keywords: Fdom,inc,feet

It wasn't easy growing up with Mom ruling the roost; she was always
very domineering, and took a perverse pleasure in enforcing her will
upon me. Espescially when I got into high school and started expanding
my social circle, Mom was really weird about exhibiting her authority.

I remember one Friday night after dinner I was getting ready to go to
a popular party that was happening down by the waterfront. I had asked
Mom if I could go several days ago and reminded her as I was clearing
the dishes.

"Oh honey, don't go out already, I was going to have you give me a
foot rub, my feet are all cramped and sore from being on my feet all
day at work." I explained I had to leave at 7:00 to get a ride to the
party, but Mom had already made her mind up. I fussed and complained
about how I was practically a grown adult and she couldn't stop me from
going. She raised one eyebrow and leveled one of her calculated stares
at me.

"Young man, you have two choices," she patiently explained. "You can
either pick up that phone and call your friends and apologize that you
won't be able to make it out. Or *I* can pick up the phone and I can
call each of your friends, and explain your absence by telling them
you'll be busy spending your Friday night massaging your Mother's
stinky feet and polishing her toenails while she relaxes and watches
her soap operas."

Mom always seemed to work her feet into it too -- those wide, callused
size 12 instruments of torment that were ALWAYS smelly, at least
anytime Mom pointed them in my direction. Mom often wears leather
lace-ups over bare feet, you can imagine what that's like when she
peels the shoe off of her hot pink, sweat-wrinkled foot. Or sometimes
she'll wear the same pair of pantyhose for several days without ever
changing out of them. I have given those sweaty feet MANY massages,
and half the time she interrupts the foot rub to have me peel off her
stinky nylons or socks and give her bare feet a pedicure or service
them with lotion.

A couple of times I pleaded with Mom that I liked helping her and
pampering her, but I was frustrated about not having a social
life. She leaned forward to brush my hair and smiled reassuringly.

"Honey, you don't have to worry, I have your whole life planned out
for you. You study hard, and after you graduate high school, we'll
look into finding you a nice home to marry into, a nice lady who you
can serve as a foot slave!"

"What are you talking about?" I asked with genuine shock.

"Well, honey, one of the reasons I have you spend so much time at my
smelly old feet, is to teach you so that I can marry you off to one of
my friends or one of my friends' daughters, and you can keep right on
doing chores and being a slave to women's feet!

"I want to keep you safe and happy, sweety, but I also like to
see you bow and obey. The women in my family have always believed in
turning boys into foot slaves, and lots of other women feel the same

"Remember how when you were a little boy, Mama would encourage you to
sit under the table while she played cards and drank coffee with her
friends? Remember being all tucked away down there, surrounded by
ladies' pretty feet? Didn't that feel nice?

"You WILL be married off to a woman as her foot slave, and you will
worship and pamper your Wife's feet, and most likely you will be a
slave to your Mother-in-Law's feet too. And you certainly will
continue massaging and pampering MY tired stinky feet on a regular

I was stunned by all of this. Everything Mom said sounded strange and
alien, but yet underneath it somehow almost made sense, like it made
the strangeness of my life somehow feel more like the pieces fell into

"You know it's true," Mom smiled in response to my silent
non-reaction. I blushed and swallowed nervously and lowered my
head. "You know you're under the power of my feet and there's nothing
you can do about it." More silence.

"So just to show that we understand one another," Mom pronounced, "I
want you to lick my foot. Lick my dirty stinky foot, the same smelly
old foot I order you around with day in and day out. Lick my dry,
callused heel and lick my wrinkled smelly footsole and lick in between
those tired, grimy toes I'm always wiggling in your face."

I was already licking. I slurped and lapped at Mom's sweaty, wrinkled
arches, I hungrily sucked on her smooth ball-of-foot, I sucked and
licked her triumphantly wiggling toes and kissed her red-polished
toenails. I started to whimper and cry with confusion and humiliation,
but mostly I desperately licked and sucked and worshipped Mom's feet.

I sucked Mom's toes and kissed the tops of Mom's feet for a long time,
until she eventually had me lie on my back so that my face was
directly underneath the soles of her feet. She quietly used my face as
her footrest, scrunching and flexing the wide, fleshy feet which I had
just licked eagerly which still smelled strongly with a pungent,
leathery, gritty, dank aroma. I had eagerly and voluntarily licked
those grimy, sweaty dirty feet. I had licked my Mother's smelly bare
feet, and part of me had *liked* it.

After that night, things sort of went into fast forward. I was Mom's
foot slave and there was no question about it. When she got home in
the evening, I would bow down and sit at her feet, and she would have
me help her off with her shoes and nylons or socks, and tease me with
her stinky, callused feet, and I would thank her for the privilege.

Mom started inviting her friends home after work, to show me off as
her foot slave, and I didn't even hesitate when Mom told me to kneel
and lick her dirty sweaty foot in front of a complete stranger (or in
front of a long-time friend of Mom's who I've known since I was a
little boy). Soon enough, Mom had me serving other ladies' feet --
giving her friends foot massages and pedicures, kissing their feet and
obeying their orders. Mom began occassionally loaning me out to other
women as their feet slaves -- mostly older, more mature ladies
(coworkers, neighbors, Mom's family friends) who I would serve
overnight or for a weekend or more, being ordered to worship their
smelly old feet in all sorts of ways.

Usually after I was loaned out for training at another woman's feet,
Mom would subject me to an espescially intense foot humiliation
session, to make sure I was mentally and sexually enslaved to the
smell and taste and sensation of HER big, powerful feet.

Some days I was lent out to give pedicures and foot msssages to stern
grey-haired women easily old enough to be my Grandmother (and whose
feet were extremely bony and wrinkled and callused). Other days I was
lent out to groups of young women of my own age or slightly older. I was a
little relieved I wasn't humiliated at the feet of any of my
classmates from school, but one weekend I was sent to serve as a
slumber party foot slave for the college-aged big sister of a girl
from several of my classes, and all of her friends. 

When I wasn't at school, my face was almost always full of womens'
feet. It wasn't even a big deal when Mom announced that she had made
an arrangement with the Spanish teacher, that two days a week I would
stay after school to provide her with a foot soak and do chores and
serve her. On my second day with her, she had me massage the smelly
feet of a couple other teachers to help them relax. A week later, when
I was sitting at the Spanish teacher's feet, a couple of "the popular
girls" stopped by her classroom, and I was ordered to crawl on my
hands and knees and kiss each of their feet (some in sneakers, some
revealed in pretty flip-flops). After that, there was a whole little
after-school "foot lounge", that when the teachers (or their feet)
couldn't find some use for me, I would be taken under the control of
some bratty young Miss who would put me through the paces at her soft,
young, sweaty bare feet.

After I graduated, it seemed like it was only a couple of weeks before
Mom announced I was to be married off as a woman's foot slave. My
bride-to-be was named Missy (the daughter of one of Mom's friends),
although I was never introduced to her by name -- I was just told to
bow down and kiss her sweaty feet and address her as Ma'am or
Goddess. One night my bride-to-be and her Mother came to visit, and I
was put through my paces licking and smelling and kissing both women's
feet (and Mom's of course), and soon enough Mom took me aside at the
end of the evening and told me how lucky I was to be a slave to these
women, and told me a little bit about what was to come.

She explained that first and foremost, I would be Ma'am's foot
slave. Ma'am was in her early-mid 30s, about 10-15 years older than
me. She is a full-figured woman (with wide feet, just like Mom's!),
very elegant and well-dressed and feminine. After the
wedding, I would live in a house with my Wife and Mother-in-Law, and be
a foot slave to both of them at all times.

Before the wedding, there was a bachelorette party for my Wife and her
friends and her Mother (and my Mom), and one of the attractions was
that I was there, and had to ceremonially kiss my soon-to-be
Mother-in-Law's sweaty foot, amidst lots of female jeers and
applause. I spent the rest of the night crawling from foot to foot,
kissing and massaging womens' feet and generally demonstrating that I
knew my place in my new life.

Before the wedding, Mom explained to me that I shouldn't feel too
badly if my Wife seemed to take me for granted. She explained that
marriages of this sort are often primarily a way to make a boy a slave
to the feet of his Mother-in-Law. That I would always be kept busy as
a slave to Women's Feet, and that I should always be grateful to
worship my Wife's sweaty feet, even when just from afar.

On the night after the marriage, there was another "girls only" party
where I was the only male allowed. My Wife, my Mother-in-Law, my Mom
were all there along with all of my Wife's friends, and many of
Mother-in-Law and Mom's friends, and curious women from around the
neighborhood. There was lots of food and drink and celebration, and I
was called forth to lick wedding cake from the dirty, sweaty sole of
Mother-in-Law's foot (then I had to lick some off my Wife's foot).

I spent our honeymoon as a submissive foot slave to my Wife and
Mother-in-Law, who spent the days sunning on the beach while I fetched
them drinks and food and waited on them and massaged their feet.

Since then, I have settled into a routine where I sleep at the foot of
my Mother-in-Law's bed, where I regularly lick her sweaty old feet
before bed each night, and start each day by kissing her dirty toes
and grimy balls of feet.

I still spend several hours a day serving my Wife -- doing her
laundry, cleaning her room, looking after her affairs -- and I am
grateful that she acknowledges me as her devoted ladies maid, and lets
me pamper her feet and take care of her elegant shoes as her schedule
allows -- there is usually at least one pedicure night a week, where my
Wife and Mother-in-Law relax and have me polish and file their
toenails and rub their tired feet with lotion.

But I spend most of each day bowing down to my Mother-in-Law, and to
my Mom, who is a frequent visitor to the household. My Wife and
Mother-in-Law and Mom have all hypnotized me into a life of foot
slavery, and every day I worship these amazing women and their
fantastic dominance!