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.