Monday, February 27, 2012

Punishment smelling

Punishment smelling
by morris474

My gorgeous 22 year old girlfriend, Georgia, loves to have her feet worshiped by me but last week she took this a stage further.
She asked me to pick up her dry cleaning and I forgot, she was not happy and told me sternly I was,
Going to pay for my mistake.
I like her being bossy and she is a beautifull blonde, with great legs and loves to be in charge in our relationship.
Ater her works Christmas party the next day, I picked Georgia and her best friend Emma up and we went back to our apartment. Emma is a stunningly atractive girl and when we got back Georgia told her I was in her bad books and needed to be punished I then heared lots of giggling as I made them coffee.
When I got back they pounced on me pushed me to the floor and put I dinning room chair over my stomach. Georgia then got some old stockings and tied my wrists to the front legs of the chair. She then dissappered and came back with some duck tape which they put over my mouth. Georgia then sat in the chair and laughing out loud anouncd,
time for some aroma therapy punishment.
She then eased off one of her 5 inch heels. She had been partying hard, dancing a lot in her stockings and heels and she casually flexed her toes above my face before lowering her foot into my face. She was laughing and deliberatly held her nylon covered toes over my nose forcing me to inhale the sweaty smell
Emma thought it was hilarious and said things, with mock concern in her voice, like,
Oh dear, doesnt that smell too good
and poor boy that must be torture ha ha.
Georgia was loving it and told me I should make sure I dont forget things in future as I would have to face the concequences if I did.
After about ten minutes Georgia asked Emma if her feet were sweaty, and would she like to help punish me. emma was all for it and qiuickly swapped palces with Georgia befor slipping one of her high heeled knee boots off. Emmas stockings were damp with sweat and she just loved forcing me to smell them. The smell was like vinigar and leather an d they were both laughing at my plight. after a short time Georgia decided she wanted her feet freshning up and pulled the tape off my mouth. she then sat down and with me at her mercy, forced me to kiss then lick her sweaty nylon soles.
The girls were loving it and Emma wanted hers freshning up too, Georgia didnt think I was licking Emmas feet properly and put her heels back on so she could jab the thin heel into my balls forcing me to lick as hard as I could at her friends very sweaty stockinged feet.
To be honest we all had a great time and Emma has asked if she can help Georgia punish me more in the future.
Georgia has been teasing me relentlessly saying I had better not let her down , even in the slightest way, with anything, because if I do they will dish out some more aroma therapy to me.
I know it won t be long

Sister Foot Licker of the Gamma Gamma Gamma Sorority

Sister Foot Licker of the Gamma Gamma Gamma Sorority
by Frankenstein2009

 Hell Week was just that for the girls of the Gamma Gamma Gamma sorority house. Well, more accurately, it pretty much only sucked for the newbies. Life was grand as always for their already established sisters. They were pampered every hour of every day by their lowly pledges. Their favorite pledge was, of course, Foot Licker. Her top priority for the week was just as her name suggested; lick her sorority sisters’ feet whenever it was demanded of her, which was often.
The naming ceremony was just about the most humiliating experience the girls could handle. Theresa, the head sister, made her way down the line, assigning roles for Hell Week. Some were told to cook all of the meals, some were told to do all of the laundry, some were told to be the official masseuse for the week, and one was even labeled the official “Beer Bitch” for the week. Then, at the end of the line, she came to Sally; pathetic, old Sally, who looked completely out of place amongst all of these very attractive girls.
“Have you ever French kissed a guy before, Sally?” Theresa asked, with a smirk.
“Um, no. Not really,” Sally answered, embarrassed.
Theresa giggled and looked back at her sorority sisters. They all followed her lead and giggled themselves. Theresa then, once again, directed her attention to Sally who looked a little worried.
“Well, since you haven’t dirtied up your tongue yet, we have just the job for you this week.”
Some of the sisters started to laugh a little louder and a few of them glanced down at their feet for some reason. They were all wearing flip-flops since it was still warm enough to do so. And, as if on cue, they each removed a flip-flop and held it up with the inner sole facing outwards.
“Sally, I want you to make your way down the line and examine each flip-flop. Then, once you determine which is the filthiest, I want you to tell me. And, don’t worry. You’re not going to offend whoever it belongs to. In fact, you’ll be doing them a favor. Your sister will appreciate it. Okay?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Yes, Miss Theresa,” Theresa quickly corrected her.
‘Sorry,” said Sally. “Yes, Miss Theresa.”
Sally slowly made her way down the line of sisters, stopping to closely examine each flip-flop. They were all grimy, but some were much worse than others. She wondered why they hadn’t bought new pairs for back to school. Eventually, she circled back to where she had seen the worst of the bunch. It belonged to Meghan. There was a gleam in Meghan’s eyes when Sally stopped in front of her. All of her sisters groaned, dropped their flip-flop to the ground, and slid their foot back in.
Sally gingerly turned towards Theresa. “Um, Sister Meg…”
“Uh, huh,” grunted Meghan.
“Sorry. Miss Meghan has the filthiest, I think,” Sally said.
Theresa smiled at Meghan, who was grinning to beat the band. Meghan was a slightly, plus-sized, freckled brunette who looked as though she had been some sort of an athlete in high school, but let herself go a little once she reached college. You could tell she was that class clown type who the popular girls always kept around to crack them up.
“Beer Bitch!” shouted Theresa. “Fetch us one of the barstools.”
The Beer Bitch nervously looked around and then spotted the row of barstools situated near the kitchen. She rushed over and then dragged it back over to where Theresa stood. She spun the stool around so it was facing her sisters.
“Okay, Meghan, take your seat.”
Meghan sauntered right past Sally and took her place on the stool. She dropped the flip-flop she had been holding to the floor, and crossed her legs, dangling the other flip-flop.
“Come over here, Sister Sally,” Theresa instructed.
Sally did as she was told; she was now standing directly in front of the beaming Theresa.
“Would you like to help your sister out with a problem she has?”
“I guess so,” said Sally.
“You guess so??” snapped Theresa.
“I mean, yes. Yes, I do. Sorry.”
“Good. Because that’s just what sisters should do, help each other out. I’m sure Meghan here would do anything for you. Isn’t that so, Meghan?”
“Oh, absolutely,” said Meghan, not at all sounding genuine.
“Well, then, I think you should help her out with her very minor problem, Sally. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes,” said Sally. “Definitely.”
“Very good. In that case, Meghan needs her feet cleaned, so she doesn’t have to embarrass herself anymore with filthy soles. The fraternity brothers don’t find dirty feet very attractive. Are your feet clean, Sally?”
“Um, yes, Miss Theresa.”
“How nice for you. You see, Meghan isn’t so fortunate, but you can certainly help her out with that. Can’t you?”
“Um, yes, I can. What do you want me to do?”
Unfortunately, Sally had forgotten all about the tongue reference Theresa had made earlier.
“Well, I would have you run and grab the foot bath and some soap, but I haven’t unpacked it yet and I’m so tired from carrying my clothes in. So, if you could use your tongue for now, we’d appreciate it so much.”
“Um, I don’t know about this,” said Sally.
“Oh, please. I swear, nobody will tell. It won’t leave this room. Come on. Plus, you can always gargle some mouth wash right after.”
Sally looked back at her new sisters who were all nodding along; hell, even the other newbies were nodding. She could tell that they probably would have done it if they were in her position. So, she figured, what did she really have to lose?
“Fine. I’ll do it.”
Meghan suddenly struggled to withhold her laughter. This was too good to be true. She was about to have her filthy feet licked clean by another girl. Normally, it was Theresa or somebody else who received this type of treatment. She was going to revel in it.
“Okay, then, Sally,” said Theresa. “Drop to your knees and lick Miss Meghan’s feet until they’re clean.”
Sally didn’t like the way that sounded, but she really needed to be a part of something like this sorority. Maybe then, the boys would take interest in her. With this in mind, she lowered herself to a kneeling position, with her face just inches from Meghan’s dangling flip-flop. She looked up at Meghan, who was sporting a devilish grin.
“Take my flip-flop off and start licking,” she ordered.
Sally removed her flip-flop and placed it on the floor next to the other one. Then, she took Meghan’s foot in her hands, stared down at it for a moment and began to lap away at it. She figured she’d get it over and done with as soon as possible. She could feel the dust from her heel collect on her tongue; she took a second to examine the shine she left on her heel.
“Can you see yourself in my heel, foot licker?” Meghan laughed.
“Ah, Foot Licker!” Theresa shouted. “I love it! That’s your new nickname.” Several of the sisters snickered when they heard this.
“Keep licking,” ordered Meghan. “You’re almost done with this one.”
Sally followed her orders. Suddenly, a cheer broke out amongst the group. “Go Sally! Go Sally! Go, go, go Sally!”
“You mean Foot Licker!” Meghan shouted joyously.
“Go Foot Licker! Go Foot licker! Go, go, go Foot Licker!”
For once in her pathetic life, Sally felt included. She was too blinded by the fake adoration to realize that she wasn’t actually accepted. She was their fool. I mean, what would her mother think if she saw her little girl licking some other girl’s dirty feet? She had only months earlier cheered for her at her high-school graduation.
While Sally was lapping away at Meghan’s big toe, she couldn’t help but notice the toe prints she left in her flip-flops; she especially focused on the prints her big toes left. Any dirt it didn’t leave on the flip-flop was being taken care of by Sally’s lowly tongue. When she finished with that foot – and after Meghan examined it to make sure it was satisfactory – Sally moved on to her other foot.
“Sally, I didn’t realize you were so talented,” said Theresa, as Meghan slipped her feet back into her flip-flops and walked back to her place in line, patting Sally, who was still kneeling, on the head. Theresa continued: “Talent like that can’t go wasted. From this day forth, you’ll be known as Sister Foot licker. Welcome to Gamma Gamma Gamma.” 


Well, Hell Week at Gamma Gamma Gamma officially came to an end and, boy, was it a success. There were no reported injuries, no visits from the campus police, and no girls needing their shoelaces and belts taken away from them. The only physical difference in any of the girls was that Foot Licker ended the week with a much dryer tongue. It wasn’t over though – the pledging that is. Initiation Week was now beginning.
“Okay, girls,” began Theresa. “Congrats. You’ve survived Hell Week. Your sisters are all very proud of you. Now, you just have to put up with Initiation Week and you’re in.”
Everyone cheered. Everyone except for Foot Licker. You see, she was under the impression that she was already in.
Theresa began talking again once the cheering died down. “It’s also Throwback Week here on campus, so we want all of you pledges to act like hippie chicks for the whole week. By that, I mean you’ll dance for our pleasure out on the lawn to 60’s music, you’ll take your favorite shirts and make them tye dyed, you’ll be barefoot at all times (Foot Licker gulped when she heard this), and, finally, you won’t bathe for the entire week.”
There was a collective “Eww.”
“Only one of you won’t have to take part in this ritual, and it is none other than Foot Licker. She’s not quite as worthless as the rest of you. In fact, Foot Licker, you don’t even need to hear the rest of this. I’ll just be talking about what else we’ll be expecting of these girls this week. Why don’t you head on out to the dining hall. We’ll catch up with you in a bit.”
Foot Licker proudly walked past all of her jealous fellow pledges and out the door. They each gave her a look of disdain as she passed by. Once she was halfway down the street, heading for the dining hall, Theresa addressed the other pledges again.
“Okay, girls. There’s just one more thing I wanted to fill you in on. Foot Licker will taste every bit of filth and grime that collects on the soles of your feet. Why else would we have you walk barefoot for an entire week without bathing?”
All of the pledges breathed a sigh of relief and immediately looked to one another with a devilish gleam in their eyes.
“But, you cannot tell her about this at all, or else it will ruin the surprise. Got it?”
They all nodded along like good little foot soldiers.
Foot Licker wasn’t completely relieved of her duties during Initiation Week. In fact, not much had changed. Her daily routine still involved going from room to room each morning, waking each of the sisters up with a thorough foot licking.
“Ah, there is no better way to wake up,” said Theresa. “Thanks, Foot Licker.” She then patted Foot Licker atop the head and sent her on her way.
Most of the sisters were appreciative for the gesture, and only some of them still found it funny. They led her to believe that they only laughed because they were ticklish on the soles of their feet, but, really, they found it amusing that this poor girl was happy to be licking their feet every morning. One girl was more than appreciative to receive this sort of wake-up each morning. It was Meghan, owner of the first pair of feet she ever licked. Meghan was also the only lesbian in the house. Thanks to her stern, religious upbringing, Foot Licker was a little weirded out by this.
One morning, while Foot Licker was down at the foot of her bed lapping away at her feet, Meghan began to pleasure herself. Foot Licker noticed this and couldn’t hide the disgust in her eyes. Unfortunately, Meghan noticed this reaction. To punish Foot Licker for her close-mindedness, she pulled her left foot away, moistened the palm of her hand up with her juices, and then wiped it all over the sole of her foot. Then, she shoved it back down in front of Foot Licker’s face.
“You missed a spot, bitch,” she said, with a sneer. “Clean it all off, or else.”
Foot Licker was finally sickened. She’d been licking feet for over a week, and only now was she disgusted. But, being a member of this sorority did mean the world to her, so she did as she was told. Meghan just lay there, with her arms behind her head and her feet crossed at the ankles.
Her evenings weren’t much better than her mornings. All of the sisters sat around the television, eating snacks and gossiping, while Foot Licker licked their filthy flip-flops clean. After all, she was indirectly responsible for them being so dirty. They had to get them that way for the first night of Hell Week. They didn’t even look over at her while she lapped away. They had broken her in; they were used to it by now.
The only bright points for Foot Licker came whenever she noticed the other pledges dragging themselves into the living room, filthy, ragged, and reeking. She also noticed how disgusting their bare feet looked by the week’s end, and she was glad Theresa told her she wouldn’t be “licking” their feet because they were still only pledges.
A few of them snickered at her on their way by. She figured they were just jealous of her because she had been accepted long before them. So, she figured it was safe to roll her eyes at them. Unfortunately, though, she soon learned why they all snickered.
Theresa entered the living room, carrying a chair, and Meghan followed her in, carrying a bucket filled with water. Theresa placed the chair in the middle of the room and Meghan placed the bucket on the floor in front of it.
“Okay, girls,” said Theresa, gathering everyone’s attention. “It’s time the pledges have their feet cleaned. Foot Licker…”
Foot Licker suddenly got nervous. “But, you said…”
“Don’t worry. I said you wouldn’t be licking their feet and I meant it. All that’s going to happen is they’re going to each take a turn sitting in this chair and you’re going to clean their feet in this bucket. Then, you’ll dry them off with a towel. Your tongue will not touch their feet at all. It’s just that I’ve noticed they’re a little jealous of you and I wanted you to sort of extend an olive branch of sorts. It’s what’s best for everyone.”
Now, all of the pledges felt as though they’d been lied to by Theresa. But, they soon discovered that they hadn’t been. You see, Foot Licker would indeed taste every bit of filth and grime that had collected on their feet.
Once every foot was clean and dry, Meghan carried the bucket of now filthy water to the kitchen. Every time she glanced down at the disgusting foot bath water that even had a few unidentified things floating on its surface, she smirked and pretended to gag. Once she was in there, she grabbed a package of Rahmin Noodles from the cupboard, prepared them, and then drained them of all the juice. Then, she did the unthinkable when she took a ladle, scooped out some of the foot bath water and dumped it into a bowl along with the noodles. When she was finished, she placed it upon the long kitchen table and walked back in to the living room.
“Girls, to welcome you all into the Gamma Gamma Gamma sorority, I’ve prepared a lobster dinner.” All of the pledges cheered, bringing a smile to every sister’s face. They all hugged. “And, Foot Licker, I haven’t forgotten that you’re allergic to shell fish. We don’t want to have to rush you off to the hospital, so I cooked up some Rahmin Noodles for you. Now, in all fairness, it was my first time, so I hope I didn’t screw it up.”
Foot Licker smiled, thinking how sweet it was for Meghan to remember her allergy.
All of the girls piled into the kitchen and squeezed around the table. Everyone dug right in, except for Foot Licker for she had never seen Rahmin Noodles that looked like this.
“Is there something wrong with yours, Foot Licker?” Meghan asked, feigning disappointment.
Each of the pledges looked over at Foot Licker’s bowl and immediately noticed that her noodles were floating in their foot grime. A few of them could barely stifle their laughter. Theresa simply smirked.
“Oh, um, no,” answered Foot Licker. Then, she brought the first spoonful of filthy foot soaked noodles to her mouth. They all repeatedly snuck glances down to her end of the table as she ate every last noodle. She sucked the last noodle in, causing a bit of foot water to splash up onto her face, just below her eye. Finally, one of the pledges gave into her laughter. Foot Licker placed her spoon on the table next to her bowl. Everyone was pleased with the exhibition she had just put on. Only Meghan wasn’t altogether satisfied.
“Um, there’s still a lot of broth left in there. Aren’t you going to finish it? I always do. Just a force of habit, I guess.”
Foot Licker still desperately wanted to fit in, so she picked the bowl up with both hands, brought it to her mouth, and drank it all down; some of it even streamed down from both sides of her face. If she wasn’t so focused on the task at hand, she would have noticed some of her sisters gagging. 

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

The Dominant BabySitter

The Dominant BabySitter

By Solestruck

In the sixth or seventh grade, when I was about 12 or 13, my parents, against
my wishes, thought that it would be best if I had a babysitter. Turns out, the
babysitter was a gal who was about 5 or 6 years older, maybe a junior or
senior, and the daughter of an acquaintance they made somewhere. Fortunately
for me she was very hot, a freckle-faced, brownish red head with a nice
figure. I remember I was laying on my stomach watching TV and she sat on my
back in a straddle and then asked if I want to wrestle. OK I figured, I can
buck her off no problem. But after I said yes, she executed this flim flam
wrestling move that someone must have shown her involving the looping of one
of my arms inside out, which flipped me over like a pancake and with what
seemed like very little force on her part. It was a little embarrassing to be
pinned that quick. She kept telling me, "Just say 'I give' and I will let you
up. Instead I struggled to re-assert my masculinity. This just ended up
causing her to move forward into a tighter pin higher up on my chest to the
point where she could sit upright. She kept repeating, "All you have to do is
say 'I give' . . . and that I am the boss." I of course refused and this
resulted in her keeping me in this pin for about two and a half hours while
she just watched TV.

At some point, I told her I was going to kick her ass. She replied, "Actually,
I think you are in a better position to kiss my ass," and she later
threatened, "If you don't give, I am going to make you kiss my ass." At some
point, I gave up struggling as I was exhausted and her shins pressing on my
upper arms had left my arms feeling weak and my hands tingly. After I had been
forced to give up struggling, she quickly flipped around to reverse the
direction she was sitting in, but still pinning me, and pressed her ass on my
face right over my nose and mouth, saying, "Time to kiss my ass." She lifted a
little and told me, "You can kiss my ass or say you give, you choose." I told
her she better get off. So she sat her ass back down. I began to kick and
flail when I feared passing out. She must have sensed this and lifted her ass
up slightly again. When I refused to verbally surrender or kiss her ass, she
sat back down again. I did not appreciate this dominant streak back then, and
would love to have found hundreds more women like this later in life. This
facesit smother and chance to worship or verbally surrender repeated itself
several times, each time meeting with a refusal from me. Maybe on some level I
did like it, even though I was really outraged and angry about being
dominated. I became intimately familiar with the site, or more accurately, the
seat, of her off-white Lee overalls that she was wearing. Eventually, we heard
my parents car in the driveway, and she hopped off saying, "The only reason I
let you up is because your parents are home." I said, "Next time you're dead."
She said, "We'll see."

I did not tell on her because it would have been a little embarrassing to tell
them I wrestled her and lost, and that I was dominated and helpless under her
for about four hours, just about the whole time they were out. As they were
paying her and asked her if I behaved, she said, "Oh, I managed to keep him
under control," and gave me a sarcastic grin. I was a little frustrated that
she was holding the cards, getting paid and in a position to get me in trouble
despite the fact that she sat on top of me the whole time, pinned me to the
point where my shoulders were still tender and sat on my face for hours,
repeatedly bringing me close to pass out condition.

My parents used her again a few weeks later and I had planned to get revenge.
My parents were downstairs, waiting for the babysitter and finishing up
getting ready, and I was in the upstairs den. I was laying down watching TV.
She came upstairs and I knew my parents were still home so I figured I was
fine. I heard my parents clanging around downstairs. It was a ballsy move on
her part but while my parents were still home, she grabbed the wooden chair
from its matching stained desk that was in the corner of the room, placed it
right over me and sat on it. I saw her grab it but I thought she was just
going to sit on it next to me and watch TV since my parents were still home.
She even still had her pocket book (really a shoulder sack) still on her arm,
probably just to help with the deception. Right when she did this, I said
"What are you doing? My parents are still here," while I ineffectively began
to try to push at the front of the chair from the awkward position my arms
were in. She easily pinned my arms by pressing her feet onto my upper arms and
said, "They are just about ready to leave and I wanted to get the jump on you.
If they come up, I will just move the chair. And if you yell for them, I will
tell them you hit me." As she was talking I heard "Bye" from downstairs
punctuated immediately by the sound of the door slamming shut. She then
laughed out loud and set her shoulder sack down on a nearby piece of
furniture.

It was one of those chairs with four legs, open underneath, with four support
bars connecting each leg to its adjacent legs. The front cross bar pressed on
my chest a little but not too uncomfortably. The rear cross bar was a little
lower and that was over my lower abdomen. The two front legs landed right
outside my armpits, and I always lay with my hands behind my head so my arms
were trapped up in a position where I could not try to push the chair up from
my sides like a bench press using my chest and shoulder muscles. I would only
be able to bring my arms down near a 90 degree angle off my body before my
upper tricep hit the chair leg. That is mainly why she was easily able to pin
my arms with her shoes in no time flat.

It was after the door shut that I realized I was probably in for a long night.
I tried pushing a little but she just pressed lightly using her thigh muscles
and said, "Yeah, right." She said, "Now. I am in a superior position, and we
can do this one of two ways. You can struggle and try to get me back, even
though you have nothing to get me back for, or you can give up now and agree
that there is no need for fighting, and we can have fun watching TV or playing
cards or something." I did not answer at first but reminded her that she had
suffocated me last time and I almost passed out. She was not in a mood to
concede any ground since she was again enjoying a superior bargaining
position. She explained to me that I had brought that on myself by refusing to
just give up after a simple wrestling match that I did agree to and lost fair
and square. She went on to explain that it was I who threatened to "kick her
ass." I argued that her logic was weak since a simple threat that I was not in
a position to carry out does not justify suffocating someone to near death.
She immediately pounced on that saying that it was not "near death." Using
that phrase was a bad choice on my part since I thought I was winning the
argument. But I soon realized that given our physical positions, she was not
going to give in at all and she was going to stay there.

Since the argument went nowhere and I would not agree to "Give" or to promise
that I would not try to go after her, she reached for her sack, and was
rummaging around. I asked her what she had in there. She said, "Oh a few
things I thought I might need," and then took out a book and started reading,
her white canvas sneakers still pinning my arms. About a half hour later, I
asked if she planned to keep me here all night. Without looking at me from
behind her book, she said, "You had your chance earlier to just say you give
and agree not to come after me." I said, "OK, I am willing to give up and
agree that I won't go after you." She replied, "I am not sure I believe you
and I will have to think about it." I asked what I could do to make her
believe me. She said, "You can start by untying my shoes for me." I said fine
and she had to hold up each of her feet so I could get my hands to them given
the forced 'up' position of my upper arms. I then asked again, "OK, I did what
you asked, now may I please get up." She put her book aside, reached for her
nap sack and said, "I don't know if I can trust you. You might just be saying
that." She then pulled a ball of something white out of the sack and said, "If
I tie your arms I will feel a lot more comfortable that you won't come after
me." It was that thin coated cord that they use to tie up stacks of
newspapers.

I reluctantly agreed, figuring that even if she did tie them, it was worth
getting up since I noticed that the bar pressing on my chest was starting to
ache a lot like Chinese water torture. So she had me hold them upright toward
the ceiling but crossed at the wrists. She then wrapped them around and around
sideways, then vertically in between the wrists, then sideways again, and then
looped the string in on itself, and tugged like some kind of slip knot finish.
She then used one of her feet to push one of arm arms down and of course the
other arm traveled with it. I said "What are you doing?" She said, "Just one
thing first." She then took the sneaker off her other (free) foot, peeled off
her tiny sock, and put her bare foot over my mouth with her toes over my nose
and said, "Smell my feet." I said, "W--," and was interrupted as she pressed
her foot over my mouth. I then involuntarily smelled her feet which were clean
but slimy and sweaty and had a bit of an odor but the odor was actually not
offensive. She then said, "If you kiss my feet, I will know that you are
honest about not wanting to come after me." When she lifted her foot, I asked
her why before all I had to do was promise not to come after her, then I had
to agree to her tying my arms, and now this?? She answered that I had my
chance each time and because I kept refusing her offers, she had to change the
terms to create rewards and punishments to modify behavior.

I then tried a different tack and told her the bar was really hurting my chest
and I needed to get up. She said, "Nice try! You have been there for almost an
hour and have not said a word about it up 'til now. You can stay here with my
feet on your face and smell my feet all night or you can just kiss them and be
done with it." I told her I was not going to kiss her feet. She said, "OK
fine," and then took off her other shoe and sock and began to rub her foot
sweat all over my face, eventually settling in with her toes all cradled
around my nose. I laid there, I think realizing that I actually was somehow
enjoying this, and lost track of time. She had been reading again. I wondered
how long I had zoned out for. I told her that the sweat from her feet was
getting all over my face. She then asked me, "Now whose fault is that?" She
went on, "Since you refused a perfectly reasonable deal before where you could
have given a peck and been free, the deal is now that you need to lick my feet
before I let you up." She continued, "Besides, you have been quietly breathing
away through your nose for about 45 minutes now, and it even sounded like you
were sniffing my feet a few times, so I am starting wonder whether you
actually like the smell of my feet and enjoy having them in your face." To
this I said nothing at first, but realized that I actually did have an
erection. She was right.

So about twenty minutes later, after pondering the thought of the bar on my
chest for another two or three hours, and wondering why I had an erection and
being somewhat interested the more I thought of her offer, I started licking
her feet. She moved her feet to enable me to get the whole foot, and even
dipped her toes into my mouth. During the process she commented, "You are
actually enjoying this aren't you." I did not answer. After about twenty
minutes, I said, "OK, I did everything you asked." She then said, "I want to
hear you admit that you enjoyed smelling and licking my feet." I did not reply
at first. She kept prodding me though and eventually I did say it out loud,
and she made me repeat it several times. When she still did not get up, I told
her she was being a liar and bitch for not getting up after I did exactly what
she asked. She then said, "You need to have your mouth washed out with soap
but I have a better idea." She then leaned forward, forced her little
mini-socks into my mouth, pressed the opening of her sneaker over my mouth and
nose and tied it there with more cord from her knap sack. This brought
extended laughter from her, as she said, "You look ridiculous like that with
my shoe tied to your face."

She then got down off the chair and sat on my chest and said, "How do my sweat
socks taste?" She then flipped around and watched TV while straddling my
chest. At some point she noticed the bulge in my pants and said, "You are a
naughty boy. Looks like you popped a tent from smelling and licking the
babysitter's feet." She stayed there until my parents car pulled in, at which
point, she began untying the sneaker from my face me while saying, "Now what
are you going to tell them, that you smelled and licked the baby sitter's feet
and got aroused by it? I might have to tell them I noticed a bulge in your
pants and that I don't feel comfortable babysitting anymore." She got off me
and I made a "Mmm" sound since her socks were still stuffed into my mouth and
my hands were tied. She started putting her shoes on without the socks and
said, "If I were you, I would run to the bathroom pretty quick before they see
you like that sucking on my socks." So I ran to the bathroom, and managed to
get the free of the cord with a dull scissors in the second draw down.

She babysat me after that but it was not as hostile since she had tamed me and
made me realize that I did enjoy her feet, so in the future she got paid to
have her feet smelled, licked and massaged, and rather than me being forced to
do it, I had to ask for it. Sometimes she made me smell her socks first or put
them in my mouth, or smell or lick her shoes.

Babysitter

Babysitter

By Fantasmia

I have had a foot fetish all my life according to mum. As soon as I could crawl I headed for mum's bare feet apparently and always grabbed at her toes when she was in sandals. It wasn't only my mum's feet it was any woman or girls feet. Strangely I didn't like touching other boys feet though. Mum seemed to think it was fu at first but it did get irritating for her after a while. The worst bit for her though was baby sitters. I always used to try to play with their feet too and from aged 6 on, as the local teenaged girls came to sit for me, began to get a bit of a reputation as the creepy boy who tries to go for feet. At age 9 I finally met my match in the 16 year-old Rachel.

Mum was going to be away over night so Rachel was staying in her room Friday to Saturday. Well Rachel came round wearing standard teenaged girl garb of t-shirt, jeans bright pink socks and trainers (but trainers did come off at the door. I was in Shorts, t-shirt and bare feet. Mum gave Rachel the story about food, bedtimes etc and was off. So I was alone with the beautiful Rachel from 7pm on Friday until 9pm Saturday. And there was only one thing on my mind, to get her socks off and play with her feet.


At first she left me playing video games whilst she went off to do some school work. After racing Mario Karts for 15 min or so I went in to see Rachel.

"Hi anything you need?" she asked.

"No" I said trying not to look straight at the bright pink socks.

She carried on with her work and I looked at the books on the shelf in the room she was in. When I was happy she was engrossed in her work I began to get closer to the table and eventually crawled under it and got to her feet. I began to carefully slide my finger into her sock when she suddenly gave a giggle. SHE WAS TICKLISH great. Then she pulled her foot away and shouted "HEY".

I stopped for about 5 seconds and started to pull at her sock again.

"HEY. I won't warn you again."

Another 5 seconds and my finger went in again.

"Right THAT's IT." Rachel jumped out of her chair and grabbed me. "My friends warned me abbot you." she said. She pushed me onto the floor and sat on my back. "Always trying to tickle their feet they said. Well I came prepared for you." She reached into her bag and pulled out some rope. She next pulled my arms behind my back and started to tie my wrists together behind my back, crossed and tied tightly winding rope up and down as well as side to side. Next she took a second piece of rope and tied my elbows together. She turned me over, sat me up and sat on my legs then tied the ends of the elbow rope around my chest binding my arms to my sides. Next she pushed me onto my back and bent my legs forcing me to cross them, Taking more rope she tied my left ankle to my right knee and vice versa so I was forced cross legged. She sat me back cross-legged like that and took a final piece of rope which she tied around both legs where they crossed about mid shin level. The end of this rope she tied to my chest ropes so I was slightly bent forwards in a forced cross-legged sit.

She sat cross-legged in front of me. "Now you naughty boy. Since you want my socks so much you can have them." as she said this she was peeling her socks off and then wiggled her toes, beautiful pink painted toes. She balled the socks up and then pinched my nose. With that she pushed her socks into my mouth and then tied a scarf over my mouth as a cleve gag holding the socks firmly in place. "Oh by the way. I wore those socks for netball practice after school. I guessed this would happen." She gave an evil looking smile at me.

So there I was. Rachel was barefooted as I had wanted but it had gone very wrong for me. Or so I thought at the time. Hr socks were certainly sweaty and cheesy but I could not spit them out no matter how I tried.

"Are your feet ticklish?" Rachel teased. She reached forward and ran her fingertips over both my soles. I could do nothing to resist her and I curled my toes and tried to cry out into my gag. "Oh you are ticklish." Rachel squealed delighted at this way of tormenting me. She scraped her fingernails down my soles next, which made me wriggle as much as I could manage in my bonds. "Now I know you want to tickle my bare feet, so here they are." Rachel rolled onto her back and held her soles up to me wiggling her toes and pointing and stretching her soles. "So you can see my bare feet all you want to but you can't touch!"

With that she turned me round so I could see her sat at the table working and true to form, she would wiggle her toes, interlock her feet but not let me touch.

After about an hour or so the phone rang. It was obviously mum from the ay Rachel spoke.

"Oh yes Mrs Thompson, Alan was a bit of a handful at first but I've given him something to keep him quiet. Yes bed time soon and I have plans if he needs entertaining tomorrow too. Goodnight."
So there I was, tied cross legged, chewing on sweaty socks with the object of my desires (Rachel's bare feet) inches away but me totally unable to touch. She on the other hands culd reach down and tickle my bare soles whenever she wished to, which was basically whenever she turned a page or otherwise got bored. After what must have been an hour all tied up her mobile rang. "Hi Danni". Rachel was chatttng to one of her gil friends. Danni was one of the local girls who had made the mistake of babysitting for me with no socks on and kicking her shoes off. I had spent most of the evening trying to or succedding in tickling her bare feet.

She chatted about girly things but I could tell some of the chat was about me. "Yes just like you said.", "Yes he tried to take my socks off.", "No i had socks on." "No bareffet now they're in his mouth." Yes hes a little tied up ha ha ha." at that last comment she held the phone to my gagged mouth and tickled the soles of my feet so that Danni could hear my distressed "mmpphh"s down the line.

Eventually she hung up and turned to me.

"Well bed time you naughty boy."

She untied me and relayed the instructions mum had given her about pyjamas and washing and brushing teeth etc. I obeyed these fully and planned a bit of revenge and how i would get my hands on those beautifuk bare feet.

********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************

It was gone midnight when i heard the bathroom being used and Rachel going to bed. By this stage I was under the covers wearing my PJ top and shorts. I waited a full ahlf hour until the light accross the landng went out then set my watch alarm for another hour. I woke to the peeping of the alarm and quickly creeped accross the lnding to mum's room where Rachel was sleeping. (Remember at aged 9 my hormones had not kicked in yet and I just saw this as a foot tickling game rather than anything sexual.)

I began to peel the quilt back and expose Rachel's beautiful bare feet. She was wearing a pink vest top and matching PJ shorts. Once I exposed her feet she pulled them back. I just got to touch her left foot when she woke up, pulled her feet away, swithced the light on and yelled "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR DOING?"

Before waiting for an answer I was On my back with Rachel on top of me pinning me down. "What do you think your doing sneaking into my room. You are beyond naughty." She reached down the side of the bed and grabbed a piece of rope which she used to quickly tie my hands infront of me. She crossed my wrists then tied the ropes around i both directions before tying the knot well away from my fingers. She dragged me accross the landing. Back in my room with Rachel on top of me holding a load of rope she tied my ankles together crossed much as my hands had been then tied them to the bottom of the bed so my feet hung over the end. My hands were tied to the top of the bed so i was pulled tightly and slightly stretched. Next she tied my knees and elbows together, just above and just below the joints. She went back to her room (mum's room) and returned with some scarves. One scarf was quickly tied over my eyes, then she produced a fresh sock which was shoved into my mouth and taped in place with a roll of sticking plaster. she then moved to the bottom of the bed and tickled my feet hard for wahat seemed like forever and then some too. I kicked and struggled and pulled on the ropes and tried to beg for mercey but I couldn't stop the attack on my bare soles. Next i felt weight on my legs and realised Rachel was sitting on me. I felt my t-hirt lifted and fingers all over my tummy, ribs and down my sides. her fingers ran from my waste up to my armpits and I was thrashing and kicking as much as the ropes and Rachel's weight would let me.

As a final assault I felt her get off me only to jump back on again a second later. I suddenly felt both my feet and my under arms being tickled at the same time. I could not work out how this 4 armed woman was attacking me all over at once (I eventually found out she had tuerned round so her toes were in my armpits while her fingers attacked my feet.)

I was left with no covers on which was not too bad as it was quite a hot night and I had worked up quite a sweat with all the tickling. I don't know how long I waited before going to sleep but once again my attempts to tickle Rachel's feet had back fired big time.
I was awoken by some severe tickling on the soles of my feet. after a few minutes of torture My gag and blindfold were pulled off and Rachel was kneeling astride my chest in a short denim skirt and red top.

"You bad boy" she said "I'll untie you in a moment but no more nice guy. No more chances. YOu get tied up again first time you tryi to tickle me."

Shw as good to her word and untied me, it was 9 am and I went to the bathroom, changed into shorts and t-shirt and went to have breakfast. Rachel had already had her coffee and breakfast and was in the lounge reading a magazine with the Tv on. After breakfast i joined her and started half watching the TV half playing with some lego on the floor. i was sure she was teasing me with her feet.

Hwer feet were bare and the nails painted a beautiful pink colour. She wiggled then and pointed them, rubbed one against the other, flexed her toes and scratched her leg with one foot. she crossed her legs so one bare foot was very near me. If i turned it was under my nose. i couldn't resist I had to scratch the sole and produce the inevitable giggle. I knew exactly wha was going to haooen next.

"I warned you no more chances" Rahel shouted jumping to her feet. She grabbed some rope to the side of the couch, almost as if she had planned this. She pushed me onto my stomach and in a matter of seconds had my hands tied together behind my back crossed right over left and tightly cinched. Next came my feet, ankles together tightly and cinched followed by ropes jeust above and below my knees. Next I was sat up and she wrapped rope around my upper arms and chest, cincing it between my arms and body holding me tight. She finished with me on my stomach again as she bent my knees up and used a piece of rope to tie my ankles to my wrists.

She sat down on the floor nfront of me with her legs out straight infront of her. "If you like my feet so much then here's a close look at them." She stayed with her feet inches infront of me for several minutes verbally teasing me. and wiggling her toes then pointing and flexing. I began to wriggle to get closer to her toes then she suddenly pulled her feet away and jumped up. coming round behind me she began to give my feet a really hard tickle. Her fingertips and nails were all over my bare soles and there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I wa loving it and hating it at the same time, beging her to stop but wwishing she wouldn't. Eventually she said "You amke far too much noise. I know how to stop it."

She went out of the room and I hears her go up then come back downstairs. She was carrying a pair of black tights and a roll of tape. She balled the tights up then held them infront of my face. "Open up." I kept my mouth firmly shut until her finger scraped accross the soles of my feet when I opened up and had the ball shoved into my mouth. Next she put 4 or 5 strips of tape over my mouth. Just as she finished the telephone rang.

"Oh hello Mrs Thompson. Oh. Yes that's OK. Oh yes he's fine. He's being really quiet at the moment. Oh can I have a friend over. No Just Danni from school, not my boy friend. Thanks Mrs thompson that will cover it."

She put the telephone down. "YOur mum says she won't be back until tomorrow afternoon and can I look after you another night. I think I can but tonight I'll have help. Oh and you are going to stay tied up this time."

Fantasmia
TUGs Member
Posts: 37
Joined: Wed Mar 23, 2011 10:42 am


Re: babysitter

Postby Fantasmia » Sun Apr 24, 2011 5:31 am
She was true to her word. I spent the rest of the morning hogtied tightly on the floor. I could hear her listening / watchiing MTV but couldn't lift my head to see the screen. She sent a lot of texts and later called her friend Danni to discuss her coming over in the evening. Danni was a girl who had given up on sitting for me as i kept trying to take her socks off and tickle her feet. I could hear Rachel telling danni how she was certain i wouldn't cause trouble like that now. Yes I'd tried to tickle her feet but now I was all quiet and wouldn't be trouble tonight.

Throughout the morning i got the occasional glimpse of her beautiful bare feet and legs as she walked past me but could never see above her knees as she walked about the house. Around mid morning she made herself a coffe and put my faviurite chocolate biscuits infront of me. i could,nt reach them all tied up and gagged but I could smell the chocolate, see the biscuit butcould only struggle and make little mmpphhing noises. Rachel lay down on the floor infront of me and picked up the biscuits teasing me. "wouldn't you like one of these. " She bit into it and chewed it and teased me more by waving the chocolate under my nose and pressing it against my gag. She finished by eating all the biscuits infornt of me.

She walked off and then came back with a glass of water. "You need a drink" She took my gag out and still teased me. holding the water then taking it away and holding a chocolate biscuit just out of reach.

"Can i please have a biscuit " I asked.

"Beg me for it " she said.

I begged and begged.

"What will you do for this biscuit"

"Anything i said."

"10 minutes tickling"

She waent to my feet and scraped her fingers over my soles, tickling me as i laughed and screamed, hand gagging me from time to time when it got "too loud". she continued for the promissed 10 minutes before stopping. I was a breathless and near tears when she gave me her final little sting. She held the biscuit between her toes and made me eat it from her foot.

After that i was regagged and left tied up on the floor for the next coiple of hours as she got on woth doing her work to MTV sundtrack.
At lunch time she undind the hogtie after several hours like that I was grateful. she made me hopped , still gagged , to the kitchen where she tied me to a kitchen char and pushed me up to the table. she spoon fed me soup and bread before saying I needed to go to the toilet. She untied my legs and got me to walk up stairs and she finally untied all but my hands when we got to the bathroom door. "10 minutes" she said and let me go in alone. I managed to do what I had to with my hands still tied behind me then came back out again.

"I think you need some time sitting down for comfort" she said and led me back to the kitchen. One there she made me sit on the chair again and untied my hands before tying them again behind my back behind the back of the chair. she then wrapped several cils of rope round my upper body pinning me to the chair. she tied my ankles and knees to the front legs of the chair. the chair was so high my feet did not quite reach the ground and my soles had about 2-3 inches of air between them and the floor. Next she took another 2 socks, one ankle one knee sock. She balled up the ankle sock and forced it into my mouth then she tied the knee sock between my teeth knotting behind my head. finally She took a scarf and tied it over my eyes so i was blind foded and in total darkness. She said she wanted to check her knots were tight enough and did this by tickiling the soles of my bare feet and making sure I didn't wriggle free. After tickling me (5 minutes that seemed like 5 hours) that she left me. Left me blindfolded, gagged and tied to a kitnchen chair. As she was bare foot I could barely hear her foot steps so had no idea if she was still in the room with me or not. I occasioanlly heard doors open or the Tv go on and once I heard her go up and come back down the stairs. most of the time she could have been sat next to me or out of the house and I wouldn't know a thing.
It was several hours I spent tied to the chair. Not knowing when Rachel returned or not I would occasionally get a surprise when her hand ran over my stomach or even under my foot. She would then spend several endless minutes tickling me before once again leaving me bound, blindfolded and gagged. Bettween her attacks I would try to struggle free but never made progress against my restraints. In between times I'd sit still. These periods of rest were boaring but at the same time I felt ecxited at what was happening to me. I was the barefooted, bound, blindfolded ang gagged prisoner of this beautiful girl and was likely to remain so for the next 24 hours too.

I heard Rachel take a couple of phone calls. One was clearly from mum, Rachel told her I was out playing, the other call was fom on of her friends who she was arranging to meet later this evening. That was Dannii, one of the other girls whose feet I'd tried to tickle at a previous baby sitting.

Rachel came back to me after her telephone call. Despite being still tied gagged and blinfolded I knew she was coming this time as I heard her bare feet slap on the kitchen floor. I really knew she was here shortly as she tickled the soles of both my feet for a few ... wel felt like hurs may have been seconds or minutes. After that she untied me from the char and marched me upstairs still blindfolded and gagged with my hands tied behind me. She udid my hands just outside the bathroom door, said I could remove my blindfold and gag if I wished and as she pushed me in said I had 5 minute to do what was necessary.

I did what was needed and stepped out to find Rachel still in her summer dress and now standing with coils of rope in her hands once more. She tied my hands behind my back again then tied my elbows together before pushing a fresh sock into my mouth and tearing a strip of wide tape from a reel which she then smoothed over my mouth. She marched me down stiars agin (I was still in shorts, shirt and barefoot at this time) and into the loungs. She pushed me to sit on the floor then got on her knees next to me and tied my legs together at ankles, calves, above and below knees and thighs. Each one was wrapped by 5 or 6 turns of rope before being cinched between my legs and tied off. Next was my upper bode which was tied with several turns of rope round my chest and upper arms which was then cinched between my arms and bode before bing tied off. She then took a long piece of rope and folded it in two. she tieg the mid point to the rope round my wrists then tied the rope round my waste and tied it off in front of me. Once again i was well truessed up and gagged but not blindfolded this time.

She switched the TV on and I got my first cue of time as the sports programmes had finished and it was the early eveing game shows and entertainment shows starting. We sat and watched as if watching TV while tied up and gagged or watching with a tied gagged pris0nr at your feet was the most natural thing to do. When the first comercial break came on things changed a little though. Rachel poked me in the side with her bare toes and started teasing me again. "Are your sides ticklish?" "Do you like my bare feet?" She poked me several times and eventlually pushed me over onto my side when she then slid along the sofa and began to press hr bare soles over my face. she had been walking round the house barefoot all day so although her feet didn not smell too badly they were very dirty. Rachel took great delight in smearing her dirty bare feet all over my face and pinching my nose with her toes so that when i was eventually allowed to breathe again I got a nose full of her feet.

This continued for the next couple of ad breaks. i got a rest when the programe was on but as soon as the ads came I was litterally under her feet having a good sniff. During one of the programme breaks (i.e. when I could watch the TV from my low down and now sideways perspective) the door bell rang. Rachel jumped up to answer it and I could immediately hear two female voices. they went tnto the kitchen to get some drinks. A few minutes later Rachel came back into the lounge with Danni. Danni was wearing her work clothes from the department store she worked in. Dark blue skirt, pale blue blouse, jacket to match the skirt, tan tights and low heeled dark blue shoes. She took her jacket off and threw it over the back of a chair and kicked her shoes off before they both sat on the sofa using me as a foot stool.

In contrast to Rachel Danni had been wearing shoes and tights all day, so whereas her feet wer clean they smelled. Even before the next ad break Danni wasted no time in putting her sweaty, smelly, nylon feet over my nose and teasing in much the same way rachel had. they began to team up on me, Rachel pinching my nose with her bare toes and Danni resting her feet on top of Rachels feet so when she eventually took her toes away and allowed me to breathe All I got was the sweaty smell of Danni, and a nose and lung full of it too. Danni took great pleasure in tormenting me and remniding me of the time she tried to sit for me and I spent the evening trying to get her socks off to tickle her feet.

"Do you like my feet?" "Wouldn't you like to tickle these now?" "Go on have a smell." "Are they really stinky?" "How do they smell?" "Who has the smelliest feet of us 2?"

I was in tormented extacy.
Well this kind of torture went on for a while, which of course I loved having got myself tied up basically because of a foot fetish, but Danni decided to up the stakes so to speak. She phoned for Pizza then had a little whisper to Rachel which resulted in them both going out to the kitchen to chat, they came back with evil grins on their faces. They spent a few minutes moving me around so I was sitting on the floor with my legs out infront of me facing the sofa, my feet just short of it. Then Danni put a kitchen chair on the floor so in went over my legs and side on. She then tied several coils of rope around the chair and me so I was tied facing the chair, my head a little higher than the seat. It was at that point I noticed Rachel had left the room

As if on cue the pizzas arrived. Danni jumped up to pay fpr them and returned with the pizzas on plates followed by rachel. Both girls began to tuck in torturing me by waving the pizza slices under my nose and eating their pieces deliberately slowly close to my gagged face whilst making coments about how good it tasted. They tease starved me for about 5 monutes before the killer blow.

"Do you want something to eat?" asked Danni

"mmpphhh" nodding

"Well we need to take your gag out first then. But there is a price to pay for being un gagged." Said Rachel

"I've been on my feet all day and they need some tender loving care that only your mouth can provide." said Danni.

Rachel pulled off the tap and as soon as the sock was out Danni's nylon soles were in my face, her feet resting on the chair. Not as good as a bare foot but it was here and mine so I began to kiss her foot. She pointed her toes and I began to suck on them.

"Hmmm he's doing well. He deserves a reward."

Rachel held up her foot. It was then I noticed she had washed the day's dirt fff them snce I last had to sniff her bare feet. Just as well as clamped between her big and second toes was a slice of pizza. I quickly tucked into it.

"Ooohh got to take that grease off." she said. As we all know pizzas are very greasy food and running down the side and sole of Rachel's foot was the oils and fat which she now wanted me to lick off. I needed no second bidding and began to lick her foot. she was clearly very ticklish as she giggled and withdrew her foot at this.

"You tickled me." she said and reached down under the chair to where my bare feet were and gave them one good long tickle.

"Want another piece?" asked Danni

"Yes please."

"You'd better work for it then." she put her feet back up on the chair and I began to suck her nuloned toes again. I managed to pull the toes of her tights away from her foot with my teeth and sjhaking my head managed to tear a hole in her tights.

"Hey you'll pay for that." she siad. then My tongue went inbetween her sweaty toes and she lay back o the couch in extacy. "first down payment made." she said.

I cntinued to licke between danni's toes until the next slice of Pizza came from Rachel. Then I had to lick the grease off. Danni had gone out of the room as I ate the Pizza and now returned having removed her tights. She placed her now bare feet on the chair next to Rachels and said "If you want more food boy you've got to lick between my toes."

I needed no more ancouragement and spent the next 45 minutes licking both these girl's beautiful bare feet and sucking their toes
It was ujst then the telephone rang. It was mum. Danni had her hand clamped right over my mouth while rachel chatted for a while until the inevitable Mum wanting to talk to me. Rachel brought the phone over and held it to my ear. Her nails she dug her nails gently into the sole of my left foot anfd the meaning was clear - Act normal on the phone.

I had a chat with mum said everything was OK and completely failed to mention that I was tied up and being tortured by my 2 lovely babysitters. when the telephone callw as finished both girls resumed their postitions with their feet in my face and tolde me waht a good boy i'd been. The Pizza was finished so i was given a drink of water then the girls settled down for their TV watching for the evening.

This meant I had to be moved a little and placed face down on the floor, hogtied infront of the girls. They decided to make it a very tight hogtie so instead of tying my hands to my feet they tied my ankles to the ropes wrapped round my elbows and upper chest. My hands were tied to a rope which was tied round the tops of my thighs and cinched between my legs before it too was tied to my elbow ropes. My big toes weretied together with a shoe lace and pulled back before being tied to my ankle bindings then the same thing was done to each of my little toes, pulling them back to my ankle ropes, ensuring i was very tightly tied. my soles were stretched and totally exposed. Then the unkindes trick of all. Danni retrieved her tights and screwed them up into a small ball before pinching my nose. I struggled to hold my breath for a bit but could not hope to keep my mouth closed and as I gasped for breath she stuffed her tights into my mouth followed by several pieces of tape. Finally she took te tape again and taped over my eyes blindfolding me. I was left chewing on danni's sweaty and rather unpleasant discarded tights in total darkness.

I couldn't even wiggle my toes without causing pain in my little toes and when the girls finger nails scraped the soles of my feet I was in agony and extacy together. I could hear the sound from the TV as the girls watched films but I was in total ignorance f whta the films were. In the advert breaks the soles of my feet were tickled and at random times during the film My nose was pinched shut by the toes of a bare foot.

I ddn't know how to feel, excited, frightened, elation at being tieckled and teased by these girls and thei rbare feet. By my Bedtime I was completely ehausted. i was untied and despite my excitement and pleasure i was glad to be untied as i was very stiff. I was carried upstairs by the 2 girls, still gagged and blindfolded and looseley tied hnds behind my back feet together, then i was dumped in the bathroom. My hands were untied and I was told to get ready for bed including removing the tape from my face and washing the stickiness off.

I had to soak the tape on my eyes to get it off comfortably and i blinked in the bright light. It took a minute or two before the blurring had gone and i could see clearly again. on the floor was a pair of my PJs, shorts and a t-shirt style. I changed into them and gingerly opened the door of the bathroom. I could hear the girls talking and it suddenly stopped. Rachel came out of my bedroom and caught hold of me. "

"time for bed little boy" she said.

She took me into my room where Danni was finishing tying some ropes to my bed. I was pinned down and the 2 girls set to work tying my hands to the top of the bed and my ankles to the foot of the bed. I duvet was thrown over the bed and ropes were wrapped round and tied inplace so my feet and head / shoulders were exposed. Danni gave my bare feet a little tickle before Rachel tied a scarf over my eyes tying it behind my neck.

"You get no gag over noight but if you make too much noise we will give you some attention you probably don't want during which you will be gagged so as not to disturb the neighbours."

Afte that they left me. i heard the TV down stairs for some time to come as I experimented with my predicament. rolling my head form side to side did not loosen the blindfold. My hands and feet were tied tghtly to the bed frame and were immovable and the ropes pinning the duvet in place were just as effective at pinning me in place. Lets face it I was going no where.

Much later I heard foot steps on the stairs and heard the gilrs come in. A hand was placed over my mouth and both feet were tickled for a few minutes before I heard the girls retreat to bed and once again I was left tied up, blindfolded and alone.
I must have been exhausted as i slept well. When I awoke being blindfolded and tied to the bed I had no idea what time it was, i didn't even know if it was day or night and sunday mornings are so quiet there was no roar of trafic to give the game away. I don't know how long i layy there, probably about half an hour, maybe 15 min maybe and hour who knows but I then heard sounds coming from mum's bedroom.

I heard my door open and Rachel's voice. "He looks asleep still" next I felt Rachels nails on my bare feet and burst out laughing. "wakey wakey sleepy head."

I was kept tied to the bed for about another half hour whilst the girls made coffee and got themselves dressed then wasuntied and sent back to the bathroom. I was told to put clean underwear on with jeans and t-shirt and nothing else. After i had washed and dressed i came gingerly downstairs. i was enjoying myself more than ever befroe but was still a little nervous about being tied up by these girls. When I entered the kitchen I nearly collapsed, my jaw hit the floor at least. Rachel was in a tight white t-shirt and denim shorts, Danni was in Very short denim Skirt with Bright Red Vest top. Both were bare legged nand bare foot.

"Sit down" Rachel siad" i obeyed and was allowed to eat normal breakfast cerial and have a drink. On completion both girls looked at me.

"Hmmm problem"

"Yes mum's coming home today"

"Hmmm cant leave rope marks on him"

"No only way is......"

Danni produced the roll of tape agsin and Rachel grabbed my arms pinning them behind my back. Danni wrapped the tape round my wrists holding them palm to palm then wrapped the tape round my arms at elbow height and then round my boddy pinning my arms together and behind me. She tossed to roll to Rachel Who taedmy ankles together under the ends of my jeans then taped over my jeans above and below the knees. From no where Danni produced a clean white sock which she shoved into my mouth and Rachel taped over my mouth.

I was then picked up and carried out to the lounge in Danni's arms then dumped onto the sofa. The girls went into the kitchen leaving me struggling on the cushions.
 

Friday, February 17, 2012

COFFEE, TEA, AND ME.

COFFEE, TEA, AND ME.     
By davidmuleguy.
 
 
I told myself every day that, in these difficult times of high unemployment and, as a recently made redundant man of 55; with no recognized trade or skills, and with no other vocational qualifications, as such, I was lucky, very lucky, to have found another job at all...
 
Even this one...
 
Well,I had to tell myself something! I mean, you have to try and stay positive, in the face of adversity. Right?
 
Well, I was facing adversity...
 
When it came to reminding myself, though, as to just how very lucky I had been in finding another job in these tough times of such high unemployment, my new employer, Mrs Hilary Harper, won the metaphorical 'cigar', hands down. And, Mrs Hilary Harper, ever since having won the 'cigar'; not only, did she have me light it for her, but, she had me kneeling at her feet, and holding the ashtray for her, as she puffed away in cool contentment and smug satisfaction, and blew the smoke in my face...
 
My new employer - 40-something, spiky blonde haired, short and plump, acerbic-tongued, Mrs Hilary Harper - was always 'harping on' at me, about just how lucky I was. About just how grateful I should be, to her, for my "Brand new start."
 
So, at a time when literally dozens of other unemployed men; many of whom, were younger, fitter, abler, and had better qualifications than myself, had come knocking on her door asking for a job, why had Mrs Hilary Harper chosen me? The answer, I thought (though my employer said different...), was because I must have been the only job applicant who was desperate enough - daft - enough...
 
... Desperate enough and daft enough, to accept the condition - the 'Special Clause' - as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment...
 
'Harper's Conference Catering' (Mrs Hilary Harper, informed me during my job interview), catered (primarily) to small and medium size businesses and other organizations. Providing them with morning and afternoon refreshments at their venues: during their meetings; social gatherings; conferences; conventions, etc...
 
And so it was, that; on the basis of the satisfactory completion of a 1 Month Trial Period, I started my new job - my "Brand new start" - working for Mrs Hilary Harper, at Harper's Conference Catering.
 
That was 6 months ago, now.
 
6 months, of... well, suffice it to say, that I fervently wished that I had never met Mrs Hilary Harper, and that I had never even heard of Harper’s Conference Catering.
 
Every day, I scanned the local newspapers, looking at the latest job advertisements. But, invariably, and seemingly inevitably, there were never any job vacancies that I could apply for with any real hopes of success.
 
At least 3 times a week, I visited the local Job Centre. To plead, to pester, to harass and cajole the Job Centre Staff into helping me to find another job – any job! I was prepared to accept any position, I assured them, to escape from my present, unspeakable - hideous - employment. But, as always, their answer was the same – they were "Very sorry, but we have no suitable jobs to offer you, at the moment..." And, always, at seeing my obvious desperation to leave my present job, they issued their standard warning; that, due to the Government’s latest crackdown on Social Security Payments, I could expect to receive no Unemployment Benefit, or any other Welfare Benefit Payments, if I was to simply leave my job of my own accord.
 
So, I was stuck. But, to say that I was stuck in a rut, doesn't come close...
 
Harper’s Conference Catering, were nearing the end of a 1-week contract, at the City-Break Hotel and Spa, in Liverpool.
 
It was 2:50 p.m. on Friday, and the final day of the ‘SPOILT!’ Company’s Annual Convention.
 
‘SPOILT!’, are a Ladies Fashion and Cosmetics Company, specializing in (from what I have seen and heard during the past week) just about anything and everything, for 'discerning' females wishing to be fashionably caparisoned; and otherwise pleased, prettified, and pampered - essentially, spoilt - with a myriad, mind-boggling array of latest fashion outfits and accoutrements. 
 
Attending this year's 'SPOILT!' Annual Convention, at the Liverpool City-Break Hotel and Spa, was a 30-strong contingent of exclusively female 'SPOILT!' Boutique Managers, headed by the Convention organizer, Miss Hazel Morgan.
 
And, I mused absent-mindedly, that; from all that I had seen, heard, and experienced during the past week, the 30-strong contingent of exclusively female Representatives of ‘SPOILT!’, were nothing but a bunch of supercilious, haughty, insufferable - maddening! - arrogant spoilt brats, themselves...
 
“David!”
 
I jumped, at the sudden, harsh and authoritative voice of my employer, Mrs Hilary Harper, interrupting my sad and sorry, and decidedly resentful musings...
 
“David. Stop your daydreaming! I can finish off in here, now," she said, finishing the arrangement of crockery and cutlery, etc, on the 4 Serving Tables. "Go and help Petra and Claire to bring in the trolleys with the afternoon refreshments. Our lady clients will be here now, at any moment... Go on, David! Hurry up!” she hustled and harried me, shrewishly.
 
I could have assured my employer, that; based upon my experiences of the past week, there was not much likelihood of any “lady” clients showing up any time soon... but I knew when to keep my mouth shut. “Yes, Mrs Harper,” I replied compliantly, and I hastened from the Hotel Lounge that had been specially set aside for the week's duration by the Hotel Management, for the exclusive use and convenience of the Representatives of ‘SPOILT!’, while they attended their Annual Convention.
 
“Ah! There you are, David... We've been waiting for you,” said Petra, one of Mrs Hilary Harper’s two young female assistants, as I entered the Still Room in the Hotel’s kitchen. "Where have you been, you idle sod... skiving again?"
 
“Here, David, make yourself useful,” instructed Claire, Mrs Hilary Harper’s other young female assistant, indicating the very heavy tea urn and 2 large coffee pots. “Come on, stop fiddling and farting about, you useless lump - we haven't got all day!" she adjured waspishly. "Our clients are going to be standing around, waiting for us... Load these heavy things onto the trolleys for us,” ordered Claire bossily. Without demur, I did as I was told – where Petra and Claire were concerned, I had soon learned that it was best to obey them at once. I knew just how snappy and uppity - bitchy - that bratty pair could get, for no apparent reason at all.
 
Mrs Hilary Harper’s two young female assistants (who I knew were still in their early 20's as, on numerous occasions I had heard them both peevishly complaining to our employer that; as they had proved themselves to be very valuable assets to her Company, they shouldn’t have to wait until they were 25, to be earning full wages), loved, and never tired of bossing me – their middle-aged, male underling – about. Petra and Claire absolutely revelled and gloated in the total, unquestioned authority that Mrs Hilary Harper had invested in them, over me.
 
And this: the blatant, patently obvious fact, of Petra and Claire's bossy, bratty, dominant and domineering superiority over me, was - to my great shame and humiliation - plainly evident, and there for all to see.
 
Upon returning to the Hotel Lounge, with our 3 refreshment trolleys heavily laden with tea, coffee, cakes, biscuits, and a selection of dainty (or, ‘fussy’, as I thought of them) sandwiches; with the crusts removed, and cut into triangles, we saw that the first members of the 30-strong, exclusively female Representatives of ‘SPOILT!’ Ladies Fashion and Cosmetics Company (spoilt brats, more like!), were indeed already gathering in the Hotel Lounge, with a view to partaking of their afternoon refreshments (don’t you know!).
 
Afternoon refreshments, lasted from – sorry, I beg your pardon: ‘were served’ (don’t you know!) - from 3:00 - 3:30 p.m.
 
At first; in the initial, frantic rush of service, it was ‘all hands to the pumps’. All 4 of us: Mrs Hilary Harper, Petra, Claire, and; last, but not least - yeah, right! - myself, poured cups of tea and coffee for the ‘SPOILT!’ Representatives, as and when they proffered their cups to us to be filled.  
 
On either side of me, I saw that Petra and Claire were smirking their silly, immature faces off, as they gazed at the faces of the ‘SPOILT!’ Representatives, who took dainty little bites from the dainty little triangular sandwiches that they held in their perfectly manicured fingers, as they waited to have their cups filled.
 
But, Petra and Claire smirked even more; giggled, even, as they studied the various expressions on the faces of the ‘SPOILT!’ Representatives, as they - every single one of them - looked down their noses at me...
 
Some; regarded me with mild, sparkle-eyed amusement; some, eyed me with utter, sneering contempt; and some, with expressions of vast, withering disdain, upon their faces... Faces; that even I was forced to begrudgingly admit to myself, were a walking, talking, glowing testament, as to just what could be done with a bit of 'lippy' and 'slappy'... Faces; that were an effective advertisement and an alluring demonstration, of the expertly applied skills of their cosmetic trade.
 
Convention dress, for the ‘SPOILT!’ Representatives was relaxed and informal; with the only stipulation being that they all wear the ‘SPOILT!’ Company T-shirts that were provided for them. Their T-shirts, came in a wide variety of pastel shades and bright colours and, with multi-coloured lettering, they were emblazoned with this year’s Annual Convention Theme Logo: ‘SPOILT!’ – FOR CHOICE!!
 
The 'SPOILT!' Company's Convention organizer, Miss Hazel Morgan, was brazenly looking at me - openly appraising me - as she waited to be served her cup of tea. Miss Hazel Morgan, was an attractive, blonde-haired woman of about 25 and, to who; with her charming, bubbly, engaging personality, organizing and motivating her 'SPOILT!' colleagues came quite naturally. She was about 5 feet 8 tall, and she had a full, curvaceous figure, with legs 'to die for'. Miss Hazel Morgan: stylishly and elegantly dressed and caparisoned from head to toe in the very best that 'SPOILT!' had to offer, she was the perfect advertisement for promoting 'SPOILT!'s exclusive range of finery and frippery.
 
Presenting her tea cup to my employer, to be filled, Miss Hazel Morgan gushed effusively, in her plummy, posh accentented voice. "I absolutely must congratulate you, Mrs Harper! You really have looked after us all so marvellously well, all week. And, I can promise you, Mrs Harper, that we shall certainly be availing ourselves of your rather splendid..." after glancing over at me, again, Miss Hazel Morgan continued "... your... 'facilities', in the future..."
 
Just as soon as the busy, initial rush for afternoon refreshments was under control, and when most of the 30-strong contingent of ‘SPOILT!’ Representatives were milling about the Hotel Lounge area with their chosen refreshments – either sitting down at the Lounge tables, or standing and chatting amongst themselves in small groups – I saw Petra and Claire’s amused smirks widen, to undisguised, malicious, gleeful grins, when my employer, Mrs Hilary Harper, said, “I think the girls and I can manage here now, David... Well, off you go, then, David! You know what to do!”
 
“Yes, Mrs Harper,” I replied, dejectedly and disconsolately, but obediently and compliantly... And, in strict adherence, to the terms of the 'Special Clause', as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment...
 
At hearing the familiar, despondent tones of abject misery; all too evident in my dispirited, doleful voice, the silly, smirking, cruel grins of Petra and Claire widened even further, in proportion with their escalating malicious merriment... And, with their sense of wicked anticipation - as they waited for 'the fun’ to start...
 
“OH! This, is so much better than a pay rise, isn’t it, my dears!” I overheard Mrs Hilary Harper, inquire of her 2 young, gleefully grinning female assistants, Petra and Claire, in a rather squealing and girlish-sounding voice, that seemed to take 30 years off her.
 
This, was the part of my job - my "Brand new start" - that I hated and detested... Was the reason why I tirelessly and desperately searched for another job – any job – that would be my ticket out of my present, unspeakable - hideous - employment, at Harper’s Conference Catering.
 
What had I been thinking? What had possessed me?
 
Why did I, so unnecessarily - needlessly - land myself in this awful mess? Why did I trap myself, in this horrible, unspeakable - hideous - predicament?
 
What had I been thinking? What had possessed me?
 
Why, within just a few days of having been made redundant, had I gratefully grabbed with both hands, the very first job that was offered to me? Yes; I believed that beggars couldn’t be choosers, and that jobs would be scarce – as my dismal failure to find alternative employment since, has clearly proved... But, why, oh why did I not take advantage of the Statutory 6 months of Unemployment Benefit that I was entitled to claim, and take the time to find a better job? Hell! Any job would have been better than this!
 
What had I been thinking? What had possessed me?
 
Above all: why had I been so quick to agree, to Mrs Hilary Harper’s Terms and Conditions of Employment - or, more specifically - to the ‘Special Clause’, as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment?
 
I mean... it was one thing, to agree to obediently submit to the unquestioned superiority: the dominant and domineering - tyrannical - total authority, of Mrs Hilary Harper's 2 bratty female assistants, Petra and Claire... But, it was quite another thing - quite another thing, altogether - to agree to... to agree to submit myself, to… Oh! What had I been thinking? What had possessed me?
 
I had acted in haste. Now, I repented at leisure...
 
I had no sooner stepped from behind our Serving Tables and into the Lounge, amidst the 30-strong contingent of the ‘SPOILT!’ Company’s exclusively female Representatives, when one of their sharp-eyed party became aware that I was now ‘available’...
 
Immediately - and with the most galling, infuriating, exquisite arrogance; that really got under my skin, and that made my blood boil with bitter, bubbling, seething resentment - in that universally understood gesture of beckoning, the 'SPOILT!' Representative derisively double-clicked her fingers at me... And, she made sure to speak to me - before any of her ‘SPOILT!’ colleagues also became aware that I was now ‘available’ - to secure my 'services' first... “Footboy!”
 
Oh! Those women - those 'SPOILT!' Brats! They were insufferable - maddening!
 
'Footboy'!! 'Footboy'? I was old enough to be her Dad!... Footboy!
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating!
  
Gillian – I knew that to be her name; and I also knew the names of all of the other, exclusively female, 30-strong contingent of ‘SPOILT! Representatives, from listening to their incessant, mind-numbing, shop-talk conversations, for all of this past week – was standing in the middle of the Lounge, with a cup of tea in one hand, and a chocolate eclair cake in the other. Gillian was, as usual, in the company of the same 2 ‘SPOILT!’ colleagues whom, apparently, she already knew, and with whom she usually chatted to during their morning and afternoon refreshment breaks. Their names were Phyllis, and Julie.
 
With a perfectly manicured, clear varnish-painted forefinger, Gillian arrogantly beckoned me to approach her – or, perhaps a better and a more accurate way of putting it, would be that she summoned me to report – to herself, and to her 2 ‘SPOILT!’ colleagues, Phyllis and Julie. "Come here, footboy..."
 
"Yes, Miss Gillian," I responded, obediently and respectfully... And, in strict adherence, to the terms of the 'Special Clause', as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment...
 
I told myself: in my clutching at flimsy straws of scant consolation; in my looking for the elusive silver lining of the low, dull grey miserable cloud that I lived under, that, at least it was Friday... At least, the ‘SPOILT!’ Annual Convention would break up, later on today... And, at least, this would be the last that I would see, of  Miss Hazel Morgan, Gillian, Phyllis, Julie, and all the rest of the 30-strong contingent of ‘SPOILT!’ Representatives – or, as I always thought of them – the ‘SPOILT!' Brats... Unless, of course (and – Heaven forfend!) I was so unfortunate, as to be still working for Harper’s Conference Catering this time next year, when the ‘SPOILT!’ Ladies Fashion and Cosmetics Company's Representatives would (according to Miss Hazel Morgan) return to the Liverpool City-Break Hotel and Spa, to attend next year's Annual Convention.
 
Gillian - I beg your pardon: 'Miss' Gillian (don't you know!). 'Miss', was the polite and respectful prefix, that Mrs Hilary Harper had instructed me to use, when addressing her lady clients - was not actually fat, as such, but she was, nevertheless, a quite 'substantially-built' woman. Big boned and big breasted, I suppose I might describe her... without being over-indelicate, in my description of her rather full figure. I’d say she was about 30, and she was about 5 feet 9 tall, with long, glossy, reddish-brown or chestnut hair, that she wore tidily plaited behind her back, hanging in thick ropes. In normal circumstances, I might have found Gillian quite attractive. But these, were not normal circumstances...
 
Phyllis, was aged about 40, with neck-length, dark brown hair and, at about 5 feet 6, she was not as tall as Gillian. And her physical build, too, was near the other end of the spectrum; being almost pixie-like. Although Phylis did carry a little extra plumpness around her bottom and her tummy, this was certainly not to her detriment; it only seemed to enhance her physical attractiveness, and to accentuate her mature, womanly allure - her sex-appeal - in general.
 
Julie, I thought, was possibly the youngest woman of the ‘SPOILT!’ party. She was also, I thought: by far, and without a shadow of a doubt, easily the most beautiful of all of the 30-strong contingent of the ‘SPOILT!’ Company Representatives - of whom, it had been my great misfortune to have been made 'acquainted’ with, over the past week, as they took their morning and afternoon refreshment breaks.
 
Julie, I thought, was sylph-like, in her flawless beauty... Olive-complexioned, of slim build, and slightly shorter than Phyllis.
 
Julie, had dark-brown eyes, and very dark - almost black, lustrous, slightly longer than shoulder-length hair. Julie had worn her hair, this past week; either parted to one side of her head, and held in place with a matching pair of hair-stays; or, as she wore it today, with her hair-stays employed differently, in holding her hair in place on top of her head, in what I thought was an extremely attractive, elegant, chignon style, that served to endow her with an aura of youthful, feminine sophistication... Which, sadly, only lasted for as long as she remained silent - for, this aura of sophistication was instantly dispelled, and the admirer tragically disillusioned, when Julie spoke; in her native, broad scouse (Liverpool) accent... Julie was on her home turf, here, and she was Manager of the 'SPOILT!' Ladies Fashion and Cosmetics Boutique, in Liverpool City Centre's 'Shankly' Shopping Arcade. 
  
Just as soon as I was in the immediate presence of Gillian, Phyllis and Julie, Gillian ceased beckoning me, and, by way of her exquisitely arrogant command, she simply pointed her perfectly manicured forefinger, downwards, at the Lounge carpet of the Liverpool City-Break Hotel and Spa. "Footboy, assume your 'service' position. You know, how we want you... How you are to serve us..."
 
"Yes, Miss Gillian," I responded, obediently and respectfully... And, in strict adherence, to the terms of the 'Special Clause', as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment... 
 
Oh! Those women - those 'SPOILT!' Brats! They were insufferable - maddening!
 
The way they so casually, so complacently, so arrogantly, ordered me to my 'service' position - the 'service', as stipulated in the 'Special Clause', in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment...
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating!
 
Fighting against, and barely overcoming, the by now all-too-familiar, almost overwhelming and irresistible impulse to flee – and say to hell, with the serious consequences of doing so - as instructed, I obediently and compliantly sat down on the Lounge floor, in front of the commanding and expectant Gillian. I then spread my legs open, in a wide, accommodating ‘V’ shape.
 
As if it was the most natural thing in the world: as if it was the most mundane and unremarkable of ordinary, every-day occurrences, not a single one, of the rest of the 30-strong contingent of ‘SPOILT!’ Company Representatives, who were blithely chatting away to each other as they so congenially passed the time of their 30-minutes long, afternoon refreshments break, so much as batted an eyelid, at the decidedly singular scene before them... Not a single one of them, so much as raised an eyebrow - as though at something even in the slightest untoward - as they nonchalantly sipped their tea, while casually and carelessly and complacently observing the use that I was being put to by some of their ‘SPOILT!’ colleagues; as I sat, with my legs wide-open, in an accommodating 'V' shape, upon the carpeted Lounge floor of the Liverpool City-Break Hotel and Spa.
 
Oh! Those women - those 'SPOILT!' Brats! They were insufferable - maddening!
 
The way they looked down on me - down their noses... The way - the infuriating, blood-boiling way - that they viewed my 'service', to them, as if it was something... that was entirely normal and perfectly proper. As if it was something, that they had been naturally accustomed to, all their lives. As if it was something, to be expected; that they were actually 'entitled' to - their 'Birthright'...
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating! 
 
In knowing the appalling nature of the trauma that was coming, I braced myself - both mentally, and physically - for the imminent and inevitable commencement, of my, by now, all-too-familiar, heinous ordeal...
 
In knowing the appalling, unspeakable - hideous - nature of the trauma that was coming, I braced myself, against the onset of my diabolical ordeal... Against the casual and complacent, careless and uncaring treatment (abuse), and against the horrendous and intolerable affront to my self-respect (humiliation), by the 'SPOILT!' Company Representatives. Abuse and humiliation, that was also a flagrant and appalling contravention of the Human Rights Act... Sadly, they were Rights, that my employer, Mrs Hilary Harper, had smirkingly and smugly informed me that I had actually waived, upon signing my Contract of Employment - with its 'Special Clause' - in the Job Description.
 
The very moment that I had assumed my 'service' position, and had sat on the carpeted Lounge floor of the Liverpool City-Break Hotel and Spa; with my legs spread wide and accommodatingly open, Gillian prepared to avail herself, of my 'service'... Gillian turned her broad back and her ample bottom on me and, positioning herself carefully, she stood between my wide-spread, ‘V’ shaped legs, close to my vulnerable 'tender parts'... Alarmingly close!
 
Gillian popped the last of her chocolate eclair cake into her mouth "Mmmmmm," she said, and she licked the smears of chocolate and cream from her fingers. "Sit still, footboy..." ordered Gillian, "... if you know what's good for you..."
 
"Yes, Miss Gillian," I replied, obediently and compliantly... And, in strict adherence, to the 'Special Clause', as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment...
 
Now, the dreaded, awful - hideous - moment, was upon me, as Gillian rested one (sticky fingered!) hand on top of my head; as a means of useful support and, as a convenient aid to steadying, and carefully positioning herself... 
 
In a well-practised manoeuvre, Gillian then shook and shuffled her right foot in such a manner as enabled her to loosen, and then ease her heel free from her closed, soft black leather, thick rubber-soled shoe (loafers, I think she wore). After pausing just a moment, to steady and balance herself, Gillian slipped her large, broad, dark hosed right foot from her shoe... Gillian then proceeded to raise her right foot - freshly released from within the confines of her closed, soft leather shoe - behind her and, I watched, mesmerised, and in a sort of horrified fascination, as Gillian’s right foot reached, inexorably... reached up, and up, and up... until she felt the pads of the toes of her large, broad, dark hosed right foot, reach my waiting and compliantly proffered face... Until she felt her foot, reach 'service'.
 
Gillian, having unerringly and effortlessly found my compliantly proffered face with her reaching (reaching, for 'service') right foot, immediately then sought the familiar, conveniently protruberant resting place - my nose - with her toes...
 
(My employer, Mrs Hilary Harper - or ‘Harpy’, as I thought of that lady - had told me at my job interview, that “Your short stature, David, is actually your biggest asset... It is exactly, what makes you so perfectly suitable for the new position that I have created. Your lack of height, David, will facilitate 'service' proceedings admirably, and will make life so much easier, for our lady clients,” she had enthused, at having found the 'perfect employee'. Business had been picking up, ever since...) 
 
... And, I felt a great and distressing - all-but unbearable - weight of pressure, when Gillian then rested the ball of her right foot; placing it firmly and squarely, right onto the bridge of my nose... 
 
... Now; for extra grip, and a more secure ‘anchorage’, Gillian closed her long, dark hosed toes, in a tight and grasping - enwrapping - hold, around my nostrils. And, while my shocked brain was still numbly registering the first; but, by now, all-too-familiar, whiffs of her pungent, decidedly unpleasant foot scent, she firmly pressed her arch over my eyes, and she firmly planted her big and blocky heel against my upper-forehead, in a rock-solid, immovable grip...
 
... So as: to take maximum advantage, of the natural curvatures of my facial and cranial contours. So as; to rest, and to lean back upon. So as; to recline, and to outrageously use my compliantly proffered face and head, as a convenient support upon which to relax... 
 
... So as: to rest her considerable weight – to “Take the weight off” and, to “Take a load off” – were 2 of Gillian’s customary phrases, when availing herself, during the morning and afternoon refreshments breaks in the Hotel Lounge, of my 'service'...
 
...So as; to 'luxuriate'...
 
I barely had the time, in which to register - or, rather, re-acquaint myself - with the revolting, tangy, sour-vinegary smell of Gillian’s long, nostril-cupping, dark hosed toes, before I was ‘obliged’ to focus my attentions, upon a rather more critical, and 'pressing' problem... more serious, even, than being 'obliged' to breathe in the pungent, darkly aromatic fumes, from Gillian's tightly-gripping, clutching, nostril-cupping toes...
 
With all of the neck muscle and upper-body strength that I could urgently and desperately summon, I focused my frantic attentions, and I began to concentrate my wholehearted efforts, upon the critical emergency at hand: that, of supporting Gillian’s appallingly burdensome weight... Gillian's resting, relaxing, leaning, reclining, pressing weight, increased: gradually, cumulatively - inexorably - as she further relaxed, and as she further reclined... As she further 'luxuriated'...
 
After mere moments, I was struggling and straining - despairing.
 
Panic-stricken.
 
I was 'obliged', to engage in my Titanic, humiliating struggle, with all of my might and mind... I was desperately - maniacally - pressing my face into the sole of Gillian's large, broad, blocky-heeled, dark hosed smelly foot, in an unsustainable and, ultimately, futile and un-winnable battle... I was 'obliged' to do so, in a colossal - Herculean - bid, to prevent the unthinkable... To stop myself from collapsing backwards - to avert certain, and disastrous consequences!... To prevent collapsing, like some kind of grossly over-burdened scarecrow finally and inevitably giving way, under the intolerable weight of some perching, careless and uncaring gigantic bird.
 
Oh! Those women - those 'SPOILT!' Brats! They were insufferable - maddening!
 
What was Gillian trying to do to me? She was stressing me out: 'obliging' me to inhale the decidedly unpleasant fumes from her dark hosed, gripping, clutching, nostril-cupping toes... She was pulverizing my nose, with the heavy, stressing pressure, of the ball of her broad foot... She was crushing my forehead, with her 'anchoring', blocky heel... She was straining my neck, with the steadily increasing, cumulative weight and pressure, of her leaning, resting, relaxing, reclining - 'luxuriating' - posture.
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating!
 
After a dreadful, stress-filled, humiliating eternity (though, it could only have been a few nightmarish minutes, at most), 'relief', was soon at hand... 
 
After being ‘obliged’: to inhale the tart, acidic, sour-vinegary fumes from Gillian’s long, dark hosed, nostril-cupping toes... Of being ‘obliged’, to support her considerable, steadily increasing - cumulative - weight and pressure: straining every ligament and sinew almost to snapping-point, in an almost super human, tendon-tearing, muscle-rupturing effort; desperately and frantically pressing my compliantly proffered face into the firmly 'anchored', broad and fleshy sole of her smelly, dark hosed foot flesh as hard and as forcefully as I possibly could, to prevent certain - disastrous! - consequences... it was Julie, who came to my ‘rescue’...
 
Though of course, I knew all too well, by then - near the end of that appalling and miserable week, of the ‘SPOILT!’ Company’s Annual Convention - that, it was not a rescue, in the conventional sense... For, far from my wretched, unspeakable - hideous - ordeal being over, it was only to be a classic case, of ‘Out of the frying pan, and into the fire’...
 
Julie - who, I had noticed, had been constantly shifting her weight from foot to foot, in her steadily worsening discomfort; due to standing around in her latest fashion, 4-inch spike-heeled, bright-red pumps - asked Gillian to let her “Have a turn of the 'footrest'.”
 
From the lowly vantage point of my 'service' position, I had been aware (despite my 'preoccupation'...) of Julie’s evident distress, gradually taking its toll... Aware; as it had escalated from a mere, mildly concerning discomfort, to a relentless, apparently agonized, all-but intolerable, near frenzy of footsore agitation... Aware; of Julie's restless, pain-relieving, foot-to-foot weight shifting in her 4-inch spike-heeled, bright-red pumps... Aware; of Julie alternately easing first one, olive-skinned bare foot, and then her other, in grateful, sigh-filled momentary relief... Aware; of Julie rotating her ankle, flexing and splaying and scrunching her tired, sore, pink-painted toes...
 
Aware (from my experience, this long, miserable week); of what was coming - the footsore Julie's importunate, frantic follow-up: her urgent and animated entreaty, to the leaning, resting, relaxing, reclining - 'luxuriating' - Gillian... "Come on, Gill! Don't hog the footrest. My feet are killing me!"
 
Gillian - being a very considerate and obliging sort of person - with good grace, and appreciating the need to share-and-share-alike, with her 'SPOILT!' colleagues, she acceded to Julie's desperate request, and she relinquished the 'footrest'.
 
After all, Gillian knew (and so did I!) that there were many others, of the 30-strong contingent of ‘SPOILT!’ Representatives, who wished to avail themselves of the services of the ‘footrest’, before the end of their 30-minute, afternoon refreshment break. And my relief, now, was immense, at the sudden release of the awful stress and strain: of the terrible trauma, of bearing the almost intolerable, steadily increasing - cumulative - weight and pressure, of Gillian's leaning, resting, relaxing, reclining - 'luxuriating' - posture, as she at last removed her large, broad, blocky-heeled, dark hosed smelly right foot, from my obediently proffered face.
 
After slipping her right, black, soft leather, thick rubber-soled shoe back on, Gillian then stepped outside of my accommodating, wide-open, ‘V’ shaped legs... "He's all yours, Jules," invited Gillian generously.
 
Now, it was the footsore Julie, who prepared to avail herself of Harper's Conference Catering's "Rather splendid 'facilities'" - of the 'footrest'...
 
Julie wasted no time - time, was of the essence! - in following Gillian’s example. Julie carefully positioned herself: turning her back on me, she stood inside the ‘V’ shape of my wide-open, accommodating legs, with the 4-inch spike-heels of her latest fashion, bright-red pumps, close to my vulnerable 'tender parts'... Alarmingly close! "Don't move, footboy. Or else!..."
 
"Yes, Miss Julie," I responded, obediently and compliantly... And, in strict adherence, to the terms of the 'Special Clause', as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment...
 
Oh! Those women - those 'SPOILT!' Brats! They were insufferable - maddening!
 
The callous, cruel way they treated me! The way - the galling, infuriating, blood-boiling, getting-under-the-skin way - that they so casually and carelessly made their appalling, unspeakable - hideous - 'use' of me. Using me, and then passing me along, from one to another, like a convenient and comfortable piece of soft furniture!... Like a pouffe!
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating!
 
I mentally prepared myself, and physically braced myself, as bravely and stoically as I was able – for I knew, full well; from my numerous previous 'exploits', this long, miserable past week, just exactly what to expect – of the olfactory onslaught that Julie was about to subject me to, as she gratefully availed herself, of the ‘footrest’.
  
Of all of the 30-strong contingent of 'SPOILT!' Representatives, it was Julie, who had the stinkiest feet...
  
Despite the highly singular hardships of my humiliating predicament, it was hard not to admire Julie’s pert little behind, as her buttocks stretched the already taut and bottom-hugging confines of her very short, bright-red skirt, right in front of my face... And it was hard, not to appreciate the shapely thighs and calves of her bare, olive-skinned legs, that tottered, slightly, as she balanced rather precariously on her 4-inch spike-heeled, bright-red pumps, that: to my eyes, seemed to glow - as though in ominous warning... Like 2 danger signals; foretelling of the imminent threat of great and dire peril. 
 
For, now, my trepidation eclipsed my admiration, as I watched Julie ease her bare, olive-skinned right foot from her slightly tight-fitting, 4-inch spike-heeled, bright-red pump. Balancing even more precariously, now, on just her left foot, Julie gratefully accepted the helpful, steadying assistance of her concerned and considerate colleagues, Gillian and Phylis who, standing to either side of her, held her by her elbows, by means of aiding her somewhat awkward manoeuvre. And, I had but a brief moment, in which to register the sight of Julie’s bare, olive-skinned sole as it gratefully and urgently zeroed in... on Mrs Hilary Harper's "Rather splendid 'facilities'" - on her ‘footrest’. 
 
Julie's penchant of wearing latest fashion, high-heeled shoes, I saw, was exacting a painful price... Julie’s heels, her toe pads, and the balls of her feet were rather red and angry-looking and, those red and rather tender-looking areas of her feet, contrasted starkly, with the olive-skinned colour of her arches. I saw also, the smear of greasy moisture on her sole, that was like a thin film of over-used cooking oil... Julie's feet, were not only tired and sore and achey, but also hot and sweaty, and... stinky.
 
Now, my harrowing and unspeakable - hideous - ordeal, began in earnest...
 
Julie’s right, bare, sweaty, greasy, stinky foot, gratefully - seemingly gleefully; as though it had a mind of its own - urgently took 'possession' of my obediently proffered face. I shuddered, in the throes of a spine-tingling revulsion, as Julie did her ‘thing’ – as I knew she would!...
 
(All of Mrs Hilary Harper's lady clients, I had come to know - whoever they were, and from whatever Company, or social gathering - seemed to have their own, personal, ‘trademark’ quirk... Their own, personal - unique - little 'thing’, that they did, when occupying the ‘footrest’).
 
... Julie's rather frantic movement caused her gold, 'SPOILT!' anklet to glint and gleam as it caught the light from the overhead spotlights in the Hotel Lounge, as she gratefully indulged herself, in her usual - 'trademark' - pain-relieving procedures, at the 'footrest'...
 
Squeezing my nose, between her sticky and clammy - toejammy - big and second toes; sliding her toes, in a wiping motion... Wiping, as though to thoroughly impregnate my nose with her noxiously pungent foot stink - so that she can be sure that the anguishing aroma of her foot scent will be with me, always... Sliding her greasy sole, firmly, up and down my obediently proffered face; rubbing, massaging... Tracing her sole, from heel to toes over my nose, mouth and chin, over and over... Bringing the underside of her bare, flexing, splaying, wiggling and scrunching, distressingly stinky toes, to the twin air intake portals of my twitching, involuntarily dilating nostrils...
 
Cupping them.
 
And, although I had prepared myself mentally, and braced myself physically, to face the horror of what I knew was coming as bravely and as stoically as I could, I knew my efforts to be puny and futile. For, there was no effective defence, against the diabolical, devastating - hideous - olfactory onslaught, of Julie’s stinky feet...
 
It was an instinctive, defensive, self-preserving reaction: to try to at least inhibit and minimise the overwhelming invasion of the highly offensive waves of Julie's stinky, fetid foot fumes into my involuntarily dilating nostrils, by breathing in through my mouth. But, breathing in through my mouth did not seem to help – seemed counter-productive, in fact... My tongue; the sensitive lining of my mouth; my throat lining, drew in and seemed to absorb like a sponge, the greasy, palate-coating fumes from the nausea-inducing stinky toes of Julie’s bare foot. My palate, tongue, throat lining; all felt as though thickly coated, with a gag-inducing, slimy, membranous film; which was the cloying cocktail of contaminants, that comprised Julie’s toxic-toed, nasty, stinky foot fumes.
 
The sickly sensation was so unbearably acute, as made me want to retch - to want to unceremoniously deposit the entire contents of my stomach, onto the carpeted Lounge floor of the Liverpool City-Break Hotel and Spa. And; upon becoming afflicted by the onset of such severe, stomach-clenching, breath-depriving gagging spasms, it actually seemed the lesser of two evils, to breathe Julie’s nasty, stinky foot fumes in through my nose, instead... Which is what I did...
 
Minutes, dragged by like months... I was in a world of unspeakable, diabolical - hideous - torment. 
 
Oh! Those women - those 'Spoilt!' Brats! They were insufferable - maddening!
 
What was Julie trying to do to me? Poison me? Mentally scar me, for life? Give me nightmares?
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating!
 
Satisfactorily massaged and relieved, Julie’s bare right foot now prepared to settle down; making sticky, tacky noises on my face, and I shivered and cringed, in the fevered throes of abhorrence and revulsion, as Julie probed and tested for the optimum resting position, on the 'footrest'...
 
In a moment or two, when Julie had settled herself quite comfortably - just as Gillian had done before her - I was at least immensely grateful, for the considerable consolation of Julie’s much lighter, less burdensome, relaxing weight. Immensely grateful, that at least she was relatively easy to support... as the greasy sole of her stinky bare foot pressed into my obediently proffered face... Leaning, resting, relaxing, reclining - 'luxuriating' - as she (in the words of Gillian) “Took a load off,” on the 'footrest'.
 
A minute or two later, I became aware of the 'SPOILT!' Convention organizer, Miss Hazel Morgan, intently staring down at my face, upon which, Julie 'luxuriated' contentedly. Then, peering at my face in an even closer scrutiny, Miss Hazel Morgan asked, "Julie... unless I'm most terribly mistaken, sweetie... you're wearing the same shade of toenail polish as me, aren't you?... Wait, Jules - don't tell me what it is!" she exclaimed excitedly, just as Julie was about to supply the answer. "Let me guess!"
 
At overhearing Miss Hazel Morgan's inquiry, and then the subsequent, rather excitable outburst, of her rising-to-the-challenge follow-up remarks, many of the 30-strong contingent of 'SPOILT!' Representatives - each one of them, a 'SPOILT!' Fashion and Cosmetics Boutique Manager, herself - interrupted their refreshment-break conversations, to come and look down on me... Their professional interest was piqued and, they were, of course, curious to know if Miss Hazel Morgan's contention was correct: that the 2 toenail polish shades; as worn by Miss Hazel Morgan and Julie, actually were the same...
 
To find out, Miss Hazel Morgan conducted a simple, but effective experiment... Slipping her foot from her right, white slingback shoe and, resting the ball of her bare foot on my chin, Miss Hazel Morgan wiggled her toes; playing her toepads upon my lips... tapetty-tap-tap-tap... 
 
Simultaneously, Julie; who was resting the ball of her right foot upon the bridge of my nose, flexed, splayed, wiggled and scrunched her toes - this light-catching toe-wiggling, apparently serving to facilitate these toenail polish comparison procedures.
 
The crowd of interested and intrigued onlookers gathered closer, looking down on my obediently proffered face... And, closely and critically observing this dual digital display of toe-wiggling - this simple, but effective experiment - (that was, at the same time, the most splendid of entertainment!), they seemed to arrive at a consensus of opinion, as they murmured their educated, informed, and expert opinions, as to what was, in fact, the exact shade of toenail polish worn by the two 'SPOILT!' Representatives in question - Miss Hazel Morgan and Julie. 
 
"My boyfriend loves this shade on me, Hazel..." announced Julie, coquettishly.
 
Coming to a decision, Miss Hazel Morgan opined confidently, "Just as I thought... The two shades are definitely the same - it's 'Parisian Passion Pink'," she asserted, to nods and smiles of agreement all round: for, Miss Hazel Morgan was, of course, correct. "... So does mine..." she said, in reply to Julie's comment, as she continued to play her toepads upon my lips... tapetty-tap-tap-tap... 
 
"Come on, Phyl! Your turn now," said July generously as, to my immense relief, she finally relinquished the 'footrest'.
 
Now, it was Phylis, who prepared to step inside of my accommodatingly wide-open, 'V' shaped legs. "Spread them wider, footboy! Unless you want to have a nasty 'accident'..."
 
"Yes, Miss Phylis," I responded, obediently and compliantly... And, in strict adherence, to the terms of the 'Special Clause', as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment...
 
Oh! Those women - those 'SPOILT!' Brats! They were insufferable - maddening!
 
The way, that the 'SPOILT!' Representatives took me so, so for granted! As if I - my feelings - were of no account... The way - the bugging, irritating, annoying way - that they so arrogantly expected me to automatically obey their every single, demeaning, degrading order. Immediately. Without demur. "Or else!..." The way - the infuriating, blood-boiling, putting-my-nose-out-of-joint way - that they so confidently and so assuredly expected me to sit quietly, quiescently, while they did whatever the hell they liked, to me... gathering round and looking down on me, while they compared their shades of toenail polish - on my face!... Tapetty-tap-tap-tap...
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating!
 
Phylis now stood inside of my accommodatingly wide-spread, 'V' shaped legs, and turned her back on me. Phylis then carefully positioned herself; with the flat heels of her yellow, leather ballet shoes close to my vulnerable 'tender parts'... Alarmingly close!
 
"Hold me steady, girls," said Phylis. Gillian and Julie readily obliged and, they held onto Phylis's elbows, as she removed her right foot from her yellow, leather ballet shoe. Then, Phylis reached the sole of her sweat-stained, thin white cotton ankle-socked foot upwards, towards my obediently proffered face - towards the 'footrest'.
 
I watched, in a sort of horrified fascination: as Phylis's right, thin white cotton ankle-socked foot, came closer and closer to my face... I watched, as her thin white cotton ankle-sock: stained grey with her foot sweat; at her heel, at the ball of her foot, and all around the underside of her toes, came closer and closer... Then, there was the familiar, wretched sense, of being occupied - 'possessed' - by one of Mrs Hilary Harper's lady clients, as Phylis's warm, moist foot; as felt through the thin white cotton of her ankle-sock, 'claimed' temporary rights, to the 'footrest'...
 
And, I experienced the; by now familiar, heady, dizzying, distressing smell of Phylis's white-socked toes, as they found my nostrils... And cupped them. 
 
For the first few moments, Phylis made herself comfortable, and made sure of a firm and secure 'anchorage', upon my obediently proffered face - upon the 'footrest'.
 
Once she was settled, Phylis began to do her own 'thing'... Her own, particular, personal - unique - little 'thing'. Something that; even blind-folded, I would have easily recognized as Phylis's own, 'trademark', tell-tale traits, habits and quirks, that was her distinctive and distinguishing 'behavioral signature' - her 'thing' - when occupying the 'footrest'...
 
Phylis began to firmly rub and massage her foot - every-which-way - upon my obediently proffered face... Then, after a minute or two of vigorous and invigorating, blissful, sigh-filled massaging, Phylis gratefully - 'a la Gillian' - "Took a load off"... The sweat-stained sole of Phylis's warm, moist, smelly, thin white cotton ankle-socked foot, firmly 'anchored' to my face; her leaning, resting, relaxing, reclining - 'luxuriating' - cumulative weight, quickly taking its toll...
 
What was Phylis trying to do to me? Wear me out? Rub my face smooth? Make me sick?
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating!
 
"Five minutes, ladies, please," advised the 'SPOILT!' Convention organizer, Miss Hazel Morgan, indicating that the final session was to begin shortly.
 
Now, with just 5 minutes of their afternoon refreshment break remaining, Gillian, Phylis and Julie were encouraged by, and had the blessing of their 'SPOILT!' colleagues, to continue availing themselves of my 'services' - of keeping the 'footrest' - for themselves.
 
Phylis: firmly 'anchored' the sole of her warm, moist, sweat-stained, smelly, thin white cotton ankle-socked foot, to my obediently proffered face... And, with her heel; resting upon the convenient curve of my upper forehead; with the ball of her foot, resting upon the bridge of my nose; with her toes, firmly cupping my nostrils... Phylis 'luxuriated'.
 
Gillian: positioned herself to my left, and with her back to me. She removed her left, large, broad, dark hosed smelly foot from her closed, soft black leather, thick rubber-soled loafer. Then, Gillian reached her foot behind her, and upwards, and she rested her dark hosed sole upon the left side of my obediently proffered face... and 'luxuriated'.
 
Julie: positioned herself to my right, and with her back to me. She removed her left, bare, greasy, sweaty, clammy, stinky, retch-inducing foot from her 4-inch spike-heeled, bright-red pump. Then, Julie reached her foot behind her, and upwards, and she rested her greasy, clammy, stinky bare sole upon the right side of my obediently proffered face... and 'luxuriated'.
 
And, it was in this fashion, that the 3 'SPOILT!' colleagues, Gillian, Phylis and Julie; as they enjoyed the last 5 minutes of their afternoon refreshments break, made simultaneous and efficient use, of Mrs Hilary Harper's "facilities" - made use, of her 'footrest'. 
 
The remainder of the 30-strong contingent of 'SPOILT!' Representatives didn't seem to mind - too terribly! - at missing out on their turn with the 'footrest'. The 'footrest', as they could see, perfectly well, was being made good and proper use of - and that was the main thing, as far as they were concerned.
 
As I breathed in the musty, foul-smelling air, that hung around my head like an invisible, insalubrious miasma of malodorous, wispy clouds - which was choking, cloying, highly offensive smell of the combined foot odours of Gillian, Phyllis and Julie – I listened, to their conversation...
 
I listened; to the incessant, mind-numbing verbal outpourings, of Gillian, Phylis and Julie, as they simultaneously 'luxuriated', upon my obediently proffered face...
 
I listened to them - above the hubbub of the interminable background babble of chit-chat of their ‘SPOILT!’ colleagues - drone and rabbit on, as they ‘talked shop’...
 
I listened to them, as they waffled on and on, about the wonderful and amazing merits of different - myriad - colours, shades and tones of the various 'SPOILT!' cosmetics: nail polish; lip gloss; eye-liner; mascara; blusher; make-up foundation; hair tints, etc, etc, etc...
 
I listened to them, chinwag about the nationwide chain of ‘SPOILT!’ Fashion and Cosmetics Boutiques, that sold absolutely anything and everything that a modern, fashion conscious female could conceivably want and desire: shoes, purses, handbags, jewellery, clothes, outfits, dresses, hats, lingerie, hosiery... Plus, every imaginable accessory and acccoutrement, with which to accompany and to compliment their pricy purchases of latest fashion, must-have, can’t-do-without fashion ensambles: hair brushes, hair stays, brooches, bracelets, earings, necklaces, anklets, trinkets, rings, watches, bangles, baubles and beads... Hell! - every kind of thingamebob...
 
I listened to them - listened, to their soporific nitter-natter chitter-chatter, to their non-stop, oh, so tiresome tittle-tattle - as they frequently switched from foot to foot; so as to avail themselves of maximum use, advantage and benefit, of their ‘footrest’... to 'luxuriate', upon my obediently proffered face...
 
And, I listened to them, as they 'chewed the fat' about the subject that excited and animated them most: this year's ‘SPOILT!' 'Boutique Manager Of The Year' Award, which would be presented by the Convention organizer, Miss Hazel Morgan... The Award: of which they - Gillian, Phylis and Julie - were each entertaining serious hopes of winning. Serious hopes, of being awarded this highly coveted, prized and prestigious accolade. The Boutique Manager, to be announced the winner of this marvellous and meritorious award, would bask in the glow of the warm congratulations and the unstilting appreciation and respect of their colleagues and, their ringing applause of adulation would finally bring the curtain down, on this year’s ‘SPOILT!’ Annual Convention.
 
Oh! Those women - those 'SPOILT!' Brats! They were insufferable - maddening!
 
Oh! The way that they chinwagged and chewed the fat, chattered and chunnered away, casually, carelessly, complacently... as they looked on, and watched, approvingly, as 3 of their 'SPOILT!' colleagues: Gillian, Phylis and Julie, simultaneously and efficiently, availed themselves of Mrs Hilary Harper's "facilities" - of her 'footrest'... Looked on, and watched them 'luxuriate', upon my obediently proffered face. 
 
How disrespectful. How demeaning. How belittling. How... humiliating!
 
Compounding the abject misery of my bright, hot, sizzling shame and humiliation, I saw that; from their vantage point behind the Serving Tables, my employer, Mrs Hilary Harper, and her 2 bratty female assistants, Petra and Claire, were, at the sight of my pitiful plight, clinging together for mutual support. For, such was the leg-buckling effect, of their malicious, uncontrollable hilarity, at observing my hugely comical and farcial predicament...
 
... Sitting on the carpeted Lounge floor of the Liverpool City-Break Hotel and Spa, with my legs spread wide-open in an accommodating ‘V’ shape, and with my face being used as a convenient ‘footrest’ - being 'luxuriated' upon - by 3 of the Representatives of the ‘SPOILT!’ Ladies Fashion and Cosmetics Company. 
 
It seemed that it was all that my employer and my 2 co-workers could do, in the unshakable grip of their great and gleeful mirth ("Oh! This, is much better than a pay rise, isn't it, my dears!"), to stop themselves from helplessly collapsing to the floor, in a tittering, giggling, cackling heap. 
 
And, my face burned with shame, at hearing them. 
  
Finally (at long, long last!), the 30-strong contingent of ‘SPOILT!’ Representatives began to disperse, and they slowly made their way back to their Conference Room for the final session of their ‘SPOILT!’ Annual Convention.
 
At the very moment that my ‘footrest’ services were no longer required, and were finally dispensed with by the 'SPOILT!' Representatives - Gillian, Phylis and Julie, carelessly discarding me and arrogantly disregarding me, and still chatting and chunnering as they sauntered nonchalantly away - my 2 bratty superiors, Petra and Claire, grabbed hold of my arms, and roughly dragged me to my feet. “Come on, David! Sitting around all afternoon!" accused Petra drily.
 
Badgering me mercilessly, Claire got in my face. “Didn't you hear what Petra just told you, lazy arse? Start tidying up this Lounge! Come on, David! What are you waiting for? You've got a lot of work to do! Get cracking!!” ordered Claire imperiously.
 
"Yes, Miss Petra... Yes, Miss Claire," I responded, obediently and compliantly... And, in strict adherence, to the terms of the 'Special Clause', as stipulated in the Job Description of my Contract of Employment... 
 
I glumly did as I was told, by my 2 bratty, bossy, hectoring, domineering - tyrannical - co-workers, Petra and Claire; performing the menial and mundane tasks, that they took such great pleasure and malicious satisfaction in ordering me to do... so that they wouldn't have to do them.
 
And, as I obediently followed Petra and Claire's orders, I reflected, gloomily and disconsolately, upon the awful, terrible - hideous - realities of my miserable predicament: as an unspeakably put-upon employee, of Harper’s Conference Catering... as Mrs Hilary Harper's 'footrest'. 
 
Wallowing in self-pity, I was at an all-time low: dejected; downhearted; demoralized. My morale; at rock-bottom - on the floor. My self-respect and self-esteem; downtrodden and trampled upon, by bratty, insufferable - maddening! - women.
 
Surely, things couldn't get any worse... Could they? Worse... than having my face 'luxuriated' upon... while serving as 'footrest', to the female Representatives of 'SPOILT!'?
 
“David!”
 
I jumped, at the sudden, harsh and authoritative voice of my employer, Mrs Hilary Harper, interrupting my sad and sorry, and decidedly resentful musings...
 
“David! Stop your daydreaming! Or I shall have to get Petra and Claire in here to supervise you! Then, you’ll know about it - they'll give you 'what for', for interrupting their hard earned tea-break!" my employer hustled and harried me, shrewishly. "You’ve got far too much work to do... When you have taken all of these cups and saucers and plates through to the kitchen, you can make yourself useful in here... and wipe all of the Lounge tables down, for me... Then, you can give this Lounge carpet a jolly good vacuuming. Our lady clients have left a right mess for us to clean up - crumbs everywhere! Then, you can help Petra and Claire put our equipment in the van...” she droned on, piling on the misery, in her peremptory and domineering manner... Her authoritative voice; carrying on the air, and broadcasting the humiliating message of my abject, downtrodden, trampled upon status.
 
When I had finished wiping down the Lounge tables, and was just about to switch the vacuum cleaner on, to give the Lounge carpet " A jolly good vacuuming," Mrs Hilary Harper spoke to me again. And, the tone of her voice - Mrs Hilary Harper, didn't 'do' nonchalance - instantly had me fearing the worst...
 
As if it was just an unimportant, trivial afterthought; a casual, throw-away remark (but I knew better! Oh, yes, after 6 long and miserable, unspeakable - hideous - months of working for her, I knew better!), Mrs Hilary Harper said, with patently false nonchalance, “... Oh, by the way, David... We shall be here, at the Liverpool City-Break Hotel and Spa, for all of next week, too... catering to another Annual Convention...”
 
I waited, with bated breath: for Mrs Hilary Harper's inevitable 'punchline'...
 
There was a momentary, 'pregnant' pause, as my employer revelled in my obvious discomfiture; gloated, in my trepidation... maliciously milking the tense and suspenseful - dramatic - moment, to the max...
 
When my employer, Mrs Hilary Harper, spoke again, her eyes gleamed gleefully, as she delivered her delicious bombshell...
 
“You'd better be on your best behaviour, next week, David... The ladies of ‘FEMINIST and LESBIAN’ Magazine, have booked our ‘Services’...” she said.
 
 
                   THE  END.