Elements of slavery

This story was requested; it was meant to include primarily humiliation, and degradation, with elements of incest, bestiality, and scat, but with no sex of any kind.

I don't have a title, but I'm open to suggestions:


I'd like to say I was tricked into this. That something had happened, something that took away any real choice I might have in the matter. I wish I could say there was blackmail involved, or maybe extortion, or even hypnosis. But there isn't. The truth of the matter is really simple. Shelly is hot, powerful, and terrifyingly clever, and I am just a disgusting, worthless piece of shit. Just like Shelly said I was.

That's what it comes down to. Shelly came over one day with a smirk on her face. She knew all about my desires already. She knew what I was interested in. I tried to deny it, but she shook her head.
“We've been talking about it for months,” she said. Then she laughed at me. “Who did you think you were talking to?”

The blood drained out of my face. I remember that. It drained out of my face and flooded down into my crotch, and I knew what she meant. She was the one I'd been exchanging emails with. She was my mistress from the internet.

“You know you have no secrets from me,” she said. “We both know what you want, and we both know that the nastier it is, the more it turns you on. We know that.” I couldn't say anything. “Don't we? Don't we, my little slave?”

She pressed on my shoulder and gently put me down on my knees. I could have resisted. I should have resisted. But I didn't want to, and we both knew it. “Good boy,” she said, her voice throaty, her smile mocking. “Now let's make it official. Ask for permission.”

I knew what she wanted. And I knew, without a doubt, that she was the one I'd been talking to. “Mistress,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “May I please lick your boots clean?”

She smiled again, her eyes twinkling. “Are you sure you want to?” she asked. “You know who I am, right?”

“You're my mistress.”

“I'm your niece,” she said. “My mother is your older sister.”

“You're eighteen.”

She nodded. “But your sister is my mother.” She sneered at me. “You're my uncle, and you just begged to lick my boots clean, you pathetic little worm.” She slapped me across the face. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough to sting. “And you still want to do it, don't you?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“In fact, you want to do it even more, don't you?”

“Yes Mistress.”

“You're disgusting. Say it.”

“I'm disgusting Mistress.”

She shook hear head and laughed at me. “Pathetic,” she said. Then she pointed down at her feet. “Now get down there and clean my boots with your tongue, slave.”

I bent down and pushed my tongue against the leather. It tasted the way I imagined, soft and supple leather encasing beautiful feet. It was smooth under my tongue, and the smell of the leather sank deep into my mind. I closed my eyes and moaned softly, wincing when she laughed at me.

“You really love this, don't you?” I started to speak, and she slapped the back of my head. “No talking slave. Your tongue is busy. Just keep licking.”

So I did. I ran my tongue around the toe, into the inner curve of her foot, and up over her ankle.

“Now that we both know what a filthy piece of shit you are, it's time you learned a few rules.” She took a few steps away, knowing I'd crawl after her like a dog. She sat down and put her legs out so I could go back to licking. She'd lean her foot forward so I could lick up smooth leather, then lifted her foot and let me get at the heel.

“Rule number one is just like online,” she said. “As soon as we're alone, you beg permission to lick my boots.” Then she pulled her foot away to make me look up, then presented the sole to my face.
“Soles included. Nod if you agree, slave.”

I nodded. How could I not?

“Good boy. Now push that tongue into the treads.” I pressed hard, making sure the boots were as clean as when they came out of the box. “Rule number two,” she said. “you're a slave. Not a person. You're not a man. You don't get to use the word I anymore. You're an it. Tell Mistress you understand.”

“It understands Mistress.”

She patted me on the head. “Good boy. Back to the boots.”

Once I had my tongue pressed against the toe of her other boot, she continued. “Rule number three: your dick belongs to me. Not you. We're going to lock it up so you can't play with my toys.” She started lowering her foot down to the floor, until she was standing on my tongue. “The other rules will come in time,” she said. “For now, you just think about what this means. Think about being a slave to your niece, you pathetic piece of shit.”

Then she stood up, pressing hard on my tongue, and walked out of my apartment. She left the door open behind her. I don't know if my neighbors saw or not.

What I do know was that she came back the next morning with a box in her hands. She came in when I answered the door. “You need to give me a key,” she said. “I don't like waiting.”

“Yes Mistress.” I closed the door behind her and followed her over to the couch, where she sat down. I knew what I had to do. “May it lick your boots clean now?”

She nodded. “Yes slave,” she said. Then she pointed to the floor. She giggled as I knelt. “I found something special to walk through for you today,” she said. “Ask me what.”

“What did you walk through, Mistress?”

“A dog park,” she said. “I stepped in as much dog shit as I could. It stank walking up here, and there's probably some on your carpet now.” She shrugged. “Not that it matters. You deserve to live among shit. Don't you?”

“Yes Mistress.”


“Good boy. Now stop talking and use that tongue to make sure my shoes won't stink anymore while I show you the toy I bought you.”



Want more? It's in Book One