In Part 1, he started working on Saturday at Carol's hairdressing salon at his girlfriend's suggestion. It started as just a bit of fun, but Carol soon changed that.
The following week, his girlfriend was at work again. But things were never the same. He'd managed to find some six-inch heels during the week as commanded by Carol, a nice pair of stilettos in black patent with a delicate ankle strap. Before customers started arriving, his girlfriend took him into the back. He hadn't seen her since the previous weekend.
"So you're Carol's bitch now, then?" She smiled as she said it, but he realised with a shock that this must be what the girls in the salon called him. "That's good, you need taking in hand. She'll turn you into a proper submissive TV slut, it's just what you need. Those shoes suit you, but you need to practice, you walk like a wounded duck at the moment."
It was true that he was having terrible trouble with his six-inch heels. He really liked them, the feel of wearing them as well as the look, but he could barely put one foot in front of the other without stumbling. He'd practised at home but not nearly enough. He was really embarassed. He did his usual jobs, sweeping, making coffee, fetching things, but he staggered around like a drunk. It wasn't long before Carol took him into the lounge.
"You're pathetic, you know that? You can't even walk properly. I don't think you can carry on like that in front of the customers, this is a hair salon, not an SM bar. Did you bring the other shoes?" He nodded. "Good, you'd better change. And we'll have to arrange for you to get some practice. Anyway, I've got something else for you, to remind you that you're just my slave now."
She produced a butt plug, a good size but not huge, made of steel and with a jewel in the end of it.
"I bet you've worn one of these before, haven't you?" He nodded again. "Good, so pop this in and in future I don't want you in the salon without it."
He loved the feeling of being plugged, the way it constantly teased him from the inside. But he hadn't dared to wear one all day, while he was working. He'd find out now what it was like.
By the end of the afternoon his bottom felt like it would explode. His cock was hard from the constant stimulation, and his strap was wet with all the cum that had oozed from his over-stimulated cock. His feet and legs ached terribly - he hadn't taken his weight off them all day, not even for a minute. The other girls teased him terribly and called him "Carol's Bitch" to his face. They made him work, too, sending him to fetch things they'd normally get for themselves or calling him over to get something they could have reached for. He was sweating all over from the effort and his legs were trembling almost uncontrollably. Dawn had made him kiss her shoes again - cute little flat black leather pumps this week, with lots of toe cleavage - in front of nearly all the girls. Some of them thought it was yucky, but others wanted the same, so he'd kissed everything from knee-length biker boots to designer flip-flops. His bottom had been spanked a dozen times, mostly quite gently but sometimes hard enough to make it really sting.
Finally the door was locked and he was alone with Carol.
"Time to clean up now," she said.
He looked at her pathetically, his head bowed, and said, "Please Madame, my feet and legs hurt so badly, please can I take these shoes off now."
She laughed and said, "Silly me, I'd forgotten about your shoes, of course you must take them off right away."
He was so relieved he nearly cried, and in a few seconds he was standing in just his nylon-clad feet, feeling the cool tiles against his sweaty, aching feet. "Thank you Madame, thank you so much."
"And now, you can put those six-inch heels on. You need the practice. If you practice when you're tired, it'll seem so much easier when you're not. Won't it now?"
He started to plead with her but when he saw the look on her face he knew better. He padded out to the lounge and put the new shoes on. His thighs trembled and he had awful trouble even standing up. Carol followed him. Before he knew what had happened, she'd bent him over the sofa and started to whack his tender bottom with a school cane. She shut him up when he protested, and just kept caning him until he was crying and, between strokes, begging her to stop.
"There, that'll take your mind off your feet. That's for all the mistakes you made today. Not that I was counting, but I'm sure there were lots. Now lick my boots clean, you sorry excuse for a woman."
At least it took the weight off his feet. He kissed and licked at her boots, tasting the leather and polish and the little bits of mud and dirt. Then she made him stand up and walk up and down inside the shop, coaching him on exactly how to move his legs and feet. Every time he staggered or stumbled or reached out to balance himself, she gave him a stroke of the cane on his bottom. Finally after twenty minutes or so she told him to start cleaning up.
It took him even longer this week than last, with the six inch heels, and eventually she got too impatient to wait any longer.
"I'm going to leave you in the shop on your own. You can finish up the cleaning, and then when you're done you can walk up and down like before until eleven o'clock. Then you go and sleep on the floor in the toilet. Got that? And don't even think about cheating, there are security cameras and I can check in to see how you're doing from the comfort of my own home." With that she finished up the last few things she was doing and went out, turning the lights off and locking the door behind her.
It was a very long evening for him. His legs were trembling with the effort of standing, his plug was making his anus throb, and his poor feet were just hurting so much. But he didn't dare disobey. By eleven he could barely stumble along, even though he really made an effort to do as she told him. He staggered into the toilet and lay down on the hard, tiled floor. She'd considerately provided a couple of blankets. He was asleep in an instant, and despite the chill and the discomfort it was light when he woke up again. But then he didn't know what to do. She hadn't told him anything. Should he let himself out and go home? Wait for her? Or what? Then by the light coming in through the skylight he saw that she'd written on the mirror in lipstick, "Stay here. I'll come." The floor was too uncomfortable to stay laying down so he sat up. Then he remembered what she'd said about always standing. He had no idea whether there was a camera in here, it didn't seem very likely but with security you never knew. So he stood up. His poor legs ached terribly.
He stood for a long, long time. It was early afternoon before he heard the front door open. He was starving, it was 24 hours since he had eaten, and thirsty too. His legs and feet were in agony, and his poor stretched anus was driving him mad. He had a huge erection under his tight panties but he hadn't dared do anything with it.
Finally the toilet door opened, and Carol stood in front of him. She looked wonderful. It was a warm day and she was wearing a tight tee-shirt, a short denim skirt and flip-flops, showing off her painted toenails.
"Good morning. Or rather, afternoon. I hope you slept well? I'll have to inspect your work, but first you can kiss my toes. Just one kiss on each toe, no lingering, and nothing sloppy."
He knelt and did as she said, just touching each of her toes with his lips, feeling the glossy hardness of her painted nails and the downy softness of her skin. He wanted so much to kiss her properly, to run his tongue over her skin, to taste her, but he didn't dare disobey. Then she toured the salon, with him following behind her, staggering on his heels, trying not to stumble or fall. He'd done quite a good job, under the circumstances, but naturally she found faults - places where he hadn't wiped clean, or where he'd left smears, and little pockets of hair and dust on the floor. She counted them as she went.
"You're not very good at this are you? That's fourteen places where you didn't do a good job, and I bet there are loads more I haven't seen."
She bent him over a chair and gave him fourteen hard smacks with her hand on his bare bottom. He squealed and squirmed and she enjoyed it so much that she gave him another fourteen. Then she sat down and watched him while he staggered around correcting his faults. For good measure she made him clean all the mirrors again - and there were a lot of them. Finally he finished. He could barely stand. His thighs and bottom were trembling uncontrollably from the exertion.
"You can kneel at my feet and rest now." He did as he was told, pathetically grateful for the chance to take the weight from his legs. She made him pose, kneeling upright with his hands held together behind his back, his head held high, while she read a magazine and mostly ignored him. Gradually the pain in his legs and feet faded, but his erection just got bigger and bigger as he gazed at her legs and her beautiful feet, imagining what was barely concealed under her skirt.
After a long, long wait, she put her magazine to one side and said, "OK, you've waited long enough. Now you can kiss my feet properly. I want to feel your tongue and your lips, your tongue between my toes, lick them completely clean. If you get me hot enough, maybe I'll let you lick my pussy afterwards. But keep those hands behind your back, it's only your tongue I want to feel."
He went to work as he was told. Her feet were clean but even so had a deliciously earthy taste that got him even more excited as his tongue went between her toes, or caressed the hard lines of the bones. He could feel cum seeping from his unbearable erection, his anus throbbing with the pressure of his blood around the hard plug.
Finally, she pushed him away with her foot, then spread her legs wide. Now he could see that under he skirt she wore nothing at all. He saw for the first time ever her neatly-trimmed pussy, peeping from between her thighs.
"I'm hot now, thank you. So now you can satisfy me." He wanted nothing more. He pressed his face between the warmth of her thighs, his lips and tongue quickly parting her swollen lips and finding her hard little clit. Soon she was moaning and holding his head tight, her thighs thrusting with pleasure. It wasn't long before she let out several long moans of pleasure then pushed him hard away from her. His face, nose and mouth were filled with the deliciously erotic scent of her pleasure. His own erection was harder than ever.
When she had got her breath back, she pushed his chin up with her hand and said, "Would you like to fuck me, Cindy, would you like to feel your girly cock deep inside my pussy?"
He couldn't contain his excitement. He'd never dreamed that she might offer him this! "Oh please Mistress, please Mistress, yes please!" he babbled. She slapped him, hard, twice, across the face. He looked at her, puzzled and shocked, tears of pain and frustration swelling in his eyes.
"I"m quite sure you would. But you're a girly, and girlies don't do that, do they? Even if you've got a cock, you're not putting your girly cock inside me. You're my slave, remember?" She taunted him for a bit. "As you're so excited, you can wank over my feet, as long as you lick it all up again afterwards. But first I want to feel your girly cum slithering down between my toes."
He soon had his enormous, swollen cock in his hand. (She would have loved to feel it inside her, it looked so ripe, but that just wouldn't do at all). It took only an instant before his cum was spurting out over her toes and feet that he had so carefully licked clean just a few minutes ago. He screamed so hard that his throat hurt, but before he could relax she pushed his head down and he tasted the saltiness of his own cum again. He'd been so excited and frustrated that his cock was already hard again, but she made him put it away. Suddenly he was exhausted and just wanted to lay down and sleep, but she showed him no mercy.
A Nice Stroll
"Go and straighten up your makeup and your clothes. We're going for a walk." He started to protest, he was just so tired, but a couple of slaps on his sore bottom convinced him. Ten minutes later they were in the street. Cindy looked gorgeous in her crazy heels and her fresh makeup. Carol looked just fresh and innocently fuckable in her skirt and tee-shirt. Poor Cindy was terribly embarrassed, she'd never been outside in daylight, just wandering around like this.
It was Sunday so the streets were quiet, but some shops were open and there were people around. A few pretended to ignore the pair of them, but most stopped and stared at this gorgeous woman - as they thought - tottering round in unbelievable heels. A couple of times guys offered to fuck the pair of them, but Carol just kept them marching on, ignoring comments and looks alike. She took him into an alleyway and gave him a good spanking, then when they were back on the street she made him get down and kiss her feet. That definitely got some looks, but people are used to everything in London and nobody said anything.
Further on they came to a small park. Carol sat on a bench and relaxed, but Cindy had no such luck. She had to perform pointless errands, walking over to a clump of trees to fetch some flowers, then taking a piece of paper to a far-away bin, and so on. She soon learned how hard it is to walk on soft ground in heels. Finally Carol made her kneel again and wait patiently.
Eventually Carol led him into the clump of trees and let him wank onto her feet. By the time he'd finished licking it up, his cock was hard again, so Carol made him come one more time. He had a lot more trouble this time, he'd literally wanked himself sore before a few drops of cum oozed out. She made him lick it up, straight from his hand.
Then it was time to head back. By the time he arrived his feet were in agony. He'd never walked this far in heels before, and certainly not in six-inch ones. She gave him instructions for how he was to pass the time alone during the week. Then she put a cloth in his mouth, bent him over a chair, and gave him ten really hard strokes with the cane, as hard as she could. Despite the cloth he screamed, but there was nobody to hear. Each stroke left a deep red mark which quickly turned to a deep bruise. The marks would last for over a week, and make him sore for days.
Life in the Salon
For the next few weeks, his life followed the same pattern. He'd go to work on Saturday, working during the day to keep the salon clean and tidy, fetching things for the girls there, making them tea and coffee, and generally doing everything he was told. During the week he wore his six-inch heels at every opportunity, even going for walks in them after dark. He kept himself plugged every night. And he wanked himself dry at the thought of serving his mistress, of running his tongue over her feet, her boots and her shoes, treasuring the memory of when she allowed him to caress her hard little clit with his tongue until she came.
He never knew whether she'd send him home on Saturday, or keep him overnight, locked up in the back of the salon. He longed for both, and dreaded them. Going home was such a disappointment, but spending the night was cold and uncomfortable. The opportunity to serve her when she released him on Sunday made up for it though, and sustained his fantasies for another week. His bottom was just one big bruise where she caned and spanked him, which hurt but was deliciously arousing as well. Soon he could wear the six-inch heels for work, although his legs ached terribly by the end of the day.
The other girls in the salon reacted in different ways to his increasing submission to Carol. Some were embarrassed and just pretended not to notice. Others joined in with various degrees of enthusiasm. More and more, he found he was expected to do all sorts of menial chores that they would normally do for themselves. They'd send him to fetch things just so they could watch him totter across the shop in his impossible heels, then tell him he'd fetched the wrong thing and send him back again. A couple of them would take him into the private room at the back and spank his bottom, listening to him squeal. When it was quiet they'd take him in there together and tease him, then make him lick them until they came. That was heaven, his bottom stinging like mad, his feet and legs temporarily relieved, and the taste of their pussies filling his face.
The one who treated him worst of all, Mila, after she'd finished with him one morning, said, "I really want to fuck you, you know, properly, not skulking away in here. Why don't you come round to my place one evening where we can really have a good time?"
That was quite an experience. She was a good looking girl, just deliciously curvy, with gorgeous big tits and a sexy accent from somewhere in Eastern Europe. She also had a nice collection of sex toys, and a very healthy sex drive. After she'd spanked him until his whole bottom was bright red and really hurt, she fucked him with a strap-on until his cock was oozing cum. It wasn't his very first time, but it was certainly the best. When he started licking her she just came and came, screaming in some unintelligible language, and when he just couldn't get her to come again she told him to fuck her. He came almost instantly but he managed to stay hard enough to get her to come again, and by that time he was so turned on that he managed again too. Then they ate together and drank some wine, and talked into the night.
But on Saturday all that was forgotten, and she just treated him like a slave at the salon - although she did let him give her a nice licking during the lunch break. They saw each other a few more times like that, and each time they had a wild time, and each time she pushed him just a little further.
A few of the customers knew what was going on, and some of the more adventurous got to have some fun with him too. There were some who would take him into the little store room for a nice long, slow lick to pleasure, or who would put him over the old sofa and spank his bottom, or both. There was one who, after her own long orgasm, would take him in her mouth until he filled her with his cum. That was nice. There was another who did nothing sexual, but made him lick her boots until they shone. She didn't touch him, and he didn't touch her. She was there most weeks, and the ritual was always the same. He supposed she enjoyed it; he certainly did, relishing the leather taste in his mouth after she left. He heard that she gave great tips - not that he ever saw any of them, which he thought it was a bit unfair considering he was probably the reason, or part of it anyway.
To be continued.