The Woman Who Taught Me to Live Beneath Her Heels

For years I chased an idea I didn’t know how to name. I wasn’t looking for just any woman. I was looking for one who enjoyed giving orders, who did it naturally, both over dinner with friends and in the dark of her bedroom. A woman who liked having a man at her feet and didn’t need to apologize for it.

The people who knew me would have sworn otherwise. At work I gave orders, signed off on decisions, ran meetings where no one dared contradict me. Maybe that’s why, when I closed the door to my apartment, all I wanted was to stop deciding. To hand the control over to someone who knew how to use it better than I did.

I found her one October night, almost by accident, at the opening of a gallery I’d only gone to because a client had insisted.

***

Renata was standing beside a huge photograph, glass in hand, surrounded by three men listening to her like students. She wasn’t the most eye-catching woman in the room. She was the most self-assured. She spoke slowly, left long silences, and when someone tried to interrupt her, she would lift two fingers barely at all and the other person would fall quiet. She wore a black dress to the knee and high heels with thin straps that forced her to move with deliberate slowness.

I don’t know how long I stared at her. Long enough for her to notice. Her eyes crossed the room and pinned mine without hurry, like someone recognizing something they had already expected to find.

I walked over because it seemed worse not to.

—You’ve been watching me for a while —she said, without greeting me—. Do you like what you see, or are you just working up the nerve?

—Both —I admitted.

She smiled faintly, as if that answer had passed some test.

—I like that. Most people lie in the first sentence.

We talked for almost an hour. Or rather, she asked and I answered. She had the ability to make everything I said sound like a small confession. At some point, without my remembering bringing it up, she knew I found it hard to let go of control, that deep down I hated it, that I would pay to stop carrying it even for one night.

—Do you know what I think? —she said, setting the empty glass on a passing tray—. I think you’ve spent your whole life looking for someone to give you permission to obey. Someone to use you, empty you out, put you on your knees and make you suck until you forget your own name.

I felt my cock harden inside my trousers with a violence I hadn’t expected. She noticed. She dropped her gaze for a second, smiled faintly, and looked back up.

—I’ve got a taxi in ten minutes —she added—. You can come with me and find out, or stay here and keep imagining it for another ten years.

***

Her apartment was on an upper floor, with windows looking out over the lit-up city. Everything was neat, cold, elegant. Nothing was out of place, and I understood at once that I wouldn’t be either: that in that house there was a place for me and she would decide what it was.

—Take off your shoes —she said, setting her bag on a table—. In my house, the floor is mine. You haven’t earned it yet.

I did it without thinking. And doing it brought an absurd sense of relief, as if I were taking off much more than my shoes.

She sat down in a large dark leather armchair and crossed her legs. The heels stayed on. She looked me over from head to toe with the calm of someone appraising a purchase.

—Come closer. Slowly. And get on your knees.

The floor was cold beneath my knees. She stretched one leg out and set the tip of her heel against my chest, not pressing, just marking a distance.

—This is what you wanted, isn’t it? —she asked—. For a woman to put you in your place and not apologize for doing it.

—Yes —I said, and my voice came out rougher than I expected.

—Then you’re going to start with the simplest thing. You’re going to take off my shoes. One by one. And you’re going to set them down as if they were made of glass.

I took her right foot in my hands. The strap of the heel gave way slowly. When I slid the shoe off, she sighed, not from pleasure, but from the fatigue of a whole night on her feet, and that sigh affected me more than any fake moan ever could.

—I’ve been in these for hours —she murmured, tilting her head back—. And you, who said you were looking for me, are going to show me what you’re good for.

***

I started with the instep, pressing my thumbs along the taut line left by the straps. She guided me in monosyllables: there, harder, slower. There was nothing romantic in her orders, and precisely because of that I gave myself over completely. She wasn’t asking me to pretend. She was asking me to serve.

—You’ve got good hands —she conceded after a while—. That’s the least of it. Now the sole. And don’t just touch.

I moved my thumbs down to her heel and slowly up the entire sole, searching for the points where the tension gathered. Every time I found one, she let out a short sound, almost annoyance, as though it irritated her to admit that it was relieving her.

—You learn fast —she said, opening one eye to look at me—. That’s dangerous. People who learn fast start thinking they’re in charge. You’re not going to make that mistake, are you?

—No —I answered.

—Repeat that while looking at me.

I lifted my head and repeated it. She held my gaze for a couple of seconds, weighing me, then closed her eyes again, satisfied.

I lowered my head. I kissed the arch of her foot, first carefully, then with a devotion I didn’t remember ever feeling for anyone. She watched me from above, one hand resting against her cheek, evaluating every gesture.

—Look at me while you do it —she ordered—. I want to see your face. I want to know if this is theater or if you really need it.

I looked up without stopping. I slid my tongue between her toes, one by one, sucking them as if they were something else, and she let out a low laugh when she felt the wetness.

—Like that —she murmured—. Suck them properly. Learn to do it with the fingers, and then we’ll see if you deserve something thicker in your mouth.

My cock was throbbing inside my trousers, tight, soaking the fabric at the tip. She watched me lick, still smiling, with the cold satisfaction of someone seeing a machine start up and work.

—Good —she said softly—. Very good.

That word, said like that, was worth more than any praise anyone had given me in years.

***

She made me continue until she decided it was over, not before. When she finally withdrew her foot, she rested it for a moment against my face, without weight, marking again the place I occupied.

—Do you know what I like most about this? —she said, standing up—. It’s not the foot. It’s the head. It’s seeing how a man who gives orders all day goes quiet the moment he finds someone who knows how to give them better.

She walked barefoot into the bedroom. She didn’t invite me: she left the door open, which was her way of doing it.

—Come —she said from inside—. And bring the shoes. You’re going to leave them by the bed, where I can see them.

I followed her with the heels in my hand, like an object she had entrusted to me. The bedroom was spacious, dim, with a huge bed and pearl-gray sheets. Renata sat on the edge and pointed to the floor, at her feet.

—There. That’s your place tonight. You don’t get on the bed until I say so.

I obeyed. I sat on the rug, my back against the wooden bedframe, and she rested her feet on my thighs again, this time without heels, the skin bare and warm.

—Keep going —she said, closing her eyes—. Slowly. We’ve got the whole night and I don’t intend to waste it.

***

I massaged her feet for a time that felt both endless and too short. I moved up over her ankles, over her calves, and every inch I gained was one she granted me with the smallest gesture of approval. When I tried to go higher without permission, she snapped her legs shut.

—I decide that —she said, without opening her eyes—. Your job is to wait. Do you think you deserve more?

—No —I replied, and it was true.

—Good answer.

She opened her legs again, this time all the way, and the black dress rode up to her hip. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath. Her pussy, shaved and already glossy, was level with my face, so close that the smell of an aroused woman hit me like another command.

—Look at what’s there —she said, with almost didactic calm—. That’s what you’re going to earn, bit by bit. And the only way to earn it is with your tongue. No hands until I say so. No cock until I decide whether you deserve to put it in.

I nodded. I leaned in slowly. She held the back of my neck with one hand, not forcefully but without doubt, and guided the first few inches, like someone teaching a dog to drink in the right place.

—Take it out —she ordered—. All of it. I want to see it. Start with the lips, without touching my clit. Not yet.

I stuck out my tongue and ran it along her outer lips, top to bottom, very slowly. She hissed through her teeth and spread her legs a little wider.

—That’s it, pig. Suck me slowly. All night if you have to.

The word pierced me like a jolt. My cock was throbbing so hard it hurt, trapped inside my trousers, staining the fabric dark at the tip. She noticed and smiled down at me.

—And don’t even think about touching yourself —she added—. That cock isn’t yours tonight. It’s mine. And I’ll decide what we do with it.

I kept licking. I traced her lips one by one, opened them with the tip of my tongue, went in slowly to taste the depths. She was soaked, and every time I brushed the entrance to her cunt, a thick strand dripped onto my chin. Her toes tightened against my ribs, clenching, loosening, setting the rhythm better than any voice could.

—Now —she murmured after a while—. Now the clit. With the tip. Slowly, you son of a bitch. Like your life depends on it.

I obeyed. I found the small swollen, shiny button and brushed it with my tongue. She moaned for the first time all night, a short, irritated moan, as if it annoyed her to admit she needed it. She grabbed my hair with both hands and pulled my face to her.

—More. More. Don’t stop.

I sucked, licked, circled it with my tongue, pressed my whole face between her thighs. She started moving over my mouth, riding me slowly, fucking my face with a calm only she could have in that moment. Her heels were gone, but her feet pressed my ribs as if she were digging spurs into a horse.

—One finger —she gasped—. Just one. And very slowly.

I slid my middle finger into her cunt, all the way. She was hot, tight, dripping. She arched her back and yanked my hair so hard my eyes filled with tears.

—Another —she ordered—. And move them. Find me inside. Up there. There. THERE.

When I found the spot, she stopped giving orders and started letting out broken words, hoarse, nearly unintelligible. She pressed my head to her cunt until I was short of breath, and there, choking against her, I felt the first tremor. She came with a low, long cry, biting her wrist. The inner muscles clamped down on my fingers with a force I hadn’t expected. A warm gush soaked my chin and neck.

—Don’t stop —she said, still trembling—. I’m not done with you.

I kept licking her while she came, swallowing everything she gave off, until she yanked me back by the hair, gasping, with a rough laugh.

—Now you can come up —she said then, catching her breath—. But remember where you started. And where you’re going to go back to.

***

She pulled me up onto the bed by the collar of my shirt. She undressed me herself, button by button, not letting me help. When she finally freed my cock from my trousers, she looked at it like someone inspecting a tool.

—Not bad —she conceded, wrapping her hand around it. She squeezed once, judged the thickness, slid her thumb over the tip wet with pre-cum, and smiled when she saw the moan escape me—. It’ll do.

She pushed me back onto the mattress. She straddled me, still wearing the black dress, hiked up to her waist, and took my cock in one hand. She rubbed it slowly against her soaked cunt, wetting the entire tip, not letting me in.

—Look at me —she ordered—. You’re going to look at me while I use you. And you’re not going to come until I say so. If you come before that, you don’t come back to this house. Understood?

—Yes —I panted.

She lowered herself slowly. I felt her cunt open around my cock, squeeze me, take me in inch by inch until she sat down all the way. She was hot, tight, wet. She stayed still for a second, biting her lip, looking at me with those eyes that were no longer assessing: they were demanding.

—Stay still —she whispered—. Don’t move your hips. I set the fucking rhythm.

She started moving. Very slowly at first, lifting just enough to come back down, taking my whole cock to the hilt. Her breasts, still dressed, rose and fell with her. She dug her nails into my chest, dragged them downward leaving four red lines, and picked up the pace.

—This is what you were looking for, isn’t it? —she panted between movements—. A woman to fuck you. To use your cock however she likes. To not ask permission.

—Yes —I moaned—. Yes, ma’am.

—Ma’am —she repeated, smiling—. I like the way that sounds coming out of you.

She leaned forward, planted her hands on my neck, and started squeezing while she kept riding me. Not hard. Just enough to remind me who was deciding. I could hear my own pulse flooding my ears, and even so my cock got harder inside her, thicker, as if the lack of air fed it.

—Hold it —she hissed—. Don’t come. Not yet.

She rode me like that for a very long time, squeezing my throat at intervals, easing off when she felt me getting close, letting me breathe just long enough to start again. Every time I was on the edge, she stopped dead, stayed still with my cock buried to the hilt, and looked at me with a slow smile.

—Were you going to come without permission? —she asked, moving her hips in the slightest circle—. Very bad. Very bad.

When she finally decided I’d waited long enough, she got up, turned around, and got on all fours on the bed, looking back over her shoulder at me. She hiked the dress up over her back. Her ass, white and round, was offered up, her soaked cunt shining between her thighs.

—Now you —she said—. Put it in all the way. Hard. Like your fucking boss bitch asks for when she gets home. But don’t come until I scream.

I knelt behind her. I grabbed her hips and drove my cock in all at once. She moaned loudly, for the first time all night without holding back, and arched her back to take me better. I started fucking her as hard as I could, my hands sunk into the flesh of her ass, watching my cock disappear in and out, covered in the thick juice of her cunt.

—Like that —she panted into the pillow—. Like that, pig. Fuck me. Fuck me like your life depends on it. Harder. HARDER.

The sound of my hips slapping against her ass filled the room. I felt my balls tight, on the verge, throbbing between her thighs. I smacked her ass. She let out a surprised moan and looked back over her shoulder, eyes shining.

—Did I tell you to do that?

—No, ma’am.

—Then do it again. And again. Until I tell you to stop.

I striped her ass with my hand while I kept fucking her. Her skin turned red beneath my palm, and each slap made her cunt tighten around my cock. I slipped a thumb wet with her own juice into her asshole, very slowly, looking for permission without asking for it in words. She let out a long breath.

—Pig —she murmured—. Keep pushing it in. But only the thumb. The rest you have to earn another night.

I fucked her cunt with my cock and her ass with my thumb at the same time, and she started trembling beneath me. Her arms gave out, she collapsed face-first into the pillow, and kept pushing her ass back to take me deeper.

—Now —she gasped—. Now, you son of a bitch. Come inside. Fill me. FILL ME.

The order hit me like a lash. I let go of everything I’d been holding back for hours, spurting in wave after wave, buried to the hilt, feeling her cunt clench in spasms around my cock as she came too, biting the pillow with a muffled cry that raised gooseflesh all over me. I stayed still inside her, drawing in breath, feeling my seed slide along the join of our bodies.

She took her time letting me out. When she finally did, my cock came free trailing a thick white rope that ran down her thigh. She looked back over her shoulder, exhausted and triumphant at once.

—Clean me —she ordered—. With your tongue. All of what you just put in me.

I lowered my head without thinking. I licked her thigh first, then her cunt, swallowing my own semen mixed with her juices, while she held my neck with one hand, guiding me.

—Good boy —she murmured—. Very good boy.

***

What happened after that was unlike anything I had ever lived through. She still set the pace, still decided everything, but no longer as a game of testing: as a habit the two of us accepted. She made me sleep at the foot of the bed for the first few hours, with one of her hands hanging over the edge so I could kiss it if I woke. Later, when she decided I had done enough, she pulled me up beside her and held me like something that belonged to her.

At dawn, as the gray light came through the windows, she looked at me from the pillow with a half smile.

—You’d been looking for me for a long time —she said—. It shows.

—I was starting to think you didn’t exist —I admitted.

—I do exist. It’s just that almost nobody can truly handle what they say they’re looking for. —She stretched out one foot and rested it on my chest, as she had done hours before—. You handled it. We’ll see for how long.

It wasn’t a promise of love. It was something better: an invitation to come back, with her conditions laid out in advance. And I, who had spent years wondering where the woman capable of putting me at her feet without apologizing for it was, knew I had finally stopped looking.

I found her. And from that night on, my place stopped being a fantasy and became a concrete place: the floor, at her feet, waiting for the next order.