foot and domination (foot domination, foot worship, foot smelling, femdom, soles)

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The woman sat comfortably in her ornate armchair, her feet propped up on a plush footstool. She was expecting guest and as the doorbell rang, she began to press the pedicured nails of her big toes into the soft fabric of the stool, a small smirk playing on her lips.

Her guest, a timid smalleyed man, entered the room with a polite knock. “You wanted to see me, Mistress?” he asked, keeping his eyes downcast.

“Oh yes, I have been thinking about you a great deal,” she purred, arching an eyebrow at him. “Would you like a closer look at my feet?”

The man flushed a deep crimson, his eyes darting down to her feet before quickly looking away again. “I…I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“Nonsense!” she laughed airily. “A pretty boy like you? Feel free to worship my beautiful soles.” She wiggled her toes at him invitingly.

Biting his lip, he slowly approached, sinking to his knees on the carpet. “May…may I smell them?” he asked in a rush.

“Only if you do it properly,” she said sternly. “Put your nose right in there, give them a good, deep sniff and don’t forget to kiss my heels too. My feet deserve to be worshipped.”

“Y-yes Mistress,” he stammered, before tentatively pressing his face into the sole of her shoe. He sniffed hard, a shudder running through him as the strong scent of her feet filled his nostrils. Sweat, lotion, a hint of body odor – it was intoxicating. He began kissing and licking her entire foot, little moan escaping him.

“Mmm, you’re quite the foot slave aren’t you?” she gloated as the man eagerly worshipped her feet. “I can tell you love having your face in my soles. Me, I love smelling my own feet too. The way they get all sweaty and gross, kind of a skanky perfume…it’s so wonderful. Go on, kiss my toes. Suck my big toe in your mouth!”

The man eagerly obeyed, wrapping his lips around her slender toe and suckling on it like a pacifier. He buried his face in her arch, lost in the blissful feeling of being a total foot slave.

“Ooh, you dick is hard!” she laughed in delight as a tent formed in his pants. “I have that effect on all my slave boys. But unfortunately for you, you have a job to do before you get anything else…”

“Anything you wish, Mistress,” he panted against her sole.

“Mmhmm, let’s see how well you’ve learned…” she snatched her foot away suddenly, pointing her toes at him like weapons. “Dance. Every time my big toes touch you, you dance. Understand?”

Wide-eyed, he nodded. “Yes Mistress.”

“Then begin!” She snapped her heel to the ground.

The man jumped up and began dancing clumsily before her, batting at the occasional probing toe coming at him like a swatter. She smirked, enjoying the display, occasionally dragging her wet soles across his face when he got too close.

“That’s right, move for me slave!” she trilled, pressing her toes into his banana-clamped hands when he got close enough. He jerked away, eyes bulging comically, but rejoined her feet in a dance as soon as she commanded.

She made him dance like this for an hour, until he collapsed panting to his knees in exhaustion. His clothes were soaked through with sweat, his lip split and bleeding where he’d bitten it, there was a fierce red line across his cheek from a sharp-smacking sole. He was utterly ragged, his mind nothing but a haze of desire.

“Very good my slave,” she patted his cheek with her foot. “You’ve earned some of my spooge.”

Panting and disheveled, he actually whined as she pressed the ball of her foot into his face, mashing it there, her grip unrelenting. He inhaled through his nose, the stench flooding his sinuses – the hot, pungent, chemical, moist odor of her foot, seared into his brain. She ground against him harder, smushing her malodorous sole into his face, against his mouth, eyeholes, and dry-shaven genitals. He felt his eyes begin to roll up in his head as the heat rose off her foot in gasping steam, hypnotizing him into blissful dumbness, and an almost supernatural orgiastic sensation was building in his humanly prostate, and he could only whimper against her sole, weak and losing his humanity, but feeling for things of the twisting centre of the universe as she tortured him with her odorous, pretty, dainty foot…

She opened her eyes and looked down at the still-quivering boy, his dick now stiff and bouncing between his shins. With interest, she saw that his pockets were soaked through, as though he’d pissed himself a second time. Going limp and drunk with the power that had burst out from inside of him, sobbing with gratitude, he slumped back in his seat, spent, the faint remnants of kneecough, grape shit, and armpit filling his nostrils.