I was, by any measure, a successful man. Finance director at a Fortune 500 company, fast car, beautiful wife, gorgeous home in an affluent part of town. I had it all, yet I threw it all away and became a sissy bitch with barely a second thought. And it all started with Cally.

Cally owned my world and she didn’t even know it. She was one of the P.A.s from across the hall. She worked for Hunter Chesterton, if I remember correctly, though it scarcely matters now. All that is important is that from the first moment I saw her, I knew that I adored her and couldn’t get her out of my mind.

She was younger than most of the department, with long dark hair and a figure that just wouldn’t quit. But what captivated me the most about her was the way she dressed. The frumpy pantsuits and low heels that her colleagues wore were not Cally’s style. Instead, she preferred tight pencil skirts with spiked stilettos and pantyhose, always pantyhose. Mostly sheer, sometimes black, sometimes suntan, sometimes delicate pale flesh tones. Every day was different from the last, but she never deviated from showing off her stunning legs in such a provocative fashion.

She became an obsession for me. I took to hanging around our shared kitchen area, aching for a look at her, wondering what today would bring – would it be a simple tan? Polka dot black? Or something exotic? Soon, all I could think about was Cally and her unstoppable legs. I began to live for glimpses of them, relishing the way my cock stirred in my pants whenever I saw her, craving those delicious moments in the cafeteria when I caught her absentmindedly dangling her shoe from her foot – oh, to see that precious sole and those dancing toes for just a few moments! I’d spend the rest of the day unable to concentrate on anything until I’d raced to the executive bathroom and nervously jerked off into my hand, thoughts awash with images of those delicate feet; how they looked, how they’d taste, how they’d smell.

And then, one day, everything changed.

She was waiting for me when I returned from lunch, leaning against the desk in my office as though it belonged to her. Little did I know back then, but it already did.

“Cally,” I stammered, totally taken aback. “This is a surprise. Can I help you with something?”

She hopped up to sit on the desk and smirked, crossing her legs and leaning back. She was wearing nude nylons, I noticed distantly, and some pretty heels with a white strap across the top of her foot and her ankle. Her skirt was short and her satin blouse tight, as always.

“I think it’s time we talked, Mr. Clarke,” she purred, barely a whisper. Her eyes flicked up and down my body and I felt uncomfortably scrutinized. “Shut the door behind you, please,” she added.

Without thinking, I closed the door. I hadn’t even questioned the order.

“Wh-what is this about?” I asked nervously. What was wrong with me? I normally had no trouble dealing with staffing issues, but this… Just the mere presence of her was making me feel weak and pitiful. With a wave of self-disgust, I thought about all of the time I’d spent jacking off over her in the bathroom upstairs. Did she know about that? I shuddered. Then I realized, to my embarrassment, that my cock was becoming hard.

She reached down and laid her hand on her thigh, stroking up and down her nylon-covered leg. Then she smiled at me, a pleasant, sinister smile that made my blood run cold. Her eyes fell to the growing bulge in my pants and her smile grew.

“I’ve seen you looking at me,” she purred, then pushed the chair towards me. “At my body… at my legs,” she added and touched her finger to her lower lip. “Sit down, please,” she said suddenly. It wasn’t a request.

I moved across the room and sat down in the chair. Why was I allowing this to happen? How could I not?

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” I moaned pitifully, thinking about my wife with a guilty flush. My eyes glanced down at Cally’s legs and lingered there for a second. She smirked.

“Oh come now, we both know what you are,” she said. “You’re a naughty boy.” She spoke with the same tone you would use when scolding a child.

I glanced down again, unable to help myself. I gazed at her raised foot, bobbing up and down as she lifted her leg.

She smiled as if realizing something for the first time. “Oh! You’re a foot freak aren’t you?” she squealed, clapping her hands together. “A dirty fucking pervert! I’ve read about old men like you on the internet, you’re disgusting!” she laughed.

I felt my face burning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I protested, feeling the last hint of futile resistance fading from me. My cock was throbbing in my pants, an iron-hard bulge pushing against the tailored fabric of my trousers.

“You don’t?” she purred coquettishly. Her pretty face took on a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression of pure innocence. She sucked on her finger. “So, if I said you could take off my shoe, you wouldn’t want to?” she said, lifting her leg, and holding her foot out towards me.

My head was buzzing, I felt as though I was on fire. I could scarcely believe that this was happening. What if someone came in? Why wasn’t I able to get control? I gazed down at her bobbing foot. I could smell her, she was that close. An intense aroma of perfume. I could see the soft curve of her arch in her shoe. It was hypnotic.

Without thinking, I reached up and moved my hand to her, unable to think of anything else. With a gasp, she pulled away from me and my cock sang out in frustration.

“Uh-uh!” she scolded, “you need to say ‘please’ first.”

She was playing with me and I knew it, yet I wanted to touch her so badly.

“P-please,” I stammered, gazing up at her, feeling wretched and weak, painfully small before this statuesque beauty.

“Please, what?”

“Please, may I,” I began, “please, may I take off your shoe?”

“Please mistress,” she whispered with a smile.

I sat up straight, intending to end this right now. It was beyond a joke, beyond an insult. She was way out of line. I was her boss, and old enough to be her father to boot. I sat up straight and opened my mouth to tell her to leave.

“Please, mistress, may I take off your shoe?” I said instead. 

She smiled and both of us knew that she had won. She lifted her foot and I took it in my trembling hands, then moved to unbuckle the strap, struggling with nervous fingers. Suddenly, all that mattered was unwrapping this forbidden gift. I became fixated on it. Her tiny foot looked so delicate in my enormous hands. Yet why did I feel so small, so pathetic?

With a sigh, I slid off her heel and set it down on the desk beside her. She stretched her foot, flexing her toes back and forth, pulling at the pale nylon in a most hypnotic way. Then she lowered her naked foot and lifted the other, gazing at me expectantly.

I knew, without thinking, what was expected of me. How easily we fall into our new roles, I thought disbelievingly. 

“Please, mistress, may I remove your shoe?” I asked quietly, lowering my gaze.

She nodded, and I repeated the ritual, setting her heel down beside the other, captivated anew by the sight of her dancing toes. I wanted to reach out, to touch her, to caress her, but I knew that I must not. Not until Mistress asked me to.

“Would you like to” – she paused, as though thinking – “would you like to smell them?”

With a horrible sinking feeling, I realized that I wanted that more than anything in the world. Every sordid, hidden act of self-manipulation, every dirty, inappropriate thought, every stolen glance, all had led to this moment. I hated myself. I’d never felt so horny.

I nodded, lowering my gaze. “Mistress, may I smell your foot?” I said, shame gripping me like a vice, cock throbbing and hard. My balls felt like hand grenades, pent-up energy yearning to be unleashed.

“Please do,” she breathed, but I barely heard her. I was already halfway to her foot.

I gripped her gently around the ankle, fighting the animal within that wanted to control me. I knew that I had to pay her the respect she deserved. My mistress. 

I lifted her foot and held it before me, studying the endlessly captivating wrinkles of her sole. She flexed her toes back impatiently and I gasped. My entire body was pulsing with anticipation, my cock felt like molten iron. I leaned forward and touched her to my face, feeling her soft nylon sole on my stubble, burying my nose behind her toes. I breathed in, long and deep, sucking her scent into me until I felt as though I might faint. She smelled rich and bold, a hot stink of day-old sweat and floral perfume and shoe leather. It was intoxicating, unbearable. I breathed in again, eager for more, feeling my pulse pounding in my temple, feeling sweat rising on my back, soaking my shirt.

I pulled back and kissed her sole, feeling the warm softness of her on my lips. Then she kicked out and slapped me with her toes, making me cry out in pain.

“Suck my toes, you disgusting pervert,” she said with a sudden shout.

I nodded, feeling hot with shame. I stuttered an apology, then I wrapped my mouth around her toes, sucking and licking and tasting her like the finest ambrosia.

Suddenly, I felt a presence on my crotch, pressing on my aching cock. I glanced down, pausing briefly on her toes. Cally had moved her other foot onto my lap and was rolling my cock around with her heel. I grunted with surprise and pain and pure pleasure. 

“Stop fucking looking and get fucking sucking, worm!” she cried out suddenly and pushed her foot down, crushing my cock and balls and making me moan. Without hesitation, I turned back to her foot and began to suck again. I could feel warm tears in my eyes, spilling down my cheeks. I felt sick and humiliated, like the lowest form of life, dominated by this young girl as if I was nothing. But I felt something else, something more intense than every other emotion I was feeling at that moment. I felt pleasure, lust, and an aching desire to be treated like this. My balls throbbed with a dull beat, and my cock felt impossibly hard.

I began to lap at her toes, soaking her pantyhose with my mouth and my tears. All the while, she moved her other foot up and down, stroking my rod through the thin material of my pants. I felt myself beginning to lose control as she moved, my mind surrendering to the rhythmic motion of her toes and heel. I peppered her foot with kisses, unable to make eye contact with her, feeling disgusted with myself with every quickening pant. Faster and faster she moved, pressing down hard, pain mingling with pleasure as I felt a surging force building inside me. 

Then, without warning, my cock exploded in my pants. A white-hot sense of pulsing release filled my body. I doubled over, still holding her foot in my hands, my mouth still pressed against her sole. A hot warmth spread outwards, making my skin sticky and damp. A violent storm raged in my mind as my cock spat its load into my shorts, once, twice, three times. Finally, it was over and I glimpsed up at her, finding her smiling at me with amused delight. My vision swam, and my pants were drenched and warm.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?” she said with obvious disdain.

She hopped down off the desk, still peering at me as I cowered before her. Then she hitched her skirt up around her waist and slowly, carefully, began to roll down her pantyhose, gathering them in her hands. She sighed, holding the hosiery before her eyes and I watched her with morbid fascination, unsure what she was going to do, fearing and craving whatever it was in equal measure.

She stepped over to me and dropped the pantyhose on my lap, shaking her head. “If you love my pantyhose so much,” she began, “then you can wear them. I want you to come to work in them tomorrow.”

“But, I…”

“Did I say you could talk, worm?” she spat, then reached over and took hold of her shoes, bending to put them on her now naked feet. “I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time, don’t disappoint me,” she added with a serious look.

Then she left, striding across the room looking like a goddess through my tear-filled eyes.

I glanced down at the damp pantyhose, bunched up on my lap.

I’d never felt so pathetic in my entire life. I’d never felt so alive.