The Taste of Humiliation: My Journey Into Foot Worship and Submission

Dear FemdomU Forum:

This is an account of one of the challenges my wife, Annie, assigned me while she was away for work. As part of our dynamic, she often sets challenges to push my boundaries, and I’m sharing this as part of the “While My Mistress is Away” challenge series. What follows describes one night of a 9-day punishment challenge. If you enjoy this, you can explore more of this challenge or start the series from the beginning here.

As I knelt on the floor, the pillow beneath my knees did little to soften the discomfort, but it was nothing compared to the weight of the moment. My heart pounded, the tension growing with every passing second. This wasn’t something I wanted, but my wife’s instructions echoed in my head: “You’ll worship her feet as if they were mine.” Now, here I was, face to face with V, her gaze piercing through me with a mix of amusement and command.

Her feet, freshly worked out but flawless, rested before me. They were clean, without a trace of dirt, but a faint sheen of sweat glistened on her skin under the dim light. Her toes, perfectly manicured and painted a deep, glossy red, only made the task more daunting. Visually, her feet were captivating, but the scent—stronger now from her recent workout—brought me back to reality. It wasn’t something I could ignore, and despite my best efforts, I felt the heat of shame rising.

“Don’t just stare,” she snapped, her voice sharp. “Get started.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. My eyes stayed fixed on her feet as I inched closer, the conflicting feelings in my chest tightening with every second. The scent overwhelmed me now—musky and raw. I am very scent-motivated, and smelling her feet aroused me, against my own wishes. Despite the disgust, something about it hooked me. I hated how my body reacted.

“Sniff them,” V ordered, her voice cutting through my thoughts like a whip.

I closed my eyes and obeyed. My nose hovered just above her foot, and I inhaled slowly. The scent hit me like a wave—warm, sweaty, and unmistakably hers. Even though I wanted to resist, my body betrayed me, arousal creeping in. The contrast between the beauty of her feet and the raw scent of sweat pushed me deeper into the conflict. I didn’t want this, but my body seemed to crave it.

“Good boy,” she murmured, her tone dripping with condescension. “Now, kiss.”

I lowered my lips to her foot, the warmth of her skin under my mouth making me shiver. As I kissed the top of her arch, I could taste the faint salt of her sweat—metallic, almost bitter. Each kiss deepened the sense of humiliation, a reminder that I was here because I had to be, not because I wanted to. And yet, I couldn’t stop. My wife’s orders rang loud in my mind, drowning out my disgust.

“Lick,” she commanded, her voice cold and hard.

My tongue hesitated, but I knew there was no room for defiance. Slowly, I let my tongue slide across her foot, tasting the mix of sweat and salt. The weight of my own shame hung on me as I dragged my tongue from her heel to her toes. The salty taste clung to my mouth, and with each lick, I felt my stomach twist. But the arousal was undeniable, no matter how much I hated it.

“Get in there,” V said, shoving her foot roughly against my mouth.

I parted my lips and slid her toes inside, my tongue moving between them, tasting every inch. Her sweat filled my mouth, the taste strong and unpleasant, but I had no choice. I licked between her toes, each second stretching into an eternity of humiliation. The scent, the taste—it was all too real, too raw. Her foot was beautiful, but the reality of worshipping it turned my stomach, even as it turned me on.

She stuffed her foot deeper into my mouth, her toes grazing the back of my throat, forcing me to take it all. I gagged slightly, but quickly corrected myself, knowing any sign of discomfort would only amuse her more. The shame burned my cheeks, but I sucked harder, determined to finish the task as quickly as possible.

Finally, with a wet pop, she pulled her foot from my mouth. Before I could even catch my breath, she pushed her other foot toward me, her heel pressing against my chin.

“Don’t think we’re done,” V said, her voice sharp and commanding. “You’ve got more work to do.”

I repeated the process, licking and kissing, all while the conflict inside me grew louder. Her feet were undeniably beautiful, but the taste and scent were constant reminders of my humiliation. This wasn’t about me. My wife’s commands drove me forward, no matter how disgusted I felt. It wasn’t for me, or even for V—it was for her. And despite how much I hated it, that was enough.

Maybe that’s why my body reacted the way it did. As degrading as it was, my dick betrayed me. I had chosen loose-fitting sweatpants and a simple t-shirt, knowing what was coming, but it didn’t matter. The moment my lips touched her feet, I felt it—a dull, aching pressure building between my legs. With every humiliating second, my arousal grew. By the time her toes were in my mouth, I had a full, throbbing erection, straining against the fabric of my pants. I hated it. I hated that my body couldn’t tell the difference between degradation and desire. But there it was—hard, the entire time.

When it was finally over, V leaned back, her feet glistening with my saliva, her eyes filled with satisfaction. “Good boy,” she said, her tone mocking. “I’ll tell Annie all about your pathetic attempt to worship my feet.”

I nodded, my mouth still tasting of her sweat, my knees aching. As much as I despised the situation, I knew I’d done a good job – I’d completed my punishment, I’d followed my wife’s orders, and she would be pleased.