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"Mr. Reynolds?"

I felt a sudden quickening of my heartbeat, as I realized my eyes had become fixated on her legs. My mind frantically searched for a way to escape the embarrassing moment, but no clever idea surfaced. Pretending that my thoughts had no relation to where my gaze had settled, I brought my hand to my chin in a clumsy attempt to strike a thoughtful pose.

"I'm sorry, Veronica. I... I was just considering whether I was forgetting anything. Did you have any questions you wanted to ask me?"

My regular secretary had been sent to a week-long training session to learn our new operations software system, and Veronica was my assigned temp. Her perfect body, now seated in the overstuffed chair facing my desk, was an embarrassing distraction, and each time she crossed her legs, her short dress hiked slightly higher up her exquisite thighs. Veronica's beauty was so striking, I found myself unable to concentrate on anything else while in her presence, and my normally focused, level-headed mind was suddenly reduced to that of a horny schoolboy staring at the picture of a Playboy model.

Our eyes were locked on each other's as I waited for her reply. Thankfully, my desk concealed my raging hard on, but in that frozen moment, I suspected she knew exactly what my mind was focused on. How pitiful that a 45-year old married man should do such a poor job of concealing his lust for this 27-year old beauty.

Her stare was intense. Was she going to respond to my question? Was she trying to read my mind? Was she waiting for me to apologize for staring at her legs? Or was she sending me a message that I ought to be ashamed of myself for fantasizing about her? My discomfort was punctuated by a knot in my stomach, and it occurred to me that, ironically, this young woman seemed to be in complete control, not nervous or uncomfortable at all. One thing I certainly didn't anticipate was that she could see something in me I had never seen in myself.

"Mr. Reynolds, could I ask you a big favor? I have this sudden pain at the base of my neck. Would you mind very much massaging it for a moment?" It was an innocent question, asked sincerely, and I immediately felt a sense of relief.

"Oh, of course. I don't mind at all." I spun my chair around before I stood up, so that I could discreetly adjust myself and appear presentable. Then I walked around behind her, and gently placed my hands on her neck and shoulders, kneading her soft skin. I inhaled her intoxicating perfume as I gazed down over her shoulders, an angle that revealed most of her perfect breasts. I felt a renewed surge of blood in my already aching cock.

"Does that help?" I managed to ask.

"Yes, that's perfect," she purred. I wondered how long I could continue to do this without it becoming unseemly. Or was it unseemly already?

She had been twirling her pen slowly between three fingers, when it slipped out of her hand, and fell to the floor by her left foot. Instinctively, I moved around the chair to her left, and bent to pick it up. As I kneeled and grasped the pen, her left foot quickly shifted and landed next to my hand, stepping on the part of the pen not covered by my hand, and preventing me from picking it up. Was it an accident, or was I aware of her applying pressure with her foot?

The moment was suddenly very awkward. There I was, on my knees beside her, with my face uncomfortably close to her left leg. Was it possible she didn't realize what she had done, and that my hand was pinned under the pen? Each second that ticked by made the moment even more awkward. I had to do something quickly; either extract my grasp from around the pen, or point out that she needed to move her foot.

Instead, for some unknown reason, I did nothing. I held my position, hand around the pen, soaking in my close up view of the legs that had me so entranced. As the seconds continued to tick by, I became increasingly embarrassed, yet I couldn't summon the will to extricate myself from the situation. After what felt like an eternity, she spoke. "You know, Mr. Reynolds, my feet are awfully sore as well."

In my frozen state, I saw her tilt her right foot up and press the heel of her shoe down into the carpet, slipping the shoe off her foot. She then lifted her right foot and angled it over her left leg towards me. She brought her right ankle to rest on her left thigh, and began to slide her foot in my direction. What was she doing? And why did I do nothing as her foot edged closer, seemingly helpless to prevent what was about to happen?

She pressed the bottom of her foot to my face, covering my mouth, and forcing me to breathe through my nose, smelling the pungent odor of feet that have been encased in shoes much of the day.

"Don't you think sore feet deserve some attention too, Mr. Reynolds?"

My mind was racing. There was nothing sexy about smelly feet, yet my cock felt like it was about to explode through my pants. As she pushed her foot harder against my face, I found myself pressing my face back against her foot and inhaling deeply.

"Yes, I see you agree," she continued. "Some kisses would be nice." And like an obedient and grateful servant, I began to shower her foot with kisses.

Suddenly, she pulled her foot away and stood up, slipping her shoe back on, and leaving me on my knees, staring at the floor and feeling like an absolute idiot.

"Veronica, I..." I began, not knowing how I would finish the sentence. But, she cut me off, gripping my hair in her hand, and tilting my head back so I was forced to look up at her.

"I think Ms. Harper would be more appropriate, don't you think so... Jack?" There was a deafening silence.

"Yes, Ms. Harper," I meekly replied. She released her grip, and my gaze returned to the floor.

"I think that's enough for today, Jack. I'm going to take the rest of the afternoon off, but I will so look forward to seeing what tomorrow brings. Can you think of an appropriate way to say goodbye to me, Jack?"

I was breathing heavily, almost panting from my heightened state of arousal, yet feeling somewhat numb at the same time. I didn't understand what was happening, but clearly an exchange of power had taken place. My own actions had put me on the losing end of this exchange, as I was unable to resist this dominating beauty.

Her power had triggered something deep inside my core. Instead of feeling outraged by her behavior, being humiliated by her had suddenly become a kind of reward that I desperately craved. I lowered my face to the floor and kissed her shoe-clad feet. She let me continue for several minutes, perhaps making sure I wouldn't stop until she told me to.

"That's lovely, Jack. See you tomorrow." And in the midst of my adoration, she turned and walked out of my office, leaving me on floor, cock throbbing, wondering how this encounter would change my life.






I didn’t sleep well that night. The odd scene that had taken place earlier in the day replayed itself over and over in my head. And each and every time I relived the event, my breathing became short and my cock became hard. Veronica’s first day on the job had proven to be the most unsettling day of my life. Nothing I had previously experienced or even imagined had prepared me for my reaction to her manipulation. And while it had all happened in a brief and surreal few minutes, my entire physical being had been affected in a way that I knew the coming days could be potentially devastating. I felt tremendous guilt, and wondered if my wife could sense my agitation.

In the morning, the anticipation was almost unbearable. From the moment I awoke, through my drive to work, and even as I tried to concentrate on the business papers I read at my desk, my inability to get Veronica out of my mind was underscored by an erection that would not go away. Her parting words from the day before left no doubt that yesterday’s encounter was not an aberration. She was going to expect to pick up where we left off, but I couldn’t conceive of where that would lead. What would her expectations be, and what would my reaction be? Though I could not deny the thrill I had experienced, I feared for the self-destructive harm that my disquietingly absent will power might cause.

For my own sanity, I needed to regain control. I had to summon the strength to tell her that I had no idea why I did what I did, but I would not allow it to happen again. Suddenly, the door opened and into my office strode Veronica. She closed the door behind her and walked confidently toward my desk. My eyes quickly scanned her body, taking in the tight-fitting black top that accentuated her pert breasts and slender waist, the short purple leather skirt that showed off those magnificent legs, and open-toe high-heeled shoes.

“Good morning, Jack” she exclaimed exuberantly. “What a beautiful day, don’t you think?” She reached the middle of my desk, turned and hopped up onto it, her legs dangling over the side. She twisted her upper body towards me, leaning on her extended hand.

“Have you been thinking about me?” she asked coyly.

I took a deep breath. “Veronica, listen, yesterday was… strange, and, well, I’d like to put it behind us, try to forget about it, and just focus on what you’re here to do, and… and get some work done today.”

“Oh, Jack,” she sighed. In an instant, her mood turned serious, and her penetrating eyes gripped me like a vise. “You disappoint me. I thought you had learned an important lesson yesterday.”

She pulled her legs up and quickly spun around towards me, placing both shoes firmly onto my chest. Her heels dug into me just below my ribcage, and I hunched forward slightly in pain. Again, I was stunned by her actions, and again, blood surged through my cock. I looked down to avert her eyes, and my lowered gaze fell upon the opening between her legs. With her legs pressing straight ahead into my chest, bent slightly at the knees, I had an unobstructed and close up view of her black thong underwear. My already conflicted thoughts became jumbled, and my determination melted away.

“First of all,” she continued, “I told you to address me as Ms. Harper. I do not expect to have to tell you again. And from now on, when I come in each morning, you will get down on your knees and you will kiss my feet before you speak to me.”

She lifted her right foot off my chest, and brought the sole of her shoe to rest on my forehead. I was like a deer caught in headlights, frozen in position.

“You may acknowledge that you understand these instructions by opening your mouth, and sucking on my heel.”

The words rang in my head. ‘Acknowledge that you understand.’ My secretary had just given me orders to humiliate myself before her on a daily basis, and she was not even concerned that I might not agree to it! It was a fait accompli in her mind, and she merely wanted confirmation that I understood the new rules. She saw nothing the least bit outrageous in demanding that I take her filthy shoe heel into my mouth.

The moment brought me to a new crossroad. Could I fight my apparent longing to submit to her? Had my demanding cock drained every last ounce of blood from my brain? I noticed that my line of vision was almost entirely blocked by the bottom of her shoe resting on my face, and I realized that, again, my own inaction spoke for itself, and gave me the one answer I was afraid of.

I opened my mouth, and she inserted her heel.

“That’s better,” she continued. “You may suck while you listen.”

My mouth closed around her heel, and I mindlessly sucked as she explained our new reality.

“From now on, I expect my instructions to be obeyed without hesitation. I understand that this is all new to you, but I will not continue to be so patient with your indecision and slow responses. The work that you were expecting me to do for this job you will do yourself. For the remainder of the week, I will come and go as I please, and you will attend to my needs as I instruct you.”

She removed her heel from my mouth, returning her foot to my chest, and as our eyes met again, I felt a growing desperation inside me.

“Is that clear?”

“Yes, Ms. Harper,” I confessed, the words pouring from my mouth in a bizarre combination of both relief and panic.

She spun around, climbed off my desk, and sat down in the chair facing me.

“Good. Now, Jack, I would like you to come and kneel before me, and apologize for being so slow, and beg me to give you another chance. Oh, and Jack… I want you to be naked when you do it.”

She leaned back in the chair and crossed her legs. We had reached another crossroad. Up until this moment, my acts of submission, though degrading, had been motivated by the resulting inexplicable, yet intense thrill. But these thrills had come at a seemingly low risk. Now I was being told to remove my clothes in my office during a work day. And while my colleagues always knocked on my door before entering, some would typically knock and then enter immediately, anticipating my positive response. Being naked in front of my secretary would surely lead to my quick dismissal. My blood, which was pumping fast before, was now a bubbling cauldron.

“What if someone should walk in while I’m… I’m…?”

I couldn’t believe what I was saying! What in the world was compelling me to do this? I felt like I was having an out of body experience, merely an observer to the scene, hearing someone else responding to her on my behalf.

“Jack… you’re hesitating again.” She stood up, glaring at me with a fierce look of anger. She was suddenly a Goddess exerting her authority over me. “Strip! Now!”

I jumped to my feet in response to her command, and we stood eye to eye with only my desk separating us. At first, my hands moved slowly to my shirt buttons as I tried to understand my throbbing cock and rationalize the risk. What were the odds of someone actually discovering us? People didn’t walk into my office that often. As I removed my shirt and felt the cool air on my bare chest, I realized that Veronica’s latest demand, even more humiliating than the others, had also increased the level of my excitement. My heart raced faster, and I began to feverishly work at undoing my belt, then pulling off my shoes, socks and pants, as she stood silently watching me.

Finally, I stood only in my briefs, the head of my cock protruding out of the top, straining to push the waistband away from my stomach. Veronica sat back down.

“Naked. And on your knees.”

I removed my briefs, standing totally naked before her, and in spite of the incredible adrenaline rush, I suddenly felt deeply embarrassed and slightly queasy. Still, I dropped to my knees and crawled to her.

“Kiss my feet, and then speak.”

I bent forward, which forced my ass humbly upwards, and I kissed both her feet passionately. I then sat up, but kept my eyes looking down. I couldn’t imagine where my words were coming from.

“Please forgive me, Ms. Harper, for being so slow to follow your instructions. And please give me another chance to prove my obedience.”

She extended her right foot, and pressed her shoe forcefully against my cock. I closed my eyes in a strange ecstatic agony.

“You do want to obey me, don’t you, Jack?” she asked softly, pressing harder.

“Yes, Ms. Harper.”

“Yes, I believe you do. Then I shall give you another chance.” She pulled back her foot, and I lowered myself to again kiss her feet.

“Thank you, Ms. Harper.”

She stood and looked down at me.

“Oh, and Jack, one more thing. No more jerking off unless I give you permission. Serving me means that you give up control of your cock, and from now on you may cum only if I allow it. Understood?”

It was her first reference to anything specifically sexual, and hearing those words took me to an even higher, more euphoric state of arousal.

“Yes, Ms. Harper,” I groaned as I continued to kiss her feet.

Veronica then told me she was leaving to take care of some personal business. She seemed to enjoy brushing my face aside, apparently savoring the image of walking away while my face was pressed to her feet. She crossed my office and walked out, leaving the door wide open for anyone passing by to look in as I crouched naked behind the chair.

Frantic, and praying I was picking a safe moment, I dashed across my office, scooped up my clothes, and darted behind my desk. My thoughts quickly shifted to the sobering realization of what had just happened, and that I was now hiding naked behind my desk, trying to get dressed before anyone walked in. While Veronica had been in the room, I was unable to think rationally. The desire to do her bidding was like a narcotic. But now, the stupidity and shame of my behavior was all I could think about. I finished dressing and tried in vain to focus on my work.

I could not help anticipating her return all afternoon, my cock leaping to attention each time I thought about it, but she did not reappear. I called my wife to explain that I would be home late due to my heavy workload. In reality, I only needed to stay late in order to handle the work that Veronica was supposed to be doing.

And in doing her work, I realized that her control over me now extended beyond those moments that she was giving me direct commands. Later that night, the quiet drive home was offset by the screaming in my head. The disturbing reflections of my submission brought both an awareness that I was incapable of resisting her domination, and a frightening recognition that I desperately yearned for more.





On my way to work Wednesday morning, I confronted an unsettling truth: Not only had my resistance to Veronica´s domination been futile, I no longer wanted to even try to resist. Strong feelings of guilt had been usurped by the powerfully erotic thrill that came from my submission. The arousal was so intense, the desire to serve her so overwhelming, that the recurring images of my humiliating behavior were keeping me in a state of almost perpetual erection. And each time I considered satisfying my ever-present need for release, recalling Veronica´s voice forbidding me to do so acted like a d**g that kept me under her control, and left me even more stimulated.

Oddly, even though my thoughts about Veronica were so sexually charged, completely absent from those thoughts was the obvious and normal desire to make love to her. My obsession with Veronica focused solely on the bizarre turn-on I felt when degraded by her. In fact, my passionate love and desire for my wife had not diminished in any way. Yet, something compelled me to obey Veronica´s demand that I receive her permission before release, so Tuesday night I had avoided making love to my wife. It proved in no uncertain terms that Veronica had become a very dangerous presence in my life.

Work was piled at my desk, but I could do nothing except think about Veronica´s pending arrival, and the excitement that greeting her in the prescribed manner would bring. At 10:30, she finally appeared. Today dressed casually in workout attire, Veronica took just two steps into my office and then stopped, leaving the door open. It was clearly a test, for whatever I did would be seen by anyone passing by. But this time, I didn´t care about any possible repercussions. Countless hours of desperate throbbing in my painfully swollen cock had overridden any need for security or decorum.

I rose and almost ran to her, too embarrassed to look her in the eyes, but ecstatic to drop to my knees and shower her sneaker-clad feet with kisses. She was not at all surprised.

"That´s just lovely, Jack. I´m happy to see you too."

She swung the door closed and walked passed me, but instead of stopping at her usual chair, she continued around my desk, sat down in my seat, and put her feet up.

"Oh, that feels good. I´ve been jogging for over an hour, Jack, and my feet could really use some attention."

I rose and approached my desk. As I did, she pointed to the floor next to her.

"Come here, beside me," she instructed.

I walked around my desk and knelt before her. She swung her legs off the desk, bringing one sneaker down on my thigh, and the other leg to rest on my shoulder. I untied the laces of the sneaker in front of me, removed it from her foot, and then removed her sock. The odor from her foot and the sweaty sneaker brought me back to our first encounter only two days before. So much had changed in 48 hours. I began to massage her foot, but she lifted her leg, and brought the bottom of her foot up to my face. I took a deep breath through my nose as I kissed the sole of her foot. The smell accentuated the depravity of the moment, and inspired my cock to try to exceed its already achieved maximum size. Although I still didn´t understand why my body responded in that way, the pleasure was undeniable.

"You should have been born in ancient times, Jack. You would have made such a good slave." She rubbed her foot across my face. "You wish you could be my slave, don´t you Jack?"

"Yes, Ms. Harper."

She lowered her foot and allowed me to continue the massage. After several minutes, she switched the position of her legs, and I removed her other sneaker. Again, she placed her sole against my face and let it linger there, watching with satisfied amusement as I passionately caressed her aromatic foot. Eventually, Veronica withdrew her foot, interrupting my worship.

"Jack, I have a problem for you to solve. I need to go to the bathroom now, but I don´t want to put my sweaty socks and sneakers back on. And I don´t want to walk down the hall and into the bathroom in bare feet. So what am I to do?"

"About going to the bathroom?"

"Yes, Jack. I have to pee. What are you going to do so I don´t have to make the trip down the hall?"

I looked around my office for something that might do the job. There, on a shelf, was an engraved silver Revere bowl I had been given in recognition of my team´s first place finish in a sales competition. I offered Veronica the bowl.

"Wonderful Jack. That will do just fine. Now go fetch it for me, and then turn your back to give me some privacy."

I retrieved the bowl, and turned my back to her as instructed. As I heard the rustling of her clothing behind me, I thought about her reference to my being her slave. It was now clear that Veronica had no desire for me other than as a toy for her entertainment. But frighteningly, that is exactly what I craved. Now, having assigned me to slave status, she apparently felt I did not deserve to even view her in her current state of partial nudity.

I heard the unmistakable sound of her pee hitting the silver bowl; a steady stream that continued for about 15 seconds, followed by a few additional short squirts. How symbolic that this silver trophy marking my success had been reduced to serving as a receptacle for her piss. I heard her pull up her pants and sit back down in the chair.

"You may return to your position, Jack."

I turned to kneel again, and I saw that she had set the bowl on the floor between her feet. I offered to remove it, but she told me that I´d have a chance to empty it later. As I knelt, she brought her legs up to rest on my shoulders again.

"You did very well coming up with the bowl idea, Jack. I feel much better now. But I´m afraid disposing of my pee presents you with a new problem. If you carry it down the hall to the bathroom, you´ll never be able to get passed the secretaries. They would certainly wonder why you´re carrying your silver bowl so carefully, and stop you to see what was in it. I can just see you trying to explain walking around with a bowl full of piss. And you can´t wait until everyone´s gone at the end of the day, because by then it will have such a rancid smell. You can´t have your office smelling like a public bathroom, now can you? No, Jack, you´ll have to think of something else."

I looked around my office for inspiration, but there was no place to empty the bowl. Even my office windows were sealed. She leaned forward in her chair, which shifted more weight to her legs resting on my shoulders, and forced my upper body lower.

"That´s the challenge, Jack. How are you going to get rid of my pee?"

Even as I bent forward, I continued to try to look around for ideas. But Veronica began to fold her legs inward, crossing them and applying pressure with her calves to the back of my head, forcing it to tilt downward, and bringing the bowl below me into view.

"You´re not focusing, Jack. What can you do with it?"

She leaned in closer, adding more force from her legs, and my upper body continued to drop lower. The bowl was about a foot below my face when I suddenly felt her hands on the back of my head. Veronica leaned in and whispered as she pushed my head lower.

"How will you get rid of my piss, Jack?"

Instinctively, I tried to counter her pressure, but my neck muscles were no match for her arm strength. She forced my head down until it reached the top of the bowl, my face now so close to the bowl´s contents that my breathing created ripples. Her own idea for how I could dispose of her pee required no further articulation. As she held my head in place at the bowl´s surface, I felt my heart racing, and I silently cursed the strange obsession that had both led me to this predicament, and even now prevented me from getting up. I knew what she wanted me to say, and my conspiring cock insisted that I not defy her.

"What could you do, Jack?" she taunted again, and I muttered my reply into the bowl.

"I could drink it."

"Ooooh. Would you like to drink my piss, Jack?"

"No."

"But you will drink it if I tell you to, won´t you Jack?"

What had happened to me? How could even this disgusting proposition turn me on? I tried one more time to summon the strength to resist. Veronica sensed my moment of hesitation, and knew exactly how to zero in for the kill.

"In fact, you´d love it if I made you drink it, wouldn´t you Jack?"

"No," I whispered, knowing I was lying.

"You even wish I´d make you beg to drink it, don´t you Jack?"

Each taunt sent an explosive shock wave through my cock. I could do nothing to stop this nightmare because every erotic fiber of my being was feeding off this humiliation.

"Don´t you want to have to beg me to drink it, Jack?"

"Yes."

"Go ahead, Jack… Beg me."

"Please…" I began, almost crying into the bowl.

"Please what, Jack?"

"Please let me drink your piss."

"You want to be my personal toilet, Jack?"

"Yes."

"Alright, Jack. You may drink my pee, but only if you drink every last drop."

I lowered my face into the bowl, and began to lap up her pee the way a dog drinks water from its dish. All of my senses were on overload: The smell, the taste, the humiliation, the excruciating ache in my rigid cock. All had combined to bring me to a mental and physical place I had never been before. blood was surging through my cock under such pressure, it felt as if it could literally explode. I continued to drink until I drained the bowl, and when it was empty, I licked the bottom.

Panting, I finally stopped and stared into the empty bowl, too embarrassed and shaken to look up. There was no pride in my accomplishment, only shame. But even shame took a back seat to my all-consuming need for release. I was desperate for her permission, because in my mind, Veronica did now control my cock. I had just consumed a bowl of her piss to prove it.

"Please, Ms. Harper," I whispered.

"What is it, Jack?"

"I need to cum. I can´t bear how much it hurts."

"Oh, I´m so sorry, Jack. Stand up and lower your pants, so I can see your poor cock. I have a reward for you for being such a good boy."

A ray of hope flashed through my pounding head. At last, she was going to take pity on me and grant me that tiny push needed to send me over the edge. Quickly, I was standing with my cock free and jutting toward her, more painfully engorged than it had ever been. Veronica reached into her bag, and pulled out a short plastic strap.

"This is just like a hospital wrist band, Jack. But, I like to call it a cock collar, because this one doesn´t go around your wrist. And Jack, you had better not cum while I´m putting this on you."

Veronica edged forward in the chair, and guided the strap from under my balls to around the top of the base of my cock. The light touch of her fingers on my over-stimulated cock was easily enough to get me off, but I focused all my energy on fighting the urge. She tightened the band, which squeezed the underside of my sac and forced my balls up and forward. My teeth clenched as I felt that pre-ejaculation sensation. Veronica locked the band in position as I remained at the brink, and she sat back in her chair while my cock bobbed in the air, anticipating the eruption that had been denied.

"That name tag is your reward, Jack. But instead of your name, it reads ’Property of Ms. Harper´. Now you have a constant, physical reminder that your cock belongs to me."

"But, I…?"

"Oh, I know. You thought I was going to let you cum? You´ve been good today Jack, but you still haven´t earned that privilege. As my slave, you must learn self-control. Now, go ahead and pull up your pants."

Defeated, yet stimulated by her calling me her slave, I did as I was told, adjusting to the sensation of the plastic band wrapped securely around my cock and balls. She´d pulled it so tight that even if I wasn´t hard, there would be no way to slip the band off. I began to think about the implications of my new identification tag. How could I possibly hide this from my wife? Veronica, meanwhile, happily made those implications perfectly clear.

"You realize that just like a hospital bracelet, the only way to remove it is to cut it off."

She stood up, and leaned in closely towards me.

"But, I know you won´t cut it off, Jack… because you want to be branded as my slave."

She moved her body up against mine, her lips whispering directly into my ear.

"You want it so badly; you´ll even risk your wife discovering my name tag on you."

Veronica suddenly grabbed my cock through my pants, and held it tightly. I shut my eyes and gnashed my teeth, frantically fighting off the driving urge to cum right at that moment. She continued in a soft voice.

"You have such wonderful slave potential. Perhaps tomorrow you´ll earn the privilege of cumming for me."

I was completely at her mercy. The combination of her touch, her scent, her breath on my ear, and the stimulating words she spoke, all conspired to leave me weak in the knees. Veronica stepped back to retrieve her bag, while I continued to stand with my eyes closed, slowly regaining control. I heard the door open, and as I opened my eyes and looked over, I saw Veronica walk out.

I picked up the silver bowl that I had licked clean, and returned it to its former place of honor. Each step I took generated a sensation in my groin as my underwear brushed against my pushed up balls, and the edges of the strap dug into my skin. The friction forced me to pause every few steps, just to keep myself from going over the edge.

I had become the stereotypical male who lets his cock do his thinking, and now Veronica´s ownership collar, both literally and figuratively, had me by the balls. I had willingly become her slave, and every movement I made was a reminder of that fact. I was sinking deeper into an abyss, with seemingly no control over my freefall.

My mind was plagued with a devastating dilemma. Even as I felt almost physically sick at the thought that my actions could destroy my marriage, my body still insisted that I obey Veronica´s commands. I plotted how to keep the property tag private, and how to make it through the night without cumming. I was miserable, and yet my misery was not sufficient motivation to cut off the strap and end my suffering. I could only wait helplessly, and wonder how I would survive what laid ahead.







I was beginning to feel schizophrenic. My mood was swinging violently from euphoric arousal to apocalyptic depression. I could close my eyes, and images of my submission to Veronica would send me into an extended state of erotic bliss, with every microbe of my being focused on the pleasure emanating from my perpetually pulsing cock. Then, fear and depression would take hold, and I'd suddenly find myself thinking about the man who confesses that he lost his home and business due to his gambling compulsion, or the man who couldn't overcome his drinking problem until after he ruined his marriage. And I wondered if that man was me.

Was I that far gone? Could I permit my behavior to become that self-destructive? A reality check did nothing to allay my fear. At that very moment, while lying in my bed next to my wife, the identification strap which read "property of Ms. Harper" was locked securely around my cock and balls. All it would take to be discovered was for my wife to decide that she wanted to play, and reach out for my cock.

Veronica's words played over and over in my head. "You want to be my slave so badly that you'll even risk your wife discovering it." How could it be true? And yet, there I was putting my marriage at risk just to satisfy this inexplicable sexual desire. A previously intelligent, cautious man, I was now making life decisions based solely on the needs of my cock, a cock controlled by the euphoric sensation that came from doing Veronica's bidding.

And if, in fact, I was truly at Veronica's mercy, what then? Would there be no demand I could refuse? No indignity I wouldn't suffer? Would my desperate need to be her slave, actually lead me to ruin? Those were the questions that offset the thrill, and swung my mental pendulum back to depression.

That depression was reinforced on Thursday when Veronica never showed up for work. I could barely focus on my job, and knew that the quality of my work was suffering. In addition, I continued to do all of Veronica's work so nobody would become suspicious about her absence. By 5:00, I knew I'd have to stay late to get the essentials taken care of, and I called my wife to advise her of my timing.

"What do you mean you have to work late tonight?"

I was taken aback by the question. My wife knew I only worked late when I had to, and she had never questioned my doing so in the past.

"I've got all this work that has to get done," I began to explain, but she cut me off.

"No, I don't mean that. Did you forget that Veronica is coming for dinner tonight?"

My heart stopped, and my mouth literally fell open. A thousand questions raced through my mind. What in the world was she talking about? Veronica coming to dinner?!? Though my wife knew I had a temp this week, I was absolutely sure that I had never even mentioned Veronica by name. But there was no other Veronica she could be talking about. What did my wife know? The seconds were ticking by, and I had to say something.

"What?" was all I could manage.

"You've got some explaining to do, Jack. Such as why you felt the need to invite this temp to our home for dinner? And how you could forget to tell me about it, so now I've got almost no time to get everything ready? And don't tell me now that you're coming home late. She's going to be here at 6:00, and I have absolutely no interest in entertaining her by myself."

"Hon, I'm sorry. I must have forgotten. You, uh, spoke with her?"

"Fortunately, yes. If she hadn't called to ask me what she could bring, I would have been totally unprepared. I must have sounded like an idiot not knowing that she was going to be our guest this evening, but she was very sweet about it. So finish up, and get home pronto, okay?"

"Right. Sure. Sorry."

I hung up the phone, and felt suddenly nauseous. Everything was spiraling out of control. I had no way to contact Veronica to dissuade her from following through with her plan, whatever it was. In one hour she would be in my home, talking to my wife about who knows what? As I frantically considered my options, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Jack, I'm so sorry I couldn't make it to work today."

"Veronica, what the hell are you doing? Why did you call my wife and invite yourself to dinner?"

"I understand you're surprised, Jack, so I'm going to be extremely generous and ignore that rude outburst. I invited myself to dinner because I decided it would be fun to sit next to your wife while picturing you worshipping me. And you want me to have fun, right Jack? You want to do whatever makes me happy, don't you Jack?

"Veronica, please."

"Remember your place, Jack. And let me hear you beg."

"Ms. Harper, please. I'll do anything you ask, just please don't bring my wife into this."

"Mmm. Sorry Jack. Your wife is already expecting me, and I don't want to be impolite. I just called to give you a word of warning: If you want things to go well tonight, do not remove your property collar. Understand?"

"Please don't do this."

"If you're very good, you may even get to cum. See you in an hour, Jack."

And with that, she hung up. I put down the phone and sat there in a stupor. What could I do? I looked down at the bulge in my crotch, picturing Veronica's property tag inside my pants. Her words stimulated and horrified me at the same time. How could I go home still wearing it under these circumstances? And yet, if I didn't do as Veronica instructed, she'd made it clear I would regret it. I had to leave it on, and pray that Veronica did not betray me. And, I had to leave immediately if there was any hope of getting home before Veronica got there.

The anxiety during my drive home was palpable. I was already sweating just from the anticipation of the encounter; how would I possibly survive this evening with my world intact? I felt a flicker of understanding for people who are driven to extreme measures out of desperation. I needed to do something to make this nightmare go away. But all I could do was tell myself over and over what a jerk I was for digging my own grave.

When I arrived home, the absence of an unfamiliar car in front of the house provided a moment of relief. At least I would be present to hear anything that Veronica said to my wife. But even that miniscule consolation soon disappeared as our doorbell rang moments after I got inside the house. My wife was busy in the kitchen, and I called out that I would get the door.

My already heightened apprehension skyrocketed when I opened the door and saw Veronica. She was dressed in a short black leather skirt, a black leather top accented with silver studs, and calf high, stiletto heel boots. I almost wished for a heart attack to put me out of my misery. Veronica looked at me and didn't move.

"The usual rules still apply, Jack", she said, extending her right foot forward slightly.

"Please, Veronica" I begged.

"All the rules, Jack, and be grateful I don't insist you call me Mistress."

"Yes, Ms. Harper."

I glanced back at the kitchen doorway, knowing my wife would walk through it at any moment, and as quickly as I could, I dropped to my knees and kissed Veronica's boots. With my heart pounding, I rose to my feet just as my wife emerged from the kitchen. Veronica walked through the entranceway, and as I closed the door behind her, I sensed that I had just permitted the devil into my home.

"Diane, this is Ms. Harper," I said, and as soon as the words came out of my mouth, I realized how ridiculous they sounded. My wife noticed also.

"Hello. Nice to meet you. It's Veronica, right?"

"Yes. Jack is always so formal at the office, but I think it's sweet that he calls me Ms. Harper. So many bosses have no respect for their secretaries. But Jack really knows the meaning of respect."

I had no doubt that Diane was shocked by Veronica's attire, but she hid it admirably. I offered to pour drinks, and Diane said she had more preparations to tend to. We left Veronica in the living room and slipped into the kitchen. As I opened a bottle of wine, and Diane stood at the stove, her curiosity could no longer be contained.

"So, does she dress that way at work?"

I chuckled to indicate I shared her surprise at Veronica's attire.

"No, it must just be her thing, you know, on a social level.

"She's quite striking, Jack. You never mentioned that your temp looks like Claudia Schiffer. You're lucky that I know you don't choose your own secretary."

"Funny. Well, you can rest comfortably knowing tomorrow is her last day."

I gave Diane her glass of wine and headed back to Veronica. She was seated comfortably, leaning back in our leather recliner with the footrest extended. In addition to her natural beauty, something about her leather outfit in the leather chair, contrasted by her bare thighs, was especially sexy, and as I handed her the glass, I was already hard.

"Show me your collar."

"Veronica. Ms. Harper, please" I whispered.

"I told you I wanted to have fun, Jack. And making you squirm for me is fun. Now show me you're still wearing my name tag."

I glanced quickly at the kitchen door, and then stepped back into the hallway, where Veronica could still see me, but where I'd be out of my wife's sightline if she should suddenly walk in. I undid my belt, lowered my pants, and exposed myself, property tag and all, to Veronica.

"Very good, Jack. Now come remove my boots and suck on my toes."

My nightmare was intensifying. Veronica knew I couldn't refuse her commands, because doing so would encourage her to reveal everything to Diane. Yet she was putting me at tremendous risk by demanding I submit to her in my own home, virtually in my wife's presence.

"And don't whine each time I tell you to do something, because I'm not going to give you a second chance. Now, come and serve your Mistress, slave."

And that was it. She had summed up my situation in one tidy sentence. Veronica knew I was going to serve her as she ordered me to. Though I loved only my wife, at the same time I was Veronica's slave, and my near bursting cock gave me no hope that I could refuse her.

I hurried to Veronica, removed her boots, and knelt down with my back to the kitchen. I lowered my head and sucked her toes, knowing that any second Diane could walk in. The scent of her feet made my head swoon, and was almost enough to transport me away from the horrifying reality of the scene. But not quite. I finished giving each toe individual attention as quickly as I could and stood up, retreating backwards into the hallway as I heard my wife enter the room.

I forced my rigid cock back into my pants and quietly zipped my fly as Diane sat down on the sofa at the end farthest from Veronica. The bulge in my pants was impossible to hide, so I made sure to turn with my back towards Diane when I walked past her. I sat beside her on the sofa and quickly crossed my legs to hide my bulge. With the footrest of the easy chair extended, Veronica's feet were only about two feet from my end of the sofa, and pointed directly at us. She began to wiggle her toes deliberately.

"Diane, I hope you don't mind my taking off my boots. My feet were suddenly feeling very cramped."

"No, that's perfectly okay. No reason why you should suffer."

"Thanks. Because, you know, some people might find it rude... especially if they were smelly. But, I don't think mine are smelly, do you Jack?"

My body tensed as I confronted the absurd question. What did she think I would do, bend forward and smell them? I glanced over at Diane, who stared at me with a blank, slightly quizzical expression.

"Well," I chuckled. "I certainly don't smell them from here."

"That's good. Although, and excuse me if this sounds crude, there are some people who are turned on by feet, even smelly feet."

"Oh, sure, foot fetishists," I quickly interjected, hoping my comment would break Veronica's monologue and allow me to change the subject, but she lifted one leg up about 6" off the footrest, stared admiringly at her own foot, and continued.

"I dated a man once who loved to worship my feet. Isn't that wild, Diane?"

"Yes. But you do have lovely feet Veronica, so it's not so unbelievable. Mine are not nearly as attractive."

"Oh, I'm sure you're just being kind. You mean Jack's never showed any interest in your feet?"

I had to try again to stop where this was going.

"Veronica, I don't know that this is such an appropriate topic of conversation."

"Oh, I know Jack, but after all, tomorrow's my last day working for you, so it's not really like a coworker is asking such a personal question. I just happen to enjoy learning about what turns people on. I'm sorry if I offended you Diane."

"No," Diane replied, somewhat taken aback, but surprisingly interested in the direction of the conversation. "You didn't. And it certainly does make for more interesting talk than the weather!"

"Oh, I'm so glad you feel that way."

"If you don't mind my saying so, Veronica, it looks from the way you dress that you like men to notice you in that "worship" sort of way."

I was shocked to see Diane pick up Veronica's lead and run with it. We never discussed anything remotely sexually related with others. Suddenly, I was merely a bystander as their conversation picked up steam.

"Mmm, you are very astute, Diane. That is precisely what gets my juices flowing; what about you?"

"Well, Jack is very adoring, but... Jack, maybe you should cover your ears, or leave the room or something," Diane joked, then turned back to Veronica "...but I don't think he'd go in for the type of thing we're talking about."

"You mean that "real worship" sort of thing?"

"Yes."

"Uh, ladies...," I interjected, but they ignored me as if I wasn't even sitting there.

"That "kneel and serve me" sort of thing?"

"Yes."

"That "be my slave" sort of thing?"

There was a sudden silence. My heart was pounding. Veronica stared at my wife as Diane blushed.

"Yes."

"Have you ever asked him?"

"Well... no."

The moment was surreal. Though Diane never talked publicly about our private life, here she was discussing something extremely intimate, and revealing to a stranger feelings she had never spoken about to me. If the growing intensity was any indication, she also seemed to be getting aroused by the conversation. I looked back and forth at the two of them; their eyes were locked on each others. They continued to talk as if I wasn't there.

"Perhaps you should."

"But, what if he doesn't...you know?"

"Or I can ask for you if you're too uncomfortable?"

There was another awkward silence. I looked over at Diane, but she did not look back at me. She was hesitating to answer Veronica's question, which Veronica took as an opening.

"So how about it, Jack? Diane seems to like the idea of you worshipping her in a "serve me and be my slave" sort of way. Does that turn you on, imagining yourself a slave?"

Diane looked at me in silence, waiting for my answer. If she only knew the irony of Veronica asking me that question. I looked back over at Veronica. The subject being discussed had only made my erection harder, yet I was speechless.

"I think his silence means he likes the idea Diane. But I also think it means you just have to take control. That's probably the encouragement he needs. Jack, why don't you start by giving Diane's feet some attention?"

Like a zombie, I turned back to look at my wife. She stared at me but said nothing. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion.

"Diane?" I asked, not really believing she expected me to do anything. Veronica filled the silence.

"Why don't you get on your knees Jack?"

The fantasy/reality had come full circle. Here was Veronica telling me to get on my knees, just as she had done each time she dominated me, but now in the presence of my wife, playing the role of surrogate dominatrix on Diane's behalf. How in the world had we gotten to this place? I still wasn't sure what Diane thought about all this. But then, Diane lifted her leg, and dangled her foot in front of me.

"Diane?" I asked again in a whisper, still needing confirmation. Diane spoke in a soft voice.

"I like Veronica's idea, Jack. And there's something about her sitting here, watching and instructing you, that feels so hot."

This was either about to become a nightmare or a dream come true, depending on what Veronica chose to say or not say. I dropped to my knees in front of the sofa, and took Diane's foot in my hands. In a flash, Veronica was out of her chair and positioned herself behind me, whispering in my ear.

"Take off her shoe, Jack."

I did, and proceeded to follow each successive instruction. I was still her slave, but now serving my wife at her command.

"Bury your face in the bottom of her foot, and take a deep breath. Now kiss it gently... Now lick it... Now suck on each toe, and clean between them with your tongue... Now ask her to let you be her slave."

"Diane, will you let me be your slave?"

"No, don't ask her. Beg her."

"Diane, please. I beg you to let me be your slave."

"Jack," Diane whispered, almost giddy. "I'm so wet."

"Tell her the other things you want, Jack. Now's your chance."

I was so turned on, but also terribly self-conscious and embarrassed at the prospect of telling Diane all my hidden fantasies. She obviously enjoyed my foot worship, but what if she found the others disgusting? Veronica played her trump card.

"Tell her Jack," she repeated, and then added in a voice so soft only I could hear her, "Or I will."

That was the final push I needed to confess all my secret desires to Diane. How aroused I got at the thought of being her slave and used in humiliating ways; how I wanted her to demand that I serve her, how I wanted to have to beg to worship her feet and her ass, and even to be used as her toilet.

When I finished, I lowered my head, not knowing what to do next. I heard Veronica putting her boots back on.

"If it's okay with you Diane, how about if I come back another time for dinner. I think you two probably want to be alone now."

"Thank you so much," Diane replied.

"Jack, I'll call you in the morning to see if you want me to come into work for my last day. If it feels too awkward, I'll understand."

And with that, Veronica left our home, having successfully transformed Diane and my sexual lives. Before joining Diane in the bedroom, I was able to slip away and remove Veronica's ownership tag from my cock. And as I headed for my first performance as my wife's slave, I thought back to my phone conversation with Veronica that afternoon and remembered her final words about this evening: "If you're very good, you may even get to cum."