The Secret That Made Me Carolina’s Slave

My name is Mateo, I’m twenty-four years old, and I’m going to tell you how I ended up being my friend Carolina’s private slave. It’s not something I brag about out loud, but denying it would be lying, and at this point lying no longer makes sense.

First I need to talk about her. Caro is tiny, barely five feet tall, dark-haired, with brown eyes and a small mouth that looks as if it was drawn to smile with mischief. She’s not the kind of girl who turns heads by shouting. She speaks in a low voice, almost shy, and the unwary mistake her for someone harmless. I learned, at my own expense, how wrong they were.

I owe her feet a paragraph of their own. She wore a size 34, small feet, cinnamon-colored skin, the soles pale and soft in a way I had never seen on anyone. She didn’t usually paint her nails, just a clear base coat, and she always kept them short, almost square. The first time I really looked at them I felt something hard to explain: a mix of tenderness and a dark desire I was ashamed to acknowledge.

From the moment I met her, Carolina had a boyfriend. Bruno, a classmate, taller and better-looking than me. The three of us went to class together and shared notes. That was the geography of my life for months: the two of them hand in hand and me at their side, silent, pretending I didn’t care, but jerking off every night imagining her tiny cunt impaled on Bruno’s cock while I licked the sweat from her feet.

***

It was during summer break. A group of us had stayed in the university city doing internships, so the student residence where I lived organized a small party, one of those where everyone just gets together to drink with no further pretensions. Bruno was away, in his hometown, and Carolina didn’t want to go back to her apartment alone in the middle of the night.

—Are you staying? —I offered, trying to sound casual—. You can sleep in my room and I’ll crash on the couch.

She agreed without giving it a second thought. She left her bag on my desk and went into the shower, in the bathroom right next to my room.

When I went to get a pillow I saw her sandals beside the bed. Blue flip-flops with thin straps, flower print and little gold threads. Tiny. I stared at them like an idiot, knowing I shouldn’t, that it was stupid and an absurd risk. But something in me had already decided.

I checked that she was still under the water and that the others were locked in their rooms. I went in, pulled the door almost shut, and knelt beside the bed. I picked up one of the flip-flops with both hands, as if it were made of glass.

Just a second. Just to know what it feels like.

I started kissing it. I ran my lips over the entire surface where her sole rested, slowly, unhurriedly, as if each kiss had to earn its place there. It wasn’t enough. I brought my nose to the center, just below where the straps sank into the rubber, and breathed in. There it was: a warm trace, barely perceptible, of her skin. There was no bad smell, no dirt, just her.

I stuck out my tongue and licked the rubber from top to bottom, dragging myself over the mark her sole had left all day. The taste was faint, sour and salty at once, and it made me moan against the plastic. My cock went hard instantly, so swollen it pushed the fabric of my shorts upward. I grabbed it over my clothes and started squeezing myself while I kept licking the flip-flop, sucking the straps, burying my nose in the grooves her toes had left behind.

I had never felt anything so humiliating and so exciting at the same time. Kneeling on the floor, my face buried in my friend’s flip-flop, breathing hard and jacking myself over my shorts, I felt a drop of pre-cum escape me and soak the fabric. I was so lost in it that I didn’t hear the bathroom door.

Behind me, a noise. I spun around sharply. Carolina was standing in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, looking at me with a seriousness that froze my blood.

—I… smelled something weird —I stammered, getting to my feet in a stumble—. I thought it was your sandals, I was checking whether…

Then she lowered her gaze to my shorts. And I remembered. I was hard as a rock, the fabric stretched unmistakably tight, the outline of my cock marked against the cotton, and worse, a wet stain of pre-cum was giving me away with no possible defense. That tiny trace of her skin had been enough to leave me dripping, caught in the act.

Her face shifted from confusion to something else. For a moment she seemed almost frightened, as if she no longer recognized me. I turned red to the tips of my ears, trying to seem calm when I wasn’t. And it was right then that something changed in her gaze. A decision.

***

She shut the door all the way. She walked past me without saying a word, still stern, pulled my desk chair out and sat down in front of me, crossing her legs. Then she stretched out her right leg, lifted her foot, and pointed her ankle, wiggling her toes in little circles. Everything else ceased to exist. The whole world shrank to that image: five perfect little toes, arched, pointing at my face.

A lust I couldn’t control drove me toward her. I forgot my shame, the situation, everything. I only wanted to fall on that foot, kiss it, lick it, put it all the way in my mouth. I reached forward with both hands, ready to grab it.

Carolina didn’t let me. With astonishing speed she yanked her leg back and whipped it out, striking me on the side of the jaw with the top of her foot. She didn’t hit me with all her strength, but my teeth clacked and I fell backward.

—What do you think you’re doing? —she said, her low voice colder than ever—. You think we’re still friends, that you can touch me now? After what I just saw, you’re nothing to me anymore. Just a doormat. You’re going to do what I say, and you’re going to pay very dearly for laying your hands on my things. From now on you exist to satisfy my whims, and you’re going to humiliate yourself knowing you have no right to anything.

I tried to apologize, to talk to her about what happened to me with feet, to explain the inexplicable. She wouldn’t let me.

—Go to the bathroom. My clothes are in a bag on the bidet. Bring them here.

There was something in her tone that stole any desire I had to argue. I thought it was better to obey than risk her leaving that room and telling everyone what she’d seen. I went, found the bag with her folded pants, and came back.

—Not just that —she said when I handed her the bag—. My panties are in there. Give them to me.

They were pink, plain, made of thin fabric, with a little floral print. She took them, turned them to reveal the part that had been in contact with her cunt, and ordered me:

—On your knees. Stick out your tongue.

—Caro, I’m sorry, I was an idiot, I couldn’t help it —I made one last attempt.

—Shut up. If you don’t do it right now, I’ll go out and tell everyone.

Fear tightening my throat, I obeyed. I knelt in front of the chair, almost pressed against her legs, stuck out my tongue, and she rubbed the fabric against it, slowly, looking me in the eyes with terrible calm. I could taste cunt soaked into the cotton, sour, intimate, a woman’s taste that cut through my mouth and went straight to my cock. She dragged the seam across my tongue, forcing me to swallow all the moisture her cunt had left there for hours, and made me suck the center until the fabric turned white with my saliva. When she was done, she folded the panties and handed them to me.

—Now put them on.

I hesitated. I started to protest, anger winning out over shame for a moment. But barely had I made the move to stand up when her foot suddenly shot up between my legs and slammed into my balls. I collapsed from the pain, folded in on myself, my hands between my legs and tears welling up.

—You’re going to do what I say —she repeated, without raising her voice—. You can’t do anything. You can’t talk to anyone, you can’t lay a hand on me, because I’ll report you. You can only obey. It’s better to be my doormat than the laughingstock of the whole faculty.

With tearful eyes, between pain and humiliation, I stripped naked. And then we both saw it: my cock, even after the kick, was still half-erect, hanging between my legs swollen and red, the tip shiny with pre-cum. I thought it was a reaction to the blow, but I wasn’t so sure anymore. The panties were tiny; they wouldn’t fit me, but I yanked them on with all my strength until I forced them in, deforming them, squeezing my cock and balls in a way that hurt. The fabric dug into my flesh, the tip of the head stuck out above the waistband, and the seam, soaked with saliva, sank between my buttocks. Carolina pulled out her phone and took a picture of me.

—How pathetic you are —she said, and for the first time she smiled—. Look at you: your cock sticking out of your friend’s panties, dripping like a bitch in heat. You’re a submissive, did you know that? A slave from birth. Your body doesn’t lie. You get turned on by taking orders, you get turned on by being laughed at, it gets you wet when I smash your balls with a kick. You were never made for anything other than sniffing feet, serving, cleaning with your mouth whatever a woman puts in front of you.

I should have felt destroyed. And part of me did. But another part, one I had never let out, was beginning to boil with something like euphoria. The idea of being nothing more than her doormat, of existing only to serve her, mattered more to me than any pride. Without her asking, I knelt again and crouched until I was level with her feet, which barely touched the floor with the tips of her toes.

Carolina was laughing, amused by what she saw.

—Slave, I want you to kiss my foot. But gently. I want you to declare yourself to my feet, like a good boyfriend.

She didn’t lift them, didn’t move a muscle to bring them closer. I leaned in until my face was almost touching her left foot and started kissing it with the same delicacy as the sandal, holding it in my hands like something precious. I kissed each toe separately, one by one, from thumb to pinky, sucking them like candies. I took her big toe all the way into my mouth and licked it from tip to base, savoring the sweaty trace of the day. She let me do it, and I passed my tongue between her toes, one by one, working into the folds, sucking every inch of cinnamon-colored skin as if it were the most expensive delicacy in the world. After a few kisses I rubbed my cheek against her instep, slowly, and slid my tongue along the whole sole, dragging it from heel to the tips of her toes in a long, drooling lick. I could feel little tremors: she was holding back laughter while she aimed her phone at me, and I could feel my own cock throbbing inside the pink panties, leaking watery cum onto the fabric.

—What a quiet lover —she mocked—. I want compliments. I want you to talk to it.

I didn’t know what to say, but I tried.

—From now on I live only for you —I murmured against her skin, my lips pressed to the sole—. I want to wake up smelling you, fall asleep with your toes in my mouth. I have no reason other than to adore you, kiss you, feel your scent. You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and there’s nothing I want to look at more. My cock is yours, my balls are yours, my mouth lives to lick you, my tongue is your doormat.

I was on all fours, in pink panties, my face buried in her foot, my cock sticking out soaked over the waistband, making the most ridiculous declaration of my life. I was fully aware of how pathetic the scene was, and precisely because of that I got harder. Carolina recorded everything, and she knew how to make it worse.

—The other foot is jealous —she said—. Sit up a little straighter, that way I can reach your face better. Isn’t that what you want? For me to be comfortable while I kick you?

I straightened up on my knees, hands behind my back, my cock straining the panties in front like a ridiculous bulge. She kicked me once, then again, not very hard, but enough to make me lose my balance. One caught me on the cheek, another on the chin, another directly on the balls over the pink fabric, and I felt a lash of pain mixed with pleasure that almost made me come right there. Each time I returned to position without a complaint, and each time she made me kiss the foot that had struck me in thanks, tongue out, licking the top of her foot.

When my cock got so hard it started to emerge completely from the waistband, the panties giving way under the pressure, Carolina spread her legs wider in the chair. The towel shifted and for a second I could see the inside of her thighs, the lighter skin of the crease, and although I didn’t get to see her cunt, the image made me moan against her foot. She noticed, laughed with her mouth closed, and then snapped her legs shut again, trapping my head between her calves.

—Don’t even dream about it, Guti —she whispered, squeezing my neck with her short, firm legs—. This cunt belongs to Bruno, and Bruno alone. You’re never going to fuck it, you’re not even going to see it up close. You’re for feet. For dirty panties. For licking up what falls to the floor. Understood, doormat?

I nodded as best I could, my face crushed between her thighs, and she let out a cold laugh and shoved me back to the floor with the sole of her foot. I went back to licking her feet like a dog, from heel to toes, from instep to ankle, sucking every inch while my cock throbbed inside the pink panties and a thick drop of pre-cum stained my thigh. When I thought I was going to come without touching myself, she pressed the big toe of her right foot against my lips and shoved it all the way into my mouth.

—Suck, doormat. Suck it like it’s a cock.

And I sucked it. I sucked her toe with my tongue wrapped around it, mouth sealed to the emptiness, cheeks hollowed as if I were truly eating someone. She snickered and put in her index toe too, then her middle toe, until she had three toes in my mouth at the same time, choking me, my drool running down my chin and dripping onto my thighs. She fucked my mouth with her foot, pushing in and out, and my cock leaked on its own while I gagged on sweat and saliva.

***

I stayed like that for a long time, used, humiliated, sucking her toes and worshipping her soles while the night moved on beyond the door. At some point I came without touching myself, a warm spurt that soaked the inside of the pink panties and ran down to my balls, and she saw it by the stain spreading through the fabric and laughed softly, calling me pathetic, hands-free wet dreams, drooling slave. When she got tired, she gave me one last instruction, now in an almost affectionate tone, like someone talking to a pet.

—Guti —that would be my slave name, she had given it to me between kicks—, find yourself a corner to sleep in. But don’t take those panties off until you get me new ones to replace the pair you ruined. And I want you to sleep with my come inside you, marinating your balls, so you learn what you’re made of. That’s going to force you to smarten up, don’t you think?

I nodded. I said nothing else. I walked out of my own room in silence, still wearing her semen-soaked underwear beneath my pants, the fabric sticking to my softened cock, and settled on the sofa in the living room without closing my eyes.

That night, while I listened to her calm breathing on the other side of the wall, I understood that something had broken forever and that something new had just begun. That the discreet, low-voiced friend now knew the dirtiest side of me, and that far from wanting to run from it, I couldn’t wait to kneel again, to open my mouth for her fingers again, to feel the sole of her foot against my face again.

The rest —the days that followed, the new rules, what I learned to do without anyone asking— belongs to another story. But everything, absolutely everything, began that summer dawn, with a sandal in my hands and a woman who discovered, before I did, what I had truly been born to be.