing from her to my bonds. She then elaborated, „No, your soiled underwear are your problem. I mean clean up after yourself relative to my feet. Suck each of my toes to make sure none of that gross white stuff is still around. I can’t stand the smell of it.“ I couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth. The epithelial tissues lining my oral cavity seemed to be permanently besmirched.

I asked for a drink, and was presented with socks and stockings hanging over my mouth that were first dipped in a cup of water. Any port in a storm. I greedily sucked the water out of her unwashed hose and gym socks. Anything to lessen the lingering abject aftertaste that persisted. They tasted swampy, salty and vinegary with an ammonia overtone, but anything was better than the sting of what was on my tongue. I even hoped the ammonia would cleanse it better than real water.

As I pathetically sucked the contaminated water from her hosiery, she warned me, „Now don’t ever try to cut and run on me again like last night, or I’ll do this again, and next time I’ll smear some in your nose too, right inside your nostrils, and I’ll leave you there for a few hours. I’ll smear it all over your face and make you wear it around all day. Even I don’t want to do this again because it was nauseating me to smell it and watch it. It was disgusting! But if you fuck with me again, I WILL do it again.“ Then she paused and threatened, „And next time I’ll grind some salt into your bleeding chest with my shoe soles.“

Having exercised total dominion and completely humiliating me beyond comprehension she released me from my bonds. I sprinted for my last Gatorade as I pulled the front of my shirt closed. When I got the kitchen, I couldn’t chug it fast enough, gargling and swishing for all I was worth, scraping my teeth along my wretched tongue. As I emerged from the kitchen, I held up the bottle and said, „Liquid gold! Thank goodness for this.“ She seemed to be gloating even more than before. I looked at her quizzically. „What?“ I asked. She nodded to the plastic bottle and replied, „Notice anything with the seal?“ In my haste to cleanse the sin from my mouth, I hadn’t bothered to pay attention to the seal.

She then rubbed more salt in my mental wounds, elaborating, „I decided to spice up your Gatorade a little. I was aware of Linda’s six week experiment and very intrigued, so I ran my own concurrently. Like I said you just ate six weeks of sludge from my toes which is pretty fucking gross. Now as far as the Gatorade goes, Linda filled me in on your ‘tasting’ the other night, so I chose to vent some of my anger by returning here last night with those reeking unwashed garments of mine. I took the liberty of spiking your last Gatorade. I soaked my six week worn gym socks and a six week used pair of black nylons and threw in my gym panties for good measure. Then I repeatedly wrung the Gatorade from those already wet, sweaty garments into your Gatorade bottle until it was three quarters full. I don’t have as good hygiene when it comes to my feet, and the volume of sweat really clouded up the color, while the black hose darkened it. So strictly for color consistency I topped it off by urinating directly into it. If the level seemed a little high, it was because I overshot and it overflowed, but I wiped off the sides. So, Cheers!“

After an unanswered pause, she added, „Oh, and you’ll be happy to know I did NOT spit in it. I would have but there was no room. So it was your lucky day.“ She concluded, „Just remember, actions have consequences. Next time you want to flip me the bird and tell me to fuck off, don’t be stupid enough to do it in the doorway right in the security camera. That was the kicker for me that pushed me over the edge.“ I reflected on this as I looked down at the blood soaking through my shirt, contemplated the stain on my tongue, thought about the secretions and excretions I had been just ingested, and realized how pathetically dehumanizing it was to be force fed the putty from her toenails while forced to soil my pants under her pump.

After this retaliatory reception, my duty rotation continued with no more evasive maneuvers on my part: a morning session on whatever shoes were commuted in, with Grace’s sock punishment usually more pronounced, breakfast sometimes destroyed by Grace or brought in by Linda (sometimes both), occasional lunch duty for Grace, plus regular cleaning of work shoes, bare feet cleaning, daily massage. Forced meals from shoe soles became less frequent, my tormentors apparently growing bored from this time consuming and messy ritual.

I prayed for someone else to get hired so they would have to take this operation underground. I wished for another employee so these two sadists would have to limit the incidents of my suffering to opportunities behind closed doors. A little voice somewhere in my head cautioned ‘be careful what you wish for . . . .

The scabs from the deep grooves rutted into my chest by Linda’s red pumps were still present several days after the vengeance she had taken for my vanishing act. It was the peak of the holiday season. Christmas cheer had lightened the spirits of my tormentors. While my daily hell was still no day at the beach, it seemed that the holiday season had at least temporarily moderated the pair’s personae to just a couple of ornery, demanding, unabashed, abusive power mongers. Either that or the escalation in abuse from merely humiliating to drawing blood had made me into a docile captive, and my own tractability was the reason for this perceived shift.


Late one morning, a woman entered the office. Grace’s desk was directly across from my office so if I rolled my chair back and looked to my right I’d be staring right at the front of her desk. The entry door to the office was to Grace’s left providing me a direct line of sight to the door and the maroon leather guest couches from my desk. All I had to do was turn my head or swivel my chair to my right.

I overheard her introduce herself as Abigail. I didn’t catch her last name. She was knockout gorgeous, seemed to be petite but was bundled up under camel colored long overcoat to protect her from the elements. We had had three days of snow, and the city was slushy, windy and cold. She had on black leather gloves and low heeled leather boots that looked like riding boots. Her tall boots were black with brown trim, and disappeared up into her topcoat.

She clutched a larger than necessary Louis Vuitton bag with her, the pattern universally recognizable even from afar. She had black hair pulled back tight with a pony tail behind her and a face with high cheekbones and beautiful eyes that tapered up and to a slight point in cat-like fashion. She carried herself with an air of arrogance. When Grace complimented her on her coat, she said, „Cashmere“ and didn’t even bother to say thanks. When Grace complimented her on her hand bag, she held up a finger to Grace and took a brief phone call on her cell phone. Then she said, „Yeah, it should be, it cost $900.“

When she removed her coat, I noticed she had a very nice figure. She wore a Burberry skirt that clung to her subtle but noticeable curves, with matching scarf and a tight black sweater over a light colored blouse whose collar was out the top. Very preppy, or rather tastefully and discretely haute couture. She walked to the front of Linda’s desk standing with her back to my office door and I heard her tell Grace she was here for a scheduled interview with Linda regarding an internship. Linda was obviously late, and Grace informed her that she had no idea where Linda was and was unaware of the interview.

Then my interest was piqued for reasons beyond her stunning looks when Abigail indignantly stated, „Well I don’t have all day to wait around for her. I’ve been to two interviews already, walked all over the city, and I have three more interviews I’m conducting today. Is there anyone else here I can talk to?“ During this mini tirade, I had rolled my chair back and saw Grace’s ‘deer in the headlights’ expression. As soon as I came into her field of view, Grace’s eyes flickered to me with an unspoken #!$##$! for help.

While I enjoyed watching Grace squirm, I am basically a good guy so my instinct was to throw her a lifeline. I was also very interested in quenching my curiosity about this demanding little debutant. But since she was standing facing the front of Grace’s desk, I did take my sweet time to drink in the contours of her shapely derriere. I made a face to Grace as if to say ‘oooooh’ and shook a limp hand in front of me to indicate that the potential intern was hot. I saw Grace’s jaw tighten and eyes ever so slightly widen at me.

I rose from my chair and Grace told Abigail, „Well we do have an attorney here . . .“ and she introduced me to Abigail. I shook her hand which was frigid cold still from the elements, and I said „Wow your hands are ice cold.“ She said, „Well I assume you are aware of the weather. I’m cold all over, I stepped through a snow bank and a ton of snow and slush went inside my boot and now my feet are soaked and freezing, so now I am cold all over.“

I said „It’s a pleasure to meet you, Abigail.“ She simply turned away and returned to the couch with her back to me and replied „Yes, of course,“ which I thought was an odd, if not rude, response. ‘OK, I thought, time to have a little fun with little miss priss.“

She pulled a pair of black pumps from her bag and placed them on the floor. I noticed the large YSL gold lettering emblazoned on the innersole. They had a very thin uniformly narrow heel of approximately three inches and pattern of slightly raised lines indicating that they were composed of a reptilian skin. Grace complimented her again, „Wow, those shoes are beautiful.“ She replied, „Yes, they are.“ I thought to myself, ‘Keep it up rich bitch. Man this is going to be a fun interview.’

She removed her boots one by one revealing toned, shapely lower legs, and to my surprise she had on white panty hose. ‘Odd choice’ I thought. I noticed bright red painted toes visible through the sheer white stocking, and black dye stains on the nylons at the ball and heel of her foot, obviously from the leather footwear that had gotten soaked. I also noticed her riding style boots looked expensive but were covered with a random pattern of white splashes like dried salt content over the tops and sides with some still unmelted slush at the ridge where upper met the edge of the sole.

As she slipped into her pumps, in an effort to make conversation, I nodded to them and said, „Snakeskin, right?“ She corrected me, „Wrong, eelskin?“ Always good for a dumb question, Grace asked, „What’s the difference?“ Abigail looked at me as if to say ‘Is she serious?’ Then she looked to Grace and said, „One is a snake and one is an eel.“ Grace looked nonplussed. On that note, I suggested, „Well why don’t we go into the conference room.“

I waved her in ahead of me and she sat in a chair. Our conference room chairs were a plush comfortable maroon fabric, open underneath on the front and back with continuous metal rails on each side running parallel on the floor, atop which were the plush arm rests. Remembering that the interviewers I liked best always took the edge off by sitting beside rather than across, I pulled out the chair next to her. Before I could sit in it, she said, „Thank you,“ turned her chair and extended her feet through the open side under the armrest, crossing one pump over the other and leaning back confidently as her straightened legs rested on the seat cushion. ‘You gotta be kidding me,’ I thought to myself.

I asked her „Do you prefer to be called Abigail?“ She looked at me like it was a very stupid question. I waited for an answer. She then answered, „Well actually I prefer Mam, Mademoiselle, or better yet, your highness, yes your highness will do.“ Treating her snotty little response as a joke but unsure based on the pompous remarks and behavior thus far, I offered, „I was getting at whether I should call you Abby.“ She curtly replied, „No you may not.“ I noticed she had converted ‘should’ to ‘may’ and the hidden connotation.

‘OK,’ I thought to myself, ‘I am done with this haughty little shit.’ I pulled out the next chair over, next to the chair her feet were on, and sat down. Turning my chair to face her, I said, „Do you have a resume, Abigail?“ She replied, „I can go look in my bag to see if I have an extra, but I had someone send one in previously. So you should have it already if you had been prepared for my arrival as I had expected.“ I gave her a purposely phony smile and answered, „Well yes, that would be helpful if you could go retrieve one,“ with the slightest edge of sarcasm in my voice. She sat without moving and gave me a look like she was uncertain if I was being sarcastic, but in order to convey that if I was being facetious, ‘How dare I address her like that.’

I just stared her down, until she let out an exasperated sigh, and with much dramatic flair to show her annoyance at the inconvenience, retracted her legs, rose up from her chair slapping her hands to the table top to push herself up with an exasperated sigh, and huffed back out to her bag. When she returned, she gave the resume a spinning toss onto the table and said „You’re in luck.“ Then she plopped back down in to her relaxed position facing me with her legs extended toward me, one foot crossed over the other in the chair beside me.

As I read the resume, she stated, „I have a few questions I need answers to in order to get started with this interview.“ Not wanting to concede control, I replied, „Well right now I need a moment to review your credentials.“ She ignored me and began with her first question, which turned out to be more of a notification, „I am going to need flexible hours.“ She continued, „And I need privacy, so I need an office not a cube. I also need to make sure that you or someone is changing the air filters at least once a month.“

I was really in disbelief at the attitude of this young upper cruster. I simply held up my hand and said, „All those issues are up to the owner of the firm. I cannot speak for her but I can tell you she is pretty easy going and definitely not a micromanager. In fact we hardly ever see her here at all.“ I then took control and asked, „Now these gaps on your resume. You matriculated at Cornell, good school by the way, but looks like only for a year. Then some missing time apparently because it looks like you went to NYU for another two years, then more missing time, and now you are enrolled at Columbia, also a good school. Can you explain all this hopping around and the time involved?“

Abigail looked at me indignantly as if to say ‘Who the hell are you to ask me questions’ and chided, „I think the resume speaks for itself. I went to Cornell for a year, NYU for two years and now I am at Columbia. What is it that has you confused about that? I presume they teach reading in law school.“ Then she flashed a condescending smile.

Stifling my urge to reach out and strangle her, I parried back without losing my cool, „Sorry if you misunderstood my question. It looks like you’ve floated in and out of colleges for about 10 years without being able to complete a Bachelor’s degree. So I was curious if you had trouble with your studies from an academic standpoint and were de-matriculated at the university’s initiative, or if you ran out of money and had to stop in order to work, which would by the way be a very noble and impressive thing. Or perhaps you had to take time off for personal reasons.“ I waited for a response.

Abigail glared at me, her very attractive face beginning to flush a little with anger. ‘Good,’ I thought, ‘score one for me. I am getting under her skin.“ I noticed her very brown, stormy eyes with a ring of hazel green on the iris. Then despite her obvious umbrage at being not only questioned but subtly scorned, she replied in a composed manner from her relaxed position, „First, I did not have any academic troubles, I’ve had the best tutors all my life, was actually double promoted twice in grade school and had straight A’s, that’s right a 4.0 GPA at each college. Hopefully that doesn’t intimidate you since you strike as a mediocre student that probably had C’s and some B’s. And besides the trustees of those universities would not dare kick a member of my family out, if that is your insinuation.“ Ignoring the dig and keeping my cool, I interjected, „No insinuation, just a question.“

She quickly continued, „I’m not done yet. Second, I didn’t run out of money. I don’t have your worries. I got part of my trust fund at 18 which is why I took some time off to travel to the regionals and nationals, then I got another chunk at 25 which is why I decided to travel some more as I progressed to international competition, and see the world. I am 28 now and I will get the final payout when I am 30 but only if I complete my Bachelors degree by that time. If not, it goes to my sisters.“ I was stunned she would reveal all this, not caring about other people’s reactions to her wealth. I also felt a pang of sympathy for the aforementioned tutors, as well as the likelihood of browbeaten maids and butlers, knowing now that there was a litter of these bumptious brats.

She went on, „Third, if you’d bothered to read the resume that you thought was so important, you’d see that part of those so called missing periods were filled with travel and a slue of competitions and shows.“ At this third reference to some competitive endeavor, I started looking more closely at the rest of the resume which I had admittedly departed from after seeing the schooling gaps. I noticed she had dozens of 1st place and a half dozen runner up finishes at beauty pageants, fitness shows and figure competitions. I was impressed and perhaps on some level even more curious at what was under those expensive vestments, but perished the thought of being an admirer of such a stuck up coquette.

I pressed, still looking down at her resume, „What about relevant work experience?“ She fixed me once again with a look that showed how vexed she was at anyone having the audacity to question her credentials and said, „This is an internship for during school. My time is limited. I’ll allow two more questions.“ I thought to myself ‘you will ALLOW them’ and wanted to laugh in her face, but also in her defense I soon after realized the question wasn’t really fair. After all, school internships are in fact for young adults still in school in order to get experience. She had actually gotten me to cross the line, unnerved me and bested me in the psychological chess match.

As I mind wandered, I found my gaze averted up slightly over the edge of the resume to her feet, observing the soles of her Yves Saint Laurent pumps, the pattern of wear and tear on the soles, the pattern of scuffing, any matter that was stuck to the bottom, then I roved up to her legs, the seam between the shin muscle and the shin bone, the angles of the ankle bone complex. She loudly cleared her throat, „Ahem,“ startling me to look up. She smirked and said, „Enjoying yourself?“ I felt myself flush a little, embarrassed at being caught checking her out, but also irked because the last thing she needed was the knowledge that someone found her attractive.

I recovered quickly asking, „What are your aspirations?“ She sighed again at such a lame question, so trifling to someone of her stature, and said, „Let’s see, to graduate, be wealthy, travel, shop, have nice clothes, have men continue to throw themselves at my feet, be waited on hand and foot like royalty, and be worshipped like a Goddess by all of mankind. How’s that?“ I wasn’t getting very far. I didn’t want to be around her any longer.

She had kept her cool and I had become unnerved, bested in a match of wits by this uppity little intern. I was trying to formulate one more question, eager to get her out of the office, despite the fact that I would thereby be complying with her two-question ‘allowance.’ In the silence ensuing her response, just as I was asking why she applied to our firm, she kicked off one of her shoes using the toe of one to push off the heel of the other, sending it forward and off the opposite edge of the seat to the floor right in front of me. It was an awkward moment where no one moved or said anything. I looked to the shoe, then to the sole of her stockinged foot.

Making it obvious this was a calculated act to symbolically emphasize the fact that she had gained control of this encounter, she smiled condescendingly, wiggled her foot at me and said, „Do you mind?“ My body autonomously bent forward, retrieved her eel skin pump and held it out to her, making one final stand to avoid the symbolic defeat of having to put her shoe on her foot for her like a servant. She didn’t take the bait, and instead lifted the foot to point her toes toward the opening.

Again, my mind refused but my body slipped the toe of the shoe over her toes, just because I wanted to end the engagement as quick as possible. To add insult to injury, she retracted the foot slightly while lowering it to the chair, forcing me to lean forward, then she spitefully pressed the heel of the shoe down into the chair cushion so the bowed rear part of the upper could not get on her heel. My body responded by actually having to lift her foot and slip the shoe on like I was her servant.

„Good,“ she replied rather than saying ‘thank you.’ Then she retracted her legs, stood up and began to exit the conference room, segueing to answer my hanging question, „I didn’t apply. I was asked to come in. I was here to interview your firm, not vice versa, and I’ll tell you it didn’t go very well. You failed.“

What an acrimonious little aristocrat! I really believed this woman may be delusional. I kept thinking of her as a girl because she did not look 29. She looked 21, and acted like a biggety little broad in need of a b*tch slapping. I thought to myself, ‘Linda would eat this little shit for lunch!’ So I did both of them a favor and in an effort to humor her but at the same time insult her, I said, „Yeah this did not go well, you are not an acceptable candidate for our organization.“

She stopped, whirled and gave me one last acrimonious glare as if to say ‘you will regret this.’ I followed her out to the reception area, gloating that I had once again rankled her and then watched her change back into her salt encrusted boots, from which the slush had all melted but left stains darkening the leather where it was still wet. I said „Well, thank you for coming in, it was very nice to meet you.“ She replied, „Yes, I’m sure it was.“ After she left, I thought, ‘What a strange young woman. And what a high bred aloof bitch!’

Grace left for lunch and ten minutes later, Linda entered in a tizzy looking harried and talking on her cell phone, sounding apologetic, saying, „I don’t know what happened. I have no idea why she feels disrespected. OK, OK, I’ll fix it. I promise. Yes tell her to please come back.“ I did not connect her conversation with the aristocratic intern. Two minutes after she hung up, I went to her office to fill her in on the hilarious story of the snotty, rich, overbearing, priss with the bad attitude.

She was still in her coat, sitting there, looking very upset and shaken as if our boss had really ripped her a new one. I told her, „You owe me one. I just interviewed some little petulant pompous princess that thought she was the second coming. OMG, what a total rich snobby brat. You wouldn’t even believe . . . .“ She then stood, shrugged off her coat and growled at me, „In the conference room, now!“ As I followed her out of her office and turned right for the conference room which was a glass paneled wall adjacent to her. I thought, ‘Oh shit, I must have really screwed some paperwork up now.’

Unbeknownst to us, Abigail had made a phone call in the lobby of our building to her mom, who put her on hold and called our boss, who then called Linda as Linda was coming down the hall from the elevator on our floor. So without Linda or me knowing it, Abigail had re-entered the suite just as we were entering the conference room. As we entered with her leading the way, Linda yelled at me louder than I’ve ever heard her yell, „You just royally fucked up. Abigail has been asked to return here so I can apologize to her on behalf of the firm and ask that she intern here. You WILL likewise apologize to her, and tell her you would be delighted to do anything to make her feel welcome here.“

My jaw dropped, and I yelled back, „Linda, No F*cking Way. You didn’t meet this girl. You can apologize to her if you want, but I absolutely positively . . . .“ Linda stood while I was yelling, pulled out two chairs, and before I finished the sentence, Linda grabbed by hair with one hand, my tie with the other and yanked me roughly to the floor twisting me on the way so I was on my back. She then stepped her shoe onto my tie to keep me collared to the floor, lifted a chair up in her rage, slammed it over me so I felt the vibrations in the floor, sat down facing me, and pressed her pumps on my face for a minute or so, during which time I was totally perplexed at the basis for this wrath and its accompanying punishment.

Then she lifted her pumps off my face placing the heel of one shoe just off to the side of my adam’s apple, and leaving one leather sole hovering just an inch over my face so I had no choice but to stare at the scuffed up leather, the discolorations from wetness, the pattern of dried winter road salt, the dark spots where various soiling from a variety of flooring and paved surfaces had been ground in to the sole.

She then lowered the hovering sole to my cheek and issued a stern command enunciating very slowly but still in an excessively loud voice, „You WILL apologize and offer to do whatever it takes to make her feel welcome. Is that clear?“ She punctuated each word by pressing her sole into my cheek. Now I was just plain angry. I screamed, „Linda, she is a snotty, stuck up, arrogant little rich bitch with the worst attitude and superiority complex I’ve ever seen. Who the hell would invite her back? F*ck that, so un-invite her! She’s a pompous, self important, pretentious . . . .“ Linda then forcefully interrupted me screaming, „Arggggh, shut up for a second.“ She then slid forward, and violently jammed the toe of her pump into my open mouth mid sentence. I made sure my teeth were out of the way.

She then leaned forward to peer over me, the tip of her pump digging deeper into my mouth, threatening my throat, scaring me, and she pointed with her finger about four inches from my face, reprimanding me in a booming voice, „That’s right, you need my shoe in your goddam mouth again because sometimes you don’t fuckin know when to shut it. You’ve interrupted me one time too may, so now you can suck on my shoe. Now listen to me so you can freakin’ learn something. Having her here is in the best interests of the firm, yours and mine. Maybe I’ll keep you gagged while she is here.“

As Linda droned on, I lost track of some of her words as the road salt on the bottom of her shoe sole pressed onto my tongue made me salivate, and the taste of worn shoe leather took over my taste buds drawing my attention away from the auditory pathway and over to my buccal cavity. The flavor of the shoe sole leather became more intense as the leather grew wetter and for a moment I even lost track of my anger. My eyes drifted from Linda’s face and became fixed on the top of her foot, where my top lip began to stick to the bare skin of her instep. She had on a brown skirt and light beige pumps with a crocodile pattern and a criss cross strapping in the V of the vamp revealing a paned view of her toe cleavage. She had her foot so far into my mouth that the criss-crossing straps encaging her toe cleavage were totally engulfed in my mouth.

Just then I heard a familiar „Ahem“ sound of a throat clearing in the doorway. I was immediately embarrassed to realize that Abigail was now witnessing me being physically subjugated my Linda’s feet, worse yet, by the soles of Linda’s pumps, gagged by Linda’s shoe rammed into my mouth. „Well that sure is an interesting sight,“ Abigail mused out loud. Linda looked up, never withdrawing the front half of her high heel shoe from my mouth and said „Oh you must be Abigail.“ Linda then removed the other pump from my throat and reflexively tried to stand on that leg while extending her hand to greet Abigail.

The fundamentals of biomechanics caused her shoe-gag foot to necessarily bear a percentage of her weight as she stood and leaned forward toward Abigail, driving her shoe so deep into my mouth that I made a gagging sound, „Unnngh“ as the women shook hands and I then in an involuntary act of self preservation I twisted my head as the pointed toe of her pump violated the beginning of my esophageal passage. This threw off Linda’s balance, and in the process of recovering her balance, her stationary ankle buckled outward causing her to fall back to the chair screaming out in pain. As if it was my fault, she then acted on programmed instinct and vengefully lifted her pumps over my face, jabbing the tips of the heels into my cheekbones and gouging them down and away to my jaw bone. I knew instantly that in the unlikely event she hadn’t drawn blood, this would at the very least add a new set of scabs and future scars to my growing collection.

Ignoring my own cry of pain, Linda then invited Abigail to sit. Abigail removed her scarf and coat, and I noticed she still had her equestrian style boots on. She pulled out the chair turning it toward Linda and planted herself in the next available adjacent seat toward the door which was right above my head. Linda made small talk with her about her travels, her interests, her other scheduled ‘visits’ to companies. During this small talk, Linda absent mindedly kicked off her pumps and placed her cold, clammy and slightly moist bare feet squarely over my face as if it were her pre-ordained, god-given right and entitlement to use man’s face as a human footrest.

Their conversation moved on to Abigail’s indignation at being treated like she was the one being interviewed, and explained, „It was very irritating to have someone dare ask me annoying questions about the length of my schooling, why I took time off, whether I have relevant experience and what my aspirations are, and I don’t appreciate that kind of gall.“ As she listened to the uppity intern’s umbrage at being asked the most basic interview questions, Linda was wiping the sweat from her feet on my cheeks, forehead and lips. Linda eventually angled her left foot with its ball in my right eye socket, her toes pressed into my forehead and her arch diagonally spanning down and away on my cheek. Her right foot came to rest in its customary place, with the ball right over my mouth and the toes imprisoning my nose, flexing and wiggling, jumpstarting me on the process of deep inhalation and involuntary arousal.

While the familiar faint, elusive smell of her foot sweat blended with a rich cured leather scent, I had lost track of everything including my worry of Abigail witnessing me being humiliated under Linda’s feet. I broke from my abstraction when I actually heard Linda apologize on behalf of the firm for my allegedly „rude, arrogant, unprofessional behavior,“ in inquiring about her fitness for employment, and she promised Abigail that if she were to intern here that „such behavior will never be tolerated.“

This apology’s characterization of my basic interview questions as ‘rude, arrogant, unprofessional behavior’ caused a re-spike in my anger, at which time my senses sharpened. I realized that I unfortunately had a surprise erection, but fortunately realized it was not visible to either of them with my head on the floor between their two chairs as they sat facing each other and my torso under Linda’s chair with my lower extremities extending away behind her.

But I also noticed that rather than looking at Linda while they spoke, Abigail was staring intently at me with Linda’s feet on my face. I realized I had been tricked into a foot sniffing trance by Linda’s moist feet freshly removed from her pumps. I felt myself momentarily flush again with embarrassment, but as the earlier events returned to my mind, anger resurfaced to the forefront.

Linda then temporarily lifted her feet from my face but kept them there hovering two or three inches away, the wrinkled soles and pale toe chasms completely visible for up close inspection. The lines and creases formed an unsolvable maze, and the skin looked so soft from spending the majority of its days protected from the elements encased in leather confinement. I began comparing the patterns of her toe prints. She slapped my cheek with one foot and said, „You may now apologize to Abigail,“ as if it were a ‘privilege’ to apologize. ‘I MAY’, I repeated to myself in my head. I fired back, „Listen, you can be physically abusive all you want but she was the one who was rude and unprofessional to me, and had the arrogant attitude. I’ve never said anything offensive to her. So you and her need to . . . .“

I was once again physically interrupted as Linda used the toes of one foot to grab my bottom lip and pulled it down forcing my to open my mouth or have my lip ripped off. She had also placed the inside of the big toe of her other foot right under my nose and pushed up. With my mouth forcefully opened wide, she violently shoved her bare foot led by its painted toenails deep into my mouth, immediately extinguishing my retort. Abigail giggled sarcastically, still staring like she was enraptured by my dehumanization under Linda’s feet. Then Abigail’s giggle turned into laughter.

Linda asked her what she was laughing at. Never removing her gaze from the sight of Linda’s foot crammed into my mouth, Abigail acerbically replied, „He never said anything offensive, just referred to me as a snotty little stuck up, rude, arrogant condescending, rich bitch, miss priss with a superiority complex and a bad attitude.“ Now they were both laughing, while I was forced to lay there demeaned with Linda’s foot violating my mouth. Since I was being forced to suck on Linda’s foot, I couldn’t even defend myself and point out that I never said those things to her, and had expressed them to Linda without knowing Abigail was eavesdropping. A distinction without a difference I supposed.

To make matters worse I was once again beginning to mentally drift off, my attention drawn to the fact that I was enjoying the taste of Linda’s foot sole pressed on my tongue despite the slight pain resulting from the connective tissue of my jaw, my lips and my cheeks being stretched past their limits by Linda’s foot invading my mouth. I felt where her toenails had scratched the roof of my mouth like an aircraft landing violently in a valley and tearing up turf. I savored the various salts and secretions of her sole, my tongue roving the sole on its own without my approval.

Linda then proceeded to lecture me with her dainty bare foot rammed down my throat, speaking very slowly. „Abigail’s mom is a former two term congresswoman, former U.S. Ambassador, and present head of a large US agency. She is a very influential woman with a lot of contacts. Her dad is the former CEO of one of the largest telecomm companies, sits on the board of directors of about 10 Fortune 500 companies and is currently a shareholder in a huge biopharmaceutical conglomerate. He is also one of our boss’s good friends. We may be getting a large chunk of permanent work from Abigail’s dad’s company . . . provided nobody fucks up the rapport that our boss has developed by being an asshole to his daughter.“

Abigail had a triumphant ‘last laugh’ smile on her face, as if to say, ‘see I told you you’d be sorry.’ Linda then asked her if she would consider joining us for her internship if I were to apologize. Abigail replied, „Yes, I’ll think about it.“ Linda then pulled her foot out of my mouth, and slipped her feet back into her pumps. Linda verbally prodded me, „Well?“ So I said, „What?“ Abigail then huffed, „I’m waiting,“ with her contemptuous smirk still on her face.

I tried to apologize, but I just could not bring the words from my mouth. Linda’s patience was apparently at wits end because her two spike heels returned to my cheekbones, once again gouging grooves downward and into the flesh of my cheeks, but this time angled in toward my mouth. Once I got over the initial searing pain, I screamed, „OK, OK, I apologize, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.“ Rather than accepting my apology, Abigail laughed right in my face, and said, „That did not sound very sincere.“

Linda pressed on, „Ask for forgiveness.“ I couldn’t believe it, but there was no way I could handle another heel gouge. I was already visualizing the A-Frame tent shaped scab I would be sporting on each cheek and the scar that would follow it and remain for a few weeks as a reminder of how badly I was demeaned and rendered subservient to this aristocratic b*tch. I croaked, „Please forgive me.“ As Abigail laughed in my face again, I felt so defeated and deflated, forced to grovel for forgiveness to this rude condescending debutante.

Linda asked, „Well, so are you in?“ Abigail dodged the close, „I have a few questions.“ Linda shot back, „Fire away,“ while once again habitually resting her pumps on my face just as a matter of course without thinking about it. Abigail said, „I am intrigued by your ability to emasculate him using your feet. It certainly makes this place seem a little more interesting. He does whatever you say. Can you tell me a little more about this?“ I thought to myself, ‘WTF, that’s all I need an exposition of my foot based obedience training under Linda, literally and figuratively. What the hell does this have to do with an internship, as if this is more relevant than her education, experience and aspirations.’

To my shame, Linda explained, „When he first came here, there were a few incidents, outbursts, examples of backstabbing, not being a team player, and generally being very rude. I found that cutting him down to size verbally just wasn’t working, but once I added the symbolic component of humiliating him using my feet, it began to adjust his attitude. Pressing my shoes right on his face, sticking my shoes in his mouth, using his face as a human foot rest, shoving my foot in his mouth to gag him. He still requires frequent ‘corrections’ like the racing stripes I’ve given him today, and once I even sat on his face to suffocate him, but he is coming along. He even licks my sneakers and shoes clean on a daily basis, and licks my feet clean at the end of the day.“

Abigail was fascinated. These revelations of my inculcation at Linda’s feet marked the first time Abigail had finally stopped staring at my humiliated face under Linda’s feet and was actually engaging Linda with her eyes. She replied to Linda’s explanation by gasping, „No, really. Are you pulling my leg?“ I could tell that unfortunately for me, Linda was close to closing the deal on the aristocratic intern.

Linda answered, „No, I’m not kidding. I even make him lick the insides of the shoes to clean my sweat residue out. See all the road salt on your boots right now . . . well we make him lick our commuting footwear and our office footwear clean. We make him lick all that off so our shoes are spotless. Even the soles! And making him lick our soles is particularly demeaning, a perfect recipe to reduce his arrogance. Some times we even stomp on his breakfast or lunch and make him eat it from the treads of our boots or sneakers.“ Abigail had lifted and was looking thoughtfully at her expensive leather boot, the wheels in her head turning, and she raised her eyebrow at this last piece of information.

Linda continued, „He does the same thing for Grace, our receptionist who stepped out for lunch, and because of some very rude things he said to her, she really makes him pay, not washing her feet for days at a time despite an intensive exercise schedule. And she makes him suck her sweaty socks. In fact, one time in the office she made him drink a glass of water with her filthy socks soaking in it, then after he chugged that cocktail, she made him suck the water out of the socks. „

Abigail commented, „Gross! This is all very hard to believe.“ Linda pressed on, „You think that’s good, listen to this one. My sister and I both didn’t clean out under or around our toenails for six weeks, and re-wore the same single pair each of socks and hose for that time, then we removed all the scum from under out toenails and all the sludge from the cuticles, and made him eat it.“ Abigail said, „Really? That is soooo gross!“ I was already thoroughly humiliated and this made it even worse adding a wave of nausea at the horrific memory of being duped into downing a cup of so-called cheese to comment on her lasagna recipe. Then Linda added, „And get this: he said it was good, that he liked it and that he would eat it on his food.“ They both roared hysterically.

This was so unfair. She made it sound like I requested to eat the stuff, when in reality she had used duplicity to get it into me and elicit those comments from me by lying to me and telling me it was cheese. But arguing was pointless since the fact was I did eat it and those words did come out of my mouth even if they were just to be polite.

Linda couldn’t leave it alone though and went on, „And my sister’s toenail residue was even grosser than mine. She had corns and tons of blisters in it . . . Oh and I almost forgot, Grace did the same thing, but she did it nail by nail making him eat it off the file.“ Abigail cried out, „Ewww. Ewww. Ewww!“ My stomach churned and I was disgusted at the memory. Linda replied, „And I didn’t even tell you what we made him wash it down with.“ Abigail asked, „What?“

Linda then went for the close again, „Well I gotta save something. If you intern here I’ll tell you on your first day.“ Very clever of Linda to take back the leverage in the negotiations by recognizing she had something Abigail wanted. Linda pressed, „So what else can I answer for you?“ Abigail nodded down in my direction and asked Linda, „Will I get the same office privileges?“ Without hesitation, Linda said, „Absolutely.“ Sensing that the power in the negotiations had shifted back in her direction, Abigail pushed back, „Can I get my boots cleaned right now? Like a sampler?“

Linda replied, „Sure.“ Abigail wasn’t satisfied and reached into her bag to pull out her pumps which she held up for Linda, asking, „What about these?“ Linda came back, „I’ll do you one better. Boots, pumps, then he will lick your bare feet. They must be tired and sweaty from walking around the city attending all your other appointments.“ She rose from her chair, stepped aside and invited Abigail to sit in the foot abuser throne with a sweep of her hand, asking „What do you say?“

Holding her cards close to her vest, Abigail said nothing in reply but rose, stepped, pivoted and fell into Linda’s seat. She gave me a look of pure satisfaction and said, „My how the tables have turned.“ Then she presented a boot sole to my mouth. I just had a sense of dread and the addition of a third female to abuse me happened all so fast that I froze. Linda yelled, „Lick her boots, NOW!“ I began licking Abigail’s boot sole. Linda added, „You better get those spotless. I want every ounce of grime removed from those.“

Abigail giggled, and said, „I can get used to this.“ Linda instructed her on how to rotate and present different parts of the shoe to my mouth for cleaning after the sole had been detailed, including the toe-end repeated plunge. Linda said, „You can also switch things up by making him kneel before you while he does it. Sometimes I prefer this because it is a different kind of power trip and a different type of humiliation, almost like he is worshipping at my feet like a servant or like I am a goddess.“

After twenty minutes of licking Abigail’s boots, broken up by Linda coaching her on the various aspects of inspecting and redirecting me, they were finally clean. Abigail was incredulous, „Wow, those really are spotless. That’s awesome.“ She added, „Well they are expensive boots, so it’s only appropriate to have them licked.“ Then she laughed.

When Abigail grabbed her expensive YSL pumps and slipped out of her boots, a damp smell of wet boot leather made it to my nostrils. Surprisingly it was not offensive, and actually smelled rich. Linda said, „Oh, wait, let me show you something else, which I call the ‘Lion tamer.’ Before you put your pumps on, rub your feet freshly out of your boots right on his face.“ Abigail did as directed, so I saw the black stains on the discolored, wet white stockings on her soles headed for my face, closing in, until they pressed and made contact, covering my face. They were refreshingly cold, but clammy and not just damp with sweat but soaking wet from the icy slush that had gotten in her boot and then melted and become heated to 98.6 degrees as if her boot was a crock pot, roasting her feet, simmering them in a rich leather broth. She rubbed her fresh boot leather scented sweat off on my face. Oddly enough, I didn’t seem to mind this expensive foot sweat facial, and I began to stiffen again. Maybe on some level I believed her aristocracy rendered her superior to me and she deserved to rest her feet on my face.

With Linda’s continued coaching, Abigail rubbed and smeared her foot broth wetness all over my face. For some reason I was not struggling and actually not grossed out and strangely did not find it unpleasant. Linda then advised her, „OK, good. Now place the balls of your feet on his mouth like you are going to have him kiss them, and then wrap all your toes gently around his nose. You grip his nose gently so his nostrils are right at the base of your toes where you have sweat glands, then you wiggle your toes over his nose, and you will see how it just tames him.“

As Abigail followed Linda’s instructions, her toes gently imprisoning my nose and wiggling all over my nostrils, I noticed my member had grown to full mast. I immediately began sniffing Abigail’s toes, deeply inhaling, and to my surprise I was enjoying the smell. I once again focused on her telling us earlier how she had stepped in a snow bank and got her feet and the inside of her boots soaked. I dwelled further on how the wetness being on the inside and heated by her foot must have really brought out this heady, luxurious aroma from the fine leather of which her expensive boots were made.

I don’t know how much time passed, but only when I heard Abigail’s voice did I realize I was lying there under Abigail’s royal feet, inhaling deeply, matching my breath to the cadence of her toe grips on my nose, with my eyes closed, and my cock as hard as a rock. Abigail said, „OMG, he is actually spontaneously sniffing my toes. He’s totally docile, even looks like he’s enjoying it.“

She kept going on this, apparently fascinated with the ‘lion tamer.’ A few times, she lifted her foot off my face, and leaned slightly to the side to peer in. For some reason, I actually found myself lifting my head up off the floor to maintain contact with her toes. After the third or fourth time I had voluntarily lifted my head to keep sniffing her toes, she asked, „Are you enjoying this? Do my feet smell good?“ I wasn’t thinking straight and my p*nis was throbbing, and I heard myself say, „It’s just that that expensive leather smell on your feet is kind of nice.“ I instantly regretted it but there was no way to take it back. She started laughing, and said „OMFG, he likes the smell of my feet!“ I couldn’t believe those words had come out. I felt like such an idiot.

Grace had come to the door of the conference entered while I was lying under Abigail’s chair licking her expensive boots, and said, „May I join you?“ Linda turned from her spot in Abigail’s original seat for this re-call interview, and replied to Grace, „Sure, be our guest. The more the merrier.“ So Grace walked past Linda and Abigail, repositioned the chair on Abigail’s other side over my legs, and sat facing Abigail’s back.

Then Abigail decided to slip into her pumps and presented the sole of the first one to my face. I needed no prompting for some reason, and began licking the sole of Abigail’s shoe. I was disconcerted by Grace’s entry and this all felt too public, but Grace having her little suspicions and secrets decided to amuse herself, and stepped on my cock without Linda or Abigail knowing it. As I was licking Abigail’s shoe, Grace was grinding the sole of her shoe onto the underside of my erection, apparently trying to create that psycho sexual connection again between my act of debasement and my state of arousal. She loved the idea of conditioning me to become erect as a response to being humiliated by her feet. So now she was extending the connection to Abigail’s feet.

I licked the eel skin pumps thoroughly for the next 20 minutes or so while Abigail expertly rotated every millimeter of their surface for me, and while Grace attempted to bring me off under her soles again in this embarrassing position and humiliating act. On the one hand, I couldn’t bear the thought of now having a trio of sadistic abusers. But I noticed my dick was turning to stone.

Abigail eventually decided it was time to have her feet licked. She kicked off her pumps, then removed her knee high stockings, and then brought her delicate, soft, perfectly pedicured, smooth feet to my face. There was no callus to be found anywhere. After wiping them on my face fresh out of the pumps and stockings, she gave me a few toe-to-nose grips to observe the effects of the lion tamer maneuver, and giggled again. Her toes were perfectly manicured, clean, trimmed low with no sharp edges, painted an edible fruit-like red. An orgasm was not far off.

She looked down at me and condescendingly said, „Lick the bottoms of my feet.“ I was inexplicably eager to do so and lapped at her feet for the next few minutes, while Grace succeeded in jumpstarting my pre-orgasmic pelvic contractions with the soles of her shoes grinding onto my cock with both of the other two women being none the wiser. ‘Oh no’ I thought. In a way it was worse because without them knowing of Linda’s antics, if they picked up on me coming, they would conclude that licking Abigail’s made me spontaneously ejaculate. I was less than a minute away.

As I was licking and sucking her soles, Linda said „I sometimes like to degrade him while he does this on days where I feel he really needs an attitude adjustment. Give it a try.“ I was right there and the release began right then in my pants at the mercy of Grace’s shoe. Abigail paused, looked at me, and then, almost as if she realized I was beginning to come right then and there, she hurriedly berated me through the throws of my orgasm, „That’s right lick the bottoms of my feet you total fucking loser. I deserve a servant under my feet licking them, and you should feel privileged to get to lick my feet. Look at me, I should have an attitude. I know you liked the smell of my feet. You even told me you liked the smell of my feet. So you must love the TASTE of my feet. Look at you, you look like you are getting turned on by licking the bottoms of my feet. You like that don’t you. You should fucking thank me for this. I’m gonna make you lick every goddam pair of shoes I own and I own a hundred pair. I might even make you lick all my girlfriends’ feet, you little bitch. Who’s the bitch now. Lick my feet you total fucking loser, you foot licking loser.“

She continued to berate me right through the end of my orgasm, with Grace and Linda laughing. I realized that I really was the bitch now. I felt so ashamed and embarrassed laying there with soiled pants, having been made to apologize to this little snot, beg for her forgiveness and then lick her shoes and her feet while she laughed in my face and ridiculed me.

After they mused at how pathetic I was in their eyes, Linda asked, „Well? Did that threat to make him lick every pair of your shoes mean you are going to join us for your internship.“ Abigail replied, „I’m definitely in, but I gotta do one more thing.“ I was exhausted and not really paying attention when Abigail, slipped back into her YSL pumps with the sharp heel, and unexpectedly dug them into my cheeks and ran a short gouge horizontally across each cheek.“

I cried out, „Oww! WTF was that for?“ Abigail replied, „I needed to bisect and connect the lines of that little tent on each cheek to make each cut into an A for Abigail. That way everyone will know you are my property. You are going to be property of my feet!“ My indenture at this modern day hell was already bad enough, but now I had a new abuser, one whose arrogance made me sick.

The day following the interview with Abigail the Aristocratic Intern and her acceptance of the internship with the firm, I reported to work with the painful cuts on my cheek from the heel’s of Abigail’s pumps, two giant scabs, one on each cheek in the shape of a capital letter A. They were like my own Scarlet Letters tattooed in blood on my cheeks, but rather than for an adulterous affair, my cicatrices were to memorialize my humiliation at the feet of this spoiled rich brat princess. I still bore the maze of scabs and scars on my chest delivered by Grace as Cut and Run Consequences.

There was a small silver lining though in adding the third monster to the office staff. My boss had left a note for me and a voice mail, letting me know that according to Abigail’s parent, I was the sole reason for her agreeing to join the firm, and that her parents had not seen her this excited about any form of work or reporting to any job throughout her whole privileged life. So my boss was giving me a $100 a week raise.

Better than that though, she said my ability to land the intern was a lynch pin for her bid to win a big chunk of business from Abigail’s Dad’s pharmaceutical firm, to the tune of about 10 million dollars, basically tripling the firm’s revenue instantly. My boss went on to let me know that ‘Daddy’s little girl was the key to landing this business,’ and if I found a way to keep Abigail happy, and we land that client she’d raise my pay another $400 a week as a token of appreciation for my people skills and the key role I played an catching Abigail’s interest. Her voice mail used the phrase, ‘Do whatever it takes.’

Apparently my boss clued Linda in on my raise and the kudos she had given me, and Linda was not very happy. Linda was not one to argue with the boss, but in her mind, I had blown the deal and it was her physically torturing me into apologizing and her inviting the intern to abuse me with her feet that closed the deal. ‘Oh well, you can’t win them all, Linda. Haha,’ I mused to myself. It was nice to have something to gloat over every now and then. And shit, I was the one sporting Abigail’s heel brand on my cheeks like cattle and who had to lick her shoes and boots and feet. But on the other hand, this was like a deal with the devil and I was at the mercy of an arrogant, trust fund twit that viewed herself as not only royalty but godlike as well.

Much to my disappointment, Abigail decided to return right away and start the very next day rather than wait for the following Monday. When Abigail reported that very next morning, she was wearing a pair of expensive black leather Christian Dior boots with a modest heel that reached just up to her knee and had a one inch leather band around the top with a leather clasp resembling a buckle. They of course had accumulated various stains and soiling with white splashes and streaks. Abigail wasted no time in summoning me.

When I entered her office, she snapped her fingers, pointed to he floor and, in an imperious tone like a princess ordering a slave around, commanded, “Kneel before me, bow down and lick my boots clean. Shine them up.” Realizing that with my $20,000 raise looming, I was basically a boot licking prostitute now, licking boots for money. I swallowed every drop of salty residue from her boots, tonguing the leather to a brilliant shine, and eventually tasting only rich, buttery soft leather once the boots were clean.

While I was tongue polishing her leather boots, she informed me, “These are one thousand dollar Dior boots that you are licking. These boots probably cost more than your weekly take home pay.” This was followed by a laugh. The boots really were beautiful. Despite the demeaning nature of the act, and the ridicule coming from a lesser accomplished person than me, I actually found the taste of the leather once cleaned to be rather exotic, buttery soft and pleasant on the tongue, and I was physically growing aroused. Was I actually becoming a willing bootlicker? Or was it just as a result of her overwhelming beauty and had nothing to do with the act of bootlicking? I re-assured myself that my sole motivation was the money.

After the uppers were licked clean, she had ordered me to kneel upright and extended her legs, making me hold the sole of the boot to my own face by gripping her ankle. While I was licking her boot soles, she pointed out, “This way I don’t have to work at lifting my leg, and it’s more APPROPRIATE for you have to hold it so it is readily apparent that you are VOLUNTEERING to lick my boot soles clean, rather than for me to force it on you. After all, as a beauty pageant queen and figure competition winner in 10 states and on 5 continents, I deserve it and you should feel honored to lick the scum off my boot soles given my stature in society and my proven physical beauty.” I was sickened at her conceit but at the same time angry at myself for being strangely aroused at this woman honestly deeming herself to be a superior human being.

When I had licked every inch of her leather boots clean, I began to rise from my keeling position forgetting about my erection, but fortunately she stopped me with her foot, pointed down and asked, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” I looked at her quizzically. She said, “You need to thank me for the privilege of licking my boots.” I almost said, ‘Are you fucking for real?’ But I didn’t. Instead, I said “Thanks.”

She corrected, “The whole sentence. I want to hear the whole sentence. Thank me for the privilege of licking my boots.” I felt anger well up but quelled it by repeating in my head, ‘Twenty grand, twenty grand, twenty grand.’ I forced myself to say, “Thank you for the privilege of licking your boots.” Silently in my head, I added, ‘You stuck up little b*tch.’

She then ordered me, “Now remove my boots for me, and lay down with your head under my desk. My feet are cold and I want to warm them up on your face.” I offered, “Why don’t I get you a space heater. We have an extra in the closet.” She immediately replied, “No, I want to use your face to warm them. I don’t want a heater. I want the satisfaction of knowing that the soles of my feet are on your face.” Twenty grand. Twenty grand. Upon removing her boots, I was also ordered to strip off her socks which were moist but not smelly. I did as I was told, removing the socks and taking my place on the floor. Her soft, perfect feet landed on my face, cold and clammy, but not smelly. They were only scented with expensive leather. Part of me wished her toes were once again reunited specifically with my nose and yearned for the lion tamer.

After 30 seconds or so, she added, “Put your hands on the tops of my feet to keep the tops warm. I laid under her feet for about an hour in this humiliating position while she did no work whatsoever and made personal phone calls on her cell phone and discussed some of the shopping she was doing. What a lazy little shit. Eventually, when her feet were warm enough, she slipped into her pumps that she had brought with her, using my face as resistance to push the heel against. Her pumps were a deep maroon, with a wide black band of leather wrapped over the toe, leaving a little triangle of maroon leather at the tip. They had modest heels of 2.5 to 3 inches.

When I winced on the second heel which had pressed right into my scab, she looked down annoyed, but then said, “Oh, looks like I re-opened your scab. That should look great when the scab comes off and you just have an A-shaped scar . . . You know what? When that scab heels and is just a scar I am going to continue to trace over it and re-gouge it with my pumps. If I dig into it enough, it will be a permanent A on each cheek.” I thought to myself, ‘This is one sick chick.’

I started to move to get up and she said, “Whoa Whoa, where do you think you are going?” She then put her heeled feet on my chest, pointed to them and said, “I need my pumps licked. I’ve worn these out and about in the city and never even thought of cleaning the bottoms, but since you will now be licking all the dirt and grime from the soles of my shoes, I want the bottoms cleaned . . . . Oh, and from now on, when I point to my feet, I want you to ask for the honor of licking my shoes and feet. So right now, I need to hear you ask if you may please lick the soles of my pumps.” WTF? OK, twenty grand, twenty grand, twenty grand. I asked, “May I please lick the soles of your pumps.” She replied, “Yes, you may, do it now.”

The shoe licking wasn’t that bad as they were brand new pumps, with hardly any soiling and just tasted like expensive, clean leather. Once again, it must have been the expensive nature of the leather that was addicting and arousing me, for it couldn’t be the fact that I was being made to ask for the privilege of licking this woman’s shoes and then having to thank her for it. When she had entertained herself enough watching me lick her shoes, rotating each and then plunging the toes and heels into my mouth repeatedly, she finally said, “You may thank me now.”

I heard myself say, “Thank you for me licking your shoes.” She stomped onto my scarred chest, yelling “No! You thank me for the privilege! PRIVILEGE. I want to hear the word privilege!” I thought ‘Good Lord, she is a whacko. Twenty Grand, Twenty Grand!’ I apologized, “I’m sorry, thank you for the privilege of licking your shoes.” She replied, “Yes, you should be thankful,” then laughed out loud. What a conceited bitch.

She finally let me go, but on the way back to my office, Grace and Linda wanted their obligatory ‘greetings’, each of them grumbling about the ‘new girl’ monopolizing me on her first day. My devious mind immediately began to wonder if there was a way to turn them against each other using the inherent jealously of their gender. Divide and conquer.

Eventually I made it to my office to work. Later in the day, Abigail buzzed me and said, “In here now. I need my feet serviced.” I shook my head and looked at the handset to my phone as if to say ‘WTF, you gotta be kidding me. SERVICED?’ I grudgingly rose and trudged down to her office. Abigail then pointed to the floor, so I knelt before her like her subject. Then she extended a maroon pump to me and said, “Remove my shoe and lick out the inside.”

I did as I was asked feeling like a cheap hooker licking the inside of a woman’s shoe for a raise. She commented, “You look fucking ridiculous holding my shoe to your face, licking out the inside.” The command was then repeated for the second pump and I once again tasted only rich, soft, expensive buttery leather. She continued, “You look like a total effing loser. Now wipe out the insides with your tie.” I once again obeyed Princess Abigail and fortunately my tie was unscathed by the new expensive shoe.

Her shoes were brand new and not the least bit dirty, thus in no need of cleaning, so this had to be strictly for symbolism. After this little game, she said, “I’m leaving early today to go shopping, but I want the soles of my feet licked before I go.” She lifted a foot to me, and I went to lick it but she kicked me in the mouth and said, “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Concealing my anger, I dutifully replied, “May I please lick the bottoms of your feet?” Then she replied, “Yes, you may.”

When I finished licking her perfect, soft soles, she said, “Now I want the tops of my feet serviced, then I want my toes sucked.” I remembered to ask, “May I please lick the tops of your feet and suck on your toes?” She answered, “Do so now, but rather than holding my foot up and stressing my knee joint, I want you in a more ‘appropriate position of worship’ more fitting for a beauty queen and fitness champion like me. Bend all the way over so you are on your elbows or forearms.”

So I prostrated myself before her I began to lick the tops of her feet, feeling the sensation of my tongue pressing into the many veins running down the top of her foot. I also felt with my lips and tongue the angled protrusions and dimples created by the complex of small bones in her ankle, as well as the long valleys running down each tarsal and metatarsal chain as my tongue stroked up and down the top of her foot. My dick was stiffening, as a dragged my lips down the thin soft pampered skin stretched over her tarsal complexes and used my tongue to trace a different vein up and down her foot. I was entranced in homage to the godly feet of this beauty queen, pageant champion with the flawless figure that was already publicly recognized as such by trophy after trophy.

I began to grow more and more aroused realizing that she did have very pretty feet and that they were meticulously cared for with no traces of callus, dirt, lint, residue. Her polish job on her toe nails was flawless, smooth and shiny and her toes were dainty, perfectly shaped like little cocktail shrimp, the red toenails making it appear as though they were pre-dipped in cocktail sauce. My mouth watered in anticipation of tasting them. I voluntarily slithered my tongue in between her toes, pressing it in between the toes hard, massaging that soft, delicate skin that seldom sees the light of day and rarely gets touched. Hers was so soft and tender I thought it would melt from the heat of my tongue.

I was ashamed I was actually enjoying it, and kept at it, seemingly unable or unwilling to withdraw my tongue from her toe valleys. Maybe I actually believed her that it was a privilege to worship her feet. This was crazy. Had I really become a cheap toe sucking tramp?

She must have enjoyed it because she said nothing and offered no redirection for what seemed like a half hour. It almost seemed like I had relaxed her into sleep. Finally, she stirred and said, “Suck my toes now, first each one individually for a few minutes each in your mouth, massaging it with your tongue.”

I dove into this task and was not disappointed by the soft, pleasant, rich leather taste of Abigail’s very high class, pampered toes. I gently sucked each toe pulling gently at its cartilage with the vacuum of my mouth, salivating and sucking and swallowing what little precious sweat was present. I swirled my tongue around each pedal digit, re-polishing her toenails with the underside of my tongue and tracing her cuticles.

My cock was throbbing in my pants. I feared I might actually reach climax without any physical contact down below. What was happening to me? What had these women done to me? My thoughts were inevitably drawn back to the full 100% attention deserved by Abigail’s sacred feet. I returned to the coveted sanctum between each pair of toes, scrubbing aggressively with my tongue as if trying to sand off some of her blessed dead skin for my own consumption as if it were a holy host.

After this long erotic meal of Abigail’s toe shrimp cocktail that seemed to go for 45 minutes but still not long enough, she ordered, “Now instead of just being a little toe slurping bitch for my amusement, you will massage my toes, using your mouth. With my toe in your mouth, I want you to put your lips over your teeth, then bite down hard on your own lips to create pressure on the top and bottom of my toe with your jaw, but with the cutting surfaces of your teeth padded by your own lips. Then move it up and down the length of each of my toes. First individually, then the four little toes all at the same time, nice and slow.”

I did exactly as asked, the process taking about another 45 minutes, after which my lips ached from the ridgeline of my own teeth digging into the insides of my lips for her comfort. Then she said, “OK, that’s enough of that, but that was actually a really good job. My toes feel great.” I reflexively replied, “Thanks I suppose.” She shot back, “No that won’t do. That is not a proper thank you.”

I corrected myself, “Thank you for the privilege of licking your feet and sucking your toes.” Hearing myself, I was worried that I actually meant it. She then added, “Princess Abigail.” A “Huh?” fell out of my mouth. She repeated, “You will address me from now on as ‘Princess Abigail’ so this time, thank me again with the proper address.” I couldn’t help looking at her like she had three heads. She then added, “I suppose you’re right, Princess is a bit immature. So you may use ‘Your Highness,’ or ‘Priestess Abigail.’ Let’s go I don’t have all day.” I corrected myself once again, “Thank you for the privilege of licking your feet and sucking your toes, your highness,” noticing this time that I had not even needed my ‘twenty grand’ mantra. She replied, “Yes, indeed it is your privilege, isn’t it. I get these pedicured once a week and they are a rare size 5, like a prized jewel.” After a pause with her triumphant demeaning smirk, her facial expression hardened, and she cursed, “You vile toe sucking piece of shit. You got blood on my perfect little toes.”

As I looked down, I realized that my lips had actually started to bleed from using my lips to conveniently cushion her precious toes against the cutting surfaces of my front teeth. Without being asked I immediately began sucking her toes once again, swallowing my own blood so that her toes would not be insulted. I wasn’t sure if I rushed to suck them again to remove the blood which could have been wiped off, or if I desperately wanted her toes in my mouth again.

She then slipped her royal feet into her expensive pumps. She then threw a twenty dollar bill on the floor, and when I looked at her confusedly, she said, “A tip for doing a good job sucking my toes. It seemed passionate like I wanted, as if you wanted to worship me like a goddess, and it really felt good. So, nice job!” I felt so cheapened like a twenty dollar foot whore, a toe sucking tramp, a bootlicking hussy.

On that note, I thought I was done, but she said, “You’re not going anywhere just yet. Go fetch that bag I have in the corner.” I did as asked flinching at the use of the word ‘fetch’ and its historical connotations. She continued, “There are five pairs of pumps in there, one pair of boots, one pair of sneakers and 2 pairs of flip flops. I picked my ten oldest and most worn pairs of footwear, and therefore you could say ‘dirtiest’ even though my feet are not dirty. So for my last hour here today, you will sit on the floor of my office and lick my shoes clean one by one while I watch.” I looked back just in disbelief at the immediately presumptuous nature of this high net worth brat wondering, or rather hoping, she had some limits.

She commanded, “Well get going. Don’t just look at me like a dumb shit. I need my shoes cleaned.” I reached in and grabbed the first pair, but she kicked me in the face with her pumps on and said, “How many times do I have to fuckin tell you, you stupid shit, that you ask first?” Then she dumped the bag of shoes out on my head, leaving me in a pile of footwear that probably cost well over three grand. Stunned, I replied, “Sorry. May I please lick all of your shoes clean?” She prodded, “Whom are you addressing?” I added, “Your highness,” as quickly as I could so I would not have to repeat the whole sentence.

She replied, “Begin, now.” I licked every inch of every shoe and once again found myself really enjoying the unfamiliar taste of thousand dollar hand made leather, wondering if the addiction was to the leather or if it had acquired its charm by being graced with her feet. But I ran into a few problems.

There was something stubborn stuck to the bottom of one of her pumps. Noticing my hesitation, she ordered, “Then don’t just lick it, use your teeth to scrape it off . . . Oh, and by the way, eat it like you are honored to do so.” When I hesitated, she added, “That’s right, you are gonna eat the scum from the bottom of my shoes.” I reluctantly consumed the debris that was stuck to the sole of her pump, mentally trying to block out the taste but still having comparisons to various foods and pollutants creep into my head like descriptors at a wine tasting.

On one of her flip flops, the white pair, I could not get the black foot sweat stains out, so she commanded, “Lick it, suck it, scrape it with your teeth so the rubber squishes down and you can wash out the fibers so my dried discolored sweat stain is no longer visible. If that doesn’t work, then I need you to use your teeth to scrape a thin layer off the flip flop and just eat my accumulated foot grime. Swallow it like its honey. And you should use your shirt or tie to scrub it.” The flip flops took the longest time requiring all three of her suggested techniques, and were the most unpleasant as her foot grime was unfortunately mixed with a cheap synthetic rubber, leaving an aftertaste like the smell of a vulcanization plant.

On the boots, which were a sexy tapered shiny knee high boot with a treaded sole, there were some stubborn chunks stuck in the treads which I could not remove with my teeth or tongue. She obliged me and used a capped pen to pry them loose. She commanded me to eat whatever she freed from the boot soles, screeching, “Ewww” as I swallowed the larger hunks of boot tread debris. This gave her the idea to pick her sneaker treads clean as well with an unfolded paper clip, making me consume all crud from her sneaker soles as well, chiming in with loud, “Ewwww” or “Gross” comments regularly. By this point I didn’t try to fight the thoughts creeping into my head involuntarily recognizing the tastes of street dirt, settled subway smog particles, bagel shards, cheese, jellied candy, toilet paper shreds, etc.

After almost a full hour of this pair-by-pair shoe cleaning sentence, I reached the last shoes, a pair of well worn pumps. It looked like someone had spilled a drink on them, like sticky orange juice or liquor that had gotten on the toe and inside the pump. She explained that these were her ‘clubbing shoes.’ I told her my mouth was too dry and that I couldn’t get the sticky goo off her shoe. She simply took the shoe from me, spit on the toe of it where the slime was, then made a gross hocking sound that gave me the chills, and spit twice inside the shoe. She then handed it back to me and said, “That should take care of the dryness. A real spit shine, hahahaha. Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

When I hesitated with a scared pathetic look on my face not intended to insult her, she then leaned over, grabbed my tie right below the knot, pulled my face right up to hers, made the same gross hocking sound, then spit right in my face. I stifled a dry heave and felt the wad run from its point of impact right under my eye and just beside my nose down toward my top lip. She stared me down in that humiliated state until I was forced to humbly avert my eyes away, then she victoriously leaned back, lifted the sole of her pump to my face and smeared the spit into my face with the sole of the pump she was wearing.

Then she kicked me right in the ear with her other pump, wiped the sole of her spit-smeared shoe on my shirt and said, “Don’t ever fucking insult me like that. It is an honor for you to lick my spit. Now get going you worthless shoe licking bitch and lick my goddam shoes clean.” Then for good measure, she temporarily removed her other pump, held it just over the opening at the back of the shoe and slapped me hard across the face with the flat part of the sole.

I reflexively turned red with embarrassment, obediently finished licking the last shoe, and thanked her highness once again for the privilege of cleaning her shoe collection. She then said, “You are correct. It is a privilege.” She then informed me that she had a friend from her pageant and figure competitions that was in law school, and that she was recommending the friend through her mom for a co-op position here for the spring semester starting in January. ‘Oh great’ I thought to myself, as if the current three tormentors aren’t enough to guard the gates of the hell that I already endure every day.

She astutely added, “My gut tells me Linda is territorial and will feel threatened by someone about to graduate law school like her, especially someone like me who is hot looking and has a great body. So I need you to pull for her, and I’m gonna recommend my mom specify to your boss that she wants you to meet with my friend instead of Linda doing the interview.” Then as she walked out, she said, “Remember, I want you in here first thing to give me a proper ‘royal reception’ when I enter.”


This story is taken from:


Special thanks to: loyalfootservant

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