Mastering Him

by Meghan Boehners

  I paused for a full minute, breathing heavy, trying to make sense of this. “So let me understand this. For $20 an hour I need to wear a new pair of shoes, paid for by the company, every day. Then I need to let both owners be present while they photograph me wearing the shoes. I leave the shoes at the end of the day, and start with a new pair the next day.”

  “Yes.”

  Didn't take long for me to weigh out another shift of hearing nagging moms bitch about a frayed seam on a baby's jacket during a clothing return, or wear new shoes for some foot fetish freak for nearly triple the retail pay. But I could do better.

  Taking a chance, I blurted out, “Make is $25 an hour and I'll do it.”

  “Hold on.” Jennifer put me on hold. Muzak filled the phone. Maddening Muzak. What was I thinking? Twenty an hour was fine. Why would I jeopardize my first real professional job? Fuck fuck fuck. Way to sabotage yourself, Alicia. I wanted to rush over to Jennifer's office and beg her to hire me at $14 an hour. Why did I do this to myself?

  Click. Jennifer came back on the line. “The client can do that, Alicia. So – you're hired. Congratulations! Just report to their offices tomorrow morning at 8 a.m. sharp.”

  I hung up the phone in disbelief. Twenty-five an hour, 40 hours a week, would cover my student loan bills, clear out credit cards in under a year, and I might be able to ditch my shitbox and afford a car payment now. I did a happy dance and stared at my feet.

  Were they attractive enough for a foot fetish man – or two? No idea. But I'd find out tomorrow.

  Mike and Ted turned out to be very, very normal. Both had founded the small accounting firm ten years ago, and it had grown enough that they needed bookkeepers. The office was light and airy, a bit like an Ikea showroom dumped in the middle of an office building. Free coffee, tea, and snacks went along with the free parking. I quickly realized I could eat breakfast and lunch there for free if I played the fruit bowl and cheese and cracker trays right. More money to clear out student loans.

  Ted eyed me up and down as if I were a piece of prized meat from a county fair in some farming state. He was normal, but hot normal, you know? A good 20 years my senior, and I love older guys. They're experienced enough to care abut my orgasm, but still energetic enough to make theirs interesting, too. His lower lip has a small divot in the lip. So I took a chance.

  “Ted, which brass instrument did you play?”

  He looked surprised and pleased, one hand reaching around his neck to play with a long, blonde ponytail. Hello, 1968 wants its hair back. If he'd cut it short he'd have been beyond hot. Now he was just...interesting.

  “Trombone. How'd you know?”

  “Your lip. I play trumpet.”

  “The strumpet plays trumpet?” He grinned lopsidedly, then looked at my feet. Frowning, he pointed. “What are those?”

  I was still stuck on trying to decide whether “strumpet” was an insult or praise. “My – what?”

  “Your – ” he shuddered, “ – shoes.”

  “Oh!” I'd worn some simple Merrill shoes to work. “I just wore these because they're comfortable, but I'm happy to change into whatever you want.”

  A sly smile crept across his face. It made him seem more vulnerable, more interesting. I'd fuck him, I thought, the idea surprising me. My high school boyfriend dumped me the day I graduated from office. Said I was “too smart,” and then he went and found some 16 year old to play around with. I decided to sleep around because if not now – when? So when it came time to pick a guy, my rules were simple. Not married. Nice teeth. A little kinky. A face I could wake up to in the morning.

  So far, Ted fit the bill.

  “Let me show you what Mike and I were thinking of,” he said, leading me to a large closet in my new office. I'd assumed my office would be one of those faceless cubicles but, to my surprised, Ted led me to a private office with a large door behind the desk.

  He opened it.

  Imelda Marcos would have been jealous.

  Ten rows of shelves reached up into a recessed room about 10 by 10 feet. This was no simple work closet for labels and extra staples and rubber bands.

  This was a shoe freak's paradise.

  Jimmy Choo. Manolo Blahnik. Turquoise, red, eel, alligator, and a few other skins that were probably from animals on the endangered species list. There were espadrilles and stilettos and they were all your standard Com Fuck Me Pumps and I swear the value of that closet was greater than my parent's house.

  I guarantee it.

  Ted was shining. Glowing. In awe. And hard, I noticed. His Chino's were perking up. Hell, I don't have a foot fetish and the sight of that closet made my clit stand up at attention!

  Then Mike walked in. He was Robert Redford 30 years ago. Hot, blonde, with a jaw that could crack walnuts. And staring at him made me instantly wet. Bright blue eyes, muscled arms, and an air of power.

  He reached toward me with an outstretched hand. “Alicia? Hi. I'm Mike.” We shook hands and he gave me a real handshake, not that fake, limpy grip so many men use with women. I returned the strength and he raised his eyebrows, impressed.

  “Hi, Mike. Ted was showing me this...wow. This impressive,” I waved toward the closet, “collection.”

  He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Yep. And they're all size 6. Custom collected just for you.”

  I peered in. “There are way more than 90 pairs in there.”

  “Ninety?” he asked, puzzled.

  “Oh, the temp agency said I might be hired full-time after 90 days.”

  He looked me up and down slowly, eyes taking in my shoes, my skirt, pausing at my calves, then moving over my crotch, belly, and breasts. Our eyes met. His grin made me wet.

  “I think we are pretty smart to have more than 90 pairs in there, Alicia. We hope you agree.”

  And with that, Ted motioned to the closet. “So, pick your poison!”

  I walked over and tentatively selected a pair of strappy silver sandals with a 3” heels. “Are these OK?”

  Both men grinned. “Fantastic,” Ted murmured.

  I held the shoes and waited for them to leave. They didn't. Sooooo...they wanted to watch me put them on! I slid off my Merrills and sat in my office chair, carefully buckling the left shoe, then the right.

  Standing was a challenge; my feet weren't used to the height. A few wobbly steps and I had my balance. By now, both men were staring at my feet, and Mike's package was a huge, straining bulge.

  Ah, God. What if my pussy were so wet it dripped down my leg and got on the shoes?

  From the looks on their faces, I didn't think they would mind.

  Boy was this job turning out to have benefits after all.

  “OK,” Mike said, his breath letting out with a great big whoosh. “So, when the day ends, just leave your shoes on your desk. Margie will do the HR paperwork with you and show you the systems. Nice meeting you, Alicia.” He and Ted walked out of the room and I stood there, turned on as all get out and wondering what I was doing in such a weird job.

  So far, I was making $25 an hour and building a resume. If a little kink was thrown in, all the better. I just needed to get my red, swollen clit to stop itching for attention and get on with my double entry lessons.

  By the end of my first day my feet were swollen and the straps of my cute shoes dug into my ankles and left nasty red welts. Sitting in my office chair, massaging my feet, I slid the sandals off and placed them in the center of my blotter as asked.

  Mike knocked, then popped his head in. “Hey. How was your first day?”

  “Well, I mostly filled out HR paperwork, got an email account and work login, and learned where everything is.” We both laughed.

  “Yeah, new jobs are like that. Until Ted and I started this company, we changed jobs every few years. In this economy, it can be like that.” He made eye contact and looked at the shoes, then at me. “But hopefully you'll find a long and fulfilling career here.”

  I smiled and said nothing. He stepped closer and started mas
saging my shoulders.

  “Mmmm. Feels good,” I said, encouraging him. He moved closer, pressing his groin against my back, and I could feel his erection. My clit came to life and began begging for attention. Ah, dammit. Now I needed to go home and get out the vibrator.

  “You're tense.”

  “You're good,” I joked.

  “I try. But I am not that good.” And with that he spun my chair around and leaned down, kissing me. I stood and met his mouth, hands plunging in that thick, blonde hair, our tongues dancing with each other as the symphony of pleasure crescendoed. My clit hummed in perfect harmony and I ground myself into his huge cock, now straining for release under his work pants.

  He pulled away, then looked at the shoes, then kissed me hungrily, pulling my shirt out of my skirt waistband, whipping it over my head to leave me bare. I didn't need a bra – more than a handful is too much, and I was a handful. Mike licked each nipple just once, enough to make them stand at attention, and then blew lightly, chilling his saliva, making my pussy burn all the hotter.

  One swift move and he was shirtless, then pantless, and I followed his lead, slipping out of my skirt, now standing there in panties which he ripped off my body, a gleeful look on his face.

  “Put on the shoes,” he growled, one hand roaming between my legs, slowly circling my clit with a finger. Moaning, I complied, sitting down in the chair. I spread my legs and propped my ankles up on the edge of the desk, leisurely buckling the straps of one sandal, then the other, as Mike's intense gaze watched my every move.

  Those muscular arms slid under me and scooped me up onto the desk, and his face inched over to my thigh, leaving a line of kisses going...in the wrong direction. My poor clit screamed “Here! I'm here! Need a GPS to find me?” while Mikes mouth went down my leg, licking the back of my kneee, and then he slowly, lusciously licked my toes, one at a time, sniffing as he licked.

  With rapturous intensity Mike licked the heel of my shoe, eyes fixed on mine, and then came up to my needy cunt, licking my clit so perfectly, then sliding a finger in me, that I came within two or three strokes of my G-spot, shudders of pleasure I couldn't control. My belly contracted, and muscles I didn't know were linked to my pussy pulsated and twisted, groaned and moaned, my whole body now in it for the pleasure, a full-blown supernova on my own desk. The vision of Mike licking my feet, the shockwave and tingles that it elicited, were too much.

  But he wasn't even close to being done.

  Mike stepped away from me, giving me a ripping, gorgeous view of his tight, dimpled ass as he walked to the closet. He pulled open a small drawer I'd never noticed before, then shut it quietly.

  When he turned around and walked back toward me, he was carrying a strap-on dildo and a small bottle of lube in his right hand.

  Intrigued, I sat up, still hazy from the afterglow of my relentless orgasms. His open expression carried no shyness, no guilt, just a subtle command that handed all the power over to me.

  He was mine for the taking.

  A grin spread across my face; I had read about pegging before, but never in my wildest dreams did I think I'd find a man interested in doing it, and willing to let me have that kind of control. My grin triggered one on his face, deepening his allure.

  Roaming my hands all over his body gave me a few minutes of connection. His tongue lazily kissed me, lightly licking and stroking with precision as I re-acquainted myself with his body. Then I stepped off the desk and walked over to the small couch, gesturing for him to join me.

  He climbed on, hands grabbing the back of the couch, knees on the seat, a position I'd had in plenty of apartments and hotel rooms with guys, but one I was wholly unfamiliar with as the one doing the entering. Strapping on the dildo was easy; it felt heavier than I'd thought, and I practiced thrusting into the air a few times to get the right muscle flow.

  The bottle of lube made this all easier, so I poured a small circle into my hand and reached around him, stroking that gorgeous cock. A twinge of sadness hit me – I wouldn't feel it in me. Ah, well...I had a feeling I'd experience more of this with Mike in the future, and we could take care of filling my aching pussy then.

  “I”m getting...that's too much,” he said in a husky voice, so I stopped stroking him, letting my hand slide under his balls and up to his asshole. He inhaled sharply, then willed himself to relax. I poured a good tablespoon of lube over his crack and used my hand to rub it in, wondering briefly what it would feel like to lick him. Again – we could save that for next time.

  I knew from my own experience with anal sex that a well-placed finger, first, could loosen things up and make the eventual ride much more pleasant, so I slowly fingered his puckered entry with my middle finger. His core of muscles clamped down, hard, imprisoning my finger, but I waited it out, knowing that time was my best aphrodisiac. He moaned, then shivered, then relaxed, and soon my finger was in all the way to the base, Using a circular motion I teased the muscles, slowly coaxing them to relax.

  Then I poured more lube on the head of the dildo – which was as thick as a fist and a good 10 inches! – and began to enter Mike, the head resting where my finger lured his muscles open. With a quick movement I replaced the tip of my finger with the tip of the dildo head and stood still.

  “Not yet,” he whispered. “Take off your shoes.”

  “My what?”

  “Your shoes,” he choked out, overcome by ecstasy.

  I backed off, then leaned down to take off the shoes. He grabbed one, then re-assumed his position, licking the shoe's heel. Then he handed it to me and said, “Put this in me first. Then you can do me.”

  Huh?

  “You want me to...” I stared at the shoe. Which part did he want me to put in his ass?

  “Yes, Please. I'm begging you, Alicia. I'll do whatever you want.” He was suddenly submissive, yet oddly in control. I don't judge – whatever gets you off. So I lubed up the heel of the shoe and slowly slid it in about two inches.

  “Oh. My. God!” he screamed, his cock leaping as if coming. He thrust and heaved and I thought I'd hurt him, but quickly realized this was pure pleasure. Now it was my turn to get turned on by the shoe, which had just been on my foot all day. Something about its shape, the slight odor of me, the fact that he was being ass fucked with it after licking my toes and the straps – it all built into a new wave of orgasms in me.

  Suddenly, he froze, and shouted, “Take it out and fuck me now, Alicia! Fuck my ass.”

  So I did, sliding the high heel out of his contracting anus and replacing it with the dildo, which now, miraculously, slid in one inch at a time, slowly, without resistance as if having that shoe up his ass had opened a gate inside Mike's body.

  He bucked against me, hard, as if he were doing the fucking. My hips found the right rhythm quickly and I felt my clit getting hard again, my climax close, so close my finger wandered down to help bring it out. I grabbed his hips and established control, letting go of my poor, ignored clit. But I was the one with the dick here, and I was going to make him come so hard his brains oozed out into the next century.

  “Oh! Oh! Oh!” I grunted, the cover piece for the dildo grinding into my vulva and, here and there, my clit as I rode him.

  “Deeper! Go all the way in!” he begged, so I obliged, and as I slid in to the hilt, the dildo's base pressed against my clit. A slight shift in the angle of my hips gave my poor, red nub the friction it needed. Picking up the pace, I fucked Mike's pink, tight ass and felt my entire lower body tighten with an earth-shattering orgasm.

  He blew all over the back of the leather couch just as I screamed out my climax, waves making it hard to maintain my rhythm. Mike backed his ass against me, milking the dildo, riding it hard as his frenzied shaking showed he'd lost all control.

  I'm sure the secretary heard us screaming but I didn't care. Mike grabbed the discarded shoe and sniffed it as I looked over his shoulder and saw his cock pumping out the last drops of cum, beginning to relax and ride down from the high of the ass play.


  My screaming climax subsided to hitched breaths and grateful thoughts for the release. I wanted to slump over his hips and ass and just rest there, but instead I slowly slid out of him, then removed the strap on. The coach was coated with Mike's jizz so I just slumped to the floor, rolling onto my back. Staring at the ceiling seemed like a good way to recover. Mike decided so, too, and joined me.

  A few minutes later the room was silent, our breathing calm and focused again. Mike laughed, then gestured toward the shoe closet. “See what I mean?”

  Confused but also clear, I whispered, “Yeah.”

  “Wear the turquoise shoes tomorrow, Alicia,” Mike said as he stood and got dressed.

  “Why?”

  He winked. “Because they're Ted's favorite.”

  THE END

  Pegging Santa

  Mike was down at the firehouse dressed as Santa for yet another kid party. My strong, burly fireman did this every year, enjoying the thrill that little kids showed when they saw their favorite Christmas hero in full red-and-white glory. At just 34 and in prime condition, Mike had to use a fake pad to get the Santa “jelly belly” look, and he grew out his beard this time every year, then dyed it white for the festivities.

  My red silk Christmas teddy fit better than ever, and this year I'd added garters and red fishnet stockings. Crotchless panties always feel a little over-the-top, but this year I added a new, special present for Mike around my waist. Wait until he saw this candy cane.

  The year has been tough on us, between Mike losing hours at the station and my unemployment. A few weeks ago I got a new job as a nurse, though, and the plan to not give each other gifts had seemed silly now that my paycheck was more than enough. Giving him his favorite fantasy but with a little Kris Kringle edge was exactly what we needed for some Christmas cheer. Just imagining his muscled, taut arms made me wet and aching.

  And then the key rattled in the lock and in walked Santa.

  Oh, Santa baby. I'm gonna hurry up your chimney tonight.