My name is Mat

Hi, my name is Mat.  I have a foot fetish, and to be quite honest, it has controlled my life ever since I hit puberty.  Right now, even as I am sitting here with my girlfriend at dinner, I am not looking at her perfect 34C chest, which is barely concealed behind a pink, thin, silk spaghetti-strap top.  No, I am stealing glances at her Manolo Blahniks, the way they hug her arch, and the way the heels look like daggers.  It’s the last bit of pleasure I allow myself, as I am certain that this is all going to end horribly, the way they usually do.  I interrupt our pleasant evening and tell her what’s on my mind…

“You what?  Are you joking?” she looked at me, eyeing me suspiciously, not believing a word I had just said.  We were in a Mexican restaurant, just north of alphabet city.  It was packed, and while it is a restaurant, everyone goes for the margaritas.  It’s a popular spot for those that know about it, but a hole in the wall for sure.  We had just finished dinner, on our 3rd round of drinks, when I finally blurted out what I had been meaning to tell her all along. What I want to tell all of the women I wind up dating, right from the beginning, to be upfront, but it never works out like that.  Being a submissive man with a fetish for being walked on or stepped on (among other things), its hard to “come out” to someone you are dating.  But what other choice do you have when, during sex, things don’t always work out… unless I am concentrating hard, fantasizing about being tied down and then used as a rug by gorgeous women who laugh at what a loser I am while they wipe the soles of their $800.00 shoes on my tongue and stick their heels down my throat.  I had to tell her, maybe she would understand, heck maybe she might even like it and want to try it, you never know.  But women are always more complicated…

“You are not attracted to me, that’s it, isn’t it!?” she accused.

“No wait, that’s not it, not at all, you aren’t-”

“You know, I could tell the last few times we were together, and I was going to suggest Viagra, thinking maybe age had caught up to you, but its me.  And you don’t even have the balls to tell me, that’s the worst part.”  Sheer unbelief was on her face.  She was gorgeous, but endless weeks of vanilla sex had driven me insane, I couldn’t fantasize about it anymore, not when she was under me, I needed it and I had to tell her or I would go insane.  Apparently, the insanity has spread, because she was livid.

“No, wait, baby, you don’t understand, I am not into normal sex, I need something more extreme, I told you, I have a foot fetish, it controls me.”  I pleaded with her.

She was really pissed, she grabbed her purse from the ground and before I could say anything more, she stood up, tossed her drink on me with sensational aplomb, wheeled around on those dagger heels and marched towards the door.  Now everyone was looking at me.  What could I do but wipe the drink off of my face and finish my own in silence.

Fuck.  This is it, this is the last time I let this fetish ruin my life.  I am going to find a way to get over this, it is not going to control me anymore.  I can not take another wrecked relationship, there has to be a way to get control of my life.

A Few Weeks Later…

“Sexual Dysfunction?  Losing Erections?  We Can Help!

Call The Clinic – Get Control of Your Life Back!”

There it was in black and white on the back pages of the Village Voice.  “Yea, but I am sure they don’t deal with guys like me,” I reasoned.  “I am sure they deal with medical malfunctions and problems, not fetishes that have blown out of control.  But what the hell?”

I was sitting on a bench in the park taking a longer than allowed lunch break but it was such a nice day outside, how could I be expected to work?  I casually dialed the number and waited.

“Hello, the clinic, how can we help you today?” a French accented voice purred into my ear.  My god, I was already aroused.  I was imagining being under her desk, licking the bottoms of her feet while she answered calls for the Clinic all day and paid no attention to me, unless I was slacking off on the job. 

I broke out of my trance “Um, yes, I saw your advertisement in the Voice and had a few questions,”

“Yes of course, I can answer anything you wish, and if it requires a free consultation, we can also arrange an appointment.”  She professionally lured me along, sensing my apprehension and slight embarrassment in the tone of my voice.  She was reassuring.  And I would bet she was wearing short, calf-high boots.

“Well, I have a problem.  Its not that I do not get aroused, it actually happens quite easily.  I just can’t seem to keep an erection during sex with my girlfriends.  I, I, well, I have a foot-fetish and while that may not seem like a big problem, it is for me.  It controls me completely, and it’s all I can think about to get aroused, I just-”

She cut in, not abrasively, but to help me fill in the blanks “Ah yes, this fetish, it is ruining your life, no?  I bet you conjure up fantasies to keep yourself aroused, yes?  Well, believe it or not, most men have fetishes, but usually not so strong as to be dysfunctional.  Would you like to set up an appointment?  We can evaluate you and help you get control of your life back…”

“Well, I don’t know,” I was a little nervous about telling some quack that I get off on women’s feet, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“I promise you, the doctor is in a field of her own, she is first class all the way.” She said that on purpose, she had to be reading my mind.  “She” – the doctor would be a woman, oh my.  That could be embarrassing, I will likely be aroused, but it’s 100 times better than spilling my deepest fantasies to some blue coated stiff Dr. Johnson. 

“Ok, when can I stop by?”  I relented.

“How about this evening at 6:00?”  her lilting French accent soothed any apprehension or embarrassment I had.

“OK, I can make it, how much is the consultation?” I wondered aloud.

“Oh it’s free, don’t worry, we are here to help you, not rip you off.  Just be here at 6:00 sharp and I will check you in.  See you soon…” she trailed off purposefully.

“Mat, my name is Mat, and thank you for helping me out,” I was full of hope.  She welcomed my gratitude and hung up.  I couldn’t think about work the rest of the day.  While it would be somewhat exciting to meet these women who cure male dysfunctions, I was relieved at finally being rid of this… this… monster!  It was all I could do not to leap out of my seat and shake everyone’s hand in the office.  It would finally be over.  Finally!  I wouldn’t be obsessed with cruel women and their equally cruel heels.  I wouldn’t find myself constantly jerking off to all the different women in my office, dreaming about them walking all over me, in my suit, stomping on me with their perfect feet.  Oh god, it would finally be over.  But did I really want this?  It had become so apart of me… I began to reflect, almost the same way one does when one has moved or changed a job, mulling over in my head if this was the right decision – if this was the best decision.  Was it really that bad?  Should I be concerned that maybe I wont like being “normal”?  As these issues swirled around in my brain, I kept thinking about the French woman’s voice, the way it soothed me and led me along.  Oh if she was only as beautiful as she sounded, I would be putty in her hands.  I would have to remember I was there to get help, not to fulfill my own sick fantasies.  And before I knew it, it was 5:00 and I had a train to catch to the Clinic.

I got on the 6 train heading downtown, it was largely empty, Friday everyone heads out early.  The Clinic was in the financial district, all the way at the southern tip of Manhattan.  Apparently they had the entire building, as the address was just a street address, not a suite or a floor.  As I sat on the subway bench seat, I noticed an Asian woman across from me.  She was wearing Jimmy Choos, they were dark red, and the heels were chiseled down to a point.  She was reading Cosmo, she held it slightly above her lap and licked her finger to turn the pages.  I became immediately aroused.  Her feet were so tiny and perfect.  Each toe seemed to laugh at me, the French pedicure matching her manicure, surely her spa days cost more than I could ever afford.  But God, to be on my knees sucking on her toes, even right in this subway car, I would give anything. 

She looked up from her magazine and caught me staring, practically drooling, at her feet.  I tried to act like I was merely passing the time, not really staring at her feet, just spaced out on the train.  But I detected a smile, from the corners of her mouth, just slightly.  She looked back down into her magazine and crossed her legs, letting the heel on her left foot dangle precariously on her perfect toes.  I could see her heel, it looked completely unblemished, she must have weekly foot massages with the shoes she wears.  The bottom of her foot was clean and inviting, god I wanted to crawl under her and lick every inch of her sole.  She began to slowly move her leg up and down, the shoe on her foot dangling and swaying with each movement. 

I was breathing hard, her foot was literally trancing me.  I looked up as she licked another finger and turned the page.  A smile was now fully evident across her face, almost a haughty sneer, as she continued to read, not looking up at me once, but knowing the effect she was having on me.  Each bump of the subway ride and jerk of the car brought me closer to the edge, just watching her foot, so close but impossibly out of reach.  The car screeched to a stop, City Hall, and she got up, not even glancing my way, as she cued to leave the train.  Cosmo under her right arm, she walked by, and a magazine subscription card fell out and onto the floor as she exited.  I picked it up and noticed she had written on it.  I looked up as the door closed. I could see her on the platform through the glass doors.  She turned around, pointed down to her feet and then pointed at me.  I glanced quickly down to read the card:

“Too bad you didn’t follow me, Pervert, you would have been under my feet all weekend!”

The car started moving, I looked up and she was gone, not even a phone number!  God, who was that woman!  How cruel to tease me like this!  I can’t believe I meet her on the train to a clinic meant to cure me, Murphy’s Law has never been a favorite of mine!  I was completely distraught.  Stunned was more like it.  But then again, I rethought the situation.  Maybe, just maybe, this was a good thing.  What if I had followed her out?  Would I really want to be walked on, physically and mentally, by her?  Sure it might be fun at first, but, didn’t I want to be rid of this, so I can have a normal life?  Maybe this was the clean break I needed, a fresh start!

Finally the subway stopped at Fulton St.  I got out and made my way above ground, the tent in my pants obvious if anyone had looked.  Once on top, I got my bearings and made my way to the Clinic.  It was a thin, black glass building.  It had to be 50 stories tall, how in the world does a simple clinic have the ability to maintain this building?  I walked through the revolving glass doors and over to the reception desk, she was on the phone.  The desk was oak, set apart with a floor lamp and desk lamp, both antiques, and resting on a very nice Chinese rug.  The room was small, with two hallways on either side of the desk, and a small two person couch against the wall.  I made a move to sit in the couch, but she motioned me to come over and I sat down in the leather chair in front of her desk. 

“Yes, very good, we will see you this evening then,” and she hung up.

“Well, you must be Mat,” It was her, the French accent unmistakable.  Her hair was pulled up in a bun, on top of her head.  I got up to shake her hand and quickly drank her in.  She wore pearls around her throat and they cascaded down her chest, covered by a smart collared Prada shirt.  The buttons looked as though they were made of bone, holding back a chest that only God could create, and it was open to show ample cleavage.  Although it was nice to look at, her short black skirt was hiding what I really wanted to see.  But from my vantage point, I could barely make out her boots.  They were not what I had imagined before, they weren’t short calf boots, no they were up over her knees.  I couldn’t tell what they were made of, but I was caught again.

“Ahhh, yes, you were right, this fetish of yours… it does control you, hmm?” She smiled at me, obviously aware of my weakness and playfully rubbing it in a bit.  I apologized, sat down and took of my jacked to cover my erection. 

“No need, Mat, you will be a new man once we are done with you here.  Most of our patients only need one or two office visits and they are completely cured.  We have a great track record, everything from foot fetishists like you to pony boys, even more extreme souls, like human toilets…” she let that sink in, letting me know that they were authentic and not inexperienced in this sort of rehabilitation.

“But I am bragging, please let me take you to see the doctor for your consultation,”  she got up and I immediately gasped.  They were leather boots, tight and shiny, and they had to be 5 inch heels.  She towered over me, her cleavage easily past my nose.  “Follow me, Mat,” she seductively turned on the points and walked down the hallway to the elevator, her skirt barely covering her unbelievably perfect ass.  Oh God, what they hell was I going to say to her in the elevator?  Jesus, she was so gorgeous, my mouth got dry and I could feel my heart racing.  I was full of desire but had no way to express it.  She knew everything, she understood what was going through my head, and it seemed as though she enjoyed playing on my weakness.  Or maybe it was just my paranoia, but god, this was driving me crazy.  First the woman on the train, now this model/receptionist?  What’s next, Pamela Anderson on 4 inch pumps pointing to her toes, mouthing one word – LICK?   What’s a fetishist like me supposed to do?  I walked behind her, images flooding through my brain, literally, washing me over with desire and aching hunger.  She saw my expression in the mirrored elevator car and covered her mouth as she turned around, suppressing a giggle, and pressed the “close door” button. 

I noticed there were at least 30 floors, but none of them had numbers, they all had symbols.  They almost looked like hieroglyphics.  I noticed she pressed what looked like a Jesus fish symbol.  Oh god, please, not a religious cult trying to bring me closer to God.  Maybe this was a bad idea.  I shifted uncomfortably in the elevator.  The gorgeous receptionist sighed and stretched, her chest pressed outward as she arched her back, I could hear the buttons straining, when she suddenly dropped her access card, and it fluttered end over end and landed on the floor.  At her feet.  Her leather covered feet in heels that would make any woman cry after an hour of walking in them.  Severe and strict, her feet were enveloped in the cowhide and commanded my attention.

She turned slightly to her left to look at me, her hands on her hips, and raised an eyebrow.

“Well…” she looked at me, not even asking, not even feigning, just drilling her eyes into mine and expecting it!  She was not just a receptionist, she was a sadist, she had to be!  Here I was, about to embark on a journey and leave all these feelings behind, leave who I am inside this Clinic and become a new, regular person, unshackled by my fetishes.  And yet, she knew this, but instead of letting me go free, she was teasing me, giving me little crumbs of her attention to fuel my raging fetish.  I was nothing but a toy to her, something to turn on and off, but I couldn’t stop myself.  Her cruelty only made me weaker.

I dropped to my knees and picked up her access card.  I looked up to her, and she was smiling, her eyes were simply sparkling, looking down at me from her heavenly high heeled boots with her chest magnificently poised above me.  I held up my hand and offered her the card, but she slapped it out of my grasp with a sharp strike, suddenly harsh and abrasive.

“Oh no, I don’t think someone like you is worthy of touching my hands, pick it up with your mouth and hold it like a Puppy, on your knees, and whine for me.  Whine like a Puppy does when it wants attention, and maybe I will reward you,”  I was in shock, and she was enjoying every bit of it.  I looked down, and the card was in between both of her feet, laying flat on the floor.  What could I do?  I lowered my head down between her legs, my ears brushing against her leather boots on either side of my head as I bit the end of the card in my mouth.  She closed her legs around my head and spoke down to me.  My erection was pointing straight out and was likely very visible beneath my suit.

“Why do you want this to end?  Can’t you feel the power coursing through me?  Your fetish gives me power, and if you want to be a regular person, that is fine, but wont you miss this?  Can’t you feel your desire washing over you, weakening you.  Wont you miss this feeling, completely prostrate under your desires as women like me use them to control you and toy with you... hmm Puppy?  Isn’t this what you really want, living like this, completely at the mercy of strict, cruel, unrelenting women of power?  Women like me?”

I felt her legs move apart and I brought my head up, looking up at her with the card in my mouth, as I began to whine profusely.  She looked down at me, laughing, one hand covering her mouth and the other pointing at me, at the spectacle I had become in the short 5 minutes of meeting her.  As I continued to whine, the door to the elevator opened and a tall woman in a white doctor’s outfit stood outside of it, shaking her head.

“I can see we are going to need to do a lot of work on you, most men at least make it out of the elevator and into the consultation room before they succumb to their ill fetishes.”  I looked over to see the doctor, still shaking her head and scribbling on her note pad.  I felt the card swiped out of my mouth and then fell forward on my face as the receptionist must have unceremoniously kicked me out of the elevator!

I got up and quickly apologized to the doctor as the elevator door behind me closed and I felt the shock of reality.  I was completely out of sorts, unable to know what I was supposed to feel.  Wasn’t I here to cure this side of me, yet it seemed as though the receptionist had other ideas.

“Please, don’t mind her, she likes to toy with men, it’s so natural for her, I am sure you understand.  I am just glad you were not a toilet slave or I would have needed to keep the cleaning people around to mop up afterwards!”  She laughed and helped me to my feet.

“Please, follow me around to my office,”  It was an all white hallway, with a long fish tank running the length of the walls on each side, and led to her office door, the only door at the end of the hallway.  Once inside, it felt more like a den than an office, with a fireplace on one side, huge paintings on the walls, a nice long leather couch, and her desk in the corner.  It was richly decorated in brass and mahogany, with the fish tank from the hallway extended into and along one side of her office.  I couldn’t make out the fish, but the dark coral and murky water made me slightly unnerved.  I noticed then that the doctor was not really wearing all white, it was her coat that was all white, and as she took it off, I had to keep from moaning.  She was wearing a corset, and it was tightly cinched.  Her chest was spilling out of the top, and her long flowing skirt underneath revealed a slit of the sides almost to her hips.  She walked towards me, holding a glass of red wine which matched the color of her nails.  She stopped in front of me and held out the glass, noticing my eyes drop to her feet.  She was barefoot!  No heels, no boots, no smart patented leathers, no she was completely naked on her feet.  I grasped onto the glass as she spun around to retrieve her own, and motioned for me to sit on the couch with her.

“Now, Mat, I know why you are here.  You want to be cured of your foot fetish.  To do this, I need to assess how deeply you have given yourself over to this fetish.  I need to determine exactly how strong it is so that I can take the appropriate measures to cure you, to break the hold that is has on you.”  She was smiling and talking to me and I did my best to hold her gaze.  But I was weak and I couldn’t help but look down a few times, her feet had no nail polish on them and, dear god, they looked as though they were glowing… Oh wait, no it was the light, they were freshly powdered.  Oh I could smell them, only if she would let me, I would grovel on the floor over to kiss each toe.

“Are you paying attention to me?”  I looked back up and realized my fetish had, again, gotten the better of me.  “Well I guess it’s safe to say that you really are controlled by this.  I want you to know, I am not wearing any shoes to constantly remind you of what controls you.  Yes, it’s crude and deliberate, but usually I need to up the tempo to get through the nervousness most men exhibit during the consultation.  You seem ready to go, maybe I should have worn my white Mary Jane’s and kept on my doctor’s outfit…  Well in any case, this is all part of the procedure, but I need you to pay attention to me, this is important, I need to know more about you, ok?  Or else this will all be for naught, so please, pay attention to me,” she smiled, reassuringly.  I felt weak and nodded, yes I would do my best to pay attention to her, but the smell of her powdered peds was overpowering. 

“Now, let me ask you these questions.  I need you to answer as honestly as you can, and if you need clarification regarding my questions, just stop me and ask, ok?  We begin.”  She held the notebook close to her chest, one hand wrapped around it, the other checking off my answers.

“How old were you when you first had a sexual fantasy concerning women’s feet?”

“13”, I responded.  She didn’t even look up, she just wrote in the number and continued.

“Do you feel as though, over time, this desire has gotten weaker, stronger, or stayed the same.”

“Stronger, definitely.”

“Do you think that women have power over you because of this, or do you feel as though it is the desire, the fetish, that has the power over you? 

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe both?”

“How often do you think about women’s feet per day?”

“All the time, probably 50 times a day, every woman I meet I think about what it would be like to be under her feet.”

She stopped and put the pad down on her lap.  She looked at me, concerned, “Is it really this much?  Really all the time?”  I nodded, “OK, well then, lets just skip to the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions, I think I am getting a clearer picture of you and what you might need.”

Her feet were pointed straight out, rubbing against each other.  I was imagining myself lying under them, my cock in between her feet, being rubbed up and down, the powder feeling cool and soft, bringing me close to an orgasm while she ignored me and talked on the phone with her girlfriends.

“Mat please, just answer yes or no, or even nod your head, anything.  Now let’s start again… Does the idea of licking the bottom of my feet arouse you?”

“Yes,” I mumbled, trying not to look at her feet, but knowing each group of toes would fit easily into my mouth.  I could suck on them for hours.

“When you first met the receptionist, did you fantasize about sucking on the heel of her boot?”

“Yes” I thought that maybe I was falling into a trance, the questions continued and I kept answering yes over and over.  The scent of her feet, the look in her eyes, the way her chest pushed against her corset, I was losing the battle of control again.  I was becoming transfixed upon her and just stared at her feet and began to nod.

She noticed this and didn’t miss a beat, instead of asking for yes or no she would just look up and record a yes or no from my nodding head, and they were all ‘yes.’

“Would you lick the heel of a woman you just saw walk through mud until it was completely clean?”

“Do you fantasize about bitchy, cruel women walking all over you?”

“Would you suck the grime between the toes of a sweet college girl who had just finished soccer practice?”

“Do you wish you could quit your job and live out your fantasy to serve women’s feet, even if it meant leaving everything you know in your life behind?

Her feet were magnificent, with each question she asked me she changed their position and deliberately enticed me, goading me on.  I was in heaven, I no longer could answer her, I just wanted to fall to the ground and worship her toes.  I was buzzing inside and felt more than drunk.

I saw her pull out her cell phone and walkie-talkie someone, smiling to me as she spoke.

“Yes, I am afraid you need to bring in the chair, he is having trouble paying attention and I need to be absolutely sure about his condition before we go on.”

I didn’t even look up, I couldn’t take my eyes away from her feet.  They were dancing, I swear, and the questions just kept coming, and I couldn’t even understand what she was saying.

The doors behind me opened and the gorgeous modelceptionist walked in wheeling what looked like a wheelchair on steroids.  She brought it over next to me and the doctor stood up on one side of me with the French devil on the other.

“One, two THREE” and they lifted me off of the couch I was in, and settled me down in the steel apparatus.  It was electronic and chrome, brass and shiny.  A few clicks and whirrs, and before I realized it, my ankles, calves, knees, thighs, wrists, forearms, biceps and shoulders all were held in place by chrome clasps and fixtures.  I wasn’t really trying to move, but now I couldn’t if I wanted to.  The French woman stood behind me and began to place things against my head and neck.  Soon, even my head was immobilized, all I could do is stare straight ahead.  She walked around to the front of where I was facing and stood by the doctor.  They both had their arms crossed at chest height and looked hard at me.

“I think that should do it, but would you mind staying here until I am sure I won’t need you?” asked the doctor.

“Sure, that is not a problem, I think it will be quite fun to peer inside his twisted little mind anyway,” and she laughed, drawing a look of scorn and concern from the doctor.

“Ok Mat, where were we, oh that’s right, we are about half of the way through your yes and no questions…” and she started again.  Between the two women now eyeing me and with the good doctor prodding my brain, I was wilting even quicker under the pressure of my overwhelming fetish.  I felt helpless!  The French woman pointed at me and said something, I was concentrating on her boots and really didn’t think she even spoke in English, maybe it was French, maybe I was just still in my pre-orgasmic “high”, I don’t know.  But just then both women laughed, the doctor laughing so hard she dropped her pad and the papers went spilling all over the floor.  I looked down and saw what they were laughing at.  Apparently, even though every part of me was bound to the chair, my erection had sprung and was proudly saluting these two gorgeous vixens from inside my pants.

“I want to set it free-” the French woman began but was cut off.

“Please, I need to keep him concentrating on these questions, we can not interfere with the process.”

“But we are interfering, look at him, he is a drooling mess, all he is doing is gawking at our feet and dreaming of lying under them.  He is hopeless.  We need to do something to take his mind off of our feet or he will never make it through your evaluation!”  the receptionist spoke, and the doctor liked what she had said.

“Good idea, lets get closer so he can’t see our feet.” The doc offered, and both women got off of their chairs and approached me.  They stood, one on each side of me at my shoulder, looking down at me in the chair.  The doctor’s long blonde hair flowed down past her shoulders and tickled my neck.  The French girl loosened her bun as she walked over to me and a black shock of straight hair spilled around her.  The scent of these women was making me wild with lust.  They each held one of my shoulders, pressing me down, making it clear they were in control.  I tried to look up but the contraption had me facing straight ahead.

“Make it recline, I want him to be looking into our eyes when he answers these questions, I need the truth out of him to be sure we are doing the best thing,”  I could feel the French model’s breasts push up against my arm and her chin rest on my shoulder, I gasped as she found the controls.  The seat back began to recline and I was treated to the most magnificent view of the French woman’s cleavage.  She looked up and gave a disapproving look.  The seat stopped and I was forced to look up into their faces.  They were both sublime, their faces radiating.  But I needed the stimulation to continue.  I was like an out of control freight train running down a steep incline and over a rickety bridge.  I needed to see their feet, I needed to touch them, to feel them against me, to lick them and caress them.

They continued to question me and I began to sweat, I was answering as truthfully as I could, but I was losing my concentration and my patience, I needed to see their feet.  I could smell them and almost taste them, but this was not fair, I needed them.  

“Have you spent more than 8 hours masturbating to these fantasies of yours in a 24 hour period?”

“yes” my weak voice chirped out.

“Sicko” I heard the receptionist whisper in my ear as she bent down to adjust her boots, her hot breath sending chills up and down my spine.  Oh god, this was fucking torture.

“Have you ever acted out your fantasies in real life, with women, whether you pay them or not?”

“Oh yes, yes I have”

“Do you often go overboard, spending too much money, time or energy on your fantasies to make them real?”

“yes” ashamedly, tears now in my eyes.

“Has this behavior ever been to the point where it was self destructive?  Where you or the people around you are hurt by your actions?”

“yes, yes I cant help it, its what I am, I cant make it stop!  Please, please can I see your feet, please!” I exclaimed, taking both women by surprise.  The doctor stifled her giggle while the receptionist crossed her arms, pushed out her chest, and gave the doctor a look that could have only meant one thing - “I told you so!”

I felt humiliated, brought to the point where I could no longer control myself, even in a hospital environment with professional, trained personnel.  I was drained, I needed a break, a drink of water, hell a shot of tequila, anything!  My brain felt like a piece of thoroughly kneaded dough, and my erection was destroying any will power I had left.  I was looking back and forth at the two women above me, hoping for some kind of relief.  I felt a thick strand of drool spill out of the corner of my mouth.  God I was a pathetic mess!

The doctor took the receptionist aside, I could see they were discussing my situation.  Out of the corner of my eye I could see their feet.  The doctors unblemished perfect soft white toes and the black, shiny boots of her French companion.  I wanted to take them both into my mouth at the same time.  Or have them stepping on me, all over, squashing my cock and balls into a mess.  To feel their toes pinching me while their heels and soles ground into my body.  Even kicks to my face would be worth it, especially from that French sadist.  She was driving me crazy!

Both women came over, in front of me, bending over from their waists, leaning down, showing off their chest and further inciting me to riot.  They both had evil smiles pasted across their faces.  I was in trouble but I didn’t care.  The French girl took her finger and traced it up my leg, inside my thigh, slightly touching my erection, circling it and then running it up to my chin where she held it and looked at me hard in the eye.

“So you really want to see our feet, up close and personal, huh?  Don’t you know we’re trying to help you get over this?  We’re trying to help you because you asked us!  And this is what you want?” she mocked me, driving my humiliation deeper.  “Well it’s not going to be that easy, if you want this you have got to mean it.  I want to hear you beg us, beg with every ounce of desire you possess, to worship the feet of two superior women.  Worship them while we emasculate you and drive any bit of self respect you have out the window and down 30 flights.  Yes, beg us, you worthless man, you spineless imp, beg us to have mercy on your poor tortured soul!”  Her lips were glossy red and shimmering in the light of the den.  Her eyes were dark and terrible, but I could not help myself.  I was out of my mind with lust.

I began to mumble and the words tumbled out like a waterfall, incoherent and all at once.  Begging them to let me suck on each toe, to lick their heels, to suck on her stiletto spikes and lick the filth from the bottoms of her shoes.  I begged them to step on me, to kick me, to stomp on me, anything, just to feel their feet on my body.  I begged them to kick my balls as hard as they could, to hold my head down under their heel, to walk on every part of my body, to ram their heels up my ass until I bled.

When I was through the doctor shook her head slightly and shrugged her shoulders.  The French girl got up on the chair and straddled me, her arms around my shoulders, her feet and legs stretched out, wrapping around mine.  I moaned and gasped at this unexpected turn of events.  Her body was hot and overpowered me.  The doctor walked behind me out of sight and further lowered the back of the chair.  Soon I was not just horizontal, I was below horizontal, at an angle with the floor.  The French girl sat up, her heels digging into my chest, her hips planted firmly on my hard and ever hardening cock.  Looking down at me from her perch on my body she addressed me.

“Open you mouth, Loser, your wishes are about to be fulfilled!” her smile brightened, she was happily using my addiction to enslave me to her, to crush me under the weight of my own fetish.  I was losing even more control.

I opened my mouth.  Behind me, I could see the doctor, her perfect legs on each side of my head.  I tried to look up her skirt but it was too long.  She saw me trying to peek and smiled, like a trainer smiles at a dog who has done something naughty.  Then she suddenly stood on one foot and raised her left foot above my face.  Pointing her toes down, as she looked deep into my eyes, she slid her toes directly into my mouth.  I could see the French girl steadying the doctor, holding her knee, guiding it directly into my open mouth.  Deep they went.  I was in heaven.  I was at a loss for words.  Each toe I could feel and taste.  The ball of her foot was soft and tasted delightful, like a fresh day in the spring.

“Suck, you idiot, suck on her toes like you have been fantasizing about since you walked in this room!  Suck on them like you are sucking air from a tank, like you are sucking milk from your mother’s breast!  Suck on them, succumb to your desires and let your breaking wash over you.  Show us how weak you are, how much your fetish controls you!  How much WE control you!  How you would gladly trade in your cure for a never ending life of foot slavery!”  the French accent stinging my ears with humiliation.  She was right, and I obeyed like a rabid dog, slobbering and sucking for all I was worth.

The noises coming out of my mouth had both women in stitches.  The doctor almost fell over.  When she finally pulled her toes out of my mouth, the suction made a “plopping” sound, bringing further giggles from the women.  She placed her foot down next to my head, and held my head firmly between her legs.  The French girl now had her turn.

While the doctor was looking down at me, with a slight smile, the French girl began to slide her heels down, scraping them over my body.  I could feel them and knew they were going to leave marks, but I didn’t care.  I was relishing the pain, I could feel the welts already forming as she dug the heels in harder, sliding them down my chest.  Finally she took them off my body and placed each heel in the respective corners of my mouth.  She stretched my mouth open using her heels, until I let our a girlish squeal.  My mouth was being grotesquely pulled open from the sides, I must have looked like a fish with two hooks stuck through me.  She leaned forward and before I knew it, she spat right into my wide, pried open mouth!

“LOSER!” the French super-hottie screamed at me, “YOU are a FUCKING LOSER!  And THIS is what LOSERS like you GET!” and she spat again, I could feel her slime hit the back of my throat.  I choked a little while the French model began to slide her heels in and out of my mouth.  Her 5 inch heels, sliding deep down my throat and then back out.  The look on her face was priceless, she absolutely reveled in the power she had over me.  As I tried to take everything in, the doctor moved her legs and crouched down behind me.  She grabbed my head by my hair and lectured me.

“Look at her, look at how beautiful she is.  And look what she is doing to you!  Do you know she walks to work from Brooklyn across the bridge everyday?  Do you have any idea the filth that must be plastered all over the heels and soles of her boots?  And this doesn’t deter you, no, it excites you even more, doesn’t it… doesn’t it, you pathetic worm?” she asked

I moaned an inaudible ‘yes’ as she continued.  “That’s right, its all you are good for, isn’t it?  Beautiful women do not see you as a man, they never would, it’s the law of the jungle.  What woman would want to procreate with a weaker specimen such as yourself? That’s right, they wouldn’t.  You know this, deep down you know this is true.  Instead, this is what women will do to you.  They will stick their feet in your mouth.  They will walk all over you, like they do in every other situation in life, so they might as well do it with their feet as well, hmm?  You are lucky to have had my feet in your mouth, all powdered and clean, you pervert!  Most women would never allow you such a privilege.  Maybe I should go and get a bucket full of shit from the human toilet room and see how far you would go!  I bet you wouldn’t want my feet in your mouth then…  Or maybe it would make you suck on them even harder!”  I moaned as she probed me further, rendering me powerless with her words dripping with venom.  Stinging me over and over and over, weakening me… I was in a daze and that’s when the doctor began to slap me, not too hard, just enough to bring me back to reality.

“Mat, I have to tell you something, its important, so I need your full attention,” she began as the French girl continued to fuck my mouth with one of her heels as she took the other out of my mouth and began to fiddle with the heel.  She was looking at me while she was doing it, her smile wicked and perverse.  If I knew any better, I would say it looked like she was unscrewing the spiked heel from her shoe?!? 

“I have some good news and some bad news,” the French beauty was rummaging around under the chair, looking for something as the doctor continued.  I couldn’t see what it was, but when she found it, her eyes lit up and she began to fasten it to the heel of her boot.

“Look at me.  The bad news is, you are beyond a cure, there is nothing we can do for you to remove this fetish from you, it has overwhelmed your personality.  It is apart of every facet of your being.  It is slowly taking you over.  Look at you, you are not a man, you are a pathetic, spineless jellyfish, lying on a chair, on your back, while we humiliate you and control you with our feet.  I said look at me!”  she pulled my hair harder and I looked up into her beautiful face hovering over me.  I had been trying to see what the French girl was doing, but I would find out soon enough.

“The good news is, Mat, we can still help you.  Part of our Clinic is devoted to curing those that have not gone too far, so we can release them from their fetish.  Like I said, that is much too late for you now.  You are far too removed from this humanity we offer.  Now, the other part of our Clinic, well, it helps to transition you into what you truly are, deep down inside.  Our Clinic takes advan, err uh, removes your inhibitions and brings the true ‘you’ out.  We help you realize the desire within.  Instead of washing and scrubbing the fetish from your brain… well how do I say this politely and without frightening you… Well there really is no other way to say it-  We wash and scrub the YOU from your brain, and leave only the craving, insatiable, ever hungering fetish inside!”  She looked down at me, her eyes wide, her lips pursed and full, she was excited, sexually excited.  She was enjoying this immensely.

I looked up at her dumbstruck.  “Wash ME away?  Me?  But how could she wash me away?” I thought to myself still entranced by her beauty, and feeling the heel on the boot of the French Satan sliding in and out of my mouth with no resistance.  “I am me, my fetish is apart of me,” I kept thinking to myself “Its not something separate, is it?  It cant be, that’s impossible, its…not... possible…”  She smiled as I began to understand.  Oh god, they were going to take away my own identity and reinforce my fetish until it completely swamped me, completely crushed my personality, until there was nothing left! No, that’s not why I came here, that’s not what I wanted!

“Oh! No!” I gurgled as the French woman kept one heel buried in my throat, swirling it around and jamming it to the back, making me gag.

“Oh yes! Its really for the best, baby, the best for every one involved, someone like you only comes around every once in a long while, and we cant… we wont let you suffer anymore.  We will free you to your desires, release your fetish into its full blown state!”  Her eyes were wild, and she seemed close to an orgasm.  The way her words rolled off her tongue, she was savoring every bit of this moment; the shocked expression on my face, the realization of what they were planning, and my utter helplessness.

I was not going out without a fight! “Please, that’s not why I came here, you cant! No... N-”

Suddenly a huge rubber thing was shoved into my mouth, I was unable to talk, it completely filled my mouth and was being unceremoniously rammed down my throat, slowly, but with determination.  The doctor smiled down at me and cradled my head.

“Just stop resisting, go with what you feel inside, that’s it, release yourself, let yourself go, feel it sliding over you, infusing you, let yourself go…”

My eyes met those of the French demon’s.  The rubber object was coming from her boot.  It was the attachment to her heel that she had happily fastened moments before.  Her foot was working further into my mouth and I gagged, bringing a smile to her face.  But she didn’t stop, she pushed further, bringing another wretch and tears to my eyes, before slowly withdrawing her heel.  It was then that I could see it, it was a huge cock, a rubber dildo, attached to the bottom of her boot, where the heel had been.  She smiled again at my recognition of what was happening, and blew me a kiss from her ruby red, glossy lips.  I gagged again as she easily slid her dildo-heel back into my throat, and held it there.  I felt something, maybe my saliva that had built up, squirt onto the back of my throat and I shuddered as it slid down my throat into my stomach.

I looked up into the doctor’s eyes, pleading with her.  I couldn’t say anything but my expression was clear.  “Please, not like this, this is not why I came here, I wanted to be free, not a slave, I wanted to be unchained, not held in bondage, please don’t do this to me..”  Tears were falling freely down the side of my face as I continued to gag.  I felt another squirt hit my throat and realized it could not be my own saliva.  What was happening to me?  I was afraid to look up to the French woman for fear that if I did, it might not be the heel of her boot but a real cock on which I was sucking. I tried to scream as another glob of goo hit the back of my throat and slid down inside me.

The doctor continued to sooth me and understood my fear, “Oh now, baby, don’t worry, she is just giving you your medicine, it’s the medicine you deserve, you have earned this, so take it all down without a struggle, its over now, you are going to finally be free of the thing that bound you, you will be free of the human personality binding you, you will live forever in peace, sucking and licking the feet of women that you could only fantasize about, until now!”

This was not fair!  I was helpless and could not say no, not now, not with this in my mouth, not with their bodies so close to mine, not with my willpower now sapped and further on the decline.  I didn’t want this to happen but I was powerless to make it stop.  And the French goddess grinding on my cock didn’t help clear my head in the slightest.  I was losing.

Another glob shot to the back of my throat and down, and when I looked up at the French beauty, I saw her hand holding a pump attached to her dildo heel by a long tube.  She held the round pump in her delicate little hand, and gave another squeeze, looking directly into my eyes, with mirth and joy in hers.  I felt another thick stream of something gross slide down my throat.  There was nothing I could do to stop it.  She tried to slide her heel further down my throat and I gagged and choked, she backed off as the doctor told me, “Just try and swallow the heel, keep swallowing until it slides past your gag reflex, then we can administer the medicine more quickly.  Then you won’t taste the bitter mixture and gag anymore, it will just be pumped down the rest of your throat and into your belly, making you all better.”

On her cue, the French girl slid her heel further into my mouth and to the back of my throat.  She gave me a wink and I saw her delicate, manicured hand give the pump another squeeze and felt the slimy substance once again slide down my throat.  I tried not to gag as her dildoheel hit my gag reflex, and I swallowed over and over, trying to get it past that point, and finally, it was lodged in my throat, I wasn’t gagging and she had buried her heel down my throat, all the way up to the sole of her boot.  I was impaled on her and as I gazed up into her face, she was radiant, absolutely beaming with her subjugation of me.

“Now, I want you to relax as we fill you with our special medicine,” as the doctor spoke, the French princess pulled out a large silicone bag from under the chair and unscrewed the pump from the tube attached to her boot.  She then fastened the silicone bag, filled with a dark, squishy liquid, to the tube and began squeezing the bag.  Looking into my eyes and squeezing the bag with one hand, while waving goodbye to me with the other.  Waving goodbye to who I was and all that I had known. Waving goodbye to the pathetic, morally bankrupt person she had just broken on her heel.  Enticing me to surrender fully to her while the medicine did its evil work, she planted her other boot on my chest in a symbol of her dominance.  I felt the sinister sludge sliding down out of the dildo, down my throat, and finally down further into my stomach. Oh god, there was nothing I could do, I could immediately tell it was working as I felt even more intense pleasure and felt less like fighting back.  I was giving up, and the two women could tell.

“Oh he looks so peaceful, so happy” the doctor spoke in a hushed whisper while glob after glob of sticky dark mess was squeezed into me. 

“He’s happy?  Just wait until she sees him, all trussed up with no where to go, forever hers as nothing more than a foot cleaner, a shoe shine boy, a human doormat!”  the French wonder continued. “how appropriate…” she looked at the doctor who was confused, “his name, how appropriate that his name was Mat, because until his heart stops beating years and years from now, all he will ever be to his new owner is a doormat.” And they both laughed, the doctor even squeezing my nose in a playful gesture.  I could hear everything but my body had given in.  I was nearing my breaking point, and I did not know what lay beyond, if there was any ME beyond, what was I to become?  That did not seem to matter to these women at all. 

“Oh thank you, you just reminded me…” The doctor took out her cell phone and dialed while the French girl rolled the bag down, making sure every bit of it was being fed through the tube, down my throat, into me.

“Ms. Hyun?  Yes, we have what you have been waiting for.  Of course.  When would you like it shipped?  Good then, we will send it by special courier, you will have it tomorrow morning.  Uh huh, no problem, you are welcome.  Yes, you have my wiring instructions.  Mmhmm, and when the last piece comes in, I will be sure to let you know.  Good evening Ms Hyun, and enjoy your new addition.”

With a snap the phone was shut and she brushed the hair from around my face, “Oh you are so precious, it’s a shame you had to suffer through your life this long before you found us.  Don’t try to talk, just take it, take it all down and accept your fate, its your destiny, and we both know it, don’t we…”

“Even if he disagrees, its too late now, no one ever comes back after this.  Go ahead, Pig, struggle for me, I like watching you fight it, like a mouse in the serpents coil, like a fish on the hook, struggle and wear yourself out, Puppy, you are only fighting the inevitable,” she crooned, her voice hitting me like waves on the ocean.  I was still trying, feebly, to get this dildo out of my mouth, but it was hopeless.  The French heel still jammed way down my throat as the gallon bag was continually emptied into me, I could only whimper and whine with each squeeze she gave to the silicone bag.  Once it was finished, she unfastened the tubing from her heel and smiled down on me.  She began to withdraw the heel to the edge of my mouth, I could feel the head of the dildo in between my lips.  She held my gaze, utter despair and vulnerability saturating me, flooding me, washing away my resistance.  She could sense it, I was almost fully broken.  I tried, desperately, to expel the last bit of the dildo from my mouth, I could taste the bitter medicine, the remnants still dripping from the head. 

She threw back her head and laughed, “Oh no, Puppy, now that the potion is deep inside you, I need to stamp the right image onto your brain, to fully remove any last bit of you, I know you are still in there and can hear me.  But just so you know, you are almost over.  Soon you will be no longer, just your fetish will remain, so time to say bye-bye.  I know if you could speak, you would thank me, but its better this way.”  I was pleading with my eyes, and trying desperately to cough up whatever it was they had pumped into me, but it was too late, I could feel myself beginning to float.  “I know you might not consent at this moment, but I bet that other part of you would agree, the part we are setting free.  Soon you will not be anything but a memory in your own distant mind.”

She pulled her heel out slightly, but before she fully withdrew from my mouth and before I could protest, she looked over to the doctor, who gripped my head tightly, and while looking deep into my eyes, the French torturess violently forced her heel back down my throat, making me gag and choke.  Over and over, in and out it went, an endless cycle of gagging and choking on the heel of this incredible, gorgeous woman.  Spit and froth bubbled up and slid down the side of my face.  The doctor wiped it away with a cloth and continued to whisper in my ear as the grunting French goddess continued to pump her dildo heel in and out, down further then back to the edge, fucking my face until I was lost in a haze.  On and on it continued, the doctor soothing my fears, the French woman openly laughing at my predicament, enjoying my gags, thrilled at my crumbling self, the doctor telling me its all over now, that I will never have to want again, that I will always be fulfilled, that my desires were becoming me, and suddenly I felt light, as though I was not myself anymore, as if I was drifting above my own body.  I was literally floating outside myself, above my own body.  I could see the women holding me down and abusing me with relish, taking every ounce of energy out of me by pumping heels into my throat and brainwashing me with their words. 

Then they both suddenly began to cheer and clap.  I could hear the women talking “Good job, I knew we could do it! He’s gone!”  “Oh yes, I could tell from the second he was on his knees in the elevator that he would be here like this, that we would break him,”  “I am going to get the shipping box and call the courier, you keep fucking him with your heel just to make sure.  Look at how he is sucking on it now, sucking on it for all he is worth!  He isn’t even gagging anymore!  God he was such a lucky find!  He is going to make such a wonderful doormat!” “Oh yes he will!” the French woman continued, pumping her heel in and out, taking a minute after the doctor left the room to look into my eyes and grind her pelvis on my still hard cock, “Ciao, Loser, it was fun while it lasted but I can see you are going down the long dark tunnel of eternity.  I will always remember the look in your eyes when you had my card in your mouth in the elevator, I knew you would be so much fun to set free, just a few more thrusts, that’s it, suck it down, good boy, oh so much better, yes, isn’t it so much better now?  Good piggie, I wish I could take you home with me and do this to you every day!” her heel began to pump in and out of my mouth faster, and I could see my body, below, sucking and moaning.  I was somehow looking down, from above.  The room was getting brighter and I could hear the roar of a waterfall, and felt myself slipping effortlessly over it into the bright, onrushing light.

The End