We used to do these double Mistress foot worship sessions – the aim of which was to make the foot worshiper slave, a guy who like them all professed that he could worship any kind of feet all day and night, outright quit.
We’d do that by giving him a choice of who’s feet he’d rather worship as we sat in front of him on this sofa, side by each with him kneeling before us from a distance.
What he didn’t know, what none of them knew is that a whole afternoon of careful planning had gone into preparing for the foot worshiper’s femdom session. We didn’t tell him, we just let him choose by the metric all slaves go by – beauty.
Usually by means of playing rock, paper, scissors – we’d choose which one of us would do which of the two afternoon activities that would pre-prepare our feet properly for his mouth.
If it was me who’d win, and it was always me because I never lose a game of rock, paper, scissors – my job would be to go for a barefoot stroll around the pool’s garden all afternoon long. You’d think that would be easy and fun but I’d have to follow the shade around because the mid afternoon sun would make the ground otherwise scorching hot not to mention there was the oh so refreshing pool water that fell in the shade at that Punnawitti condo that I would have loved to swim in.
Our swims were late night ones, after the session had been done, after the slave had been sent home with his mouth taped shut to seal in the taste of dirt, grime and … and?
Sweat, which is why we played rock, paper, scissors because the losing Mistress would train in the gym all afternoon, running on the treadmill but in double layered socks that had to be pulled or brought from the laundry hamper. So, every visit to her condo I’d have to haul along my own two pairs of dirty unwashed smelly socks from my own condo just in case I’d somehow lose at rock, paper scissors. There were not days but weeks where I’d win so consistently that I’d never take those socks out of my gym bag of femdom toys so that the times I did lose and did have to jog on the treadmill for the minimum 1.5 hours – my feet would conjure up a stink that words cannot describe – only a nose would be sufficient to tell the story of stench those afternoons.
So there’d we sit on the sofa – and the funny thing is that if you knew about Rainy’s OCD syndrome, that she was a clean freak – you could tell instantly who had the sweaty feet and who had the dirt caked feet because she wouldn’t let me put my feet up on her sofa. But the slave wasn’t privy to that information so he always chose by beauty – always choosing her over me, so most slaves had the pleasure of sucking her wrinkly sweaty feet and by gently tapping their balls with her spare foot they were not allowed to hold their breath and had to inhale in short painful gasps as they licked her soles clean.
But the beauty of the session was the moment they thought they were done which is silly really because we’d announce them being “done” exactly 1 hour into the 2 hour session. Why on earth would we deprive a foot worshiper a whole hour of suffering?
For then – usually it was me – I’d present my grimy, filthy, dirt caked feet like you see in the photo only a hundred times worse and wouldn’t let him stop until my soles look like they were spit polished.
It was my final touch though to send the slave home with his mouth duct taped shut so he couldn’t rinse and we’d ‘shoo-shoo’ him out the door quite quickly at the 2 hour mark so he wouldn’t have time to ask and beg to be allowed to rinse his mouth out … we’d just escort him to the elevator and send him on his way looking like that.
Now, no doubt, most would rip the duct tape off in the lift before it hit the ground floor but for me just to know that his session was carrying over into the elevator and then at minimum – his whole walk to the nearest 7Eleven which was a good 5 minutes away – made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside 🙂
For the PPV Patreon / FanVue part of the post below, I will be continuing on with my Flaccid Training Methods , focusing for this part of the story on what I can make a slave do once his penis no longer functions – this is an integral part of his human toilet slavery part of his conversion from a man to an object. As I’ll point out and show you, that it takes 1-2 years to train a man’s cock to become permanently flaccid and that flaccidness is what allows him to give up on the things that used to give him pleasure – this is the main reason I haven’t been able to convert a man into a permanent object yet. The fact is, to become a permanent toilet – one has to accept relinquishing life as he knew it. The only way to do that – is to remove everything that used to give him pleasure.
Bind Yourself to Nothing: How to go From Flaccid Cock to Permanent Human Toilet
Let’s focus on the two human toilets of mine that either survived the whole 30 day experience consuming my waste or came awfully close. Ian had no wife, no children, had long since been divorced and made it to day 23. Yet he quit. The only man to make it to day 30 – he wants even his first name to be kept a secret, ok fine – but he also had no family to go back to. He lived alone, didn’t particularly like his job and his social life consisted of ordering pizza and watching television all night. But he quit too – not wishing to stay and serve me from day 31 and beyond. Why? Simple. There are things in their lives that still give them pleasure – sex, to be frank. Ok, I’m going to remove any possibility of a slave even thinking about sex due to the humiliation I’ll attach to the thought … never mind actually trying to do the physical act. At that point, the slave will either have to find a girl who’d be fine never having sex and wouldn’t get bored giving flaccid cock handjobs … or … he submits to me for the rest of his life.
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