The meeting room is buzzing with tension. Today, Scarlett’s team is meeting Lauren, one of the company’s most important clients. Lauren is a powerful businesswoman, known for her sharp mind and even sharper tongue. She’s tall, standing around 6’1, and her presence dominates the room the moment she steps in. Dressed in a sleek, black pencil skirt that hugs her figure perfectly and a white blouse tucked neatly in, Lauren oozes confidence and control. Her jet-black hair is tied up in a tight bun, and she walks with the grace of someone who knows she’s in charge.
As she enters, Scarlett and the other women stand to greet her, each one offering a handshake and warm smiles. “Lauren, it’s great to see you,” Scarlett says, her voice respectful but firm, indicating their professional equality.
“Scarlett, darling,” Lauren replies, her voice rich and smooth. She leans in, kissing Scarlett on both cheeks as if they’ve been friends for years. She does the same with the others—Jess, Amber, even Stacy—but when her eyes fall on you, her demeanor shifts ever so slightly.
There’s a coldness in the way she looks at you, like you’re beneath her, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You stand awkwardly, feeling small as she finally acknowledges you with nothing more than a brief glance. No handshake, no greeting, just a raised eyebrow before she turns her attention back to Scarlett.
The meeting begins, and you’re supposed to be taking notes, but it’s hard to focus. The soft clicking of Lauren’s stiletto heels as she crosses and uncrosses her legs grabs your attention. Every time she moves, the hem of her pencil skirt rides up just slightly, revealing more of her long, toned legs. You can’t help it; your eyes are drawn to her feet, her sleek black pumps that scream power and elegance. But the more you stare, the more you realize how dangerous this is.
Suddenly, with a casual flick, one of her heels slips off her foot and falls to the floor with a soft thud. The room goes quiet for a second, and you freeze, staring at the discarded shoe like it’s the most important thing in the world. You can feel the heat rising to your face as you realize you’ve been caught—everyone has seen where your attention has been.
Scarlett’s eyes narrow, a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “Tom,” she says, her voice laced with amusement. “It seems Lauren has dropped something. Why don’t you go pick that up for her?”
You hesitate, feeling the eyes of every woman in the room on you, but you force yourself to stand. Just as you start to move towards the shoe, Lauren’s voice cuts through the room, stopping you in your tracks.
“On your hands and knees,” she says, her tone teasing but firm. She crosses her legs again, her bare foot resting on top of her discarded heel. “I think it’s only appropriate, don’t you?”
Your heart races as you process her words, your body flooding with shame, but also something darker. You want to protest, but the look in Scarlett’s eyes tells you there’s no point. She wants to see this happen as much as Lauren does.
Slowly, you drop to your knees, your hands trembling as they touch the cold floor. The room is silent except for the soft rustling of fabric as the women shift in their seats, watching you closely. You crawl towards the discarded heel, feeling your entire body burning with humiliation.
“Use your mouth,” Lauren commands, her voice silky but filled with an undercurrent of cruelty.
You pause, your mind reeling. The request is degrading beyond anything you could have imagined, but the tension in the room makes it clear you have no choice. You lean forward, your face inches from the shoe, and the smell of expensive leather fills your nose. It’s intoxicating, making your head spin, and despite yourself, you feel that familiar pull of submission tighten around you like a leash.
The scent is overwhelming—rich, luxurious, and slightly sweet, mixing with the faint hint of Lauren’s perfume. You lower your head, closing your eyes for a moment, trying to steel yourself. Then, with a deep breath, you open your mouth and carefully take the heel between your teeth.
As soon as your lips touch the shoe, there’s a soft murmur of laughter from the women around you. You can feel their eyes on you, reveling in your submission, feeding off your humiliation. Lauren leans back in her chair, watching with a smug grin as you awkwardly lift the shoe, struggling to keep it balanced in your mouth.
“Good boy,” she coos mockingly, her voice dripping with condescension.
You crawl towards her, the shoe still in your mouth, your face burning with shame. Every movement feels slow, deliberate, as though you’re dragging yourself deeper into the pit they’ve dug for you. You can barely bring yourself to look at Lauren as you reach her, placing the shoe carefully at her feet, still on all fours like an obedient pet.
Lauren leans down slightly, one perfectly manicured hand resting on her knee as she looks down at you. “Now, doesn’t that feel better?” she asks, her tone almost teasing. “I mean, on your hands and knees where you belong?”
The other women chuckle, and you can hear Jess whispering something to Amber, their soft giggles making your stomach twist. You hate this. You hate how powerless you feel, but at the same time, a part of you—the part you’ve tried so hard to ignore—revels in the submission, in the way these powerful women are toying with you.
Lauren stretches out her foot, pressing the newly reclaimed heel against your cheek, pushing your face down toward the floor. The leather is soft and cool against your skin, but the gesture is anything but gentle. It’s a clear message—one you can’t ignore.
“You’re lucky Scarlett keeps you around,” Lauren says, her foot still pinning your face to the ground. “Most places would have gotten rid of someone like you a long time ago.”
Scarlett smiles, leaning back in her chair, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Oh, we have our uses for him,” she replies smoothly, crossing her legs. “He just needs a bit of training, that’s all.”
The laughter from the women grows louder, their amusement at your expense palpable. You can feel your pulse quicken, your face pressed against the floor as Lauren continues to toy with you. The smell of her perfume, her shoes, everything about her presence is overpowering, intoxicating in the worst way. You hate yourself for the way your body reacts, for the way you feel a strange, twisted comfort in this degradation.
Finally, Lauren removes her foot from your face, but the damage is done. You stay there, on your hands and knees, unsure whether you’re allowed to move. The power these women hold over you is complete, and you realize in that moment just how deep you’ve fallen.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author