Any guy would’ve taken notice. She was on the subway and looked to be in her mid-twenties. Full breasts contoured a red blouse beneath her open jacket. An above-the-knee skirt hugged hips and thighs. Spikes and dark nylons completed the outfit. But it was her legs and shoes that got my attention. And she knew it. In a subtle tease, she moved a foot and dropped a hip, making a show for me through eight stations.
At my stop, she got off just ahead of me. I lost sight of her as all the other people left the train. But, when I reached the street, she was standing there looking confused.
It gave me the perfect opportunity. “May I help?” I asked.
“Thank you,” she responded. “I’m looking for the King Edward Hotel.”
Luckily, it was just around the corner from my office so I offered to walk her there. We introduced ourselves. I told her my name was Don. Hers, she said, was Deanna and that she was going to the hotel for a day of interviews leading, she hoped, to an important new job.
I asked if she’d be free for lunch, mentioning that we could meet in the hotel coffee shop. She agreed and, after a morning of anticipation, I rushed over to the restaurant and had a table staked out by 12:25. Ten minutes later, she arrived. We talked about a number of things during our lunch – her interviews that morning, what she faced during the afternoon, which part of the city she lived in – that kind of small talk. Over coffee, Deanna said the way I’d looked at her on the subway that morning had made her feel good. It gave her confidence, she said, as she headed for the interviews.
“You’re easy to look at,” I said.
“Most guys,” she said, “tend to fixate their attention on my bust line but I noticed you’d concentrated lower.”
“Well,” I responded, “ I guess I’m just a foot and shoe freak, though I sure noticed your upper body, too.”
“Do you really like shoes and feet?” she asked.
I told her that high-heeled shoes and boots turn me on and that I often fantasized about worshiping a woman’s feet. She perked up, wanting to know more. I told her I’d regularly go on mental merry-go-round rides with fantasies about being submissive to a beautiful woman. It got back, I said, to all those cliches about “I’d be your slave if only...”; “worshiping the ground she walks on”; and “kneeling and begging (for her hand, for forgiveness, for another chance, and so on)”. Unlike others, I said, I took it literally, that a beautiful woman in spike shoes got me into a mind-set involving adoration.
A thoughtful look appeared on her face as she said, “Perhaps you’d be appreciative if I gave you a chance to explore this fetish of yours for shoes, feet, and submission.”
“I’d love it,” I told her.
“Then pay the bill and follow me.”
I did, then followed Deanna to an exit door at the far side of the hotel lobby. She went up the stairs first, me lingering behind as I watched her ass, legs, and shoes ascend before me. At the first landing, she moved ahead four steps, then turned and faced me. Smiling, she said hotel stairs were rarely used and this would give us a bit of privacy. Extending a leg so that her shoe was level with my face she said, “Give it a kiss.”
I leaned forward a bit and kissed the toe of her shoe.
“You can do better than that,” she said. “Come up two steps, kneel and give it a good licking. Do the whole shoe.”
I licked her leather, from toe to heel. She even tilted her foot for me in an unspoken command to suck her spiked heel. The more I licked and sucked, the more I wanted. And Deanna knew it.
“We can’t keep this up for long,” she said. “Someone’s bound to come along. Stand up.” She said she had more high heels and boots at home and perhaps I might come over sometime to have a look. “Would you like that?” she asked.
I said I’d love it.
We arranged for me to drop by her place that very night.
After working the rest of the afternoon, in total preoccupation, I went directly to her apartment. After letting me in, I noticed Deanna was still wearing the shoes she’d let me kiss and lick earlier. She poured wine while I made myself comfortable on her chesterfield.
Sitting beside me and sipping from her glass, she got right to the point. “I enjoyed seeing you in that subservient manner today. The rest of the afternoon, I couldn’t get out of my mind the fact that you were on your knees before me.”
I said I, too, had enjoyed being at her feet and admitted to the hope that I would have the chance to do it again.
“Then what are we waiting for?” she asked. “Kneel before me right now.”
I got down on the floor before her – on my knees and head bowed. She crossed her legs, looked down at me and said she felt like a queen with a slave.
My submissiveness shone through as I whispered, “Yes, I am your slave.”
“Do you genuinely feel you have enough of a slavish mind-frame to serve me?” she asked.
“Yes, I do,” I responded.
“I know I enjoy seeing you on your knees. Maybe my need is a perfect foil for your slavish desire to serve femininity.”
I observed that this could be good for the both of us. Deanna said she’d never done anything kinky but admitted she liked how this was shaping up. A moment later, she said, “Well, slave, I want my shoes kissed, licked and sucked again. Get busy.”
Automatically, I said “Yes, Mistress” and began laving the high heel of her crossed leg.
“Mistress!” she exclaimed, “I like that. If a man is a master, a woman in control is a mistress. Say it again, slave.”
“Mistress,” I said, “I love the thought of being your slave and I’m deeply grateful that you have given me the opportunity to express that desire.”
“Good,” she responded, “because I intend learning all I can about this facet of our sexuality. There are books dealing with foot fetishism. In fact, I think I have some old Forum magazines where heels, foot worship, and slavery are discussed. But I need to know more. Drop some off tomorrow night. Knock on my door, leave the package, and then go. I’ll call you in a few days when I’m ready to take both of us deeper into my ownership of a male slave.”
I promised I would.
“Before you leave,” she said, “I want you to suck my toes through the nylon. Every one.”
I slipped her shoe off and began with the small toe, sucking and kissing it, then each of the other four. As I was loving them, Deanna had moved her other foot to my crotch and was rubbing my erection with her shoe. Jamming all five toes into my mouth, she manipulated my cock and balls to the point were I ejaculated in my underwear.
“Now,” she said, “crawl over to the door and get out. I expect to see that material at my door no later than tomorrow night.”
The next day, I got what material I could on the subject of Female Domination, high heels, bondage and discipline, humiliation, and exotic apparel. I even found a very old copy of Mistress Natalies’ Guide to Foot Worship. That night, I knocked on her door, dropped the package and got out of sight. I saw her appear and pick it up.
For the next few days, I kept wondering if Deanna would ever call again. But, a week later, she did. Deanna told me to come to her place after work that night. At precisely 6:45 – the time she’d said – I rang her bell.
“Come in,” I heard her call.
She was on the couch, legs crossed, wearing a black leather skirt, a black push-up bra under a thin white blouse unbuttoned to the point where her magnificent cleavage was in view, elbow length gloves, seamed stockings, and knee-high stiletto-heeled boots. Breasts spilling over her bra and the flash of bare thigh at the top of her nylons only enhanced her dominant presentation.
I stared for longer than I should, then heard her command to “close the door and get in here.”
Coming to my senses, I obeyed. I was in awe. She was a vision of a magazine-perfect dominant female.
“It seems you approve of what you see, “ she said.
