Woman Sodomizes Man With Shoe
Her straight, thin, almost featureless torso rivaled that of a mannequin. Not bad — but nothing special either. High cheekbones and a lean hard jaw-line kept her flinty face from being homely. A piercing gaze and commanding tone of voice gave her personality a superior quality that erased any trace of her poor white trash upbringing. She was anything but.
Everything about her was exacting. Demanding.
She had a genius for marketing herself in such a way that exploited her features to the fullest. There was one asset she marketed best of all. Her legs.
Her slender thighs firmly stretched the pliable fabric of her short black skirt. Pulling it tight against the baby moon roundness of her ass as her hem rode higher up her legs with each step she took — or inch of space she placed between her knees as she stood with her feet apart in a wide akimbo stance. She looked indestructibly sexy in a sleek pair of patent leather pumps with four-inch stiletto heels — the austere elegance exposing the better part of her foot along with a teasing display of toe cleavage.
She’d grown accustomed to strutting her stuff in these mini-stilts. She was amazing. She balanced effortlessly. Imagine standing on the balls of your feet for hours each day. She moved naturally even though each stride required the near-total participation of all the muscles of her leg to stay upright. Indeed, just standing required great coordination. Constantly flexing her lean tapering muscularity, in a pose as functional as it was sensuous, she subtly stabilized her shifting center of gravity; displaying the delicate strength of her slender ankles, satin skin taut over finely sculptured bone. Their simple unadorned severity — such a marvel of engineering — gave her look an elegant grace. A formal tone. She was gorgeous.
She had a way of standing with her weight on one foot while turning the other outward, opening her stance. She hunched her arch almost out of her shoe — while at the same time turning her foot on its side slightly — before drawing her shoe back on its heel; toe up in the air. The entire mime said better than words that she was important.
She was confident. She was going places. She was certainly nobody to fuck with.
‘Hurry up Bitch’, she seemed to say — even if she had started the exchange – ‘quit wasting my time.’ Her impatience underscored the feeling that you were failing her.
As I looked at her powerfully expressive stance, her lean muscular legs seemed to admonish me. My eyes balked at the naked candor of her ankles. I had no right to behold their beauty. The sight of her was not meant for me – a low-level dweeb. She deliberately cultivated this look to move up the corporate ladder out of IT and into Finance or – better yet – snare an executive husband; and now it was wasted on me, her project partner. Alone in a basement conference room we had one month to knock out the code for a new application upgrade.
She wasn’t happy.
She stood before me, left arm across her waist, holding her right elbow as she puffed on the cigarette in her right hand, looking past me at our new workplace, taking it all in.
“You’re not supposed to smoke.” I told her reflexively. I didn’t know what else to say.
“What do you care?” she asked brusquely.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble. That’s all.”
She walked up to me. Put her face close to mine and blew smoke directly in my eyes.
“We’ll say YOU’RE the one who smokes.” She walked away. “I won’t get in trouble – YOU will.” She turned and looked vacantly at me. “Problem solved.”
“Okay.” I coughed.
Her rudeness was understandable. She was disappointed. What the hell was I thinking? Laying down the law about smoking… what an ass! I didn’t care if she smoked. I could take extra allergy tablets to deal with that. As for blowing smoke at me, well, she obviously wanted to provide evidence for our story. That is why she put the smell of cigarettes on me. She really wasn’t being rude at all.
“I don’t plan on spending much time down here.” She said. “You’ll be doing all the work and I’ll be taking all the credit. I’ll be off networking – shall we say – most of the time. Once this project is over though I’ll throw you a bone – if you don’t get fired. I’ll give you an easy assignment. I’m sure I’ll get a promotion out of this.” Here she looked at me – AT me. (I quivered.) “You WILL do good work for me, WON’T you Dweeb?”
“Sure.” I was ecstatic. We were a team. She was going to look out for me!
“Get rid of this coffee maker. I don’t drink coffee. If you want some buy it in the lobby coffee shop and bring it in. I’ll need a fridge down here stocked with bottled water and a steady supply of cigarettes – got that?”
“You want me to get all that?”
Her face froze in anger. She threw her cigarette on the floor and came at me.
“Listen, Dipshit.” She jammed her index finger in my ribs. “Don’t make me speak anymore than I need to. I don’t care if you steal the stuff out of the supply room or somebody else’s office or however else you get it. But if I say I want something, then, HELL YES it means that I want YOU to get it. Are you dense?”
I backed against the wall as she repeatedly jabbed me with her finger. “Yes.” I answered without thinking. I couldn’t imagine myself saying NO. I would have sounded like I was talking back to her.
Her eyes were aflame. Her nostrils flared. She was incensed. She thought I was being a smart ass.
She jammed her right forearm under my chin and pinned me against the wall nearly lifting me off my feet. I outweighed her by a good twenty pounds or so but she used her leverage to great effect. She clenched my balls in her left hand and glared at me saying,
“Don’t you EVER– I mean EVER – fuck with ME like that again! Understand? I’ll whip your ass. Don’t fuck with me, Bitch.” She released me and I fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, completely out of it.
“This’ll refresh you.” She said, pouring water on me. I looked up wondering where she got the water from and why it was so warm.
Through the amber drops I saw her triumphant pose as she lifted her skirt clear of the stream. She was pissing in my FACE!
I covered my head and cried. I was worthless. I was contemptible. I was pathetic. I hated myself. For in that brief moment, as she looked down on me with eyes that completely obliterated any concept of me as a independent sentient being, and the realization of what was happening finally hit me – I adored her.
“Buck up, Bitch. It’s not so bad. It’ll be fun working together. What are you crying for?”
“Y-You’re-re s-so-o BEE-YOUUU-Tifph-FUUULLLL!” I said in broken sobs.
“No shit. Tell me something I don’t know.” She said, more out of boredom than contempt. “Now lick the piss off my shoes so I can get out of here. I can’t stand to see all this blubbering. Get your shit together by tomorrow, Bitch or I’ll really give you something to cry about.”
“Yes, Maam.” I said as I licked. +++
The next morning I brought in a picnic cooler filled with ice and bottled water. I hadn’t had time to scour the building for an empty office that might contain a small refrigerator I could steal. I was sure we’d never get a new one from supply. We didn’t rate.
I didn’t forget her cigarettes. I brought her a full carton. She walked in an hour late, took one look at the cooler and went crazy.
“Are you fucking kidding ME!” She ripped the lid off the cooler and threw it at me. “Does this look like a fridge? Where are my cigarettes?”
I gave them to her.
“Asshole! I wanted my cigarettes kept in the fridge to keep them fresh. Where is my fucking fridge?” She grabbed my bagged lunch out of the cooler and threw it at me.
“I didn’t have time to get one. I thought we’d make do with this for now.”
“Bitch, you’ve got some problems.” She said, calmer now. “If I give you an assignment FIND time. You better learn to prioritize. And maybe I wasn’t clear – it will be MY fridge. If you need to keep your lunch somewhere use the fridge in the lunchroom, Asshole.”
“Yes.” I said. I was lost.
She walked to the coffee maker. “Didn’t I tell you to get rid of this?” she demanded.
“I thought I’d ask around and see if anyone wanted it. I wasn’t going to use it, see?” I held up a paper cup of coffee I bought on my way in. “I thought it’d be okay as long as I didn’t use it.”
She ripped the electrical cord off the back in one quick movement.
“I see.” She said, slapping the doubled up cord across her palm. “You thought this… you THOUGHT that…I guess you’re the victim of fuzzy thinking, eh? Well, we can’t have that. What if it carries over to the project?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well I DO know. Here. This’ll clear things up.” She stood me up facing the conference table. “Drop ’em.”
“DROP YOUR PANTS!”
I undid my pants and let them fall to the floor.
I slid my briefs down around my ankles.
She bent me over the table, flat. She made me put my arms out wide and my palms down flat. She turned my face away from her and pressed my cheek against the cold, hard surface.
“I think this’ll flush the fuzzy thinking out of your mind. Now maybe you’ll understand that I mean what I say. If you didn’t know that before this will make it clear.”
I heard the cord slice the air with a hiss before the it landed, WhA-CracK!, against my bare ass.
Then the pain.
Talk about fuzzy thinking. I had no idea how I had been reduce to this – getting an old fashion ass whipping from a co-worker (not even my boss!) who was just out of college (a snot nosed kid) and loving it! I wanted a time out. I wanted to be able to collect my thoughts into some coherent pattern. Was I entering into a rich new life experience – I didn’t know – or spiraling into a pit of dementia?
WhA-CracK! Another lick.
The searing pain imprinted the immediate experience. This was the most honest relationship I was ever involved in. It did clear my mind. It left no doubt where we stood. I appreciated her sense of responsibility in communicating my role in our relationship in no uncertain terms. It might not be fair or equitable but it was clear, certain.
WhA- Ca-Ra-ACK! The last lick. Splitting the skin a little.
And with that last lick my anxiety evaporated. Not any special anxiety brought on by her, no, the regular everyday anxiety I carried around with me as I tried to fit in– as I tried to find my place in the world. I now knew my place.
“I’m sorry, Maam. I’ll do better.” I said.
She walked to the end of the table and sat down holding an unlit cigarette.
I pulled my drawers up and went to her. I lit her cigarette for her. “You’re learning. I like that. I’ll be nice. I like the way you took your whipping. It would have been much worse had you cried like yesterday. I’ll give you a break. Your ass is sore. This is a good time to reinforce your lesson. Crouch down on all fours and stare at my feet.”
I obeyed — gladly.
“Don’t touch. Meditate. Contemplate. Marvel at their beauty. Feel how the very sight of them enriches your life immeasurably. Know that you will never – ever – be worthy of so much as licking the tip of my big toe. Feel free to fantasize eating the grit from under my toenails or licking the sweat from between my toes – then ache with the knowledge that you will never EVER – I can’t stress this enough – NEVER be allowed to taste the heavenly flavors my foot-filth holds.”
I gawked. Enthralled and broken down. I held my eye an inch from her toe-cleavage as it mocked me. The wonders it held! Filth? Not hardly! O, to drink the fermented sweat distilled there! To chew the meaty tidbits lurking beneath her manicured nails as the residue of finely crafted shoe leather settle in the crevice underneath. Cultured by the moist warmth into a substance more tantalizing than the rarest spice!
I nearly swooned. In my ecstatic reverie I forgot to breathe.
She heard me gasp to catch my breath.
“Go easy, my Bitch.” (HER BITCH! HERS!) “Take your time, relax. This is a rare happening. I’ll work on the project while you get comfortable accepting your new role as my complete and total flunky as you cringe in submission at my feet. Feel the scorched pain I planted in your raw lacerated ass as you view the dazzling brilliance before you. Calculate the added pain you would gladly endure for another such scrutiny.”
I moaned openly.
“It is incalculable, is it not? You would endure all manner of suffering, physical, mental and psychological, for the mere chance (however unlikely) that I might once again grant your shabby ass a good look at my wonderfully heeled feet.”
“Yes, my Lady. YES!” I shuddered.
“Too bad I didn’t wear my strappy sandals. They have a round heel made of varnished wood. A perfect dildo. I could have driven the point home with a good shoe fuck. You’d like that wouldn’t you, Bitch?”
“Yes. Yes.” I heard my voice say.
She took a deep drag on her cigarette and exhaled slowly. Watching me.
“What did you say?” she asked, lifting my chin up with her shoe.
“‘YES’ What?” “Yes I’d love to be shoe fucked by you, My Supreme Lady.” I said consciously, deliberately. I badly wanted to demonstrate my willing submission in the most forceful way possible.
“Remove my left shoe.”
I did so, trembling. She pulled my pants down and demanded her shoe.
I pulled my cheeks apart and she delicately inserted the stiletto heel fully into my ass, sending a chill up my body followed by a flood of warmth. I was on the verge of tears.
She sat back down.
She placed her bare stocking foot on my shoulder as I crouched on all fours, with her shoe up my ass, and lifted my puckered lips to her high-heeled foot.
“Pretend this is your asshole.” She said, as she slid the heel of her right foot slowly in and out of my mouth. “Of course, if I had the right shoes we could do this for real – in your ass – and pump much harder.”
“Ummm.” I coaxed. I could take it harder.
She began pumping her pump more quickly, sometimes mashing her sole into my face. I loved it. I was getting shoe fucked fore and aft. I was her punk-ass Shoe-Bitch! Ohh! The sight of her balancing on one ass cheek while she fingered herself and pumped her fabulous leg in the air while driving her spike heel into my face drove me mad with glee. The only thing keeping her from toppling off her chair was her bare foot on my shoulder. It felt so divine. She was depending on me for support. She moaned. She pumped.
She bucked and fucked me.
The wet of her arousal fell sopping down her ass. A burst of gas escaped her bunghole just as she achieved climax blowing atomized droplets of fuck perfume against my face and deep into my sinus cavity. The pleasure centers of my brain took a direct hit. I fish-flopped backward in ecstatic orgasmic bliss. My head caromed off the corner of the conference table as I landed on my back, out cold, with one shoe jammed even further up my ass and the other clamped tightly in my clenched jaw.
I awoke in the hospital.
It seems the shoe in my mouth came free with an electric jolt but the one in my ass had to be surgically removed. It turned me into a minor celebrity. Staff kept sticking their heads into my room to get a quick peep at the ‘Shoe-Bitch’.
Several of the male nurses left shoe catalogues on my nightstand, they were sympathetic.
When pictures of me — pre shoe removal — turned up on the internet, I became a genuine celebrity. Cards and letters poured in. Of course, Milady and I were both fired. That was luckiest thing that ever happened to either of us.
She parlayed my notoriety into a wide reaching business venture. She pitched her concept of an openly erotic line of dildo shoes to a major designer and got a favorable response.
As she strutted out of the meeting one of the world’s greatest super models dissed her in the lobby. A receptionist had pointed Milady out to ‘Miss Thang’ and they giggled at her like schoolgirls.
Milady promptly dropped SuperThang to her knees with one choice bitch-slap and rubbed the model’s face in her cunt in full view of everyone, including the CEO who happened by. The model tried to fight her way free but Milady slapped her down again and again until SuperBitch subsided and freely licked.
She then pushed the bitch to the floor and defiantly scanned the assembled gawkers for any sign of dissatisfaction. There was none — only blatant admiration.
The CEO did the deal right then.
As for Super Model… she saved face by convincing her modeling colleagues that Milady was a high-powered fashion mogul about to take the world by storm with her new line of shoes. She wasn’t wrong, she was prophetic. They played it off like our episode was an elaborate advertising ploy. Before the day was out Milady had a stable-full SuperModel ‘Shoe-Bitches’ eager to please her.
Their first assignments were to go down on me in my hospital bed. This proved somewhat problematic. The hair-trigger gag reflex on these bulimic beauties left me bathed in gastric juices as they voided their empty bellies on me.
Fortunately, once the contingent of male nurses got wind of it they were only too happy to come in and clean me up. With tongue depressors and specimen containers, they gathered the precious bodily fluids of their favorite runway ‘Dahlings’.
Svensvetta, the six foot three Scandinavian amazon, was an especially appealing Diva and having her give me head was almost as wonderful as the charge I got from getting shoe-fucked by Milady.
I let Raoul, my favorite male nurse, have the honor of licking her still-warm bile off my balls once she was done with me. He was in heaven as he happily jacked me off while lapping my sack clean. Once I was out of the hospital, Milady quickly capitalized on my fifteen minutes and released a series of ‘Shoe-Bitch’ adult videos featuring me (and her shoes) that sold like wildfire.
Right now I’m on my way to a photo shoot for a print ad promoting her latest creation, a platform shoe with an eight-inch dildo heel. But that’s not all. The heel has several vibrator settings that are remotely controlled from a functional cigarette lighter using wireless technology. The deluxe model delivers a mild electrical shock for those times when a little extra discipline is needed.
There is talk of Milady taking her venture public and I myself am rolling in dough (Milady generously lets me keep 1% of everything I earn) but still there are times when we long for the old days and reminisce.
I’ll crawl under her desk and drink in the serene eminence of her ankles, gaze at the wonder of her toe cleavage and imagine the ecstasy of having the magnificence of her foot in my mouth. I can dream can’t I?