My Boss Offered Me Money to Kneel at My Feet

It all started because of a mistake that wasn’t entirely a mistake. One hot afternoon, sitting at my desk, I took off my shoes and snapped a photo of my bare feet resting on the chair beside me. I meant to send it to a friend who used to tease me about having “model feet.” Instead, with a clumsy thumb and the screen glaring back at me, I dropped it into the group chat with the plant coordinators and engineers.

It took me three seconds to realize it. Three endless seconds in which the photo was already there, in full view of twelve men who signed off on my reports every week. My face burned. I was about to type an apology when I saw the message disappear: someone with administrator privileges had deleted it before anyone got the chance to comment.

I breathed out. I thought that was the end of it.

***

It wasn’t. Four days later, Andrés, the quality engineer—the same one who had the permissions to delete messages—sent me a private message. A quiet man, the kind who takes notes in meetings and almost never raises his eyes.

—Want to make two hundred? —he wrote, just like that, without a greeting.

I stared at the screen. Two hundred what, and in exchange for what?

—Depends —I replied—. Make it how?

He took a while to answer. I watched the three dots appear and disappear, as if he were typing and deleting his words over and over. In the end he came out with it: he would do anything to end up on my feet. To see them up close, to touch them, to lick them until they shone. Because of the photo he’d been unable to get out of his head for four days, four days jerking off while thinking about my toes.

The first thing I felt was a mix of offense and laughter. Who did he think he was, putting a price on my body in a work chat? I was almost ready to tell him to go to hell. But it was also true that that month money was tight, rent was squeezing me, and the idea of a man paying me for something as silly as letting him look began to feel less like an insult and more like an opportunity.

And there was something else, something I didn’t confess to him. The idea of having him on his knees, quiet, waiting for my permission, with his cock hard in his pants because of me, appealed to me a lot more than I was willing to admit.

—All right —I wrote—. But I make the rules.

***

We agreed to meet in the quality room, that back room that is always empty after six, with its gray filing cabinets and the long table where nobody ever sits. I arrived first, on purpose. I wanted that when he came in, I would already be settled there like I owned the place.

I had prepared myself. That morning I painted my toenails matte white, clean and stark against my skin. I wore thick-heeled red platforms, with a thin strap buckled around the ankle, and a fitted dress the same white as my nails, half covered by the red work smock. Underneath, nothing. No panties. I knew I’d get wet and I didn’t want fabric sticking to my lips once I had him on his knees. I sat on the edge of the table, crossed my legs, and let one foot hang down, swinging it slowly.

I sent him a message with the room number. He answered with a screenshot: the transfer, complete, made before he even stepped into the room. Two hundred. I smiled to myself. Paying in advance was, without him knowing it, the first of my rules.

When he came in, he did it slowly, almost asking permission with his body. He closed the door carefully and stopped two steps inside, his hands clasped in front of him like a student before the principal’s office.

—Hi —he said, and his voice came out lower than he meant it to.

—Hi, Andrés. —I looked at him without moving—. You’re nervous.

—A little. I’ve never done anything like this before. —He swallowed—. Was it really you? In the photo.

—Really. —I uncrossed my legs very slowly and crossed them again the other way, letting my heel point toward him—. Come closer and see for yourself.

He took one step. Then another. When he was a meter away, I lifted my foot and held it in the air, at chest height, without touching him.

—You don’t go any farther until I say so —I warned him—. Kneel.

He hesitated for half a second. Half a second in which I saw the struggle between the serious engineer from the meetings and the man who had spent four days staring at a photo with his cock in his hand. The second one won. He knelt on the cold floor of the room, and I felt that hot current that rises when someone does exactly what you ask. A tug between the legs, a very specific throb in my cunt, and I noticed I was already starting to get wet.

***

—Take off my heels —I ordered him—. Slowly. The right one first.

Andrés reached out and found the ankle strap. His fingers trembled a little as he fumbled with the clasp. He opened it awkwardly, slid the heel off, and set it on the floor as if it were fragile. When my foot was free, I spread my toes and moved them, one by one, in front of his face.

He froze. He didn’t say anything, just watched my toes part and come together inches from his nose. I saw the bulge in his pants become more defined, saw his cock swelling without my having even touched him.

—Why so quiet? —I asked—. Can’t you talk? Need that mouth for something more useful? Want it full of my toes, Andrés? Say it.

—Yes —he whispered, as if admitting it cost him something—. Please.

I brought the big toe to his lips and ran it over them slowly, tracing his mouth. I felt him hold his breath. I pressed a little more, until he parted his lips and stuck out his tongue to brush my toe. The first contact was timid, a short wet caress.

—That’s it —I murmured—. Not so fast. Suck it properly. Like it’s a cock. Take the whole thing in.

He obeyed. He sucked it to the knuckle and started sucking with an eagerness that had nothing at all to do with the quiet man who took notes in meetings. His tongue circled my thumb, pushed between nail and skin, deliberately salivated to make it shine. Then he lowered his mouth to the top of my foot and licked it all over, top to bottom, while I let the tip of my foot rest against his chin. He took the other toes one by one, nibbling them lightly, sucking them as if he were going to be paid for doing it right instead of the other way around.

Feeling that warm wetness slide between my toes lit me up all at once. It was like a cable had been plugged from the sole of my foot straight to the center of my cunt, and I felt the dress sticking to me from how soaked I was. Wetness was running down the inside of my thigh, warm and thick. I closed my eyes for a second, clenched my teeth, and looked at him again.

I let him work. He sucked my toes one at a time, with a concentration I’d never seen from him in a meeting. I rested my other leg on the table, heel still on, and with my free hand I hiked the hem of my dress up to my waist, spreading myself open in front of him, my shaved cunt swollen and glistening with moisture right at his eye level.

—Look at me, Andrés. —I waited until he raised his eyes—. Look at what you’re doing to me. I’m soaked, and you’ve only sucked one foot. See how I’m dripping? See how I’m throbbing?

He lifted his gaze and fixed it between my legs. I saw him swallow again, saw his breathing quicken, saw how hard it was for him to stay still on his knees. A low moan escaped him when I brought two fingers down and parted my cunt lips so he could see everything, the tight entrance, the hard clit peeking out, a thread of slick falling to the floor.

—If this does this to me with one foot —I went on, voice low—, imagine both. Take off the other heel. And this time I’m not going to tell you what to do. Show me it’s worth it.

***

He took the other heel off more decisively, as if he understood the rules now. He took my whole foot into his mouth, spitting on my toes first to make them slippery, and while he had it there I moved my toes slowly, playing with his tongue from the inside. The gesture tore a muffled sound from him, the first thing even close to a moan I’d heard from him all afternoon.

I let him stay like that for several minutes, alternating one foot and the other, watching him from above with both hands braced behind me on the table. Then I pressed both feet to his mouth at once, forcing him to lick between the toes on both, with his tongue going in and out of those spaces like it was a tiny cunt. Andrés was drooling, saliva running down his chin, and with every moan he let out I felt a fresh surge in my clit.

I took one hand to my cunt while he kept going. I started rubbing myself slowly, with two fingers parting my lips and my thumb circling my clit. Andrés looked up and saw what I was doing. He got even harder, if that was possible. A growl came out against my foot.

—Keep sucking —I told him, my voice shaking a little—. Don’t stop. Don’t even think about stopping until I tell you to.

I slipped one finger inside my cunt and pulled it out shining. I showed it to him. He was still sucking my feet, eyes fixed on my hand. I brought the wet finger to my mouth, sucked it slowly, and smiled at him.

—Tasty, right? Too bad that isn’t included in today’s price.

There was something intoxicating in the difference: him on his knees, sweating, surrendered, with his cock out of the pants he’d already opened without permission; me leaning back, cool, deciding when and how, fingering myself slowly so he’d die wanting to put his tongue where I wasn’t going to let him. The power was all on my side, and that got me hotter than any caress.

When I saw him on the edge of losing control, when his hand went down to his cock to grab it himself, I stopped him with the point of my foot against his chest.

—Stop. —I shoved him back a little—. Let go of that cock. Nobody gave you permission to touch yourself.

He obeyed instantly, his hands back on his thighs, his cock hanging hard, red at the tip, with a clear drop sliding over the head.

—You did well —I allowed—. So well that I’m going to offer you something that wasn’t in the deal.

—Anything —he said hoarsely.

—Wouldn’t you like to feel these feet, all wet with your own saliva, somewhere else? —I held his gaze and dropped my eyes to his cock—. There. Wrapped around your shaft. But that costs extra. Do you want it?

He didn’t answer with words. He stood up, pulled down his pants to his ankles with clumsy hands, along with his boxers, and stood there in front of me, his hard cock pointing up, thick, pulsing. Since I was still sitting on the edge of the table, it was right at the level of my feet. I pressed my soles together, still damp, and trapped it between them.

—Stay still —I ordered—. You don’t do anything. I’m in charge here. If you move, you leave without finishing.

I wrapped my feet around his cock like they were a hand and started moving up and down, pressing with the arches, feeling the hard heat of his skin against my soles. I spat on my fingers and wet his glans so it would slide better. I changed the rhythm on purpose, fast and then slow, so he wouldn’t know when I was going to squeeze. I went up tight, covering the tip with my toes, and came back down loose to the base, then up again, squeezing.

—Look me in the face while I fuck you with my feet —I told him—. Don’t look down. Look at my eyes.

It was hard for him. His head wanted to tilt forward, he wanted to look at his cock wrapped between my white toes, but every time he looked down I eased up and smiled. He learned fast. He locked onto my eyes, mouth open, breathing like he couldn’t get enough air.

At one point I held him between the big toes of both feet and used the toes of the other to stroke the tip, opening and closing my toes around the glans, squeezing and releasing, watching his face fall apart. Sweat ran down his temple. His thighs trembled.

—I… I can’t hold it —he said through clenched teeth.

—Then don’t hold it. —I squeezed a little harder, sped up, ran the arch of my foot the full length of him—. But you’re coming where I say you’re coming. On my toes. I want to see all your load fall there. Every drop. And then you’re going to clean it up with that tongue you move so well. Is that clear?

—Yes… yes, God, yes —he panted.

—Say it properly. Say where you’re going to come.

—On your feet. On your toes.

—Good boy.

That was enough. I felt him tense all over, his belly contracting, and a second later the first hot rope of semen shot out, thick and warm, landing right between my spread toes exactly as I’d asked. Then came two, three, four more spurts, each one with a moan he couldn’t hold back. The load ran down his instep, his shin, the sole. My toes were left sticky, shining, coated in thick white that filled every space between them. He just stood there, breathing hard, staring at the mess he’d made all over my feet as if he still couldn’t quite believe it.

—Now clean —I said calmly, and brought my foot to his mouth.

He knelt again without hesitation. He started licking his own release from my toes, swallowing what he’d spilled, sucking between knuckle and knuckle, running his tongue along the instep until it was clean. It took him several minutes. I watched him from above, with my other hand back between my legs, slowly circling my clit, not letting myself finish yet. I was saving that for later, alone, at home, with the whole scene replaying in my head.

***

When he’d finished cleaning me, I took a handkerchief from my purse and, with all the calm in the world, dried myself slowly while he got his clothes back in order, red to the ears, his cock still only half softened.

—Thank you —he managed—. Really… thank you.

—Don’t thank me. —I put my heels back on, my feet still a little sticky inside them, and stepped down from the table—. Thank yourself for behaving. The ones who behave get repeat business.

—Repeat? —His face lit up—. I… I can get more. Whatever I need. Whatever price you set.

I came close until I was a hand’s breadth from him, and for the first time all afternoon it was me who lowered my voice to a whisper.

—That sounds good to me. But next time I raise the rate. And the rules too. Next time maybe I let you see up close what today you only looked at. Maybe I let you taste it. But that’s going to cost a lot more than two hundred. —I ran a finger over his shirtfront, then lowered my hand to rest it over the still-warm bulge in his pants—. Is that clear?

—Crystal clear —he said, and I could tell he was already thinking about where he’d get the money. He was starting to swell again under my hand.

We left the room a couple of minutes apart, each of us on our own, like two people who had nothing to do with each other. That same night, before going to sleep, I opened the banking app out of habit. There was another transfer I hadn’t asked for: three hundred, with a single word in the note. “Advance.”

I laughed to myself in the dark, with my hand between my legs and my cunt still throbbing just from remembering. Andrés had learned fast. He had understood, without my having to tell him, that the one who pays in advance is the one who waits the most. And I was already thinking about everything I was going to make him pay for next time.