Weekend of Slavery - Part 4

Story written by - Slave R

Continued from Part 3...


I had been kneeling in the middle of the living room, licking Miss Rhiannon’s sandals clean for a good half an hour. The sandals were now spotlessly clean and my mouth tasted of a combination of leather, dirt and sweaty feet. Despite my humiliation I was still rubbing my penis through the fabric of my jogging bottoms, my erection remaining rock hard.



Forthwith, Misstress H and Miss Rhiannon entered the room in their outfits for the night. I was dumbstruck: never had I seen such a vision of dominance and beauty. I quickly realised our destination for the evening was no ordinary night club. Mistress H was wearing a black satin bustiere, leather hotpants and calf length high-heeled leather boots that hugged the form of her lower legs. It was an outfit she had ordered on the internet a while ago when we were messing around with different role-play scenarios. In her hand she held what I instantly recognised to be my own role-play outfit: in addition to my wrist and ankle cuffs, collar and lead, there was a pair of black PVC hotpants with zipper access to the crotch and a built-in butt plug. I recalled the night of fun we’d had with these outfits, behind the closed door of our bedroom. Somehow, I felt, tonight was going to be a lot less about fun – at least on my part!



Miss Rhiannon was wearing a red latex dress that clung to her every curve, ending just below the line of her buttocks; she had painted her fingernails and toenails gloss black and was currently barefoot. She glanced at me holding her shoes and then her gaze fell to my hand on the bulge in my jogging pants. Miss Rhiannon raised an eyebrow, giving a wry smile.



“Oh my God!” Miss Rhiannon laughed, “You’re actually getting off on licking my shoes clean! I had no idea what a little pervert you are! Well, maybe a little – I’m well aware that you sneak glances at my feet at work whenever you get the opportunity! At first I found it creepy but eventually it just amused me to know someone could be so obsessed by feet and I enjoyed watching you get uncomfortable and fidgety whenever I wore revealing shoes. I assumed you were just getting a bit flustered by the little foot shows I gave you but now I’m guessing you were desperately trying to hide your erection under the desk!”



“Is this true, slave?” Mistress H interjected. “Were you spending your days at work getting hard to Miss Rhiannon’s feet? Weren’t my feet enough for you? I endulged your little fetish often!”



“No Mistress! I mean, yes, occasionally I did get hard looking at Miss Rhiannon’s feet but I couldn’t help it, it wasn’t intentional, I just can’t resist looking at girls’ feet if they’re pretty. But none are as pretty as yours and I’d never worship another girl’s feet!”



“You will if I tell you to, slave! You’re not my boyfriend any more and the rules of engagement have altered somewhat. You now get to experience the feet of other women, if I so desire, but you should know that, by the same rule, you no longer have exclusive rights to my feet and I shall demand they are worshipped by anyone I see worthy of the job, at any time I see fit. If I see any men stealing furtive glances at MY feet I shall be good to give them a good show, preferably in full view of you.”



I felt gut-wrenching anxiety at the thought of my Mistress having her feet pleasured by other men but I understood the fairness of the arrangement and although I’d admired other women’s feet from afar, I never thought I’d be in a position to worship them and hoped it would give me some moments of enjoyment during my new life of servitude. My Mistress was truly benevolent!



“Now slave,” Mistress H continued, “let’s see just how much you like Miss Rhiannon’s feet. Strip so that we can see that pathetic erection of yours.”



I hesitated, flushing with embarrassment and incredulity. Mistress H’s gaze bore into me intently, unflinchingly. She folded her arms in a demonstration of building impatience. Tentatively, I pulled my hoodie and T-shirt off over my head in one. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Miss Rhiannon appraising my physique with an indifferent glance. Since I’d met Mistress H I’d let myself go and my once-lean body had gradually succumbed to a sedentary lifestlye, developing a slight paunch and an overall loss of what definition I once had. I felt utterly abashed to be scrutinised so closely and with the result of disinterest on Miss Rhiannon’s part and I felt my erection rapidly losing its turgidity, which, instead of relieving some of my embarrassment, only served to fuel it further.



My heart was racing as I kicked off my slippers and slipped my thumbs inside the waistband of my joggers. Was I really about to strip naked for the joint amusement of my former girlfriend and best friend? Finally I succumbed and in one swift movement I pulled the joggers down and stepped out of them. The superior women stood in silence for a few moments, taking in the vision of my denuded form.



“Well,” Miss Rhiannon said finally, “I suppose you’d been with him so long because of his personality, Helen, because it sure wasn’t for his physique or his cock size!” The two girls giggled together. I could feel myself getting hotter and redder with utter humiliation. I’d always thought I was reasonably well endowed, and maybe the girls were just teasing, but with my current level of low self-esteem I took the jibes as fact. I had derived some arousal from many of the previous humiliations I’d endured during the course of the day but my confidence was now crushed.



“It’s more of a ‘grower’ than a ‘shower,’ Rhi,” Mistress H said, smiling almost sympathetically in my direction. “You could hand those strappy sandals of yours off his boner when he’s fully aroused!”



“Really?” Miss Rhiannon quizzically replied. “I think I’d like to see that!”



“Be my guest,” Mistress H answered. “We already know he can’t help but get hard when he looks at your feet so you shouldn’t find it difficult!”



Miss Rhiannon strode over to me, inches away from me and gazed up into my eyes. “I shouldn’t have to look up to a slave”, she said, reaching out and playfully tweaking my nipples. Then, squeezing them harder, she tugged on them painfully, forcing me to my knees. Placing the sole of her right foot on my left shoulder, she pushed me back onto the floor using her body weight and promptly stepped onto my chest with both feet. It was difficult to breathe with her full weight constricting my ribs.



Now, balancing on her right foot, she raised her left and held it inches above my face, close enough to smell her foot scent. “You like looking at my feet slave: here’s a close-up for you. Stare at my foot!” She ordered.



I complied, studying every line on the sole of her foot, every curve, every nuance of tone and texture. I could feel myself becoming aroused again and Mistress H quickly pointed this out. Miss Rhiannon glanced back to see the flaccidity leaving my penis once more. She looked back round towards my face, spreading her toes so she could see into my eyes through the gaps between them. Then she clamped them over my nose and smirked, forcing me to breathe through my mouth.



“Now lick my sole, slave!” Miss Rhiannon ordered. I complied as best I could with my nose held tightly in her grip. This was all getting too much and I could feel that I was once again standing at full attention.



“He definitely likes the taste of your foot, Rhi,” Mistress H chuckled, nonchalantly prodding the base of my dick with the toe of her boot.



“Ooh, so he does! I’m impressed slave!” With that, Miss Rhiannon released her grip and proceeded to rub her saliva-moistened sole all over my face. “Here, have some special scent to wear to the club,” she laughed, before stepping off me and going to sit on the sofa. “Now slave, stand up and bring me my shoes,” she ordered.



Knowing exactly what she meant, I rose to my feet and carefully dangled Miss Rhiannon’s sandals from my throbbing erection, hanging them by their leather spaghetti-straps. I walked awkwardly towards her, my erection bobbing about uncontrollably under the weight of the shoes. I stood right in front of her, my groin at just about her eye level. She slowly reached up, retrieving the first shoe from its fleshy hanger, brushing the underside of my cock ever-so-slightly with the nail of her little finger as she slid the strap up the length of my shaft and over the sensitive head.



Miss Rhiannon slid her foot into her freshly cleaned stiletto sandal, fastening the straps around her ankle. Watching her do this was not helping me to maintain my composure and I could feel pre-cum lubricating the head of my penis. She slid the straps of the other sandal along my length, pulling them over the head before slipping her foot into the shoe. As she was fastening the straps, she suddenly looked down quizzically, rubbing a portion of one strap with her finger.



“Eww! You got your juices on my sandal, you disgusting pig!” Miss Rhiannon admonished.



“You shouldn’t let him get away with that,” Mistress H commented.



“Slave, get on all fours!” Miss Rhiannon ordered, taking Mistress H’s cue. I complied and was promptly given six stinging slaps on my bare buttocks. “Don’t get your filth on me again or I’ll use more than my hand next time!”



“Sorry Miss Rhiannon,” I replied automatically and without hesitation.



“Slave, you’re making us late for our night at the fetish club! We’ve all got a lot to learn about our new roles. Now crawl over here and put on your outfit while I call us a cab.



***



In no time we were in the cab on our way to the fetish club. Mistress H was kind enough to allow me to wear casual clothes over my PVC shorts and slave bindings and likewise, the girls were covered by long coats, but as soon as we’d paid our admission to the club my clothes were forcibly removed by Mistress H and handed in at the cloak room. Next, she attached my lead to the collar around my neck and ordered me onto all fours.



“Now Rhi,” Mistress H began as they walked down the corridor into the main room, totally ignoring me as I crawled obediently behind them at their heels, “let’s try to find an experienced Domme who can give us some guidance on administering corporal punishment. I don’t know about you but my technique could use a little fine-tuning!”



“Excellent idea Helen! And judging by slavey’s inability to clean my feet without tickling them, I think his technique could use a little work too.”



We entered the main room, a large, warmly lit, circular room with burgundy walls and black leather furnishings, which mainly consisted of clusters of low, comfortable chairs interspersed with glass side tables, surrounding a central raised stage area where entertainment was provided. Currently a troupe of female strippers were strutting around a naked man who was handcuffed to a chair, teasing him mercilessly with their perfect bodies. I didn’t get long to take this in as I was promptly dragged to the long, curved bar area at the far side of the room. The bar was lined with high quality swivelling chrome bar stools with leather seats. At the near end of the bar were two formidable-looking Dominas and their slaves. One, a tall statuesque blonde with long, slender legs, wearing a skin-tight black catsuit, was sat on one of the bar stools, sipping a martini. She was barefoot. Her right foot was on the barstool footrest, gripping it with her toes, her sole facing backwards towards the room. I could tell her foot was quite large compared to Mistress H and Miss Rhiannon’s dainty peds but it was beautifully shaped and obviously well pedicured and cared for. Her left leg was crossed over the right so that her foot dangled in the air. Beside her was a slave wearing nothing but a leather thong and the words “foot boy” scrawled across his chest in red lipstick. He was busying himself by massaging his Mistress’s waiting foot, tenderly kissing her toes as he did so, being completely ignored by his owner who was enjoying watching her female companion reprimand a man who had the nerve to walk up to her and offer her a drink.



The other woman, also blonde, had the physique of an equestrian – a firm, toned body, muscular, powerful-looking thighs and a pert, round derriere. She wore a black, cropped vest top, pink miniskirt and black patent leather thigh-high boots. Her long blonde hair cascaded down to the middle of her back. We caught the end of her conversation with the beleaguered man who had clearly got more than he bargained for when he arrived at the bar.



“Well answer me, michael, what makes you think a woman of my class would be interested in accepting a drink from an insignificant worm like you, let alone entertain the idea of making small talk? Do you come to these establishments to hit on women and get cheap thrills from ogling their outfits? I bet you do!”



“N-no, I…” stammered the unfortunate man, michael, as he looked pleadingly at her, before he was abruptly cut off mid-flow.



“That’s the third time you’ve looked me in the eye! What do I keep saying? You’re not worthy of making eye contact with superior women like me. But you just don’t learn, do you michael?” The woman asked angrily.



“I’m sorry Samantha, I made a mistake coming over here to talk to you. I’ll leave you and your friend Becky in peace”, michael replied, humbly.



“That’s Miss Samantha to you. And my friend is Miss Rebecca. And if you’re going to frequent these clubs you need to understand the hierarchy. You approached me, a Mistress, to make conversation, but I only talk to people on my level. Other Mistresses or Masters. You are clearly not a Master by the fact that you’re unable to stand up for yourself when challenged, which suggests to me you’d make good slave material”.



“Please, Miss Samantha, I’d be honoured to experience a night in your service, it would be a real thrill for me to serve a beautiful woman like you!” michael replied, looking submissively down at the floor.



“Okay, I’ll give you a trial session this evening. But this isn’t a bit of role-play fun: for most of the members here it’s a lifestyle choice. Don’t expect me to give you a ‘happy ending’ at the end of the night. Now, lower your trousers and pants and lean over the bar!”



“Err, what?” responded michael, incredulously.



“You need to have your attitude corrected. You’re far too forward and presumptuous when approaching women. Now bare your bottom and lean over the bar,” Miss Samantha growled dangerously. Embarrassed and visibly shaken by the unexpected turn of events, michael reluctantly complied and lowered his trousers and underpants before bending his upper body over the granite-topped bar. Miss Samantha drew her arm back into full extension before swinging it forward quickly and precisely so that the palm of her hand landed squarely, precisely and heavily in the middle of michael’s left buttock. The loud slapping noise made me flinch so I could only imagine how stingingly painful it must have been for michael. Miss Samantha took another swing, this time at his right buttock. Two red palm prints were clearly visible on his butt cheeks. She repeated this several times; I lost count how many but the spanking must have lasted for at least five minutes without let up. By the end of it, his entire bottom was glowing a red hue and he lay slumped over the bar, panting.



“Kneel at the floor beside me, michael,” Miss Samantha ordered, “and don’t even think about pulling those trousers up – I want everyone to see my handiwork”.



Obediently, michael took up his position beside Miss Samantha as she climbed back onto her barstool. It was at that point Miss Rebecca caught site of our party from the corner of her eye and swivelled on her stool to face us. Her slave followed her foot as it swung around, eager not to lose contact with her toes, continuing to massage her sole with his thumbs as he delicately sucked and nibbled her toes.



“Hello!” She said to Mistress H and Miss Rhiannon, with a beaming smile. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you here before. Are you new members?”



“Yes, this is our first time going anywhere like this. I’ve just acquired myself a slave and thought I’d come here to see if someone could show me the ropes, so to speak,” Mistress H replied. I’m Helen and this is Rhi,” she said, gesturing towards her friend.



“Becky and Sam,” Miss Rebecca replied. “Pleasure to meet you both.”



“You too, ladies. So, would you two be kind enough to give us some pointers in keeping our slave, here, in line and ensuring he does a good job worshipping us?



“We’d be delighted,” said Miss Samantha, while Miss Rebecca nodded and smiled.



“Well I think young Sam here would be the ideal person to teach you how to correct your slave,” Miss Rebecca grinned, glancing down at michael’s sore buttocks, “whereas I have had david here as my foot slave for almost ten years. He’s grown to adore every aspect of my feet to such an extent that he can only gain sexual gratification if my feet are involved in some way, on the rare occasion he’s allowed pleasure, of course. I’m sure I can give your slave some tuition.”



“Ooh good!” Miss Rhiannon exclaimed. “I think I could really enjoy getting my feet worshipped if my feet weren’t so ticklish. Do you think you could train slavey here to lick my feet without tickling me?” She enquired.



“I think so Rhi. I’ve trained david here very well; why don’t you let him worship your feet and see how it compares,” Miss Rebecca replied. “Here, take a seat next to me. david, kneel in front of Miss Rhiannon,” she commanded, pushing him away from her using the ball of her foot against his forehead. Obediently, david crawled over to and knelt in front of Miss Rhiannon, who was perched on the barstool next to Miss Rebecca.



With an air of reverence, david picked up Miss Rhiannon’s stiletto-shod right foot from the barstool footrest, delicately holding it in both hands, taking in the sexy styling of her stiletto sandals, her perfect toes decorated with black nail varnish, the narrow, daintiness of her foot and the curve of her arch. It was as if he was admiring some priceless, long-dreamed-of artefact.



“Slave!” Miss Rebecca barked at me, diverting my gaze from the foot worship ritual that was unfolding. “Come and kneel in front of me. I want you to study, take note and repeat on me what david is so deftly demonstrating on Miss Rhiannon!”



Mistress H dragged me over to where Miss Becky was sitting, passing her my lead before moving over to talk to Miss Samantha. “So, Sam,” she began, “fancy giving me some pointers on effective discipline techniques?”



“I thought you’d never ask!” Miss Samantha beamed. “michael, on your feet!”



A slightly dazed michael struggled to his feet, his trousers and pants still hanging around his ankles. Miss Samantha simply pointed at the bar and michael knew what he had to do. He positioned himself chest down on the bar, his bare bottom sticking out towards the room, visibly quivering in anxious anticipation of what was about to transpire.



So, there we all were: michael bent over the bar, still in shock about the unfolding events of the evening so far, with Mistress H to his left and Miss Samantha to his right; next to Miss Samantha sat Miss Rebecca, with myself knelt at her feet, glancing over at david with keen interest to see his foot worship technique; next to me, david was removing the shoe from Miss Rhiannon’s right foot, eager to commence the demonstration of his prowess.



“Are we ready girls?” Miss Rebecca enquired in a cheery tone.



“Yes!” The other three ladies chimed in unison.



“Okay, then let’s begin…”