Office Blackmail by WM

My phone beeped, it was an internal call. As reached to answer I knew who it would be. My fingers suddenly fumbling I risked a glance across the office and sure enough, she had the phone cradled on her shoulder, her beautiful black hair falling over her shoulder a cold knowing eye arrowing into my heart and her tongue curled seductively, maliciously perhaps, over her ruby red lips.

“Slut, I’m booking my holiday, I’m going to message you my account details. I want you to transfer £500 before 1pm.” The receiver left her ear and her eyes had already returned to her computer monitor. She had uttered that sentence with surety and command. I knew that I could only but obey. It wasn’t blackmail though it surely could have been, with the pictures she had of me licking the shit off her incredible boots the night before, it was an assumed and understood control. A balance between two adults who understood that life in that office would never be the same again and that one, was born to serve and the other to own.

Two weeks previously I had been meandering along through life, happily enough, contented even. Efficient if not occasionally dazzling in the office. A beautiful girlfriend, lusted after by my own friends and others. Cash in the bank with an eye on snow-boarding over Christmas and the New Year. Everything seemed balanced, sure the weather was shitty; raining wet, muddy but as long as you dressed appropriately and didn’t go out expecting a tan... You know what I mean, it was one of those typical British autumn months and the days passed, another day another dollar as they say. Then she had walked through the door. Every man in the office switched from spreadsheet to lips, to arse to legs. As she strode through the office, men gasped silently under their breaths. An exquisite body swayed easily and sexily beneath a light silk dress, perfect legs balanced on sexy stilettos The arse peeked provocatively and seductively from under its silken canopy. Veterans of 30 year marriages, forgot their wives and I lost myself in the creamy allure of her skin and the confidence of her stride. And then my eyes shifted to her shoes again. Patent black stilettos, made not for the office but the bedroom. I tried to quell the urge to stare, to memorise every detail. That little cupboard of filthy fetish urgings and fantasies flew open in my mind and a massive hard-on attacked my fitted Saville-Row trousers. The boss brought her over, her name was Carmen and she would be joining my team. Apparently she had lots of experience and was very persuasive and a great communicator, I’ll bet. She saw my shifty, lustful eyes and understood immediately that I would be putty in her palms, the way most men were. I knew I would too, though my only dream was not fucking the living daylights out of her, but to have her walk across my chest slicing my skin with the heels of her stilettos, using my mouth as an ashtray and making me her bitch. What she saw in my eyes took away any respect she might have held for my position. From the first minute, she was in charge and everyone else knew it. I’d been whooped before I’d even said a word.

The pace of the office that week was relatively frenetic, work was piling in and we all gave as good as we got. My team performed exceptionally as always and Carmen was certainly a part of this. At meetings with my managers, all male and frustrated, all the questions were tactfully about ‘the new girl’ my responses made her out to have been super-woman; she was good but not that good. The big men didn’t care, they liked looking at her through the blinds of their corner offices and would probably have accepted all the positives I extolled as fact ,even if the opposite were true. She was good at her job though , persuasive certainly, apparently dedicated but so, so sexy. She had an incredible wardrobe, not just blouses and dresses but skirts and trousers and of course shoes. Every day a different pair of shoes, immaculate and shiny. Sexy, sexy, sexy. Some mornings she’d saunter past and I would almost fall off my chair straining my neck to see what shoes she was wearing. Everyone must’ve thought I was just looking at her legs, like everyone else. But no, my cupboard was open and all those animalistic, urgent fetishistic urges of mine were swarming like teenage hormones through my body. Sometimes I caught myself trembling in a reverie in front of my computer, sex with my girlfriend had never been so good, I just closed my eyes and thought of Carmen’s feet rubbing against my face, licking the soles of her sexy boots clean, inhaling the heady fragrance of the leather and licking my dripping cum from those beautiful boots. I should’ve seen the signs, it was a feeling like this that had got me into trouble at University.

My study partner Elodie, had always worn the most amazing white leather converse, they were a little ragged, always a little dirty and screamed ’lick me’ Elodie was tall and French and sweet and a lesbian. We used to hit the library together for hours, we were great friends and ‘got’ each other, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the shoes. One afternoon I couldn’t take it anymore, contriving to drop my pen on the floor, I dropped on all fours and scrambled around under the table, Elodie’s legs stretched out before me, bathed in an unlikely ray of sunlight they seemed heaven sent. I lurched my head and pursed lips eagerly towards the grimy soles I could smell the heady odour of leather and rubber and a even a bit of the kebab I had seen her step carelessly in earlier. Centimetres from the target, Elodie’s legs suddenly withdrew and I saw her get up muttering about a bad back. I retrieved my pen and joined her in a stretch.

“Lets get some air” said she and so we did. Far from calming me the injection of oxygen to my brain inspired me more, almost into a panic to do whatever I could to kiss those soles. Soon my whole pencil case, was being knocked and nudged off the table, I would disappear under the table, to a chorus of Elodie’s laughs about how clumsy I was. Each time her feet would be tucked infuriatingly, teasingly beneath her chair and I would appear trembling from the abyss to resume my ‘study’.

“God have you got major DTs today” she remarked. Dts!!! It was the stress and the sheer indescribable desperation to lick the shit off the soles of her converse that was fucking me up. Eventually with the last pen drop of the day I reached by goal. I brushed my lips and tongue across her shoe, catching kebab, dirt and heaven in one slobbery motion, it was over in seconds to stay with me for a lifetime.

Now, looking at Carmen across the office - eyes and cheekbones to die for, hair framing her face like the finest painting, I trembled, but for none of these ‘typical‘ things. It was the bounty of those mud- smudged boots hidden beneath her desk that I longed for and fantasised about. I told myself to be professional, to snap to, to get a grip but nothing seemed to work. My girlfriend was away with mates in Thailand and every evening seemed to be a masturbation marathon of the most deviant and delicious kind. I spent every evening with her boots on my face and digging in my nipples and standing at the ATM with my card in her hand.

It all came to a head, exactly one week ago. Dress down Friday. Male grooming and dress standards in the office had shot up within the space of a week. New shirts from all the best designers clung to gym swelled breasts in every corner in the office. Testosterone hung in the air like mustard gas in the trenches, a leaving do after work promised to be a war-zone. The competitive juices of 25 hungry males, married, coupled and single alike boiled and brewed in the fetid air. Carman was coming later and today she looked HOT. A light, silken blouse caressed her breasts and the tightest of blue jeans clung to her pert, incredible are and long, lithe, legs. Her hair was up, clipped to show off her expensive earrings and her smile said, ‘Sex‘. My eyes as ever ignored these traditional paeans to feminine beauty and fixed deliriously on her feet, clad in slightly worn but aching cool, white leather converse. She noticed my gaze and smiled as she walked past

‘Not really even dress down Friday, I know’ she purred ‘ but they’re just so comfy, I wear them everywhere..’ My mouth was dry, my hands shaky, my face ashen. I felt sick. I stumbled to the toilets and sat for a few minutes in a cubicle to try and regain my composure. The shoes of my dreams were on this most beautiful, sexy and confident of women.

I can’t remember much of that day, I went through it in a trance, I did very little work and had few conversations. I tried to avoid the eyes of my colleagues and forced myself to avoid even the remotest possibility of seeing her shoes, but every time I closed my eyes to blink I saw them. Rubbing against my nipples, pushing the air from my throat, cleansing their dirty soles on my eager tongue. Somehow, it got to 6pm and the office was clearing in the general direction of the pub. I was left finishing off a few bits and pieces and found myself alone in the office. I raced through my work in fifteen minutes trying to think of any excuses to avoid the torment of looking and lusting and not touching. My brain was fucked and I couldn’t think for shit. Just as I was powering down she strode in. She sat down at the desk next to me.

Carmen crossed her legs seductively and smiled. I swivelled around and smiled back, crossing my legs to hide the urgent crease in my loins which greeted proximity to this woman and stirred all my fantasies. Her foot started waggling and moving, her leg also, my eyes were drawn hypnotically to her sexy Converse. They drank in every detail, every smudge, the six eyelets, the way she tied them. My reverie was interrupted by a polite cough. I looked up apologetically, hands trembling, heart beating at twice the safe pace.

“So tell me about your shoe fetish,” she whispered maliciously, “are you a Paypig as well? Or do you just want to worship my shoes licking every inch of them clean with your slutty tongue”. My God, I blinked, I tremored, I gasped; my tongue was cardboard in my mouth. ’Slutty tongue!.. Tell me about your shoe fetish’!!! I groped for air, I looked into her smiling, winning eyes and gave in..

“I feel like I need you to manipulate my shoe fetish- give me verbals and mark my chest lots and lots. I want you to dominate me and make me your slave, I Need to be used Financially and emotionally by you, I need to feel so addicted that my greatest highs are when you are happiest so that my dedication, addiction and thought processes are focused on pleasing you..” I stammered to a halt, gasping for air. She looked at me, initially without emotion and then with a warm, sexy smile.

“I thought something was odd when I first walked in the office and everyone was gaping at my breasts and your jaw was on the floor staring at my feet. I realised a few days later and I’ve been prepping you for this moment ever since. You see, you’re obviously a good guy but at heart you get off on by being treated like a loser and there’s nothing wrong with that,” she added. Some girls really like that; it can be rather beneficial and it certainly turns me on!” Carmen smiled; a Cheshire cat meets super-model smile. Leaning back in her chair she raised both legs and wiggled the soles of her converse invitingly,

“Well loser, what are you waiting for?!!” She giggled as I fell to my knees and devoured the shoes of my dreams. Minutes passed, but after what seemed like seconds of me kissing and licking her sexy shoes, Carmen started pressing them harshly and more vigorously against my face, mixing in the odd kick, it didn’t hurt though, it transmitted as pure pleasure through my body and I was driven wild with desire.

Her voice rippled across my writhing body.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said, you Loser. I promise you, you will be thrilled and scared and you will cry. You can try and be as defiant as you like; defiance is futile, you sit there shaking your head but you know the game is up, you are on your knees” she stated forcefully “It's amazing how docile an ‘alpha male’ gets when he knows he’s been found out as a shoe worshipping slut: I’m going to wrap you around my finger, manipulate your fetish and make you my ATM. You’re gonna buy me tons of shoes and then after I dirty them, you’re going to clean them. Every appraisal of mine will fly through at the top of your team and my bonus will be unquestioned. Now lick every bit of crap of these shoes you vile Cunt and make it quick, we’ve got drinks to go to” And I did, I licked and I sucked and she rubbed them around my face and neck, the whole experience was clearly turning her on as much as me. I finished by lying on my back her soles scraping roughly across my face, my mind oblivious to the horrific marks this would probably be making.

“I’m so fucking horny,” she said, “this makes me so fucking horny Slut” a frisson of ecstasy coursed through me, to my swollen hard-on. She continued “and I’m going to make sure Darren fucks me extra hard tonight.. I wonder if he’ll like the picture I’ve just taken.” I froze unsure whether to be jealous of my hated office competition, registering with shock that she had photographed me lustily, licking her shoes. She stood up placing full weight on my forehead and mouth, splitting my lip and as I was soon to find out branding the criss-cross of a converse scar above my eyebrows. She stepped off with a menacing twist. “I’m going to put some make-up on” she purred, sashaying off to the toilets. “I suggest you deal with your pathetic excuse for a prick,” I looked down at the glowering hard-on, poking through my trousers. Life would never be the same again, I knew it and so did she.

“Hurry up slut” she called; and I obeyed her. It wasn’t blackmail, it was an understanding that some men come to, that they are born to serve and take pleasure in being used and put in their place by a special woman. A woman who requisitely needs to use and torment and manipulate, especially with the most eligible of men. A woman who was born to rule.