Foot Slave of James
by Anon

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The mobile phone was held tauntingly in front of my face - although the photograph taken with it was blurred, it was clearly my face in the picture.

My cheek was flat to the arch of James's black-socked foot and, by the looks of the picture, I was clearly enjoying myself.

" Delete that picture, you sonofabitch", I shouted, making a lunge for the phone.

" No way, buddy!", replied James with an evil grin, "you belong to me now, or this picture goes "global", if you know what I mean."

He held the phone out of my reach and with a kick to my chest, pinned me to the floor and, standing up, he towered over me.

Before I tell you what happened next, how on earth did I get into this situation? How did a whiskey-drinking session between two old friends turn out this way?

James and I had been friends for a long time. He was a couple of years younger than me at 26, but was taller at 6ft. I'd met him because we'd both been out with the same girl, although it was a lot more serious for him than for me. When I first met him I was impressed at the feeling of power that seemed to radiate from him. He spent a lot of time working out, and was extremely well built. He was obviously used to getting his own way and, being a somewhat submissive type, was happy to acquiesce to this cocky, demanding young man. At first I was mesmerized by his face, he had light, but naturally tanned skin, sandy-colored hair and piercing blue eyes, but my eyes were quickly drawn to his feet. As someone who appreciates the male foot, I was always curious as to what wonderful secrets were trapped inside the Converse All-stars that he always seemed to be wearing. I didn't have to wait long to find out. I discovered that James shared my passion for rare and expensive whiskies. The difference was, though, I could afford them - he couldn't. My job allowed me to travel, so I was always bringing back different Scotch, Irish and American whiskies -often spending well over $100 a bottle to get the right one. The bottles got more expensive - and more frequent - as I realized that this could be a good hook to get James to my flat and a chance to get to his feet.

Our whiskey evenings became a regular occurrence. By the end of the night, I would often end up laying on the floor - ostensibly because of the whiskey and my convenient "bad back", but really so that I could be close to James's feet and watch his graceful, panther-like movement as he'd step over me to go to the bathroom. Occasionally he'd "accidentally" step on me - "oops, buddy! Thought you were a rug", he'd chuckle. Or he'd plant his large, beefy feet on my chest, "stay there", he'd say, "that's comfortable!" I often fantasized about these moments and wished I could be a real doormat or footstool for James. Beneath him - supporting his majestic, often black-socked, wide, high-arched size 12s. Of course I'd have to wriggle and try to escape, I didn't want James to know that I'd do anything to be his footslave, and after a short struggle he'd always allow me to go free.

This particular evening, James had arrived at my flat in a furious mood; he'd obviously already been drinking. Apparently he'd just been laid off and was ranting about his former boss and the company. He slumped down onto the sofa, kicked off his shoes and stared at me.

" Don't just stand there", he ordered, "Get me a drink!"

" Yes boss", I replied sarcastically and poured a large measure of expensive Jameson's Midleton Rare for both of us.

" Cheers", said James as I handed it to him. He slugged the whole measure in one shot, "don't sit down", he continued, "I need another". I brought the bottle, handed it to him and sat in the chair opposite.

" Stupid bastards", he muttered as he poured another large measure, "I wouldn't go back if they went down on their knees and kissed my feet."

I shot a glance at his feet - his dark socks were damp from the day's stress and were already giving off an irresistible odor of old leather and sweat. I wouldn't mind kissing them for you, I thought to myself. After finishing nearly the whole $120 bottle, I was laid on the floor and James was laid out on the sofa on his back with his feet hanging tantalizingly over the arm.

He'd drunk considerably more than me and soon started snoring softly, the pressure of the day had obviously tired him out. Seizing the opportunity I quietly turned onto my stomach and crawled until I was beneath his feet. I raised myself up and, afraid of waking him, gently sniffed his toes and soles. The smell was much stronger here, and almost intoxicating. The thrill of actually being at his powerful feet was nearly too much for me and I took a couple of deep breaths before continuing.

Making sure that the snoring continued, I started to rub my face on his feet. I started with my forehead, allowing his strong toes to poke into my eyes. Eventually I turned my head and fitted my right cheek into the high arch on his left foot. His feet were radiating heat and the warm, dampness of his sock against my face felt wonderful. I had just decided to commence the next part of my plan, which was to remove his socks and actually lick his bare foot, when I realized that the snoring had stopped.

Anxious to ensure James was still asleep, I peered round his foot, which was gigantic from my viewpoint, and immediately made eye contact with James. He had a slight smile playing round his lips and, with his 5 o'clock shadow and high cheekbones, looked like a god to me. He was pointing his mobile phone at his feet; I assumed that he must have been sending a text message.

" Umm... hi", I started. James stayed silent, just looking directly at me. I could feel myself almost shrinking under the power of his gaze. James had a remarkable way of making me feel totally inferior, which was probably why I was so desperate to serve him.

" What were you doing?", he asked eventually. Not aggressively, but slowly, in the way a cat would speak to a trapped mouse.

" Umm, well...", I desperately grasped for a plausible sounding explanation, "someone's feet really smelt and I can't bend down to mine, so thought I'd check yours. They really do stink, you know...", my explanation tailed off.

" I don't buy that." James answered. Still smiling. Still using the same low, soft voice. "You looked as if you were really enjoying yourself. Like a dog rubbing itself off its master's legs." He continued.

" You were asleep!" I retorted, defensively, "I could hear you snoring! How do you know what I was doing?"

" I only snore when I'm not sleeping well." James replied, "I woke up when I felt you at my feet. I've answered your question, now answer mine: What were you doing?"

His voice was now more authoritative, and I felt like I was been given an order. Totally trapped, I caved. "I have a thing for feet", I said weakly, bowing my head, "particularly male feet and particularly...."

" Go on", prompted James, tapping the side of my head with the big toe of his left foot, wafted the smell of his sweat-soaked foot over my nose, I knew I was beaten and just had to submit to his feet.

" Particularly.... particularly yours!"

I didn't feel any more relaxed now that my confession was out. I just sat there wondering what he would do.

" What would you have done, if I hadn't woken up?" he asked.

" Honestly?"

" Honestly."

" I would probably have taken off your socks and licked the sweat from each of your feet", I replied. I couldn't possibly get any lower than this, or so I thought.

" Sicko." He said.

" Look, I think you should just go.", I answered, "Now you know, I worship your feet. I feel awkward, you feel awkward. Just go."

" Don't think so. I need a place to stay", he replied.

" What?"

" I have no job, I can't afford rent on my flat. I need a place to stay."

He said, "I think I might stay here."

" You can't." I stated firmly. My embarrassment was kicking in, at what I'd been forced to confess and I just wanted to be alone. James didn't answer. He just turned his mobile phone and pointed the screen at me, showing the photo I mentioned at the beginning. So what happened next?

Now, here I was pinned underneath his right foot. He was putting a reasonable amount of pressure on my chest, and I could definitely feel the contours of his heel and the ball of his foot. I stared up his trunk-like jean-clad leg - past his narrow waist, up his well-defined chest and into those piercing, blue eyes.

" Like I said. I OWN YOU NOW!" he repeated. "I have no job, but maybe I don't need one any more. I think it's about time you finished what you started."

With that, he sat back down again and stretched out his legs.

" Wha??" I shook my head, not understanding what he was saying.

" Remove my socks, lick my feet.,” he ordered. I started to get angry. This was not the way I'd planned things at all. I'd hoped for a bit of discreet fun at James's feet, a few good fantasies to keep going over in my mind, with him none the wiser. Now he was ordering me to give him a home and to lick his feet.

" Screw you. Get out!" I shouted.

" Wrong answer." He replied and started tapping away on the keypad of his

Mobile phone.

" What are you doing?" I demanded.

" Sending these pictures to... what was your company's general e-mail address again? Ah, sales@..." he continued. I couldn't take the risk – if all my employees saw these pictures, I'd be ruined.

" Ok, ok" I replied. He didn't stop typing.

" I said OK!!" I said again - getting more panicky.

" I'll stop typing when you start licking." James said - he didn't even glance in my direction. Thoroughly defeated I started to remove his socks.

" With your teeth" he ordered, still typing. I pushed the leg of his jeans up with my nose, until I got to the top of his black work socks. Gripping the elastic top with my teeth, I started to pull the sock down.

" Heh, that tickles", James said as my nose and forehead brushed the hairs on the back of his leg. The only way I could remove the sock was from the back, down and over his heel. So my neck was craned around between his ankles, before lying on the ground and tugging the sock over the heel and along his sole. As I moved my head from under his heel, his foot banged down onto the floor, the sock slipped off his toes and I was left looking like a bad dog, chewing its master's sock.

" Not bad." James said, he'd stopped typing now, "But this e-mail is written. All I need to do is press "Send", and if the other foot crashes down the same as the first, I will send it. Understood?" I nodded dumbly and removed the second, damp and rank sock a lot gentler. When both socks were removed I started licking his feet. Although this was a dream come true, I was still scared - not knowing what would happen next! I started down by his heel and nibbled with my teeth to soften the hard skin.

His feet tasted salty and slightly soapy - which I wasn't really expecting. I cleaned each piece of sock lint and congealed sweat, fluff and dead skin from the creases in his sole and used my tongue and teeth to do the same at the base of his toenails. James had strong, but short toes. They were splayed at the ends and his foot hygiene program evidently didn't extend to cleaning his toenails. There was plenty of toe-jam and fluff to clean from beneath and between his toes, and I worked quietly and happily on each foot. His feet certainly tasted stronger around the high-sweat areas, such as between and beneath the toes and around the ball. The skin of his feet was very light-colored and generally soft, with short dark hairs sprouting on the tops and base of the toes. As I finished, I planted a grateful kiss on the sole of each foot.

When I looked up, still in my kneeling position, I noticed that James was smiling and obviously taking more photos with his phone.

" Just collecting some more ammunition", he said, "but you looked like you enjoyed that so much, that I think you'll get used to our new arrangement without giving too many problems. Lie on your back, with your head at my feet."

I complied and he placed both of his feet over my face. The sweat was already starting to bead on his soles again, and I could see why they always smelt so deliciously pungent. He pressed his heels into my eyes and then, moving his heels to my forehead, he squeezed my nose with the balls of each foot, curling his toes over my chin he started moving his feet backwards and forwards, as if wiping them on a doormat, which really he was. He started to speak, softly and hypnotically. I didn't need to be able to see his face to know that his powerful gaze was boring into me.

" You belong to me now", he said, "You exist for my feet. I am your Master. You are my slave." I resisted slightly and moved my head, but the rhythmic motion of his feet brought me back.

" You will go to work, but I will get the wages. Your reward will be my feet. You will serve them and me", he continued, "Is that what you want, slave? Answer me. Is that what you want?"

My mind was still spinning, I felt as if I was now totally owned, but something, somewhere in my head was telling me that this was not right. I paused before answering.

" You've made your decision", James announced abruptly. He removed his feet from my face and started to put his socks on, as if he were about to go. Suddenly with a rush I realized that I *needed* to belong to his feet, to him. I needed James as my master and I was prepared to do anything to get it.

" Master", I said. James stopped; his sock was halfway onto his right foot.

" Speak", he replied.

" Master, I need your feet. I need to serve you. I need to belong to you. Rule me with your feet and I will gladly be your slave."

" Good answer, but too little, too late." He said and continued pulling on his sock. Now I was nearly in tears at the thought of losing his feet. I turned around, knelt on the floor and grasped his left ankle, burying my face into the moist fabric of his sock - the only place I wanted to be.

" Master please." I begged, "I'll do anything... ANYTHING... just let me serve you; devote my life to you and your feet. Tell me what you want - it's yours, just let me be under your feet again."

James stood, looking contemptuously at me. "Lay on your back again", he commanded. I gladly obeyed, staring up at this god-like creature standing above me - who was looking at me like I was lower than dirt. He stepped up onto my groin with his left foot; I nearly exploded there and then.

The pain became intense as he put his whole weight on me while lifting his right foot, which he then planted in my face. As his sole descended towards my face, I could see the dust and the sweat stains on the sole of his sock. I could also see his light colored skin where the fabric had nearly worn through on the heel and round the toes. He planted his heel on my chin to the left of my face, his arch surrounded the left side of my nose and the ball of his foot was pressed into my eye socket. His toes splayed over my forehead.

There he stood, victorious. One powerful foot on my groin, the other on my face. Completely controlling, dominating and subjugating me. He stood as a hunter would stand over his prey, and I just lay as still as I could. Basking in his power, feeling the dampness and heat from his all-conquering feet, crushed beneath his muscular 180lb weight, and knowing that this was my rightful place.

" I will give you a chance to please me." He said, after enjoying his triumphant stance, "if you fail, I will leave. I will send the photos to your employees and you will be ruined. Do you understand me, slave?"

" Yes, Master" was my muffled reply.

" I will sleep in your bed tonight. You will remain on the floor. I shall expect breakfast before you go to work. After work you will drive me to my old flat, collect my clothes and bring them here. You will cook for me, care for me and obey me in every way. Is that clear?"

" Yes, Master"

" Good." James stepped off me and went to bed. I crawled after him and slept on the floor, the socks he was wearing were my pillows. I didn't sleep very well and woke early to make breakfast for my new Master before going to work. Somehow I had figured that everything would be back to normal in the morning and, truth be told, I wasn't sure that I wanted it to be.

" Breakfast" I announced, bringing a tray into the bedroom. James stirred, blinked at me and pointed to the vacant bedside table. The duvet was up to his waist and his smooth, well-defined chest and muscular arms were visible. "Where are my socks?" He asked. As I bent to pick up his socks from beside the bed, he raised his foot and slammed the heel into the back of my head. I immediately dropped to my knees, holding my head to ward off further blows and soften the pain.

" That's for not calling me Master" he said, "Learn your place, slave, or the chance is gone. Lay on your back."

Again I obeyed, I could feel my neck stiffening with the pain, but didn't want to annoy him further. He threw back the duvet, and climbed out of bed, standing heavily on my chest.

" ooff", I said, as the air was forced out of my chest. He straightened and looked down at me. Wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, I could now see what a perfect physical specimen he was. His muscular legs thickened as they vanished inside the boxer shorts. Again he towered over me, and I felt small and pathetic in his presence. I could barely breathe, crushed here beneath his awesome feet. I was even worried that my rib cage collapse, unable to support his weight.

" The human body can take a lot of punishment, slave." He said, as if reading my thoughts, "Get used to it - every inch of your body will soon be covered with MY footprints, so you never forget who your Master is, or where you belong!" He spun on his heel, painfully grinding the skin on my chest beneath his foot, stepped off me and straight into the en-suite bathroom. I remained in the same position, waiting for him to return.

As he came out of the bathroom, he stepped flatly onto my face. As I watched the beautiful sole of his foot descend over my eyes, I suddenly realized how a bug would feel, watching helplessly as its life was extinguished by a vastly superior being. For a brief moment I wished I could be that small - stuck to the sole of his foot day and night; never leaving the safety and security of existing in the warm, sweaty darkness beneath my young Master's foot.

Before his shower I was allowed to clean his feet again and then went to work. My routine afterwards was similar. I tongue-cleaned all of James's shoes, boots and sneakers. I tongue-cleaned his feet every day, unless some petty thing I had done, or not done, had annoyed him. My wages now went to supporting him.

He turned my spare bedroom into a gym for his personal use, I was allowed to lick the sweat from his feet and, occasionally, armpits when he'd finished working out. He would wear the same gym socks for several days straight and would then make me beg to smell, lick and kiss them. They were always rank, sweat-sodden, discolored and became, to me, my most precious possession. After all, everything else became James's - my Lexus, my flat, my wages, my savings, my share portfolio, even my business. James became the beneficiary of my life insurance policy and everything I now do is for the praise and glory of my Master James.

I am his footstool as he watches TV, his doormat as he walks through the house, and his punch bag for him to demonstrate his power on - a power that grows stronger every day. I could map in great detail the contours of the feet that rule my life; my tongue continues to cover every square millimeter in loving detail. The hard calluses on the heel and big toe are now gone, and I pedicure his toenails to perfection. The clippings are never wasted; it was Master James's idea that they are kept as a reward for outstanding service. Usually on a Friday evening, I am given some of his old toenail clippings to chew on, which in my newfound position is treat I beg for.

Master James has convinced me that I cannot continue without him, that being dominated by his young, masculine feet is the sole purpose of my life. Actually, I really do believe him. I live for coming home from work, cooking my Master's dinner and then licking his feet while he eats. The pain I feel from his weight bearing down on me and crushing the air from my lungs as he stands on my chest prove to me that I am truly alive and in the best possible place I can be.

We still have our whiskey evenings but now, as Alpha Male, Master James has the lion's share. I am allowed to lick my expensive whiskey from his feet and, amazingly, I have begun to believe it tastes better that way. When a client recently offered me a glass of one of my favorite whiskies, it tasted.... wrong. My client noticed my expression and asked if there was something wrong with the whiskey.

" No", I replied, "mine tastes a little different, that's all." I couldn't very well explain that it was because I drank my whiskey from the toes of a hot, sweating, studly hunk of a 26 year-old.

And so, maybe things haven't turned out too bad. Master James still threatens me, from time to time, but I have become accustomed to, and enjoy my life beneath his cruel and merciless feet, begging for whatever scrap of attention my Master chooses to give. My life as an independent human being is over, but my life as living doormat, human footstool, foot licker and slave gets better every day.