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Synopsis: An experienced domme teaches an attentive group of women her tips and tricks for dominating a slave. (11,882 words)
This F+ (Multiple Mistress Femdom) story features:
Foot Fetish, Sock Fetish, Footdom in Socks, Erotic Humiliation, and Trampling.
I closed my laptop and unplugged my cord, opening the flap of my backpack and searching for my case. I slugged down the last quarter of my cold latte and stood up, gathering the last of my things as I slung my bag over my shoulder and started to make my way up the stairs. I was just on my way out when I bumped into Jessica, hurriedly fitting a lid on the to-go cup in her hands.
She was the kind of girl you see a lot around this place– tall, slender, and languid, with reddish brown hair, gauged ears and glasses– but she had a distinctive face, and her presence was deeply striking. She had a way of looking at and talking with you that made you feel like she was completely involved in your collective interaction, and she was reassuring and comforting in a lot of subtle, implicit ways.
In a way we had a history. We had never been intimate together or even close to romantically involved, but she was an excellent massage therapist and we had been seeing each other in that context for years and hung out as friends separately on many occasions. Her hands had been almost all over my body, and we had reached a level of comfort and trust that I think prepared me to accept what would take place in this story.
“Heyy-y,” she said, looking up from her coffee, then double taking slightly as she recognized me. “Hey!”
“How’s it going?” I replied.
“It’s really good actually, I kind of can’t stop to talk though, I’m already running late for this class I’m supposed to teach.”
“Oh gosh, wow, okay. Well good for you, that’s great! I’m on my way out too, I’ll walk with you.”
The light splashed across our faces and we both pulled out our sunglasses as we walked out onto the sidewalk, heading for the corner where she was parked. We finished up our little chit-chatting, and she opened up the door to her car.
“Well, it was really good running into you, I guess we’ll see you again sometime this week.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Definitely, I’m pretty free over the next couple days so let me know.”
I smiled and turned to walk down the street, and she paused for a moment, looking at me.
“Hey, I don’t guess you’re free right now, are you?”
I walked back towards her a few steps, and paused for a moment. “Yeah, I guess I think I am. Why?”
“Oh,” she replied, “It’s nothing really, I probably shouldn’t even ask.”
“Well, I’m actually kind of in a bind. It’s just that I’m running off to teach this class, and the girl who usually helps me demonstrate can’t make it and I was thinking of just scrapping this week’s lesson and doing something else. But now that I’ve run into you it’s occurred to me that it might be good for you. Or I guess, that you might be good for that.”
“Demonstrate?” I repeated.
“Yeah, it would actually be great if you could come help me, just for a couple of hours?”
“Really? Wow, so it’s like a massage class?”
For a moment I thought I saw a roguish look flash in her eyes, but she just said, “Not exactly. It’s more of a women’s thing. Kind of finding their inner power, that kind of thing. You’d be doing me a real favor…”
“Oh, cool, yeah. I mean, I guess I don’t know what it has to do with me. Like, what would you need me to do?”
She hesitated, looking around for a moment as though she wasn’t sure she should have brought it up, but she fixed her gaze on me and said, “Well to be honest it’s like a psychosexual development course. Sexual empowerment. I’m really late though, and I can tell you more about it in the car, but I have to get going.”
The hair almost stood up on the back of my neck, and I still wasn’t sure what I was in for (or rather, what I realized later I was getting myself into), but I looked back at her for a moment and finally said, “Yeah, why not.”
She grinned and waved me over as she pulled up her purse and got in her car, an older, slightly worn dark blue Subaru, and as we drove along to the northwest side of town we talked about the classes she was taking for her degree and how the one she was teaching had come out of some of that, along with a shared desire among many of her friends to become more in touch with their sexual prowess and abilities. I could see how she had thought it would be up my street, as it were, the two of us having talked many times in the past about the nature of care in relationships and how that translated into generosity in the bedroom. We had never directly articulated it, but we seemed to have reached a vague understanding that I was, I suppose you could say, an aspiring submissive and or at least that, above all, I adored and worshiped women.
Very quickly she began asking me a few matter-of-fact but enticing questions: Was I alright being restrained? Was I willing to become powerless? Could I be willing to be stripped naked? I was astounded. I couldn’t believe what I was being asked, but she seemed pleased that I found myself saying yes to all of those things.
We more or less left it at that, and we went back to casual conversation until we reached a neighborhood I didn’t recognize. As we pulled up to a house near the middle of the block she parked at the curb, and she pulled down her visor to check her hair in the mirror. She turned to me and reached over, ruffling my hair a little.
“I really appreciate you doing this. It’s such a big help.”
We finished collecting ourselves and walked across the dried out lawn to the front porch, where the light was on and dusk was beginning to set in. She reached out to the doorbell and it rang through the inside of the house. There were a few extra moments that we waited out on the step, and suddenly she leaned over, put her hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “I’m almost kind of sorry, too. A little bit, maybe. But don’t worry.”
I tensed reflexively and a chill ran through my body as I felt her hair brush my neck. I looked back at her, puzzled, as the door opened, and I heard Lindsay’s bright, melodic voice.
“Heyyy there!” She and Jessica hugged gleefully, and if she was surprised to see me she hid it well. “Come on in, everybody’s here!”
“Ohh,” said Jessica. “Sorry I’m late. Crazy day.”
“No! No worries,” she replied, locking the door behind us and switching off the porch light as we stepped into the entryway. “You’re right on time, we’ve all just been hanging out in the living room. Come on in!” Lindsay was on the short side and looked South Asian, with caramel colored skin and black hair that she had up in a ponytail, and she had on a pair of black yoga pants and a black t-shirt from the bar where she worked. She offered to take my hoodie and I let her, and she offered us both drinks, but we refused.
She led us around into the living room, and I was surprised to see so many beautiful women, covering every available seat and a one taking up space on the floor. There were eight in total, including Jessica and Lindsay, and while they were all unique they were universally beautiful. I realized I had met or known almost all of them at one point or another; seen some at parties, chatted with a few here and there. I looked around at all of them briefly as they turned and said hello to us, and then went quiet as Jessica started apologizing again for being late.
There was Autumn, a taller, thick-legged girl with long, highlighted brown hair that was in wavy curls tied up into a ponytail, who wore a pair of thin khaki shorts and a black tank top that was covered in skulls; Ally, a petite, charming girl with tattoos, a nose ring, and shorter, thick brown hair who had on a plain dark grey t-shirt with longer brown cargo shorts; Erin, a sandy-haired blonde who had on slim pale jeans and a thin, dark blue waffle-knit shirt that had a pattern of little white anchors; Jamie, a skinny, pale alt-girl with bangs in her straight, dyed-black hair and tiny neon green gauges in her ears, whose loose black pants and light grey spaghetti-strap top hung from her frame; Erika, a slim, pale, bright-eyed girl with light red hair who wore jeans and a thin, faded lime green top over her red t-shirt; and Whitney, who had a light goth vibe with short spiky black hair, and she wore a tight black vest over a white button-up shirt and a pair of jeans.
They all turned to look at me as Jessica explained my unexpected presence there, and they all seemed to approve.
“So if everyone is ready,” she finished with a grin, “why don’t we go on and head for the basement?”
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