Aramis
02-13-2003, 2:41 PM
The story resumes after I had signed papers allowing me into Caldenia College with the scholarship money I absolutely had to have to get in. The only way I was going to get in was to agree to become the slave of Ms. Lambert, the beautiful black Admissions Director, who was wearing pumps with no hose that day. She had dropped one pump onto the floor from her foot as her legs were crossed towards me, and now both it, and her words, beckoned me to abject humiliation and servitude before her.
"On your knees, slave," she commanded. "From now on you will do everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, that I say. I own you. If you ever mess up, your butt will be out of this school so fast you won't know what happened, and you don't even want to think about what kind of reason I'll make up to justify you getting expelled. So you better please me."
I had gotten on my knees, and looked up into her flashing, laughing eyes.
"From now on you will call me 'Master,' slave boy. Now, look at my foot. It owns you. You exist to worship it, to please it, to clean it. It wants you. Remember, once you kiss it, there's no turning back, not for four years. So get busy and show my feet some loving. Kiss them until I tell you something else."
I leaned forward, then she stopped me, by kicking the bare foot into my chest.
"Wait, whitebread. I want to hear you ask me for the privilege of kissing my feet, and then I want to hear you thank me for the privilege too."
I swallowed and gazed at the object of my desire. "Master, please let me kiss your feet. Please let me be your white foot slave, and allow me the honor of kissing your feet."
"Your begging needs work, boy, but you'll get it. Believe me, you'll get it. I'll have you begging for my feet with the best of them. But you're a rookie so I can't expect too much now. Very well, honky, you may. Seal your servitude to your master by kissing my feet."
"Thank you, Master," I replied, and then leaned forward once again.
The first time my lips touched her instep I felt electrified. It was as if I had found my reason for life. It felt so right, even as I heard her laugh above me. I kissed her instep respectfully, thoroughly, lovingly, before moving toward her ankle, then back to her toes and the sides of her foot. Then I raised up on my knees, no longer leaning forward so awkwardly, and I took her foot in my hands, holding the sole before my face. I looked up at her beaming countenance. She nodded her lovely face, and smiled a smile that made me have a crush on her. I then leaned into her sole, and began to kiss the bottom of her foot. I kissed the ball, the bottoms of the toes, musty as they were, and then down the arch and sides to the heel (a bit callused). I was in heaven.
There was a knock at the door. I jolted.
"Don't you move, or you're out of here for good," she angrily warned. "Come in," she called out.
The door opened and in walked her secretary, Keesha Lawrence. She too was African American. She stopped and I heard her gasp.
"Ms. Lambert!" she exclaimed.
"Ain't life grand?," my master answered. "Mister Cole here is my new honky footboy, on a four year scholarship. Why don't you get some rope and tie his hands behind his back for me? I don't want to miss a single moment of his kissing my feet."
"Yes, Ms. Lambert."
"Oh, and get your camera too. We'll need some pictures of this, don't you think?"
Keesha must have smiled (I was kissing my Master's foot, not looking over my shoulder). "Why, yes, of course, pictures will be very helpful! Man, it sure looks good to see a whitey on his knees worshiping a sister's feet! It's about damn time."
"Well, Keesha, if you think you'd like to abuse our little slave here, too, I'm sure that can be arranged. He's my property and he will do whatever I say. Just make sure he suffers like he ought to."
"Oh, yes!" she said, and then she left to get the rope.
My Master returned her attention to me, as I continued adoring the sole of her foot. "Oh my, are we going to have some fun with you!"
End of Part 2.
"On your knees, slave," she commanded. "From now on you will do everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, that I say. I own you. If you ever mess up, your butt will be out of this school so fast you won't know what happened, and you don't even want to think about what kind of reason I'll make up to justify you getting expelled. So you better please me."
I had gotten on my knees, and looked up into her flashing, laughing eyes.
"From now on you will call me 'Master,' slave boy. Now, look at my foot. It owns you. You exist to worship it, to please it, to clean it. It wants you. Remember, once you kiss it, there's no turning back, not for four years. So get busy and show my feet some loving. Kiss them until I tell you something else."
I leaned forward, then she stopped me, by kicking the bare foot into my chest.
"Wait, whitebread. I want to hear you ask me for the privilege of kissing my feet, and then I want to hear you thank me for the privilege too."
I swallowed and gazed at the object of my desire. "Master, please let me kiss your feet. Please let me be your white foot slave, and allow me the honor of kissing your feet."
"Your begging needs work, boy, but you'll get it. Believe me, you'll get it. I'll have you begging for my feet with the best of them. But you're a rookie so I can't expect too much now. Very well, honky, you may. Seal your servitude to your master by kissing my feet."
"Thank you, Master," I replied, and then leaned forward once again.
The first time my lips touched her instep I felt electrified. It was as if I had found my reason for life. It felt so right, even as I heard her laugh above me. I kissed her instep respectfully, thoroughly, lovingly, before moving toward her ankle, then back to her toes and the sides of her foot. Then I raised up on my knees, no longer leaning forward so awkwardly, and I took her foot in my hands, holding the sole before my face. I looked up at her beaming countenance. She nodded her lovely face, and smiled a smile that made me have a crush on her. I then leaned into her sole, and began to kiss the bottom of her foot. I kissed the ball, the bottoms of the toes, musty as they were, and then down the arch and sides to the heel (a bit callused). I was in heaven.
There was a knock at the door. I jolted.
"Don't you move, or you're out of here for good," she angrily warned. "Come in," she called out.
The door opened and in walked her secretary, Keesha Lawrence. She too was African American. She stopped and I heard her gasp.
"Ms. Lambert!" she exclaimed.
"Ain't life grand?," my master answered. "Mister Cole here is my new honky footboy, on a four year scholarship. Why don't you get some rope and tie his hands behind his back for me? I don't want to miss a single moment of his kissing my feet."
"Yes, Ms. Lambert."
"Oh, and get your camera too. We'll need some pictures of this, don't you think?"
Keesha must have smiled (I was kissing my Master's foot, not looking over my shoulder). "Why, yes, of course, pictures will be very helpful! Man, it sure looks good to see a whitey on his knees worshiping a sister's feet! It's about damn time."
"Well, Keesha, if you think you'd like to abuse our little slave here, too, I'm sure that can be arranged. He's my property and he will do whatever I say. Just make sure he suffers like he ought to."
"Oh, yes!" she said, and then she left to get the rope.
My Master returned her attention to me, as I continued adoring the sole of her foot. "Oh my, are we going to have some fun with you!"
End of Part 2.