Nis 24, 2023 // By:analsex // No Comment
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She sent him a text to suggest he pop round for drinks, turn up around 12 noon, wear appropriate items beneath his jeans, she did not want him to be outside without the reminder of not being a proper man. It would be nice for them to have a drink together.
It was never as simple as that; rarely did they meet up without him needing to perform somehow or endure her humiliation of him. His focus was to be her foot slave, his purpose in life was to worship and pander to her feet. If she wanted them rubbed, he rubbed, if she wanted her nails painted, he painted, if she wanted her toes sucking, the dirt licked from between them, the aroma removed via his nostrils, then that is what he did. She had been clever in her approach, his fetish for foot smell and the novel ways he could be forced to endure it, coupled with the chastity cage she owned the keys for, made him totally compliant to her wishes.
More than just a foot slave now, that was the mainstay, but she enjoyed so much more fun at his expense, taking him lower than he had ever been before, making him do things that he would have once called red on. She even kept a book, if he called red on something, she would mark it down and date it, then at some point in the future he would be tested again. More times than not there would be a tick placed against the entry to say that the red call had been removed. She would also use it to mark down dates she allowed him to make his insipid mess, not many of those entries, as well as misconduct, reasons to add a day, week, month, to denial and frustrations. Keeping records was a great way to stay on top of things.
The book idea came from a time way back when. There was a cartoon image floating around the internet, a lady laying on her front upon a bed, behind her was the hubby, also laying on his front and with his face placed strategically. His tongue was buried in her backside. The caption being spoken by the wife read “And what else was it istanbul seks hikayeleri you said you would never do?”. Hanging from an erect finger on her held up hand was the key to hubby’s chastity device. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Madam J realised the way to a wimp’s subservience was through his orgasms. Or lack of them! The book meant she could be reminded of situations and ideas she may have forgotten.
He arrived on time and was led into the lounge; it was damp outside so today would not be garden foot slave day. Regrettable because she had enjoyed spotting one of the neighbours watching as she had her sweaty feet licked clean last time. She purposely made a show of it, had him sniff the insides of her shoes as well as lick their soles, all in full view of the onlooker. Foot wimp was unaware, it was a nice little secret she kept to herself. For now. Today they stayed indoors, she had him undress but to keep his pink hold ups on. She handed him the key then watched as he removed her uselessness from its cage. It looked crushed, wrinkled up, limp, totally unable to be used for the pleasures of other people. Due to how long it had been confined she doubted it would take less than two hours before he could even derive pleasure from it himself. So that was decided, two hours of teasing, stroking, edging, fetish feeding, all in the name of bringing her uselessness back to life. Stepping forward she tied a piece of cord around his cocklet and balls and instructed him to kneel. A mutt on a lead, perfect.
For the next couple of hours she had her way with him, toyed and took amusement, humiliated, and subjugated, as well as bringing him, or getting himself, to the edge of pleasure. She loved to instruct him to ask for permission to play with himself, or please may he have a wank. Oh, how he curled up at that one, asking for things that deeply shamed him. Awesome stuff. She would allow it, then tell him to stop before any mess was made. Foot sniffing while his throbbing subsided, perhaps a crop or flogger administered by her, and then more teasing, caressing his uselessness with her socked feet, have him beg to sniff and taste the panties she had on, anything that humiliated and/or kept him on the edge of release. Until she was certain that her uselessness was fully back to life.
Suddenly she told him to kneel upright. Placing the end of the cord over his shoulder she removed a sock and pressed it between his lips until they yielded and the sweaty sock entered his mouth. Next her panties came off from beneath her dress and were draped over his head. He wore them like a mask, the crotch placed directly over his nose. The taste of feet with the smell of a lady’s sex. That will keep him focused while she left the room. When she returned a few minutes later she laughed at how pathetic he looked, decided to take a photo to share with friends later, then handed him a straw. Taking the lead from his shoulder and the dirty underwear from his mouth and face, she led him on his hands and knees out of the room.
“I invited you round for a drink and a drink you shall have.”
They entered the downstairs toilet at which point she gave further instruction.
“Now enjoy the drink I have just poured for you, then we will perhaps see about you making your insipid mess after. But only if you finish your drink mind”.
She used her phone to record him drinking up her wee through the straw from the toilet pan. Was there no level he would not lower himself to?
Happy that he had consumed the lot and was rehydrated she gently tugged the lead. Usually he would have bowed to kiss her feet in thanks for such a reward, but she was not having pissy lips on her person, eeew.
Back to the lounge he crawled, stopping in front of her sofa where he remained on all fours. She got two cushions, placed one between his legs and one below his face.
“I know you have heard of scratch and sniff; this is going to be sniff and hump.”
Removing her slippers, she put one on the cushion between his legs and the other on the cushion beneath his face. They were old, sheepskin, and stinky. Sitting on the sofa she used a foot to press his face down into her slipper, then her other foot to nudge him down to the other one.
“Deep sniffs and start humping. Slowly!”
She listened to him sniff and watched him hump, her feet now upon his back as if he were a footrest. Almost with a seductive voice she would instruct him to speed up the humping, take deeper sniffs, slow down again, thank her for letting him hump her slipper and for gifting him their scent. He was made to beg for permission to cum, to make his insipid mess, to be allowed release from months of frustrations and teasing. She told him he had twenty seconds to cum or he will have to wait another month. She laughed so loud when he frantically picked up speed, humping the slipper like his life depended on it. Desperate was his need that he would agree to anything. And he did!
“Promise me you will do anything i say for letting you cum, or stop humping NOW!”
He promised. He orgasmed. He moaned. He groaned. He humped the slipper so hard. She was sure she even heard the first spurt or two of his insipid mess. Time to make good on his promise to do anything. She knew this would test him; three times previous he had called red on it. Would he this time? Before he had much time to think and while still in the post orgasmic state, she swapped the slippers around. Reclining back, she again used a foot to press his face down into her slipper then returned both feet to his back.
“You made a mess now you need to clean it up. Lick it all up and be extra diligent of getting it out of the fur, I want to hear dedicated sucking noises.”
As she listened to the ensuing noises, she picked up her book, opened the appropriate page, and placed two ticks, one next to the wee drinking entry, and one next to the cum eating entry.
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