wearyfoxes
Registered User
- Joined
- Jun 24, 2005
- Messages
- 30
- Points
- 0
She licks her lips as her gaze wanders across the naked flesh of my exposed feet. At this moment I realize how utterly alone we are in the school house's abandoned attic space. The teachers and pupils had left the building long before, even the custodian had gone home after his last round through the grounds. The two of us, however, had waited it all out in the closet of the third floor biology classroom and then snuck up to the top of the building were I lie now at her mercy awaiting whatever punishment she has decided to inflict upon me.
As I search her face I imagine what she sees at this moment: me with my back pressed against the wooden plank floor with my pant legs pulled up and my bare legs propped up on an old, musky smelling leather trunk. My bare soles in the center of her field of vision, soles that are covered in a thin layer of grey dust from traipsing around the building without footwear.
I had already handed over my shoes to her when our warm bodies pressed against one another in the darkness of the closet. She had wished to retain them as a symbol of her new won power over me and as a security that I wouldn't decide to run at the last moment.
Has she guessed my thoughts as she smiles while she starts to run her finger across the vulnerable flesh of my left foot, playfully tracing first along the ball of foot, exploring every wrinkle of my instep and circling round and round the heel?
For a moment it seems as if we hold our breath together while I watch golden specks of dust float before the grimy glass of the attic window behind her.
We had emerged from the closet five minutes after the last person had left the school. I had gingerly stepped onto the cold tile floor, careful not to stumble, as she had tied my hands behind me. Thus she had lead me through abandoned hallways, up three flights of stairs, our hearts beating from the excitement of our forbidden presence after hours.
Now she kneels down in front of my feet, examines each toe, pinches the skin between them and starts to caress every last inch of them. Yet I do not kid myself at these niceties, for I also see the wooden cane that leans against the trunk. Has she seen me glance at it? She must have, for now she slowly lifts her finger off from my sole and caresses the stick instead, picks it up and swishes it through the air to feel its power, which is also her power now.
She had opened the attic door slowly, gently pushed me forward into the half gloom. Somewhere a mouse had scurried into the darkness, as we advanced into the room, my bare feet leaving a trail of dusty foot prints behind us.
The first smack comes out of nowhere. Ah, pleasure is followed by pain, I think involuntarily as her switch makes contact with the flesh of my soles. And she will not stop until she is satisfied. Too much time and effort have the two of us sacrificed to arrive at this place and at this very moment in time to go back or ease up.
So you will understand that for now all that remains are the switch in her hand and its connection with my helpless nakedness. It would be completely futile now for me to cry out, beg for mercy or wish for this to end; for this is our bond which shall not be dissolved before she is completely satisfied with my utter destruction at her will.
As I search her face I imagine what she sees at this moment: me with my back pressed against the wooden plank floor with my pant legs pulled up and my bare legs propped up on an old, musky smelling leather trunk. My bare soles in the center of her field of vision, soles that are covered in a thin layer of grey dust from traipsing around the building without footwear.
I had already handed over my shoes to her when our warm bodies pressed against one another in the darkness of the closet. She had wished to retain them as a symbol of her new won power over me and as a security that I wouldn't decide to run at the last moment.
Has she guessed my thoughts as she smiles while she starts to run her finger across the vulnerable flesh of my left foot, playfully tracing first along the ball of foot, exploring every wrinkle of my instep and circling round and round the heel?
For a moment it seems as if we hold our breath together while I watch golden specks of dust float before the grimy glass of the attic window behind her.
We had emerged from the closet five minutes after the last person had left the school. I had gingerly stepped onto the cold tile floor, careful not to stumble, as she had tied my hands behind me. Thus she had lead me through abandoned hallways, up three flights of stairs, our hearts beating from the excitement of our forbidden presence after hours.
Now she kneels down in front of my feet, examines each toe, pinches the skin between them and starts to caress every last inch of them. Yet I do not kid myself at these niceties, for I also see the wooden cane that leans against the trunk. Has she seen me glance at it? She must have, for now she slowly lifts her finger off from my sole and caresses the stick instead, picks it up and swishes it through the air to feel its power, which is also her power now.
She had opened the attic door slowly, gently pushed me forward into the half gloom. Somewhere a mouse had scurried into the darkness, as we advanced into the room, my bare feet leaving a trail of dusty foot prints behind us.
The first smack comes out of nowhere. Ah, pleasure is followed by pain, I think involuntarily as her switch makes contact with the flesh of my soles. And she will not stop until she is satisfied. Too much time and effort have the two of us sacrificed to arrive at this place and at this very moment in time to go back or ease up.
So you will understand that for now all that remains are the switch in her hand and its connection with my helpless nakedness. It would be completely futile now for me to cry out, beg for mercy or wish for this to end; for this is our bond which shall not be dissolved before she is completely satisfied with my utter destruction at her will.
Last edited:
