You might recall from the first chapter of this story that I had found a group of friends after several years of living successfully, but alone. I also became desperately attracted to one member of that group. Her name is Paula (Goddess Paula to me) and she had so many desirable traits that I found her irresistible. One of these traits was her perfect feet. She didn’t mind my attraction to her feet, and she even used my fetish to make me submit to her. She made me her slave. I served as her household maid and provided her with personal services like massages and foot worship.
That’s how it started. Then, over the next few months, Goddess Paula added to her domination of her foot slave. She always enjoyed teasing and denying me and making me go home with a world-class case of blue balls. The thought of me rushing home to jerk off like a maniac seemed to amuse her. But, after a couple weeks, that wasn’t enough. She wanted me even hornier and more desperate. So, she bought me a pink plastic cock cage with a little brass lock. Though it looked like a toy, it was strong and secure. Now, she could tease me and send me home multiple times, knowing I could not find any relief. She could keep me in a desperate state for weeks. And she did.
After a couple of weeks with no relief, I was in such a desperate state that she could make me do absolutely anything. While my love of her feet was enough to make me her household maid and personal servant, the desperation of my forced chastity allowed her to carry my obedience and humiliation to extremes. For example, she took me shopping for lingerie, heels, and a sexy French Maid outfit. While it was demeaning to perform any household chore Goddess Paula desired, at her command, that paled when compared to the humiliation of performing these chores in bra, panties, French Maid outfit, and four-inch heels.
It is worth noting here that my heels were equipped with ankle straps to which Goddess Paula attached little brass locks, much like the lock on my cock cage. So, now, in addition to complete control over my cock and my orgasms, Goddess Paula also had complete control of my sexy footwear. During our shopping trips, she also had me buy myself what she called sissy-boy street clothes. These were clothes that I could wear in public without letting people know that something kinky was going on but would make it clear that I was some kind of sissy-boy. She had me buy pink flip-flops, white capri-length pants, and pink, lavender, and baby blue sleeveless tops, some with lacy trim at the neck and shoulders.
So, Goddess Paula typically had me serve her at her place in lingerie and heels, or a French Maid outfit and heels, and she would often send me out or take me out in my sissy-boy street clothes. All this humiliation was hard to take, as were the long periods of forced chastity. However, she allowed me to orally worship her shoes and feet often, acts to which I had practically become addicted. In addition, on the occasions when she did release me from my cock cage and allow me to cum, it was always an amazing and memorable experience.
I almost always came by jerking myself off, but Goddess Paula assured that a huge helping of erotic humiliation was involved, something else to which I had practically become addicted. On several occasions, she ordered me to cum all over her feet or shoes and to then lick up every drop. (Keep in mind that these were huge loads as I shot them after several weeks of forced chastity).
On another occasion, she surprised me by removing my cock cage and offering to allow me to cum, while we had been splitting a pizza. I was extremely pleased with this unexpected offer. My pleasure was somewhat dampened when she placed two slices of pizza on a plate, placed the plate on the floor in front of me, and warned me that I would be severely punished if a single drop of my cum missed the slices of pizza. Terrified of displeasing Goddess Paula, I managed to land every drop of my huge load of cum on the two slices.
I know I don’t have to tell you what happened next, but I will.
She picked up the plate and placed it on the table, took her seat, and went back to eating her own pizza. She motioned me back to my seat at the table where the cum-covered slices were just in front of me.
With a big grin on her face, Goddess Paula looked me in the eyes and pleasantly but firmly said, “Eat up, Sissy Michelle.” (That was the little pet name she had given me as my feminine wardrobe had grown.)
I knew I had no choice. I ate both slices, barely able to keep down the slimy mess.
When I was done, Goddess Paula cheerfully chirped, “Time for chores,” and handed me a big list.
I was already dressed in a nightie. Mistress Paula ordered me to put my little pink cock cage back on and to fetch and put on my locking heels, all of which she locked in place. She loved the amusement of watching me suffer the humiliation of struggling with my chores while mincing around in four-inch heels. Naturally, I had to clean up the remnants of our meal. I then had to wash the kitchen floor, vacuum the living room rug, do three loads of laundry, and put everything away, and scrub the bathroom until it gleamed. While I did these chores, Goddess Paula lay on the couch and watched a movie. She did, of course, interrupt me often, to bring her drinks and snacks, and to massage her shoulders and feet.
By the time I finished my chores, I was exhausted, and my feet hurt. Goddess Paula was kind enough to allow me to lick her feet and suck her toes for a half hour. Finally, she kicked me away. She unlocked my heels and ordered me to shower and get dressed in an outfit of my sissy-boy street clothes. When I returned to her, I knew to silently stand at attention next to her and await any orders. After about twenty minutes, she looked up at me, grinned, and purred, “mint chocolate chip.”
My face must have telegraphed my dismay as Goddess Paula’s grin grew wider. I knew what that order meant. Silently, I turned around, left the house, and walked a few blocks to the neighborhood convenience store. The store and the neighborhood were full of people who were more than happy to make fun of the sissy-boy buying ice cream. Suffering their insults yet again, I returned to Goddess Paula, opened the ice cream, served her a bowl, and again, silently stood at attention next to her and awaited any orders. Still watching TV, she enjoyed her ice cream, ignoring me completely. When she was done, she wordlessly handed me the bowl and spoon which I washed, dried, and put away.
I returned to her, prepared to take my position to await further orders, but before I could do so, she beckoned me to bend down to her. I could feel and smell her sweet breath as she gently kissed my cheek and whispered in my ear, “You were very good today, Sissy Michelle. Good night.”
I knew I had just been dismissed. I grabbed my car keys and left to return to my apartment, still wearing my sissy-boy street clothes.
Over the past several hours, I had been made to jerk off, shoot a huge load onto two slices of pizza and eat them, perform hours of menial chores in lingerie and heels, worship Goddess Paula’s feet and toes (this part of course actually being a reward), humiliate myself publicly getting her ice cream, wait on my goddess hand and foot, and finally be dismissed like the maid that I had become. Yet, as I drove home, wondering how to sneak into my apartment with the fewest of my neighbors seeing how I was dressed, I was ecstatic. I was euphoric. I had pleased Goddess Paula. She was happy with my performance.
Goddess Paula’s addition of these forms of forced cross-dressing to her domination of me was extremely humiliating but, like everything else, I accepted it as part of my submission to my perfect goddess. There were other changes too. Initially, my physical contact with Goddess Paula consisted of massaging her, applying lotion when needed, and oral foot worship, of course. Then one day, while I was on my knees worshipping her feet, she shocked me. She took a firm grip on my hair and slowly pulled my head up until it was between her thighs. As she did this, her robe slid open, revealing that she wore nothing underneath.
I found myself facing an incredibly beautiful sight, a neatly trimmed rectangular “landing strip” of pubic hair with the most luscious pussy lips visible just below. It smelled so good, and as Goddess Paula pulled my face into her sweet pussy, I started gently licking, intoxicated by her sweet taste. As she pulled my face in harder and deeper, I licked faster and more vigorously. Eventually, she drew my lips and tongue to her hard clit. I stiffened my tongue and swirled it firmly over her clit, eliciting soft moans from my goddess. She forced my face deeper, and I worked her clit harder with my tongue. Soon, she was pulling my head hard into her pussy, frantically humping my face, and starting to elicit a high-pitched scream. As her scream reached a crescendo, I felt her hot delicious juices flood my mouth and face.
As she released me, I felt an extreme sense of pride, accomplishment, and joy. Licking my goddess’s pussy to the point of bringing her bucking and screaming to orgasm immediately became one of my favorite activities, right up there with worshipping her perfect feet. I thought my goddess might discuss this new activity, but she just kicked me away and told me to get cleaned up. Over the next few weeks, I was saddened to note that Goddess Paula did not require me to orally service her pussy on every visit. My opportunities to do so were random and infrequent. But I cherished them when they occurred.
When I was allowed to orally worship Goddess Paula’s glorious pussy, she of course controlled the action to be completely to her liking. Sometimes, she would relax in a chair with me on my knees before her. At other times, she ordered me onto my back, knelt on my shoulders, and ground her pussy into my face from above. In this position, she would sometimes slide forward a bit and make me lick her ass crack and asshole. When she felt I had sufficiently cleaned and worshiped her ass, she would slide back again and make me finish my ministrations to her pussy.
Another important change to our relationship was the incorporation of severe and painful discipline. One morning, Goddess Paula ordered me into one of my sissy-boy street clothes outfits. She then told me to take off my pink flip-flops and fetch my locking high heels. I put on my heels and Goddess Paula locked them in place. As Goddess Paula beckoned me to the front door, I was confused and a bit nervous. Goddess Paula had taken me out in public in sissy-boy street clothes, but never in four-inch heels locked to my ankles. This made it completely clear that something kinky was going on and I was nervous about being seen like this.