by Nice Wolfy
CONTINUED…
A couple of hours later, I called the principal in his office, instructed, “get me some
take-out sesame chicken for lunch along with a couple of egg rolls. Nothing for you;
I’ll bring your lunch,” and hung up. I didn’t expect him to complain, so I didn’t give
him a chance to.
At noon precisely, I stomped into his office. As I locked the door behind me, Mr. Barns
was already down there, licking my sneakers. I told him to undo his tie and shirt, which
he did without breaking the contact between his tongue and my leather shoes. Then I
reached in my back pocket and retrieved an item I had bought: a plain black leather
collar that could be locked in place, and a braided leather leash.
I told him to kneel up, and when he saw the dog collar in my hand, his face went white.
“Remember, Toejam! You’re my slave,” I said as I put the collar on his neck and
padlocked it. Instead of attaching the leash to the ring in front, I attached it to the
padlock in back and instructed him to do up his shirt. I had chosen well–once his tie
was properly knotted, you couldn’t see the collar at all. Only the leash came out the
back, but I’d take it off before I left.
In the meantime, I used the leash to lead him on all fours around his office a few times,
just to get him used to being my dog. As I dragged him along, I called him demeaning
names such as “foot slave,” “boot dog,” “toe sucker,” and whatever came through my mind.
Still, it was a mistake as, when I told him to take his socks off and use them to tie his
crotch up, I saw that he was sporting a huge hard-on.
“Stand up,” I said after he had managed to stuff his crotch and tie it up. When he was
standing, I went behind him and pulled his shirt from his pants. I had instructed him
not to wear any undershirt at any time, so when I threaded the leash inside the shirt
collar, it hung down along his bare back. Eventually, the loop of leather emerged
between his butt cheeks. I made him spread his legs and bend over, and then I grabbed
his package from behind and tied it with the leash, trapping his balls between his
thighs.
He was obviously very uncomfortable when I told him to get dressed, but he obeyed my
orders. I didn’t have a padlock to close the other end of the leash, but I was sure he
wouldn’t remove it until I told him to.
coffee table I had made him buy last week. I had seen it in a store, so I had given him
instructions to get one for his office. We hadn’t played around it so far, but today he
would find out why I had insisted on this particular model. Indeed, the table had a
glass top and straight legs, so that the area underneath the glass was unencumbered.
I made him crawl under the table and start unlacing my left boot while I rested my right
boot on top. This way, I could watch him while eating comfortably reclined in the sofa.
As soon as he had my shoe off (I let him use his hands), he was instructed to sniff and
peel my sock off with his teeth, turning it inside out without drooling over it.
His reward was deep inside my sock! I had lodged pieces of bread between my toes and
under the arch of my foot. Already, after only three hours in those big boots, I had
sweated a lot, and my perspiration had made the bread soggy. Toejam knew this was his
lunch and began to feast on my left foot. First, he sucked the crumbs off the bottom of
my sock, careful to only use his lips to avoid wetting the white cotton. Then, he turned
around and waited until I placed my bare foot flat on his face before eating the salty
bread glued to my sole.
I had him take the other sneaker off and lick my foot sole before I let him suck on my
toes. I always like to keep the best for last, and as I was finishing my chicken, he
nibbled away the rest of the bread and licked my toe jam for dessert.
I think Mr. Barns enjoyed being my foot dog as much as I did. With the bathroom
completed, we set up a new schedule of sorts. Of course, I still had to be discreet as
to when I dropped by, so most of our sessions were after office hours. I would instruct
him to wait inside his bathroom, naked and on his knees, his socks tied around his
package. I had the dog collar locked on him 24 hours a day, 7 days a week now, and he
always hooked the leash behind his neck before getting in position.
When I entered the office, I would lock the door and decide what to do. Sometimes, if I
had to go to the toilet or something like that, I just entered the bathroom and did my
business, ignoring him. Or I might pick up the leash and have him lick my shoes while I
read.
More often, I would simply sit at his desk and snap my fingers. He would come in on all
fours, carrying his leash in his mouth. He was always allowed to kiss my footwear as
soon as he saw me, but I had decided that he should beg for the privilege of sniffing my
socks or licking my feet now. As a result, our sessions were getting longer and longer,
so I had to study in his office.
For my readings, for instance, I used him as a footstool. He would get on all fours
parallel to the couch, and I would prop my feet up on his back for an hour or two while I
read. To keep him busy, however, I usually had him take one of my shoes off and hold it
in his teeth with the opening under his nose. This way, I could see him lower his head
to try to plunge his nose as deep inside the shoe as he could in order to sniff the foot
smell mixed with the odor of rubber or leather.
If I felt exceptionally generous, I would allow him to put the shoe on the table and bury
his whole face in it while I read.
Of course, when I wore boots, this didn’t work quite right, so we had another game. I
would open the boot and slip it over the back his head, with the tongue hanging over his
forehead. The goal was for him to keep his head absolutely still so as not to drop the
boot. I knew it was hard work, so I usually made it easy on him by crossing my feet over
his rear end rather than over his back. I knew from seeing him flinch during past
sessions that if I kept the dead weight of my legs over his back too long, his arms would
begin to shake from cramps. With my feet over his butt, his thighbones took the brunt of
the weight, so there were no cramps.
Still, I had devised this game to be able to punish him every now and then, so every time
I thought he (or I) needed something, I would make it impossible for him not to fail.
Nonetheless, I found new ways to exercise my mastery over Mr. Barns. Every Monday after
baseball practice, for instance, I would change and drop by his office to leave my cleats
on his desk. He always had a meeting on Monday mornings, so he was never there but would
find my muddy sneakers on his chair when he came back. Those were to be cleaned before
lunch when I would pick them up.
He could be a powerful ally as well. I remember in particular the day of our political
science mid-term. I had “failed” to study and knew this was an important class, so I
called the principal this morning and asked him–ordered him in fact–to organize a fire
drill ten minutes after the beginning of the exam. This way, I would have time to read
the questions. As soon as the alarm went off, I stormed into the emergency exit and
waited behind the door. When I saw Tom come through the door, I dragged him, gagged him
with my hand, and walked him inside a janitorial closet. There, I made him give me the
answers to the questions I wasn’t sure about. When the drill was over, we resumed our
seats and took the exam. They even gave us an extra thirty minutes to finish, but I
finished early and aced that exam! Needless to say, with those extra thirty minutes
before my next class, I felt compelled to thank Mr. Barns in person. The look on his
face as he took the toe of my cordovan loafer inside his mouth made me forget all my
uneasiness about using him that way!
If I had to make a phone call, I would occasionally go into his office and call from
there. The principal was always willing to be my footstool during this time. After all,
he needed all the practice he could get!
He was also often found under the coffee table with the glass top during lunch hour. He
ate bread from my feet when he was being punished for something or other, but usually I
had him order for two and would plant my foot in the middle of his plate before ordering
him to eat like a dog. Sometimes, I held onto his leash while he did so.
For one of his drop-the-boot punishments, I made him buy a riding crop, and I
occasionally slapped his bare butt with it while he sucked his food off my feet. I wish
I could say he ate that way every day, but it really was only twice a week, on Mondays
when I picked up my cleaned baseball shoes, and on Thursdays. I also saw him on Monday,
Wednesday, and Friday nights.
The first term was coming to an end, and Thanksgiving was approaching, so I asked him one
night whether he had any plans. He was submissive enough by now that I didn’t mind
having conversations with my big toe in his mouth. Besides, he was a very clever guy,
and I enjoyed watching him wrestle with the problems of administering such a large
school.
In any case, he told me he had no plan, so I saw it as an opportunity to have some extra
fun. “Why don’t you come have Thanksgiving dinner at my parents’?” I said. “I’m sure
they would be honored by your presence. I’ve told them how helpful you’ve been in
improving my grades (that was certainly true!) and they are really grateful for that.”
“Are you sure, Master? I’m afraid I would feel uncomfortable.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Barns,” I said to reassure him. “It will be fun.”
Then I can tell them that you are taking me on a skiing trip at your lodge for the
weekend.
He was sitting on the floor by the couch when I said this, and he immediately raised my
foot to his mouth and kissed it. “Thank you, Master. Thank you! I’d love to spend
three days with you, Master.”
A couple of my teachers had papers due before Thanksgiving, so I didn’t see him until
Wednesday night that week. As a treat, I had worn the same loafers without socks since
Monday morning (we didn’t have baseball practice that day), and he certainly slobbered
and drooled all over my sweaty feet more than usual that night.
The school was deserted after 5, so I had him strip totally naked before servicing my
feet. I had also brought his latest punishment tool with me: a pair of genuine black
hinged police handcuffs. As I positioned his hands behind his back with the palms facing
out and double-locked the cuffs, I could see his hard-on strain through the sock. I
couldn’t help but burst out laughing as, when I took the riding crop out of my bag! I
informed him that he was now to be my foot mat and carpet. I stepped on his muscular body
and began walking all over him. As I stood on his chest, I just smiled and picked up one
sweaty socked foot and let it hover over his face. He begged, “Please, Master, may I
smell your foot?” I stepped right on his face with my high arch being right over his nose
and my sweaty toes in his eyes. He sniffed like he was just given a gift from a god. And
it was true!
What followed was an unabashed scene of foot worship and more orders for him to follow.
As I uncuffed him, I gave him instructions to keep the socks on his crotch for tomorrow
and pick me up at 9 in the morning.
Mr. Barns liked to say that punctuality was the mark of grandeur, and he certainly abode
by his words. At 9 on the dot, he was knocking at my door.
As promised, I kept the “good student” act up with him during the whole time we visited
my parents, and was hardly ever seen with him except when we sat for dinner. In fact, I
was amused to see my older sister fawn around him, hoping she might score. If I do say
so myself, my sister is quite attractive, and she might have some chances with him later,
but this weekend there was no way I would let the principal out of my sight for a minute!
I had been too frustrated these past weeks, and he was going to have to make up for this.
Mr. Barns drove me back to his place rather late, about 10 p.m. I had thought about
attempting something in the car to signify the return to our roles, but I was sort of
tired. I had him show me his room, and crashed into his bed, ordering him to get to work
with my shoes. I was wearing new penny loafers, and they were a little tight, so I had
him remove them before he even had time to undress. In fact, I had him undress while he
knelt before the bed and I pinched his nose between my socked feet. I always enjoyed
putting him in awkward situations when I had him serve me, and even though I was tired, I
was not going to pass this opportunity to ridicule him in his own home.
I started by walking around his place and picking up some things that I liked. First I
found a gold watch on the desk, and I tried it on and just smiled. Then I looked in his
glass cabinet of collectible items! I was stunned to see an autographed baseball of Babe
Ruth and one of Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle and Mark McGuire. I instructed
him to get a brown shopping back from the kitchen and place it at my feet. He did this
and knelt at my feet as I began removing the treasures and placing them in the shopping
bag.
“Alright you sock sniffer, start kissing my feet and beg me to take these!” His jaw just
dropped and he began to speak, “But Master, together those are worth over 15 thousand
dollars and I …” I ended his sentence by slapping his face hard to almost knock him over.
There were almost tears in his eyes and he began to kiss my feet and beg me to take these
gifts from him. “Well, faggot, I’ll do you a favor and take them but only if you massage
my sweaty feet for an hour!” I laughed out loud as he removed my shoes and began
massaging my feet to thank me for abusing him like this. After the hour I looked at the
watch on my wrist, “By the way, how do you like my new watch?” He looked at my feet and
removed my sock to lick out my toe jam to thank me for taking his watch!” I had his guy Once he was
snaked, I had him get in bed and dive under the blankets until he was lying
alongside the foot of the bed, perpendicular to me. Just to be sure, I pulled one side
of the sheets so he would be able to breathe, pulled my socks and underwear off, and slid
in myself au naturel. My feet soon found his face, and his licking tongue soon rocked me
to sleep.
All in all, this was one of the best Thanksgiving weekends I ever spent. The principal
slept with his head on my feet every single night, and I inevitably began to call him my
foot warmer. I would tease him when he licked my shoes while I watched TV. I would tell
him how convenient it was for me to have found such a good foot warmer, especially now
that winter was upon us. I was a lucky student to have a talented tongue available to
wipe my sweaty feet at any notice. I was upset, however, that my foot slave’s mouth was
not bigger and could not keep a larger part of my foot warm.
On Friday, since it was officially the start of shopping season, I sent him out on
errands while I worked out in his place. He had a fully equipped gym and I had just
happened to have brought my gym clothes and sneakers, so this was a perfect opportunity
to build up some foot sweat.
I had noticed a very hot-looking leather bomber jacket at the downtown mall, so that’s
where I sent him to get my “early Christmas present.” I knew it would be a pain to deal
with all those egregious shoppers, so I wanted to make this an experience he would
cherish for the rest of his life. For starters, I “socked” his crotch and replaced the
second sock, the one that goes around his package to hold everything in place, with a
locking metal ring.
Time really flies by when you’re working out, but this time around I couldn’t wait to be
through with my exercise. I imagined him, running around in his all over town, trying to
remember what my jacket size was and realizing that he had no clue. I was sure he knew
my shoe size (he got to read it every other night after all, didn’t he?), but I don’t
think I had ever given him my jacket size. What would he do? I thought, and I could see
him in my mind’s eye, looking for a salesperson that might be of the same build as I,
giving up after a bit when he saw that none of those guys had my muscles. Maybe he would
go down to the sports department and ask around there; he might be more likely to find
another baseball player down there.
My reverie and, I must say, my concern, were interrupted when I heard him on the floor
above and saw him descend the stairs to the basement gym a few seconds later. I was
relieved to see him kiss my sneakers and explain from his lowly position that lunch was
in the oven and that he would like to give his Master an early Christmas present. I had
to keep my foot on top of his head so that he wouldn’t see the emotion in my eyes. I had
come to realize that a Master should always present a stern demeanor to his foot slave.
When I had recovered, I sat back down on the exercise bench and had him remove my
sneakers and socks. I placed both socks in one sneaker and turned the other one upside
down on the opening, hoping that this would be enough precaution to keep some of the
smell inside my shoes.
Then, I began to exercise my upper body while he lay on his belly and feasted on my bare
feet. We were at it for maybe half an hour before I felt his tongue glide between my
toes made me lose my concentration. Looking down at his buzzed head burrowing between my
toes, I couldn’t resist the urge to squeeze his nose between my sweaty toes. I laughed at
his helplessness at my feet. “Who’s your daddy?” I taunted. He replied that I owned him.
My slave attempted to look up as he realized I wasn’t exercising anymore, but I chastised
him and told him to keep his eyes on the task at hand.
Then, I picked up my sweaty sneaker and forced the opening over the principal’s face,
squatted between them and pulled his balls back behind his thighs. With the lace of the
other sneaker, I tied them securely, winding the long laces several times around his
scrotums. Then, I placed the sneaker horizontally under his butt cheeks and told him to
squeeze his legs back together. The result of this was that the sneaker acted as a
restraint that pulled his balls back between his legs. It looked very nice from where I
stood.
After I convinced my slave to tell me where he kept his camera, I took a few pictures of
his sprawled, sneaker-bound body and gave him his next order.
“Crawl after me and don’t drop my sneakers!”
There was a shower area in a corner of the room, so that’s where I was headed. The
principal had trouble seeing with the shoe in his face, but he managed to locate me and
made his way, somewhat painfully, to the shower area.
Holding my foot on top of his head once more so that he wouldn’t see me naked, I took my
jock off and stepped into the shower. I usually don’t believe in long showers, but that
afternoon I made it last as long as I cared to while the principal squirmed naked on the
floor, inebriated by the pungent smells of my heavy work-out.
Finally, I stopped the water and opened the curtain. As I reached for the towel, I had a
sudden inspiration. Why should a Master suffer the disagreeable sensation of cold tile
under his feet when there was a perfectly warm slave body already sprawled for his use?
Since I couldn’t see any reason, I stepped onto Mr. Barns’s back and began to dry myself.
More for his benefit than mine, I made remarks out loud such as “what a lucky Master I am
to have a foot mat slave! It’s such a pain to walk on cold tile after a shower.” At one
point, I even told him, “lift your hand,” and placed my foot on it so that I could easily
dry between my thighs while he held my leg up high. I didn’t really need to, but I
repeated the procedure with my other foot on his hand. This way, I had an opportunity to
walk around on his broad muscular back and ass. I sure was glad my foot slave had such a
good body. I even thought about making him walk on all fours while I stood on his back
but decided not to.
When I was dry, I told him to stay in position while I went to dress. Upstairs, I
grabbed the leather jacket he had bought me and put it on. I also went to our bedroom
and got a red jockstrap as well as a pair of matching red socks. Finally, I pulled the
first construction boots he had bought me on my feet.
Walking by the entrance to the basement on the way to the kitchen, I called him up and
was pleasantly surprised to see him arrive on all fours. I took the sneaker off his face
and told him to sit down at the table while I filled a plate with part of the meal he had
put in the oven to warm up.
When I sat down across from him, he looked up at me, still unsure of what I wanted to do
next.
“Let me see your boots,” I said while beginning to eat my chicken. He pushed his chair
back and lifted his legs so that I could see his combat boots. I pretended to examine
them from a distance, and then I pointed at one of them that was streaked with mud and
said, “what’s this?”
“What Master?”
“This!” I snapped touching the stain with my finger. “How dare you present yourself to
me with dirty footwear on?”
“I’m sorry, Master!”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Toejam! You remember what I made you do the last time you had
dirt on your shoes?”
“Yes, I do, Master.”
“Exactly, Toejam! So get to work!”
To be continued…
