Of course I didn't sleep that night. I replayed the scene, over and over, imagining that I was again kissing Lauren's foot. I could still practically feel the bare flesh of her instep, the side of her arch, the curve below her ankle against my lips. Simultaneously disgusted with myself and fascinated at what I'd done, I was discombobulated. I'd cover my face with the pillow, wincing in genuine embarrassment at the memory, then smile, proud that I'd done it. I was sort of horrified at what was happening to me, how these submissive feelings were overtaking me, intensifying. On top of that, I was seriously turned on.
The problem was I could do nothing about it. Lauren had ordered me not to have an orgasm. I needed to masturbate, needed to get off, but I wasn't allowed. This was seriously messed up.
It wasn't like she would know. Or would she? The way she apparently had a network of spies everywhere watching me seriously creeped me out. But even if she wouldn't, I couldn't do it. This was real; it was something I'd wanted forever. I had to do things right. I had to obey.
Oh god, she expected to take away my private masturbation privileges? How sick was that? Even as the thought came to me, however, I felt guilty for thinking that way about Lauren, and remembered what she had said about me already being her slave. I realized that I kind of liked the fact that she was bold enough to demand so much of me, that she was taking away everything, absolutely everything, then wondered what on earth was wrong with me for liking this sort of denial. These thoughts led to feeling proud of the fact that I'd degraded myself before her, naked flat on the floor, kissing her foot, then realizing that even if I was allowed to cum right now, I wouldn't even be doing it while thinking about any sort of sex. I'd just be doing it while thinking about exactly what I'd done this afternoon, kissing Lauren's foot.
I was rock hard now and needed it so bad but I wasn't allowed, dear god I wasn't allowed. This is diabolical I thought, and I whined, practically screamed, twisting the sheets in my hands until I was a restless wreck, never really falling asleep all night, but eventually I fell into a kind of half-daze about an hour before the alarm went off, drifting in and out.
In my exhausted nearly asleep state the most prominent image in my mind was that of Lauren hours earlier, face just above mine, serious stare into my eyes, I own your sex, Chris, I own your sex, foot taste and foot texture still on my lips, foot scent in my nostrils, hard carpet pressure still permeating the entire front of my body, Lauren's voice wafting in and out of my consciousness, you ARE my slave, already, try to come to terms with being inferior, to accept it, a sort of half-waking sexually frustrated hypnosis until finally the harsh buzz of the alarm snapped me out of it and I faced the exhausted stupor of morning.
The final month of the spring semester was both exhilirating and excruciating. I lived for the sound of Lauren's voice over the phone receiver, any orders she had for me, any task I could perform for her. Every chore was a privilege, something to bring me closer to her. Over the phone, Lauren rationed every word.
"Slave, laundry, now." Click.
"Need a homework check." Click.
"My roommate's gone today. Our room will be clean by 3, slave." Click.
"Car wash. The works." Click.
This last command didn't even require stopping by to see Lauren in person. She'd given me a key, and all I had to do was pick up her car, drive it to the car wash, scrub it for hours, and return it to the lot. I was doing far more serving her than interacting with her. If I was summoned into her room at any time, and she was alone, Lauren would usually have me greet her by making me get on my knees, and giving her one long kiss to the tip of her shoe, or her sock if she wasn't wearing shoes. I'd yet to kiss her bare foot since that first incredible encounter. What I had done was work, and then work some more.
Meanwhile, I was trying to get the hang of sleeping with my hands on the outside of the covers. Some nights I wanted to scream myself to sleep. At the library, doing homework, it took all my willpower not to let my hand wander down where it shouldn't lest I accidentally do what Lauren had forbidden. I flattened my palms against the tops of my thighs, rubbed them slowly back and forth in frustration, and breathed deeply. Sometimes, on the rare afternoon when I didn't need to study, and didn't have any work to do for Lauren, I'd just walk aimlessly around campus. Any alone time was dangerous.
But dear god I was horny. Every day serving Lauren, every terse conversation hearing her matter-of-fact bossy voice, every glance up at her condescending look down at me whenever I knelt before her simply sent me into orbit. I wanted, needed, release. I needed it so bad. So I plowed my frustration into deeper submission. I served Lauren twice as hard, if that was possible. I spent every minute thinking of how I could serve her better, perform every task more perfectly. Still, I kept replaying that day, lying naked at Lauren's feet, kissing her bare foot, over and over in my mind. It didn't help with my frustration. Sometimes when detailing her car, I'd give each pedal, where Lauren's right foot rests, and the spot on the carpet where her left foot rests, a quick, surrepetitious little kiss. Despite my frustration, I hoped perfect submission might lead to perfect obedience. But I could only hold out for so long.
It was Saturday night. One week before finals. I was lying in bed, trying to sleep. I think the frustration had gotten the best of me. I was again imagining that day, lying naked on the floor before Lauren, and the remembrance of it this time was especially vivid. I was overwhelmed, out of breath. Rolling over, I began acting it out, kissing, pretending I had Lauren's bare foot right there in front of me. So stiff, so erect. I had to reach down below myself to make an adjustment, and as soon as I made contact, right there, inside my pajamas, I felt sudden relief, a quick pulsing surge of it, that feeling I'd almost forgotten, along with a huge mess. A very short, overwhelming ecstasy all over giving way quickly to major disappointment in myself, and a dawning sense of dread.
I almost cried. I knew I had to call her. Part of me wanted to just pretend it hadn't happened, but oh god, this was the most real, the most honest, the most pure thing I'd ever been part of. I'd feel like a failure if I didn't tell her. I took a deep breath as I rolled over, holding back tears while I pulled back the elastic of my pajama bottoms and boxers, feeling the nasty result of my failure inside. I let out a loud, sad groan.
Whatever was coming, I had to take it. Whatever it was, I'd go through with it. I just hoped, and prayed, it wasn't the end. I did lie there for a few minutes, then took a few more to clean myself up, and a few more to gather my courage. Finally, I called, dreading hearing her voice.
"What is it, slave?"
"I - I'm sorry, Lauren. I disobeyed you."
A deep breath.
"I see. What exactly have you done?"
"I had an orgasm without your permission, Lauren."
A long pause. I could hear Lauren sigh long and deep into the phone, then almost whine, in a way that sounded like 'oh dear god no.' Another long pause.
"Well, Chris."
She paused again. It had been a long time since she had called me by my actual name.
"Obviously I'm extremely disappointed, and very, VERY angry."
"I'm so very sorry, Lauren."
