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TRAMPLE STORIES - TRAMPLING STORIES

  

  

  

  

TRAMPLING STORY - SLAVE TO SARA

  

  

Sarah is Perfect
Sarah is Life
Sarah is God
 

I scratched these words onto the page headed “24 April”. All the previous pages in the diary looked identical. The same words, the same ink, the same handwriting. It’d have been called an obsession had they not all been performed under the strict command of another person.

As I finish the final line I am rewarded with a sharp kick to my stomach. I am not allowed to stand up in this house unless I have received specific instructions to do so, instead I am forced to crawl on my hands and knees in a position of perpetual submission. Although I have actually come to anticipate this kick each morning, I am powerless to prevent it, and as always its sheer force is enough to knock the wind out of me, to visibly weaken me in front of my superior.

Satisfied that her power over me is still absolute, Sarah smiles to herself and walks away confidently, heading towards the small kitchen area in the apartment. She whistles out and clicks her fingers, calling me like a dog to follow after her. I do so obediently and without hesitancy, launching forwards and crawling after her bare feet.

Sarah’s recent promotion means a shorter working day on top of the fatter paycheque. This means that, despite my job not being a financial necessity, I have to leave the house earlier. Of course, Sarah insists that this morning routine be carried out in full before I leave, whether I am late or not is hardly her concern.

My eyes are fixated on the sexy, sleek curves of her two feet always walking away from me. It is these that I am following most of all, and I am finally able to catch up when they stop by the wooden stall at the breakfast bar. Sarah sits down, and her feet are lifted several inches off the plywood floor, a similar and tempting distance from my face.

Kneeling down before her, I look up in awe at her towering form above me, reminding myself of why my life is now dedicated to worshipping her. Her smooth, tanned legs give way to a slim, toned body. Her soft facial features are partially hidden underneath her elaborate, lengthy blonde curls. Her new hairstyle was part of the celebration of her new promotion. It certainly made her look even more perfect in my eyes. Even on that cheap, wooden stool she gave off the aura of a Queen sat on her throne. I watched in quiet adulation as she began reaching for various items close by, preparing herself a bowl of cereal, maybe even a breakfast for me if she was generous but I couldn’t tell from where I knelt.

Her attention turned briefly back towards me as she began to pour milk into the bowl in front of her. One of her legs stretched out in my direction. Her foot brushed against my face, the soft, smooth skin of her foot making my face red, arousing my senses beyond words. She played this game with him for a few seconds, poking her gorgeous big toe into my face as she saw fit, into the cheek, squashing my eyelids shut gently. She giggled aloud, and then pushed her foot more firmly into my waiting face, pinching my nose softly between her toes as I inhaled deeply.

Even in the morning, the scent of Sarah’s foot seemed divine; a strong smell of perfume mixed with a thin lacing of sweat that was just delicious to a slave like me. Her feet felt cool against my face, which always burned with shame over how much I actually enjoyed this debasement.

Sarah turned her blue eyes back towards the bowl of cereal as she picked up the spoon.

“Go on.” She ordered expectantly, without even bothering to look in my direction. It was the subtle slants on my existence such as this that made Sarah such a perfect and dangerous owner. She was totally overpowering to any submissive, whether they wanted to open their minds to her or not. It occurred to me more than once that I was just lucky to be the one she was using in this way.

Thoughts like that were always prominent in my mind when following Sarah’s orders, driving me on to be the most useful slave I could be. We had built ourselves a routine, one that allowed me to perfectly understand her monosyllabic commands at times like this.

And so I did as I knew Sarah wanted. Her foot was still only pressed lightly into my face – I had certainly suffered more under her perfect body – and so I was able to force my lips open, welcoming the ball of her foot into my mouth. The taste exploded onto my tongue, leaving the same salty aftertaste that I knew I would always crave. I moved my tongue all around the area of her foot that Sarah had allowed me to explore, desperate to lap the taste up, probably looking like a contented lil’ puppy in the eyes of my owner.

Or at least, I might have looked like that if she gave any hint of acknowledging me. I knew that Sarah loved this treatment – her silky smooth soles were a testament to the number of hours I spent serving her feet – but she would never, ever show enjoyment of my service in this way. So as she nonchalantly ate her cereal in the same way most people do every single morning, I was left to work on her feet, fully appreciating what an honour it was to be allowed to do this.

Eventually, I became sure that every single square millimetre had been covered, cleaned and worshipped extensively by my tongue. I knew that I was to continue this treatment until Sarah said otherwise, but I also knew that she wanted to enjoy it in peace, without having to move her foot awkwardly around for my comfort. And so I twisted my head backwards, in the same fashion as I did every single morning, which would allow me to worship the rest of her delicate foot.

I pushed my tongue out again, let it run down the creamy skin of her sole, feeling the smooth and sexy curve as it ran down to her heel. When I had first met Sarah her feet had been relatively uncared for. The heel, which I now ran my tongue over back-and-forth, had been rough from the strain of walking about as much as she did. Now, I was actually proud to note, it was totally smooth, my tongue not finding a single obstacle in its path.

I allowed myself several more deep breaths of the sensational aroma, pressing my nose into the instep of her foot, my tongue following soon after as I worked back towards the tip of her foot. I pressed my lips gently and respectfully against the fleshy bottom of her big toe, then moved them round expertly to the top, allowing the toe to invade my mouth. Her nails, painted bright red, obsessively cared for by myself, felt sharp against my dry tongue as they scraped down further into my mouth.

It was here that the taste of her feet was strongest and I made sure to wash her toe with my tongue, greedily wanting to enjoy it as much as possible. I sucked lightly, not enough to disturb her, as I worked and flicked my tongue around to the underside of her nails. There was absolutely no way that even a single speck of dirt would have the chance to gather here, but I imagined that I was cleaning away the dust and grime that could have collected since I last performed this task for Sarah.

By the time I had decided that this toe had been cleaned and pampered to an adequate standard, my tongue felt not only tired and dry, but also as if it had been repeatedly scratched and worn down. I knew that I was no where near done yet though, as I moved dutifully on to Sarah’s second biggest toe. Another explosion of taste as this part of her foot had not been touched by my tongue yet, although the nail this time was shorter which made it far more enjoyable on my part. I showed my appreciation by giving this toe the same treatment as its predecessor, and then made sure to run my tongue in between the two toes, finding a bigger build up of sweat to scrape off.

This was a process I repeated on all of the toes on her foot. I announced that I believed the task to be complete by holding the heel of her foot up in my palms and placing kisses repeatedly on the top of her foot. Still not receiving any sort of attention from my Goddess, I moved to her toes and placed kisses on to the top of every single one of them in turn. When I had finished, Sarah finally looked down at me.

“Good boy” she said, in a way that was not even meant to be condescending, but was rather just typical of the way we interacted with each other. “I think you’ve earned a treat!” she continued.

She reached over to the breakfast bar in front of her and picked up a knife, before applying some butter to a piece of toast she must have readied at some point during the time I spent lost in her feet. It looked like I would be allowed a normal breakfast this morning. Well, normal for us.

Sarah picked the toast off the plate and let it drop lazily to the floor. I knew she would, and I knew that even now I was not allowed to eat it. Instead, Sarah lowered the other foot, the one I had not yet been able to worship with my tongue, down towards the ground. The tips of her toes hit the bread first and I watched as they seemed to crush down on it in almost slow motion. When she lifted her foot again I could see a thin trace of butter all along the top of her toes.

She held the foot out towards me now, presenting me with my favourite possible gift. As was normal, there existed an unspoken set of rules, a code of conduct, between slave and Mistress for this situation as with all others. I pushed my tongue out between my lips and let it tease the tips of her toes, following the line of melted butter across her foot, drinking it all up. When I had completed this task, it was Sarah’s turn again. This time she held her foot flat as she brought it down on the toast, letting it crunch up beneath the soles of her feet. When she raised it towards me I could see the butter and crumbs that covered the ball of her foot, as well as the underside of her five toes.

She extended her foot slowly towards me, enjoying the sight of me silently begging for the imminent pleasure, finally allowing it to rest on my upturned face. Unable to see properly this time, I simply let my tongue hang out and allowed Sarah to work her foot over my face. She made sure that no patch of skin missed my tongue no matter how small, and I enjoyed the feeling of the crumbs, butter and natural foot sweat collecting on my tongue for periods of time before I gulped them down.

When Sarah grew tired of this treatment she moved her foot out of the way, pointed with her toes towards the piece of battered toast lying on the floor. I understood the instruction instantly and lowered my head to the floor like a dog. I knew that eating with my hands was forbidden, and it was difficult to twist my head around enough to scoop the bread up with my teeth. I struggled for nearly half a minute before finally getting hold of it and beginning to eat.

At this point Sarah brought her foot back down, letting it push firmly into the back of my head. Genuinely caught by surprise this time, I offered absolutely no resistance and found my nose, eyes and lips pushed into the warm, greasy meal I was supposed to be eating.

“Eat it!” Sarah ordered, giggling out loudly as she watched me struggle to work my jaw underneath her foot. Needless to say that after a minute and a couple of mouthfuls, the bread was twisted and torn beyond recognition and looked like something that had been dug out the trash. Sarah took pity and moved her foot off my head, kicking me lightly in the side of my cheek to get my eyes focussed on her.

“Get your ass up and get to work.” She said, clearly finished with me for now.

I stood up. My emotions were conflicted; Sarah always manipulated them so that it was so, and I was pleased to serve her but also pleased at the temporary end to my debasement and humiliation. I kissed her foot respectfully and thanked her for the morning, before standing up. I was not stupid enough to smile, but I did take my chances and wipe my face down on a paper towel before heading out the door.

This was my life.

 

  
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