It was mid December, a wintery day in London. Jade and I had already had our official Christmas celebration together, but we'd spotted that our diaries aligned in such a way that we could squeeze in another chance to see each other before I went away for Christmas.
Ahead of the visit, I nervously sent a text to Jade that read: "Miss J, I know I'm not supposed to ask for things but if I'm good, as a Christmas treat please could you pee on me again ...or maybe even use me as your toilet. I'm not sure I could take it but the idea of being humiliated and degrade by being made to drink your piss excites me."
Excitingly, she replied, "Yeah, I haven't for a while because I was concerned with the mess an time limit, but because I'm staying over this week it'll be easier to do."
I assured her, "I can put a towel down incase I waste any and I would obviously lick you clean after and then clean myself before I continue to serve you."
Two days later, I met her at John Lewis to help her with her Christmas shopping. I felt a sense of pride and obedience carrying her bags and accompanying her. I was a vessel of her will, a tool to make her life easier, and in that, I found my bliss.
We got the tube back to mine, where Jade rested after her shopping trip while I prepared a meal for her. She'd asked for soup, followed by a fruit pie topped with warm custard. While she ate ironed her top ready for her Christmas drinks the following evening.
By the time I was done with my chores, Miss was in bed. She ordered, "Pull back the duvet. My feet need some attention." The tone of her voice left no room for debate. I carefully peeled back the duvet, revealing her feet—elegantly sculpted, the toenails painted a glossy black that caught the dim light in the room. The beautiful deep brown of her soles seemed to beckon me, pulling me into this deeply intimate ritual of submission and obedience.
Ah, yes. The very feet that had kicked me in the groin numerous times, making me wince and gasp, were now the subject of my care and attention. It was a poignant contrast, yet the dual nature of this intimate act deepened my sense of submission. I was not merely servicing her; I was worshipping her. My hands were massaging the very tools of my own pleasurable torment.
"I expect a good job, so don't rush," she directed, leaning back against the pillows.
Humbled, I took her left foot into my hands, holding it with the utmost reverence. My fingers made contact with her skin, sending a current of excitement through me. I felt humbled, aware that these dainty feet had the power to both control and humiliate me.
I knelt at the edge of the bed, her feet right in front of me as if presented on a sacred altar. I took her left foot in my hands first, holding it as if it were a precious artefact. The feeling of her skin under my fingertips was electric, as if I were touching the epicenter of her power and dominance.
Starting at the heel, I applied consistent but gentle pressure, kneading the tiredness out of her muscles. My fingers moved rhythmically, working their way to the ball of her foot and then up to the toes. Each toe received its own mini massage. With every touch, I was communicating an unspoken understanding: she was the one in control here, and her comfort was my ultimate purpose. I could feel her feet slowly yielding to the pressure of my fingers, relaxing bit by bit as I moved on to her right foot and repeated the process.
Here I was, so tenderly caring for the very feet that had inflicted both pain and pleasure upon me. It was a beautiful paradox that only deepened my devotion to Miss J.
She let out a satisfied sigh, not as an expression of gratitude but as a confirmation that I'd met her expectations. It was a reminder of the delicate balance of pleasure and pain that defined our relationship. And in that moment, I felt profoundly grateful.
Satisfied that I'd sufficiently attended to her, I waited for her next command, aware that the privilege of touching her could be revoked at any moment. Miss J nestled her feet back under the duvet, and then came her voice, casual yet authoritative, "Now, let's move to the next part, shall we?"
I had a good idea what this was and said, "Yes, Miss J." I was instructed to crawl under the duvet this time and lick her waiting pussy. As always, I was excited by this and overwhelmed by the incredible smell of her body as I got close to her in the gloom beneath the covers.
Then the moment of ecstasy as my lips made contact with her smooth, warm slit. I started by kissing it several times, and then gently licked her up and down, slowly pushing my wet tongue inside of her. He flavour filled my mouth and perhaps the moment got the better of me, as my eagerness caused Miss J kick me in the side and command, "Slow down. Gently."
I did as I was told, carefully pushing my tongue inside of her, slowly licking her clit, and occasionally sucking it between my lips. I lavished my tongue upon her, my every stroke an act of utter submission. An hour passed before she climaxed, a summit of sensation that sent her involuntarily jerking away from my touch. I planted a few gentle kiss on her pussy and her throbbing clit as she came but she kicked me off the bed, a stark reminder of my place at her feet.
"Lie down on the floor," she commanded, her tone making it clear that this was not up for debate. "You can wank," she said, the words tinged with indulgence and a hint of cruel amusement, "but you're not cleaning up after yourself."
She added, "You can take as long as you want, but you better be quick." Then she lowered herself on to my face. The scent of her pussy once again enveloped me, and I felt subsumed, lost in a realm of scents and sensations that only Miss J could conjure.
Frantic, my hand reached for my rock hard cock, and I started stroking myself. My excitement was palpable, heightening with each bounce of her body on my face. Just as I was getting into the rhythm, she abruptly got off and climbed onto the bed. The absence was immediate and agonising.
"Please, Miss J," I whinged, my voice tinged with desperation.
After a moment that felt like an eternity, she returned, reclaiming her throne on my face. This time, her movements were more forceful, her rhythm more assertive. My senses were overwhelmed with the scent and taste of her as I kissed and sniffed her ass and pussy, my hand moving in feverish strokes.
It didn't take much longer for the climax to hit me, intense and all-consuming. I came hard, the culmination of all the evening's tension and desire spilling forth.
Without saying a word, she climbed off me and returned to the bed. I lay there, my body covered in my own cum, a humbling testament to the control she had over me. It wasn't until about 10 minutes had passed that Miss J spoke again. "You can clean up now," she permitted, her voice tinged with finality.
Cleansed but still awash with the lingering sensations of the night, I took my place at the foot of her bed where I'd be sleeping, grateful for the intensity of our shared experience, yet humbled by the depths of my own submission. As I lead in my makeshift bed I reflected on the evening, realising that Miss J hadn't made me drink her pee, but we still had tomorrow night together this side of Christmas.
