This piece originally appearing in Penthouse Variations.


My transformation into Sabrina's mindless house slave was complete. She had graduated from college and was living in an off-campus apartment for the summer before attending medical school in the fall, and she still had her part-time job at the bio lab. My entire existence revolved around serving her, my goddess, and making her life as easy as possible.

Sabrina had gotten used to the routine and realized how much easier her life was with a devoted slave to obey her twenty-four hours a day. She had gotten over her initial apprehension and thought nothing of controlling my actions to suit her needs.

One recent Saturday morning, I was on my knees at the side of her bed by eight o'clock. I waited patiently for her to wake, with my head bowed, content in the knowledge that I was fulfilling my destiny by sacrificing my life to glorify hers.

She stirred and stretched, tossing the covers back lazily. I waited in anticipation of my first opportunity to serve her. She swung her legs around and sat on the edge of the bed, putting her feet on the floor. I hunkered down and kissed each bare foot once. She ignored me, still half asleep, and walked toward the bathroom. I jumped up to get in front of her and went to prepare her shower. I turned the water on and adjusted its temperature, then fetched a towel, and laid out her toiletries as she stepped into the tub.

Sabrina never showers long; every action she performs is efficient. When she turned the water off and stepped out, I was waiting with the towel. I gently dried her hair, then her arms and torso, and then knelt to dry her midsection, her legs and her feet. She didn't show any emotion. It was as if she were allowing a machine or a robot to assist her.

I picked up the brush and hairdryer and began to blow out her long brown locks, taking special care not to pull at the knots. As with all my other domestic chores, I had gotten better with practice. Despite her ineffectual nature, she was still a woman, and I could tell she enjoyed the decadence of being served so intimately. She appeared content as she let me brush and dry her hair for her.

Next, while she brushed her teeth (I couldn't really do that for her), I went back into the bedroom to lay out her clothes. I check the weather forecast at 7:30 every morning, so I knew what she would need to wear for her morning jog. That day was easy: sweats, a t-shirt and sneakers.

Sabrina didn't like being dressed by me for some reason, so I handed her clothes to her as she came into the bedroom. She did, however, allow me to put her sneakers on for her, so I knelt and waited by the bed. When she sat down, she allowed me to slip on her white cotton socks, and then her sneakers. I kissed each sneaker down by the toes and then got up to go into the kitchen.

"I think I'll have eggs today," she said, sitting down on the couch in the living room to watch the morning news. I went about preparing her breakfast, cooking up the scrambled eggs I knew she liked. I put them on a plate with toast, poured her orange juice and brought it all to her. We were long beyond the silly formality of thank-yous; it was just accepted between us that this was my duty. I got down on my hands and knees before her while she began eating, and she automatically brought her feet up and rested them on my back, crossing her ankles and using me as a footrest while she enjoyed her meal. I waited patiently on the floor, content beneath the weight of her feet on my back, with my head bowed.

The clink of the knife and fork on the plate signaled me to rise and collect her plate and utensils and deposit them in the kitchen. As I walked back in, Sabrina said, "I need you to do my nails."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, and went into the bathroom to get the nail file.

"Hands first," she said distractedly, still watching television. I knelt at her side and took her outstretched hand. Holding it skillfully, I began filing her fingernails. They weren't too long - I had done them two weeks earlier - and I was finished with the first hand in ten minutes. I kissed the back of her hand and moved to do the other one, repeating the process. I kissed the back of that hand, and began kissing and suckling her fingers, as well. This was my reward for all of my servitude: being allowed to worship Sabrina's hands and feet. I was allowed to take liberties here and adore her hands for as long as I wanted - within reason. I was her loyal slave every hour of every day, toiling for her in every way I could, just for the honor of kissing her hands and licking her feet every so often. Her hand rested comfortably in mine as I kissed her fingertips, sucked her fingers, and licked her palms. As usual, when I was done, I dried them off with my shirt.

Now I moved down to her feet, taking her sneakers and socks off. I buffed her toenails in the same fashion, holding her sole while I scraped away the unwanted rough edges. Not once had she looked down at me or acknowledged my presence.

When I had finished, I proceeded on to the highlight of my day, the highlight of my life. I raised her foot to my lips, and tenderly kissed her pretty toes one by one. Then, I began licking the sole methodically, starting at the heel and running my tongue all the way to the tips of her toes. She let out a soft, low moan of contentment, as she usually did. This was my one chance to worship her, to make love to her sublime body, to show her my devotion. I lapped at her foot slowly, my tongue adhering to the graceful curves, my senses attuned to the coarse yet soft texture, the taste, and the odors that I had learned to associate with supreme pleasure.

Sabrina knew that this was my reason for existing, and she was happy to lay back and enjoy my tongue bath. My goddess has stunningly gorgeous feet, the feet of an aristocrat, of a queen. Her heels are rounded and substantial, her arches are very high and curved, and her toes are shapely and perfectly proportioned. It's as if they were made to be licked and worshiped.

I licked her feet meticulously for another fifteen minutes, taking care to get between her toes, and all around her heels, and then dried them with my shirt, and put her socks and sneakers back on.

"I'm going to the lab for a few hours, and then I'm going running. Iron my jeans, and do the laundry while I'm out. I'll be back at 1:00."

"Yes, ma'am," I said, as she put on a light jacket and left.

While she was out, I collected her laundered jeans and laid them out on the back of the couch. One by one, I ironed them all. When I was done, I went to the store and bought the ingredients for dinner. Then, I cleaned up Sabrina's room and did her laundry. I had just finished when she walked in again.

She was sweating from her run and looked comfortably tired as she hung up her jacket. She walked over to the couch, sat down next to me and swung her feet up into my lap. She was smiling at me, seeing my growing excitement. "I'm going to need a lot of attention today," she said.

"Yes, ma'am," I said, taking her warm sneakers off. Her socks were quite moist, almost hot to the touch, as I slipped them off her feet.

"That was a good run," she said. "I ran almost twelve miles." She lay back into the cushions and closed her eyes as I began licking her feet for her for the second time that day.

"You have extra work today," she said. "I really worked up a sweat."

"Yes, ma'am, thank you, ma'am," I said between strokes of my tongue, licking up all the sweat gladly. Whenever I served her after one of her runs, it was always a much more intense experience. Her feet were hot and soaked and tasted ten times saltier than usual. They were especially soft and yielding, and yet I could feel the muscles pulsing beneath her skin from the exertion of her exercise.

Sabrina allowed me to continue for as long as I wanted, licking her toes, her heels, and her soles, adoring them religiously. "Feels so nice," she said dreamily, her eyes still closed. Then, she did fall asleep, napping while I kept licking her feet clean.

Reverence was still bubbling within me like an unstoppable spring, so I kept kissing her feet tenderly, covering them with my adoration. I kissed along the tops, along her toes, and then her soles, worshiping every inch. She awakened again as I was finishing kissing the edges of her second heel. She smiled, and then announced, "I want to go to the mall to get shoes."

As soon as she uttered her wish, we hopped in the car and headed for the shoe store. Right away, Sabrina found a pair of black flats that she fancied. She smiled subtly as she slipped her sexy foot into the sleek shoe, watching my hypnotized gaze. Making a show of checking out the shoe, she flexed her foot, raising her heel up into the air, the line of her leg impossibly shapely, a true work of art. I almost dove to the floor. "You like?" she asked. I could only shake my head yes. She smiled once more at me and told me to go pay for them.

When we got back to the apartment, Sabrina pointed down at her feet imperiously. I knelt once again to clean her new shoes for her with my tongue. "Good slave," she said, smirking. "Now make us dinner."

That night, after we ate our meal, I did the dishes and tidied up the kitchen, and then went into the living room, where Sabrina was watching television. "May I massage your feet for you?" I asked respectfully.

"You may," she said. I took her feet and kneaded them one by one, rubbing and massaging them slavishly.

"Bend down, I can't see the screen," she said. I cowered lower and continued to rub Sabrina's feet.

She raised her foot after a while and placed it heavily on my face. "What are you waiting for?" I began the day's third session of foot worship. "Lick my feet," Sabrina said. I obeyed her as she watched me adore her once again. There was no way she could help feeling power surge through her as she watched me humiliate myself according to her command. She was occasionally outwardly dominant when the mood struck her, and that night she was in one of her moods. She reached over and slapped me across the face. "You call that licking? Don't make me get the whip." She did have a whip upstairs, but she had only used it on me on a couple of occasions.

I frantically licked her perfect size sixes, my entire being dwarfed by the foot in my face, my eyes feasting on the slender toes and ball of the foot that rested less than an inch away. Her feet were so powerful, yet mysteriously feminine and soft. It was natural that I should be worshiping at the altar of Sabrina, my one and true goddess. Her body was a temple I was denied access to, but I was allowed to sit at the gate and display my passionate fervor there. I was unworthy even of this, but if I could but worship her feet properly, then I could die a complete man. And I could never hope to worship them profusely enough.

At bedtime, Sabrina clicked off the television. Once again, I went into the bathroom to prepare for her nighttime routine, and then I turned down her bed cover. She sat on the edge of the bed, and the day ended as it had begun. I kissed each foot once, and then she swiveled them up under the covers. I shut off the light and lay down on my mattress on the floor.

"Good night, Steven."

"Good night, my Goddess."