* Chapter 4: The Lessons Continue *

Over the next several weeks, I spent most of my free time learning how to be a slave to Laura Taylor's feet. One thing that was made clear right from the start was that it was not Laura in general that I served, but her feet specifically. This attitude reinforced my devotion to Laura, and made me realize that much more clearly that willingly or no, I was under Laura's complete control. Though I was made to serve in the nude as often as possible, Laura's aim was not to seduce me -in the hours I spent learning to worship at her feet, I never once touched Laura above the knee. Three days a week, Laura's parents worked until 7 or 8 pm, and on those days I would usually go to her house after school and serve her until 6 or so, always in the nude. On the other weekdays, I sometimes was made to stop by for an hour or so, if Laura's whims suited. On the weekends, I was sometimes left to my own devices, and sometimes made to spend all day Saturday and Sunday as Laura's naked slave. On one occassion, when her parents were out of town for the weekend, I had spent an entire Saturday night at Laura's feet (convincing my parents that I was sleeping over my friend Charles' house), obeying her commands until nearly three in the morning, when she finally went to bed and allowed me to service her bare soles with my mouth as she slept. When not engaged in foot worship, Laura puts me to work doing chores, espescially on those afternoons when her parents worked late. I have become used to vacuuming rugs, scrubbing floors, and cleaning bathrooms, in the nude, all while Laura talks on the phone, reads magazines, or watches television. I find this the most awkward part of our games, but never complain. My willingness to comply has nothing to do with the threat of blackmail that Laura holds over my head - the taped confession she extracted from me of how I had broken into Kelly Finn's gym locker and borrowed her sandals to masturbate with. In fact, I rarely thought about the existence of that tape - I was Laura's slave because it thrilled and fulfilled me to be at her beck and call.

My slavish worship of Laura was completely sincere. On the typical afternoon, Laura begins by making me strip and kneel at her feet. She always reviews the journal I am required to keep, in which I am to record all of my experiences as her foot slave. I am generally allowed to lick the soles of her shoes while she reads, and if she is pleased, I am allowed to take off her shoes and beg to give her a thorough foot licking. She most frequently wears a pair of old canvas sneakers to school, often with socks, so her feet are always somewhat damp and sweaty when her shoes come off. Somehow, though, Miss Laura has made me addicted to the smell and taste of her feet even when they are a bit grimy and stinky, and I never hesitate for a moment when given the go-ahead to tongue-bathe her bare peds. This initial foot worship always excites and arouses me, and Laura loves to tease me by stroking her toes against my face, body, and stiff member. By the time I am done tongue-bathing her tootsies, I am so excited that I am all too eager to obey Laura's commands. After licking both feet clean, proper foot worship begins. Laura expects me to know _everything_ about the female foot, from how to give a foot massage and pedicure to knowing about all of the different types of women's footwear and hoseiry (imagine my ignorance at thinking stockings, pantyhose, and nylons were all one in the same!) For this latter lesson, Laura has supplied me with a catalog of women's shoes, with instructions to study it thoroughly. She has also commanded me that whenever I masturbate at home, I am always to jack off to the pictures of women's feet in the catalog. Of course, I must also note in my slave journal when I masturbate, and what images and thoughts I use to arouse myself. My education has also included a thorough acquaintance with both Laura's shoe collection and that of her mother. As Laura usually dresses casually, her footwear collection is sparse: a pair of sneakers, two pairs of leather flats, sandals (both flat- heeled ankle strap sandals and rubber beach thongs), and three pairs of dress pumps and heels. Her mother's closet, on the other hand, contains a whole array of shoes ranging from elegant spectator pumps, slingbacks, and mules, to low-heeled boots and oxfords, to metallic-sheen thongs and canvas tennis shoes. Laura enjoys watching me eagerly kiss her mother's pumps, instructing me that my foot fetish should be put to good use, servicing the feet of all women. On the Saturday night I spent at Laura's, she made me go through the house room by room on hands and knees, stopping to lick, kiss, and smell every pair of hers and her mother's footwear I could find, from the huge collection in her mother's closet all the way to Laura's old, stinky sneakers in the basement storage room. Over time, Miss Laura has made my training more complex and ritualized, and there is much I have to learn and remember. For example, when she points at the ground, it is a signal for me to worship her shoes by lying on my stomach, with my face pressed inside whatever shoes happen to be lying at her feet. She then traps me by pressing her bare sole against the back of my head, and I have been known to spend over half an hour confined to breathing the aromatic air of the insoles of her sneakers, all while she talks on the phone, plays Nintendo, or whatever, never paying me a bit of heed, but expecting me to concentrate totally on my submission to her feet. If Miss Laura is pleased with me, she sometimes lets me silently worship by sitting cross-legged at her feet while she reclines back in the easy chair. She then cradles my face between her soles, allowing me to tenderly carress her toes as she presses her softly wrinkled foot bottoms lightly to my cheek, sometimes making my entire body tremble by wiggling or stretching her toes, allowing me to feel the movement of every muscle in her foot, pressed to my face. Again, she rarely pays me any heed at such times, but I don't care; I am absolutely in heaven, surrounded by her beautiful feet, immersed in her perfect soles. On most days, after Laura has spent an hour or two instructing me in the various aspects of foot worship, I am put to work doing chores for a while. This lasts until dinnertime, when I am allowed to serve Laura the meal I have cooked her and worship or massage her feet as she dines. Sometimes, I make dinner for her whole family (which she then takes credit for when her parents return home). Sometimes, if I have espescially pleased Laura, she will rub her feet in a dish of applesauce or oatmeal and permit me to lick them clean while she eats. After dinner, if I have not been made to do so already, I sometimes masturbate for Miss Laura's amusement. Sometimes, I am allowed to lick or kiss her feet while I do this, but more often, she requires me to jerk off while worshipping her shoe, or a pair of smelly nylons, or some other symbol of her feet. According to Laura, this is to make me as responsive as possible to everything associated with her feet. A proper foot slave, Laura explains, should be totally aroused by the sights, smells, and tastes of the feet he serves. Laura takes perverse pleasure in making me feel excited and humiliated at the same time. She knows I am helplessly aroused by her feet, even when they are somewhat dirty and smelly, and loves to take advantage of this fact by rubbing her smooth, sweaty soles in my face while mocking my erect cock. "Do my feet smell good?" she asks, grabbing the back of my head forcefully, forcing my nose up against the bottoms of her sweetly fragrant toes. It is hard enough for me to admit even to myself how aroused this makes me, yet Laura is all too talented at making me openly beg her to rub her stinky feet in my face.

At school, things have remained low-key; I still say hello to Laura innocently enough in the hall, and I manage to maintain appearances in the first period history class that we share.

Laura does a credible job of pretending our secret life doesn't exist most of the time, but occassionally, she likes to remind me in ways designed to make me uncomfortable, but unable to resist. For example, one morning she came into class after I was already seated at my desk. She leaned over to me, dropped something in my backpack, and handed me a folded note. Without further ado, she went to her own seat, leaving me to gulp nervously and unfold the note:

"Take it to the bathroom and get it wet for me.

-Love, You-Know-Who"

I risked a peek in my backpack and discovered she had left a rolled up nylon knee-high stocking for me. I instantly understood her message, and my heart began to beat with nervous anticipation.

Since class was just beginning, it would have been awfully suspiscious if I had wanted to go to the restroom right then, so I managed to wait until about halfway through class until nonchalantly palming the stocking and asking to be excused for a moment while the rest of the class read a xeroxed handout. Laura did an admirable job of not even looking up from her paper as I nervously left the room. As I walked down the hall to the restroom, it occured to me that - remarkable as it seemed - I had only masturbated in school once or twice before, not counting the fateful incident in the girls' locker room some weeks ago which had gotten me where I was now. This was largely because none of the boy's bathrooms had stalls with actual doors; the only privaced afforded was high walls between the toilets. Entering the restroom, I pulled my pants down to my ankles and sat in the stall furthest from the door, hoping things would remain quiet long enough for me to execute my appointed task. I raised Laura's knee-high to my face, and my cock sprung to life instantly as I breathed the strong musk of her foot odor from the nylon. Within seconds, I had succumbed to the allure of her aromatic hosiery, and lost track utterly of my self-concious paranoia. I gripped my dick, massaging the blood-engorged shaft, building up waves of pleasure as I became more and more aware of the feel of Laura's nylon stocking against my face, brushing against my lips, tickling my nose with their sweet perfume. I found myself holding off the wave of orgasm which quickly built, wanting to sustain this surprising pleasure. I was successful for nearly a minute, and then found I could hold back no longer; I accidentally pushed myself to the point where orgasm was inevitable, and after taking a final moment to lavish in the incredibly exciting feel of Laura's stocking for a moment, I quickly wrapped the article around my cock like a loose nylon condom, and filled it with a blast of thick, wet semen. I pumped furiously, my entire body trembling, until at last I was spent, and the stocking was soaked and sticky with my ejaculation. I quickly gathered myself, pulled up my pants, and walked back to class, almost trembling from the weird intensity of it all. Laura was busy writing on a xeroxed worksheet as I re- entered the classroom, but she glanced up with me for a fraction of a section with a very satisfied grin. I seated myself, slipped the cum-soaked knee-high in my desk, and tried to concentrate on the cultural achievements of the Byzantine empire for the last fifteen minutes of class. As usual, I caught up with Laura in the hall after class, and in a quiet, submissive tone, informed her I had completed the task she required of me. "Let's take a walk," she said, a very satisfied, superior smile on her face. We ended up walking down the side hallway next to the music department, which was normally deserted this time of day, since all of the band and chorus classes were held in the afternoon. Laura walked to a small alcove at the far end of the hall and seated herself on the radiator. She smiled at me for a moment, and then wordlessly pointed her finger to the floor. I nervously glanced up and down the hallway, to be sure no one was around, and dropped to my knees before her. As usual, she was wearing her canvas sneakers, but it was not until then that I noticed that only one foot was wrapped in nylon. "Take off my shoe," she instructed quietly but firmly, and I quickly untied and slipped off her left sneaker. I only then realized that I had forgotten to use my mouth to pull the knot untied, but she seemed to be understanding of the unusual circumstances, and did not grow upset. Laura looked at my hand, in which was loosely cupped her cum- drenched nylon, and then nodded down at her foot. With trembling hands and beating heart, I slipped the stocking onto her foot with some difficulty, due to the material sticking together. However, I soon had rolled it into her leg and smoothed it out, noting to myself how sexy her foot looked with the wet nylon sticking to her toes, accentuating every detail. "You may put my shoe back on," she said; I quickly obeyed.

"You have done well, slave boy." I bowed my head instinctively at the sound of being addressed in such a manner. "As your reward, you will clean your cum from my foot this afternoon, as part of your foot worship. "Thank you, Miss Laura," I managed softly. "Additionally, I have another assignment for you, which is optional, but would please me greatly, and I know you would enjoy greatly as well. Do you have to go to any of your other classes today?" "I have a test in third period, but other than that, I don't HAVE to." "Okay. Here is your assignment. If you can't skip any of your classes, I'll understand, but if you do, I want you to go back to my house. My parents aren't home, and the key is hidden under a big stone next to the porch, on the right. You'll know what to do when you get there, and the sooner you can get there, the better." "I'll see what I can do," I offered, unsure of what Laura was getting at. "I know I can at least skip last period; is that okay?" "That's fine." She rose to her feet, gestured for me to do likewise, and we began walking back down the hall, in order to make it to our next respective classes. I bid her farewell for the time being, with a promise to meet her at her house when she got home if I didn't see her again. It turned out that my curiousity got the best of me, and I decided to skip the whole second half of the day, leaving right after third period, before lunch. None of my afternoon teachers were fanatic about catching students who skipped once in a blue moon, and even if I did get in trouble, it was worth an afternoon of detention to see what Laura had up her sleeve. I was successful at slipping off school grounds without being noticed, and quickly made the brief walk to Laura's townhouse.

After a brief check to make certain that neither of the reserved parking places for her home were filled, I walked up to the porch and quickly found the key hidden underneath a heavy stone. Although I reported to Laura's house at least two or three afternoons a week, I usually just waited on the porch for her to arrive; this was the first time I had actually gone into her house by myself, and I was a bit nervous of being caught by someone.

Nevertheless, I tried to look natural as I quickly entered, closing the door behind me. It was quiet inside, and I was unsure what exactly Laura wanted me to do. I figured she had left instructions of some sort up in her room, but decided I'd check in the living room first, just in case. I jumped in terror and froze in my tracks when I turned the corner at the end of the short hallway. Stretched out on the living room couch was a young woman who looked to be at least nineteen or twenty, very attractive, dressed in a loose sweater, a cotton skirt, and a pair of thick-soled clogs on her otherwise bare feet. She had long, wavy, golden-brown hair. Her skin was slightly tanned, and her features suggested a hint of middle eastern or southern european blood. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" she interrogated, a stern, angry look on her face. "I'm a friend of Laura's..." I stammered nervously. "She told me I could hang out and she'd meet me when she got out of school." "Sure." she said scornfully. "Now whoever you are, I think you'd better get over here, get down on your knees, and lick my clogs, because I'm calling the police right now if you don't." I could have stopped dead in my tracks. Obviously, this woman knew who I was and why I was here - more or less she knew about Laura's little game - but I had no idea who she was, where she had come from, or why she was here. However, after a moment to snap out of my stunned state, I hesitantly walked to the couch, slowly went down on my knees, and wordlessly did as I was told, bringing my tongue to lick the smooth wooden sole of this mysterious woman's clog.