No Holiday at the Beach

Part IV. Collared

Mistress Wendy sat down and watched him closely as he removed his polo shirt, shorts and underpants. She made him just stand there, shifting a little nervously, naked except for the chastity harness. Her long legs crossed, Mistress Wendy afforded a beautiful view of her thighs beneath her sundress, which had hiked up a bit as she lounged back in the chair.

"Down on your knees, slave," she said. "Your life as my slave has nearly begun." He noticed a special emphasis on the word "life".

He hastened to his knees. He glanced briefly in her eyes, but soon dropped his head. He knew this was expected of him. He was once again staring at her incredible feet. How could they have such a pull on him?, he wondered. He thought he might truly believe that they were more important than his whole being, and that they were what he lived for.

She reached back to her purse on the end table. The stretching motion caused her feet to rock back on the sandals' high heels. He bowed and kissed her toes. Not quite kicking him, she pulled her feet away and pushed his head back. She held his cheeks quite firmly with the soles of her shoes, and pushed the heels a bit into his throat. "I did not give you permission to kiss my toes, slave. You have to earn that pleasure," she said.

She continued the hold. Her ankles and legs framed his view. She had pulled a black leather collar from her purse and was studying it. She tugged on the four metal loops, examined the buckle, then tossed the collar to the far side of the room.

"Fetch your collar, slave dog," she ordered.

She released his head from the grip. He did not have to be told that he could not stand and walk like a man across the room. He crawled on all fours. He was surprised that his knees already ached a bit from kneeling on the bungalow's short-pile carpet, and it burned his knees as he went to retrieve the collar. He thought briefly about picking it up and carrying it, then thought better of it. He bent down, grabbed the collar in his teeth and returned to his Mistress.

She took the collar from his mouth before he could raise his head. She pushed his head to the floor with her feet, rubbing his face against the carpet. Then she again locked her feet on his cheeks and forced him into a kneeling, upright position. He was in pain, ashamed and frightened. Nevertheless he was stunned by the view of her now fully outstretched legs. From ankle to thigh, and then some. Her dress had pulled open further and he could see straight up to her heavenly crotch, with her white panties showing through the fabric of her hose. Despite his forlorn position, he imagined what wonders lied within.

Mistress Wendy placed the collar around his neck and buckled it. Next she passed her high heels through the metal loops on the right and left side, and pulled right, and left and back again, repeating the motion several times. As she did so, her heels pushed firmly into his collarbone and the sides of the soles of her shoes stung his ears. Then she placed the heel of her right shoe in the loop to the front. The heel dug into his Adam's apple, and the sole of her sandal was pressed against his face. His lips were forced apart, and he was involuntarily french kissing the sole of her sandal. She pulled him forward slightly, placed the left heel in the collar's rear loop and pulled him backward. He nearly fell, but then her right foot pulled him forward and he regained an equilibrium of sorts.

Finally she stopped the exercise and rested. Through all the pain and humiliation, he found himself almost liking the position. He concentrated especially on the sensation of his Mistress's left leg draped over his shoulder. He looked out of the side of his eyes and admired her calf as it led to her ankle, just out of view. She removed her right foot from the loop, freeing his mouth from the sole of her shoe. Her left foot still held his head in place and he really had no choice but to stare at her thighs and crotch. It was still, of course, obscured by her hose and panties, but no less enticing for that.

"Yes, look at it," Mistress Wendy said. "Think of its beauty. Think of how when you were a man, and not my mere slave, you might have had half a chance to pull down my panties and have your way like some real men do. Think of how you may come to know it and crave it, maybe even more so than you do my feet—you ridiculous dog—and then think how that will never happen. If you are lucky, at best you will see other men—real men, not slaves—make passionate love to me. But then, slave, is that luck? If it's luck, is that good luck or bad? Think about it."

She continued to hold his head with her left foot for quite some time. And he thought about it.

After a while he broke from his trance. Mistress Wendy's left foot still held his head in position, but he raised his eyes from her crotch and gazed into her face. She too seemed in a trance and did not at first notice him.

He took the chance to study her face. It was round, her cheeks just slightly high. Her nose was— there was no better word for it— cute. Smallish, kind of chubby and upturned to show a bit of her nostrils. The nose had a slight bridge, almost no bridge at all. Infinitely more attractive, he thought, than the large-bridged beaks of many Westerners. He wondered again why so many Thai women got nose jobs to emulate Europeans. His Chinese Mistress had a cute nose for the ages. Her long black hair shone in the late afternoon sunlight. He thought he noticed a few streaks of color, a deep dark red, but he could not tell for sure if it was color or the effect of the sunlight. She wore her hair straight down the sides and back, with—he didn't know what to call it—a half-bang in the front. That is, she let some of her hair fall straight down her forehead, but only some. Sort of like the teeth of a big comb, with spaces between the strands. He loved that look. His Mistress was utterly beautiful. Perhaps he was lucky, and perhaps his luck was good.

If his Mistress had been in a trance, she snapped out of it. Her eyes flashed to life. "You study my face, slave. Perhaps you think it beautiful…"

"Yes, Mistress…", he started to say, but she jerked his head back harshly with her left heel in the collar's ring.

"I was not asking a question and I did not give you permission to speak." She jerked his head back and forth, then slipped her heel out of the collar and shoved him backwards with her feet on his chest. He couldn't help but come out of his kneeling position as he fell. "Stand for a moment, slave."

He scrambled to his feet, anxious to obey and relieve the pain and stiffness from his knees. He was a little wobbly as he stood before her. Quickly Mistress Wendy removed the leather strap that had held his penis pointing downward. The still caged and clamped member sprung almost straight in the air. "Well, obviously you find something about me beautiful. If you were not a mere slave I would almost pity how miserable you will be. So unsatisfying, I imagine, being a slave."

She laughed when she said "unsatisfying", laughing at the gross understatement. The pain, the humiliation and intense yearning he was to endure was, well, rather worse than unsatisfying. She already had so much control over his mind that he, too, saw the joke in the word "unsatisfying". But it wasn't funny.

She slapped his balls, swollen in the clamp, then leaned back again and pinched them between her feet. She kicked his caged member for good measure, and ordered him back on his knees. Reaching again into her purse she removed a small padlock. She locked the collar in place and gave it a tug. She walked to the sliding windows at the balcony, went out and tossed the key over the ledge into the surf crashing below.

"Get used to it," she said as she returned.

V.Leashed

Resuming her seat, she pulled a chain metal leash out of her purse and tossed it across the room. "Get it," was all she said. And he did, crawling back with it to his Mistress just as he had done with the collar. She snapped the clasp over the metal ring in the front of his collar. She gave it a quick pull forward, as if to test its strength—or his. He fell, again prostrate at her feet. "Back up on your knees, dog," she ordered. He was frightened. She seemed suddenly fierce.

She looked at him, and into her purse, as if wondering what to do next. He was wondering what all the purse could hold. He knew it was not yet empty. Not nearly. She removed a pair of simple but beautiful white shoes. A perfect match with her sundress, just the slightest hint of beige. They were close-toed, and their heels were not quite three inches long. They were tapered, but nothing like stilettos. They were the shoes of an office lady. They appeared brand new. Their leather soles showed not even a scratch. She held the pair of shoes in front of his face for a moment, in the manner of giving a bloodhound the odor of the prey. This odor was fresh leather. She tossed one shoe into the corner of the room. Without her asking he started scrambling on his hands and knees to fetch it. As he was bending down to pick it up with his mouth he felt the hard jerk of his leash.

"Did I tell you to move, slave?", she asked, and quickly added, "Don't answer that." He knelt there, frozen as she pulled the leash taut. He heard something, the other shoe he knew, land in the other far corner of the room.

"I want you to choose, slave," she said, "which shoe do you think it would please your Mistress to wear first?"

He thought for a moment, and realized there was nothing to think about. All he could do was guess. She jerked the leash and said, "Don't waste my time."

He quickly crawled across the room to the other shoe. Again as he bent down to the shoe she jerked his head back. He almost choked.

"Wrong," she said. "Too bad for you. Very bad, I think. Slave, go get my other shoe."

So he crawled back across the room The distances would not seem far to someone not a slave, who walked upright in the room, but by now his knees were very sore. "Faster, slave," she said.

Now, at least, he was sure he had the correct shoe. His mouth was open and just closing over the heel. His head was jerked back violently by the chain. "Changed my mind," she said, "women can be so impetuous." Lost in confusion, with his knees burning, he crawled as quickly as he could to the other shoe. He was terribly frightened of yet another pull on the leash as he bent over the shoe. This time nothing happened. He used only his lips as he carried it back to his Mistress, fearing the wrath that would be caused by the slightest of tooth marks. Dragging his sore knees over the slack of the chain leash was torture. She took the shoe and told him to fetch the other one. He crossed the slack yet again and started to hate his leash. He still had great doubts as he bent to grasp the second shoe in his mouth. Again nothing happened. He was actually grateful as he returned it to his Mistress.

She took the shoe from his mouth, and replaced it with the gathered end of his chain leash. "Do you like your color and leash, slave dog?, she asked, "I do. You must answer me, but don't drop the leash."

"If it pleases you, Mistress," he mumbled as best he could while still holding the chain in his mouth.

"I couldn't hear you," she said, "louder, slave."

He quickly worked the leash as far back as he could into the corners of his lips so he could say, "I love my leash, Mistress."

"Oh, you're still incomprehensible, slave, but then who cares what you think," she said, "What you think doesn't matter, does it? Don't answer that," she added once again.

VI.Foot worship

"Slave, remove my shoes," she ordered. He still held the chain in his mouth and he knew she did not mean for him to use his hands. Again he froze, confused.

"Oh, right," Mistress Wendy said, "a slave like you can't be expected to do two things at once." She took the chain from his mouth and tossed it clanking to the floor. There was a slight tug on his collar. Just a reminder.

"Wait," she said, "my hand has done you a great favor. One you don't deserve. Kiss my hand slave. Lick and suck it like the dog you are."

He looked at her beautiful, soft hand and went at it as if he were it were the sweetest thing on earth. And to him it was. He licked her palm. The back of her hand. He sucked her long, perfect fingers. She closed her fingers into a tapered fist and he stretched his lips around them. She pushed her hand deep into his mouth, and he gagged. She held her fist there. He had trouble breathing, but after a moment he had adjusted. As she removed her hand she dragged the tops of her long fingernails across the roof of his mouth. She rubbed his face to wipe the saliva off and said nothing.

He bent to remove her sandals. They had straps that wrapped twice around the ankles and were tied at the back, high up her Achilles' tendons. Again he was mesmerized by her perfect feet. He studied the toes and their glistening nails. Admired her soft rounded heels, and the way the flesh colored hose was a lighter shade there as the fabric stretched on its way back up her lovely calf. He even admired the tight weave of the fabric.

"Slave, you are dawdling. I told you to remove my shoes," she said. Then she added, "But wait. Lie flat, slave. Worship me."

The cage on his erect penis made his effort to obey difficult. But as quickly as he could he lay down before his Mistress, shifting so his penis bent sideways and flat. The press of his own weight and his excitement made it pulse and bulge within its cage.

She was standing now.

"Open your mouth, slave," she said, "Open wide, and stick out your dog's tongue." He did so. She wedged the sole of her sandal under his tongue, twisted his head sideways, and pressed down forcefully with her toes.

"Suck my toes, slave. You don't deserve it, surely, but it amuses me."

His tongue was stretched and twisted and squeezed between the sandal's insole and her toes. He wanted to scream, but of course could not utter even a sound. He surrendered to her foot completely.

Mistress Wendy worked the sole of her sandal slightly deeper under his tongue, pressed down hard with her toes, and tugged outward.

"Love my feet slave," she said. "You love them, don't you? Answer me."

He did love them, and he yearned to tell her so. But without the use of his tongue he could not speak. He struggled mightily to do so. He could only manage a faint, muffled noise. She continued to apply the pressure between her toes and insole. Through the pain, he felt the weave of her hose's fabric, imagined the beauty of her now unseen toes, smelt the sweet and sour smell, and was immensely aroused—though helpless to tell her so.

"Tell me, slave," Mistress Wendy demanded. "Do you love my feet? I'm waiting. They're waiting. If you don't tell me you love my feet, you will never see them again, let alone lick or kiss them again. We're walking. We'll be gone. Tell my feet you love them."

He panicked. His tongue and mouth were in agony, yet Mistress Wendy's threat hit to the bottom of his being. He could not imagine life without her—without her feet Still she pressed his tongue, and he could not answer. Tears welled in his eyes. Pain. Frustration. But mostly her unbearable threat.

He had to do it. He would endure anything for her feet, and he knew without consciously thinking he would have to endure plenty for this. He took his hands from his sides and pulled her foot from its hold on his tongue. He was sobbing, blubbering, "Mistress Wendy's foot. I love you with all my heart. I need you. Worship you. Never leave me."

He was now holding her foot and smothering it in kisses. He licked his own tears from its toes and arch. His fate was cast.

Mistress Wendy had for a brief instant lost her balance as he first grabbed her foot. She wobbled a bit, then let him continue his homage. Her eyes, however, blazed.

He was softly weeping now, petting her ankle and mumbling, "I love you."

Mistress Wendy jerked her foot away violently. Without saying a word, she pulled two wide leather cuffs from her purse and quickly snapped them tightly around his wrists. He did not resist as she pulled his arms behind his back and clasped the cuffs together. Next two more cuffs, on his ankles. This time she clipped a chain, about two feet in length and of the same linked metal as his leash, into the metal rings on each cuff. She kicked his legs apart. He squirmed in pain, and tried to position his bulging penis in its metal cage into a tolerable spot beneath him. She started jabbing the backs of his shoulders with the heels of her sandals. She stood with the balls of her feet—not her heels, he thought, she has some mercy—on his lower back and bounced up and down. There was no tolerable position for his penis beneath him as she did so. She stood behind him and kicked his balls, still bulging in the clasp. She jabbed his buttocks with her heels, pried open his crack, and seemed on the verge of thrusting a heel into his anus. He flinched just slightly at that. Finally, she stopped her onslaught, and pressed his neck down to firmly to the floor with the arch between her sandal's sole and heel.

"Did I give you permission to touch my feet, you impudent slave dog? Don't answer. You are not to say a word." Saying this Mistress Wendy, resumed her seat in front of him. He lay helpless and prostrate before her, his face to the floor. She slid her right heel under his chin and lifted his face. With her left heel, she opened his mouth, prodding it almost gently. She then took both feet, and with their heels in his nostrils, she held his head slightly off the floor.

There was pain, surely, he thought, but she could be treating me much rougher. It was more his abject helplessness before her that frightened him. Like he was losing his soul.

"Slave," she said, "I believe I ordered you to remove my shoes." She pulled her heels from his nostrils and tucked her feet back under the rattan lounge chair. As quickly as he could squirmed on his belly and pushed his head under the chair. He grasped the tied leather strap of one sandal and then the other, as he unfastened her shoes. She was doing little to help him. She tucked her feet further underneath the chair and pressed them firmly against the floor. He wormed forward and grasped one heel in his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. It wouldn't budge unless she raised her foot. He nearly panicked. What would happen if he failed Mistress Wendy in her simple request? He was, again, without options. Finally she lifted her feet slightly and he was able to remove the sandals.

He looked and considered his world of the moment. His head was well under the chair, and from that confined perspective her perfect feet and her two sandals now removed loomed before him, seemingly larger than life. He could not move because Mistress Wendy had only asked that he remove her shoes. Nothing more. So he remained there contemplating the strangely erotic landscape inches before his face.

One foot disappeared from this surreal view. It returned a moment later, clad in one of the white leather pumps. Then the other. His world under the chair was Mistress Wendy's feet, pumps and the discarded sandals. Finally she said, "Get out from under the chair, slave." He wormed backwards and again lay prostrate before her.

"Roll over, slave. On your back," said Mistress Wendy.

She pressed the heels of her pumps into his nipples. Quite hard this time.