Author Unknown
"If you want your notes back, ring this number" the sign said.
By the time I reached the phone and dialed the
900 number, my body was trembling. I punched in the 4-digit ad code,
and almost immediately heard her deep, commanding voice:
"You will report to the parking lot of
the Lakeview High field house at 6:30 p.m. sharp. Most everyone will
be gone by then. You will come alone. You will kneel beside your
vehicle and await further instructions. You NEED to obey me, boy."
The next day, my mind was in a haze. I couldn't concentrate at
work, and ended up taking off sick at lunch time. Nothing could clear
my mind of the image of worshipping the girl's feet. It was what I
wanted and needed more than anything. As 6 p.m. approached, I found
myself walking toward my car like a robot. I briefly thought of how
ridiculous this was. I should just stay home, take a nice cold shower,
and forget about this task. Yet, no matter how my mind tried
to rationalize, my body kept walking toward the car. I got in, started
the car, and began the half-hour drive across town to the fashionable
suburb of Lakeview - land of BMW's, Jaguars and million-dollar homes.
During the drive, fear crept into my head. If this wasn't the
perfect setup for a fag-bashing, I can't imagine what would be. At the
very least, I would likely be robbed; at the most, killed. Even if it
turned out to be a joke, how could I possibly explain to the bad-assed
Lakeview cops what I was doing kneeling by my car in a school parking
lot?
But the voice of reason was quickly replaced by the voice of
need. The potential danger was acting as an aphrodesiac, which kept me
driving, anticipating. I knew I was doing the right thing.
The parking lot was dark, and almost deserted. The few
vehicles which remained were, predictably, brand new and expensive. I
found a parking space between two of them, in an unlit area under some
trees. I shut off the engine and listened warily. No one seemed to be
around, though the lights inside the field house were on. Timidly, I
got out of the car and kneeled, as instructed, beside it.
Suddenly a voice so close behind me it caused me to jump,
commanded:
"Look straight ahead and do not move."
My heart jumped into my throat, as the evening breeze
playfully blew a faint scent of body odor past my nostrils. I could
hear shuffling of several pairs of feet behind me and knew, at that
instant, that my fate was sealed. There would be no escape, no turning
back.
Abruptly, I was lifted to my feet by two sets of
arms, and roughly pushed against the car. My arms were pinned behind
my back, as handcuffs were snapped in place. A hand grabbed my hair
and forced my head deep into a hot, sweaty armpit.
"Breathe deep, boy. Does my pit stink?"
I could barely speak, but managed a muffled "Yes."
My temple kept banging against a piece of plastic, which I
assumed was her handbag. My mind raced. She was wareing a long cotton skirt.
"Why do you sniff my pit if it stinks, boy?"
This time, she pulled my head back far enough for me to answer.
"Because you are a nice person, miss!"
Damn! Even though I had never been in a real S&M scene before,
I found myself responding like a veteran. It just seemed natural to
show respect for the authority of my captors. I started to feel a
strange sense of comfort in my submission. I wanted to please my
mistresss. I NEEDED to please them.
I felt my body being turned around to face the field house.
"MARCH!" said the voice.
I began marching toward the field house. When I reached the
door, it was quickly opened from the inside. The unmistakable aroma of
a girlies invaded my senses. I was in heaven.
Sitting on a bench in the middle of the lockerroom was a
gorgeous girl, about 18, with blonde hair and piercing, blue eyes.
Aside from a bitter smile, her face was perfect. she was in full smile,
and had a slight grin on her face. As soon as she spoke, I recognized
the voice I had heard on the recording.
"Well, glad to see the stupid boy can at least follow
orders. Stand in front of me and let me look at my new slave. I want
to see the chest."
This caught me by surprise, since my hands were handcuffed
behind me, and there was clearly no way my shirt could be removed. But
this didn't seem to bother my mistress in the least, as she reached up to
my neck and, with a quick powerful stroke, ripped my brand-new shirt
from my body.
"Yes, that will do," she said.
Her left leg was extended along the bench. Grass stains and a
blood spot or two were visible on her skirt, as well as
on her Nike cleats.
"Another hard day at the office, little man." she nearly spat the
word. "My girlfriends and I stayed late running extra laps and practicing
our routes. My socks haven't been changed in a week."
She slowly began moving her foot in a circular motion. Her
teammates began to gather around the bench. Some of them were fondling
themsleves and breathing hard as they watched the scene unfold. My
eyes were glued to the teasing foot. The girls began to make jokes
about how nasty the room was beginning to smell, as my mistress
continued to tease.
"You know, those extra laps really got my feet sweating, pig.
I can feel the dampness and the HEAT inside my cleats.
My mistress chuckled soflty. "Well, girls, doesn't look like this
one will need much training after all. ON YOUR KNEES, MAN!" she shouted
abruptly.
I felt my legs crumple, and dropped instantly (and painfully)
to my knees. My nose was just inches from her shoe, and I could smell
the rotten, yet sweet aroma of the smelliest feet.
"Yeah, the little pig is getting scared girls. he probably
thinks she can just run on of here, but that would be a
very painful mistake. he can only go on my command, and he knows it,
don't you, slave?"
"Yes miss," I nearly shouted. "I may only go when you allow me
to do so, miss!"
"I've got the smelliest feet of any girl on this group,
boy..." The rest of the girls nodded in agreement. "...and there is
not a person in this room who could stand to be as close to my bare
feet as you are right now - except YOU, right little man?"
"No miss! Only ME, miss!"
"Now untie my laces with your teeth, SLAVE!"
As my nose approached the laces of her cleat, I could clearly
smell the source of her reputation. The odor was so pungent, I felt
odd, conflicting sensations of both lust and sickness. As the laces
were loosened, she slowly hitched the heel of her shoe on the edge of
the bench and forced her foot out of the shoe, allowing the shoe to
drop to the floor. OH GOD!! The sickening, sweet, sharp, powerful
aroma suddenly increased by a factor of ten, like a ton of bricks had
hit me in the face. The other players were moaning and holding their
noses. Instinctively, I recoiled and began back-pedaling on my knees.
My mistress saw it coming, however, and abruptly grabbed my hair with
one hand, while delivering a sharp blow to my face with the other.
"DON'T YOU EVER PULL AWAY FROM THE SMELL OF MY FEET, YOU
DISGUSTING PIECE OF SHIT! YOU JEREMY BEADLE" she was shouting at the top of her lungs.
Startled, I froze in position, just in time to feel another,
more savage blow to my face. Still holding my head by the hair, She
reached down and picked up her raunchy cleat and placed it roughly
over my nose and mouth. I now had no source of oxygen, except that
filtered through the putrid odor of her cleat. Tears began to run down
my face from the odor and the blows. This was becoming more than I had bargained for. I began to
wonder if I would get out of this alive.
I began moaning softly inside the cleat, "Oh please, mistress,
please mistress, I won't pull away from you again, mistress. I'll be a
good boy, mistress. Please let me go, mistress."
As my face was held against the cleat for a good five minutes,
I began to hear chuckles and whistles around me. The girls were
delighting in my agony.
"Girls, look at that sick boy sniff that nasty sneak. He's
yours now, ladies. He'll do anything you fucking say. Hey, make him bark
like a fucking dog!"
"BARK, slave!"
Inside the cleat, I was making muffled barking sounds as, it felt really bad to be humiliated in front of these sweaty,
muscled girls. As I was given permission to stop barking, my mistress
removed the cleat from my face, and released her grip on my hair.
"Now, the other cleat, boy."
She motioned to the other foot, which she had placed on the
chair. This time, as I untied the laces with my teeth, I sensed only a
slight aroma. And as the shoe came off, the resulting smell, though
strong, gave me only a sense of great comfort, satisfying a new,
powerful need. Spontaneously, I was forced to say:
"Please miss, may I lick your smelly feet, miss? I NEED your
sweaty feet, miss. I'll do anything you say, miss, for permission to
lick your feet!"
"REPEAT, slave!"
I repeated my new mantra over and over.
"Off with the sock," she ordered.
I sensuously tugged at the sock with my mouth, running my nose
over her skin as it became bare. I could feel and smell the sweat of
her bare feet. My heart raced, and my breathing became quick and
shallow with anticipation. For the next hour, my mistress verbally
directed my every move, allowing me to enjoy every inch of her bare
feet. her commands were explicit at first:
"Lick the bottom of my foot. Run your tongue between my toes.
Suck on the big toe."
As time wore on, though, the commands became short and to the
point:
"Big toe. Between toes. Top. Heel."
The next phase of my conditioning involved training me to
repond to non-verbal commands. I was told that each girl would
direct my next move by snapping her fingers. When a particular girl
snapped her fingers, I was to bury my nose in her left armpit, and
remain there until I heard another snap. If the same girl snapped
again, I was to move from her left pit to her right foot. Next snap,
to her left foot, next snap to her right pit, and so on. If at any
time, another girl snapped, I was to start with her left pit, and
proceed in the same progression. Before long, the girls had worn me
out jumping back and forth between feet and pits, so they let me rest
a while as they playfully stuffed various parts of their sweaty
nylons into my unwilling mouth. Periodically, they would send me out
to one of the cars to get drinks, or make me run down to the convenience
store for snacks. I was totally at their beck and call, and the more I
served, the more I had to serve.
And so began a legacy of slavery which continues to this day.
I have become acustomed to phone calls any time of day or night, with
explicit instructions for me to bring the girls pizza, burgers,
beer, money, drugs, even an occasional term paper for an
academically-challenged girl. Any attempt to protest or resist is
instantly met with an explicit description of the girl's sweaty
feet, which reduces me back to the slave I forced to become.
As each class graduates, they pass their secret along to their
girlfriends in the upcoming classes, so I am never without a team of
mistresss. It is what I need. It is what I live for. I must obey.
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