From: an443934@anon.penet.fi (granite lightbulb)
Reply-To: an443934@anon.penet.fi
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: OF SHOES, DOGS AND MEN (1/1) (mf, beastiality, shoe/foot worship, femdom, forced castration, snuff)
Date: Fri, 15 Dec 1995 18:37:57 UTC
Organization: Anonymous forwarding service
Message-ID: <184308Z15121995@anon.penet.fi>



	OF SHOES, DOGS AND MEN





	I have never fancied myself a dominate person.  I honestly

still don't, although this may be hard for you to believe after

reading this narrative.  In defense of my case, consider this.  The

essence of life is balance, it is balance which maintains our

personalities and our interpersonal relationships.  Balance maintains

the who of who we are.  Such balance is not static; it changes from

day to day, and year to year. It is the modification of our lifestyles

in an effort to maintain balance which we perceive as personal growth.

I have the luxurious position of having observed my whole life.  I

have witnessed the overall balance and it is this which supports my

claim that I am not a dominate person.  However, considering only the

events which have occurred within the last month, the underinformed

reader may be forced to arrive at a different conclusion.

	I am young and educated - twenty-six, CUM LAUDE graduate from

Brown University.  I have been married for a year and a half now and

consider myself happily married.  As goes with the definition of

happiness, this does not mean it is ideal.  I have not found some Zeus

who is flawed only in what he lacks of me.  Rather, I found a slightly

peculiar, quite humorous, shy fellow who would barely look me in the

eye for the first twenty minutes after we were introduced.  I

considered him shy for staring at my shoe-tops instead of at me, but

after learning of what has recently transpired, such a sustained

glance might be considered incredibly bold.  Whatever the truth may

be, my first impression was that he was shy and also that I didn't

care much for him.  But as there was no one else at the party that

particular night who was more interesting to talk with, I stayed and

chatted with him nonetheless.

	It seemed that we talked about nothing in particular, but

found that we agreed on almost every subject approached.  I remember

Russ finally started spitting out topics in a frenzy to see if there

was anything on which we disagreed: politics, religion, fashion,

sports, meteorology, children's nursury rhymes.  We finally found an

impass on the subject of circus clowns, but after a brief discussion

and several humorous anecdotes by Russ, we realized we had the same

perspective on clowns as well.  I am afraid that I fell in love with

Russ that night partly because of his humor, partly because of his

intellectual opinions, and mostly because he caught me by surprise.

Who would have thought such a bumbling clod could in fact be such an

honest, gentle and feeling human being?  Every thirty year-old woman

knows of this disguise, hardly a single twenty-three year-old does.

That's how old I was when I fell for him.

	But let's get back to this dominance issue, and the night

which started the whole thing.  This was the night I crushed our dog's

testicles under the heel of my foot.  I realize that you must consider

me an evil, WICKED woman, but as you have already read this far,

perhaps you will read a little farther.  Bear in mind, I ask for no

consolation on your part.  Such a brutal act can hardly be condoned.

Yet, the effect it has had on my relationship with my husband, Russ,

is worth consideration.  In fact, it is this interesting new

progression of our relationship, progressing at this very moment,

which will establish the next balance in our lives.



	As a very wise man once said, "Begin at the beginning."  In

this case, the beginning is when I discovered Russ' sexually deviant

behavior which involved of all things, our dog Buck, and my shoes.

	About Buck.  Russ and I never discussed getting a dog.  Russ

simply brought a cocker-spaniel home from work one day.  I guess Russ'

boss had owned it, mistreated it, and was going to dispose of it.

Russ volunteered to take Buck home and I had no choice but to be

supportive.  If Buck's prospects weren't so grim I would have

adamently refused to take him in, as I strongly dislike dogs and Buck

really gave me the creeps.  As things turned out, Buck's future ended

up grim anyways.

	About my shoes.  I have a beautiful collection of shoes and

other clothing.  I guess this is one facet of my personality which

fits the female stereotype.  I love the way a certain dress, or a

certain pair of shoes, makes me look and feel.  I have over fifty

pairs of shoes, mostly leather and mostly flats.  It would be nice to

wear high heeled shoes, they really look quite good on me, but I am

six feet tall and any heel over two inches makes me taller than Russ.

(I'd love to use this as evidence for my non-dominance.  "See, I won't

even make myself taller than my husband."  But the truth is, I don't

like bending down to kiss.)

	Maintaining any articles of clothing in good condition

requires constant care, but shoes demand the most attention as they

are subjected to the worst treatment.  They are constantly being

stepped on and pounded into sidewalks and cement steps.  They get

banged into walls and chairs and tables.  I am always very careful not

to subject my shoes to any unnecessary ill treatment and therefore I

notice if and when they start to show such signs.  About two months

ago, I noticed something was wrong.  I thought I knew exactly what it

was too.

	I was putting on a pair of brown leather oxfords which had a

large wide strap and buckle across the top of each shoe.  As I slid in

my bare foot, I felt something sticky.  Removing the shoe I discovered

a yellowish congealed substance on the surface of the inner sole.  The

smell was unmistakeable, even dried.  It was semen.

	Immediately my thoughts turned to Buck and I hunted him down,

finally trapping him in the laundry pantry.  I showed him the shoe and

forced him to smell the sticky mess which he had made.  Surprisingly,

he began wagging his tail and licking the inside of my shoe!  "Bad

dog!" I yelled.  I swatted his buttocks twice with the shoe and he

began to run.  Just to accentuate the point, I kicked him square in

the groin as he was darting from the pantry.  He yelped and slid the

three feet remaining between him and the kitchen wall.  He turned to

growl at me but as I stepped out of the pantry, shoe raised, he

scrambled his way out of the kitchen like one of the Keystone cops

running on a street full of marbles.

	Peculiarly, even such a painful lesson had no effect on Buck.

I was beginning to find his dried ejaculate in more of my shoes.  I

kept the doors to the bedroom and the closet closed, but his semen

still found its way into my footware.  I was contemplating that this

dog might be somewhat smarter than it looked.  Luckily it was only a

few days more before I found cause to dismiss that foolish notion.

Buck had not in fact been exhibiting human-like ingenuity.  Rather,

Russ had been exhibiting a hound-like sexual prowess.



	The first hint I had that Russ was to blame for coating my

shoes with sperm came when I found semen stains in a pair of shoes

which I stored in a box on the closet shelf.  These were a pair of

black satin pumps with three-inch heels and ankle straps which I only

wear on special occasions.  I realized that it was physically

impossible for Buck to have taken the shoes off the shelf, had sex

with them, replaced them in the box, and put them back on the shelf.

Of course, one day when I myself had taken them off the shelf, he

might have had his way with them when I wasn't looking and I put them

back on the shelf for him.  It was a plausible idea, but I knew it was

unlikely.  I never leave those particular shoes hanging around.  If I

take them off the shelf, I wear them.  When I'm done, back they go.

They are sort of like fine china to me.  You might leave dirty dishes

around anywhere - the table, the sink - for long periods of time, but

china, you always look after.  Nevertheless, the stains in these shoes

convinced me of nothing.

	The second piece of evidence was less convincing than the

first and I barely gave it any thought.  One night I had left my

olive-colored ankle-high boots in the family room before Russ and I

retired for the evening.  The next day on the way to work I remembered

and chastized myself for being so careless.  "More semen cleaning," I

thought to myself.  But when I returned home, I had two surprises.

The boots were dry AND the boots were in my closet.  I passed these

two abnormalities off.  Perhaps I had remembered to store the boots in

my closet after all, only I hadn't remembered that I had secured them.

It is normal not to remember conditioned behaviors.  I hardly ever

remember having put on my blouse in the morning or starting my car,

yet I have no doubt that I perform these activities whether I recall

doing them or not.  So yet again I turned away from the truth of the

goings on in my home.

	The final piece of evidence was impossible to deny.  It was

small and simple and irrefutable.  I found a fragment of a tissue

stuck in the bottom of one of the black oxfords I had worn the day

before.  The tissue was saturated with seminal fluid.  Looking in the

kitchen garbage pail I found the rest of the tissue which had swabbed

the inside of my upper.  I could not turn my head from such concrete

evidence.  First, there was the semen.  Second, whoever deposited the

semen was self-conscious enough to cover up his act by attempting to

clean the shoe.  Third, the culprit was dexterous enough to use a

tissue (although clumsy enough to leave some behind.)  Last, the

remaining tissue had been transported and thoughtfully deposited in

the kitchen pail.  This was not the work of a dog.  This had to be the

doings of a human.



	Such evidence convinced me that Russ was having an afternoon

affair with my shoes, but I still found it hard to understand the

details of what was going on while I was at work.  I would need to

observe one of his shoe escapades directly.  I considered simply

skipping out of work and sneaking into the house to "catch" Russ in

the act.  Buck would complicate such a plan, though.  He could smell

me a mile away and would announce my arrival long enough in advance to

alert Russ.  The only chance was for me to return to the house long

before Russ, create an indifference in Buck as to my presence, and

simply hide there waiting for Russ to demonstrate his weakness.  Two

things popped into mind. One, if I am caught, I will have a hell of a

time explaining it to Russ.  Two, I will only have enough nerve to try

it once, so I had better make it good.

	Making it good I planned out carefully.  The night before I

intended to sneak home early, I relaxed in the den reading.  Our den

has a long utility closet with slatted doors which could provide both

concealment and an ample view of the room.  My only chance of

observing Russ in action was that he chose to perform in the room I

had chosen to hide in, which I decided would be in the den, in this

aforementioned utility closet.  That day I had worn an adorable pair

of open-toed pumps with one inch heels.  They were mostly white with a

pair of half-inch thick black stripes curved along the sides.  I

kicked off these pumps and "absent-mindedly" left them in the den when

I retired. Not-so-absent-minded, I closed the den door before I

prepared for bed so that Buck would not have the opportunity of

beating Russ to my shoes.  As Russ and I left for work the next

morning the door was still closed.  It would still be closed when Russ

returned for lunch, only I would be inside the closet.

	The next day everything went according to plan.  I took a few

extra hours off from the agency and arrived home around eleven.  I

parked two blocks away from the house down a dead end street so that

Russ would not spot our car.  I entered the house and withstood Buck's

usual "I-never-thought-I'd-see-you-again-and-I'm-so-happy" greeting.

God how I hate dogs.  After a quick bite to eat I was prepared for my

stake-out operation and went to wait in the den closet.

	About ten minutes after Russ arrived home he entered the den.

"Ah, here they are," I heard him mutter to himself as he picked up my

shoes.  Then louder to his partner he yelled, "C'mere Buck.  Time for

fun."  I was in business.  Whatever he would do, he would do there with

me watching.

	As Buck charged in I held my breath.  He started sniffing at

the closet door, but Russ paid no attention.  Russ seemed to be lost

in thought as he held my pumps, rubbing the tip of one of the soles

back and forth on his lower lip.  Twice he pulled this shoe away from

his mouth and looked at it carefully, flipping it over in his hand.

Suddenly the gerbil jam inside his head must have broken as he threw

the shoes on the couch and stripped naked.  Buck trotted over, tail

wagging, and I could see his penis beginning to grow.

	Russ began by sitting naked on the couch and inserting both

his penis and testicles into one my pumps.  He looked unbelievable

foolish sitting there buck naked stroking himself inside my left shoe

while he fondled the right one.  Later he lifted that right shoe up

and stuck his tongue in the toe opening to lick the inside of the

shoe.  The lunatic even tried to ram his penis through the toe

opening, but unfortunately for him, the head of his cock was too

thick.

	Russ realized, however, that Buck's penis would be thin enough

to fit through and knelt down beside him.  He inserted Buck's penis

into the toe opening of the pump and slid the shoe completely onto

Buck's penis.  Thus, while Russ was wearing my left shoe more or less

conventionally - that is, with the tip of penis where my toes would be

and his testicles in place of my heel - Buck was wearing the right

pump backwards such that the tip of his penis rested inside the HEEL

of the shoe.  The base of Buck's cock was squeezed into the

toe-opening transforming the pump into some wierd looking cock-ring.

Buck looked quite confused and would probably have been embarrassed to

have been seen by any of his other dog friends.  But I have to give my

husband credit; regardless of how unusual it looked, the shoe was in

proper orientation to yield Buck pleasure.  Russ grasped tightly

around the middle of the shoe (and Buck's penis) and began stroking

the shoe back and forth.  Buck in turn helped him along by thrusting

his pelvis towards Russ' hand.

	Soon Buck's thrusts became eratic and I realized he was about

to orgasm into my shoe.  Russ shoved the shoe down more tightly onto

the base of Buck's penis as Buck ejaculated another sample of his

semen inside yet another one of my good shoes.  This time, however, I

had witnessed the act.  And this time also, I had discovered that Buck

needed Russ' help to violate my footware.  This was enough for me, but

apparently not enough for Russ.

	After Buck had thoroughly creamed up the inside of my pump,

Russ tried to pull it off Buck's penis.  But the last thrust of Buck

must have lodged the knot of his penis up past the opening of the

shoe.  Russ would have to wait for the knot to subside before removing

the shoe.  Russ seemed pleased with Buck's predicament and lay down on

the floor, his face directly beneath both dog and shoe.

	Up until this point I had aquired the evidence I needed.  The

rest of the show was a bonus.

	Russ placed the heel of the shoe which remained on Buck into

his own mouth.  The pervert then began sucking on the heel, at least

from my vantage point in the closet I presumed it was the heel he was

sucking on, and continued stroking his own penis inside my other pump.

After about five tiresome minutes, Russ finally achieved an orgasm of

his own, firing his white stream of semen out through the tip of my

shoe, all over his belly and even into Buck's face.  Buck seemed happy

to have something to do while waiting to be released from my shoe and

licked up Russ' splattered semen.  When Buck's shoe could finally be

removed, Russ returned the favor by tilting the shoe up to his mouth,

and licking all of Buck's semen through the toe opening.  I sat in the

closet honestly amazed at the sex show I was witnessing.

	After Russ had returned to work, I crept out from my hiding

place and examined the shoes.  I observed the characteristic signs of

Russ and Buck's presence: small amounts of semen and saliva, as well

as a deformation in the leather material which made up the toe of my

shoe.  These shoes simply were not meant for such activities.  For the

next few days I was engrossed with determining how I should respond to

my confirmed suspicions and my newly aquired knowledge.





	I know that you will not approve of my initial response.  As I

have already conceeded, neither do I.  I honestly had not planned for

things to go as far as they did.  I know that this is no excuse.  I

must admit that I can now empathize with some of the men guilty of

rape.  It's easy to get caught up in the moment and go too far.

Again, I reiterate - that is no excuse.  Those who are guilty of going

too far are guilty nonetheless.  A crime in the heat of passion is a

crime nontheless.  Again, I think it's simply a matter that such an

act can be understood rather than condoned.  Just as clearly as the

act of Russ masterbating with my shoe can be condoned rather than

understood.

	To begin with, my plan was simple.  With Russ' help I would

begin masterbating Buck with one my shoes.  Then just after he

climaxed, I'd squish his balls in the heel of my shoe both to punish

him and to act as negative reinforcement should he be inclined to

court my shoes again.  I figured having Russ there would also help to

put Russ on edge slightly and help to get his shoe fetish out in the

open.  All in all, I figured that the whole thing could really spice

up our marriage.  It has.

	So two weeks after observing Russ and Buck at play, I

approached Russ with my "problem."



	"I'm having real trouble with Buck," I said.  "I think we

should consider either having him fixed or giving him away."



	"What?" Russ replied.  "Have Buck fixed?  Why do you want to

do that?  What's wrong with him?"



	"Well, to put it bluntly, he won't stop having his way with my

shoes, and he's beginning to ruin them.  As you know, I have great

taste in footware, and I really don't look forward to the expense or

the inconvenience of replacing my entire shoe collection every few

months because of Buck's indiscretions."



	The secret was out.  I could see the flush of embarrassment in

Russ' cheeks.  He covered himself well, though.



	"Come on honey," he said.  "There are other alternatives.  All

we need to do is keep him out of your closet and he won't be able to

play with your shoes."



	"I've tried that," I retorted.  "I've kept the door to both my

closet and our room closed over the last few weeks but somehow, when

I'm not around, he gets in there.  I really don't want the hassle of

keeping all my shoes on the closet shelf or having to lock them down

in the basement."



	I knew I was laying it on pretty thick but his mind was

reeling.  Part of his secret had been revealed.  He must have been

consumed with panic trying to alleviate my concerns without arousing

more suspicions.  It can be quite pleasureable playing with someone

this way.



	"What about some simple discouragement," he suggested.  "I'll

keep an eye on him, and if I see him lurking around our room, the

closets in particular, I'll scold him and swat him one.  That should

change his behavior."



	"I'm afraid that won't work either.  For the last few days,

whenever he came sniffing around by my feet or shoes, I'd give him a

sharp kick in the balls.  The way he yelped and backed away made me

think it was working.  He has been keeping a good distance from my

feet now and I can tell he's not all that happy to see me anymore.

But even with that, this afternoon I found more of his dried dog cum

in the bottom of my brown Candies.

	I know you are attached to him and all, but he's certainly not

my best friend and I'd just as soon get rid of him."



	I wasn't sure why I said the last sentance.  I hadn't planned

on going that far but after I did I was glad.  I never liked Buck and

this was my chance to get rid of him.  I had the justification for

getting rid of him.  Everything was working perfectly.



	"So that's why you brought up the idea of castration," Russ

stated.  "It's not that you want to stop him from boinking your shoes,

you want to make him pay for having already done it."



	"What an idiot!" I thought to myself.  Sometimes Russ can

really over-analyze things.  What the hell.  I might as well keep it

going.



	"I guess you may be right.  I hope you don't think I'm crazy,

but when I picture him screwing my shoes I somehow just want to

destroy him.  I want to squish him into a little ball and stomp on

him, reducing him to nothing but his little pool of dog jism."

	"Look Russ.  Buck's just a dog.  Not only that, he was

basically abandoned by your boss and if you hadn't been kind enough to

bring him home, he'd be destroyed now anyway. Help me get out a little

of my frustration on him and then we'll get rid of him.  OK?"



	"What do you want to do to him?" he queeried.



	I had him. The suggestion of me stepping in dog jism had

served its purpose.  .

	"I want you to help me to get him to screw my shoes again.  I

want to be there playing with his balls and just when he comes, I want

to squeeze them real hard.  Then we can bring him to the pound and get

rid of him for good.  I just want to be sure that he associates my

body with pain, the way he seems to associate my shoes with pleasure."



	Russ could hardly even respond.  He was far too excited.  As

he wrestled with his hormones he released an affirmation.  I gave him

the job of securing Buck as it was my turn to strip naked, wearing

nothing except my shoes.

	Strange as it might sound, I was quite nervous preparing for

my tryst with Buck.  Granted he enjoyed his aquaintances with my

footware when alone with them and Russ, but what if he would not be

sexually aroused when I was there?  I began to imagine attempts to

stimulate Buck's flaccid member inside my shoe, only to be rewarded

with the impossible task of restraining a figity cocker-spaniel.  I

gazed at my naked reflection in the mirror and for a few moments,

wondered how I could increase my sex appeal.  I snapped out of this

ridiculous train of thought, slipped into an inexpensive pair of brown

flats and returned to the living room.  I found both of them relaxing

on the couch, my husband stroking his best friend's erect penis.

	I sat down with the two of them and gently stroked Buck's

coat.  I was beginning to feel both embarrassed and deceitful.  Here I

was petting a creature for which I held no affection,with the hidden

intention of causing him extreme pain just after affording him the

extreme pleasure of a sexual orgasm.  I breathed deeply and without

really thinking about, made a decision as to continue or not.  I felt

slightly warm and aroused when I decided to continue and as the heat

grew and grew, I no longer felt in control of my own actions.  I was

the puppet of my subconscious mind.



	I began by offering my right flat to Buck.



	"Does Buckkie want to pway with mommy's shoe?" I asked in a

sweet seductive voice.



	Before Buck could answer for himself Russ grabbed the shoe and

knelt by the couch.  "Come on, Buck," he commanded.  "Time for a

little fun, boy."



	Buck lept from the couch, stood beside his master and allowed

said master to imprison his penis and testicles within my flat.  Russ

innocently looked up at me as his dog thrust away at the shoe in his

hand.  I breathed deeply again and slowly pressed Buck's back to the

floor with my foot.  Russ let go of the shoe he was holding and Buck

continued to pump it while it rested on the floor.  He was out of

luck; however, as the shoe simply slid back and forth in time with his

thrusts.  In my mind I began to see how I could make this all work.

	With my left foot I nudged him slightly onto his side so that

his penis and my shoe were exposed.  Asking Russ to hold him steady, I

then placed my right foot on top of his penis and slid into my shoe.

It felt wonderful.  His penis was so hot and soft underneath the arch

of my foot.  I could feel his testicles directly below my heel and

Buck seemed to realize the power I had over him as well.  Pleasure or

pain was mine for the giving.  Pleasure would be first.  I rocked the

ball of my foot up and down on his penis, and he pumped my shoe once

again.

	His thrusts were quite powerful and from my seated position on

the couch I could not stop the shoe from shimmying away from me.  I

stood up and resumed pumping the shoe in time with him so that it

stopped sliding away from us.  I could no longer contain my arousal

and began rubbing my clitorus with abandon.  I never thought I would

feel such passion for the warmth of a penis outside of me, but this

felt as good as any sex I had ever had.  Everytime I imagined rocking

back and squeezing his testicles, I shuddered and rubbed my clit a

little harder.  I would be climaxing soon.

	Buck began showing signs of his impending orgasm as well.

First, I felt the base of his penis beginning to swell underneath my

foot.  Next, there were streams of warm fluid cascading beneath my

toes and I heard Buck begin to growl.  I asked Russ to stand back.  I

did not know for sure how Buck would respond when I pinched his balls

but I remembered how he had snapped at me that morning in the kitchen

pantry.  There was no sense taking any chances.  I was in control of

Buck now anyway; Russ was no longer needed.

	I could easily differentiate between Buck's cum and pre-cum,

mostly from the feel of his penis.  His penis did not spasm when it

released pre-cum, the fluid seemed to simply drain out.  However, when

he climaxed and the real stuff shot out, it felt as if I had a mouse

in my shoe.  His penis was jumping around underneath me like mad.  I

kept pumping my foot up and down on him as he climaxed and prepared

myself for my own orgasm.  I waited until his spasms subsided and then

stepped on his abdomen with my left foot.  Almost all of my weight was

now on his genitals, and while I rubbed my clit vigorously, I allowed

myself to rock back in my shoe.

	I felt his precious little sperm sacks get caught underneath

my heel, and as they were compressed, Buck yelped.  He tried to get

away from me but with all of his recent pleasure he seemed to have

forgotten the truly vulnerable position he was in.  He pushed out with

his forelegs but they were of no help in regaining his freedom.  I

began to climax and as I did I rocked forward onto his penis and back

again onto his testicles.  This time I held nothing back.  I felt

those precious sperm sacks crush like grapes underneath my heel.  The

sexual energy held within them seemed to shoot up my leg and gave me

an earth-shattering orgasm.  I stood there with both feet firmly

planted on Buck, the conqueress of this particular piece of land, and

fingered myself to oblivion.

	As I drifted back down, I lowered my head and gazed dreamily

at Buck.  He lie there motionless, his tongue extended, his eyes

closed.  What had been virgin soil was now reduced to a used and

useless piece of rock.  I sat back down on the couch and removed his

broken-down genitals from my shoe.  As I replaced the shoe and stood

up again, I finally realized what I intended to do.  It shocked me

slightly, but I had already endulged myself in a large amount of

extremely perverse behavior.  My will became hardened.  I had gone

this far, there was no reason not to endulge myself to the limit.

	I closed my eyes and jumped squarely on his head.  Nothing.  I

jumped again.  I heard something snap.  I continued to stomp over and

over again on his pumpkin head until it was all crushed flat and

oozing on the carpet.  I ground all of the pulp and seeds into the

carpet and proceeded to wipe my feet on his coat.  I had always wanted

an animal skin rug.

	More power raced through my veins.  I lay down on the couch

and called over to Russ who was simply standing by the wall

dumbfounded.



	"Do me," I said as I lifted my legs in the air.  "I want it

now."



	He hesitated for a moment and it crossed my mind that having

sex with me might be the furthest thing from his mind.  However, I

have learned not to underestimate the sexual drive of the male

species.  He rapidly removed his clothes revealing himself to be

highly aroused.  He mounted me and began to pump me furiously.  I

rested my ankles on his shoulders and revelled in the events which had

just occurred.  The familiar smell of my shoes and his friend's semen

must have stirred Russ for he grabbed my leg and began sucking the

semen from my foot and ankle.  "Poor Russ," I thought as he came

inside of me.  "This is the last time he will be able to eat his best

friend's cum."  I gently kicked at his face and drifted off into a

night of unwavering sleep.







	Lest you think me a completely unfeeling monster, I should

relate the terrible abandonment I felt for the next week.  I did not

feel abandoned from any of my friends.  The people at work knew

nothing about the death of our dog and life went on as usual.  Russ

was a saint and must be commended for his compassion regarding Buck's

bloody murder.

	Alas, I was abandoned by myself.  I could not bear the sight

of the unfeeling woman who stared at me with contempt through our

mirror.  This woman considered me a hideous monster indeed.  She had

lost all respect for me.  And she was openly disgusted with her fate

of having to share her existence with such a cold-hearted murderer.



	I despised her attitude.  I fought her.  "I am not

cold-hearted!" I explained.  "It was warm-blooded murder!  It was an

act of passion!  I didn't even know what I was doing!"



	"You knew what you were doing," she responded flatly.  "You

simply chose to ignore it.  There is no action more reproachful, than

one in which the consequences are freely and willfully neglected."



	She was right.  I knew it.  I searched for the new balance.

What I discovered was that all the self-recrimination in the world

would not bring Buck back from the dead.  I would have to live with

the guilt of his death.  I would go on.  I could go on.  It is not as

if I am some half-crazed bloody murderer hiding out in some suburban

community.  It had been an act of passion, one which I freely chose to

commit.  I had no latent desires to kill.  I could simply go on.

	Exactly!  I would simply deal with this and go on.  There was

still the matter of Russ' shoe fetish.  With all the naked reflections

of my own inhumanity, I had not yet called him on his own.  For the

first time in a week I felt at peace with myself.  I even had a touch

of school girl frenzy about me when I thought of approaching Russ

about his sexually deviant behavior.  Maybe I do have a sweet tooth

when it comes to the subject of sexual power.  But that need not force

me into being classified as dominant.  Buck freely gave me the power

to abuse him.  I did not restrain him and force him into my shoe.  He

chose that position for himself.  He wanted me on top of him.  He

enjoyed me on top of him.  Russ wanted to give me that power as well.

I could feel it.  I am not a dominant person, I'm just receptive to

the needs of others.



	All of these realizations occurred to me in the timeframe of

one afternoon.  I had left for work one morning feeling abandoned but

returned from work whole.  It was time to approach Russ about his shoe

escapades.  I only hoped that I could bring it out of him without

revealing my utility-closet spy routine.  Before dinner I joined him

on the couch.



	"Russ, can we talk some more about that night when Buck died,"

I began.



	"Sure, " he said.  "What's on your mind."



	"I've replayed the whole incident over and over in my mind a

thousand times since last week.  A few things still bother me about

it."



	"Like what?"



	"Well, for one, I keep picturing Buck trying to hump my

shoe. He couldn't do it.  It kept sliding back and forth in response

to his thrusts."



	"Yeah.  The sole of the shoe was too slippery."



	He was falling into my trap.  Perhaps leaping.



	"Of course."  I responded.  "And yet he had his way with them

so many times before that night.  He seemed to have no trouble getting

it on without our help."



	I saw the look of realization in his eyes.  He knew that I

knew.  He blushed and gazed down at the floor.  In order to help him

along I crossed my legs and let my black leather upper dangle from my

toes.  I gently rocked the shoe back and forth from my toes.  He was

hypnotized.



	"In fact," I continued, "I realize now that either he was able

to fuck my shoes inside my closet without disturbing any of the rest

of my wardrobe, or else he was clever enough to remove my shoes, do

his business, and then replace them."



	Russ gave no response.



	"Finally, I can't help thinking about you.  About how little

apprehension you showed in licking Buck's semen right off of my foot

and leg.  I imagine most men would be repulsed by the thought of

swallowing dog jism or of licking their wife's feet."



	He was looking down into his lap.  I put my hand on his knee,

bent over and looked up into his eyes.



	"Tell me Russ.  Had you eaten Buck's cum prior to that night?

And had you helped him fuck my shoes before, perhaps eating his cum

right out of them when he had finished?"



	All of the blood cells in his body had an impromptu conference

in either one of his two heads.  His mouth opened but nothing came

out.  He simply nodded his head.  He then proceeded to tell me in

mumbled detail of his affection for my feet and shoes and the

lunch-time sex-capades Buck and he participated in.  I simply nodded

along with what he tried to describe for me.  It was all redundant,

you see.  The scene in the den was worth a thousand words.  So after

he poured out his heart and what he considered to be his innermost

secrets to me, I prodded him further.  I wanted to make his fetish

part of our everyday lives.  He would live with it in secret no

longer.



	"So tell me Russ," I began.  "Do you want to lick my shoes

right now?  Are my shoes as enticing on my feet as in my closet?  Are

you getting all horny being so close to them?"



	He looked at me as if I was a ghost and then returned his gaze

to my shoes. My legs were still crossed with one shoe dangling and I

flicked that shoe back up onto my foot.  The gulp in his throat echoed

the sound of my shoe finding its way home to my heel.



	"Huhhh?" I continued in my sweet seductive voice.  "Does

Russie want to pway with mommy's shoe wike Buckie did?"  I popped the

shoe off my heel once again.



	"I really hate that stupid voice," he replied bitterly.  So

much for Misses Nice Guy.



	"Is that so.  Well maybe you'll like this one a little better.

Get down on your knees and let me see you lick the dirt off of my

shoes."  My shoe was back on my heel.



	Russ looked at me in amazement.



	"I'm not kidding, Russ.  You've been having such a good time

without me I think it's time I got to witness your little shoe ritual

in person."



	He needed no further instigation.  He knelt down at my feet

and gazed lovingly at my shoes.  This was perhaps the first time he

had ever been afforded the opportunity of viewing them at such length

in their natural habitat.  "Or perhaps he has knelt beside me like

this when I was sleeping," I thought.  "Maybe dreaming of the day

which is finally upon him."  A wedding day of sorts.  A dream not yet

realized.  I extended my leg, bringing my shodden foot closer to his

lips.

	He began by kissing the tip of my upper, just a few quick

pecks.  Once he had crossed that threshold and realized I was not

about to run away from him, he gave in to his desires.  He began

licking the leather with passion.  He did lick the dirt from my shoe,

and where the crud was caked on, he bit it off with his teeth.  It was

completely erotic for me, I felt the scraping of his teeth on my shoe

as a gentle vibrator on my toes.  When he began gnawing at the bottom

of the shoe, I could take no more.  I kicked off my shoes and

commanded him to show me his affection for them.

	As he had done the week before, he removed his clothing

revealing a fully erect penis.  He lay down at my feet and stuffed his

penis and testicles into one of my flats.  He planted the other flat

upside down on his face and proceeded to breath through it as he

stroked his penis.  I placed my feet on his stomach and chest and

wiggled my toes on top of him.  Occasionally I would press down on one

of the shoes just to enhance his perception of being under my feet.

He quickly and quietly released his load into my flat and placed the

shoe on his stomach for my approval.

	I was slightly stunned at his rapid compliance of my wishes.

I hadn't fully considered what I would do once his fetish was out in

the open, and now suddenly he serviced my shoe and was awaiting my

response.  I milked any remaining semen from his penis with my foot,

and after playing around in it on his belly, I slid back into my

uppers.  Russ' cum felt just like Buck's under my foot.  I guess all

cum feels the same.  I would need time to consider things further.

	I stood up on his chest.  I had conquered yet more virgin soil

and once again this soil left semen under my toes.  "It's time we had

dinner," I said to my husband, my carpet.  "Get dressed."  As I walked

off of him I briefly considered stepping directly on his penis.  At

the last minute I changed my mind and stepped down on his pelvis just

to the right of his penis and continued out of the room.  No need to

go too far too soon.  Russ and I had all the time in the world to

study our new sexual roles.  It was time to have dinner.



	Dinner was quite fun indeed.  I continually rubbed the shoe

containing Russ' semen against his leg.  I felt in complete control of

him.  Here in my shoe I had evidence of his most damaging secret.  I

held that secret in semen, that most illustrious mixer from which

civilizations are made.  How many millions of his offspring were

slowly dying under my foot?  How much of his mental and physical

energy had gone and would continue to go into condemning his

descendents to such a fate?  I kicked my feet up into his lap and

smiled at him.  In return, he caressed my calves and smiled back.

This perversion of his could be quite good for the both of us.

	We continued our games after dinner had ended.  We lay

together on the couch with my feet on his groin.  I simply read a

magazine, wondering how long he could control himself.  I wondered how

long he could go without squeezing my toes and feeling his semen still

in my upper.  He would feel my toes wriggling in it, showing no

concern for his sperm cells or their preprogrammed, do-or-die misson.

	But he was like a stone.  He would smile when I prodded him,

but yet he still resisted the temptation to give into me.  Like good

bread dough, he lacked kneading.



	"Don't you want to lick my shoes some more?" I asked, jiggling

my feet in his lap.



	"If you'd like," he calmly replied.



	"Yes, I would.  Lick them some more for me."



	I slid forward to him.  Grinding my semen foot into his

crotch, I lifted the clean one up to his mouth.  Again he seemed to

stare at the shoe and smell it deeply before beginning a long licking

session.  He really went at it this time, cleaning the whole length of

one side.  He seemed to no longer be content with licking the surface

of the shoe, he was trying to suck the flavor of my foot out right

through the leather.  Or maybe he was after his own semen.  When his

tongue started to creep inside my shoe, snaking in between the side of

the shoe and my foot, I pulled my foot away.



	"I think that's enough.  We want to save some fun for later,

dear," I said as I lowered my foot back onto his lap.  He continued to

look forward at the television with a terribly stolid facial

expression.  I could not understand how he could go from being

completely unreserved about his passion, for SHOES mind you, and then

return to being as sober as a judge.  I know I could not switch on and

off my sexual desires that easily.  In fact, my passion had been

rising steadily since dinner.



	"Do you want to have sex?" I finally blurted out.  "Come on,

let's go do it.  All this shoe stuff of yours has got me real horny."

I grabbed his hands and led him to the bedroom.  He looked at me as if

I was a prison guard leading him to his electric chair.  Despite his

helplessness I could not help smiling as I felt his semen squeezing up

between my toes with every step.



	As we removed our clothes I was pleased to see Russ' beautiful

erection.  His little brain was excited whether his big brain showed

it or not.  Russ was completely naked and I removed all but my shoes.

I still had plans for his semen.  We assumed our respective positions

in our bed and Russ provided me with yet another stimulating sexual

encounter.  I began with my ankles resting on his shoulders but soon

moved my feet over his face so that he could enjoy their taste and

smell.  He did not disappoint me as he began licking the bottom sole

of my shoe.  I became more aroused as I contemplated him licking the

morter into which I had ground his sperm.

	Finally I could take no more and I kicked off the dry shoe,

rubbing that foot in his face.  His passion was enflamed.  I proceeded

to kick off the sperm shoe and rubbed his own slime all over his

mouth.  He did not let me down and licked every drop off of my foot.

He even picked up the felled shoe and sucked the remaining semen from

inside it.  We came together as I once again kicked gently at his

face.

	I slept peacefully in the knowledge that as long as I kept at

him, we could explore much new ground together.  For him, it would be

the ground encrusted onto the sole of my shoe.



	From that next morning on I have treated him like a slave.  I

forbade him to so much as look at my shoes when I am not around and

whenever I leave the house or return home he is required to kiss them.

I continue to mentally torment him by forcing him to replay Buck's

last adventure every night.  I play the maniacal woman who mashed her

dog's testicles to paste under the heel of her foot.  Russ plays the

victimized hound who receives a rewarding orgasm under his master's

foot.  Of course, I never go through with the ball crushing on Russ.

Someday I do intend to bear his children.  But for now, it is fun

simply keeping him on edge.



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