Feet Slave Novels & Stories

At his command, I’ll jump on him and show him just why I'm the bad guy. “You’re no longer my client, Nora.” He presses forward. “You’re my slave. My pretty dirty slave.” I shut my eyes, enjoying a good humiliation. “Yes, master.” When my eyes flash open, he’s smiling. Eyes dark with suppressed need. “Worship my feet.” The mention of it makes my clit throb. Like a hungry dog, I creep forward, hands up. I’d hate to stain them and mess up his clean edible foot. Gently taking his perfect foot in my hand, I delicately trace the outline, drinking in the sheer size of it.

Fay “Cassie!” I cried out but she tsked. “Slaves shouldn’t talk, honey.” My jaw dropped. “Stop being ridic—” she pressed a finger over my mouth. “It’s the rules of the game. You lost. That means you’re our slave for the night and slaves definitely shouldn’t talk unless ordered to.” My eyes widened and my heartbeat accelerated even more. I looked over at our friends, their silence meant one thing— they agreed with her.

At least, they don't torture slaves. Before Ms. Beth left, she ordered a slave to serve me a meal. She didn't complain. But once Ms. Beth was gone, she showed me the kitchen and told me to help myself. She said I was just another slave, not anyone special to get food served. She wasn't wrong. I really wasn't anyone special.

Kari flushed at Nevis’s words. The beta laughed. “Looking back at it, Master never really treated you as just a slave since the beginning. He was gentle on you, takes care of you. He made you sleep on his bed and he doesn’t make you sit by his feet. You know, pleasure slaves were looked after by their master but not personally attended by them. And they never sleep with their master and was always made to stay by their master’s feet.” Kari was surprised by such revelations.

I paused for just a fraction of a second, resting the heavy stone against my thigh to straighten my violently throbbing lower back. CRACK. The deafening snap of a heavy leather whip bit into the wheelbarrow mere inches from my boots, showering my legs in wet gravel. "Hey! Keep moving, you lazy piece of shit!" the Vanguard slave master bellowed. He strode toward me through the mud, his scarred face twisted into a deeply cruel, sadistic sneer. "I know you're that pampered Silvercrest trash, but you better get it through your thick skull that this isn't your daddy's territory! Pick up the rock! You are nothing but a slave here, and you will break your back until I say you can stop!"

Not allowing her to move and hurting in the process. “You are hurting me!” Leanda whimpered, “Please let me go,” she cried. "Shut up!" he barked. "Don't you dare talk back to me! You're nothing but a slave, and you should stay in your lane!" Leanda's heart shattered into a million pieces at his words. She couldn't believe that the man she loved could speak to her in such a way. Few hours ago he was making her feel like a Queen in his palace, he made her feel beautiful and above everyone else, and now he had reduced her back to being a slave, she couldn’t believe it.

"Julia no more. From now on, you will address me as Domina. You will address Master as Master. The other slaves will be addressed as Miss Lisa and Miss Rhonda. Your father will be Master Dan, and your mother, Miss Sandy. You are the lowest of the low. Everyone may order you and you must obey. I may countermand any other orders but those of Master. He may countermand mine. You will be treated as a slave until Saturday night. If you still wish to remain one by then, you'll start with Mistress Dark on Sunday. It's expensive. You will pay for it. Acknowledge your orders, slave." "Yes, Domina." "You will kneel here and wait for us to return." Cindy got down on her knees and I showed her how a sla

Angus smiles, he places his hand on her head and says, “Do you know what a slave does?” Annalise takes a deep, calming breath before saying softly, “A slave is there to do whatever she or he is told. They are to carry out their Owner's orders without question or hesitation. No matter what the order is. A slave is to always keep their head and eyes down, showing respect to all above them.” “Good. There are clothes in the closet. I want you to find something nice and appealing to the eyes and then come out into the sitting room. You will then kneel before me again.”

he continued, his voice increasing sternly as we progressed. Why won't I know the first step when I've been here all my life? I'll be turning eighteen in a few weeks, they normally let slaves leave on their eighteenth birthday, that's provided the slave serve well throughout his slave time, that's the one thing I looked forward to in this life. In the first stage, I used my tongue to worship every inch of his body without leaving a place, from his neck, through his belly, down to his shaft. I licked his entire pen.

I could feel the weight of her advice sinking in as she continued, "Attention to detail is vital, and you must always prepare yourself for anything that may arise. Remember, you serve the King, and it's essential to be ready to assist him in any way possible." I bent down, fastening my sandals—I was finally given those now that I would be working around the palace mainly and I made sure they were tied tightly. Her words echoed in my mind as I tightened the straps of my sandals. I focused on the feeling of the leather against my skin, the smell of the polish, the way it hugged my feet snugly. These were no ordinary sandals - they were a symbol of my new role and I was determined to wear them