By Paolucci

April 26, 97

Calmly, and with a trace of amusement, Luisa regarded the tall, youngish man who knelt humbly at her feet. She was sitting in her favourite armchair, in the large living-room of her apartment, and, on her instructions, the man was naked. She was pleased to see that he had a good figure: lean, muscular and well-defined. By certain obvious signs, Luisa could perceice that the man was highly excited. He was simultaneously eager and nervous (her preferred type); and was obviously controlling himself with some difficulty. She had almost made her decision, and she looked forward to the evening’s events with satisfaction.

Now, she curtly ordered the man to bow his head, and he did so at once; another promising sign. Casually, she kicked off her high-heeled shoes, stretched out her legs, and rested her stockinged feet on the back of his head. Far from protesting at this humiliation, the kneeling figure remained motionless, though Luisa fancied she heard a tiny moan escape his lips. (Pleasure? Shame?) He had passed the first test, however. He had the makings of an adequate foot-slave. Luisa complimented herself on her instinct. She lit a cigarette, picked up a book from the coffee table, and used him as a footstool for the next half hour.

An extremely beautiful woman of twenty- three, Luisa had the confident bearing which beauty and intelligence usually confer on their owner. She had long, dark hair, black eyes, and smooth, brown skin, all of which she had inherited from her Portuguese mother. The latter was still a striking beauty at the age of forty-two, and Luisa resembled her a great deal. She, Luisa, was taller than average, with a flawless, athletic figure. Her shoulders were broad and tan, her breasts large but firm, and her waist slender. Most of all, perhaps, her friends envied her for her endless, beautiful legs, on which she prided herself, and which were firm, shapely and well-muscled.

She was dressed in the same clothes which she had worn to work earlier that day. Over a white silk blouse, she wore an expensive, singled-breasted black jacket, with a matching mini-skirt. Her nylons were also black – sheer twelve denier - and her shoes, which she had temporarily discarded, were very expensive Italian satin courts, with three-inch stiletto heels.

When she had finished the current chapter of her book, Luisa removed her feet from her slave’s head, and ordered him to prostrate himself before her. Having knelt upright for thirty minutes, he almost collapsed on the floor at her feet.

‘Kiss my feet,’ she ordered, calmly. Once again, he immediately obeyed, showering kisses on the bridges of her feet, and on her toes. She was aroused, but did not show it. She liked nothing better than to see a man, feel a man, grovelling before her. She allowed him to continue for some time, and then raised her feet a few inches from the ground. ‘Don’t forget the soles, you moron,’ she snapped.

To judge from the enthusiasm with which the slave obeyed, he had only been waiting for the order, prompting Luisa to reflect, once again, on how strange these submissive men were. Still, she pondered with a smile, it was fortunate that their desires and her own were so eminently compatible.

‘Enough,’ she ordered suddenly. The slave remained prostrate before her, and she placed one stockinged foot on the back of his head. She was working out the order of the evening’s entertainment. From time to time, she moved her foot slowly from side to side, which was her habit when thinking. The slave had a good crop of thick, brown hair, and his head felt pleasant and comfortable under her sole. The contour of his skull corresponded neatly to the delicate arch of her foot. ‘A perfect fit,’ she thought to herself, with a grin.

Eventually, she got up from her chair, and walked across his body to collect her shoes. For an interesting moment, her entire weight was on the back of his head, forcing his face into the carpet. the slave let out a muffled grunt of pain. He was allowed no respite, however. On the contrary, he was ordered to kneel before his Mistress, as she ‘granted him the honour’ of putting on her shoes. She stretched out each leg to him in turn, and he placed a kiss on each beautiful foot, both before and after encasing it in its shoe. Then, without warning, she slapped his face hard with her open palm - once, twice.

‘Just to remind you who’s boss,’ she said with a smile. ‘Now, get down on all fours, in the centre of the room.’

After he had crawled into position, she walked over to him, swung her leg gracefully over his body, and sat down in the centre of his back, straddling him. She grasped his hair with one hand, and jerked his head back sharply,

making him cry out in pain and surprise.

‘Gee up, horsey,’ she said, quietly. ‘Gee up, slave-boy.’ She lifted her feet from the ground, and braced her thighs against his ribs, digging into his flanks with her stiletto heels, as if they were spurs. Slowly, but steadily enough,

the slave began to carry his beautiful rider around the room.

Luisa felt herself to be growing more aroused, but she knew enough to keep herself carefully under control. Apart from being eminently satisfying from a sexual - and feminist - point of view, it was actually rather good fun to ride

a man’s back. Like many well-bred young women, she had been through a pony phase in her youth, and there wassomething quite nostalgic about being in the saddle again - in a funny way, which made her laugh. Men might not be quite so fast as horses, but they were just as much fun to ride.

After a while, she found it was more comfortable to bring her legs forward, and to rest them over his shoulders, with her knees against the sides of his neck. That way, she did not have to exert any effort to keep her feet of the

ground. A few minutes later, she tried riding him side-saddle, which made her feel very lady-like. She laughed at herself, although (she had to admit it) she was continuing to feel increasingly excited. After a while, for variety,

she stood up on his back - as though she were a circus rider, and he were her obedient horse. This was fun, but it meant that she was no longer able to steer him with her legs, and had to give him her orders verbally, when necessary. To finish off the tryst, she actually began to trample him as he carried her, covering every inch of his back with her feet, stamping down hard, and digging her sharp heels into his skin.

After about forty minutes of this riding practice, she stepped down from him, and, keeping him on all fours, sat down on his back to rest. She crossed her legs, lit a cigarette, and smoked it slowly, blowing the smoke down towards his face. Finally she stood up, and walked around to stand directly in front of him.

‘What are you?’ she demanded.

‘Your slave, Mistress,’ he answered, his voice trembling.

‘Kiss my feet.’

He did so, and another wave of excitement passed through her. She shivered. She walked around to his side (he was still on all fours), and, raising one leg, placed her foot symbolically on his neck. There was a large mirror on the opposite side of the room, and she caught them in it - a beautiful image of power and domination. Laughing, she raised her arms above her head in a victory gesture, saluting herself. She held the pose for some moments, and then increased the pressure on his neck, so that he collapsed to the floor, exhausted from carrying her for so long. Pausing for a moment, she savoured the feeling of his neck beneath the flat of her shoe. She then stepped onto his back, and, very coolly and methodically, wiped her shoes on him. This pleasing chore completed, she ordered him to turn over.

The slave undoubtedly knew what to expect, but was too tired to resist - even, indeed, if he had wanted to. Luisa stepped onto his abdomen, and began to trample him: stomach, genitals, chest and face. She had a particular way of walking on such occasions. First, the flat of the shoe would come to rest on the selected part; for example, his ribcage. She then brought the heel down slowly, twisting the flat from side to side slightly as she did so. The heel then dug into the flesh, as she forced it down with all her weight against the bone. She then lifted the flat, and twisted the heel sharply from left to right. Luisa was practised in this method of walking, and was able to do it without reflection. She walked the equivalent of about a quarter of a mile on him, leaving his body a mass of dark bruises, before she stepped down.

Luisa walked thoughtfully back to her armchair, and sat down. The slave was resilient: although he had moaned with the pain, he hadn’t actually cried out, like her last ‘applicant’. She pondered for a few moments, then made her

final decision.

‘Crawl over to me,’ she ordered. ‘On your belly!’ she shouted, as he showed signs of trying to get up. He obeyed, and was prostrate in front of her chair a few moments later.

‘You can take off my shoes.’

He did so, again kissing her feet in the process.

Once more, she placed her stockinged foot on the back of his head. ‘When you first contacted me,’ she began, ‘you wrote that you’d been searching all your life for a dominant, powerful woman, whose slave you could become. You

wrote that, all your life, you’d considered women to be superior to men, and the time had come when you wanted to put that belief into practice. Right?’

‘Yes, my Mistress.’

‘You promised that, if I would agree to accept you as my slave, you would be humble, obedient, grateful and totally submissive. Do you still promise that?’

‘Yes, Mistress. Yes, my noble Lady.’

‘Fine. This evening, as you know, was partly for my pleasure, and partly for a test. I wanted to know if you had the real makings of a slave – the obsequiousness, the complete lack of dignity, the fawning servility, the love of

humiliation, which any slave who serves me needs to have. You’re ugly, slow and stupid, you’re weak. But then, she added with a smile, ‘you’re a man. I’ve decided to accept you as my slave. You’ll move in here the day after tomorrow. Make arrangements with your bank to have your salary paid to my account from now on. I’ll take ninety per cent, you can keep ten per cent, as we discussed. Is all that clear?’ ‘Yes, Mistress. Thankyou, my Lady, my Owner.’

‘Don’t bother. You’re here for my pleasure, not your own, as you’ll find out soon enough.’

Nonetheless, with her right foot still on his head, he pathetically covered her left with grateful and passionate kisses.

The remainder of the evening was pleasant, but unremarkable. First, Luisa made the slave stretch out his arms at full length, and rested the soles of her feet on his upturned palms, as she watched television for an hour or so. Later, she beat him up a little, kicking and punching him, but not too much, since he was already so badly marked from her trampling. She then fished out a laddered pair of Chanel tights from the wastebasket, and presented them to him as his ‘uniform’. For all his hypocritical blushing, thought Luisa, the creep could obviously hardly wait to put them on. He actually licked her shoes in gratitude, as the hairs on his legs poked inelegantly through the dark nylon. She made a mental note to have them shaved - with a dry razor.

As was her custom, she rounded off the evening with a glass of brandy, which the slave brought to her on his knees, in a crystal goblet. Ordering him into the required position on his back, she used his face as a stool for her stockinged feet: her left foot across his eyes, her right across his mouth. As the cool nylon touched his skin, he moaned softly. In spite of his injuries and the pain he was in, there was no doubt this time that it was a moan of pleasure. He could smell soap and perfume on her feet. He could feel, through her tights, the silken texture of her skin, even the skin of her soles.