Little Mall Princess

"If that were me, I would have found a way to twist him up and then get him underneath my fucking foot."

When I heard the girlish voice make this statement as I stood there transfixed on a brand-new HD TV on display near the entrance to the mall Sharper Image outlet, I ignored it, thinking that such a direct statement from such a pretty young voice must be directed at someone else.

Afterall, I was a thirty-something dude in Saturday afternoon clothes who'd run into the mall for a second to return a DVD player that ejected anything I put into it.  And made strange burnt plastic smells when it actually did run for a while.

But as I watched the end of a major news story unfold on that HD screen before me, I realized that the girl and I were watching this as a pair of random congregants before the electronic dissembler of a breaking development.  And just we watched this one dissembler, a random pair, chancing to have simultaneously passed by this mall TV as the world was finding out that the young girl who'd been kidnapped in Monterey a few months back had been found alive, but in the hands of a sadistic creep who'd brainwashed her into assuming the role of his "wife" and sex slave.  The cops had actually been forced to pepper spray her in order to arrest the sweaty old potato of a man that had stolen her from her parents' house!

I turned a bit to my right and acknowledged the small woman who had made the comment, and as I did, she repeated it with a bit more gusto. 

"If that were me, I swear I would have found a way to twist that ugly guy up and then get him underneath my fucking foot.  Men are easier than that."  As she finished this sentence, she looked up at me, happening as she did to catch the exact moment when I was about to turn my gaze away from her so as to demonstrate the proper level of indifference.

But I was late, which she sensed, and which spurred her on to another sentence.  "I know you're a guy, but don't you think that a guy could be handled by a pretty gir, if she has a brain, so that she could convince him not to rape her?"

Strangely forward question for a teenage girl to ask a stranger out of the blue, but I felt the "Go with this" switch flip in my head as I smiled at her.  I came up with what I thought was a cogent repartee in "Yes, if a woman knows what she's doing, a male is fairly susceptible to her whims.  As a matter of fact, if women decided tomorrow that they found men who walked about on their hands to be more attractive than stand-up guys, 90% of the males on Earth would be slapping palms to floor within a year."

She smiled back and stuck out her hand.  I shook it, and raised an eyebrow.

"I just moved here," she said as she released my hand, "and I guess I got here just in time to see the end of this story.  That girl will eventually recover, but if she knew how to play that guy who took her, this would have ended up a whole different way.  Anyway, I'm Martha.  Like the nineteen-hundreds, I got named Martha."  She smiled up at me and I instantly liked the quirky smile and heavy eyebrows this little woman featured amongst the allure of her sparkling deep green eyes.

"So... what's your name," she asked.  She put her hands on her hips as she looked at me.  She was probably about sixteen, maybe seventeen.  She had a very expressive face, bold but feminine, with a certain intelligent sarcasm playing upon her features.  She wore a little lipstick and some fairly heavy black eyeliner, but she let her freckles live on her cheeks, where they, well, worked.  She wore a black top with long tight sleeves over a torso that was definitely not thin, but was instead, in a word, lush.  Her breasts were large and she carried a bit of a soft padding around her belly and hips.  I saw that her hands were very small, and that she took care of her long nails.  She'd painted them a glossy black, and she wore many silver rings.  Regardless, her hands were so tiny that the black nail polish failed to afford them any air of threat.  They looked like painted and cute little claws.  Her wrists were circled with dozens of silver and beaded bracelets.

"My name's an old-style name, too, Martha.  I'm Hiram.  Grandpa's name.  But I go by my middle name, which is Mike."  I found myself smiling back at her as she held her gaze.  Her eyes truly did sparkle.

"Well, my dad dropped me off here, cuz I told him that the mall's as good as any place to find out what kind of people live in a new town, so I guess I'm here shopping without money... as usual," she crossed her arms over her chest, kind of squeezing her breasts up subtly from underneath.  She may have thought it was subtle, anyway, but I'm not stupid.  She was puffing them up.  At thirty-eight, I knew when a girl was accentuating one of her features while attempting to remain less than obvious.  I only smiled internally this time.  "Good to meet you, Mike," she finished.

The live update on the television monitor that had been the catalyst for this conversation now switched back to regular programming after promising the usual "updates as they develop."  I knew that both the girl and I wanted to continue this conversation if for nothing else than that we were both bored and knew nobody local, and were craving some socialization.  After all, she was twenty years younger than I, and quite pretty, and I was your average-looking late-thirties divorced guy in sloppy clothes trying to get in and out of the mall as quickly as possible.

As luck would have it, a new topic of conversation was presented to us when the regular show was resumed before our eyes.  Rosie O'Donnell was hosting her show then, and when the feed cut back into it she was standing next to a dominatrix in full leathers, holding a paddle, standing over her slave, who was waiting on his hands and knees for the spanking that Rosie was interviewing his mistress about.  Rosie was firing off serious questions, and the tall woman in the glistening catsuit was happily answering them.  She was his wife, and he her husband, yes, but they lived a lifestyle Female Domination lifestyle.  He acted as her total slave and dedicated himself to her happiness, and she gave him the life of submission that he found healthy and rewarding.  Very simple, because she herself enjoyed having a husband who devoted himself entirely to her, and she had a personal fetish for control.  As the show cut to commercial, she began to demonstrate how she liked to addle her slave.  Rosie claped, the audience hoted loudly, and I stole a quick glance over at the intriguing Martha to see that she was enthralled at what she watched, but also had a knowing smirk on her face.  The commercial break interrupted, a local pest-control place, and Martha asked me, "Have you ever heard of this?  It's like a new thing, where the husband is his wife's slave, and they both like it."

"Yes, I've heard of it," I replied.  I quite well knew of this sort of relationship; in fact, the reason I had lost my second wife was a direct result of trying to talk her into a marriage like the one being discussed onscreen before me.  "It's, as you say, becoming more common.  But not many couples are ready to go on TV and tell people about it."  I chuckled as I ended this sentence to see if she'd return it, but she was already thinking about her next sentence.

"I think that the world would be better if women had as much power as males.  Like, if women were able to lead countries that have violence and division.  I think women are better at resolving conflict.  I know that there have been some, but I don't think that if Israel and Palestine and Iran were run by women that we'd all have to worry about being blown up at any given time.  What do you think... um, Mike?  Mike, right?"

"Yeah, Mike.  Right, Martha.  I think you're right.  If women wanted to, they could control the world."

"Yeah, but too many women fail to recognize their powers.  I mean, no offense, but most guys are really, really easy to get to, um, to handle.  I think I mean, they're easy to... dominate?"

Dominate?  Yeah, she'd said it.  I didn't let the realization flicker on my face, but as she started walking slowly toward the mall's main corridor while she began her next sentence, I stepped right along beside her without a thought.

"Yeah, the word is 'dominate.'  If a girl knows a guy wants to taste her, she can give him just enough at just the right time to keep him in line.  Want a Starbuck's?"

Her non-sequiter broke up my response.  "Yeah, on me," I replied with a giant dopey smile. 

"Good, follow me," she said as she grabbed my hand and pulled me.  She walked briskly as she let my hand fall from hers with a hint of a final parting squeeze.  I stayed right behind her as she wove through the mall crowd, my eyes on her luscious buttocks.  She was wearing a black wool skirt, longer than her knees.  It had a charcoal-gray windowpane pattern woven into it, and it was a bulky skirt, not even designed to flatter the female ass.  Nevertheless, I could tell that she had a nice round ripe and generous rear-end.  Her legs were covered with black tights, and on her feet were black Keds with white laces.  Old low-top sneakers, well-battered and worn.

She grabbed a table at Starbuck's, one of the few that wasn't filled with shoppers, and sat upon the single stool.  "Oops, guess you gotta stand, Mike!" she said with a glimmer of humor as she hopped up onto it.  "But, you gotta buy drinks anyway.  Get me a venti iced coffee, black, with two Splendas.  And a side shot of espresso, black."

I looked at her with a raised eyebrow, querying her wordlessly about whether or not she was going to add a "please" to this, and knowing that her response would add either way toward an answer to an as-yet-unasked question in the air.  She simply looked down at the table and picked up the promo plaque, pretending to read it as a devilish smile crept across her face.  "You know, Mike, you should already be in line getting me those drinks.  I wanted them five minutes ago.  Didn't you see how fast I led you here?"

"Yeah, I saw, Martha.  I'll go get 'em."

I got in line for drink orders.  For this most-intriguing Martha, I purchased a big coffee and a small thimble of Starbuck's jet fuel, to-order.  I got myself a regular coffee with extra cream and sugar.

I returned to the table to find Martha on her cell phone.  She pointed to the space in front of her to indicate to me to put her drinks down, and as I looked to her eyes for a word, she turned away a bit and covered her phone.  "Mike, I'm on a call, here, please just stand there for just a sec, I'll be done in just a minute.  Open my coffee for me, though."

I stabbed a hole in the lid of her iced coffee, unwrapped a straw, and stuck it in for her.  She took it from me as she delved into conversation, turning her back on me as I stood there sipping.  I heard her end of the conversation, though, and tried to make sense of the snippets.  "No, I'm out, and I don't know when I'll be home, so have dinner without me.  No, by myself.  I don't know, I really have no idea, and I'll call in a while.  Jesus, Ma, just have another drink and get to your couch, I think "People's Court" is on.  Yes, bye, bye, see ya, bye."

She flipped shut her phone and looked at me again, the twinkle returning to her eyes as she covered her mouth expression by sipping her drink.  "That was my mother, " she unnecessarily told me, "and she wants to play responsible by calling about where I am.  But in an hour, she'll be skunked on the couch, and I'll walk right past her when I get home."

"That's too bad, " I start to say, but she shakes me off.  "Nope, no big deal.  Been that way ever since she dumped my father a couple years ago, and we moved here to get farther away from him, because he kept on stalking us.  But he's too broke and drunk to even think of coming all the way here.  And mom holds down a job, so she's not totally out of control."

I didn't know what to say, so I just said, "Well, that's good."

"New subject," she came back brightly with.  "We were talking about women being able to rule the world if they would only use the power that most of them ignore, or are ignorant of, or just don't use because they themselves like to be submissive.  Do you think there are more submissive women than men, Mike?"

Wow, I thought to myself, immediately following that with a mental red flag printed with her age: seventeen.  But I could answer safely... "I really don't know.  I don't have much experience with that kind of thing."

She drew a large gulp through her straw, and reached icy emptiness.  She held the cup out toward me.  "Really," she said, that smirk still there, "go get me a refill."

I took the cup and didn't realize until I was already in line that she'd forgotten "please" again.  When I'd purchased her item, I returned to her seat and decided to tease her a bit by holding the cup out to her but saying "What's the magic word?" playfully as I yanked it back from her outthrust little hand.  She simply raised an eyebrow to me and said "Oh, Mike, stop."

She put out her hand and I gave her the coffee. 

"Um, no straw, Mike?" she asked as she tipped the top toward me.  I fetched her a straw, unwrapped it, and stuck it in to the hole she held out for its entry.

She pursed her ips over the straw and sucked.  After a long sip, she said "Okay, tell me about you.  Why are you here, where did you come from, why do you bite your nails?"

I blanched a bit and instinctively curled my hands to hide my nails.  Agh, I hated the habit, but found myself unable to stop.  They weren't all short and disgusting, or chewed up, but they were obviously a set of bitten-down fingernails.

"I come from Connecticut, but I've lived most of my life in Florida.  I came here because my wife at the time got a good job here out west," was my answer.

"Uh, not quite done.  'Wife at the time'?  Where is she now?  And why do you bite your nails?"

I gave her a "Who are you?!" look, but of course continued as she sipped demurely.  The top of her straw was smudged with the dark lipstick.  "Well, she's gone, we're divorced.  Have been for three years almost.  And I guess that's why I bite my nails."

Martha wagged her finger at me.  "Nope, there's more to this.  First of all, I'll bet that yo've been biting your nails since you were a kid, and second of all, I bet she left because she didn't like to be making more money than you, because she's not comfortable dominating.  I'll bet she didn't want to be the dominant wife, deep down.  Am I close?" 

Again with her knowing smirk, she sucked up the last of her second coffee, then held the espresso out to me.  "Take the cap off for me, Mike."

I took off the cap and gave it back to her, even though it would have been nothing for her to have popped off the plastic lid herself.  Interesting.

"So, am I close?" she persisted sweetly.

I contemplated my answer.  She suddenly cut in.  "Don't even answer.  Take me shopping, okay?"

"Uh, well, where do you want to shop?" was my witty reply.  I hadn't been spending much money for the past three years.  The house was paid for, my job was a well-paying exercise in anonymity, and I realy hadn't gone out much since my wife had moved out and away.  I could take this girl with the drunken mom and intriguing conversation for a little shopping.

"I don't know, around the mall.  I need new sneakers.  Wanna help me shop for some new sneaks, and buy 'em for me?"

Oooh, now this was getting good.  The downstairs tingle started with her innocent treading upon my strongest fetish.  Ah, the foot of woman, my most-treasured subject of fantasy.  I attempted to portray ambivalence.  "Uh, sure, I guess yours are a little worn out."

She stuck her feet out to her side so that I could see just how worn her old Keds were as she waggled them.  I fell into transfixion staring at them, and she carefully watched my response.

When she pulled her feet back underneath her chair and out of my view, she looked right at me and said "Buy me all the stuff I want, and I'll sneak you into my house and fuck you tonight, with conditions."

I dropped my jaw and blurted "What!?" at her in surprise.

"I said, Mike," and she now tickled my forearm with one of her well-manicured black nails, "that if you take me shopping for whatever I want, you'll be coming home with me tonight to sneak past my passed-out mother into my bedroom, where I'm going to teach you how I like to get fucked.  With conditions., but you'll definitely get laid.  Sound like a deal?"

All I could say before my defenses and judgment crumbled to the ground was "How old are you, Martha?"

"How old are you, thirty-nine?" she countered.

"Yeah, and you...?" I stammered back.

"I'm too young for you to fuck without taking a risk, put it that way.  But... I am in high school.  So, just trust me, follow my lead, because I'm experienced, and I already know how you are.  If you play this right, I think you'll satisfy one of your fantasies tonight, I'll be happy too, and then we'll see whatever happens from there.  Take me shopping, you already made up your mind. Follow me."

She popped up and scurried away, and I kept up with her as she dove into a few stores, my credit card coming out a half-dozen times to pile up three bags of tops and skirts and other solid-black items of clothing.  She only wore black, apparently, other than the white laces on her sneakers and the chrome-pyramid belt around her waist.

"Okay, just new sneakers, then let's go have fun," she spoke up to me with a happy smile and an out-of-breath voice.  Speaking of her breath, I caught a whiff and felt the immediate jolt to my heart that sweet fresh girl-breath hammers me with.  "I just need a new pair of these, and then I'll drive to my house.  You follow behind me.  I'll show you where to park, and how to sneak into my bedroom.  You got a cell?"

"Yeah, I do," I replied.

"Good, Ill check my mother, then you just wait for my call, and then come in through the back door I'll show you."

"Okay, Martha... are you sure?  Because you could just keep the clothes and change your mind."

"Oh, Mike, believe me, I know that if I wanted to, I could have you maxing out a credit card right now in return for just the couple hours with me.  But I think I like you.  I don't like dominating young guys."

"Okay," I eagerly spoke, answering her smile with my own, "Let's get you some sneakers and then let's go fuck."

"Yeah, but remember... my way, my house, my rules!"

"Yes, your way, I know, that's just fine," I replied, and that was all until we reached the shoe store she wanted to buy her new black Keds from.

When we walked in, a little guy in a referee shirt smiled too obviously as he approached the voluptuous teenager.  "Can I help you Miss?" he leered.  She looked down at him.  She was five-foot-six, and he was about five-four.  "Nope, I have my little helper right here," she told him as she grabbed my waist and squeezed me into her soft body.  I picked up a hint of her scent; no perfume, just the fresh scent of a ripening young woman tinctured with the reminiscent scent of girlhood.  Her breasts, well-covered by her loose top, were even larger than I'd suspected.  I felt her right one against my left arm as she pulled me close.

"Okay, Miss, just let me know what you decide and I'll get it for you."

"I want to try on a few," she replied, "So we'll get you in a little while, because I want to take my guy home soon.  Okay?"

The little clerk looked at me and cackled.  "Lucky frickin' Pharoah," he told me.  Pharoah?

Martha sat in a fitting chair and told me to kneel down so I could help her pick shoes.   She pointed a glossy black nail to the floor-space before her seated self.  She extended her right leg.  "Take off these old shoes, Mike."

I unlaced her right sneaker and gently removed it from her foot.  As I slid it off, I saw that she wore no socks, just had bare white feet of pure porcelain inside.  The intoxicating fragrance of girl-foot invaded my brain, and whether she perceived this or not I became hers for the moment, hers without any remaining resistance.

"Other one," and she put her left leg out to me.  I gently unlaced it and slid her bare foot free.  Her feet were small, but formed perfectly and with exquisite, delicate detail.  Lightly veined, highly arched, aligned small curly toes, and the glossy black nail polish causing that incredible alabaster-black enamel contrast.

"Okay, I want you to get me a few sneaks to try.  Let's start with those."

I looked to where she pointed and saw a pair of black leather rock-climbing grip sneakers.  "I'm size five," she said, "what are those?"

There were no fives on display.  I got the attention of the little leering clerk and he fetched some from the back.

"Put them on me, Mike," said Martha, "and lace 'em up so I can try 'em out."

I was probably a bit too worshipful as I carefully slid the cute little shoe over her outstretched right foot.  "I like watching a guy kneel before me, Mike," she giggled.  "Do you like being where you are?"

I thought it was a rhetorical question, so I didn't answer.  She pulled her foot away and repeated herself.  "Well, do you?"

And that was the moment I cracked.  Freud would understand why I replied with "Yes, Mistress," instead of the "Yes, Martha," that I was absolutely intending to say.  I corrected myself quickly.

"Too late, I heard you.  Look, I'm horned out, we gotta go.  I'll take these but I still need Ked low-tops, or maybe Converse.  Find some size five black ones of either and get them to my feet so you can buy 'em for me and we can get out of here."

I ended up buying both pairs as we fled the mall toward the heat that deliciously awaited.

==Chapter 2.  In Her Room

I followed behind her old Mustang in my year-old BMW 535 convertible.  Her car was a 1990 four-cylinder Ford junker, from the ill-advised years that that company had decided a no-power Mustang would be appealing.  She was stuck with one.  With red paint that was long-faded.

After a few miles and a few turns, she pulled over on a suburban road under an Elm tree.  She beckoned me with a curled finger as she stepped out of her car.  I noticed that she'd taken off her new Keds, and was barefoot on the grass roadside.  She saw me looking down at her feet and offerred "Oh, yeah, I like to break in my new sneaks with a little natural dirt before I wear 'em.  Otherwise, my feet smell too much like new shoe rubber, you know?"

I nodded.  Good god this girl was ridiculously incredible.

"Okay, Mike, see that house right there?"  She pointed through the tree to the back of a small white wooden split ranch that needed a roof and a paint job.  I nodded yes.

"Well, that window with the light on upstairs is mine.  I'll call you on your cell when the coast is clear, and you go through that back door, take a left, be quiet cuz my mother will probably be snoring on the couch as you pass the living room door.  Go to the end of the little hall, go up the stairs to your right, and my room's the only room at the top except for my bathroom."

"Okay, I'll wait in my car, Martha."

"Yeah.  And you can have my old sneakers, I was just going to toss 'em.  But bring up the shopping bags with my new stuff."

"Yes, Martha, okay."

"And one last thing... when you get to my room, let's not go through the nervous formalities.  I'll be on my bed, and you just let me watch you strip naked.  Right away."

"Okay, Martha."

"Call you as soon as I'm sure she's out.  Could be now, could be an hour."

"I'll be waiting."

She drove away and I saw her headlights flashing off houses around the block until they gleamed from the end of her driveway.  She shut down her rattle-trap and I got a quick glimpse of her as she ran inside the modest abode.

I returned to my car and sat inside.  I held my cellphone in one hand as I tried to interest myself in sports radio.  Her smile, her eyes, her body, her feet, and her promise consumed me.

Only a few minutes later, my phone vibrated.  I swiftly brought the lighted window into focus; it was her!  I answered, almost dropping the phone in my fumbling eagerness.

"It's me, Martha!" I said.

"And it's me.  She's passed out in her room, done for the night.  Come on up.  Bring my clothes.  And remember... what will you do when you get to my room?"

"Stand in your room and just strip."

"Yeah, and after you strip, kneel next to my bed.  You'll start by showing me if you know how to worship my pussy.  If you can't do it right, there's not much point in going a lot further."

"Yes, Martha."

"You know you want to call me Mistress, Mke, so just let go and do it."

"Yes, Mstress," I replied, my voice completely whipped.

She hung up, and I grabbed her shopping bags and walked briskly to the back door.  Inside, the house smelled of old cooking odors and the must of summers without air conditioning.  I took a left into the hal, and found the narrow staircase at its end.  I gently ascended and saw light from under one of the two doors fed by the upper landing.  I twisted the knob and ducked inside with her bags of booty.

What a scene.  Inside, the room was imbued with Martha's scent.  Her small bedchamber was eclectically decorated with young-girl items like posters for rock bands and brightly-colored stickers on everything.  In contrast she had added touches of her emerging adulthood.  A pair of handcuffs hanging from one bedpost, a painting of a woman wearing a masquerade eye-mask, a coiled bullwhip nailed to one wall.  The room was lit by a single lamp covered by a faux-zebra fur shade.  On the floor were unmatched area rugs and a quilt-style coiled oval rug.  Her clothes and possessions were strewn about everywhere.  Her bureau and dresser drawers were half-open and spilling a wild array of papers, books, clothes, gadgets, trinkets.  On her nightstand were so many water glasses that they crowded out her alarm clock.  The time was nine PM, on the nose. 

Martha herself lay on her bed with her legs crossed and her head propped against several pillows.  She was sitting halfway up, halfway lying down.  She was fully clothed.  Her arms were crossed under her breasts, pushing them upward in a healthy mass of lascivious softness underneath her loose woolen top.

"So, are you going to stare, or strip, Mike?"

I looked at her and kicked off my shoes.  "Are you going to..." I began, but she placed a finger over her lips.

"Mike, it would be best if you just let me do the talking.  Just strip.  And by the way, with the door closed, my mother can't even hear my stereo on full blast once she's passed out.  So we can talk and make whatever other noise we want, as long as it's on."

She turned on her side and reached for the power button of her cheap little boombox.  I dropped my shirt into the pile in front of me, leaving only my jeans and sox.  She asked me what kind of music I liked.

"Anything, Martha, as long as it isn't country."

"We'll definitely get along, Mike."  She had scrunched up her little nose at the mention of country music.  From her boombox came the opening notes of "Sandman" by Metallica.

"I figured I'd play something old for your benefit, Mikey," she told me with that huge smile of hers.  Metallica. Old.  And as I thought this, I suddenly felt a chill, realizing that I was stripping in the bedroom of a girl who hadn't even been born when this song had been released.  Momentary pause, and then I unbuckled my belt, stripped my jeans away, and stepped out of my BVD Jockeys.

"Um, okay," said Martha as she caught her first sight of my cock.  It was semi-hard, still dangling, and while it is not big, it isn't little.  It's average.  I wish it were huge.

"Well, kneel by my bedside, Mike!"

I knelt by the side of her fouton.  It was covered with a fairly colorful Mexican serape'.  Her pillows were covered with mre faux animal fur. Cheetah, it appeared.

She stood up on the bed and faced me.  Her bare feet pressed dents into the futon.  She began to lower herself until she was squatting before me, using her hands to balance herself by gripping my shoulders.

"Mike, do you want to be my slave for the night?"

I felt the interior explosion rip through my brain, run at light speed through every synapse in my body, hold a full conference in my balls that voted unanimously after less than a second's deliberation to direct my mouth to answer "Yes, Mistress, yes."

"Then shut up, do whatever I say, and we'll go from there."

"Yes, Mistress."

"I'm going to remove my skirt now, and I'm going to let you into my cunt.  You'll get your face in there, and you'll show me whether you know how to use your tongue and your lips on a female's clit the right way.  I may have to pull your hair a little to keep you on target.  Follow my lead.  Make me come, and then I want to fuck you.  Don't make me come, and at least you have a nice car to drive home in."

She slowly lowered her skirt until the woolen mass fell to the fouton.  She kicked it away to join the rest of the mess.  She stripped off her black tights and tossed them to the side of the bed.

She wore black panties, too.  Not lacy or frilly, just simple panties in a shiny jet black.

She smiled into my gaze as our eyes locked, her green now a sparkling emerald color.  She sank to the futon and lifted her hips.  Her legs were spread so that her knees stood up at my sides and her pretty bare feet gripped the edge of the bed.  "Hook your thumbs around my panties, and very very slowly slide them off," she softly directed.

I did, pulling the satiny whisp away from her pelvis until she could lower her ass to the bed again.  I slid them a few more inches away and saw my first glimpse of her young pussy.  She did not shave; she had a nest of black fur lightly framing the folds of her glistening slit.

She scooted forward as I pulled the panties off her ankles.  "Hold them to your nose, slave," she said, using "slave" again to my excitement, "And breathe in my scent."

I took a deep breath through her underthing and my cock surged to full hardness as her essence filled my interior.

"Take another, then toss them behind you, and make me come."

Moments later, the muskiness of her moist vagina pressed against my lips, and the taste of her sweetly acrid pussy coated my tongue.  I found her clit and began to work up in pressure and speed, circling, lathering, feeling her pulse, reading her responses, worshipping at her alter as only a true male slave who has every desire to please his mistress can truly do.  As she began to buck, as her breath began to speed, I knew I would be succesful.  As my mouth filled with more and more of her juices, I knew I was near.

As she began to moan lowly in her bucking and grab my hair in her fists to pull my mouth into her crotch, I knew it was going to be soon.

And when she ripped out a high-pitched "Yeah-h-h-yeah-h-h-yeah-h-h-" while tearing at me hair and crushing my chin and nose, I knew I had done it.  A sudden gush of her hot sweetness confirmed... and the rush was tremendous.  I relished the flavor of her strong juices, and took deep breaths as she let me pull back a bit.  My entire naked body was flushed and sweating.  My lips were bruised and reddened.  My tongue was a bit strained and raw.

She relaxed back a bit and smiled at me as she calmed her breathing.  "Yeah, that was okay, slave," she cooed.

"Get up on the bed with your head that way," she said, pointing to the headboard, "face up."

She shuffled her body so that her head was toward the foot of the futon.

As we lay there juxtaposed to eachother, she grabbed my hand and looked down the bed to where my head was propped against the headboard.  "You're naked, and I still have half my clothes on.  But, I like the power of being fully clothed while my slave is serving me naked.  Does that excite you slave?"

This girl was incredible; she hit all my nuanced fantasies.  One of my first erotic dreams had been as a sixth-grader, dreaming that I was naked in school in front of all the girls while they were fully clothed, taunting me.  "Yes, Mistress, it's one of my oldest fantasies."

"Really?  Well hand me my panties and tights."

I reached over the side of the bed and grasped them.  She lay there and put them on.  "My skirt, now."

I reached for her skirt and was able to hook it with my finger.  I pinched it and tossed it to her, where she caught it and put it on.  She reached behind her head and found her new Keds.

"I'm even going to put on my shoes so that I'm completely clothed and you're completely naked for me."

She slipped each one on, then thrust her feet down toward my face.  "Tie them tight."

I tied them, pulling tighter and tighter on the laces as she urged, until I thought that they must hurt, but apparently she liked really tight sneakers over her bare feet.

"Now, slave, I want you to tell me all about your favorite fantasy while I rest my sneakered feet on your chest.  Stay hard."

She gripped my cock and I immediately jutted back to full hardness.  She began to slowly work it as I held her sneaker soles to my lips.  I kissed gently as she asked me her questions.

==Chapter 3.  Fucking, Her Way

"Slave, just lick my right foot for now," she said as she waggled it a bit before my face.  "Snuggle up a little so I can get it right in your face."

I slid up a bit on the bed so that the sole of her brand-new sneaker was flush to my face, the heel in my mouth.  I sucked on the fresh white rubber.

"Isn't it cool, slave, that you paid for these sneakers, and now you're licking them with your tongue for me?"

"Yeth, Mithtreth," I answered without breaking suction.

"Anyway, slave, before I fuck you, I want to get to know more about you, see if you're the right kind of guy to be my slave toy.  When was the first time you sucked on a girl's foot?  Bare foot, or shoe?  Tell me everything.  Be honest in all your answers."

I thought back as I continued worshipping her teenage sneakered sole.  I recalled the very first time, and it was with my little cousin Kris when I was no more than four or five.  I began the story.  "Well, Mistress, when I was very young, I think four years old, I went to my cousin's house for a week with my family.  All the adults and kids were going skiing, but Kris and I were too little, so we stayed at the house all day while our grandmother watched us.  Anyway, my cousin, who is a year older than me, wanted to play a Princess-Servant game with me, where she dressed up in a little costume she had, and she gave me all sorts of little orders, like "Get me a soda" or "Kiss my hand".  She also sat on my back and rode me around like a horse.  I remember loving it.  Out of the blue, though, as we were simply sitting on the couch watching TV, she attacked me playfully, wrestling.  She got a good headlock on me, and I kind of let her win.  Soon, she was sitting on my chest with her feet on my wrists.  She told me she'd let me up if I smelled her foot, and she held the little bare thing over my face.  I just pursed my lips and kissed it, and she stuck it in my mouth.  It went on with lots of flushes and giggling, both of us sensing that we were doing something bad, but liking it too much to stop.  My grandmother came to see what all the noise was, saw my cousin's foot in my mouth, and made us stop, then made me bend over the end of the couch for a spanking.  She had Kristen watch as my shorts were pulled down to my knees, than she spanked me with her favorite weapon, which was a vacuum-cleaner attachment, you know, a plastic tube with a flattened end.  And she spanked hard... but I got a kick out of being punished in front of my little girl-cousin, who giggled all the way through the hard spanking.  Grandmother made me stand in the corner with my pants down for an hour, and reminded me that boys aren't supposed to kiss girls' feet."

My Mistress of the moment, Martha, put her heel back into my mouth as she smirked at the story.  I resumed sucking her sneaker until her next question.

"After that, did you kiss Kris's feet again?"

"Oh, yes, that whole week, any time Grandmother was away for a while, Kris would stick her foot in my face and I'd kiss and lick it.  And we spent the whole vacation wrestling or lying on the couch together all entangled."

"Did your grandmother catch you again?"

"Yes, Mistress, but only because Kris told me that she wanted to watch me get spanked again, and told me that she was going to tattle on me.  I protested, but not very hard.  Next thing I knew, Kris was running to Grandma yelling "Mikey kissed my foot!  Mikey kissed my foot!"

Mistress spurred me on with "And, she spanked you again?"

"Well, yes, but more.  To punish me, she made me strip off all my clothes and kneel before my little cousin, who sat on the couch and was just gleefully laughing at me.  Grandmother made me kiss my cousin's feet while she beat my ass red with that plastic paddle.  And then, two naked hours in the corner."

"Cool," said the mall girl that had me captured in her spell.  "Do you still see your cousin?"

"Yeah, every few years.  She lives in Hawaii now.  She's married and has kids there."

"When you see her, do you still play with her?" asked the brunette seventeen year-old with the dark makeup and fresh sneakers.

"The last time I saw her was when I went on a trip to Hawaii with my wife.  At one point, Kris and I were in the kitchen cooking while my ex and Kris's husband went out to the liquor store.  Kris's kids were out, leaving us alone for a while... the liquor store was an hour away, round trip.  They live on the Big Island, and have a remote house.  Anyway, Kris gave me a glass of wine and said "Hey, my feet kinda hurt, I've been standing all day.  Do you still do feet?"  I took the wine, smiled at her, and dropped to my knees as an answer.  She was wearing sandals, and she's grown into a beautiful woman.  I started with little pecks to the top of her feet, and before long I was flat on my back while she sat on a barstool dipping her toes into my mouth.  We didn't stop until we heard our spouses pulling into the driveway.  It was the only chance we got, but it was a great hour in that week."

Martha put her sneaker sole back on my face, and her heel received my worshipful tongue again.

"Slave, do you like being punished by girls too, or do you just like being humilated by them?  Or being submissive?"

I consider myself to be more of a submissive to women than a masochist.  I like to do for a woman whatever she wants, not dictate my fantasies to her.  I tried to explain.  "I like to completely be controlled by a woman.  If she likes to give pain, then I want pain from her.  If she likes to be slaved to, shopped for, pampered, then that becomes important to me. I just want to be dictated to by a female, and then completely serve whatever idea she has that she thinks will make her happy."

"Okay," retorted Martha, "So if I wanted to get a backrub, you'd do that, or if I wanted to tie you down and whip you with my belt, you'd do that, and either one would make you happy?"

"Yes, Mistress, it's all about the female.  My needs don't matter."

"Well, tonight I feel like fucking.  My way which means you do everything I tell you to do.  After I come, I might feel like doing something else to you, or I might just want you to get the fuck out.  Fine with you?"

"Yes, Mistress, as I said, whatever the female wants," I assurred her.  My cock was growing to its full hardness. 

She looked at my six inches and smirked.  "I wish your cock was a little bigger, but I like your submissiveness."

She opened a drawer in her nightstand and drew out a handful of twine.  She leaned forward and wrapped a loop around the base of my balls.  "I'm going to tie up your little penis while you tell me about the most extreme thing you've ever done for a woman.  Have you ever licked dirty feet?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Have you ever licked a girl's butthole?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Have you ever been tied up and whipped, like with a real whip?"  She asked this as she tied knots into the twine she was now coiling around the base of my hardened penis.  She'd finished looping up my bals so tightly that they bulged away from my crotch and were purpling.  My nuts were clearly visible under the tight skin of my scrotum, which shone in its encasement.

"Many times, Mistress Martha."

"Well, I've never whipped a slave.  I've spanked 'em and paddled 'em, but never whipped one.  I have a whip, though," she said, and pointed to the bullwhip nailed to the wall above her bed.  It was a long, coiled thin black leather lasher.  Dangerous if used wrong, as full hits to human flesh with one of those things could rip away the skin.  "Have you ever been whipped with a bullwhip?"

"No, those are pretty dangerous if used too hard, Mistress."

"Well, okay, not now anyway.  How about with a belt?  Ben whipped with a girl's belt when tied down?"

"Yes, Mistress, many times."

"Okay, more extreme now... I've seen trampling websites.  Ever been walked on?"  She had finished wrapping the twine coils around my cock, and she finished with a pair of knots.  My entire junk was completely bound and rigid.  She left a few feet of loose twine, and now she lay back against the headboard and pulled on it like a cock-leash, slowly increasing the pressure and smiling as my cock and balls were pulling toward her and away from my body by a full inch.

"Oh, yes, I have been trampled."

"With or without shoes on the girl?"

"Socks, bare feet, high heels, sneakers, boots, you name it."

"Well, I want to trample again.  I did it once to a guy about your age that I picked up at the mall, but he made too much noise and I was afraid Mother would wake up, so I stopped.  I want to trample you after we fuck, unless I'm tired.  So be ready."

"Yes, Mistress, I will be ready."

She yanked a few times on the cock-leash, then told me she wanted to pull it very hard.  She told me to look into her eyes and smile until the pain was too much, and at that point, to stop smiling.

I gazed into her beautiful eyes, and began to fall in love with the seventeen-year-old beginning domina.  She pulled the leash, hard, and the twine dug into the base of my scrotum.  My genitals were now separated from my pelvis by two inches of straining skin.  I kept smiling as her smile grew wider.  Her eyes sparkled, and her lips parted to reveal her teeth, which needed some work.  Poor girl, I thought as she tortured me harder.

"I'm going to hold your junk right here, slave, and have you talk some more.  If you can't take it, stop talking.  I'm also going to play with myself, so you stare at my pussy while I do."

Martha unzipped her skirt and lifted her ass so that she could push it down a bit.  Her panties, black, went with it, so that her pussy was exposed to me.  She spread her legs a bit, and I could see that her cunt was wet, glistening through the black fur of her healthy bush.  She plucked a vibrator from her nightstand and began buzzing away with her left hand while holding tight to my cock-leash with her right.  The pain she was inflicting to my bound genitalia was electric, sharp, deep, satisfying.

"I'll continue now... while I lay and you suffer and talk, slave.  So you've been trampled.  Good.  Ever been kicked in the balls by a girl, like, on websites they call it "ball-busting"... you ever been busted?"

"Yes, Mistress, many times."

"Wow, slave... tell me about the last time.  Describe."

She was playing her vibrator a bit more intensely now, and I could her the motor buzzing a bit more loudly as she dug it into her clit a little harder, circling with the end.  I told her about the last time I had been busted by a female.  "Well, Mistress, it was by my ex-wife.  And she didn't like to do it, so it was just a few soft kicks."

"You wished it was harder, slave, right?"

"Yeah, Mistress..."

"Well, I've always wanted to do it, so maybe you'll get that chance.  I been looking at those ball-bust sites a lot lately, and it seems like the perfect expression of female superiority for a male to just stand there and get kicked in his silly balls by a woman.  Really silly that we can hurt you guys so easily, and that the thing that controls you is stuck right there on your bodies where they can get kicked by any old girl any time she wants."

She went silent for a minute as she tugged a bit harder on my balls as she began a slight bucking of her hips in time to her buzzing toy.  I could see her pussy lips, red, swollen, her inner lips exposed and wet.  A ine of her juice disappeared into the dark cleft of her anus cup below.

Eventually, I think she came, and she turned off her vibrator, setting it down on the nightstand beside her.  It found a place in the clutter behind her alarm clock and on top of a bunch of balled-up Kleenex in an overflowing ashtray.  She picked this ashtray up, dumped it into a used cup, and lit up a smoke as she moved on to another question.

"Slave, beyond ball-busting, the websites get a little more... out there.  Have you ever done 'out-there' things as a slave boy?"

"Yes, Mistress... I think you'd call some things I've done 'out there'".

"Know what a golden shower is, slave?"

"Yes," I chuckled, as her tone indicated she thought I might not.  "Yes, Mistress, I do."

"Huh.  Okay, what is it then?"

"It's when a Mistress pees on her slave."

"Okay, and you've... been peed on by a girl, slave?"

"Yes, and I've also had some golden cocktails, Mistress Martha."

"When you drink the girl's piss?" she blurted back incredulously.

"Yes, Mistress."

"You've drank a girl's piss, you're saying."

"Yes, yes I have, Mistress."

"Then you know what a brown shower is, too.  Had any brown showers?"

I had not.  But it had always been a fantasy.  A deep, deep filthy fantasy.  "Not yet, Mistress, although I came close once.  But I changed my mind and stopped the girl after the golden cocktail."

"Who was she, slave?"

"Oh, just a call-girl.  Years ago."

"So basically, slave, you paid a girl to come over, whip you, make you lick her feet and then piss in your mouth?"

"Yeah, Mistress, that's about the size of it."

"So you total slaves really do exist.  I thought the Internet sites were all because the guy got paid.  But you'd actually pay to have a girl mess you up."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Well, I ain't no whore, but I like nice things.  Maybe I'll use you and abuse you and make you take me shopping.  But I don't know yet.  Because I haven't fucked you yet.   You need to be good at it, like you were at eating my pussy.  Then, I might want to make you be my bitch again, slave.  Want to fuck me?"

"Oh, yes, Mistress, yes I do."

"Well, I like to do it a certain way.  You tell me if you still want to, after I tell you how that way is.  I think you will.  Listen up, okay?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied as she settled a bit further back, giving my balls a tight yank in the process.  They jiggled and a sting ran through, but my cock was fully engorged and the head reddish purple, fully swollen.

"I like to ride on top of my slaves, and I like to keep the cock-string in my hand.  I like to yank it while I ride you, and when I come, I yank it very hard.  I like to hurt my slaves as I come, or get close.  And I like to make them say things while I fuck them, repeat vile things I give them to say, humiliate them.  All okay so far?"

"Yes, Mistress."  Sounded excellent to me, I thought.

"But there's one other thing... I like to spit right in your face while I fuck you.  Like, in your eyes, face, mouth, make you swalow my spit and all.  I really get off on it.  And when I finish fucking, I like to pull off right away... and I don't want my slave to come.  This is the big thing.  I want to get off you after I'm satisfied, then tease you for a while until I let you come.  Whenever I feel like it's time.  Then I let you kneel at my feet and jerk yourself.  Or not.  Is that going to be okay with you slave?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Finally, if you come inside me, I'll rip off your balls.  You can't come until I get off you and let you.  I'm a total tease."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Then let's go."

She clambered up and removed her skirt.  She kicked it away where it landed amongst the assorted clutter that covered her bedroom floor. 

More twine came out of her nightstand.  She tied my ankles to the bedposts, than used the dangling handcuffs to secure my wrists.  I was now spread-eagled, my leashed purple erection standing at attention.  She unwrapped the coils around my cock, but left my balls tightly wound and bound.  With the leash in her hand, she straddled my cock and looked into my eyes as she sank richly onto it.  Her incredible heat engulfed my penis, and her pussy gripped tightly as she descended.  She sank fully so that her mound was flush with my pubic bone, and said "Remember, I'm going to humiliate you while I use your cock... say 'I'm a filthy male piece of shit,' slave."

"I'm a filthy male piece of shit"

She began to slowly rise up and down, her thighs strong, skin creamy.  The smell of sex filled the air as she exuded juices.  Her sweater covered her breasts, but I could still perceive their large lushness underneath.

"Keep saying it, slave, as I fuck you.  Do not come!"

She began to fuck a bit faster as I chanted "I'm a filthy piece of shit" over and over.  She suddenly stopped and bent forward over my face.  She spat right into my eyes, then did it again.  She began to moan and piston short fucks rapidly as she spat over and over onto my face and I continued repeating that I was a filthy male piece of shit.  I began to feel the rise of my orgasm, and I fought it back mentally, urgently.

The girl sped up now, spitting, fucking, pulling on my cock-leash, losing herself a bit with the abandon.  Soon my face was coated with her saliva, and I felt it running down my cheeks and neck.  Soon she sat straight up and used her thighs to violently use my rigid cock, sliding speedily and jerkily up and down, her head back, her wrist jewelry clinking and tinkling, her scent filling my nostrils.

She came with a long, deep moan, and as she did she pulled on my balls incredibly hard, so hard that the noose around the base slipped over one of my nuts, painfully setting it on fire as it squeezed through.  She bucked and came again and as she pulled the leash even harder, it let go completely and slid with a sharp snap completely off my genitals.  I held back a huge rushing orgasm, biting my own tongue hard to stave it off, my eyes squezed shut with the effort.

Martha wound down after her second orgasm, and after a minute of heavy breathing while sitting with my cock buried in her dripping cunt, she stood up and off.  The cool air chilled her juices upon my staff.  She stepped off the bed and regarded this as she wiped her pussy with a tissue, carefully mopping it.  She told me  "Open your mouth," and as I did, she stuffed the sopping tissue into it.  "Eat it, slave," she ordered.  I did.

She pulled on the first loose skirt she found on the floor below her.  She also found a discarded pair of her panties, but instead of putting these on as I expected, she dangled the crotch over my nose.  My cock firmed up again as I breathed in her rich girl stink.  Her panties were incredibly fragrant.

"I only do laundry once in a while, slave.  I just pick up whatever panties or socks that seem okay to wear from off my floor every day, so I end up wearing them a few times before I wash them. Don't they smell great?"

"Yes, Mistress," I replied.  My wrists and ankles were a bit chafed inside the twine and steel restraints, I noticed, as I bucked a bit in horniness while she teased me with her underwear.

"Now, slave, I'm going to tease you before I let you come.  IF I let you come.  You'll stay tied up and hard.  Do not come until I let you up and say you can."

For the next hour, she was unrelenting in her teasing.  She used her panties and socks to my nose.  She stroked my cock with her bare hands, or with her frilliest soiled undies until pre-cum dribbled, and then she would stop for minutes while watching me with an evil grin.  She straddled my face and played with my bound cock while loweing her asshole or pussy to my lips.  She sat on my thighs and rubbed her wet pussy against my cock while she played with my face with the soles of her sneakers, and then her bare feet.

Then she got off and stood over me.  She told me that she was going to read for exactly one hour, and that while she read, I would lie in bondage with her panties on my face.  If I stayed hard for the entire hour, she'd let me jerk off while I was allowed to kneel before her and worship her bare feet.  If I went soft, she said I would be untied, and I'd have to go home.

I tried.  I really tried.  But with her out of my sight, and without being able to touch myself, my cock started to wither after fifteen minutes.  Even with her luscious soiled panties over my nose.  Even though I could see her beautiful body, her face in a book.  Even though the book was "Venus in Furs".

She looked at my weak little penis as it flopped over, said "Well, no come for you tonight, at least not here."

She untied me and told me to get dressed.  She sat in her computer chair, watching as I did so.  When I finished, she pointed to the floor before her sneakered feet, and I knelt there.  She caressed my face, which was dry now but tacky from her dried spit, and said this:  "You have my old sneakers in your car.  Take those home and dream of me while you play.  Come inside them.  Do this as much as you can for a week.  In a week, meet me at the Starbuck's at six PM, the mall Starbuck's.  Bring the sneakers in a bag.  If there is a respectful amount of your cum dried inside them, I may invite you back to my room for a second chance.  Or I may not even show up.  But let that be your dream for the next seven days.  Okay?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Also, if you really want to entice me to show up next week, then you need to get me a very, very nice gift, let's say by Wednesday night.  When I get home Wednesday night, I want to be greeted by an anonymous gift from you.  Have it delivered to this house... addressed to me, but from you anonymously.  If it's really, really special, I just might show up in a week at six o'clock to see how much you lust for me, how much you've respected me with your cum inside my old stinky sneakers."

"Yes, I will Mistress, what gift shall I get you?"

"I won't tell you.  You decide how much you want me to show up.  Blow me away, Mike... and maybe I'll call you 'slave' again.  One last thing."

"Yes, Mistress?"

"Pick out three pairs of my panties from the floor here.  For the whole week, any time you are alone, one of those panties has to be in your mouth."

"Yes, Mistress."  I stepped over things as I found three pairs of panties that looked like they had some good stinky stains in their crotches.  I pocketed this precious booty.

"Now, Mike, you can go.  Be quiet.  Maybe I'll see you, maybe not."

But a week later, crusted sneakers inside a paper bag I carried dutifully, having sucked the panties completely clean of her scent over the seven days, when six o'clock came and went, she did not show.

The  brand-new BMW convertible with the five-thousand dollars in cash inside an envelope in the glove compartment that I'd had dropped off, paid in cash, registered in her name, taxes paid under her mother's name, and which had cost me half my savings, had apparently not been enough of a gift for her. 

I drove home in utter dejection once eight o'clock arrived and the Starbuck's closed down for the night.  I decided to spin by her house like a stalking loser.  As I passed, her driveway was empty.  I went around the block, and as luck would have it, came up behind the new car is she turned in front of me at a stop sign.  I followed a few lengths back as she pulled into her yard.  There were two people in that car... she drove, and an older man was her passenger.

I slowed to a stop and just gawked at the pair; he was already on his knees before her as she stroked his hair.  She looked up and saw me.  She told her slave to wait a moment as she approached my car.  I lowered the passenger-side window.

She looked in at me and simply said  "You spent half your savings.  I know because I checked.  All I was worth to you was half?"

I started to apologize, but she turned away after a few words, final words, as she walked away forever.

"I will find my slave, and he will not be such a cheap slave.  Goodbye... and remember that I'm an innocent little girl in the eyes of the courts.  Thanks for the car, stupid fool.  Go away, Mike.  Good luck finding that perfect mistress."

And her fresh conquest followed her inside that modest house where my life's favorite memory was made.

I drove away and resumed the endless search.

Mall Princess 2

My name is Hiram, but I go by my middle name, which is Mike.  I'm 40 years old, single, and ridiculously submissive.  I live in a medium-sized city and have recently been promoted to a top position in my company.  I'm decent-looking, but have little luck with women because I'm attracted to that rarest of creatures, the dominant female.  Regular relationships leave me unsatisfied.  Role-play leaves me satisfied for a short time, but the pangs set in soon after the scene is over.  I crave to be the lifestyle slave to a cruel and selfish woman who enjoys her role as supreme bitch in charge of her male.

I've had a few times where things have been fairly good.  A few girlfriends who liked to have their feet kissed or who liked to dabble in BDSM occasionally.  I've had a few call-girl sessions that were excellent.  And a year ago, I had a short burst of ecstasy when I met a young woman named Martha who was a true match, and who I spent a week serving before she dumped me for another slave who she found to be more dedicated than I had been.

I met her at the mall and ended up being taken back to her house where she totally dominated me and fucked me and had her way with me.  But she asked for a special gift if I wanted to see her again, a gift that would show her just how deeply I was committed to being her slave.  And I blew it.  I used half of my savings to buy her a brand new convertible... but she found out that I'd only spent half on this gift, and she walked away with contempt for my feeble devotion.

I still see her around town.  She gave the car to her mother, and now she drives a nicer car that her slave must ave bought for her.  He, I assume, is the older gentleman that I sometimes see riding in the back seat as she drives.  I've seen them together at Starbucks as well.  Starbucks, the place where she took me on our first night.  They were at a small corner table sipping their coffees.  Her feet were in his lap, and he was rubbing them as they smiled and talked.  I watched with heavy heart as she handled this devoted old slave, sometimes withdrawing her feet, sometimes slapping his face lightly, and once making him get down on his knees and kiss her soles right there in the crowded coffee shop.  I loved her evil smile as she pointed to the floor and waggled her bare little foot for him.  He leapt down and kissed, oblivious to the mildly interested patrons around their little couplet of femdom.

Martha is young, probably eighteen or nineteen now, and I assume she's in her first year of college because when I met her she was a senior in high school.  She is brilliantly gorgeous.   She is partial to the color black, and all of her clothes are this non-color.  Her make-up is exotic and gothic.  Her nails are lacquered in deep maroon or jet black whenever I see her.  She is small, thin, and has a beautifully curved ass and full chest.  Her feet are always encased in a pair of black Chuck taylor low-tops with white stripes and laces.  The same pair I removed from her feet the night we met, before she had me show my lust for her by kissing her hot bare little porcelain feet with those plump toes and high arches.  The scent had been so intoxicating.

For weeks after she told me to go away, I would lie in bed every night wishing I'd given her everything I ad just to hold onto her for a little while longer.  Now, a year later, I still think of her every day, and am sometimes driven into a deep pit when I pass her on the road and see that same slave riding in her back seat.  I could have been him.

But I blew it.

Or, so I thought... until this morning.

===>

I woke up late because it was Saturday and I didn't need to go into the office.  I heard the whispering winter winds outside as they reshaped the snowdrifts laid down by a solid storm we'd had a few days ago.  I got up to make coffee.  As I glanced out my kitchen window, I saw a BMW parked on the street fifty yards away across from my front door.  I have a nice big house with expensive furnishings and all the gadgets.  I never got to take Martha here, though.  Martha.  Brunette, intelligent, creative, deviant, perfect, and gone.  But the car I was looking at certainly looked like hers.

As I became more interested, I crept closer to the window and peered out.  As I did, the driver side door opened and she got out.  She was talking on her cell phone and appeared to be distressed.  She opened the back door of the big black automobile and I saw that it was indeed Martha.  She was leaning into the vehicle's rear seat area and tugging on the slave I'd seen so many jealous times.  As I looked closer, I saw that he was slumped over in the back seat.  I saw that she was moving quickly because she was removing handcuffs from him and checking his pulse. 

Moments later, I heard sirens approaching from afar, getting louder and louder until an ambulance with flashing lights pulled up behind Martha's car.  Six minutes later, the slave had been gurneyed away in a hurry, and the rear doors of the emergency vehicle had swallowed up his prone body along with Martha and the paramedics.  They rushed off, leaving only her parked Beemer on the street in front of my house.

Throughout the morning, I took peeks at it as I sipped cup after cup of Kona coffee and watched DVDs from my extensive collection of femdom porn.  It simply sat there in the cold and acquired a coating of dirty slush as cars rumbled past it for four hours.

Then, at four in the afternoon, as the sun was nearing the horizon on this deep December day, a cab pulled up behind the car and I watched as Martha exited it and paid the driver.  She looked a bit less animated than usual, but it was hard to tell from fifty yards away.  Her heavy black coat hung from her, rustling in the wind, and her hands were jammed in its pockets until she lifted one out to unlock the car door.  She got in and my heart raced, wanting to rush out there and call to her.  I held back, not wanting disappointment, not wanting to disturb her on what was obviously a traumatic afternoon for her.

Her car didn't start.  I heard the cranking of the engine and that dead whine that meant no battery, no ignition.  I heard her try a few more times until there were just clicks and whirs.  That car wasn't going anywhere without a jumpstart.

I now watched with great interest, but remained discreet as I peered between drapes, as she got out of the car and held her cell phone to her ear.  She kept looking at it and trying to dial, over and over.  I could see she was getting angry or frustrated, and that the phone had betrayed her as well as the car.  This was confirmed when she suddenly threw the little silver pill of technology against the slush-covered flank of her dead car, where it broke into pieces and left a nice dent.  I almost chuckled, but I awaited her next move.

She peered around in a circle until she was looking directly at my house, the closest to her on this well-spaced street.  She began to trudge toward my front gate.  She reached the wrought-iron lattice at the base of my driveway and I ran to the front foyer of my house to look at the security monitor for the camera that covers the front gate.  I was rewarded with a full frame of her beautiful face as she pressed the button for the intercom and doorbell.  Overhead, ringing tones emanated as I slid the switch for the intercom to the "on" position.

"Hello?" I said.

"Hallo!" she answered.  Much louder than she needed to.  I have an excellent security system with color cameras and sensitive microphones.  "I'm stuck, my car died across the street, and my phone is dead.   Can you help me?"

"Sure, let me buzz you in," I replied.  She seemed to cock her head as I aswered, perhaps in recognition of my voice.  My heart was pounding as the gate began to slide open on its track, the motor whirring elegantly.  She began the brisk walk up the driveway to my front door.

I casually tucked in my shirt, checked my hair, and popped a mint Lifesaver into my mouth as I opened up the massive oaken door that fronts my brick and stone miniature castle.  Martha was now standing in the covered foyer, stamping snow from the bottoms of her Chuck Taylors.

I stood in the doorway and awaited her reaction as she saw me.

And it was a huge smile.  Huge.  She jerked erect and opened her mouth in an O of surprise.

I smiled right back.

And we met in the middle as she grasped me with a full around-the-waist embrace.  Her hair smelled like heaven as she squeezed me briefly, then let go.

She stepped back a bit and gaped a moment before regaining her coolness.  Slyly smiling, she pointed to the house and asked "This all yours, Mike?"

"Yup," I answered proudly.

"All yours and just you here?"

"Yes," I again answered.

"Well, I either need to use your phone to call a tow truck, or I need to have you buy me that car to replace this one.  You know, that car you should have bought me eighteen months ago."

I smiled.  I dropped to my knees and opened my arms wide.  "Whatever you desire, Martha, my goddess," I replied.

"Good, Mike, slave, because I'm fresh out of servants right now.  The old guy kicked it on the way to the hospital."

"Sorry to hear..." I began to reply, but she waved me off.

"Nah, no, we were almost done anyway" she said, "because he turned out to not be quite as able to handle the things I like to do as he thought he was.  He was way too old for the heavy stuff."

I nodded non-commitally.

"But not you, Mike.  So, shall we enter?"

"Yes," I replied, still on my knees with spread welcoming arms.

She simply walked past me, and as she did, said one word.  "Crawl."

I crawled behind her, up the stoop steps, through the door, and waited to see what would happen next.

===>

She walked to the first chair she saw, an over-stuffed leather-upholstered antique that I use for reading.  She removed her coat and handed it down to me.  "Get up, hang that up, get me a coffee, black."

I scampered up and returned quickly with a hot mugful.  I knelt before her and presented it.

"My sneakers are covered in slush and dirt.  Take care of them for me, Mike," she calmly ordered.  She crossed her feet at the ankles.  I kneeled in, opened my mouth, and began to lick the wet mixture from the sole of her top sneaker.  A sharp slap to the side of my face knocked me off my knees in surprise. 

"Bottom foot!" she half-yelled, "Never my top foot!  Always start where you belong, at the bottom, you filthy slave!"  She pointed at her lower shoe, her face glowering, light glinting from her black-lacquered nail.  I breathed deeply of the scent her damp clothing was emitting; her perfume and the wintry musk were an inflaming combination.  She waggled her lower sneaker.  Melting sluch dripped onto the hardwood floor below, carrying the muddy bits of road dirt along with them.

I dropped prone to the floor and began to tongue the filthy wet sole of her worn and aromatic black Ked.  As I licked, the slushy mix melted and made it easier for me to swallow the dirt and tiny pebbles my tongue loosened from between the grooves of her shoe-bottom.  Obviously, this sudden submission was causing my cock to engorge rapidly, and I surreptitiously ground it against the oaken floorboards below my body.

She had wasted no time in re-taking me.  Less than three minutes from the word "Hello" and I was already groveling at the petite sneakered feet of this luscious Gothic eighteen-year-old.

She spoke down to me as I thoroughly covered every square millimeter of her wet canvas footwear.  She interspersed an update on her life with random instructions to me on exactly how she expected her soles to be tongue-cleansed.  I removed all the grime, and then she had me suck the moisture from the sodden black canvas tops of each white-laced instep.  The liquid I vacuumed up past my lips had traces of old imbued salts and minerals of her precious sweat along with the fiercely exciting taste of her essential scent.

I gathered from her monologue that she'd picked up the recently-deceased slave at a CVS store, and that he'd become her sugar daddy in exchange for her ministrations of degradation, humiliation and punishment.  He'd even paid off her mother's mortgage and bought Martha her own condo.  And a BMW 735i convertible.  And the usual assortment of expensive laundry and baubles.  All he asked was that she entertain him in her new home when she liked, in her own special way that she so enjoyed, and occasionally accompany him out to the darker clubs as Young Goddess Martha and slave. 

She'd finished high school and now attended the local college when she felt like it.  The previous year and a half had seen her acquire plenty of money and security, but she'd become bored with the old sugar pop.  He was too frail to submit to her increasingly wild tastes for sadism and excruciating control.  She'd found that she really enjoyed torturing a bound male slave, and that she could always think of something new to try.  She'd learned that she could orgasm more quickly when she knew she had a bound and suffering slave under her control, even if that meant that she played with herself on her comfortable new bed at the condo while the slave was boxed up in the dark basement of his own house across town.  She had other fantasies that she hadn't dared try for fear of having a body on her hands.  She'd also learned that she adored publicly shaming her slave, knowing that he would do absolutely anything she might suddenly have an urge to inflict upon him before the eyes of strangers.  It made her wet.

Her sweet enthusiasm as she described her newfound passions made me hard as I lay on the floor at this teenage girl's feet licking her cold wet muddy soles clean and sucking the fabric dry.

Eventually, she had me stop working my tongue over her lowest extremities and told me to kneel up before her.  She advised me that she was willing to let me utterly devote myself to her as her property, but only if I passed a testing period of about a month.  She told me that she saw no reason to ask me if I agreed to her terms because she already knew I'd do anything she wanted me to do for her.  She told me that for the next month we would maintain our separate residences, and during that time, I was to be on call for her without exception for twenty-four hours of every single day, seven days a week.  She reminded me that if she called me I was to drop whatever I was doing, take her call immediately, and follow her instructions.  Whether I was asleep, or in an important business meeting, or in the hospital in a coma.  And she told me that a single, solitary mistake or failure would make her lose all interest in me as a potential slave, because it would show her that I had a priority higher than herself, no matter how fleeting, and that this would be unacceptable.  She told me that at the end of the month, if she hadn't dumped me, she would move into my house and take over my life.

She stood, she told me to drive her to her condominium in an exclusive gated community in the swankest part of our little city, and along the way, as she rode behind me in the second row of leather seats that filled my Escalade, she peeled off the panties she'd been wearing under her thick woolen skirt.  She tossed them over the seatback and the flimsy black silkies landed in a scented heap on the console between my front bucket seats.

"Mike, I'll leave you with those as an incentive to remember me by when we're not together.  I want you to carry them with you at all times.  Go ahead now and put them over your head with the crotch right over your nostrils while you drive me the rest of the way home."

I drove her home with her soiled panties over my face.  I didn't look to my left or right at the stop signs and stop lights to examine the interest of nearby vehicles' passengers.

As she exited my big black SUV dinosaur, she finished with a few more sentences.  "Remember, Mike, if your phone rings and you see it's me, you answer and listen carefully.  Have it on you at all times.  One slip, we're done, and I don't move into your house and make it mine.  Along with you.  But, you pass my test this month, and you'll begin living your deepest fantasy for however long I feel like owning your pathetically twisted self.  You'll be "slave" instead of "Mike".  You'll know the test is over when I address you as "slave".  With a small "s", of course.  No capitals in a slave's name.  Just..." (and she hopped down out of my truck) "...in a Goddess's. Oh, and no playing with yourself until I say so.  Hands off that little cock of yours... it's my cock now."

She began to walk away as I stared at her round buttocks swaying and her slim ankles so sexily encased in those ridiculously delicious girl-sneakers.  I took a deep breath through the panties covering my nose and thrilled again to her richest scent.  She spun around from a few steps away and said "Oh, yeah, Mike, you aren't allowed to take those panties off your face until I tell you that you can.  See ya!"

I drove home with them right where they were.

===>

Hours passed, it got dark, and I sat on my couch in trembling anticipation of my phone ringing.  I gripped it with my sweaty right hand as I flipped through cable chanels with mild interest.  Every breath I took continued to be drawn through the crotch of Martha's panties, which I hadn't removed. 

At eleven PM, I started to feel tired.  Still no call from her.  I had a quick snack of Doritos and salsa, pushing the panties aside to jam in the chips, then cleaned up and went to bed.  I fell asleep with my cell phone right next to my right ear on the nightstand with the ringer set to "Loud".

I awoke not to the phone, but to the sun's rays filtering past the window sheers.  Time to get up and make coffee.  I checked the phone... nope, no calls.

As I sat down with a fresh mug of Kona and a warm croissant to read the paper, the phone rang.  I swooped for it, nearly knocking over the coffee in my enthusiasm.  It was her.

"Yes, Goddess," I breathlessly answered, my voice muffled a bit by the panties that still covered my face.

"Answer more quickly, next time, Mike... that was two rings.  You should have the phone in your hand at all times for me.  I can't be inconvenienced waiting for you to pick up.  I expect you to answer on the first ring... or are you too lazy to serve me properly?"

"No, Goddess, I will keep the phone in-hand at all times."

"You'd better.  Remember, one single slip-up during this test month, and we part.  Forever, this time.  No third chances for my failed slave candidate."

"Yes, Goddess, I understand."

"Mike, from now on when I call, you are to answer the phone with 'How may I please you, Goddess?'  Is that understood?"

"Yes, Goddess Martha."

"Fine.  Here are your instructions.  I am hungry and I want coffee.  I also have a messy condo.  I want you to buy the ingredients for Eggs Benedict and also buy a Starbucks Mochacchino, then bring it over here.  You are still wearing my panties on your face, right?"

"Yes, Goddess."

"Good, but I can't have you in the grocery store with those on.  Stuff them in your mouth and keep them there until I say to remove them.  You do know how to make Eggs Benedict, right, Mike?"

I am an excellent cook.  "Oh, yes, Goddess."

"We shall see.  Come over and cook for me, and then slave for me.  You're going to be here until late tonight doing my bidding.  I really need a slave to clean up this place.  You may have to go to work tired tomorrow."

"Anything for you, Goddess."

"Yes, Mike.  Now, another rule.  Whenever you come to my home, you are to kneel on my doorstep and ring the bell twice.  Wait for me to open the door, and then you are to kiss my feet until I let you in.  Then, just crawl in and kneel on the rug in my front hall and wait for your orders."

"Yes, Goddess."

"I'm your Goddess, and you'll do absolutely anything at all that I command, right, Mike?  Your eighteen-year-old Goddess who weighs sixty pounds less than you and is almost a foot shorter than you?"

"Oh, yes, yes Goddess," I huskily gushed to her.

"What part of me do you crave the most, Mike?  What part of my Goddess body do you most want to worship?"

"Your desire leads my desire, Goddess.  I worship all of you."

"Good answer, but I command you to think for a moment.  If I gave you a choice, what would you most like to get your filthy tongue upon?"

I thought for a moment, weighing my desire to grovel while licking her dirty soles against the rush of sucking on her fragrant and tight little puckered anus.  Her feet won.  "Your beautiful little feet, Goddess," I answered.

"Fine, Mike.  Then I shall deny you my feet for seven days.  You are to keep your gaze locked on my feet at all times, but you will not be allowed to touch them.  Look only at them, but no contact, or the test is over and I dump your ass again."

"Yes, Goddess."

"Remember, your eyes on my feet at all times.  If I am present, but my feet are hidden from you, then stare at the floor."

"Yes, Goddess."

"Now, get up, stuff the panties in your mouth, and go get my breakfast and coffee.  I expect you here in thirty minutes."

I followed orders.  Less than the allotted half-hour passed before I was kneeling on the slate stoop in front of her condo's doorway.  Her soaked panties filled my mouth, and I held two bags of different sizes.  The larger bag was filled with the ingredients for Eggs Benedict, and the smaller with her Mocacchino.  I also held a rose between my lips.  I rang the bell.

She opened the door and I dropped my gaze immediately to her feet as ordered.  She wore a pair of sweatpants and a baggy sweater.  Both black, of course.  Her feet were bare, and their soles were dirty as if she'd been walking barefoot all morning.  I stared at them and felt my cock stiffen and my stuffed mouth water with the thought of cleaning that grime off with my lips and tongue...

"Cook my breakfast.  Nice rose.  Put it in water and put it on the kitchen table.  When you are done cooking, serve it and then crawl to me and kiss the floor three inches from my lowest foot to signal that your task is complete.  As I eat breakfast, kneel in the corner of the kitchen next to the trash barrel with your nose pressed into the corner where the walls meet."

"Yes, Goddess."

"And in my house, whenever you are following me, you are to crawl with your eyes on my feet.  Whenever I stop in a room, or enter a room that you are in, you are to crawl to the nearest corner and kneel with your nose in it. Unless I give other orders, of course, Mike, right?"

"Yes, Goddess."

"Go carry out my commands."

I cooked a beautiful breakfast for her and served it.  I crawled to where she sat at her computer desk and knelt next to her dangling left foot.  I kissed the floor three inches from it as I breathed in the delicious scent of its grimy sole.

She ate her breakfast without comment as I knelt in the corner.  When she finished, she had me kneel next to her chair.  I stared at her waggling little bare foot as she scribbled on a piece of paper with a pencil.  After a while, she handed it to me.  "Read this list, Mike"

I looked at the list.  It was a numbered list of chores.

"I am going to get online, Mike, and you are going to be my house slave while I ignore you.  Spit out my panties and look up at my chin for a moment, but do not make eye contact."

I spat the panties out and looked up; she held out a fresh pair of soiled underwear.  "Over your face until I say to take them off.  Put the crotch part over your nostrils."

She stood.  "Eyes on my feet again," she ordered, "and start doing the chores.  When all of the chores are done, stuff the panties in your mouth and go home.  Remember to keep the phone in your hand at all times."

She walked away and I looked at the list.  There were twenty-two items.  It was now 10AM, and the list looked like it would take many hours to complete.  It was as follows:

1) Collect all dishwasher items around the condo and load the dishwasher.  Run it.  Empty it when it finishes.

2) While dishwasher is running, separate all my laundry into light and dark, and whites.  Start the laundry.  The hamper is in the master bathroom off my bedroom.

3) While the laundry is being done, work on sweeping all of the hardwood floors.  Dump the dust you collect in the wastebin in the kitchen.  All cleaning paraphernalia is in the front closet.

4) Vacuum all of the rugs in the house and empty the vacuum bag.

5) Wash all of the hardwood floors with the Swiffer, then change the pad.

6) Scrub every inch of both bathrooms except for the toilet in the master bathroom.  Use rags and a toothbrush.

7) When both bathrooms are clean, and all laundry is folded and put on my dresser in neat piles, clean the toilet in the master bathroom with your tongue.  Lick every square inch, inside and out, then polish it with your shirt.  Put your shirt back on.

8) Dust every surface in the condo.

9) Wash all walls in the condo.

10) Use the fluffrod to clean all ceilings.

11) Clean all ceiling fans.

12) Wash all windows.

13) Make the beds in both bedrooms using the linens laid out at the foot of each.

14) Wash, dry and fold all stripped linens.  Put them away in the hall linen closet.

15) Remove all pots and pans and other things from the kitchen cabinets under the counters.  Put them all back neatly and with organization.

16) Take out all trash to the dumpster.

17) Remove every lightbulb in the condo and wash it, then replace them.

18) Sweep and mop the front stoop and rear deck.

19) Scrub the inside of my barbecue grill until clean.

20) Wash and dry all of my deck furniture.

21) Scrub down the kitchen counters and appliances, inside and out.

22) Go to my shoe closet in the front foyer and remove every shoe.  Vacuum and dust the closet, then lick all dust and grime from every shoe, inside and out. Replace them neatly.  Then, you are done.  Spit out the panties and put them in the hamper.  Go home.  Await my next call.

Hours passed as I devotedly worked my way through the list.  She went about her business as I did so, not once speaking to me or acknowledging my presence.  When she came into the bathroom as I was licking her grimy toilet clean, I followed orders and crawled to the corner to kneel with my face pressed into it.  She sat on the toilet and nonchalantly peed and then shitted.  I heard magazine pages flipping as she read while sitting.  I heard the intriguing plops of her shit as it fell from her young bottom into the toilet I had half-finished tongue-cleaning.

When she finished, she flushed and departed.  I resumed licking, enjoying the humiliation of tongue-washing the porcelain still warm from her visit.   I breathed the sweet scent of her bodily aromas left behind after her defecation.

When I came to the final item on the list, it was nearly two o'clock in the morning.  I was due at work at eight AM.  I still had her shoe closet to do.  I opened the door.  Inside I found seven glass shelves facing me, each filled with a row of five pairs of footwear.  A fluorescent light blinked automatically to life and I saw that the bottom two shelves held ten pairs of boots of varied make and shape and size, the next four shelves held casual footwear like sandals and sneakers and flip-flops, and the top shelf was a row of five pairs of exotic black-leather fetish shoes with steel stilletto heels and straps and buckles.

I truly enjoyed the task of licking each pair of her scented footwear clean, but felt panic's onset as the clock ticked away toward Monday morning and the workday ahead.  I routinely put in an 8AM-6PM day at my office.  It was going to be tough with this little bit of sleep, and I knew I had a meeting at nine sharp with clients.

At four AM, I started up my Escalade and drove home, the tasks completed and Martha long ago asleep in her bed.  I hit the sack at 4:40AM, and groaned when the alarm sounded less then two hours later. 

I dragged myself through the workday, cellphone in hand, counting the minutes until I could go home and crash.  She didn't call.  At five PM, an hour earlier than usual, I left for the day, raising a few eyebrows as I am the boss and I'm known to never leave early.

I fell into bed without even undressing and was quickly asleep.  The vibrating cellphone woke me up.  I fumbled for it desperately and answered "How may I serve you, Goddess?"

"You will go to Chopsticks and buy me an order of hot and sour soup, a pint size, and a pint of chicken fried rice.  Bring it over here."

She hung up.  I looked at the time and saw that I'd managed to get three hours of precious sleep.  It was a little after nine PM.

As she ate the food I delivered, I knelt in the corner of her kitchen with her panties over my face.  When she finished, she called me over and handed me a list.  She silently walked away, leaving me with my commands.  I read:

1) Strip.  From now on, when you come here, you are to strip as soon as you are inside the front door, leaving your clothes on the floor of my shoe closet.

2) Find all dishwasher items and do a load, then put it away.

3) Do the laundry from the hamper, as well as the linens on my bed.

4) While doing the laundry, sweep, vacuum and spot-clean all floors.

5) Tongue-clean my toilet rim and bowl.

6) When all of the above are completed, find me and kiss the floor three inches from my lowest foot.

Inwardly, I groaned with fatigue, but my submissive spark caused the necessary adrenaline to flare as I began the tasks.  It was still before midnight when I finished licking up the last speckle of her dried urine off the toilet rim.  I found her at her computer desk and kissed the floor next to her sneakered right foot.

"This is the end of the second day, Mike, and you're still in the running to be my slave.  But I need to see total devotion.  I know your day at work must have been hard with so little sleep, but that pleases me.  And I require more, because I must know that if I move into your home and take over your life as your Goddess and owner that you are totally devoted to me and only me.  Therefore, tonight you will sleep here.  In my bathtub.  Tied up naked on your back while the shower runs at half speed onto your chest and face.  At seven AM I will let you up, and you will go to work on whatever sleep you are able to manage under my conditions.  Go get in the tub on your back and cuff your ankles with the shackles you find there.  Then cuff your hands on top of your chest.  I will be right in."

She made the night miserable for me.  She rubbed toothpaste all over my cock and balls.  She unwrapped one of her tampons and diped it into Listerine, then shoved it up my ass.  Burning set in, hard, in both sensitive locations.  I squirmed in the tight shackles.

"Shush!  Stop it!" she barked, "Take my attention to you and be grateful for this test!  No showing of distress by you is ever allowed!"

I froze and gritted my teeth against the deep heat of the Listerine in my rectum and the Colgate burning the skin of my balls and penis.

She turned on the cold water and a limp stream showered onto my bound chest.  She adjusted the head so that it fell on my neck and chin.  The water was freezing.  It began to pool under my goose-pimpled body.

She left me there, with all of the bathroom lights on, to shiver the night away.  I slept out of pure exhaustion but awoke several times with a start as she burst into the room with a belt and used it to whip my chest and thighs.  She did this every time I managed to slumber; she must have been watching on a hidden camera.  Six times she woke me this way, delivering ten rapid lashes that welted up into angry red ridges each time.  At seven in the morning I had collected perhaps three hours of fitful, freezing sleep along with sixty lashes across my torso.

She unshackled me and spoke a single sentence: "Dress and go to work, and remember to have your phone in-hand at all times."

I felt like a zombie as I pulled on my clothes.  I drove to my house in a daze and felt my head reeling as I shaved and dressed for the day.  I saw that it was nearly eight AM as I left the house.  I was going to be late for work.  Another first.

When I walked into the office at nearly a half-past eight, my secretary looked at me with wide eyes and blurted "Are you feeling okay?  You look exhausted,  Mr. Slade."

I grunted at her and got behind a closed door as quickly as possible.  I reclined with my feet on the desk and fell asleep with the cell phone gripped tightly in my right hand.  I'd tied a short piece of twine to the loop protruding from it, and the other end around my wrist.  That way I wouldn't drop it accidentally.

A knocking on my door woke me.  A loud knocking.  I burst awake and called out "Come in!"  I nervously tried to look alert and busy as I saw with a pang of light panic that the knocker was none other than Heather Barnett, the daughter of our company's owner.  She'd caught me sleeping.  She smiled knowingly and took a seat acoss my desk as I straightened up officiously.

"You okay?" asked the petite red-head.  She was a college sophomore and was working as an intern during school breaks here.  Busty, pretty, smart as a whip with a sarcastic sense of humor, and a superb dresser, all of the men in the office lusted after her while knowing that she was totaly off-limits.  Her dad made that clear.  While Mr. Barnett was the owner, he hardly ever showed up at the office.  But when he did, it was a surprise and a grueling day under his watchful and critical eyes.  Heather was his spy, of course.  Being caught asleep by her wasn't wise.

"Yes, I'm okay, Heather," I replied.

"You look terrible, like you need sleep.  Are you sick?" she persisted.

"Well, I am feeling a bit under the weather, but I'm fine."

"Good, because Dad sent me to tell you he needs a speed-up on the Chillco deal.  He wants you and me to take them to lunch today and push on the upgrade contract so maybe we can get it on the books this quarter."

Agh, I thought to myself, a power lunch, today, of all things.  And with Heather watching.  I resigned myself to this Herculean deed and fetched a coffee after making plans to meet at a restaurant near the clent's office downtown.  One PM would be the meeting time, and Heather would be there at quarter-to to go over the conversation plan with me.

At 12:45 I walked into the steakhouse feeling pretty good.  Coffee had washed away the doldrums of sleepiness, and my head was on straight for this important meeting.  We began to compare notes as we awaited the client in the lobby.

And a few minutes later, the phone rang.  It was Martha.  I answered immediately, keeping my voice low so that Heather wouldn't make out the "How may I serve you Goddess?" that I spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Why are you whispering, Mike?" asked my delectable Martha.

"I'm with a colleague about to have lunch with an important client," I briskly replied, hoping she'd understand my need to remain focused.

"Ah," she replied, "well, that's nice, but right now I need you to bring me a Mocacchino."  She hung up.

I felt my heart leap as I considered my predicament.  I simply could not leave this meeting to the boss's daughter, whom I was supposed to be mentoring, but if I didn't bring the Starbucks to Goddess immediately, I might lose her again.  I formed a plan.

"Heather, that was my girlfriend.  She was in a fender-bender and needs me.  Can we delay this meeting or postpone it?  Do you have the client's number?"

Heather nodded, seemingly understanding, and said "Go, go, don't worry, I'll call them and explain.  I'll call you shortly with their reply, and try to set this up for a late lunch, say around 3PM, okay?  Long enough?"

I nodded.  "Yes, thanks, call me," and I rushed out to Starbucks.

Martha took her drink from me as I stripped and knelt in the corner of the foyer before her.  She was in her sweats and barefoot again.  Her black hair was in pigtails, and she looked simply perfect.

"I want to play with you for a little while," she said.  "Do you have to go back to work?"

I explained the situation, and that I expected Heather's call, and told her how I'd gotten out of the lunch meeting, but that I had to go back.  The phone rang.  It was Heather.

"Give it to me," Martha said, reaching out her hand.  She answered the phone.

"Hello, Mike's phone," she said.

I heard Heather's voice but couldn't make out the words.  I only heard half of the conversation as follows:

"Well, I have a bit of a backache and a headache from the accident.  I need Mike here," my Goddess told my boss's daughter.

After Heather's reply, Goddess spoke.  "Well, I suppose I can do without him from three to five.  But right now I need a servant because I'm a little banged up as you can imagine."

Heather again, and then Goddess: "Well, yeah, he might be the boss over there, but around here, he's my little servant.  I need him back at five."  And she hung up on the boss's daughter.

I remained nonplussed in appearance while spiking with internal anxiety.  Now Heather knew a little too much about me.

"It's a little before two, Mike.  You have to be back at the restaurant at three, so I have you for forty-five minutes.  I need to punish you for having to leave me.  And I want the punishment to continue while you go to your oh-so-important lunch.  So right now, I'm going to beat your ass so you sit there in that restaurant feeling my unhappiness, and I'm going to stick some needles through your penis head to boot.  So you can sit there through that, too.  Go get over the end of my bed with your ass up and your knees on the floor."

I crawled behind her with my gaze locked onto her grimy bare heels until I was in position.  Behind me, Goddess had taken a wire coat-hanger from her closet and had straightened it out to make a vicious thin steel whip.

"I'm going to punish you, now, Mike.  I'm going to beat you on your buttocks with this whip for a half-hour, and then I'm going to push three acupuncture needles through the most sensitive part of your cock.  Then, you're going to dress, go to your lunch, and as soon as it's over you'll call me for instructions.  Do not call any later than five-fifteen."

She stood back as I waited with every hair on my kneeling body standing up.  My face was pressed into the comforter covering her huge bed, and I inhaled her fragrance imbued into this black satin.

The first whipping lash came down.  Martha, the petite little teenage Goddess, with her thin arms and girlish body, could generate quite a heavy blow.  I spasmed as the thin steel bit into my ass with a loud smack, and felt a wound open and begin to seep blood.  I bit down hard to squelch my instinctive cry.  Not allowed.

Again and again, with a high-pitched squeak loosed from between her lips on each count of the downblasting hanger, she beat me viciously.  She counted each blow, passed fifty, then one hundred.  At one-hundred fifty-five, she stopped, panting.  I writhed internally while remaning silent.  I could feel dozens of rivulets of drying blood running down my thighs below my firey beaten welted ass.  Not a square inch of skin was unblemished.  I heard her pad away to the bathroom and return after a few moments.

A blaze of agony lit up my buttocks!  She had soaked a small towel with alcohol and had draped it over my wounds!  I writhed and barely stifled a cry.  The burning set in ever-deeper.  I felt the world spin as I saw stars.  She pressed and dabbed relentlessly with the cloth, santizing, wiping up the blood.

"Get up and look at your ass in the mirror, Mike," she ordered.  I stod and went to where she pointed.  A full-length mirror was bolted to the back of her bedroom door.  I turned and looked at my beaten rear end.  It looked like raw pigskin that had been slashed over and over with a short razor.  Some tiny droplets of blood seeped out of a few of the deeper welts.  The alcohol had stopped the majority.

"Now, sit on the bed and put your legs under you.  Spread your knees wide."

I exposed my crotch for her, feeling the burn resume in my ass-flesh as it pressed against the backs of my calves.

She pulled a stool over and sat between my spread knees.  I locked onto her bare feet as was my standing order.  She tantalizingly opened a small paper packet.  Inside were three sterile acupuncture needles with light-blue plastic caps.  The eedles were wicked in sharpness and three nches in length.

She picked my limp penis up with one hand and pinched a fold of skin near the head of my cock with the other.  She rapidly pushed a needle all the way through.  Electric pain lit up my nerves!  And again, another needle, and then the third.  Sweat broke out all over my face and forehead.

She picked up a spool of thread and began to wrap it around the needles tightly.  "I'm just making sure they don't fall out," she told me as she tugged and tied without regard to my pain.  I hardened up with the combination of this light sweet sharp pain and her callous sadistic attitude.

"Time for you to go to work, Mike.  Enjoy your lunch.  Call me by 5:15 or earlier. Dress and go."

And away I went, my welted sore butt pressed against the seat of my big Cadillac SUV while the needles burned like slivers in the rim of my circumcised cock.  This was going to be an interesting lunch.

When I arrived back at the Japanese steakhouse, I saw Heather's little red Porsche was already parked there.  She was in the lobby looking over the folder for this client.  As I sat next to her on the padded bench, she looked up and wrinkled her nose.  "I smell rubbing alcohol," she said.

Opps, I thought.  "Yeah, I gave my girlfriend a back-rub."

Heather nodded, seemingly satisfied.   We discussed strategy.  My ass burned.  My cock stayed semi-hard.  The needles caused involuntary twinges and twitches, but controllable.   The lunch went well.  The clients departed at 4:30 with a promise to consider moving up our contract commencement.  Heather and I spoke wrap-up talk in the lobby as I charged the meal to my corporate account.

Then, Heather switched gears suddenly.  "So, you like to be the boss at the office, but at home you're your girlfriend's servant, eh, Mr. Slade?" She was smiling devilishly.  The 20-year-old redhead had perfect white teeth behind those beestung lips, and her face was cherubic.  Her childhood freckles had almost faded, and her eyes were long-lashed and deep blue.  She wore a conservative gray business suit that couldn't hide her lush round breasts.  I thought I could see slight impressions of her nipples, but I may have imagined it.

I shook it off with a wry smile.  "Oh, no, she was just kidding around," I chuckled.

Heather kept on smiling.  "No, I know about guys like you.  I'll keep it our little secret," she said, and dropped it.  I called my Goddess within seconds of Heather leaving the restaurant with our mission accomplished.

"How's your ass, Mike?" was her first question.

"Blazing, Goddess."

"Yes, but I'm still pissed about your business interfering with my day, so get over here and I'm going to continue punishing you."  She hung up.

I spent the third night of the thirty-day test period tied to a hook hanging from the ceiling of Martha's bedroom.  She had blindfolded and shackled me, then had me hook my cuffed wrists over the heavy steel loop above while standing on a stool.  She then removed the stool so that I hung a foot above the hardwood floor of her sleeping chamber.  She tightened my ankle chain to bring them tightly together.

From six o'clock to ten o'clock she kept me hanging there as she whipped me with various items.  She'd take breaks to go watch TV or play on her computer, then return with a new implement and beat me until she was tired.  She used six different items over the four hours, leaving me beaten and bloody with stripes all over from the leather belt she started with to the wire hanger she finished with, and the metal spatula, extension cord, yardstick, and ping-pong paddle in between.  She drove me to silent tears.  Blood droplets spattered the floor below me.

When she huffed and puffed to a finish, she dropped the hanger to the floor and departed.  She left me to hang for a while as I calmed down in fiery pain.  She'd welted my ass, my thighs, my chest, and my back.  She'd removed the  penis needles about midway through the beating.

At about 10:30 PM, she re-entered and put the stool under me.  She ordered me down and into the corner.  She made a list as I knelt.

At 11:00 she handed me the list and gave me the order.  "Finish these chores, then dress and go home.  Keep your cell on-hand, of course."

I gazed at the list and mourned a third night of little sleep.  There were ten items.

1) Do the laundry, including my bed linens.

2) Re-make the bed.

3) Do the dishes and scrub the kitchen floor.

4) Take out the trash and scrub the inside of the trash cans with the hose by the back door.

5) Scrub all kitchen counters and the sink.

6) Tongue-clean the ring of my toilet.

7) Tongue-clean the shoes I wore today and put them away in the shoe closet.

8) Vacuum the entire house except my bedroom rugs as I plan to sleep now.

9) Swiffer all non-carpeted floors.

10) On the bathroom vanity, you will find my toenail clippings from earlier today.  Put them under your tongue.  I will tell you when you can remove them.  Go to work with them in your mouth.  Dress and go when done.

When I came to the final item, I smiled a bit.  How creatively dominant this girl was!

By the time I located the little slivers of her clipped toenails it was nearly three in the morning.  I popped the small pile into my mouth and sucked on her precious bodily discards.  I put them under my tongue and drove home where I set the alarm and dropped into bed at nearly three-thirty in the morning.

I slept right through my alarm, and I slept right through my house phone's ringing.  When my cell rang, I awoke immediately, however, and blurted "How may I serve you, Goddess?" into the tiny microphone.

But it wasn't Martha on the line.  It was Heather.  Calling to see where I was.  And to tell me that the clients wanted to finalize over a late lunch.  And to tell me that her father had showed up at the office.  And that he had called twice to see about my whereabouts and that I needed to get in there right away.

But before she told me all that, she laughed out loud at my mistaken greeting.  "Goddess, huh?" she laughed, "Well, here's how you can serve me.  Get in here right now, because we have a lunch date to nail down that deal from yesterday, AND my Dad's in ere today, AND he's called for you.  Hurry!  I told him you looked sick yesterday.  You owe me."

She hung up and I blinked at the horrible display I saw on my alarm clock.  It was nearly ten in the morning.  I was already two hours late.  I slaped myself together, got a giant coffee from the Starbucks drive-thru, and dragged into work.  At least I'd gotten six hours of sleep.  I absentmindedly toyed my tongue around the toenail clippings in my mouth.

The owner grunted at me, but had no words about my unusual lateness.  I began to prep for the lunch meeting and occupied myself over multiple coffees until the early afternoon.  My cell remained tehered to my wrist.

Heather bopped into my office at two in the afternoon.  She was very fetchingly attired in a tight black argyle sweater and a gray woolen skirt.  She wore spiky black knee-high boots.  Her soft reddish-blonde hair was down, and she seemed to glow.  Her Dad was quite happy about the work with this client.

"Three o'clock lunch again, Mr. Slade," she told me, "and we need to SERVE these clients.  You know about SERVING, right?"  She giggled.

I pretended to ignore her hinting.  She went on, gleefully.

"So, who did you think was caling this morning?  Your girlfriend?  Your girlfriend-mistress?"  She stared right at me and giggled.

I was thankful she'd closed my office door.  I shook my head and tried to laugh her off.  But she got serious and spoke in low, conspiratorial tones.  "Do you and your girlfriend play role-play?  Like, you play as her slave?"

Her eyes were wide and curious as she asked this.  I looked up and whispered back.  "No, Heather, not seriously.  It's just a little joke."

"But," continued the pretty little co-ed boss's daughter, "you do play at being her slave, right?"

I didn't know what to say.  "Let's get ready for the meeting," I finally ordered as firmly as I could. 

"Sure," she said, still smirking, as she flounced out.

We nailed the contract.

In the lobby after the clients departed with paperwork to run past their Legal people, Heather and I remained for a quick wrap-up.  "We did good," she said.  I nodded.  The girl had actually contributed to the deal with intelligence and charm.

"Yes, we did, and you did too," I responded.

"And now you go to your Mistress and get your spanky-spanky, right?" she giggled.

I played dumb again as she looked at me with that innocent curiosity.  Just then, my phone rang.  Martha.

And right in front of Heather, I answered as I was required: "How may I serve you, Goddess?"

Heather burst into another peal of giggles as Martha said "Who's with you?"

"A colleague, Goddess.  The boss's daughter, Heather Barnett."

Martha was silent for a moment, then said "Did she hear you answer the phone?"

"Yes, Goddess."

"Let me speak to her, Mike," ordered Martha.

"She wants to talk to you, Heather," I said as I handed her the phone.

Eyebrows up, clearly in thrall, Heather spoke to Martha.  "Yes?"

"You work with Mike?" asked Goddess.

"Yep, I'm Heather.  I intern for my Dad."

"And you go on meetings with Mike?"

"When Dad wants me to learn how to talk to clients, yeah," she replied.

"And what has he told you about me?"

"Nothing, I just guessed," replied Heather.  I watched helplessly, sweat breaking, as I wondered how this would play out.

"Well, I am testing him to be my slave.  He's on his fourth day, and if he is perfect for thirty days, I'm going to take over his life.  As my property."

Heather gaped in awe.  "Coooooool," was all she could say.

"Do you want to come watch?" asked my Goddess.

"Um, I guess, sure!  When?"

"Well, he's about to get an order from me to come here.  Why don't you follow him over?"

"Okay!" the redhead chirped brightly, "Excellent!"

"Heather," continued Goddess Martha, "How old are you?"

"Twenty, I'm a sophomore in college."

"Well, I'm only eighteen.  And look what I have going!  Now, tell Mike to show you what he has in his mouth."

I showed her the toenail clippings.

"Those are my toenail clippings," Goddess told the thunderstruck girl.  "Tell him to eat them."

I chewed and swallowed as she watched.

Heather was again dumbstruck, but smirking.  She'd been interested in the dark side of sexuality for a few years, but this was her first actual contact with its practitioners.

"Cooooool," was again her only reply.

"Give the phone to Mike," Goddess requested.

I took it, and saw the wide-eyed mirth on Heather's flushed face as I took Goddess's orders.  Come straight there.  Heather will be following.  Act as if she wasn't there.  I acknowledged, and within twenty minutes I was kneeling naked in the foyer corner as the two young women stood behind me in happy conversation.

"Look at all those whip-marks!" exclaimed Heather.

"Yes, I beat him a lot yesterday.  I beat slaves a lot, so I have to test them before they become my slaves."

"What's your plan for tonight?" asked Heather.

"Well, you and I will be served dinner, and then we'll play with the male piece of shit.  Do you want to see him get humiliated, or do you want to see him get punished?"

Heather thought for a moment before answering.  "Well, I have to go home and study in a couple hours, so what takes less time?"

"Punishment," replied my Goddess.

"Punishment it is, then," Heather happily agreed.

===>

I was tied down to Martha's bed with my face pressed into a pillow.  My ankles were spread wide and my wrists tied to opposite bedposts.  Another fat pillow was under my hips, raising my ass.

"Heather, I want you to look around the house and find five things that you want to see Mike punished with.  I'll be watching TV while we make him wait.  But... do you want to humiliate him a little bit before we go?"

"Sure," Heather answered, "But how?"

"Well, let's make him smell your dirty panties.  Why don't you take them off and we'll put them over his face?"

"Why don't we make him smell some shit, instead?" was the girl's surprising response.

"Whoa!" replied Martha, "You're getting ahead here.  What do you propose?"

My cock began to surge as this new twist unfolded.

"Well," Heather began, "I think it would be fun to poop and then wipe, then put the toilet paper under his nose."

"Okay, but I don't need to go," Martha stated temorously.

"I do," said the redhead, and off she went to the bathroom.

And for the next hour as Heather searched for punishment devices, I breathed in the thick scent of her fresh shit.  She'd clotted up a wad of toilet paper with a good lump of her waste and had shoved it right into my nostrils.  Martha had gagged my mouth with her dirty panties so that every breath I took was forced across the wad of paper soiled with the beautiful young woman's excrement.

Heather found five things that she wanted to see me punished with.  She brought them to Martha and I could hear them discussing before they entered the bedroom where I was restrained tightly.

It turned out that Heather was not only creative, but enthusiastic.  The young redhead had delivered a three-foot length of rubber hose that she'd found in the garage, a fraternity paddle that had been in a box in a closet, a whippy plastic switch that had once been a stem for a huge fake rose, a long piece of spring steel that was once a part to an appliance, and a disposable diaper that had been the last one in a forgotten package from when Martha had babysat for her cousin.

"What's the diaper for?" asked Martha, intrigued.

"I want to put it on, and while I watch you punish him, I want to go in my pants.  Then I want to put the diaper on his face while you finish the punishment."

Wow.  Heather was into this.  Goddess laughed.  "Okay!  Why not?  Go ahead and put it on."

And so began the fourth night of my month-long test.  It marked Heather's first night, and she would become an occasional participant as the saga unfolded.

The beating commenced.  Martha started with the rubber hose, lashing my striped ass and re-opening the crusted welts, and before long Heather had been handed the second implement.  She began to beat me, harder than my Goddess, with more rapid strokes, using the heavy wooden frat paddle to bludgeon my striped asscheeks with mighty force.  Blazing fire gave way to numbness as the beating went on.  Heather seemed never to tire.  She was vicious.

Eventually, I passed out from the pain.  The women did not even notice until Heather had soiled her diaper and wanted to put it over my face.  She found me unconscious when she grasped my hair.  I awoke groggily.

The frenzied women worked through the plastic switch with its fake thorns, and then the wicked metal strip, leaving me notched and cut and bloody.  They beat me into unconsciousness again.   Gleefully.

When they were too tired to whip any more, they left me.  They made themselves a snack and waited for me to come around.  When I awoke, Goddess was right there with my list for the night.

Heather was showered and had to go home, but she watched as Goddess untied me and had me get into the corner.  She explained that I was given a list of slave chores every night.  She showed it to Heather.

"So this is why he's so beat at work," she exclaimed.

"Yes, to break a male, you must work him to exhaustion."

"I see."

Martha had one more thing to say as I listened meekly in the corner.  "Heather is now part of our secret, Mike.  And at work, she'll keep the secret, but you will remember that she is your superior in every way other than company title.  And she will be watching you and reporting to me."

Heather giggled, ruffled my hair playfully, and sweetly said "Goodnight, 'Boss'!"

And away she went.

I read the list that Goddess placed in my hand.  It was nearly midnight, my rear was bleeding in fifty places, I was utterly exhausted, and I had to be in at eight in the morning.  The list was long. 

When I got home at five in the morning I dropped into bed to catch as much sleep as possible.

I dragged through work on the fifth day.

At quarter to six, nearly leaving time, Heather bopped into my office and closed the door.

===>

To be continued.

Part 3================================================

"Hi, Mike!," she said as she plopped her beautiful little body into the overstuffed chair in front of my desk.  She propped her feet up on my desk, ankles crossed, and waggled the soles of her ankle-boot stilettos at me.  She was wearing a short pleated skirt and matching gray jacket with a red blouse.  "From now on, Mike, on days that I'm in the office, you'll wait for me to show up at quarter-to-six.  I'll have your orders from Martha.  And when I show up, you'll be down on your knees waiting to worship my feet and lick the soles of my shoes until I give you her written orders.  Then, I'll usually leave.  So..."  and she pointed at her boots, "Get busy."

I circled around my desk and knelt at her feet.  I began to work on her dirty boot soles with my tongue, sucking up and swallowing the dirt and dust layered there as she smiled and watched.  When I finished, she handed me a note, handwritten on a yellow "post-it" paper square.  She stood up and left the room, reminding me as she exited "Quarter of six, every day I'm here, be ready for me by closing your office door and kneeling by this chair to await worshipping my feet and receiving Martha's orders.  If I'm not in the office that day, just go home to your Mistress."

The busty redheaded 18-year-old girl left my office, closing the door behind her, leaving behind the traces of her delicate scent.  I could still taste the sludgy grime of her boot soles in my mouth as I watched her leave.  I turned my attention to the note she'd handed me.

It was from my Goddess, Martha.  It read as follows:

"Day Six of Thirty.

Pick up My dry-cleaning at Werthers, pay for it.

Get Me a copy of Cosmo and a box of Tampax Light Days

tampons.  Then go to the Mall and find a pair of shoes for me, size 5, that you would like to worship when the week of foot-denial is over, which will be two days from now, on Sunday.  Be at my door, kneeling with these items, by 8PM.

--- Goddess Martha"

I did the first two errands, then drove to the Mall, which is where I'd first met Martha on that day eighteen months ago.  As I bought the tampons I pondered whether it was her "time of the month" and whether I'd have any duties related to that.  At the Mall, I walked immediately to the finest shoe store, knowing that there was a display of shoes there that I'd seen that combined my two biggest fetishes; they were combination sneaker-heels.  The shoes had canvas tops and rubber soles, but also had three-inch heels.  Totally sexy.  I bought six pairs in six colors, all size five for my Goddess's feet.

I knelt on her front stoop and rang the bell of her condo at 7:55 PM with the purchases set before me.  As required, I stared at the floor until she answered the door.  Then, my gaze went to her bare feet.  Her glossy black nails reflected the light above the doorway as another pair of bare girl-feet appeared beside Martha's.  It was the pink and pretty peds of my boss's daughter, young Heather.  She wiggled her toes.  Martha spoke.  "Oh, do we have a night planned for you, Mikey-boy.  It's Friday.  You're ours all weekend.  On Monday when you're driving to work, you'll be on Day Nine of this test month.  If you make it.  Heather and I have some plans for you."

I continued to kneel, staring at her perfect feet as my mouth watered.  To my right sat a shopping bag filled with the six shoeboxes holding the brand-new pairs I'd bought for her.  To my left, a smaller bag held her tampons and and magazine.  Her dry cleaning hung from a hook in my car, visible through the rear window.

"Bring in the dry-cleaning and hang it up in my closet upstairs.  Then, meet me in the downstairs bathroom with the Tampax and the magazine.  Kneel in front of me.  I'll be on the toilet waiting for you."

I retrieved her clean clothes from my car and brought them upstairs.  I opened the door to her walk-in closet and relished the enriched scent of my Goddess that wafted from this little room.   I hung up the bundle and brought the small bag containing the tampons and Cosmo down to the first-floor bathroom.  Inside this pink and purple chamber I found Martha sitting on the toilet that faced the door.  Her short denim skirt was around her bare ankles and her little feet were crossed with the slightly dirty soles facing me.  She was wearing a tight yellow tee shirt with a cartoon picture of Tweety Bird smiling at the world.  Her legs were slightly spread, revealing her bare little pussy.  A white string protruded from it.

Heather was sitting on the vanity to my right as I knelt.  Her grimy little bare feet were dangling a foot above the floor and she wore a huge grin as well as a pair of tight old jeans and a green and yellow peasant blouse.  Her red hair was tied back into two pony tails that hung over her huge round eighteen-year-old breasts.

When I was on my knees before my toileted Goddess, she lifted her legs and placed one foot on each of my shoulders.  "Hi, slave," she began, "this weekend, it looks like both Heather and I have gotten our periods.  So we're going to test just how devoted you are to me.  What level of grossness can I subject you to, and will you take it for me?  That's what I want to test you with.  You're going to spend the rest of today, all day tomorrow and all day Sunday being tested by us as our menstrual slave as well as our regular slave... but we're going to think of the grossest things we can do to you and laugh while you do them.  Oh, and we're going to punish you a lot, too.  And, before I forget, you're not going to be allowed to come.  As a matter of fact, no coming for you until this thirty day test is over."

She paused as she watched my face eagerly for any reaction.  I was careful to display only a smile as I contemplated the upcoming weekend.  I felt there was nothing she could order me to do for her that I would refuse.  I wanted to have her move into my house and take over my life so badly that I would do anything at all she said to do, and would take any punishment or humiliation she could think of.  I just knew this.

She continued.  "After this weekend, there will still be twenty-one days left in the test month.  And if you get through all of those days as well, then I'll be moving into that big empty house of yours and you'll be my slave... and we'll get back to what I like to do...  use you, own you, control your life, fuck you the way I like to fuck my slaves.  Remember?"

"Yes, Goddess," I replied.

"I like to fuck my slaves while I spit in their face.  I like to fuck tied-up slaves and torture them.  I like to tease them and beat them and hurt them, and know that they love me for degrading them.  You want that again, right slave?"

"Yes, yes, Goddess," I replied again, vigorously nodding assent to her seated form.

"Then let's get started with this weekend.  The first thing you're going to do is get your face between my knees while I use the toilet.  Take nice deep breaths.  Heather is going to video this for posterity. "

I scrambled forward on my knees and put my face down between her warm smooth thighs.  She pushed my head down further, then clamped tightly so that my ears were clasped by her inner thighs just above her knees.

"Hands behind your back, slave" she ordered, and I did so.  I felt the thump of Heather's feet hitting the cool Mexican tiles of the bathrom floor as she hopped down from the vanity.  She handcuffed my wrists deftly, and then I felt the cool sole of one of her bare feet on the nape of my neck.  She pressed down firmly.  My cock grew to full hardness inside my jeans as I breathed deeply from the dark toilet bowl that my face was trapped within.

My Goddess began to pee in a huge rush.  It sprayed directly onto the top of my head and my forehead before running down into the water a few inches below.  Droplets splashed up to soak my face as the hot piss bubbled into the porcelain bowl.  The rich aroma of Martha's strong urine filled my nostrils.

As she finished urinating, she emitted a strong blast of gas.  This was followed by the thick stench of her shit as she began to defecate into the darkness.  I felt her muscles contracting and loosening as she dropped a turd into the bowl, and then another quick pair.   The aroma filled my senses as I breathed in the concentrated gasses.  She finished with a dribble of loose shit, and then sat with my head sealed between her thighs for nearly a minute as I breathed.  The scent did not at all disgust me; as the contents of my Goddess's bowels, her shit was sacred to me and the scent a huge turn-on.  My cock swelled maximally, pressing against my jeans almost painfully, as I relished this intense humiliation.

Both girls giggled as they watched my eager acceptance of this debasement.  Eventually, Martha released my head from the vise of her thighs and she stood up.  She wiped her ass with a wad of Charmin, tossed the soiled tissue into the bowl so that it landed a few inches from my nose, and repeated.  This second wad landed so that the slight smudge of her brown stain was face up before my eyes.  Below the water's surface I saw the three dark-brown turds laid by my Goddess.  The water was now a cloudy brownish-yellow.

Martha now spoke again as I knelt on the floor in my jeans and tee shirt, hands cuffed behind my back.  "Now, Heather has to go.  Then, she's going to tie you just like you are to the toilet, and you're going to stay that way in the dark with the bathroom door locked behind you, and you're going to breathe in our shit and piss stink for four hours.  After the four hours, you're going to be freed for a minute so that you can strip, and then you're going into the bathtub.  Heather's going to shackle you there on your back, and she's going to use a big ladle to scoop out the stuff in the bowl and dump it on your face.  And we're going to let you lie there all tied up in the tub for a while with our piss and shit on your face.  Does that sound good, slave?"

"Yes, Goddess," I eagerly answered.

"Then, she's going to come back and let you take a shower... we want you not to stink when you perform menstrual service for both of us."

Martha paused here as she let that sink in.  I imagined I would be replacing their tampons.

"So, anyway, slave, enjoy the next four hours on your knees in the dark, tied with your face in my toilet bowl smaling me and my friend's shit and piss."  She giggled and padded out of the room as Heather seated herself on the toilet.  I breathed deeply the scent of the redhead's vagina and caught a glimpse of her fringed mound and its protruding string before her clamping thighs cut out all light.  Her piss soaked my hair and her shit filled my sense of smell as she voided herself.

She was silent as she proceeded to wipe, stand, shackle and tie me to the toilet.  She wrapped a rubber strap tightly around the back of my head and neck and affixed it to the base of the toilet so that my face was inches above the fragrant polluted water within.  Unlike my Goddess's dark shit, Heather's was a soft deep golden brown.  It smelled more like a rich cheese as opposed to my Goddess's rank sweetly-acrid feces.

Before leaving, Heather dropped the lid of the toilet onto the back of my head, and then she wrapped Saran Wrap around my bound head and the bowl so that every breath I took was drawn from the concentrated fumes of their combined waste within.

She snapped off the lights as she exited, closing the door behind her.  For four hours, as my knees progressed through ache and pain to numbness as I knelt on the hard tile floor, every breath I drew was filled with thick female scent.

I stayed throbbingly hard for the whole four hours as I began to sweat.  The plastic wrap that encased my head filled with humidity as I breathed in and out, and the bathroom itself was warm.

I was surprised when the lights suddenly snapped back on.  The four hours had passed quickly.

I followed Heather's sparse but direct commands until she'd shackled me face-up and nude in the tub to my left.  My ankles and wrists were tightly cuffed, and she tied them to heavy towel bars at each end of the large tub.  She sealed the drain and then stood between the toilet and the tub with a large plastic ladle.  She scooped out a full load from the bottom of the commode's bowl and carefully swung it over my upturned face.  She dumped it on my forehead in one quick turn of her wrist.  Warm soiled water mixed with the stew of their dissolving shit and piss splattered across my face and ran past my ears and jaw to pool at the back of my head.  Ladle after ladle followed until she had completely covered my face and neck with the filthy, stinking contents of the porcelain bowl.  My hair was soaked and clotted with the richly fragrant waste.  My nostrils were slightly blocked by little chunks of shit.  My lips were sticky and I could feel the acid of their urine reaching my eyeballs past my tightly-clenched lids.  My eyes watered slightly as a result.

"I'll be back to let you up in an hour, shitface," Heather told me sweetly.  She giggled before saying "You look truly pathetic, there, shit-and-piss-face.  Enjoy."

She flounced off, leaving me tied in the dark once again.  The mess on my face and neck began to dry and become sticky as the hour passed.  I licked my lips a few times.  I found that the taste was not revolting at all.  I found that I actually enjoyed the idea of swallowing my Goddess's and my Goddess's friend's waste.  I enjoyed this humiliating and utterly degrading situation.  I found that I wanted more.

The hour passed, and once again Heather arrived to move to the next phase of their plans for me.  She unshackled me and told me to shower thoroughly, and then to powder myself up with baby talc before coming out to the TV make sure the tub was spotless, and then proceed to the TV room, where they would be waiting for me.

Once this was completed, I found myself lying on my back, nude, freshly cleaned and powdered, with my wrists cuffed to a floorhook above my head and my ankles cuffed together and tied down to another floorhook between them.  Under my body a comfortably plush carpet softened my situation.  Heather had gagged my mouth with a ball gag, but my eyes were left uncovered and I could see above me where the girls sat on the sofa to my left.  To my right was a heavy slate-topped coffee table.  The narrow space between these two items of furniture pressed the sides of my bare frame and was traversed by the bare legs of my temptresses as they rested their feet on top of the table.  I could see the pale, lightly-freckled kneebacks of Heather and the spotlessly smooth alabaster skin of my Goddess Martha's kneebacks.

Heather sat at the far end of the sofa, and her legs crossed above my crotch.  Martha sat directly to my left, and her knees were right above my face.  The girls converesed, ignoring my presence, while I silently but breathlessly awaited their next usage of me.  Eventually the subject came around to what they were going to do next as part of the promised "menstrual service".

So I ended up using my teeth to extract the soiled tampons from each of their pussies as they squatted above my face.  I licked their lips and labia clean of bloody traces.  I watched as they inserted fresh tampons into their vaginas.  And I lay on the floor as they watched a movie... while I sucked on the two soiled cotton lumps that they had pressed into my open mouth. 

At the end of the movie, Heather had me crawl to the bathroom wastebasket and dispose of the now sucked-clean used tampons.

To end the night, Heather and Martha used many feet of thin rope to bind me immovably to the four legs of the coffee table as I lay on my face underneath it.  Martha fetched one of her favored sneakers, an old well-worn Chuck Taylor canvas shoe that she loved to wear, and tied it tightly over my face so that my nose and mouth were completely buried inside the loosened opening.  The tip of my nose and my lips were pressed against the dirty inner sole of the sweaty, smelly sneaker.  For the whole night as I lay bound there in the darkness I drew every breath through the aromatic confines of her old size five.   I stayed hard all night even as I eventually drifted to sleep.

In the morning, Day Seven started.

Part 4 ======================================

When the combination of light and sound awoke me, I opened my eyes to see my Goddess's feet to the left of my sneaker-clad face.  She was wearing one of the new pairs of heeled sneakers that I'd brought for her yesterday.  It was the pink pair.  She'd laced them tightly onto her tiny feet, and had skipped putting on socks.  My mouth watered as I considered the juicy atmosphere her pink feet would make inside the canvas and rubber of the new footwear.  I love nothing more than the smell of girlfeet that have been encased inside a sneaker without socks.

Heather was there too, and she began to untie me as Martha sat on the couch to my left.  They had me bathe and shave and fed me a little dry cereal.   Eventually I found myself kneeling before the both of them as they took seats on the sofa.

I was nude, except for the sneaker that Heather had left on my face, and my penis stood at attention.  I kept my eyes fixed on the soles of my Goddess's new shoes.  Martha had her ankles crossed and she was wearing a short denim skort with a black sleeveless blouse adorned with silver buttons.  Frilly lace lined the low-cut collar of the shirt, revealing a hint of her alabaster cleavage.  Her blonde hair was in pigtails and bangs like a little girl.

Heather, to her left, was barefoot.  Her soles were grimy and blackened with a shiny layer of ground-in dirt.  She wore a pair of jeans that ended at her calves and had little zippers running from the tight cuffs a few inches up her calves.  Her upper body and buxom breats were encased by a red leather bustier.  Her red hair was loose and flowed over her shoulders and chest.  She'd tied a red bow into it near the part centering her crown.  Her right ear was exposed as she had pinned her hair there back a bit.  Her wrists were covered with dozens of thin silver bracelets that jingled whenever she gesticulated as the girls talked.

Eventually, the conversation turned to today's planned activities for their slave.  I learned that their plan was to put me into a wooden crate on the balcony of Martha's condo for the day, where I'd be tied inside and endure the sun's heat beating down on it as they spent hours using my credit cards to go shopping.   They planned to go all day with their feet as they were now... Martha in her sockless tight sneakers, and Heather barefoot as they traipsed through the mall.  Heather planned to bring along a pair of old white tennis sneakers that she'd put on as soon as they got inside the mall.  Her feet would be nice and dirtied up from going barefoot and she planned to put the little sneakers on so that she could cook the grime on her soles inside their heated and worn interior.

When they got home they planned to open the crate up and let me worship their feet until I'd cleaned them thoroughly.

Once I'd cleaned all four well-soiled sweaty girlfeet, they were going to tie me on top of the coffee table face-down and watch movies while they used me as a footrest.

Then, I'd change their tampons after removing the old ones and cleaning their pussies.  I'd have their used Tampax sealed in my mouth for the night, still tied to the table.

Before going to bed, though, they planned to whip me with the belts from their outfits until they drew blood.

And before they left for the mall, they planned to seal me inside the crate on the balcony with their morning piss and shit deposits.

Within twenty minutes I was on my back inside a heavy oaken box with my wrists cuffed to my ankles and my ankles tied to hooks set into the inner walls of the crate.  Martha's old sneaker was removed from my face, but I was gagged so that I could breathe only through my nose... soundlessly.  The lid of the box was shut and locked down.  Momentary darkness was broken when Heather lifted a hinged lid set into the center of the square lid of the crate.  The opening thus revealed was an oval the same size and shape of a toilet seat.

Both girls took a turn on the "toilet" to drop a stream of rich, hot piss and thickly scented shit onto my bound body.  The waste streamed and dumped down onto my face, chest and crotch.  It pooled under my ass against the hardwood floor of the three-by-three crate.  When they had finished, the oval seat hole was closed and locked and I was left alone as they shopped.  Time passed and I felt the heat rise inexorably as the sunshine rose to beat upon the sealed box.  The steamy interior passed warm to become hot and then sweltering.  I sweated and blinked my eyes as my body soaked itself, and I drew ever-more richly scented breaths of the heating piss and shit that coated most of my body.  The stink became cloying and nearly unbearable as time passed in total darkness.

I held back retches as my stomach churned.  I kept myself from involuntarily vomiting into my ball-gagged mouth by focusing on the utter servitude I was showing by accepting this treatment, and by remembering that this treatment was pleasing to my Goddess and her friend.  I accepted, and I became calm even as I passed into semi-delirium from the heat and lack of water to replace my sweated-out body liquids.

When the girls arrived back at the condo, it was deep into the late afternoon and the box was actually beginning to cool down as the sun had passed overhead and its rays were no longer bathing the crate.  When Heather opened the lid, I was smiling.

The girls rolled the crate (it had lockable wheels set into its base) a few feet so that it sat in front of deck chairs on the balcony.  Heather removed the square lid and recoiled at the stench that immediately escaped.  Both girls held their noses as Martha sprayed the interior with a hose and Heather squirted shampoo all over me.  Apparently there was a drain plug on the bottom of the crate, and the water and suds escaped over the side of the balcony to spatter onto the grass a story below.  When I was sufficiently clean, Martha shook baby powder all over me as Heather removed the ball gag.

A panel was removed from the crate's side so that my face was accessible.  I remained tied and clean inside with my ankles spread and cuffed to my knees and the hooks on each side of the box, but my head was freed and I faced the chairs the girls had set in front of the crate.  Heather put a pillow on top of the edge of the box that I faced, where the wooden panel had been removed.  Now the girls could rest their legs on the box edge with their feet comfortably shoved into my mouth as they desired.

Heather set her feet on the left side of the pillow and Martha on the right.

Heather was wearing the tight, low-top white tennis sneakers.  The waffled soles were brown and well-worn, and the edges of the shoes scuffed and showing traces of many layers of briny dried sweat.  The laces were tightly tied so that the perfect shape of her tiny plump feet could be easily perceived.  My Goddess was wearing the pink high-heeled sneakers and her brand-new rubber soles were now soiled with a day's worth of mall-walking.  Her sockless feet were tightly encased within the moist rubber and canvas interiors of the sexy sneaks. 

Heather had me open my mouth and she slowly poured a stream of cold water over my parched lips.  I lapped greedily.  She told me "You're now going to worship our sweaty, dirty, smelly feet until they're clean, slave.  If you need water, you're to signal us by sticking out your tongue and leaning your head straight back with your mouth wide open... and I'll give you some so that you can keep your tongue wet while you bathe our dirty little feet.  Understand?"

And so, for the next three hours as the girls conversed amongst themselves as they comfortably rested their tired bodies sipping wine and munching on snacks, I lapped and sucked the soles of their moist and grimy feet to pink and gleaming perfection.  Heather's feet were the worse; she'd had a thick layer of ground-in black grime before she'd put her shoes on and the layers took thousands of wet tongue-swirls and lip-sucks to remove.  I swallowed the bits of dirt and fiber that I loosened from her dirty soles, and I licked out the clotted cheese and blackened goo from between her hot wet toes.

My Goddess Martha's feet were far cleaner, but the scent of the brand-new sneakers mixed with her hours of sockless sweat caused her feet to be imbued with a rubbery scent that she wanted to be completely removed by my ministrations.  She kept drawing her foot to her face to sniff lightly as I progressed, and she kept returning her foot to my mouth for further cleaning until a final sniff was acceptable to her.

When I finished, it was full dark.  I was ordered to remove their soiled tampons with my teeth, gently.  These were now inside my mouth, one on each side between my cheek and gums as I was ordered.

Time for my whipping.

Once I was tied down to the coffee table, the girls removed the belts from their waists.  Heather's was a thin black snake of coiled leather strands.  At the tip of the quarter-inch-thick coil was a brass bullet cap.  Martha's belt was a flat strap of stiff leather studded with pyramid-shaped silver rivets.

They took turns beating me.  I was gagged, blindfolded, tightly bound, and naked.  Martha had also stuffed my ears with cotton and sealed them shut with thick silver duct tape squares.

I heard nothing, saw nothing, and was motionlessly bound as my world was filled with their vicious lashes.  The brass bullet cut nicks into my ass and thighs every time it landed.  My Goddess's studded strap left a triple row of dents that rose up as angry welts with every blow she landed.

They alternated, taking the occasional break when their movies were in the midst of "good parts" but the beating went on for nearly six hours.  When I passed out, I don't believe they even realized it.

I awoke the next morning to the sound of Martha's footsteps entering the TV room.  My entire back, ass, thighs and calves were criss-crossed with bleeding  stripes and welted divots and rows of pyramid-shaped cuts.  The blood had streamed intermittently down the sides of my ass, thighs and the flanks of my ribcage to dry to a crust of reddish-brown rivulets.

It was Sunday, Day Eight of my test month.

Part 5 ============================================

After a shower and some bathroom time, the girls had me lie underneath the kitchen table as they ate the breakfast of Eggs Benedict and home fries I'd made for them.  My healing whip-wounds grated uncomfortable against the hard floor beneath, but I ignored the pain.

Martha held the end of my leash, which she'd attached to a collar tightly fastened around my neck.  I was otherwise naked.

I was fed breakfast as they talked and planned the day.  Martha reminded Heather that tomorrow was Monday and that she wanted to end today by giving me an exhausting list of chores to do so that I was tired at work the next day.  Her philosophy was to keep a slave on the edge of collapse at all times, of course.

I ate breakfast from the bottoms of their feet.  Every once in a while, either heather or Martha would drop a bit of egg or muffin or potato to the floor where they'd grind it up with the flat of their sneakered sole.  I'd lick the food from first the shoe and then the floor.  Martha also spilled bits of her orange juice and coffee onto the tops of her old black Chuck Taylors so that I could suck the liquid from her salty shoetops.

Eventually the days' plan became to work me like the slave that I am in a series of chores at both Heather's and Martha's.

Martha wanted to test the limits of my devotion by giving me a totally boring, menial set of many hours of non-stop toil spanning all day, night and into the wee hours.  While I was working, they were going to either ignore me, watch me as they relaxed, or go out to spend my money while leaving me to continue.

And that is how the day progressed.  It began at my Goddess's condo, where I was given such tasks as moving every piece of furniture and vacuuming or polishing the floors underneath, scrubbing every inch of uncarpeted floor with a toothbrush, cleaning each of her appliances inside and out with that same toothbrush, doing every piece of her laundry by hand with Woolite, tongue-cleaning every piece of footwear she owned, and so on.  It was dark by the time the girls returned from a steak dinner to have me drive them over to Heather's large apartment.

Heather was a neat and pert little redheaded beauty, but she was a total slob.  It took many hours simply to do general cleanup before she had me scrubbing her filthy bathrooms and kitchen.  It was nearly two in the morning when the girls returned drunk from a downtown club to find me finishing up the last task on the latest list, which was to turn all of her beds, chairs, bookcases and her sectional sofa upside-down to clean the bottoms with a brush and rags.

Heather and Martha concocted a final list before they went to bed.  I never slept that night.  I finished the list at seven in the morning, just in time to take a shower and get to work on time.

Heather drifted into the office after a full night's sleep.  She was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when she walked in at one in the afternoon.  She was dressed sharply in a black business suit of a short skirt and long jacket.  She wore newly-shined black heels.  She found me in my office on a conference call, and she closed the door and locked it behind herself.

She pulled a chair up next to my desk and grinned as she stepped out of her panties.  As I answered a question that had come to me over the speaker-phone, she pulled her fragrant black panties over my head so that the crotch panel covered my nose.  As I listened to discussion, she kicked off her shoes and crammed my mouth with her bare toes, both feet at the same time, only removing them when I had to speak.

I was weary and light-headed from lack of sleep.  When the call ended at nearly five PM, I pressed the disconnect button and sucked on the eighteen-year-old redhead's toes for forty-five minutes.

A knock on the door startled me, but Heather quickly put her shoes back on and went into a businesslike posture as I rose to answer the knock.  When I opened the door, the scene appeared as if we'd simply been on the conference call together, innocently.

At the door, however, was a surprising person.  It was a beautiful young girl I recognized from the office cafeteria.  She worked in Accounting upstairs as a record clerk, and she was a new hire.  It turned out that she was also one of Heather's cousins, and that her uncle was Heather's father... my boss.

Her name was Jackie.  She was eighteen, slim, blonde with straight hair that beautifully reached her shoulders.  She was about five-foot-seven.  As a clerk, she was allowed to dress casually, and she wore jeans and a purple tee shirt.  On the tee shirt was the slogan "I Make Boys Cry".  On her feet were a pair of those same so-popular-now Keds lace-ups.  Hers were navy blue with white stripes and laces.  As was also popular now, she wore no socks.

She had long, elegant fingers with unpainted neat nails and her feet were long but slender, with high arches perceptible inside the tight canvas basketball shoes.  Her eyes were bright blue with long lashes.  Her smile was devilish.

"Jackie, meet the slave I was telling you about," Heather said to her cousin.

Jackie took one look at me and said to her cousin "Can I do it now?"

Heather smiled as she twisted the lock in the center of my office's doorknob.  "Sure, whatever."

The slender blonde girl suddenly drew back her right foot and kicked me right in the crotch.  I collapsed in a rage of white-hot, rising pain that sent me into a wave of nausea that I barely controlled.  I grabbed my bals with both hands as I fel to the floor, writhing in agony.

But Jackie didn't stop.  She said to me this as she swiftly kicked me in the balls again, hard: "I always wanted to kick a guy in the balls.  Now I know why."

Over and over as I rolled and struggled to escape her swinging foot she expertly connected with her rubber-clad toes or soles against the swelling bulge in my slacks.  I finally curled into a ball with my knees drawn up to protect my crotch, which was on fire now, as she stomped down hard on my shins and tried to spread open my legs with her sneakers.  After a minute of this, Heather steped in.  Sternly, she spoke to me.

"Slave, this is my cousin Jackie.  She'll be part of our group now.  And she likes to be sadistic.  And you'll be her slave, too.  But right now, you are being defiant.  I will tell Goddess Martha that you've been defiant to Jackie uness you submit to her, immediately and always.  Do you want to lose Martha?"

"No, Mistress Heather, no..." I wailed, still curled up in pain.

"Then if Jackie wants to kick you, you will open up and let her, slave.  Jackie, do you want to kick the slave?"

The skinny blonde answered immediately, "Yes, I sure do!"

"And where do you want to kick the slave?" retorted her cousin Heather.

"In his balls, for now" replied the girl.

"Then give him an order."

A moment passed, and then Jackie spoke softly to me.  "Lie on your back and spread your legs."

I reluctantly did so, clenching my eyes shut and gritting my teeth.

"Open your eyes and smile," giggled the slender blonde teenager.  "Like my shirt says... I make boys cry."

She kicked me square in the balls.  Instinctively, I went into a protective curl again, but she coldly ordered me back into position.  She kicked my balls again with the solid rubber toe of her sneaker.  The toe connected with my left testicle and squashed it against the bone underneath.  I felt a pop and a blaze of fire as my scrotum pulled hard to the left and the swollen nugget inside ruptured.  I could feel a rush of blood as my sack began to swell.  She had injured me.  I cried out loudly for a moment, and then was silenced roughly as Heather leapt to her feet and sat directly on my grimacing, groaning face.

"You'd better stop," I heard her say to Jackie, "I think you might have busted something."

I couldn't make out Jackie's reply, but I stayed silent and shivering as Heather slowly lifted herself up.  Her bare pussy and ass were moist and my skin felt a rush of coolness as she pulled away from my hot countenance.

Heather unzipped my fly and gasped as she looked at my balls.  They were swollen to lemon-size, and the left one was bright red with the blood that was seeping from the ruptured teste.  They swelled unevenly, the left now growing at an alarming rate as blood escaped to fill my sack.

She zipped my pants back up and they walked me, staggering, to Heather's car.  She had me lay on the back seat as she drove me to a doctor that she knew, a friend of her sister's that had a new practice nearby.  I groaned in the back seat as the girls softly talked in the front.  Jackie seemed more disappointed in having to stop than she was in having hurt me, even perhaps having seriously injured me.

We reached the doctor's small office as she was closing up for the night.  Only she and her nurse remained, and the nurse already had her coat on and was flipping off lights.  But Heather explained the situation to Doctor Murchland, a twenty-something beauty who was just starting out as a practicing gynecologist, and she immediately agreed to see me.  She dismissed the nurse and I was led in to be examined by the black-haired, green-eyed young physician.

She drew in a breath as she took a look at my bared balls.  Gently she examined them and felt that my left teste had been ruptured slightly by the blow from Jackie's sneaker.  She told Heather to have me ice it overnight and see her again tomorrow if the swelling continued.  She also gave her number to Heather in case there was an emergency that night.  "Don't go to the emergency room, because you'll get Jackie in trouble for kicking him," she admonished.

And from there, Doctor Nicole Murchland became my doctor whenever I was injured during my slavery.

And this gave my Goddesses a freer hand to abuse me as viciously as they wished at any given time.

My testicle stayed swollen and blackened for over a week, but healed.  Doctor Murchland, who became Mistress Nickie to me, checked it daily before pronouncing me out of danger.

Jackie immediately wanted to know if she could kick me again.  The doctor explained to her that she'd have to measure her force unless she wanted to have to take breaks for days at a time, and Jackie listened to the lesson.

At the end of this week, I was more than halfway through my thirty day test.

When I awoke on the morning of the seventeenth day, it was a Monday morning and I was tied to the foot of Jackie's bed with my wrists to one bedpost and my ankles to the other.  I was naked and face-up.  The bed was king-size and was filled with my three Goddesses:  Blonde Martha on the far left, red-haired Heather in the middle, and slim Jackie on the far right.  The girls had spent the previous night making out with eachother as I licked and sucked their feet or tongued their assholes.  They had used me as their piss-toilet as well.  My mouth was raw from the constant insertion and grinding of girlfeet as the excited females had used it all night.

It was also an off-day from work, some minor holiday.

And Day Seventeen began in Jackie's small one-bedroom apartment with all three of my Goddesses present to begin my trials and tribulations as the progression toward thirty days continued...

Mall Princess 4

The eighteenth day of the thirty-day test began with my three Goddesses surrounding the bed that I was tied to in Jackie's apartment. 

Martha, who I so desperately wanted to pass this month-long test for so that she might move into my large home and take over my life, had already showered and dressed in a short denim skirt and sleeveless yellow blouse.  Her blonde hair was around her shoulders and looked so soft, and she smelled of her sweet perfume as she grinned down at me.  I so loved her and so wanted to serve her forever.  I wished she would spit on my face.  I wanted her to fuck me like she did the night we met, with me tied to her bed and her tight eighteen-year-old pussy gripping my cock as she rode me while slapping my face and spitting on me gleefully.

I so wanted to come.

Heather, who worked in my office and was the boss's daughter as well as Martha's young friend, was still in her pajamas (big cotton tee shirt, gym shorts) stood opposite Martha and also looked down upon me with a smile.  As I lay there, she lifted up one of her bare little feet and put it over my face as she braced herself by holding onto a bedpost.  She teased me by keeping her slightly-brimy unwashed foot an inch above my nose so that I could breathe in her sweet-sour scent.

Jackie, cousin of Heather, very slim, almost skinny, tall for her age, with straight blonde hair, and also eighteen, watched from the foot of the bed as I sucked in air feverishly below her cousin's dusty, pretty young pink-soled foot.

The girls began to discuss the day. Martha and Heather wanted to take my Platinum card and go to the mall, but Jackie wanted to stay home and play with me.  That became the plan.  Essentially, I learned that Jackie was a sadistic little girl, and really enjoyed giving punishment thoroughly.  She giggled and laughed as she dished it out.  She also loved to humiliate and really let loose with laughter as she did that.

The girls decided that I'd cook them breakfast, they'd feed me as they ate, and then Jackie would be left to deal with me for the day as Heather and Martha went shopping at the mall for a few hours.  They decided they wanted pancakes and bacon.

I cooked them up their breakfast as they finished getting ready for their day.  Heather took a shower while Martha did her makeup.  Jackie went looking for things she wanted to play with as she dominated me for the day.  She made an arrangement in her bedroom, I surmised, as I cooked in her kitchen.  I didn't catch what she was gathering and putting in there, but she made several trips.  General household stuff, I guessed, that she saw a use in.

As I finished cooking, they took seats at the table.  A gorgeous tableau of three beautiful eighteen-year-old girls in sexy mall clothes and smelling like sweet flowers was served breakfast by my naked, collared self.  Other than my chastity belt, the key to which was in my prospective Goddess Martha's purse, the collar was my only piece of clothing.

Once the girls had plates in front of them, I served coffee and then followed Martha's direction to lie under the table face-up and let them rest their feet.

Martha rested her sandals on my face, Heather her spike-heeled boots on my chest, and Jackie her bare feet on my stomach.  As she ate, she would occasionally drop a piece of her eggs onto the floor  and mash them up with her right foot.  She then would stretch her foot to my mouth and order me to lick off my breakfast. At other times, she randomly kicked my still-sore balls with the heel of her left foot.  Hard.

The shoppers left, telling Jackie they'd be back around five in the afternoon, and Jackie said that six hours sounded pretty good.

"Don't wear him out!" Martha called as she bounced out the door with my Platinum card.

Jackie returned to her seat at the table and put her feet right on my face.  "Smell them, footslave!" she ordered as she began to tell me what she wanted to do this eighteenth day of my test.

"You pathetic loser," she started, "you disgusting thirty-nine year old guy who likes to be beat up and pushed around be teenage girls, you make me sick.  You make me want to smash you up into a pulp and you make me want to see you groveling and destroying himself at my feet.   I want to just fricking wreck you.  And I love it.  It's so fucking funny."

She paused for a moment and really started to grind her bare feet into my face, twisting them so that the light film of grime on her warm flesh rasped against my cheeks and chin.

"So here's what I'm gonna do to you today," she continued, grunting a bit as she really bore down with her little feet, "I have six hours to play, and I'm going to make you do the grossest things I can think of and I'm gonna beat the shit out of you.  I'm gonna kick you all over," and now she emphasized her words with heel-stomps to my chest and belly, "and I'm gonna BEAT you with a whole BUNCH of stuff, and I'm gonna HUMILIATE you and DEGRADE you and HURT you, and I'm gonna make you WORSHIP me and thank me for WRECKING you."

I oomphed and moaned as her heels beat down with splatting noises on my chest.  She suddenly stopped and stood up.  I watched her feet as she backed up from the table; I could see only the bottom half of her tight, faded jeans.  Her ankles and a few inches of her lower calves were bared below the hem of the tapering denim.

"But, slave, we're going to start off slow.  I wanna make a plan in my head.  Go lie in front of the couch face-up."

I did as told as I listened to her rummage around her bedroom.  Soon she returned and sat on the couch.  She put her feet over my face so that my nose was hugged by her fragrant arches.

"First, you're gonna smell out the insides of all my shoes," she said.  She pressed one of her Keds over my exposed nose so that the tip met the soft fabric lining the inside of the sneaker.  "Breath deep," she ordered.  I did, loving her smell.  My cock swelled to its limit inside the chastity belt, hurting.

Shoe after shoe followed.  Then she tucked her panties from the day before between her feet and pressed them into my nostrils.  I breathed this pungent and perfect scent.

After a few minutes she had me get up on my knees to kneel before her.  She told me to put my hands behind my back and look in her eyes.  I did, gazing into her forbidden blue eyes lovingly as she smirked back at me.  This little blond was so beautiful.  her lips were young and fresh.  Her teeth were pure white and perfect.  She licked her beestung lips with her moist, glistening pink tongue.

"Now I'm gonna spit in your face.  And you just stay there and let it stick all over your ugly old face, you freak, you hear me?"

"Yes, Goddess," I replied meekly.

With a huge smile, she stared right into my eyes as she gathered a mouthful of juicy saliva.  Her cheeks hollowed as she brought it forward.  I heard it squelch inside her mouth as she got ready.

She spat violently from a foot away and her saliva spattered all over my face, most landing across my cheeks and nose.  Blobs began to slowly run down my face as she giggled.  She hawked up another juicy load of saliva and phlegm.  She gathered it on her tongue and told me to look at it as she stuck it out at me.  I saw the whitish-yellow bubbly mass pooled in the hollow of her tongue as she watched my eyes, enthralled.

Again, a monster blast of the girl's saliva and mucus slammed into my face, hitting my left eye and forehead.  It drooled down as it cooled.  My face felt cooly sticky as the blasts adhered and ran.

Over and over she spit into my face from point-blank range.  Eventually my cheeks and forehead were coated with the drying liquid, and my chin dripped from the rivulets that gathered there.  She had me kneel there for a quarter of an hour or so after she stopped.  She watched TV over my shoulder as I knelt there with my eyes now commanded to lock onto her feet.  She'd moved into an Indian-style position on the couch, remote in hand, channel-surfing.

In time, she looked back to me and said "Okay, you filthy piece of shit, now I'm gonna slap your face.  Look me in the eye and say 'Thank you, Jackie' after every single one."

I again gazed into her beautiful wide blue eyes as the straight-blond young girl stared at me.  She was wearing a lime-green tee shirt with a white iron-on decal of a cartoon stick-figure girl standing with her foot on the head of a kneeling stick-figure boy on a leash.  The boy's stick-figure back was criss-crossed with cartoon whip marks in red.  Underneath the cartoon it read "Girl Power!" in pink cartoon letters.  Jackie's large, round upturned breasts strained fully against the cotton of the shirt.

She smirked and raised her right hand, palm flattened.  I saw that her nails were long, but unpolished.  She took a wicked swipe and connected with my left cheek. 

My head snapped back a bit, and she snapped "Don't move!"  She stood up and stomped into her bedroom.  When she came back she was holding a dog leash made of braided red nylon rope.  It was a short leash, only a few feet long, and had a heavy brown leather handle.

She clipped the leash to my collar and wound the nylon rope around her left hand several times, pulling my face toward her against the taut rope.  She lifted her right palm again, and slapped my face.

Again, again, again, her right palm smacked into my left cheek, eye, ear, head, chin, and jaw.  I felt my flesh heat up and my eye water as the blows continued... I began to count the wicked smacks.  One hundred, one-fifty, two hundred.  Just before two hundred and fifty smacks, with my swelling left cheek and tearing eye turning dark crimson, she switched the leash handle into her right hand and began to slap my right cheek.  I counted again as she held the leash tightly and beat my face.  Another two hundred smashing flat-palmed blows reddened this side of my profile.  Suddenly, on the 225th slap, her thumbnail caught my cheek and grazed a thin cut across it from in from of my ear to the side of my nose, where it began to bleed.

"Oops!" she exclaimed, and stopped to look more closely at the thin wound.  "Yup, slave, you're bleeding.   Oh well."

She slapped five more times, as hard as she could, and he palm turned red with dried blood.  The wound trickled to a stop, leaving a spatter drying on my left side.

"Now, next, we're going for a walk outside," she said as she stood up holding my leash tightly.  "Crawl behind me, slave."

Behind her apartment was a tiny back yardlet of sparse grass ringed by a sickly flowerbed of yellow and white daisies.  A tall wooden fence made the ten-by fifteen foot enclosure private.  The ground was damp from rain earlier, but it was sunny outside now, and warming.

She had me crawl behind her on the dirt and grass parcel as she circled it several times.  She made sure to grind her feet into the moist hardpan as she walked, occasionally lifting one foot to let me see the buildup of soil gathering on her soles.

After a dozen or so circlings, she led me to the center of the small rectangle.  She had me kneel behind her as she squatted down with her back to me.  With her free hand she opened her jeans and slid them down to her knees.  Her lime-green panties followed.  "Stare at my asshole, slave," she ordered as she began to piss onto the grassy dirt under her crotch.  I stared at the jet of hot liquid as her anus puckered a few times before revealing the end of a dark brown turd.

She shitted into the puddle of warm piss, the two turds plopping solidly into the liquid, one landing so that it curled over the other.  She ordered me to lick her asscrack clean as she moved her butt into my face.  I eagerly stuck out my tongue and lathered her asshole and seam.  I tasted her bittersweet shit as I sucked and cleaned her thoroughly.

Satisfied, she dropped the leash for the moment and told me to grab the plastic lawnchair standing next to the sliding glass doors leading back into her apartment.   I did, and she had me position it so that she could sit down with her dirty soles above the little shitpile in the urine puddle.  She pulled up her panties and jeans and sat facing me.  She had me kneel and watch her feet as she ground them into her shit, twisting and pushing, letting it squeeze up between her toes and lumpily coat the bottom of her little peds.  She rubbed her feet together, scraping the sole of one with the toenails of the other, making her unpainted nails sport a sliver-moon of shit and grime mixed with piss underneath their tips.

"Now," she said as she lifted both feet straight out before her seated form, "lie on your back under my feet.  You're going to lick them totally clean.  Ha ha ha!!!"

I got under her on my back with my head right in the center of the drying puddle.  Face-up, I could see the bottoms of her soiled feet as she slowly lowered them.  She rested her left foot on my chest, making a shit-dirt-piss footprint above my nipple, as she put her right toes into my open mouth.

"Suck them clean, you fucking sewer!" she gleefully exclaimed, pulling tight on the leash and giggling as I began to work.  My mouth watered furiously as I slathered her dirty toes with my tongue.  I scrubbed the lumps of grimy shit from between her toes, swallowing, until they were clean.  I sucked each of her nails until their tips were once again pristine.  As I moved to the ball of her foot to attack the moist, aromatic paste drying there she ordered me to crawl into the apartment and get her a Diet Coke and her Gameboy.

For two hours I lay on my back sucking, swirling and swallowing the shit-piss-dirt mixture off Jackie's soles as she contentedly played video games and sipped Coke.  Every once in a while, when she sensed that my tongue was getting dry, she have me look up at her with my face tilted and mouth open, eyes closed, so that she could spit in my mouth a few times.  She also had me stop three times in the two hours to crawl to the kitchen and fetch her another cold Diet Coke.  She drank all four.

As she took the last swallow of the last Coke, she had me stop and kneel as she examined both of her feet.  She poited out a few stray bits of grime and had me open my eyes to lick them off.  Soon, her glistening feet were cleaned to her satisfaction.

"Now, slave," she said as she stood up, "it's time for your beating.  I am going to beat you really hard.  'Cuz I love it.  But before I start that, I need to pee.  I had four Diets!  So, you go crawl into my bedroom.  You'll see a white bathtowel in there and a roll of duct tape.  Also, on my bed, you'll see seven different things I'm going to whip you with.  Your job is to memorize what all seven are, in two minutes.  Meet me in my living room in two minutes with the towel and the tape.  Kneel at my feet there, and look at them."

In the bedroom I found the towel and tape on the floor.  On the bed, aligned in a row, I saw the seven implements.  I quickly took them all into mind and tried to memorize quickly by using the first letter of each one... she'd put out seven things from around the apartment.  A leather belt.  "B" for belt.  A ping-pong paddle.  "P".  A wooden yardstick.  "Y".  A wooden spoon.  "S".  A piece of thin plastic tubing like you'd use for a fishtank, cut about three feet long.  "T".  A leather strap that looked like it had ripped off of a purse; brass buckles were sewn into both ends of the two-foot long, inch-wide strip of stitched black leather, and scraps of torn leather were attached to these.  Another "P" for "purse-strap".  The seventh and final item was a six-foot electrical extension cord made of wire and brown plastic.  "E", I decided.  So... B,P,Y,S,T,P,E.  I looked them over quickly and formed a sentence of seven words matching the seven letters... "Be perfect, you slave, take punishment eagerly."  Belt, paddle, yardstick, spoon, tubing, purse-strap, extension cord. 

I mumbled the sentence to myself as I crawled back to the living room with towel and tape in hands.  I noticed that she'd changed into a tiny pair of cut-off denim shorts and a pink halter top that strained to hold her large round upturned breasts.  On her feet were her dirty blue Keds.  She wasn't wearing socks.  Through my mind floated the idea of the aroma her feet were making inside those warm, damp shoes...

She took the items from me as I knelt.  She placed her sneakered feet on my shoulders.  "Look at me, into my eyes, stupid shit," she ordered.  She hooked her ankles around my neck so that the toes of her sneakers met at my nape.

I looked into her cruel clear blue eyes once again.  She was smirking evilly as she toyed with the roll of silver duct tape.  The towel was folded in her lap. 

"What we're going to do now, shitface," she began, "is I am going to ask you twenty questions.  Seven of them will be about the seven things you should have memorized from my bed, the stuff I'm gonna beat you with.  And I'm gonna beat you fifty times with every one of the whips you get right, but I'm gonna go 100 times with every one you get wrong.  Get it, slave?"

"Yes, Goddess," I replied as I felt my cock swell maximally against the mesh of the chastity belt's steel cup.

"Good.  First question.  What was the first whip on the bed?"

I recalled the sentence.  "Be perfect, you slave, take punishment eagerly."  So, 'B'.  "A belt, Goddess."

"Right!" she said, "Fifty with the belt.  Second question.  Would you rather drink my pee or lick my asshole?"

"Drink your pee, Goddess," I quickly replied.

"Third question then.  Who is prettier, me or Martha?"

I froze.  Martha was my Princess!  She was my hoped-for destiny!  My goal in life!  I had to be faithful to her despite my current slavery to the skinny, lanky beautiful blond blue-eyed Jackie currently dominating me.  "Martha, Goddess, I'm sorry," I replied.

"Fine.  Five kicks to the balls to go along with your whippings," she replied in a monotone.  "Fourth question.  Do you want to lick my feet?"

"Yes!" I replied enthusiastically.

"Fifth question.  What was the last whip on the bed?"

I thought for a moment, my head still caught up in licking Jackie's Ked-clad feet.

I recalled my memorization sentence... last letter was an 'E'... but I struggled for a moment before remembering, then blurted "Extension cord!"

"Right, fifty with the cord.  Yum, that's gonna hurt!" she giggled.  "Sixth question.  Do you want to smell the inside of my sneaker?"

"Oh, yes, Goddess!" said I to this gorgeous teenage sadist who was having so much fun with me.

"Fine," she said, and she pulled her right foot into her lap and deftly pried off her sneaker after untying and loosening the laces.  She grasped my head by a handful of hair and pressed her sneaker over my face so that my nostrils were flattened against the fragrant inner lining.  Jackie then tied the laces around my head tightly so that the sneaker would stay there.  She laughed and claped her hands as she looked at my ridiculous self, kneeling naked before her but for a collar, chastity belt and her sneaker on my face.

"Seventh question.  Name the wooden whips on the bed that I'm gonna beat you with."

I carefully went through the list, but couldn't remember what the 'S' stood for... but I did remember the wooden paddle and the wooden yardstick.

"Yeah on those two, so fifty with each," she told me, but smiled as she continued with, "and you forgot the spoon.  So... a hundred with the spoon!"  She clapped her hands and went on.

"Next question is the eighth.   When was the first time you ate a girl's shit?  How old were you?"

I thought for just a moment before recalling.  I'd been very young, just a little boy in nursery school, and it had been early one morning as I was playing in the sandbox with a little girl named Karen who I had a kiddie crush on.  I was perhaps four years old, because I went to kindergarten the next year.  It was before the other kids had been dropped off for the nursery-school day, and the sun wasn't quite up yet.  The woman who ran the school, who we called "Teacher Anne" was sitting on a bench near the sandbox watching Karen and I push sand around with little plastic shovels.  Teacher Anne was a deviant, and she did all sorts of bizarre things with us kids in her nursery class, but we didn't know so we just thought it was fun.  She loved to make up reasons for us to spank eachother or lick eachother's pee-pees.  But that wasn't what happened here.

Karen had suddenly stood up and smoothed out her little cotton sundress.  She kicked the sand out of her rubber flip-flops and said to Teacher Anne "I have to go to the bathroom."

Anne looked back and said "You know I can't unlock the door.  The janitor has to do it when he gets here soon.  If you have to go, you'll just have to do it here."

Karen whined "But I have to go number two!"

Teacher Anne said back, "Well, then, you'll have to go in little Jamie's mouth, then, because I can't have you poop on the grass!"

I remember hearing that at four years old and feeling a combination of mild revulsion with a strange excitement.  Even at that age, I'd always loved being bossed around by girls and had done whatever I could to be the "victim" of one of their Teacher-ordered spankings in nursery school.

Karen had looked at me and sweetly said "Can I poop in your mouth, Jamie?  I really have to go."

I had just nodded with a dreamy look on my face.  Teacher Anne, excited now, strode over to us and directed Karen and me.  "Karen, you take off your little panties and give them to me.  Jamie, you lie down there on your back on the edge of the sandbox.  Face-up, there you go.  Okay, Karen, get right over his face... Jamie, open your mouth, get ready... Okay, Karen, poop when you can.  Go ahead."

It had been over quickly. The little girl had let loose with a long soft girl turd that fell into my mouth and filed it with a rich, strong scent.  I had chewed it and swallowed without disgust... and had really liked it.  A moment later, Karen had stood up and Teacher again directed me to lick her butt clean.  In another minute, Karen had her panties back on and I had a wintergreen Lifesaver in my mouth that Teacher'd fished out of her purse.  Karen and teacher were giggling, and my little four-year-old dickie was throbbing.  We resumed playing in the sandbox.

Back to reality as Jackie sat there staring into my dreamy eyes as I reminisced over that scene while taking in her foot odor with every draw of breath via the sneaker on my face.  The answer was "Four years old."

"Okay," Jackie said after hearing that, "Question nine..."

And so on, until she'd finished all twenty questions.  I'd scored fifty lashes each with the Belt, paddle, yardstick and extension cord.  And another hundred with the wooden spoon, plastic tubing, and leather purse-strap.  Plus five kicks to the balls.

It was now about four o'clock.   Martha, my dreamed-of Goddess, and little redheaded Heather were due back from the mall at five or so.  "I have about an hour to give you your beating, you fucked-up dude, so that's a really fast and hard lashing.  You're getting five-hundred whips with the stuff plus five kicks to the nuts in an hour.  Wow.  Get over the couch with your legs spread and ass high."

I stood behind the couch and did as she ordered.  She tied my leash to the front-center leg of the sofa, and my ankles to the rear side legs with some nylon rope.  She cuffed my hands behind my back.

"I'm going to start with the belt.  Fifty."

Without any warm-up at all, she began to viciously beat my ass and thighs with the leather belt.  The strokes slashed everywhere rapidly without pattern.  Sometimes the tip whipped into my hips, other times into my chastity-covered crotch, which still stung.  She did all fifty strokes in ten minutes.  By the time she was done she was breathing hard and I was aflame, biting my lower lip to stifle cries.  This lanky teenager could hit hard!

"Fifty with the paddle!" she yelled as she took the first swipe, and ten minutes later she'd pounded flat the welts the belt had raised.  My ass was in places on fire, in places numb, and in places seeping blood.  She threw down the paddle and went right to the wicked piece of plastic tubing.  "A hundred with this!" she yeled as the whipping started.  I jerked and strained ithin my bonds, and yelped a few times, but avoided insulting or bothering her as the little blond goddess made my dappled and striped ass bleed some more.

As soon as the hundredth with the tubing was done, Jackie noticed that "Hmmmm... this is making little blood drops spatter on the floor and the back of the sofa.  I'll be right back, shit-slave."

She returned with a couple big towels and spread one under my feet and tucked the other under my belly so that it draped down over the couch and protected the fabric.

The whipping resumed at 4:30.  She finished with a hundred from the leather purse-strap.  This vicious little item was the worst; it was three feet of inch-wide leather, bad enough, but each end was capped with a brass loop sewn into it.  Each of the hundred lashes left a loop-sized ring on my flesh that instantly started to bleed lightly.  My thirty-nine year-old ass was raw, aflame, and crimson with blood spatters when this eighteen-year-old sadistic skinny blond finished my beating at five PM.  She was huffing for breath, having delivered five hundred hard lashes in one hour... and she still had the five ball-kicks to go.

"I'm going to leave you there until the other girls get back.  I'll give you the five ball-busts as soon as your Goddess Martha takes off that chastity belt.  In the meantime, you just enjoy your bleeding ass and the air from the inside of my shoe you sick, ridiculous old dude."

She scampered off to another room and left me there as my wounds dried.  The pain really started to set in after the shock fled my system and the skin tightened with swelling.  The welts and bruises were dark and myriad, and bore witness to a horrible beating.

Of course, now that it was over, I relished the memory of that beating and my erection returned to press against the inside of the steel cup again.

When the shopping Martha and Heather finally returned at seven that night, I had fallen asleep tied over the couch and they just left me there until the morning.  I awoke during the wee hours, but was forced to endure the uncomfortable bondage with weak knees and itching, flaming rear end until the girls drifted awake six hours later.

Day nineteen of the thirty testing days I had sworn to endure to prove myself to little blond Goddess Martha started with my cooking the three girls breakfast, eating mine from the bottom of Martha's bare feet, getting my five ball-kicks from Jackie, and then being tied up all day on the kitchen floor with a blindfold and ear plugs as they all went shopping.  When they got home Martha just let me use the bathroom for a while before I was tied up again and served as their nude, blind-folded and ear-plugged footrest for their evening of movie-watching.

Martha ordered me to call into work and get a week off as a vacation.  Heather had the week off from work anyway, being the boss's daughter, and she wanted to spend it having fun with Martha and Jackie, who was off from school, "playing" with me, Martha's hopeful 24/7 slave-for-life.

So for the next week, this was the pattern.  Menial tasks or tied in bondage with a blindfold and earplugs to serve as a footrest.  Constantly in chastity, I spent sixteen hours a day with one of the three girls' feet in my face and a huge boner inside the steel cup of the device trying to break out.  At the end of the week it had been twenty-seven days of chastity while being teased constantly.

Finally, a change in routine on the twenty-eighth day, because it was a Monday, and the day I was scheduled to return to work.  Heather also had to go in to the office that day, so everyone returned to their homes and got ready for work.  I got to the office and picked up the thread like everything was completely normal.  Nobody had any idea that I'd spent my vacation week basicaly being a roped-up lifeless doormat and footrest between beatings and slavery.

After catching up, I remembered that at quarter-to-six on days Heather was in the office, I was to be kneeling on the floor behind a closed office door to await her.  I got into position at the appointed time.

She strode in in her business outfit, one of her many conservative women's suits with a medium dress and long jacket.  She wore her knee-high spiked boots.

She pulled up a chair before me so that her boots rested comfortably on my shoulders.  She relaxed with eyes closed as I followed her command to lick the soles of each for twenty minutes or so.

When she spoke, she said "Tonight is a special treat.  You're going over to Martha's and you'll see.  Meet you there as soon as you go buy a snorkel and a diving mask."

She left.  I drove to a sports equipment store pondering the need for the two items.  I couldn't imagine anything definite that I might be in store for.

When I got to Martha's, I knelt at the door as required and rang the bell.  A young woman I didn't recognize answered.  As the door opened, I heard raucous female laughter and saw many pretty legs filling the kitchen and hallway.  All females, all with drinks in hand, all dressed in short skirts and barefoot.  There were at least thirty of them. I saw a keg of beer on ice in a barrel in the hallway.  I saw Martha approach as this girl answering the door called for her.

"Ah, slave, here you are.  Tonight, you're going to be submerged in girl-piss!"

She had me strip, she removed the chastity belt and collar, and she was helped by Heather as I was tied up and laid face-up in the bathtub of the first-floor guest bathroom with my knees folded to my chest and bound there.  Martha put the dive-mask over my face and made sure it was airtight, then she put the snorkel in my mouth and used some twine to tie it to the faucet to keep it standing up.

The girls partied for a while, and then a parade of girls began.  Sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs or groups of three or four, they'd gigglingly stumble into the bathroom, shed their panties, straddle me, and piss all over my flesh.  The tub was stoppered, and the level began to rise.  After a few hours it was two inches deep, and after five hours it was at chest level as I lay in the narrow tub. 

The party went on for hours more.  It was getting close to midnight when four girls, drunk as skunks, laughing uproariously, gushed copious amounts of their golden fluid in a four-faucet straddling arch that resulted in the piss level covering my face.  I now had to use the snorkel to breathe as I lay under the surface of the warm pee pond.

Girls started to depart a couple hours later, and when all were gone it was three in the morning, with work starting at eight AM, and the night was capped off by a triad arch of pissing carried out by a very drunk and swaying Martha, Heather and Jackie.

When they finished, Martha laughingly told me "Lights out!  See you in a few hours!"

They overslept, and Heather called herself and I out of work for the day.  I spent it under the piss pond as they added more throughout the day... and night.  I had to reluctantly add my own.

Thirty-six hours tied up and submerged under the piss of thirty girls ended on Wednesday morning.  The thirtieth and final day of the test.  Again, Heather and I called out sick once I had been untied and allowed to gratefully use the bathroom for relief and to clean up.  Martha put my chastity belt and collar back on and I made the three of them their breakfast as they discussed how to end my thirty-day test that would determine whether or not she'd be moving into my house to take over my life.  They decided, as I licked my eggs off the soles of Martha's sneakers, that a day of public humiliation would be the final test as to whether I was ready to devote myself entirely to Martha.   I would have to do anything she ordered as I took them all out for a day of shopping and fun.  It turned out that Jackie had a particular fetish for slapping guys in the face in public, I would find.

Once they were ready to go, my Goddess Martha had me dress in plain jeans and a polo shirt over the chastity belt.  She took off the collar.  She had me wear socks and sneakers.

I drove the Escalade as they sat in the back seat, Martha's sneakered feet on my shoulders from behind.  Every red light meant I had to kiss her shoes as people in nearby cars watched and pointed.  At Starbucks I bought them coffee drinks and knelt on the floor under their table, fully exposed as a subject as the other patrons either took sideways glances or openly gawked. After a while, the manager, a chubby woman about twenty-five with a plain face and mousy brown hair, approached and said to me "Hey, you can't do that here, please."

Martha said to her "But he has to, I told him to."

The manager seemed to pause for a few beats as she considered this, then said "We can't have weird sex things like this here, it makes other people uncomfortable."

Martha replied "It's not sex, he's just being a good slave!"

Under the table, I remained kneeling with my nose to her sneakers, furiously blushing red.

The manager continued.  "Nope, it's weird, you can't do that here.  He's gotta get up off the floor."

Martha spoke now to me.  "Kiss her shoes, slave!" she ordered, pointing to the ugly black sneakers the Starbucks manager wore.  Yuck, I thought, as I looked at the splotted old sneakers on the big lumpy feet of the fat girl.  But I bent toward them as ordered and pursed my lips.  The manager, aghast, yelped "No!  Get out!" as everyone in the place turned to look.

"Let's go!" called Martha as the four of us ran back to the car, they all laughing girlishly as I made my red-faced way to the driver's seat.

Next was the mall.  I tied and re-tied their shoes publicly all day long as they made me do it over and over. But I also was subjected scores of times to Jackie's favorite fetish... the little skinny sadist loved to make up "fake" fights and then slap guys in public.  Hard.  So, in each of the twenty stores we visited (as I paid for everything and carried all the girls' bags) Jackie would suddenly scream at me and I was to turn my face to her as if to answer back... so that she could blast my face hard with a loud smack of her right palm.  Then she'd have me pay for her purchases as people snickered at what looked like a spoiled brat daughter slapping her mopy father in public.

By the end of the day, my face was red and swelling from the hard blows of the sadistic teenager.

The final stop after dropping off all the purchases was to go out to a club in the city.  It was a loud dance club, and the girls all dressed to the max.  Martha had me wear my collar.  She also had me wear a tight shirt, black slacks and stylish shoes.

The thirtieth and final night was concluded with the three girls dancing and drinking as I knelt under their table and got laughed at by the other partiers as I massaged all three girls' feet every time they returned to the table.

When it was time to go home, the final act was to have me publicly kneel before Martha's chair, remove her boots, and worship her beautiful bare sweaty feet as a ring of revelers hooted and watched.  She led me out behind her, on my leash, crawling back to the car.

When we woke up the next day, before I went to work, Martha woke me up.  She put a lock on the collar.  She snuggled up next to my bound body and said  "The test is over.  I've decided that I'll move into your house and take over your life.  We'll start having sex again... my way, of course.  You'll sign a contract and papers that transfer everything to me as long as we're together.  Under two conditions.  One, that Jackie also moves into the house with us.  And two... that I don't have to restrict myself just to your cock.  I get to fuck other men if I want to... I'll never make you touch them, as I know that you're totally straight even if you are totally slavsh to girls... but I can cheat on you whenever I want to.  What do you say?"

I answered immediately.  As long as I was hers, I knew that letting her have outside sex would keep her around.  I didn't care.  As long as I was her slave.  All day, every day.  Subjected to her beatings and punishments and humiliations, dedicating my life and everything I owned or earned to her pleasure, exclusively.  Living only for her happiness.  Total slavery to her in every way for every single hour of every single day.  I hadn't had an orgasm for thirty-one days, and I loved her.  I agreed without a moment's hesitation.

"Fine.  Starting today, after work, you will drive straight home, my home, the one that used to be yours, and you will strip, put on your collar, and kneel on the carpet just inside the front door with your hands on your head. That is how you will start your day at home, every day, after work from now on.  And you will await me.  Now, give me the keys to the house and get yourself to work."

And so it began.  But that's another story...