I had a pretty bad head cold. So, I decided to take the day off and rest up in bed. After a couple of hours of sleep, I was quite bored and a bit lonely. Consequently, I made the foolish mistake of logging into Yahoo and, ultimately, starting a chat with Mistress Sloane.
She seemed sympathetic to my plight, when in truth, she was trying hard to mask her pleasure at my vulnerable state. After a couple of minutes of wheedling me and using her feminine wiles, I agreed to allow her to come over to ‘keep me company’.
With a simultaneous sense of foreboding and anticipation in my heart, I dragged myself out of bed to go answer the door when she arrived. She smiled sweetly and swatted my head, playfully knocking me off balance in my weakened state.
Mistress Sloane then made herself at home on my couch and said, “Oh honey, you’re sick. I think you should make me some tea.” I mumbled, “Yes, Mistress,” as I shuffled towards the kitchen. She laughed out loud at the irony of what she was making me do. “Foot slaves don’t get sick days, you know!” she called after me and chuckled to herself.
I brought Mistress Sloane the tea, and she said, “Now my pet, I know you are sick and weak so I won’t make you massage my feet. Instead, I will give you a restful job. Lie beneath my feet and be my footrest as I sip tea and watch movies, like one should on a sick day.”
I had a moment’s thought of resistance and, thereupon, opened my mouth to tell her that I really needed to get back to bed and rest. But then I looked up and was confronted by the sole of her nylon covered foot. It was stretched out towards me just inches from my face, its odor wafting up into my nostrils. Even though I had a cold, I could smell her feet; they were delicious.
She gave me a knowing smirk as I swallowed my protests and she asked mockingly, “Am I not merciful?”
“Yes,” I coughed out.
She purred, “Yes what?”
“Yes, Mistress Sloane,” I answered.
“Good doggie. Now take off all your clothes so I can see your arousal as I toy with you,” she commanded.
I stripped and got into position beneath her sweaty feet. Her warm damp sole covered my face with one foot while the other absentmindedly toyed with the rest of my body: my nipples, balls, neck, etc.
Much to Mistress Sloane’s amusement, due to my unfortunate foot fetish, in this moment, anyway, this treatment caused me to have a tremendous boner, despite my cold and her playful treatment of me.
My Mistress could easily see how much I hungered for her feet just by looking at the erection between my legs.
“Admit it!” she ordered, “Admit that you love being my little foot bitch, no matter how sick you are!”
I admitted it and shamefully it was mostly true. It was a truth that I regretted, but nonetheless the truth. I was a complete foot submissive.
I spent the rest of my sick day as a foot stool to Mistress Sloane, pampering her, worshiping her, and waiting on her hand and foot (literally). Mistress Sloane took my sick day from me just as easily as she took my heart and my freedom.
And I loved every moment.