A Lesson In Submission: Femdom Fiction

A Lesson In Submission

The car shot past him in a blur of red, too quick for him to get the number. Johnson began to fume at the implied challenge to his authority. “No one does this on my patch,” he muttered to himself as he shifted gear, put his foot down and started to give chase. He wasn’t used to this. On the contrary, in the eight months he’d spent on patrol he’d come to relish the power his position gave him. He loved the obsequious deference he would exact from the people he pulled over for speeding or for even the most minor of misdemeanours — and sometimes for nothing at all. If they were in the wrong he could usually exact a commission from whoever it happened to be: his “customers” as he liked to call them. But this was a liberty, this was. Speeding past him in broad daylight. “What a bloody nerve!” he thought.

He was gaining on the car now. Expensive-looking sports job, he observed. Funny number-plate, though — DOM N8. “So it’s a Dominic, is it? Posh upper-class git.” He flashed his lights and the car started to pull in. “That’s the idea, my friend,” sniggered Johnson triumphantly and they pulled in to the hard shoulder.

Johnson got out of his patrol car and started to walk towards the red coupe. The glass was smoked — betraying no sign of the occupant. Johnson was about ten yards from the car when the driver-side door opened and a woman’s leg emerged; the foot coming to rest upon the gravel. “Bloody woman driver, too. Rich bitch out driving hubby’s car, I’ll bet,” mused Johnson. Still, it was a very nice leg, he noticed. Shapely, with the feminine muscularity of a dancer. The leg was encased in a stocking and upon her foot the driver was wearing a black stiletto-heeled shoe — very sharp, he thought. There was something about a woman in high-heels that had always got him going, he remembered. He suddenly recalled those furtive glances he’d taken in one of those magazines down at the station confiscated by the blue-rinse Gestapo in the Porn Squad. What was its name again….

“Ahem! What seems to be the problem, Officer?”. The cultured voice shook Johnson out of his reverie. She had got out of the car now and was standing with one hand on her hip, the other resting on the car door. She was a strikingly attractive woman, he had to admit. About 5′ 7″, long blonde hair, beautiful features and a wonderful figure. From her mode of dress he guessed she was a business lady. She wore a formal jacket, a white blouse and a very short skirt that showed her legs in their full glory. She obviously kept herself in excellent condition.

“Errr…Speeding, Ma’am,” he stuttered. “I clocked you doing eighty-five back there.”

“Really? Just that? I thought I’d got up to one hundred at one point!” she replied with not one hint of embarrassment or apology.

“You…you know that the speed limit is seventy, don’t you Ma’am?” he tried again.

“Oh something like that, I know, but I usually think of it as more of a guideline, don’t you, Officerr….?”

“Err…Johnson, Ma’am” he replied, “regional traffic patrol. I think it’s importa-“.

“Well, Officer Johnson,” she interjected, “I think you should know that I take a pretty dim view of being pulled over like this. I do have rather an important meeting to get to.” With that, she closed the car door and started walking towards him slowly but purposefully. The manner in which she walked had Johnson transfixed — the sinuous dance of the muscles in her splendid legs, the way her hips swayed from side to side, like a hynotist’s watch…side to side.

“And what do You intend doing about it?” Again he felt as if coming out of a dream. She was standing in front of him now; her green eyes gazing fixedly into his. Though he towered over her, Johnson felt afraid — was it even fear, he wondered? He could smell her perfume and admired the flawless texture of her skin and noticed that he had an erection. In his embarrassment, he wanted to look away and found his gaze being averted lower. Towards the ground. To those shoes she wore. How could she walk in them?

“Perhaps you’d be a little more coherent, Officer Johnson, if you gave less attention to my high-heels and more to the matter in hand”, she said. That voice, he thought. So feminine. So commanding. What was happening, he wondered? This isn’t in the script. Usually they’re falling over themselves to apologise. He tried to rally himself: “Well, I think you should know tha-“

“Know what? That I’ve been stopped by a pathetic excuse for a man who’s hiding behind a uniform?” interrupted the woman. “Well if you’re going to run me down to the station, do so — only don’t bother with the handcuffs. You see”, she paused and brushed the side of her jacket to reveal a metallic gleam beneath, “I always carry my own…” She was smiling now.

Johnson felt his heart race and his mouth become dry. What kind of woman was this? His whole world seemed to be crumbling. This woman half his size was making a mockery of his attempts to control the situation. He felt his legs wobbling and a sharp pain in his knees as he fell down before her.

She placed her hand underneath his chin and raised his head to meet her gaze. There was a tear cascading down his cheek which she wiped away. “Well, Officer Johnson, now that we have established who’s in charge you’re lesson can begin,” she began. “My name is Sidonia. But you must call me Mistress from now on. You’ve shown a clear interest in my shoes — and so you can begin by licking them clean. Do I make myself clear?”

“B..b..but here…in public?” Johnson cried.

“Where did you think I meant?” she replied in that hypnotic, musical voice, “don’t keep me waiting…slave”

That word. What was it about it? The way she said it. It was alluring, inexorable, irresistable. Bending down, with more tears welling up in his eyes, he reached out his tongue and started to lap it across the leather of her left shoe. The taste was strange…indefinable…neither sweet nor sour. Yet somehow he felt that this was the most beautiful thing he had ever tasted and that all he would ever really want to do would be to lick the heels of this Goddess. Pausing momentarily to swallow his saliva he moved inwards to clean the instep; smelling the expensive scent that she applied to her foot. He stole a glance upwards towards the heaven of her inner thigh and hope she hadn’t noticed.

“The sole now, if you please!” she commanded, rocking her left foot back upon the heel to expose the underside. “Yes, Mistress” he replied and started to rasp his tongue against the sole. Then, she brought the foot down, trapping his tongue against the tarmac. Johnson squealed in pain, inasmuch as he could with his tongue trapped underneath the toe of her shoe and his hands flapped against the ground like a circus seal.

“When I want you to look up my skirt, I’ll damn well ask you first you insolent little pup!”, she said scornfully. “Not content with stopping me whilst I’m enjoying a drive in my new car, you then compound the error by looking up my skirt when you should be doing as you’re told!”. She released the pressure and Johnson clasped his hands together in entreaty, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Forgive me, Mithreth”. She slapped him hard across the face and said “Back to work — the other one, if you please,” stretching her right foot out now.

Johnson dropped down and commenced licking the right shoe. Sidonia could feel the moisture of his tears as they dropped occassionally upon her exposed stockinged foot and felt pleased at the level of submission to which she had taken him. The bigger they are…she mused.

Johnson attended to his task, covering her right shoe with long, languid licks. He heard a mobile phone go off nearby followed by her voice. “Sidonia here. Oh hello, Maria. No, I haven’t had an accident. Just a slight delay — shouldn’t be more than quarter of an hour late, I guess, so proceed with the meeting. I’ll definitely be there. Bye.”

“Enough!” she commanded. Johnson raised his head, his eyes swollen from his sobbing. Grasping his tie, Sidonia swung him onto his back and placed her right foot upon his chest and started to press down upon the heel. Johnson writhed in discomfiture. That heel, the object of so much desire since he first saw it, was now his nemesis. “Owww…please…it hurts, Mistress!!”.

“I know it hurts, stupid! That’s why I’m doing it,” Sidonia laughed. She released the pressure and Johnson thought he was being granted favour when she placed the heel expertly into his mouth. “Suck the heel, slave!”, she ordered, rubbing the toe against his nose.

“My! We have quite an audience, Officer Johnson” said Sidonia as she took in the traffic that was slowing down to take in the bizarre tableau occuring in the hard shoulder. Further along some people were even stopping to get out.

“I hope this has been a lesson to you, Officer” she continued. “It’s always important for a man to know his place in this life, don’t you think so?”

“Nnnaarghhh!” came the reply as Johnson tried to avoid the pressure of her shoe on his mouth.

“I can’t make out a word you’re saying, Officer Johnson”, Sidonia teased, raising her foot and balancing balletically upon her left leg she dangled that lovely right foot in front of his mouth. “Well?”.

“Yes, Mistress,” he whimpered, “Thank You for the much-needed lesson You have taught me.”

With a graceful pirouette, Sidonia turned and placed both feet to his right side. “We’re nearly done, you will be pleased to know. For your penance you can crawl over to my coupe over there and kiss each tyre ten times and then come back here for your final lesson. That’s four times ten — can you count that far?”

Nodding, utterly beaten, Johnson rolled to his left and crawled on all fours towards Sidonia’s car, becoming aware only now of the extent of his abasement. There was quite a crowd now — mainly women, he noticed. A couple of them were taking photographs. Four times ten times he pressed his lips to the tyres of the car owned by this beautiful, mysterious, supreme woman. Did he even want it to end, he wondered? She had shown him a world that he had hitherto barely dreamed of — in a way led him to some form of self-knowledge. He crawled back to her as she stood with her hands placed on her hips and he pressed his forehead to the ground before her feet in obeisance. Then he remembered…what final lesson did she mean?

“On your back, slave”, she commanded. Johnson rolled over and Sidonia stood over him, positioning her feet either side of his throat. She gazed down at him impassively. “Now I can hardly just drive off and let you follow me again, can I?”, she said rhetorically. Again showing that balletic grace, Sidonia rose up upon the balls of her feet and rotated her ankles inward and started to apply pressure to the sides of his neck. Panic seized him and he grasped at her ankles to prise himself free. He heard her gentle laughter mocking his efforts. “You can’t get free, slave” she teased. He writhed frantically but still could not release himself from the prison of her legs. His head was starting to hurt and the throbbing in his groin was getting worse. Suddenly her voice switched, becoming soft and soporific. “Sleep, my slave,” she said. His vision began to blur and heard still that sweet voice ushering him into oblivion and felt that release down below.

Sidonia felt his whole body become limp. Relaxing the grip of her ankles, she lowered Johnson’s head gently to the ground. Standing aside, Sidonia surveyed the prone form of the police officer she had rendered unconscious. His legs were splayed pathetically like a discarded marionette and on the front of his pants was a wet patch. Sidonia smiled to herself. He would not forget this in a hurry. Suddenly, struck by a fancy, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a stick of lip-gloss. Crouching down, she applied the lipstick to Johnson’s mouth and in large letters across his forehead, wrote the letters “S”, “L”, “A”, “V”, “E”.

Walking back to her car, Sidonia took in the sight of the crowd of people who had gathered to watch her vanquish Officer Johnson. Getting into her car, she checked her hair in the mirror, started the engine, and started to pull away. Through the mirror, she could see Johnson’s form stirring. Somehow, she thought, he would not be inclined to give chase. She congratulated herself on a good day’s work — another man taught his place. Now for that meeting…

by slave x