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She came into my office again today. This time she wore a mini-dress, ankle bracelet and high-heeled black patent sandals. Through the dark stockings it was evident her toenails were painted pink. I escorted her away from my desk towards the couch and coffee table corner, the less formal “just folks” area of my spacious suite. While my voice offered the usual social refrains and graces, my eyes –– and consequently my crotch –– had an agenda of their own. They kept returning to her shoes and feet. That wasn’t unusual. Every time she has visited, her lower extremities have captured my imagination and attention. Mind you, her crossed leg – and the 14 inches of revealed thigh – not to mention the constant motion of her foot were hard to ignore.
Early on her energetic foot began a different choreographic, a series of elegant twists and turns. I felt compelled to look up, to see if her facial expression had somehow changed. My glance was greeted with a warm smile and, in a sultry voice, she more stated than asked, “You like them?”
“Very much,” I responded. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, provocatively extending her leg straight out, moving her foot in slow circles. “I’ve been aware of your interest for quite some time. And I know there are many men just like you who adore the female foot and the high heels we wear.”
My face reddened. She had my number. “They turn you on, don’t they?”
I groaned, admitting my fascination and lust. Pivoting to face me, her leg still held forward, her shoe was now in the air four inches above my lap and at a point not far below my chin, so close to my mouth that I wanted to lower my head and touch my lips to it.
Seemingly, she read my mind. “Take my foot in your hands and kiss my big toe.”
In a simultaneous move, my hands found her foot, my head bent and I kissed that pedicured yet stockinged marvel as it rested in the shoe, just one quick kiss. But as I began to withdraw she sensually commanded, “I’ll tell you when şehitkamil escort to stop. Keep kissing.”
Resuming my obsessive task, I rained kisses on that gorgeous toe. She raised it from the platform of her inner sole, her next command even more compelling: “Suck and lick.”
My lips encircled the nylon and my tongue did concentric motions with occasional long laps up the underside. I was in psychological heaven. Physiologically, my cock and balls were looking for a heaven of their own. That may have been helped along by the reality of our positioning since her entire leg was visible, all the way up to her stocking tops and black panties. At that moment, she removed her shoe from my face, turned again on the couch and sat demurely, if sensually, leg crossed and again performed her foot show.
“That was lovely,” she said. “You have a talent for worshiping a woman’s feet. I might want you to do it again some time.” She’d withdrawn at just the right, crucial teasing moment. My mind was enslaved and the bulge in my slacks was in harmony. Both desperately yearned for more. A moment elapsed as she recognized and evaluated my frustration. “. . . Or perhaps,” she continued, “you’d like to become better acquainted with my feet and a more assertive part of my personality right now.”
With no pride whatsoever, I begged. “Yes, please. Please allow me to kiss, lick and suck more.”
“In that case, I don’t want us to be interrupted.” Her voice had taken a new tone, commanding and aggressive. “Go and lock your door.”
With no regard for the tent at my crotch, I stood quickly and moved to lock the door. Turning and looking at her, I saw an upraised hand; an unspoken command to remain where I stood. “Take off all your clothes and pile them neatly on the floor,” she demanded. “Then resume your position, this time hands clasped behind your back and your chin lowered.”
In short order I was naked and in position. My cock saluted her. My eyes and chin deferred to her. My hands gripped each other behind my back. She visually inspected me for the better part of a full minute. With the room in complete silence, that minute seemed like a lifetime. Her finger snapped, then pointed to the floor before her. “Crawl. Crawl to my feet on your hands and knees. When you get here, kiss my foot and hold that position.”
I dropped to the floor and, in classic fashion, crawled the distance and prostrated myself fully (careful to position my hard-on comfortably), pressing my lips to the toe of her foot which was on the carpet. Her crossed leg continued its foot motion above my head.
“It’s clear you have a need to serve and submit,” she said. “I’m going to make that desire a reality. If you agree, you will become my foot slave. When I come to visit you from now on, you will always greet me at that door. When I’m inside, you will close and lock it, then drop to your knees and lick my footwear.
You will hold that position until I tell you to stop.
Our visits will vary in purpose and content but your greetings and your good-byes will always be the same. When I leave, you will be on your knees at the door, you will lick my feet, and thank me for taking the time to come and train you. Have I made myself clear, slave?”
Lifting my mouth from her shoe, I responded in the positive.
“Slave, when I address you as such can you think of an appropriate honorific for me?”
I called her Mistress for the first time.
“Exactly,” she said. “Use it in every sentence you speak to me.”
“You’re about to become my personal bootlicker, slave, along with anything else I want you to lick. An important part of your training will involve bondage and discipline. In fact, I brought a little something with me today.”
A long leather thong dangled down, twisting before my eyes. “Stand up. Hands behind your back again. This time look at the ceiling.”
I felt her fingers and hands working my cock and balls, one holding my prick up, the other wrapping the thong around my bag, then actually separating my balls. A knot was tied before I was ordered to lie flat on my back. Holding both ends, she gave a small tug and said, “They belong to me.”
I winced. She smiled.
She placed the sole and heel of one foot over my mouth and nose, toes on my forehead, a spiked heel at my mouth. “Suck it,” she commanded. “Lick it.”
My cheeks compressed in rhythm to the heel-fucking my face took. I did my best to suck and clean my new Mistress’ 4-inch spike.
“Play with yourself for me, slave,” she said as she increased pressure on the thong. “Show me how much you want to please me.”
“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress,” I frantically mumbled around her heel, quickly reaching to obey. Shamelessly, I masturbated, kissing, licking and nuzzling the foot on my face, the foot to which I was so devoted. My Mistress’ other shoe found my genitals.
Nearing climax, the forces and stimulation to all four areas were remarkable; the heel of her shoe in my mouth, the thong in her hand pulling my balls upward, the sole of her other shoe simultaneously rubbing the sides of my shaft and balls and, of course, the orgasmic relief I was so close to reaching.
“Ask for permission, slave. Beg me to let you cum.”
Gasping because her demand was so unexpected, I pleaded, “Yes, please, Mistress. Please, please allow me to cum. P-l-l-e-e-a-s-e!”
Whimpering and moaning around my mouthful of leather, spiked heel, I heard her say, “You have my permission, slave. Do it. Cum for me. Cum for your Mistress.”
My back arched and I came hard, the exquisite pleasure reinforcing my desire, my need to render worship to this goddess. The cum shot out, landing on my belly, dripping down my now-softening cock, and over my hand. Spasms subsiding, she withdrew her heel from my mouth and ran the shoe’s toe through my sperm, dabbing then presenting it to my mouth with an order to lick and suck. Compliantly, I swallowed my cum – with each dab she offered – over and over again until the leather of her shoe sparkled.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32