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When I Became Your Foot Slave

by Codybrook2000

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You send me a text message with a time, date, and place, and I immediately set about making plans to travel to worship you.

You have summoned me to a hotel near where you are staying and given me specific instructions. I approach the front desk and give them the room number and my name. They find my name on the reservation and provide me a key. I give them my credit card and tell them to use it for payment for the room and any incidental charges. I then ask them to hold my bag in the luggage room per your orders. Having fulfilled all of your instructions, I walk towards the elevator, my knees starting to quiver and my mouth going dry as I prepare to encounter you face-to-face for the first time.

I arrive at the room, and after a momentary pause to take some deep breaths, I knock on the door. A few moments go by, and I wonder if you are there. I double check the room key (which you told me not to use) and make sure I’m in the right place. Suddenly, while I’m looking towards the ground, the door opens, and you stand before me, wearing a snug sleeveless t-shirt, gym shorts, and sneakers with low-cut socks. You have worked up a bit of a sweat, clearly having exercised recently. You stand there for a moment, towering over me and locking eyes with me, my neck noticeably tilting upwards to return your gaze. A grin comes over your face, and just as I start to feel awkward amidst the silence, you tell me, “Come in.” You place a “do not disturb” sign on the door just before it closes.

You follow me into the room, which has a king-sized bed and an ocean front view. I turn back towards you and see you setting up a video recorder. You set it on the nightstand and start to approach me. You then say, “State your name and why you are here.” “My name is slaveboy and I am here to worship and obey you, Master Rex,” I respond. “And what do you want to do more than anything in the world?,” you then ask. “I want to please You, Master Rex,” I respond. In reality, I am craving the chance to get up close and personal with your gorgeous size 15 feet, but I know that is not the right answer to your question.

You laugh at my answer. You take a seat in a chair over in the corner, but I do not move. You then tell me, “Good boy, let’s see if you did your homework. Strip off your clothes, and don’t be hiding from the camera.” I quickly take off everything I’m wearing, and stand there naked as the day I was born. You stand to inspect me, noting that I had scrawled “Property of Master Rex” on my chest, “Foot Bitch” on my abdomen, and “Rex” on my cock, which has already gotten so stiff it feels like it could jump off my body. “Good work, slave, just as I ordered. Now put all your clothes in this bag, except your socks. I gather up everything and place it in a laundry bag. You take it from me, remove my wallet and iPhone from my pants pocket, and then bring the bag to the room safe, where you lock it away, the combination unknown to me. You approach me again, taking my socks in your hand. You place one over my erect cock and then tie the other like a noose around my balls. “I don’t want you exploding all over me boy, and it looks like you’re already about to erupt.”

“Get me a beer from the fridge,” you tell me as you walk back to your chair. I grab the beer and extend me arm to hand it to you. You don’t reach for it, but instead stare into my eyes, and instruct me, “Get on your knees when your Master sits.” I fall to my knees, and then offer up the beer a second time with both hands, like a sacrifice at the altar of a temple, casting my eyes towards the floor. You take the beer in one hand and reach forward with your other arm, pushing me to the ground onto all fours. You immediately lift your legs up one at a time, and plant your massive feet on my back. You drag the heels of your sneakers up and down the length of my back, occasionally slamming your foot down in a thud, leaving you laughing as my body shakes in response.

You lift up your left foot and bring it down directly in front of my face, my eyes now transfixed by the top of one of the sneakers that encased the objects of my hunger and addiction. You graze the tip of my nose with the top of toebox of your sneaker.

“How does that feel, boy?”

“Amazing, Master.”

“How does it smell, boy?”

“It’s intoxicating, Master. I need your feet so bad.”

You slam your foot up on my face. “Just answer the questions you are asked, slave.”

“Yes, Master.”

I’m going to let you unlace my sneaker with your teeth boy. How does that sound?”

“Great, Sir.”

“Ok, boy. You have three minutes. Not a second longer, or else you are getting thrown into the hallway just like you are.”

I immediately set to work, furiously grabbing the tips of your laces to pull out the loops. I then starting burrowing at the knots, like a gopher gnawing a log. It turned out to be much harder than I anticipated, and you start calling out time warnings. “90 seconds…1 minute…30 seconds.” Finally with about 8 seconds to spare I manage to get the last lace unknotted and and just continue staring at the top of your foot.

“I bet you want me to let you take that shoe off, don’t you boy?”

“Yes, Master.” I had learned to keep my responses focused.

“Do you think I’m going to let you do that yet, boy?”

“No, Master.”

“Good answer, slave. Time to do the other shoe.” But instead of bringing your right foot to my face, you push me to the floor. You use your foot to flip me over onto my back, and now I am staring up at you as you stand over me. You step onto my head with your left foot and twist my face towards your right foot. “Go ahead and unlace that shoe, boy.” With my head planted under the sole of your left shoe, I furiously reach for the laces with my mouth, like I was bobbing for apples sideways. You twist your foot towards my face to allow me to unknot the laces, and as you do so, more of your body weight shifts towards your left foot and impresses itself on my face. Despite the intense pain, I finally manage to get your laces loosened. “Good work, boy.”

You step off my face and take a seat at the foot of the bed. I do not move.

“I bet you want to take these shoes off now don’t you slave?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You’ve never seen such sexy feet have you boy?”

“No, Sir.”

“What do you want to do with my feet, boy?”

“Whatever makes you happy Master. I’ll lick them, massage them, kiss them, press my face into your soles. I just want to please you Master.”

“Yes you do, boy…Yes, you do.” You stand up and approach my prostrate body, still sprawled on the floor – hot, panting, craving the chance to show my devotion. “Open your mouth, boy.” I open my mouth as wide as possible and you take the heel of your left shoe and shove it inside, slowly lifting your godly foot out of your sneaker. The aroma of leather and musk starts to pervade the air and I take a deep breath to absorb your manscent. Your sneaker falls beside my face, and I become entranced by my first sight of your massive foot, encased in a stretched, slightly moist sock. You start smearing your foot on my face, in broad, deep strokes. “Take it in, slave. Absorb my heat, my sweat, my strength. Show your Master how you adore his feet.” I completely lose myself in the feeling of your soles smothering my face.

Finally, your foot makes its way to my neck, where you start playfully pressing up and down on my throat. As my airway becomes more or less constricted, you state what is obvious to both of us. “See, slave, your life is completely under my control right now. My foot decides whether you’ll take your next breath. “ You take a deep step on my throat. “Feel that, boy. That’s what strength feels like. That’s power.” As you step off, I gasp for air, and just bellow, “Thank you, Master.”

Immediately, you plant your socked foot on my mouth. “Why are you talking, slave? I didn’t ask you a question.” You grab the shoe off your other foot, and slam it down several times against my engorged cock. “You do what I say. Nothing more, nothing less. Got it, slave? And yes, that was a question.”

I strain to say “Yes, Master,” with your massive sole still covering my mouth.

You step off me and stand up. “Get up, boy.” I struggle to my feet and look to you for further instruction. “Come here.” I approach you and you lift your right arm and grab my neck with your left hand. You plunge my face into your armpit, smearing your lingering sweat all over me. I become entrained to the smell of your sweat as it dries all over my face. You instruct me to lick your armpit clean, which I eagerly do for what feels like hours but was probably only a few minutes. We repeat the exercise with your other armpit. “Absorb that odor, slave. You will learn to recognize my scent.” When you are satisfied, you tell me “Grab me another beer” and proceed to stretch your tall frame out on the bed, with your feet dangling towards the edge. You prop your head up with an extra pillow and tell me to kneel, pointing at your feet.

I mistakenly assume you want me to start massaging your feet, and as my hands eagerly go for your size 15s, one of them swiftly kicks me in the face. “Slow down, slave. I just told you to kneel.”

I back off momentarily, and you tell me to lean my face forward onto the edge of the bed, right between your feet. When I have done so, you plant your endless soles on my face, more than smothering it. You ask me for my iPhone password, and after I tell it to you, you spend a few minutes in silence going through my photos, facebook page, and emails. You laugh as you point out that you could post a pretty provocative status update on my page right now if you wanted to. I know that you would never do that, but it makes me even hotter knowing that you could. My trust in you is absolute.

You start snapping some pictures with my phone, which reminds me that this whole session has been captured on video. You get bored with my phone and start sliding your soles in a rhythmic manner up and down my face. You say in a firm but gentle tone. “Listen boy, you belong to me now. I own your body, your mind, and your soul. I want you to devote all of your energy to doing what I tell you to do. Give over all of yourself to serving these big manly feet. Let them consume your senses – see them, smell them, feel them, hear them, taste them…and nothing but them. Got that boy?”

Despite the deep trance into which I had sunk, I sensed your question and quietly whispered, “Yes, Master.”

Lifting your feet off my face, you tell me to watch you. You take your left toes and start to dig at the sock on your right foot by the ankle. A grin spreads across your face as you slowly, gradually, expose your right heel. You watch my wide-eyed stare, fully realizing that even a fire alarm or earthquake would not unglue my gaze from your foot.

“How bad do you want to see the rest of my foot, slave?”

“Really badly, Master.”

“You’d do anything I said just to see my foot up close, wouldn’t you slave?”

“Yes, Master.”

You laugh as you nudge the sock up another inch.

“This could take awhile slave. My feet are pretty big.” I stay quiet since you haven’t asked me a question.”

Before you go any further, you suddenly shout out, “I have an idea, slave. Fetch my sneakers.” I go and grab them and resume my kneeling position while holding your footwear. I want you to put my big shoes on your tiny little feet and when I get these socks off, I want you to place them on your hands like mittens. My heart nearly jumps out of my chest as I listen to these instructions. I do as I am told and my cock gets even harder. My soles slide around the cavernous insides of your shoes. I feel the deep imprints of your feet on the insoles, the tips of my toes barely reaching the grooves left by the balls of your feet.

“You like that don’t you, boy”

“Yes Master, I like it a lot.”

“I bet the only thing you’d like more is to get my big manly feet in your mouth and hands, huh, boy?”

“Yes, Master, you are right as always.”

“Maybe you will…if you are lucky.”

You resume nudging the sock off of your foot. Finally, the sock reaches the top of your toes. You clench it between your first and second toes, and finally flick it at my face while you laugh. “You have no idea how ridiculous you look right now.” I simply grab the fallen sock and place it on my hand. I feel the heat and sweat lingering from the foot that had recently escaped it. But my eyes are completely transfixed by the appearance of your flawless sole and long shapely toes, which look nearly as long as my tiny fingers. I stare deeply into every square inch of your foot, which lingers just inches from my face. It takes every fiber of my being to restrain myself from lunging towards it like a starved dog.

“That’s right boy. There’s that big sexy foot. You want it badly. But you can’t have it just yet. We have another sock to remove. But you’re gonna do the work this time. No teeth though. I want you to get this sock off with your nose.”

My nose? I had no idea how this would work, but I didn’t care. My Master had given me an instruction and I was going to do what it took to please him. I brought my face up to your left ankle and nuzzled your sock with the tip of my nose. I started to nudge the top of your sock and suddenly feel the heel of your other foot plant itself on my bare shoulder. I shudder in complete erotic ecstasy as I feel the flesh of your bare foot touch the skin of my body for the first time. But I don’t allow your blatant teasing to distract me from my task. I guide my nose inside your sock, your manscent releasing itself directly into my nostrils as I slide the sock over your heel and guide it up to the top of your foot. As I do so, in another test of my willpower, I feel the sole of your foot grazing my cheek. Finally, the sock reaches the top of your toes, at which you point you clench it and shove it into my mouth. As you laugh, you tell me to take it out and put it on my other hand.

I look up and notice that you had removed your t-shirt at some point during this exercise, exposing your toned chest and torso. My attention immediately returns to your feet, and I wait in anticipation like a kid standing outside the doors of a soon-to-open candy store. I say nothing, but my silence betrays my absolute desperation to wrap my hands and tongue around the biggest, sexiest feet I had ever seen.

“Ok boy, now it’s time to prove yourself. I’m going to give you an hour to show me what you can do. I want you to make your best effort to please me by worshipping my big feet, got it? No touching your cock. This is all about me, not you. So get started. Take those socks off your hands so you can give me a nice deep massage. And make sure you eat up all the lint in between my toes.”

Without saying anything, I plunge my face onto the soles of your feet, rip the socks off my hands, and get my tongue and hands working on your feet. I knead your arches while I plunge each of your toes individually into my mouth, cleaning between your toes as instructed. I plant deep kisses atop the insteps of both your feet. I nibble at the harder skin of your heels, giving a mild exfoliation to what is already soft, supple flesh. I lose complete track of time, only noticing you occasionally taking pictures of me devouring your studly feet. My mouth finds its way to every square inch of your feet. From time to time, you playfully tap one foot against the side of my face while I work on the other, gently signaling me to give attention to it. I don’t want it to ever end, I am experiencing an absolute moment of bliss, a nirvana like no other.

Finally, without warning, you rip your feet away from me. “Good work, boy, Time’s up though. I’m hungry. It’s time for dinner.” You stand up and order me to give you back your shoes, which I realize I’m still wearing. You laugh, “what are you, like a size 9? I can’t even remember wearing a shoe that small. I was probably in third grade or something like that.”

You slip your sneakers back on your sockless feet and throw on your shirt and start to walk to the door. I remain completely naked and don’t know what to do. I haven’t been asked anything so remain silent. As you reach for the door knob, you stop and say, “Oh right, I’m getting dinner but you are staying here. Get on the bed. “ I lay down on the bed, and you pull four exercise bands out of your bag. Without saying a word, you take each of my limbs and tie them to one of the bed posts. You then stuff one of your socks in my mouth and place the other one over my nose. After snapping a few more photos, you take my iPhone and my wallet and start to head out. “Don’t worry, boy. I’ll leave the “do not disturb” sign on the door so hopefully the maid won’t walk in on you. I’ll bring you back something to eat.”

As the door slams, I feel completely exposed amidst the silence. I want nothing more than to jerk myself off, but that is neither physically possible nor permissible. My frenetic energy is gradually replaced by a peaceful calm that is brought about by the lingering scent of your sock, which I started to breathe in deeply. I start to relax and feel a sense of wonderment about what had just transpired.

About two hours later, you return from your dinner, which I assume I paid for. “That was fantastic, boy. The restaurant downstairs serves a mean filet mignon.” You remove the sock from my mouth, which is now fully soaked in saliva. “Guess you’ll be buying me some new socks, slave. No way I’m putting this back on my foot….oh, are you hungry, boy?” It had been hours since I ate, so I simply said, “Yes, Master.”

“Good cuz I picked up something at the convenience store before I went to dinner.” While I looked in puzzlement at the absence of a bag, my eyes widened as I realized where you had stored my dinner.” You untied my bands and instructed me to get down on the floor. “Take off my shoes, boy. You can just use your hands this time.” I unlaced each of your sneakers and lifted out your feet, each of which had half of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on white bread impaled on their soles. “Go ahead boy, dinner is served! And those feet better be spotless when you’re done.”

Without asking any questions, I started to eat the sandwich off your soles, nibbling at the sweat-soaked, crushed bread and licking the peanut butter and jelly. My body absorbed the food off your feet like it was nectar from the gods. I made sure to take extra time licking all over your feet to ensure there was nothing left on them.

You lifted each of your feet and inspected them. “Good job, boy. What do you say to Master for your meal?”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Good boy.” And without any warning you pushed me to the ground, removed the socks that had been a tourniquet on my cock, shoved them both in my mouth, and then grazed your big toe against the base of my cock. Within seconds, I exploded like a geyser, and the pressure applied by your toes sent my explosion directly at my chest and face. My arms flailed in wild abandon and I screamed into my sock gag.

When my body stopped flailing, you stepped back and laughed. “It’s a good thing you didn’t get any of that on me. Go clean yourself up, and I’ll give you back your clothes. We need to go out so you can find me some clean socks. And I think I’m going to need some new sneakers cuz now there’s peanut butter and jelly in them. I’ll let you lick the insides clean when we get back, slave. But you’re still gonna have to get me some new shoes, got it?”

I eagerly uttered, “Yes, Master” as I got up, weak-kneed and dizzy to go clean myself up in the bathroom…