Weekend of Slavery - Part 2

Story written by - Slave R

Ten minutes flew by and before I knew it I heard the front door shut and Mistress H's bare feet pad quietly across the carpet to the kitchen. "Oh, slave!" She cooed. "Breakfast's ready! Come and get it!"

I withdrew my face from her training shoe, light-headed from the lack of oxygen, and gulped down several mouthfuls of fresh air as I crawled obediently to the kitchen, my butt still vibrating wildly.

"You look like you've been enjoying that far too much!" Mistress H exclaimed, staring at the huge erection between my legs. She turned off the butt plug, leaving it deep inside me. Mistress H grabbed the cord around my scrotum and gave it a yank. "Did I give you permission to get aroused?" She scolded before gripping my cock tight in her right hand. "I. Decide. When. You. Can. Come." She said, stroking my cock hard and aggressively between each word, "Don't. You. Forget. That! Come. Without. My. Permission. And. There. WILL. Be. Consequences." She released her grip and smelled her hand. "Yuck! My hand smells of slave dick! Lick it clean!" She demanded, thrusting it in front of my face. I obliged. "As you've been so bad while I've been gone I think you should eat your food off the floor like the animal you are", she said, haughtily. Of course, I knew this was the plan all along because we'd talked about trying this before. "Fetch me a plate!" Mistress H ordered.

I ran to the cupboard and returned on my knees, presenting the plate to my mistress. She took it and sat at the kitchen table. From the paper bag that she had been carrying, she produced a custard doughnut and placed it gently on the plate in front of her.

"Before you get yours, I'm eating mine", Mistress H informed me, "and while I'm enjoying this I want you under the table, cleaning my feet - they're filthy from walking to the shop! I want you sitting cross-legged, facing me".

I complied. Sitting like that on the hard floor drove the butt plug deeper into my anus, pressing against my prostate and causing an ache like I needed to come. Mistress H rested a foot on each of my naked shoulders.

"Now I want you to lick both feet clean before I finish my doughnut or, believe me, you're not going to enjoy yours!" She said, menacingly.

I gently took her right ankle in my hands and moved her foot in front of my face. The heel, outer edge, ball of her foot and her toes were almost black with dust and grime from the pavement, while her beautiful high arch remained remarkably clean with just a light dusting of dirt rather than ground in filth. Starting at the heel, I began to drag my tongue in long strokes up the length of her sole. My tongue was immediately covered in grit, which I swallowed down, replenishing my tongue with saliva for the next stroke. I worked frantically as she devoured her tasty treat. I had covered her whole foot and it was far from clean but I decided I should work on her toes too before moving on to the other foot and repeating the process as thoroughly as possible in the short time. I sucked each toe, keeping the especially dirty big toe in my mouth a particularly long time and swirling my tongue around it in an attempt to remove as much dirt as possible.

"I'm halfway through this doughnut", warned Mistress H, her mouth full.

I placed her right foot back on my shoulder and, taking her left now, set to work once again. I lapped desperately, my face becoming smeared with wet dirt as I buried my face in her sole. I took all five toes into my mouth at once, licking hard and fast in an attempt to please my Mistress.

"Stop!" Mistress H commanded, sucking icing sugar from her fingers. She shoved me away with her now wet feet and crossed on leg over the other in turn, inspecting my cleaning efforts. It was plain to see I had failed misreably. Although I had managed to remove some of the loose surface dirt, her feet were coated in wet muddy streaks; there were even dirty wet foot prints on the floor where she had rested her feet after pushing me away. "This won't do! You won't just eat your doughnut on the floor any more. I'm going to mash it under my feet and you're going to eat off my feet that you left so dirty. This time you're not going to stop licking until they're clean!" She shouted, adding, "Then you can lick the floor clean too. And wash up my plate when you're done. I want you to kneel on this hard floor when you're quite finished and await my call, if I can be bothered to have you in my sight again".

With that, Mistress H threw my doughnut onto the floor and mashed it under the ball of her left foot, causing the custard to ooze in all directions, mingly with the muddy saliva that covered her soles and forcing itself upwards between her toes.

"Eat it all up!" she yelled as she forced her sticky sweet foot hard into my mouth. The mush that was once a doughnut tasted great mixed with the sweat and dirt on her feet. My cock was throbbing again and I reached down to stroke myself without thinking. Wham! A nauseating pain wracked my body as her right foot connected with my balls. "Didn't I tell you", Mistress H started, "that I and ONLY I decide if and when you can come?"

"Yes Mistress. Sorry Mistress", I replied, tears streaming down my face. I was now lying in the foetal position, clutching my testicles with both hands and wondering if I was going to throw up. I'd never felt such pain but somehow it just made me want Mistress H more. This game was seeming more and more real by the minute and I have to admit, I was enjoying it!

In my side-lying position I finished cleaning the custardy mess from Mistress H's foot, then obediently licked the remainder of the dirt from the other foot, which had caused me such agony.

"About time, you pathetic worm!" Mistress H barked when I'd finished. "Now, while you're cleaning up in here I'm going off to relax on the sofa with some trash TV. I want you in the lounge, kneeling at my feet in five minutes flat. Don't be late... or else!"

As I knelt on all fours, licking the kitchen floor clean, I heard the muffled sound of Mistress H laughing and talking. Once I'd cleaned up I crawled into the lounge, enjoying the feel of carpet on my knees after the pain of the hard tiled floor of the kitchen. As I entered I saw she was on the phone.

"I'd better go now Rhi, my slave has just arrived for more punishment", she laughed as she hung up the phone. Rhi? She told Rhiannon what we're up to? I was mortified! Rhiannon was a mutual friend of ours. I'd known her for years and quite fancied her when we first met, although since I met Mistress H I only had eyes for her. To be honest they were both gorgeous. Mistress H was a petite brunette with an amazing smile, beautiful face, grey eyes, a lovely round bottom, shapely legs and supple size 5 feet. Rhiannon was a similar height, on the skinny side but also with a great behind. She had long, blonde hair, blue eyes and a captivating smile, although not as naturally beautiful as Mistress H. Her feet were even smaller - size 4 - with cute toes that she generally showed off with flip-flops and turquoise nail varnish. I'd had some fantasies about those feet in the past but the realisation that she may now know about my fetish and the weekend of slavery I was spending with my girlfriend made me feel nauseous to my core. How could Mistress H betray my secret like that? Hang on though, this was just a game wasn’t it? I laughed at myself, deciding that there had been no phone call. Mistress H had obviously pretended to make a call to add to the authenticity of our game and make me squirm. I decided not to let her get the better of me and pretended I hadn’t even heard the so-called phone conversation.

“Footstool!” Mistress H commanded with an authoritative tone. I dutifully crawled to her feet in front of the sofa, positioning myself sideways on so that she could rest her feet in the middle of my back. She flicked on the TV. “Deal Or No Deal” was on. The contestant had 9 boxes left – 5 blue and 4 red, including the 1p box and the £250,000 box. “Ooh, this could go all the way!” chimed Mistress H. “Let’s make this more fun. For every blue box that’s opened, I will allow you to smell between my toes until the next box is opened. For every red box that’s opened, you get 5 swipes from my paddle.” With that, she produced a leather paddle from beside the sofa, playfully slapping it in her hands as she continued to speak. “If the 1p box gets opened, you’ll get the footjob of your life. BUT, if the £250,000 box gets opened, I’m going to beat your arse until it’s red raw and then I’ll do the same to the soles of your feet so you’ll be forced to crawl around on all fours for the rest of the weekend! Deal… or no deal?” she laughed ironically.

What should I do? If I was lucky I’d get several sniffs of her amazing feet and maybe even a footjob to relieve my aching cock but if I was unlucky I’d be spanked several times and thrashed mercilessly until I was unable to walk. But the allure of the footjob encouraged me to take the gamble. My bruised balls had been waiting to be given the chance of releasing their load for hours now and my hormones got the better of me. I heard the word “deal” emanating from my lips before I could even fully process the information!

I waited tensely under Mistress H’s feet as the next box was opened. £50 – a blue box! My heart skipped as Mistress H’s toes clasped my nose gently and she ordered me to sniff. I was in heaven and once again my member was standing to full attention. The next box, another blue. I continued sniffing as the audience went wild and the presenter did his best to make the act of random box opening sound like a highly skilled art. Then came the £35,000 box. I just saw the sum written on its red background when THWACK! The leather paddle slapped down on my left buttock, causing it to sting and burn in a not entirely unpleasant way. The boxes alternated blue, red, blue for the next three boxes, giving me alternating tastes of pleasure and pain. There was now only one blue number left (the 1p “footjob” box) and four reds (including the £250,000 box still). Suddenly I realised the contestant would probably go all the way to the end and I’d be guaranteed at least 3 more rounds of lashes and either the footjob or beating of my life. Unbelievably, three reds in a row were opened, giving me 15 more strokes of the paddle. Occasionally Mistress H's aim was a little awry, catching the butt plug and sending a jolt of pain deep inside me!

Now it was down to the last 2 boxes: the contestant’s own box and one more to be opened. He refused the banker’s offer and the presenter teased the audience, building up the tension before opening the box. Would the contestant be the next quarter-millionaire or anther member of the 1p club? The question was answered with the hardest swipe of the leather paddle that I’d ever experienced. My buttocks felt like they were on fire and the paddle continued to rain down on my red and battered behind until I sobbed audibly.

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough of that for now!” Mistress H chuckled. “Roll over onto your back with your head facing the sofa and your legs lifted back towards me so that I can punish your feet!” I reluctantly complied and moved into position. She planted her soles squarely over my face, making it difficult to breathe. I dare not move. My breathing became rapid and the smell of her feet filled my nostrils. Then the foot beating began. Mistress H struck every inch of my soles from heel to toe. The blows that hit my arches were the worst of all; the pain was unbearable! By the time she finished I was crying hard, bawling like a child. I collapsed into a heap when she let go of my ankles. The throbbing in my buttocks and feet was like nothing I’d ever felt. I tried to sit up but couldn’t put any weight on my behind.

“Let’s see you stand like the man you claim to be”, hissed Mistress H with an air of malice in her voice. I stood but immediately fell to my knees in pain: it felt like I was trying to stand on burning coals. As I sat there sobbing I looked at the soles of my feet. They were bruised and swollen beyond recognition. This game had gone too far and I decided it was time to end it.



“Okay Helen, let’s stop this now. I’ve had enough. It’s not fun any more!” I implored.

“It’s fun for me slave, more so than I would ever have imagined!”

“Well it’s not for me!” I shouted. “This game is over”.

“I’m afraid you’ve broken the terms of our agreement then. The deal was the whole weekend, no safe words, and we’re not even through the first day yet. So here’s the new deal: you submit to me now and become my permanent foot slave and whipping boy or it’s over between us. No second chances!”

My world came crashing down around me. This was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. But I’d imagined a life shared equally, not a life of servitude. She was crazy. Or maybe it was I who was crazy, because the thought of losing her was too much to comprehend and at that moment I realised that any sort of life with her was a million times better than a life of freedom without her. All I’d ever wanted was for her to be happy and so I found myself quickly giving her the only possible answer I could:

“I submit, Mistress”.