keywords: Fdom, feet, cons SOCK WORSHIP LESSONS alien_ov@yahoo.com (dedicated to M, my wonderful owner and Queen) I was over hanging out at friend Betsy's place one Friday night, there were a few of us over there to watch movies, order something from the local Thai delivery place, maybe enjoy a glass or two of wine and play some Wii. I was the only guy who had showed up but I was having a good time hanging out and kibitzing even if the conversation had sort of turned into ladies' night. Around 11 o'clock, Betsy's friend Melinda came over, I had met her once or twice before but didn't know her very well. She was a tall redhead, a couple years younger than me I think, sort of sarcastic and a little bossy but generally really friendly and good natured. She had a job doing public relations for some tech company, and as she came in she talked about how she had been the company's queen bee at a local tech expo, and had basically been on her feet non-stop for close to 14 hours. She plopped down on a couch next to me -- I was sitting crosslegged on the floor, tooling around with some snowboarding game while I lingered on the edges of the girly conversation -- she stretched her legs, wiggled her feet back and forth and dramatically whimpered. "My feet are so damned tired," she announced, leaning over to unlace her fashionable Pumas. "I hope you don't mind but I'm taking these shoes off." Her comment didn't attract much attention until about 30 seconds later, when Betsy interrupted a story she was telling to look pointedly at Melinda. "Girl those are some nasty smelling feet!" she announced, looking down at Melinda's socks in disgust. "Ugh, I was wondering where that smell came from," another woman laughed, wrinkling her nose. "Seriously, those shoes stink really bad," another woman remarked, sitting over on the far side of the room. Sitting barely three feet away from Melinda's socked feet, I was awestruck. They stank so bad, but they smelled so incredible, so powerfully feminine. I was transfixed, I involuntarily leaned forward a few inches, partly to get a little closer to those amazing feet, partly to obscure the hard-on which had sprung up in my jeans. The rest of the women gave Melinda a hard time about her stinky feet for about 30 seconds, and although she gave as good as she got, playing at acting wounded and betrayed after her long hard day, she eventually conceded that her feet were indeed too much for delicate company, then went to put her shoes and socks in another room and give her bare feet a rinse in the hall bathroom. By the time she returned, the conversation had shifted to hot male olympic figure skaters, and no more was said about Melinda's feet that night. Not until I bumped her in the kitchen about two hours later, when she smiled at me and leaned over to whisper in my ear "I saw you, you couldn't take your eyes off of them. Ew." She was back in the other room and already in mid-conversation before any of it really had a chance to register with me. I didn't know quite what to make of that, but masturbated to a mind-blowing orgasm in bed that night, thinking about lying under Melinda's incredibly potent sweaty feet, and that was the first thing I thought about when I woke up the next morning. ------------ It was a few days later, the following Wednesday, when there was an unexpected knock on my door around 7PM. I was surprised to see Melinda standing there, looking lovely and self-assured, but was happy to invite her in. She strolled into my living room, sat in one of the chairs and looked up at me with a mischevious grin. I couldn't help but notice she was wearing the same shoes as on Friday night. "I have something for you," she teased, crossing her leg and casually bobbing one foot. "Okay," I laughed, intrigued if a little suspicious. "But first you have to strip naked." I raised my eyebrows in surprise as my eyes met hers and her eyebrows arched up in response. I swallowed nervously and reached to pull off my shirt, then wriggled out of my jeans a moment later. I wasn't quite sure where this was headed, but my cock was already at close to half mast in excitement. "I want you to lie on the ground with your head under my feet," she calmly instructed. "I think I have some gum or something on the bottom of my shoe and I want to wipe it off on your face." I whimpered involuntarily at the sound of her words and couldn't get down there fast enough. She giggled with satisfaction and planted the balls of her feet, clad in their thin-soled sneakers, on my face. The pressure was mildly uncomfortable but I welcomed it hungrily, eagerly welcomed the slight friction as she casually scuffed her dirty soles back and forth across my face. "You know, I'm wearing the same socks I wore on Friday," she remarked casually. "You know how horrible they stank then, and I had them wadded up and stuffed inside my shoes over the weekend, and I wore them for another ten hour today. Without washing them." I could feel my cock was straining with the size of its tightly-veined erection by now, and I could not hold back a soft moan as my back arched in pleasure at the sound of her words. "Isn't that gross?" I just moaned and panted as she mercilessly wiped her soles back and forth over my face. "Reach up and unlace them!" she commanded at last, punctuating her order with a playful stomp on my face. My hands scurried up to fumble with the laces of her fashionable sneakers, until I eventually had them unraveled. "Now slip them off," she coaxed playfully, and as I slipped them off of her feet, I nearly gagged from the sharp, pungent, acrid stench that wafted from the crusty sweat-soaked soles of her nasty disgusting socks. I had always had a foot fetish, and been intrigued by the odor of women's feet, but this was nearly unbearable. My eyes watered and my nostrils burned and I honestly was afraid I would retch with each breath. "Breathe deep, little man," she laughed seductively. "Inhale my odor. Smell the feet of your superior." As much as I wanted to gag and turn away, I could not hold back the moans of pleasure, I was all too aware of the intensity of my erection, of the pre-cum which even now dripped from the head of my cock. "I know all about you and your silly little secrets," she cooed. "The other night, I'll bet you would have loved nothing more than to have spent half the night down on your hands and knees in the coat closet, your face buried in my stinky shoes, smelling and worshipping my sweaty socks." I just whimpered and writhed beneath her. "You're going to worship me from now on," she whispered and taunted. "I know how helpless you are beneath women's feet, not just any feet but feet like mine which are stinky and nasty and POWERFUL." She punctuated that last word by grinding her filthy socked toes up against my nose and mouth until I understood that even the air I breathed was under her control. Eventually she gave me mercy, stomped her heels authoritatively on the floor next to my ears. She pulled up her slacks a few inches just so the top of her socks were visible. "Take off my socks," she calmly instructed. I began to reach up with my hands. "With your teeth," she corrected, and I gladly set to work. It took me several minutes to navigate this process, biting the elastic around the back of her heel and gradually working off first one sock and then the other. I'd seen her bare feet a few nights previously, but seeing (and smelling) them up close like this, they were GORGEOUS, well-formed and soft skinned and long-toed, with perfectly pedicured metallic green toenails. And the smell of her bare feet was achingly delicate and feminine and delicious, more subtle and sublime than the relentlessly erotic stench of her beautiful socks. When I would linger too long at my task of undressing her feet, she would playfully kick the top of my head to keep me on task. At last, both feet were bare, and I lie helplessly on the floor in puddle of sweat and emotion. "You worship me," she purred. "You worship these feet." It was not a question, it was a statement of fact. "But for now, the closest you get to them is my nasty disgusting socks. The pair on your face and in your mouth, and the other pairs in the laundry bag out in the hall. "Before you go to bed tonight, you're going to worship those socks. You're going to kneel at the foot of your bed and smell my dirty stinky socks and play with yourself, and think about how beautiful and powerful and superior I am. And after you squirt your load on the floor, you're going to crawl into bed and rub my socks all over your face and your pillow and your naked body, and think about how you worship me now, how you can't stop thinking about my feet, about bowing down to me and serving me. "And you're going to do that every night. It will be your little ritual that we will build upon. And then next weekend, you'll go into your bathroom and you'll get down on your knees in front of your bathroom sink and you'll hand-wash all of those socks with laundry detergent, so they're nice and fresh and clean, and hang them up to dry. And then a few days later I'll stop by to pick them up. "And you'll answer the door naked on your knees, with your eyes upon my shoes. You will never look me in the eyes. And if you've followed my instructions, I'll be wearing another pair of my stinky old sneakers with another pair of my nasty sweaty socks underneath. And we'll repeat the process. "And if you keep worshipping me obediently, and doing as I say, then maybe after a while I'll let you smell and worship my stinky nylon knee-highs. Or jerk off in my presence while sniffing my shoe. Or eat my toenail clippings. Or even massage my bare feet." As she said this, she stood, one gorgeous bare foot straddling each side of my prostrated face. "Or even, maybe one day, suck my toes." With this, she reached down, scooped up her sneakers, padded across the room barefoot, and closed the door behind her.