And yet, Boris always believed he was in control. How fool of him, and to that he could only agree, bound and sweating as he was, on the floor in the men’s bathroom of the night club, eyes closed so he could pretend he was not anticipating the moment he’d be finally pimped out in real life by a woman he had never met in the flesh before tonight.

***

It all began with a simple click, as it always does, doesn’t it? Your usual “Follow” button on twitter, one of hundreds accounts of dominant women Boris had been addicted to since he first cared to remember. Goddess Persephone advertised being a Dominatrix, Foot Fetish and Humiliation specialist, with main interest in financial domination. Boris knew the drill, he knew how it would turn out, he knew he could get a few interactions with her for free by commenting and retweeting, and then he would disappear in the maelstrom of unknown followers and go on to doing the same trick with another Domina. And so, confident and excited, aroused as if doing something wrong, he clicked.

And then, nothing. Nothing new at least. Boris just cared cruising the twitter accounts, and all those connected. Goddess Persephone was indeed a stunning, extraordinary beautiful Woman. Her maybe non-European origins gave her skin this caramel colour and perfect texture that drive girls crazy envious, and men crazy drooling. She was a slender, alluring brunette, and every part of her body seemed to be fit for love and sexiness: round breasts, thin and muscular waist, and those incredibly long, shaped, sculptural legs. Boris liked legs, he liked them very much. And Goddess Persephone’s feet were the most adorable adornments to such general picturesque beauty. Boris loved women’s feet, as much as he liked women’s legs. And he craved women’s bottoms too, especially those as firm, well-proportioned and almost naturally provocative as Goddess Persephone’s derriere was.

***

Yes, Goddess Persephone was truly a divinely beautiful Mistress. But weren’t the others also very sexy? Certainly so. Yes, Boris believed Goddess Persephone would be one of the pack, and so did not care too much in making first contact.

“Your Pictures are fantastic & You are an amazingly Beautiful Goddess. Thank You for being You, Mistress, Your Existence is a Gift from above” 140, not one more. He had written this how many times now? But was he really in the mood for counting? His groin begged to disagree, but Boris knew better than masturbating right away. If Goddess Persephone were to answer, then the excitement he’d get would make the wait so worth it!

It was thus while gently caressing his full erected cock, half naked for the room was not the warmest in his house but he could not bear trousers or pants at the moment, that Boris received the answer: “Don’t ever call me Mistress, slave. And ur welcome. Best appreciation is tribute. X. GP”

Damn! Not exactly what he would dream of as a trigger for jerking, but not exactly a downer or a killer. Boris needed to continue the exchange, he was getting hot now, hot in the belly, hot in the head, hot in the hands. Hot in is fucking reddening cock, yes Ma’am.

“i’m so sorry Goddess, will never do that mistake again. Thank You for correcting me and calling me slave. You are Perfection on earth” A bit of excitement coming up, and then, the wait. This ambiguous state, where Boris both wanted an answer, and did not want it, enjoying the suspension, the parenthesis, the void. The essence of BDSM and FemDom, in his own mind, being a reader of Deleuze: it’s the expectation that makes the masochist and the sadist enjoy the moment; the realisation of the tension is not S&M pleasure itself.

“I know. Now tribute or get lost” Painful though expected result. Boris knew this to be the first line of battle, the first moment where mistakes would not be forgiven. He was of course ready to flood Goddess Persephone with adoring, worshiping messages, insulting himself, lowering his pride as down as possible. If Boris could have thought, in such moments, he would have understood he was literarily up to masturbating his brain.

But Boris had experience, he knew those things. And he knew that, when a Domme has answered twice and showed no sign of openness, time had come to leave her alone for a while. Using such while to use all available representations of such Dominant Lady to indulge himself in one of his absolute favourite activities, bringing himself to pleasure. Which he did, right on spot, trying to withhold a bit so that as many pictures and videos of Goddess Persephone could feed his now starving mind before the final climax. A rather messy climax, all things said, and Boris felt like leaving the abundant sperm maculating his belly and torso for the whole night, controlling in his wicked mind his submission to Goddess Persephone. And tomorrow would be another day.

***

Waking up refreshed, Boris did not really notice the thin, smelly and goosy layer that had coagulated some of his body hair. As had always been the case, post-coitum was Boris a relaxed, confident and self-declared normal guy, for whom remembering he was on the brink of declaring himself unworthy of licking a woman’s toilet clean a few hours ago was not in the picture. Checking on his phone though, Boris couldn’t help but surf a short while on Goddess Persephone’s account. Waow!, he thought. She is really gorgeous. And his sex, again, vigorously approved.

A few retweets here and there, some comments under her videos and a reference to Goddess Persephone left on his own twitter account, this was his plan for day two. Took him ten minutes, including the morning jerk off, which he believed he deserved even if he had sworn to himself the night before he would try chastity for a while. As usual, Boris took liberty in the definition of submissive and slave.

And the day went on, and another, and a few. Boris had since then navigated far away from Goddess Persephone, with the same type of exchanges, deceptions, and excitements. And jerking off, a lot of it. Although, that he couldn’t deny, Boris still had Goddess Persephone somewhere in his mind. For whatever reason, he was keen on checking on her, from time to time. Even once, he got her to answer to one of his comments, an actually nice and humorous answer, not the type he would fantasize about. Strangely, this did not disappoint him the least. For the first time, at least to his own memory, he could actually envisage a Domme as a person, and felt strangely okay with that.

All these little events would certainly have been understood as preparing for what happened, but the snap was too brutal, too deeply rooted in his unconscious, for Boris to notice anything.

***

Was Boris under influence when he decided all of a sudden to indulge his first true S&M experience in London, hours away from his French home? Was it the sole influence of Goddess Persephone, her delicious soles and marvellous legs? Was it the general attitude and tone that British Dommes seemed to naturally possess? Was it fortune? We’ll never know, and certainly, Boris won’t. It still happened though, that Boris, out of the dozens, hundreds, thousands of solicitations, opportunities, fantasies that were made available to him on his computer screen days and nights, out of this apparent infinite choice, decided himself to go wild in Club Pedestal, in London, and arrange two full days of vacation from his office and vanilla life.

Oh, he had already been to a fetish party once, but in such peculiar circumstances, accompanying a journalist friend, getting as many images and erections for his unspent– journalists have this talent – money as possible, yet relieved that he was supposed to pretend being only “interested” in this whole BDSM thing so that his friend would not take him for a weirdo. No, this time he was going bareback, with no protection, a full and whole kinky Boris ready to rock the scene! And rocking he did, full and large.

Let’s confess it right now, Boris had indeed picked Club Pedestal for the hotness of some of its female participants, and included Goddess Persephone in the lot. He was eager to see how the Londoners, inventors of Torture Garden, punk and maybe other things, how this was done outside of the intellectual, rigid, self-centred and narcissistic Parisian scene. Yes, it should be wilder, easier, cooler in the UK, it must be! More people, more fun, plus, absolutely no chance for him to be recognized. He had so few connections in the UK, and did not plan to develop more. No downside, no trap, this was the perfect idea.

***

And the trip happened. Boris trembled a bit while buying his Eurostar tickets online, lost three days looking for the best deal in a quiet place to buy leather outfits, got a lot of “I’m never gonna do this” moments following or followed by frenetic porn-surfing and excessive jerfing off, but the day finally came, the appropriate lies served to the relevant partners and colleagues, the hotel booked. He was ready.

The time when someone arrives at a party tells everything about that person. It was also true for Boris. His mind was racing for no reason, he had already contemplated a hundred times the possibility to back away. After all, there was nothing wrong in enjoying a pint watching a good old Swansea-Wimbledon football game. But Boris was also stubborn, sometimes. Proud too, or at least he thought he was, proud enough at least to speak himself into going to that goddamn party see what the fuss was all about. To avoid any second thoughts, he decided he would go when doors opened, so he could see how the atmosphere evolved, check the crowd, and the rest. And that told indeed a lot about him.

Lining patiently, waiting for the doors to open, Boris managed to look at almost no one. He was afraid of the disappointment. Parties are real life, they’re not the internet, he remembered, a bit late. Oh, there was well one or two women with short skirts and used nylons revealing nice pieces of thighs, though mostly of those whitey pale typical Brit’s tone. Even those were surrounded by muscular, leather wrapped, boots wearing male legs, reminding Boris that he had never been the night club type of seductor, lowering the odds of his evening being a memorable one. It was maybe a minute before he left that doors opened and the line disaggregated, everyone pushing in at the same time in the reasonably large entrance hall of the club. Boris had not raised his eyes from the ground once, and planned on doing so until he got in. Boris did not think about this attitude qualifying him as a submissive, or as a shy person, or as a psychopathic weirdo that could actually be spotted and gotten into trouble. He just couldn’t do better and would have prayed it would work, if praying made any sense when appealing to solve an issue that has to do with sado-masochism.

It worked, finally. No one noticed him, the cloakrooms people were too busy doing anything else than take-bags-give-tickets-take-note-give-coins, and that was it. Now the bar looked like heaven, for Boris felt now as awkward as can be, standing alone in a leather pants, black shirt, and no particularly distinguishable element of clothing or jewellery that would have made him stand out. His little tactics of looking plain neutral to remain unnoticed functioned too well: like most of shy ones, Boris was hiding the most gigantic ego one could conceive. An ego that would soon be put to test, and fail!

***

The party slowly took off, music getting louder, crowd larger, alcohol stronger. Boris had managed to remain on his own, in a little corner, eyeing each and every woman who passed nearby, alternating smoking trips to the outside with careful refilling expeditions to the bar. He was on his way for such when the magical encounter hit him. Goddess Persephone was in front of him.

She was for real, and she was for real a dream piece of pussy. Boris knew those thoughts were awful, he knew he should have thought else, but he couldn’t help it. Goddess Persephone was, above anything else, a wonderfully beautiful, devilishly attractive, magnetically remarkable woman. And her latex outfit, underlining her mouth-drying curves, her neat and sophisticated hair-dressing that gave her and almost classical 1950s pin-up touch, her naked legs whose end was never to be found, her red open-toed stilettos, white-soled and…

“Hey, you, yes, I’m talking to you!” Fuck. This could not be. This should not have been, he did not want to be noticed. Oh come on, of course he wanted, of course he wanted to interact with Goddess Persephone. Thinking this was happening was already almost too much. He dared glare at the Goddess.

“You’re a sub? Submissive? You?”

Hoping his French accent would give him a good excuse, he mumbled: “Yes I am.”

“And you’re going for a drink, right? You do something for me now subbie, won’t you?”

He thought he had understood, but now was terrified. No, that was too much, he was not ready, it was not his way of life anyway, he wanted out now. “Euh…yes, no, sorry, my english, really terrible, very bad.” Bloody lousy escape, bloody sad thing of an excuse. All the more, since he did not even know what he hoped for: Goddess to insist? Goddess to leave him alone? Goddess to slap him, collar him, put him on a leash and take him to the corner to torture him before raping him? Hmmmm… Last option sounded pretty good, it also sounded pretty uncertain. Goddess had anyway far more precise ideas than Boris.

“You pay. My drink, pay it. Okay?” The sequence of finger moves, first the universal sign of a thumb caressing the top of the four other ones, then a pointed index at Boris, then Goddess’ empty glass, that could not be misunderstood, even by a French speaker. It was finally there, that moment, the one Boris had kept away from him for all those years. The moment when he would, out of his own fantasy of submission, give his money to someone else.

***

In his everyday life, Boris could not be qualified as the avaricious type, rather the contrary. The thing was, he was not keen on spending for himself. He had his passions, would give in to the casual shopping spree in his favourite stores, bookshops in town, sex toys online, but always kept those under control. Otherwise, he was of the opinion that spending too much made him feel bad, therefore reducing the enjoyment of what such money had bought. That would never go for others, for whom Boris always wanted the best, and sometimes even with a touch of clinking polish on it, another sign of his ego.

Well, that would go, but not with porn. With porn, Boris had the absolute, strictest policy of not spending a dime. Nothing to do with leaving billing traces giving way to blackmail or anything, he had bought some rather explicit toys under his real name and felt really okay with that. It had to do with him limiting his fall into the dark side of himself he could not help but be afraid of. He wanted to remain a fantasizing submissive, a so-called slave, he wanted to decide when and how he would play out his wildest desires. He thought he knew that the moment he would cross that line, pay for porn, out of findom or even only for movies or clips, there would be no turning back. He was almost certain that it would lead him into becoming a daylight submissive, renouncing all rights to success, happiness, and normal life.

Now, that was some reasoning from our little Boris. Not even discussing its soundness, it left entirely up the question: what happens when a Dominant Woman asks to be invited for a drink? Boris’ entire mental construct collapsed in an eye-blink: refusing Goddess to pay for her drink would amount to refusing the hottest girl to invite her, which was probably even more of a loser attitude than to actually pay while not expecting anything from her, as a submissive should. And Goddess Persephone had indeed checked that he was a submissive.

Although slightly aware that his answer would bear significance, as a brief frown barring his forehead revealed, Boris gulped, and said “Yes Goddess Persephone, thank You Goddess Persephone”. She smiled at him, and no conqueror ever showed a strongest sign of superiority and triumph over his vanquished that Goddess Persephone with her smile. She then tucked her glass in Boris hands, and turned away, offering Boris a peak at her glorious bottom, to which the plunging back of her latex dress pointed inescapably.

***

Fetching drinks at a bar does not require thinking too much, and that was quite fortunate for Boris, who was at that point in no position to exercise his brain on whatsoever. Also luckily for him, the glass Goddess Persephone had given him empty corresponded to a specific cocktail, so Boris did not even have to go back to her asking what she wanted. Since, idiot, he had forgotten to ask.

Paying for both drinks made it all the more easier for Boris, and he was now contemplating the dangerous mission of going back to Goddess Persephone with her filled up glass. She was casually chatting among a group of people whom Boris could not really see, his eyes now glued to the glorious perfection of Goddess Persephone’s sexy as hell body, and Boris excluded right away the possibility to simply break the circle: he was in no state to make an appearance among strangers, specially not with Goddess Persephone among them.

Holding both drinks a bit tighter than usual, for the trembling of his hands had not really diminished since the Goddess had spoken to him a few minutes ago, he decided for the circumventing move, going around the circle so that Goddess Persephone could actually notice him. He was stupidly proud enough that he managed to look at the Goddess more or less in the eyes, but was definitely hardened in the relevant parts of his body when Goddess Persephone, acknowledging his presence with an almost invisible smile on her plump, so feminine lips, rather loudly snapped her fingers and pointed at him, then giving him the sign to approach.

“Good boy.” And that was it. Boris had gone through the circle, and this was made much easier because it was on the invitation of the Goddess. But then, she just took her glass, and a sip of the cocktail, and said: “Good boy.” And she went back to chatting, as if Boris had disappeared. Which he did, of course, although not really sure what to think of it all. Was it a super erotic submissive scene he had lived, getting to pay for the drink of a Dominant Lady and being immediately, rather scornfully, dismissed a second after? Was it rather an authentic loser moment, being trapped into paying for a gorgeous girl because she knew he was hot for her, and then forgotten about in an eye-blink because she had no intention to give any second more of her time to him? Was there really a difference? Ah… The subtle and useless intricacies of a submissive’s mind…

Lost in such thoughts, half excited, half demotivated, Boris went back to his first chosen attitude, the observing loner with a certain objective as to drinking reasonably enough to keep good. Only now, he had chosen a corner of the room in the line of Goddess Persephone’s vision. Oh, not that he expected anything! It was still nicer to lay eyes regularly on the Goddess, rather than anyone else in the room. Of course, Boris is an educated boy, he knew that eye-fixating someone is the shortest way to being included in the not so elective and not so asked for category of dangerous sociopath jerks. And he managed, quietly and discreetly, to get his occasional glimpses at Goddess’ incredible beauty, so cute face and irresistible smile. He even found a position where he could from time to time drool over Goddess’ feet, her white painted toe nails popping out from her shoes when she slightly shifted the weight of her body from one leg to another.

That, of course, would have made for an acceptably sad evening, and Boris was even caressing the idea that Goddess Persephone would finally leave and he could turn without regret to someone a bit more in his league, to engage in any kind of sexual interactions. Because, that was clearer by each minute, Boris was slowly but surely reaching the point where drunkenness and sexual needs were mixing high and heavy. We will again never know for sure if Goddess Persephone chose on purpose to snap again her fingers at poor Boris. But we can testify that Boris’ reaction was automatic. Besides gorging his penis with whatever blood was available anywhere in his body, he also raised up, and walked to the Goddess.

***

“Hey, good boy, you do drugs? Wanna hit something? I know someone and would like to, so I thought, well, good boy here should pay, what do you think?”

The French accent? The “I don’t speak English”? The “Sorry, I don’t do drugs”? Was there an excuse that could work? Of course not, and if Boris was no addict on hard drugs, he had an happy and totally enjoyed memory of each and every time he consumed. And, in all frankness to himself, he could only admit he would happily do drugs indeed, right now, why not? This whole thing made him remember his first cocaine in Berlin, six in the morning in a punk underground club, and that was way up in his list of cool things. And so he said:

“Oh yes Goddess, thank you for the opportunity. What should I do?”

“Good boy learns quick, you even improved your English it seems!” Goddess Persephone laughed, and Boris was now completely under the spell. Yes, he would have worshiped her white pearly teeth and swore that her spit was worth more than his life, right at this moment.

“See the guy over there by the bathroom? He’s the one. You tell him Goddess Persephone wants something. And you can take whatever you want. Be quick now, subbie!”

Zeroing his blurred vision on a muscular, bold man, who was wearing rings on almost each and every finger of his hands, Boris slowly departed from the Goddess. He found the dealer alone, eyeing in the distance, eager to catch the glaze of potential customers. All the better for his current state of mushy, half void half racing mind.

“Good evening Sir. Goddess Persephone wants something. And I’d like too.”

“Sure lad, what’s your thing?”

“Hmmm… Cocaine?” And Boris felt very stupid.

“For fuck sake lad, can’t you say it a little louder? Fucking Russian or whatever the fuck you come from, does no one gives a fuck about those things in your fucking home hole?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be more than that, fellah, way more than that. Anyways, I got what you need. You got two hundred”?”

Bitch… Two hundred pounds, that was not really planned… It was, indeed, all Boris had left. To hell with that, he though, let’s party!

“Yes Sir. You want me to show it here or we can make the exchange straight away?”

“Seems you’re learning quick, I like that. It’s okay, I know the surroundings, let’s shake hands.”

Although he had seen it mostly in the movies, Boris instinctively reached out to his money and closed his palm around it. He then looked up the guy in the eyes, noticing they were very blue, and very bright. The guy was probably high, on something that was not of the relaxing kind.

A first high five gave them the occasion to exchange the bill. The dealer expertly evaluated the amount without even giving a look. Grasping Boris’ shoulder as if making a good joke, he energetically tapped his back three or four times, laughing. Boris felt distinctively that the last stroke aimed at his ass, and was more of the assessing sort of slap, with a twitch of pain-delivering. He still maintained composure, and indolently checked his back pocket was fuller than before. It was hard to be sure given the thickness of the leather, but the trousers were still tight enough that even the two small plastic bags were still noticeable. He set himself to his way back to the Goddess, unsure really if he was feeling more or less at his place at the moment.

***

“Well hello now subbie. Do you have it?” Goddess Persephone was now lying on a sofa, in an half dark remote cabin-like setting of several seats and tables, not too far away from where Boris had first settled himself when the night seemed young and – almost – innocent.

“Yes Goddess, here it is.” As always when in front of the Goddess, Boris felt useless, powerless and almost impotent. A robot would compare in full advantage to his stiffness and rigidity. He mechanically reached out to his back pocket, and presented the small reclosable bags to his amazingly hot interlocutor. One contained two pills, the other, unmistakable creamy white powder.

“Is that a proper way to present your Goddess a tribute? Down on your knees, you piece of shit!”

His brain half grilled, half frozen, Boris made all efforts humanly possible to kneel down in the most humble, devoted and quasi-religious way. His level of excitement was now beyond his own words, although for an external observer, it could be summarized like this: red-faced, wide-open and scintillating eyes, absolutely uncomfortable on his knees in his skinny leather trousers, all the more at discomfort for his rock-hard cock was stuck beneath the rigid material, and Boris didn’t of course dare touch it to relax the tension.

“You can’t say anything now, can you? Pathetic subbie, you’re well one of the thousands, all mouth and pride but when you get to meet your fantasies. What do we have here, huh?” Goddess Persephone was examining both bags, and Boris couldn’t help but think he would still be disappointed if she decided to take both from him.

“Hmmm, coke? Not a bad choice, subbie. I left my glass on the table over there, why don’t you go fetch it for me, and we’ll hit together when you’re back? How is th..”

She didn’t even have time to finish, Boris was already raising and turning his back to give his blood a chance to recirculate a bit. A not-so-gentle kick from Goddess’ right heel in his right lower thigh brought him back to consciousness, and his knees.

“Have I dismissed you, fucker? What the hell is wrong with you? I should make you crawl all around, and carry that drink of mine on your donkey’s back. Anyways, I don’t have time for this. Go fetch my glass and be quick now. Go!” A snap of her fingers was the signal for Boris to finally get up on his feet and rush through the crowded room.

***

There was absolutely no need for Goddess Persephone to remind Boris how to present himself to her when he arrived. Back from her laying posture, she was now sitting comfortably on the coach, both arms extended on the back of the seat, her astonishing legs crossed high with her right foot circling around in the air, as if asking the most fundamental questions to the universe. She was eyeing straight in front of her, while not focusing on anything in particular, until she turned and lowered slightly her face towards Boris, not without leaving him a handful of seconds fully out of her vision. She once again destroyed the poor man’s will and ego with a simple yet so powerful grin.

“Veeeeeeery good, slave. Look now what your Goddess has been nice enough to set up for you. I hate it when my table is covered with dust, but I’ll admit the floor here is not the driest ever. Hey, you even have dirty knees on your trousers right now!” She laughed a bit, and then accompanied a “You naughty boy!” with a teacher like movement of her index pointed at him. She then raised an eyebrow, and for Boris, this had always been one of the most erotic things on Earth. No one will question Boris was an obsessional type of person, but no one could neither question he was now tightly wrapped around Goddess Persephone’s finger.

“Well, don’t die on me right now, okay? I’m a nice Goddess, see, I’ve prepared something for you! You’re not gonna faint, right?”

“No Goddess, thank you so much Goddess, in fact, I’m really happy, but also, I want to be frank, I am a bit nervous and anxious.”

“Rubbish, don’t be anxious, nothing here happened without willing it, right?”

“This is true, Goddess.”

“Of course it is. So, where was I? Yes, the powder. So, being a gentle Goddess and all that, I decided I would allow you to have your sniff, but, the table being unavailable, and the floor not a candidate, I’ve already put it right there between my toes. Am I not the best Goddess, really?”

Boris’ mouth was tight shut, and he could not help it. But his eyes were doing all the talking, and Goddess Persephone read them oh so perfectly. Still, Boris managed to mutter, after a lot of lips biting, mouth-watering, and teeth-grinding:

“Yes Goddess, you are the best. Thank you Goddess Persephone.”

And with that all set up, Boris lowered his eyes on those treasures he had coveted for months, on the internet, and then in here since he first made contact with the Goddess. This collection of adorable, well-proportioned, made-to-be-kissed toes was an appeal to him like nothing could ever be right in that moment. Noticing only now the small pecks of white powder covering them, and more consistent piles stuck a bit further between the big and second one, Boris started to lower his chest and head to finally get to the place he had fantasized about for so long, the feet of a Goddess.

“Not so quick, subbie, you won’t get any if don’t get a straw. Lucky for you, you still have this ticket from the cloak room, so roll it on and hand me my glass once you’re done. We’ll have fun.”

***

Inhaling cocaine has one immediate effect, and it is not pleasant: it basically ruins your nostril and therefore any sense of smell, replacing it by an intense, although not too lasting sensation of being frozen from the inside. Boris was thus indeed prevented from getting the scent of what he was eagerly sniffing, but Goddess Persephone helped recalling him that:

“You’re basically sniffing my sweat and all the nasty dusty things I’ve collected between my royal toes, isn’t that nice?”

To which poor Boris could only agree, as he did once the task of collecting each and every piece of coke from Goddess Persephone’s open-toe pump was achieved.

“Yes Goddess, thank you Goddess.”

“Well then, here’s something more for you subbie. My stuff does not kick in as quickly as yours, and I’m pretty sure that you left some of your coke on my shoe’s innersole, and my feet. Because I am still in such a good mood, and because I like my climbing up the trip to be as pleasant as possible, I’ll allow you to lick my foot clean of anything that remains in it. I know chewed coke is not as potent as sniffed one, but you’d still get a nice feeling from it, right? And I’m sure the coke is not what you’re after here, do you disagree, little one?”

As touched by grace, and he was indeed, sort of anyway, Boris heard the words of the Goddess and gravely nodded his approval. Gently holding Goddess Persephone’s ankle, he carefully separated her foot from her shoe, which he set aside. Now that his nose was back to normal, he could finally enjoy the scent of Goddess’ feet, and the only word which came to his mind was: perfect. Perfect feet, perfect woman, perfect moment, perfect everything. Yes, cocaine will do that too.

Goddess Persephone, now back to an almost laid down position on the coach, had rested her right foot on Boris’ shoulder. She was neglectfully tipping the side of his head with her shoe, from time to time, heightening the intensity of the strokes when she felt Boris was unresponsive to them. Mockingly, she would also pick on him stopping to clean her foot when the kick would make him interrupt his task, asking what the trouble was, and so on. The fun a Domme can have…

On his side, Boris had set himself to perform the best foot licking service he could think of. From long strokes, heel to toes, to sucking each and every one of them individually, he did not forget to give full mouth bath to her heel, and pushed his tongue as hard as possible between the toes so that the sweat-glued dirt would go off from Goddess’ skin. The cocaine rush made the whole thing more than good.

After she had dried her foot on his hair and t-shirt, Goddess Persephone, both her feet now on Boris’ shoulders, smilingly sighed in relaxed pleasure.

“You know what? You’re a good foot licker, slave. Before you get to my coke-splattered shoe, why don’t you get busy with my other foot?” And with that she took her other shoe off by pressing the heel against Boris skull, and left her foot, that appeared to Boris as the most beautiful thing in the world right now, in the air before his drooling mouth.

Without even taking the time to answer, Boris, still on his knees, raised his hands to support Goddess Persephone’s right leg, and began the whole process again. He could this time appreciate the dirtiness of her foot a bit better, and hungrily gulped the black muddy specks and their sweaty companions. Then came the time to clean Goddess’ shoes, first from the outside, as Goddess insisted he sucked on each heels like it was a cock. A usual pitch phrase in the millions of clips Boris had seen on his computer, but a completely different and widely more exciting sentence to hear from Goddess Persephone, now obviously beginning to ride the heights of her trip.

As he was dutifully cleaning the inner sole of Goddess’s left shoe, where micro-spots of white substance indicated that indeed, some of the coke was still incrusted, Boris began to feel something he had not experienced with coke before, a strong sense of need, not the kind that goes along with sexual desire or such, but an imperious necessity for something else, a real hunger, a craving for relaxation and mind drift.

In a flash, Boris could only jokingly think how ridiculous it would be if he complained he had been drugged. Thought this would not have been that far from truth…

***

“What’s going on now, subbie? Are we feeling hot and hungry? In need of something? And what would that be, you think?”

Boris was indeed now sweating and almost feverish. The coke still gave him muscular energy, but it was as if his mind and will were unable to function properly. He was kneeling here, truly motionless, fully conscious of everything that was happening. Goddess Persephone laughed, and for the first time Boris felt a shade of sadism and cruelty. He shivered.

“Would you say that you would like your mind to be fixed on something? Or fixed by something, actually? Oh, I know what you need. See, what’s so nice with having one’s dealer at hand, is that I can set up this kind of small games, effortless. And you, fool, have helped me all the way!

Here’s the thing, I’ve laced your coke with one of the pills you’ve bought for me, something called “atropine”, know what this is? It’s a fantastic substance that few in the world have an idea of, but I’ll spare you the details. In short, and if properly dosed, it’s not lethal, but it puts the consumer in such a transe that he or she is unable to do anything else than obey orders.

And, of course, I like it when one obeys my orders! Mwaaaaah ah ah ah!”

As it looked to him, Boris was indeed fucked., stuck to the ground, on his knees, his whole body now exuding waves of heat and his t-shirt glued to his moisturized torso.

“You may start by getting rid of your clothes now, slave. I hate to see you all sweaty and red.”

For a moment, Boris thought he was truly hallucinating, dreaming this moment through, and that he would awaken in a minute if he opened his eyes. But t he sad truth was, his eyes were open already, and staring at a now exhilarating and excited, but still beautiful and divine to his eyes, Goddess Persephone.

What really got Boris worried was that he started to undress, here and there in a public space although slightly covered where he was right now. It was as if his mind understood the whole situation, but the connection with his body was failing him, and his muscles were rather answering another person’s will and spirit.

***

“Thaaaaaaaaaat’s it, a boxer-wearing, naked and crawling slave. Good boy! Now give me your head so I can collar you. Yeah yeah, get on all fours like the animal you are, come on now! Don’t lie and pretend, your underwear is almost cracking up under the pressure of your cock!”

And again, Boris could have only shamefully agreed to that statement, if only he had any possibility to dictate any kind of behaviour to his body. Also true was the fact that being collared by such a stunning Goddess was not to his dislike, and her roughly setting both her legs on his back in another typical display of fetish scenery just added to his excitement. Life was bad, but life was good.

“Now now now, I have you at my mercy, haven’t I? You’ve seen I can be a nice and gentle Goddess, but I’m still a dominant authoritarian bitch, when I want to. And I want to use your sorry ass to the fullest when I’m at it, understand?

Can you imagine that I could tell you to kill yourself right now, and you would most probably do it? I could also take you to the most remote part of the city, in the freezing cold we have tonight, and leave you helpless in the open air. You’d probably be dead by tomorrow, you’re in absolutely no state to even take the simplest steps to your own survival.”

To say Boris was now getting scared would be the biggest understatement ever. All the universe he had built, all the little protections and small compromises, all the submissive-but-still-a-human lines of defence were now skinned to the bones, and the skeleton they revealed was of the weakest kind. Boris was totally and utterly disgusted by himself, and at the same time, couldn’t help thinking this was the hottest instant in his life.

“But I’m not going to do that, I don’t see any point in being a murderer, it doesn’t get me anything in return. I’m going to propose you a very fair deal.”

***

The scene would have caught the attention of a casual wanderer: a beautiful, sexy woman, in a shiny latex dress, her high heeled feet resting on the naked back of a prostrated, leashed and collared man, the lady speaking apparently out loud to herself. Because, as it were, Boris was still as a rock, and hard as one for what it was, and Goddess Persephone was still explaining to him how things would be, without caring too much if her human footstool could hear anything.

“Here is what I’ll do. You’ll be relieved to learn that atropine has a sort of antidote, something that puts you in a deep, relaxed sleepy state, and gets you to slowly recover from the trance. But it costs, of course, and, let’s face it, I’m not paying of course!” Goddess Persephone paused there, repositioning her feet, intendedly scratching the back of poor Boris with her spiked heels.

“So the deal is simple. I have the intension of getting wasted for good tonight, with friends of mine that are in the same attitude. This silly little pill I took will clearly not do the trick, I’m aiming at something much more powerful. And, see how easy it is, I will allow you to pay for all our stuff, and on that condition, ask for the antidote for you to your new friend there. How is that, little one?”

Lunatic and panting, Boris could almost feel again the two hundred pounds worth of notes in his hand. His last two hundred pounds… Of course, he had not brought any credit card with him, another poor attempt at preserving his now long forgotten pledge not to risk anything from his vanilla life for the fulfilment of his dark fantasies. Focusing all his attention and coked-up energy on his mouth, Boris managed to articulate softly:

“I don’t have any money left, Goddess.”

He would have thought her fury would be far greater, but he managed to get away, or it seemed to him, with two strong slaps on his face, and a vicious kick in his abdomen.

“No, no and no! Fuck! Why do I always have to go through this?” The final punch to his ribs, cutting his breath for a few seconds, looked pretty okay as a punishment to Boris, as it of course sent some additional tingling sensations to his desperately stiff penis.

“Okay then, but be witness it was not my intention at first. This happens because of you, your uselessness and cheapness.”

***

Dragged through the room, strangled by the collar, led by Goddess Persephone who firmly held the leash in her right hand, Boris felt as much as he saw the attention turn to him. Crawling on a now beer-stained, mud-dirtied floor was a real predicament, but getting to admire Goddess’ round and firm ass moving back and forth in front of him made the whole trip more than worth it. Decided as she was, she did not stop for chatter with her apparently countless friends in the room, and went straight ahead to the dealer.

“Hi B! Seems that we got a sorry broke ass tonight.”

The eyes of the guy were now half red, half iron blue. He looked down at Boris almost angrily, as if Boris’ lack of cash was an insult to him personally”.

“Doesn’t surprise me, this one’s a total noob. So what’s it gonna be? The usual?”

“Well yes, there’s the six of us, as I told you. And mister slave here would have his little medication.”

“Hmmmm… Well okay, I can do six and one for a virgin ass like this one. Got to test him first, right?”

“Of course dear, be my guest”. And with that, Goddess Persephone handed the leash to B, who almost tore Boris’ head off with a strong pull.

“Put your head in front of my crotch, subbie, and unzip my meat. Now!”

This was not what Boris had in mind. Oh no! Really not. He had caught himself gay fantasizing, for sure, and the situation did fit some of those visions. But then, this was in the comfort of his bed, or his home, or anywhere else than in a crowded S&M club, his body filled with coke and his mind blown away with whatever shit he was on. But he obeyed, as he had done until now, and timidly took a significant piece of a cock, and two large and round balls out of the man’s pants.

The worst thing was the smell. Boris would have thought that touching another man’s dick would be bad enough, but truth being told, what he was not prepared for was the raunchy, acrid, foul scent that another guy’s penis could exhale. He was in no shape to fight any way, and remained there, kneeling, a now rapidly growing sex in his left hand, his right one gripping his soon-to-be rapist’s left thigh to maintain balance.

“Good boy. Now kiss it.” Expected, and Boris almost thanked the guy for not ordering him directly to suck him for good. Placing pecks as soft as he could on the thing, he witnessed, to his own disgust, that he couldn’t help but feel happy at the speedy and rocky erection his treatment had provoked.

“Good. Lick it.” As though he had anticipated the order, Boris immediately positioned the guy’s sex so that he could run his tongue from down the ballsack to the tip of the head. He wouldn’t have liked anyone to know that he was way past the smell, and even the taste, for what it took. He didn’t really liked the whole thing, but he was now eager for it to finish.

“Okay, stop now. I said stop, you greedy bitch!” And both B and Goddess Persephone burst in laughter at the sight of Boris being pushed away from a cock with his tongue still hanging out of his mouth.

“Okay P, that’ll do it. I’ll get him bound in the toilets in a minute, I might have a couple of lads coming over to empty their balls and I like it better when he’s getting a bit more conscious of what’s happening when I’m on to it. Here’s your stuff, have fun!”

“Well slave, you see, that was not an unfair deal for you. Don’t stress up, B is negative, and all his friends are, see I’m not a murderer? That being said, some of his friends are really, really well hung up, so I suggest you don’t stop sweating too soon or you’ll get a reaaaaally sore ass tomorrow!” Another burst of laughter.

“All rightie, I’ll leave you both to your love nest now. Enjoy the night and remember to take more with you next time. It says on all my websites, I’m an expensive addiction. Bye now, bitch!”

Boris managed in a cyclopean effort to turn his head and watch a last time Goddess Persephone’s divine ass waving him the perfect Femdom’s goodbye. A manly tug on the leash brought him back to reality.

“She’s gone. Now come pay for her fun, and be good, or I’ll wait a bit more before giving you the antidote.”