The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Amy Graham had a weakness for shoes, a weakness her credit card statements bore testament to. She must have had thirty pairs crammed into the wardrobe of her room in the house she shared with three other students, who made her the butt of numerous cruel Imelda Marcos jibes.

But 2007 was going to be different, Amy promised herself. The habit had to be broken, and would be broken. As she wandered through the city’s shopping centre, her mind was steely resolve against the pleasures of new footwear.

The problem was, Amy had beautiful feet, and she new it. Long ago she had learned of men’s interest in this, to her, unexceptional part of her body, and had raised exploiting it to an art form. She was the mistress of the patent leather mule dangled languidly from a big toe in front of the bulging eyes of her psychology lecturer as she sat demurely in the front row, innocently sucking her biro.

Amy was a tidy little package, about five foot two in her Cuban heels. She had long, auburn hair, that fell about her shoulders in ringlets. Her figure was on the ample side, with large, plump tits, and a cute little bum with just the right amount of flesh. Today, as she strolled through the shopping centre, she was wearing the standard student outfit of a black t-shirt and tartan skirt. The skirt finished just above the knee, and showed to great effect her firm calf muscles. The t-shirt had a plunging v-neck, and displayed a generous amount of milk-white cleavage.

Amy’s determination to avoid the lure of the shoe crumbled after exactly seven minutes in the shopping centre. She caught sight of a new shop that must have opened up since her last visit. The window display featured a number of mannequins, some balancing precariously on high heels, others bending down on all fours, as if worshipping the leather confections. The sign read, “Your Immortal Sole”.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Amy was in. Seconds later, she was browsing amongst the stock, which was quite unlike any she had ever seen. The footwear seemed designed primarily with the interests of third party observers in mind, and very little heed had been paid to the interests of the wearer. Amy wondered if it would be possible to walk at all in some of the more preposterous numbers.

Amy knew she had found a shop which suited her purposes exactly. Footwear designed for the enslavement of the male species. She looked down at her feet, which were rather untypically shod in a pair of canvas lace-up deck shoes. One last fix, she told herself, and she would go cold turkey.

She turned around to find an assistant, and was momentarily startled to see a pale girl with jet black hair, also dressed from head to toe in black, stood less than two feet away from her. She had a silver stud through the top of her pair of ruby red lips, and wore a considerable amount of silver jewellery. Her black eyeshadow accentuated a dreamy, otherwordly look in her ice blue eyes. A curious badge or brooch stood out on the girl’s dark t-shirt. Peering at it, Amy could make out a golden foot.

“May I…assist you?” she whispered, in a distinctly upper class accent.

“Yes...” said Amy, regaining composure. “Yes, I’d like to try a pair of these, please” she said, indicating a pair of red, patent heels. “Do you have them in a size…”

“We always measure” said the assistant, interrupting. “All our footwear is unique. Handmade. The client’s needs are accurately assessed first.”

“Oh, er ok,” said Amy. The assistant pointed a talon towards a seat, and gestured for Amy to sit down.

Kneeling at Amy’s feet, the shopgirl undid the laces of first one foot, and then the other. She slipped Amy’s right trainer off. She cradled Amy’s perfect size five in the palm of her right hand, a gently stroked the top with her left. Amy wiggled her dainty toes in response.

“Beautiful…beautiful,” Amy thought she heard the girl whisper.

“Pardon?” said Amy.

“You have an unusual width fitting” said the raven shopgirl. “We use a special machine for measuring feet such as yours. Please follow me.”

Amy was distinctly puzzled now. She had never known she was an unusual size before. Nevertheless, she followed the girl through a doorway into some sort of storeroom.

The lighting was very subdued, and shoeboxes were piled from floor to ceiling. In the far corner of the room stood a machine, which Amy was ushered towards. At first, it seemed to be a piece of gym equiptment, such as a running machine. It had a large, flat base, and a handrail at waist height. A video screen was attached to the front of the handrail. In its metal base were two rectangular recesses. The bottom of the recesses was made of clear glass.

Amy slipped off her shoes, and placed a foot in each recess. The glass felt cold under her bare soles. The screen flickered into life.

“CONSOLIDATED FOOTWEAR SHOEGAUGE” read the message.

“Hold on to the rails,” said the shopgirl, and Amy held on. “Watch the screen.” Amy heard a button click, and heard motors begin to whir. Soon, she felt soft pads pressing gently against the sides of her feet. Numbers whirred on the display screen.

Wow, this really has come a long way since having to remember your size, thought Amy. Just then, the numbers vanished from the screen to be replaced by a spiral pattern, radiating from the centre. Try as she might, Amy could not tear her eyes away from the whirling spiral, which almost seemed to be drawing her in.

Soon, the spiral became coloured, and began to pulsate. Amy’s fascination grew. She felt as though the patterns were filling her mind, inviting her to abandon herself to the pleasure they promised. Sounds filled her ears, the most beautiful sounds she had ever heard. Within five minutes, Amy was deep in a hypnotic trance, powerless to do anything other than stare open-mouthed into the screen.

She did not notice as robotic claws slipped small rings over the middle toes of both her left and right feet. Powerful ultraviolet light shone up through the glass plates, causing the ceramic rings to cure and contract. Soon, the rings had become hard as diamond.

A delicious warmth spread through Amy’s body, akin to the feeling of orgasm, but much more prolonged. The patterns on the screen faded, and the music died away.

“You will forget all that happened here,” murmured the shopgirl, leading the dazed Amy back to the front of the shop. “You came shoe shopping, felt faint, and had to leave.”

Amy groggily nodded. The shopgirl sat her down, and put the tatty canvas shoes back on her.

“Please look at our website. There is a special code for a discount on this card.” The shopgirl pressed a business card into Amy’s hand. “We’ve called a taxi for you. The driver knows to charge it to our account.”

“Yes…yes, I will…sorry for being…such a nuisance” murmured Amy, as she was lead out of the back of the shop into the waiting cab.

Fifteen minutes into the journey, Amy finally became aware of her surroundings.

“Joined the land of the living, have you, love?” said the cab driver.

“What…er yeah, I suppose so” said Amy.

“Don’t worry, see a lot of this…girls taking shop till you drop a bit too literally! Anyway, here you are. Bloke at the shoeshop paid the bill. You alright getting to the front door?”

“Oh, yeah, I feel better now” said Amy, slightly embarrassed. She hopped out of the cab and staggered up the path.

Fumbling momentarily with her key, Amy pushed open the front door, and lurched into her house. She felt dazed and overwhelmed with tiredness. She stumbled into her bedroom, and collapsed onto the unmade bed. Seconds later, she was fast asleep.

When she awoke in the early evening, she felt refreshed, and her head was clearer. She was very confused about the events of earlier that day. Her recollection of her experience in the shoe shop was distinctly hazy.

Amy had arranged to meet some friends at the student union bar later that evening, and began getting ready. She kicked off her shoes, slid her skirt over her hips, and pulled off her t-shirt. She briefly admired her curvaceous form in the mirror, her red tresses contrasting with her pale skin. She threw a dressing gown over her shoulders, and went down the corridor to the bath room.

She turned on the tap, and let the warm water cascade into the tub. She went into the living room while the bath was running.

In the living room, her housemate Sandra was watching a game show on TV, curled up on the sofa under a duvet.

“Hiya Amy”, said Sandra, not taking her eyes off the screen, “watcha been up to?”

“Oh, I went shoe shopping,” said Amy. Sandra rolled her eyes. “I felt funny, though. I had to get a taxi home.” Amy settled into a battered leather arm chair.

“Fuck, no way!” said Sandra, still glued to the screen.

Amy crossed her legs, and leant back in the chair. “What you doing tonight, you coming to the union?”

“Nah,” said Sandra, finally turning to look at Amy, “no cash. Staying in. Hey, when did you get your toe ring?” she asked, catching sight of Amy’s foot.

“I…I don’t remember!” said Amy, looking at her left foot. She bent forward to remove the piece of jewellery. She went to slip the ring off her middle toe, but found it to be on too tightly to come off. She pulled a little harder. Finally, she pulled as hard as she could, but the gleaming silver ring remained stuck tight.

Sandra cackled. “Shit, girl, you must have been well pissed the other night. Look, you’ve got them on both feet!”

Amy attempted to pull the ring off her right foot, but it was stuck just as fast.

As Amy tugged at her mysterious jewellery, she felt a rather peculiar sensation. A warmth, very subtle, very pleasant, was welling up inside her. The more she fiddled with her toe rings, the stronger the sensation grew. After a while, she ceased attempting to remove the ring at all, but continued rubbing her toe between her thumb and forefinger.

“Maybe the fire brigade can cut them off,” cackled Sandra. “I know, soap yourself up in the bath. I’m sure they’ll slip off easy enough.”

“Fuck, the bath!” cried Amy, dashing down the corridor.

Amy turned off the taps just as the bath was on the point of overflowing. She lowered herself into the scented water, and pondered the puzzle of the toe rings.

She seized a bar of soap, and lathered it between her hands. She lifted her dainty foot aloft from the bubbles, and applied the lather. She worked the lather into her foot, and especially onto her middle toe, to attempt to slip the ring off.

As she soaped her pretty size five, the same strange feeling overtook her. The pressure of her hands on her feet made her feel warm and relaxed. She experimented, rubbing her fingers over the sole. A wave of pleasure washed over her, making her sigh involuntarily. She continued, now using both hands to massage her heel and sole.

The sensation grew in intensity. Amy’s breathing quickened. She was amazed to feel her pussy getting wet, and her nipples stiffen. She tried to apply herself to the task in hand, and half heartedly pulled at the ring on her toe. It was stuck just as stubbornly as before.

Amy soon lost interest in the project, and devoted herself to soaping and massaging both her feet. The feeling of relaxation, contentment and arousal was intense.

Amy had completely lost track of time when she heard a hammering on the door which brought her swiftly back down to earth.

“Hurry up, you bitch, you’ve been in there hours!” bellowed Sandra.

“S…sorry, nodded off,” muttered Amy, lifting herself out of the tub. She wrapped a towel around her torso.

The rosy glow still persisted. Amy opened the door to the naked Sandra, grinning broadly.

“What are you smiling about? You been frigging yourself in there?” inquired Sandra.

The steaming Amy padded back to her room, and flopped on to her bed. She closed her eyes and basked in the sheer pleasure she felt.

The feeling persisted for about an hour. When it finally wore off, Amy felt miserable and lethargic. She decided not to go out to the union that evening, but to stay in and sulk in front of the tv.

She heard the front door slam as Sandra headed off for her night’s revelry. Amy turned over miserably in bed, when her cheek brushed against something on the pillow. It was a business card.

YOUR IMMORTAL SOLE

CUSTOMER LOYALTY CARD

75 % DISCOUNT ONLINE

WWW.YOURIMMORTALSOLE.COM

PERSONAL CODE: 97896

Well, if it would snap her out of this deep blue funk, it had to be worth a look. Three quarters off? What had Amy done to deserve that?

She wandered over to her writing desk, and switched on her PC. She draped her silk dressing gown over her shoulders, and flopped into the swivel chair.

When the PC had fired up, Amy tapped in the URL on the card. It appeared to be the usual online retailer type stuff, albeit with an edgy, gothic twist. There was a box where you could key in your personal code, which she did.

The opening screen disappeared, and the screen went dark. Soon, it was replaced with a pattern which radiated out from the centre. It seemed eerily familiar. Amy was soon totally absorbed in the spiralling, kaleidoscopic pattern. Rhythmic sounds also added to the calming, tranquilising effect.

Amy heard a voice inside her head. It invited her to rub the soles of her feet together. Amy felt she could resist, but had no desire to. She opened her legs, and pressed her bare feet together.

Again, the feeling of sheer bliss washed over Amy. It was as if her veins were pulsing with molten butter. The sensations radiated from her feet, but focussed on her cunt.

Her right hand traced down across her belly, and came to rest on her pubic mound. All the while, her feet brushed gently one against the other. Her fingers parted her pussy lips, and her forefinger began to circle her clit. Her cunt was dripping wet.

The same voice instructed Amy to keep watching, rubbing and frigging. It would announce when the moment of final release was to be obtained.

The pleasure built and built, far beyond anything Amy had ever experienced before. The frigging and the friction of her feet seemed to work in total harmony, always commanded by the whispering commands of the voice.

“Amy, you are to cum now.” intoned the androgenous voice.

Amy’s body was convulsed with the sheer feeling of release, as the ecstasy overtook her.

When she awoke the next day, it was already mid-morning. Amy felt cold and shivery, almost as if she had ‘flu. Her mind drifted back to the ceaseless pleasure she had experienced yesterday, and instinctively she pulled her feet in towards her crotch, and began to rub her soles with her fingertips.

Instantly, the trickle of warmth began pulsing through her body, and the grotty feeling dissipated. She lay there for about ten minutes, eyes closed, smiling. She had ceased caring how the rings had come to be fastened tight to her toes. All worries were banished from her mind.

A hammering on her bedroom door caused Amy to come to with a start.

“Get up, lazy slag, it’s lectures at eleven!” bellowed Sandra.

Amy leapt out of bed, and hastily threw on some jeans and a jumper. She opened her cavernous shoe cabinet, and decided to go for something easy to…slip off. Her pink flip flops fitted the bill. Grabbing her text books, she flung open the door.

“Amy, what are you wearing that goofy grin for?” enquired Sandra, “and what happened to you last night?”

“Oh, got way-layed,” grinned the redhead.

“Well layed, by the look of you. Randy cow!”

They marched out of the front door together, and down the quiet, suburban street to the bus stop.

Amy’s inner glow persisted for the entire bus ride, and Sandra’s inane banter washed over her. Instead, she gazed out of the window, thinking of the next opportunity she would have to touch her feet.

“You’re in love. Goofy look, not listening to a word I say. All the symptoms. So come on, who is he?” probed Sandra.

Amy shook her head, and smiled.

They arrived late for the lecture. The lecturer, Dr Ashton, was already writing on the blackboard. Amy and Sandra scuttled to two unoccupied seats at the front of the lecture theatre. Ashton was today lecturing on The Neurochemistry of Addiction.

Dr Ashton turned to look at them, at Amy in particular. He momentarily lost his train of thought. In his early thirties, with cropped hair and large, hazel eyes, Amy had always enjoyed the looks he gave her.

“Where was I? Oh yes. Endorphins. The body’s natural pain-killing molecules.”

Amy settled herself in her chair, and took out her notepad. She listened to Dr Ashton talk about endorphins for about a minute, when she realised her glow was beginning to wear off. Her mood sank lower and lower, and she began to feel chilled and panicky. She knew how easy it would be to alleviate her symptoms.

Discretely, Amy slipped off her left flip flop, and began rubbing her foot gently over her right calf. The panic subsided, as once again the golden tide rose. She let her other flip flop fall to the ground, and proceeded to rub the soles of her feet together. The joy welled up inside, banishing the negative feelings. Her pussy also began to moisten, and she ached to touch herself or be penetrated.

She let her notebook sit in her lap, and gripped the arms of her chair.

Dr Ashton was certainly not oblivious to the display.

“Endorphins…are er, er released…” he stammered, unable to take his eyes off the display, “…in response to cer…certain stimuli. Closely related to o…opiates…”

The poor man had turned bright red, and fingered his collar in anguish.

The next week went by in a haze for Amy. Like a child with a new toy, she could not stop stroking, caressing and massaging her feet, which she found she was compelled to do about a dozen times a day. At least twice a day, she would feel the need to frig for all she was worth whilst at the same time rubbing her feet together.

On the Friday evening of that week, Amy tore home from University, anxious to have another hit of the pleasure her feet gave her in privacy. She walked into her bedroom, and glancing at the computer monitor, noticed she had received a new email.

The email came from master@yourimmortalsole.com. Amy curiously read on.

Dear Amy

Please click on the following link for details of fantastic new lines which we know you will find of interest.

From

The Solemaster

Amy clicked on the link, and found herself back in the shoe shop’s website. Again, the pulsating patterns overwhelmed Amy’s brain, and she stared deeper and deeper into the screen.

“Amy, we have let you taste the ecstasy of the rings,” breathed a voice; male, cultured. Somewhat familiar. “But we fear you are drinking too deeply from the well. When you awaken, only the touch of another on your feet will bring pleasure. Tonight, you sleep.”

Amy awoke the next morning, sun streaming in through her open curtains. The now familiar sensations of lethargy, shivering and melancholy were upon her. Automatically, she reached for her feet, and began rubbing her toes between thumb and forefinger.

No wave of pleasure hit her this time. Her feet simply felt numb. Amy was horrified, and tried massaging the soles. Nothing. Amy moaned in self-pity.

How Amy managed to get through the day she had no idea. She wrapped herself in her duvet, and watched daytime TV to take her mind of the craving for the feeling she was used to. Periodically, she would trace her forefinger over one of her bare feet, but without any result.

Amy felt worse as the day wore on. She was trembling with cold, and her skin felt itchy. She tried to sleep, but only ended up tossing and turning.

As the sun was sinking, she heard a knock on her door. Phil, another housemate, peeped round the door. His geeky, bespectacled face looked concerned.

“Oh, er, Amy, are you ok?” said Phil.

“Ummm, ‘flu”, croaked Amy.

“Oh, gosh,” he muttered. “Can I get you anything?”

“Can you pass that glass of water,” croaked Amy, gesturing to the windowsill.

Phil squeezed between the bed and the desk to reach the windowsill. As he did, his hand brushed against Amy’s right foot.

A bolt of pleasure shot through Amy’s body!

Phil passed the glass to Amy.

“Phil, can you do me a favour…please?” stammered Amy.

“Sure, anything,” said the geek, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Can you massage my feet?”

“Pardon?”

“My feet, you twat, can you rub them!” shouted Amy.

“Sor…sorry, yeah of course,” blurted Phil.

“Use the hand cream on the desk…please, be quick!” urged Amy, aware of how peculiar she must sound.

Phil unscrewed the lid of the pot, and scooped a little cold, glossy cream on to his fingers. He took Amy’s right foot in one hand, and with the other began to massage the cream into the sole.

The effect on Amy was like spring after winter. Intense waves of pure pleasure washed over her, until she could hardly think.

“Ummm,” she moaned. Abruptly, Phil stopped.

“Oh sorry, did I hurt you?” he asked.

“Don’t…stop…” begged Amy.

As Phil inexpertly massaged Amy’s feet, under the duvet, Amy’s index finger expertly massaged her clitoris. Before long, Amy was cumming very hard over her fingers.

“Oh, Phil, that was wonderful,” gasped Amy. Looking at the astonished maths spod, Amy could see the outline of a massive erection in his drainpipe trousers. “You are a wonderful foot masseur. Can you do me again another time?”

“O…of course, Amy,” said Phil. “I’d love to.

Finally sated, Amy fell into a deep slumber.

Phil was dazed, bewildered and incredibly randy. Things like this just did not happen to him. Beautiful redheads did not beg him to massage their feet, and writhe around on the bed seemingly in ecstasy. As a rule, women did not even look at him. Certainly, Amy had always treated him with civil indifference.

Phil’s raging hard-on was beginning to subside. He had always fancied Amy, although he had never made plain his feelings. Why was she suddenly acting this way?

Phil turned these problems over in his mind, his aching balls preventing him from falling asleep.

The next day, Phil left his eleven o’clock lecture, and turned his mobile phone on. He saw that he had a text message which read:

“Phil, come home as soon as you can, Amy”.

Phil’s heart leapt. Amy was desperate to see him! He dashed to his pushbike, unlocked it, and pedalled home for all he was worth. He flung down his bike, and charged up the path to the house. His impatient fingers fumbled with the key, and he stumbled over the threshold as the door swung open.

Panting heavily, he thumped on Amy’s door, and pushed it open. Amy was sat upright in her desk chair, wearing a short black minidress. She had her arms folded about her chest, as if to keep warm. She also seemed to be pale and shivering.

As soon as she saw Phil, Amy’s face lit up. “Phil, thank fuck you’re here. Give my feet a rub, there’s a good boy,” said Amy, kicking off her slippers, and extending her naked feet towards Phil.

Obediently, Phil knelt before his housemate, cradling her feet in his hands. He admired the beautiful silver rings affixed to the middle toes. The instant he touched her, Amy let out a contented sigh and relaxed into her chair, head thrown back. Phil opened the jar of face cream, and applied a little with his fingertips to the soles of Amy’s feet.

Amy’s toes wiggled in sheer pleasure. Phil worked the cream into Amy’s soft, pink soles, and a look of contentment spread over Amy’s face. Her hands began stroking her stomach and rubbing her thighs.

Phil’s eyes were practically out on stalks at the show he was getting. He had never even heard rumours that a foot massage would work such wonders.

Amy’s hands moved to the hem of her dress, and she slowly began to slide the sheer black fabric back over her generous thighs. Phil was now under no illusion that she was not wearing any panties. Amy spread her legs a little wider to give Phil an eyeful of her bare pussy, with just a neatly trimmed wisp of auburn hair to cover it.

Phil thought his erection was going to rip his trousers. Being practically the last virgin on campus, he was completely clueless as to how to proceed.

“Are you going to…” whispered Amy, “fuck it, or just stare at it?”

“Sor…sorry…” blurted phil, unzipping himself. His cock sprung out of his fly, engorged and angry. He slipped his trousers over his hips. Amy wrapped her legs around him, and pulled him towards her open sex.

Phil’s lack of experience was more than compensated by Amy’s insatiable need. Reaching down, she briefly rubbed his inflamed glans over her clit, before stuffing his whole length deep inside her. She was so wet that he slid effortlessly in. Amy controlled his wild thrusts with her feet.

Once she was confident that Phil had got the hang of fucking her, she unwrapped her legs. “Touch my feet again, you prick!” she ordered.

Phil grabbed Amy’s sensitive feet, thrusting deeper and deeper into her. Amy arched her back, and came violently. The spasms of her cunt triggered Phil’s own crisis, and his cock gushed into her.

Phil went to kiss Amy, but she turned her head aside and pushed him away. “Get out,” she mouthed, eyes closed.

Phil staggered out of Amy’s room, trousers round his ankles. Amy was luxuriating in the afterglow of a shattering orgasm; at the same time, she wondered how she had been reduced to the state of allowing Phil to fuck her just for massaging her feet.

Amy awakened the following morning with the now familiar flu-like symptoms, and the intense craving to have her feet touched, fondled and rubbed by another. The realisation dawned on Amy that something was very, very wrong…she felt like a drug addict! She was becoming enslaved to the pleasure.

Desperately, Amy looked at her bedside clock. Only half past nine! It would be two hours before Phil would come back and give her what she needed.

She thought about screwing Phil in return for a foot rub, and feelings of guilt welled up inside her. She had never even noticed Phil before, and would certainly not have considered shagging him. When he had started to work on her feet though, she had felt so unbelievably horny that she would have screwed anything. What kind of slut had she become?

To fill the long hours before Phil’s return, Amy turned on her computer and checked her email. Amongst the half dozen from friends, and the usual spam, there was a further email from The Solemaster.

Dear Amy,

You are invited to a private function this Saturday at 8pm. All questions will be answered, all mysteries revealed.

Click on the following link for your invitation.

Yours in anticipation

The Solemaster

Amy’s heart raced. Was this something to do with the way she was feeling? The uncontrollable urge to have her feet touched? Eagerly, she clicked the link.

Amy was in a trance even more quickly, almost as soon as the psychedelic patterns appeared on the screen.

“Amy…we are pleased with your progress,” said the same gentle voice as before. “Your journey is nearly complete. On Saturday, you will be welcomed into our fellowship.”

“But I’m afraid we must ask you to refrain from using your new gifts until then. From now on, you will respond only to those wearing the mark of the golden sole. The touch of others will fail to please you.”

“Present yourself at Your Immortal Sole on Saturday at 8. Your friends will receive you warmly. In the meantime, forget.”

The pattern faded, and was replaced by an invitation to the function. Amy, returning to consciousness, printed it off, and stuffed it in her bag.

She heard a knocking at the door, and Phil stuck his head round. “Hi…Amy?” he stammered. “You said to come today.”

Saying nothing, Amy stretched her legs towards him, and wriggled her toes. She smiled a half smile. Phil gulped.

He took one foot in both hands, and stroked the sole with his thumbs.

To her horror, Amy felt nothing. Her foot felt numb, but the craving remained. “Rub harder,” she implored. But try as he might, Phil could elicit no response from what had yesterday been Amy’s prime erogenous zone.

“NO!” cried the distraught Amy, her head sinking into her hands. “Get out…get out!” she shrieked at Phil. He beat a hasty retreat back to his own room. The episode had not enlightened him greatly to the mysteries of the female psyche.

The rest of that week felt like an eternity to Amy. She left her room only to dash to the corner shop to buy cigarettes, which she smoked one after the other in order to measure out the hours and days. She gazed vacantly at the TV in the day, and tossed sleeplessly in her bed at night.

She ate hardly at all, but took to drinking wine to try and numb the craving. The housemates became increasingly concerned, but their friendly advances were met with violent rebuttals.

For some reason, Amy knew she must go to the “function” on Saturday. She had to know why she felt like this…like a junky.

Eventually, Saturday evening came. Having no idea what to expect, Amy wore a low cut purple blouse, and a fitted black skirt that finished just above the knee. She pulled on a pair of knee length leather boots.

She applied her makeup with great care, choosing a dark red shade of lipstick which perfectly complemented her hair. Mascara accentuated already heavy lashes, and her eyes were deeply shaded.

As she was applying the finishing touches, she heard a knock on the door, followed by footsteps.

“Taxi for miss Graham,” intoned an unfamiliar voice.

“Amy, your taxi’s here,” bellowed Sandra.

Funny, thought Amy. I didn’t order a taxi. She went to the front door, and saw the same taxi driver as before waiting at the door.

“Hello love, taxi. You feeling better now?” asked the driver.

“Erm, I didn’t order a taxi,” said Amy, puzzled.

“Compliments of the management,” replied the driver. Returning to her room briefly to collect her bag, Amy followed him down the path to the taxi. The driver opened the back door, and she slid inside.

Mixed feelings of fear and anticipation filled Amy as the car swept her silently across the jostling city. After a while, they pulled up in a small parking area that was evidently used for deliveries to the shopping centre.

Amy stepped out of the car, and shut the door. The taxi drove away rapidly, leaving Amy alone in front of what was evidently the back door of a shop. The name plate beside it read “Your Immortal Sole”. Amy hesitated before pressing the buzzer.

The door swung open.

The lighting inside was so subdued that it took several seconds for Amy’s eyes to adjust. Silhouetted in the doorway, she made out the shape of a petite young woman, who she eventually recognised as the pretty goth girl who had served her weeks ago at Your Immortal Sole.

Silently, the girl extended her hand, a gently took hold of Amy’s wrist. She led Amy down a short corridor, to a doorway blocked by heavy red velvet curtains. She pushed through, bringing Amy with her.

The room they entered was large, and lit entirely by candles in candelabra around the walls, and from a large chandelier in the centre. The walls were covered in gathered red velvet, and the carpet was deep red shagpile.

Two young women were seated on a large red leather settee, their hands in their laps. The one on the left had short, blonde hair, and a full figure. The other girl was a slender brunette. Both wore short, strapless dresses; bothwore the same vacant expression as the goth girl. Opposite the settee sat an empty red leather armchair.

“This is Citrine,” said the Goth chick, indicating the blonde, “and Amethyst. I am Onyx. Welcome to our fellowship.”

“What do you mean?” asked Amy, “what is this fellowship?”

“The ones who bear the mark of the golden sole,” said Onyx, smoothing her hand over her bare shoulder. Amy noticed there a small tattoo of a golden foot, about an inch in length. On glimpsing this mark, Amy’s stomach turned over, and a sensation of great excitement welled up for an inexplicable reason.

Onyx stroked Amy’s cheek. “Poor girl, we know how you’ve suffered this week. It’s cruel of the Master to inflict such pain on you. But we have all endured it at some point. Here, you will find an end to your sadness.”

Onyx knelt down at Amy’s feet, and pulled off her boots. Amy’s perfect size fives sank into the soft red carpet. “Kneel, Amy,” whispered Onyx into Amy’s ear.

Amy knelt on the soft red carpet, and sat back on her naked heels. Citrine and Amethyst stood and paced slowly towards her. The both wore very high heeled black shoes which exposed their toes. Straps encircled their ankles, and Amy was surprised to see small padlocks were affixed to the straps. Onyx wore the same shoes. Amy also noticed that the middle toes of the each foot bore small silver rings like her own.

Amy noticed that in their hands, Citrine and Amethyst carried what appeared to be makeup brushes, the sort used for applying powder. Kneeling behind Amy, the girls gently began to brush the soles of Amy’s feet.

“Ooooh…” mouthed Amy, as the familiar warm tide washed over her. The brushes danced lightly, expertly over her feet, alternating between light swift strokes and slower, heavier ones. Occasionally, a soft, feathery brush would probe the intimate pink crevices between her toes. Amy closed her eyes in sheer rapture.

Onyx unbuttoned Amy’s blouse, and gently removed it. Amy was unresisting as she was quite captivated by the sensations she was experiencing. Her bra was unbuttoned, releasing her pretty, plump breasts, the nipples swollen with excitement.

Onyx unzipped Amy’s skirt, leaving her naked apart from her cream lace panties. Standing back, Onyx admired Amy’s ample body, trembling with joy. Onyx leant down and kissed Amy hard on the mouth. Amy, in her supersexed condition, responded greedily.

Abruptly, Onyx broke off the kiss. “Time to summon the master,” she breathed in Amy’s ear.

A black silk blindfold was placed around Amy’s eyes, and was fastened tightly. Onyx rand a small china bell, and there was a rustling of curtains.

Dr Ashton strode into the room, elegantly dressed in a collarless suit. “What a superb specimen she has proved, Onyx,” he said. “No one has succumbed to the pleasure of the rings as readily.”

“No master,” said Onyx. “She will prove an outstanding member of our fellowship.”

“I have my own needs. These must be attended to. Afterwards, you shall have your rewards,” said Ashton. “Bind her.”

Onyx nodded, and proceeded to tie Amy’s wrists behind her back with black silk rope. She was also bound at the elbows. The binding caused Amy’s lovely tits to be presented to best advantage.

Ashton approached the helpless Amy, standing right in front of her sightless form. His groin was inches from her face. Gently, he cradled her jaw in his hands, stroking her neck and throat. At the same time, with his other hand, he unzipped his trousers. His large, erect cock sprung forth.

Ashton squeezed very gently on Amy’s cheeks with his large, manicured hand, causing her mouth to open in a crimson “O”. He pressed the tip of his cock, crowned with bead of pre-cum, to the inviting orifice. Instinctively, Amy leant forward, taking his circumcised cock head into her warm, welcoming mouth.

Ashton slowly began to fuck Amy’s face, being careful not to cause her to gag. He waited for her to become accustomed to each inch of his length before easing in the next. Meanwhile, Amy found that she was eager to suck and to please, and began to bob her head back and forth. Soon, Ashton’s entire glistening length was working its way down the redhead’s throat. Citrine and Amethyst continued to brush and her soles.

“Now…swallow…my…load,” gasped Ashton, ejaculating copiously into Amy’s mouth. She swallowed as hard as she could, drinking down the flowing cum. Ashton withdrew his throbbing cock.

Ashton slumped, spent, into the armchair.

“Onyx, Amy has earned her reward. Let her be fulfilled,” he instructed.

“Yes, Master,” replied Onyx. She clapped her hands, and the other two stopped working on Amy. Onyx wiped the cum away from Amy’s mouth, and helped the her to her feet. She led the sightless, hand-tied Amy to the settee, and sat her in the middle.

Kneeling before her, Onyx pulled Amy’s moist panties down, screwed them into a tight ball and gently poked them into Amy’s mouth. Amy’s moans of protest were very soon muffled. Onyx secured the makeshift gag with another scarf.

Amethyst knelt at Amy’s right foot, and lifted it to her mouth. She began to kiss each toe in turn, then proceeding to lick the sole. Her tongue explored the gaps between the toes, eagerly probing. Finally, Amethyst took the big toe into her mouth, and began to move her head back and forward, as if fellating it.

The previous transports of delight Amy had felt paled into insignificance, and she thought she would pass out with the intensity of it.

Citrine attacked Amy’s left foot in a similar way, licking, sucking and probing. Suddenly, Onyx clapped her hands again.

Citrine and Amethyst began to shuffle away from one another, easing Amy’s legs apart. Her glistening pussy was exposed, vulnerable.

Onyx moved in for the attack. Placing a hand on each of Amy’s thighs, she lowered her head into Amy’s groin, and nuzzled her face into the mound. After a few exploratory laps, her tongue quickly found the target; Amy’s engorged clit. Onyx skilfully circled it with the tip of her tongue, occasionally stopping, sometimes alternating with a rapid flicking motion.

Amy was writhing so hard that Citrine and Amethyst had to struggle to restrain her legs. When the orgasm came, Amy literally gushed over Onyx’s startled face. Amy slumped unconscious onto the settee.

The three girls untied Amy, and carefully lifted her into a more comfortable sleeping position. Onyx draped a blanket over her, and ran her fingers through the thick scarlet hair.

“My jewels, you have earned your playtime tonight,” said Ashton. “Come to master.”

With that, he withdrew a tiny gold key from his suit pocket. Onyx advanced, and lifted a foot to present to Ashton. Ashton unlocked the ankle strap, and the shoe fell to the floor. He playfully ran his finger along the sole of the perfect size five, the toe ring sparkling in the candlelight. Onyx involuntarily shut her eyes and sighed.

She awoke in bed, at home, naked. Traffic was throbbing outside; it was clearly the middle of the day.

Amy wondered if she had experienced the most incredible dream of her life. One look at her neatly folded clothes sitting on her chair told her otherwise. On top of the pile was a small gold pin in the shape of a foot.

Amy’s mind was whirling with conflicting thoughts. She had let herself be driven to a weird kind of party where she had been bound and abused, and she had adored the experience. She was aware that she was becoming addicted to the sensation that touching her feet could bring, but now it seemed that she could only achieve satisfaction from those who wore the mark of the golden foot. The uppermost thought in her mind was getting her next “fix”.

As she played the events of last night over and over in her mind, she realised that she recognised the voice of the “Master”. The same voice that she had listened to every week for the past year and a half. The psychology lecturer with the love of gazing at Amy’s feet. Ashton.

What had that bastard done to her? Amy sprang from bed, determined to get some answers. She hastily threw on jeans and a t-shirt, and dashed out of the house.

A breathless Amy threw open the door to Dr Ashton’s office. The startled academic looked up from his papers.

“M…miss Graham, what on earth is the meaning of this intrusion?” he said.

“What is happening to me?” implored Amy. “What have you done?”

Composing himself, Ashton replied. “Amy, relax. You feel relaxed. The anger is draining from you. You are now calm. Sit down,” he said, in a firm, measured way.

As soon as Amy heard Ashton speak, her anger drained from her. There was something so…reassuring, comforting about his tone of voice, that she wanted to listen to him. She sat down in a large armchair.

“Amy,” said Ashton, rolling up his sleeve, “I’m sure you recognise this sign.” On his upper arm was a golden tattoo of a foot.

As soon as Amy saw it, she felt a tingling in her feet and pussy.

Ashton knelt before Amy, and untied her right shoe, very deliberately. He slipped it off and laid it to one side. Then he pulled off her sock, revealing the perfect ped, with its even, unvarnished toenails. He examined it, especially the ring.

“A very clever piece of technology, this,” he explained. “An advanced composite material which senses nerve impulses, and generates an electric pulse in return. This pulse stimulates the release of large amounts of endorphins. As I’m sure you’re aware, endorphins are the body’s natural pleasure chemicals. Closely related to heroin.”

“The result is that when the wearers’ foot is stroked or caressed, or touched, they experience a wave of intense pleasure.” With this, he ran a fingernail along the length of Amy’s sole. Amy stifled a moan; she wanted it so badly.

“Combined with a deeply implanted hypnotic suggestions, the effect is quite dramatic. This is what lets me control who is able to give you pleasure.”

“Why…why?” moaned Amy.

“A group of very discerning friends with shared tastes very highly prize ladies who have been treated in this way. You are by far our most successful transformation to date. You are deeply in love with the pleasure, are you not. Would you like me to continue?”

“Yes”

“Yes, Master.”

“Yes…Master,” said Amy, flushing.

“Oh, come, don’t be embarrassed,” said Ashton, removing her other shoe. “There’s nothing wrong in giving in to what you love.”

Ashton stood, walked over to his desk, and took a single glove from a drawer. He slipped it on his hand. Each finger of the black glove a rounded metal point on the end. He began to play the fingertips of his gloved hand over Amy’s sole, holding her ankle in the other hand.

Amy felt as if she was melting in a pool of pure ecstasy. But a sexual need also welled up inside her, a craving to be fucked.

“Master…I need fucking,” she muttered. “Please fuck me.”

“Strip,” commanded Ashton, ceasing the massage.

Amy stood, and threw off her t-shirt. Fumbling, she unhooked her bra, and the beautiful plump tits were free. She slid her jeans over her hips, and kicked them away. Finally, she slipped off her panties, and stood trembling in front of Ashton.

“Kneel,” he ordered.

Amy knelt on all fours on the carpeted floor. Ashton placed a pillow under face, and guided her down until her head rested on it. Her beautiful round arse stuck high in the air, exposing her swollen twat.

Ashton placed his hands on those beautiful cheeks, and parted them slightly. He pressed the tip of his glans against Amy’s dripping pussy, and entered her. He pushed in the entire length of his cock, and rested motionless for a while.

He then took one of Amy’s feet in each hand, and began stroking the soles with his thumbs. Simultaneously, he commenced gently thrusting his hips, sliding his cock in and out of Amy.

Amy could only close her eyes and gasp for breath. She didn’t care that she was a virtual slave to this man. She didn’t care that she was being fucked by someone almost twice her age. She only cared about the pleasure she was getting.

“Cumming…inside…you…Aaah!” Cried Ashton, as he pumped his load into her greedy cunt. Amy reached her own orgasm, bucking on the end of his cock.

“More…I must have more…” muttered Amy, eyes closed in bliss.

“Don’t worry, you will have much more,” Ashton reassured her. “There is a meeting of the fellowship and some worshippers on Saturday. You will receive your invitation soon.”

“I can’t wait that long!” sobbed Amy.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, dear lady,” mocked Ashton. “Devote yourself to your studies.”