HUMILIATION
It was the heading that caught my attention. “Humiliation. Personal to You”. A little shiver as I read it. I’m into a lot of things. But mainly.. feet.. female feet.. and wanking, of course. I read the blurb. Three girls, willing to humiliate, and humiliate publicly. What did that mean? On the street? Where? And how?
Now, I like a little humiliation. But I’m not sure – I’m not sure at all – that I like the idea of being humiliated in public. With blokes around? Just girls? That thought was exciting; just girls… But humiliation has been a minor… well, a less major, sexual stimulant for me, than feet. Or the thought of girls knowing I wank. But, that’s an old one. From my teenage years, when masturbation was taboo. Nobody spoke of it; it was dirty, and shameful. Did girls do it? Did girls know boys did it? Did girls I know, know I do it? Thinking of them?
Such a strong sexual memory from decades ago. But, now, my real passion is feet. Perhaps these three girls… their humiliation would be around worshipping their feet. Possible with a chain, and dog collar, publicly. On my knees, my mouth on their feet, suckling their toes and tasting their feet. Their sweat. Where would they do this? But, so exciting! Perhaps I should contact them. Turned on by the thought. The unknown.
So I did. I wrote. They replied. Susanne, wanting to know my preferences, my fetishes. I linked her to my Fetlife profile, my MyGirlFund profile. It’s all on those. The real me. My absolute fetish for girls feet, their scent, their taste… my weakness, my submissive character, so needing to wank, be denied, be teased and controlled by younger girls, who call me ‘wanker’, who know how much I must wank to their photos when they tease me with their toes. What would they do with this information? It exposes the sexual side of me so completely.
Susanne replied. She explained it was three of them. Her, Isobel, and Katie. They could humiliate me. They had a plan… after studying my profiles. They calculated that my humiliation would be most effective in the presence of girls – not blokes. If they had deduced correctly, then their plan would suit me perfectly. Or… rather… it would suit them; they would love it, to see me so humiliated. And they would film it. For me, but also to share… possibly. Certainly to enjoy themselves.
I was worried.. excited.. scared.. turned on.. What might it be? My heart was racing… It sounded to be so shameful, so difficult, so exciting. I thought about it. I couldn’t not think about it. It was so arousing. I dithered… but I knew all along I was going to go with it. With my heart actually beating hard, and my fingers dithering on the keyboard, I replied to Susanne, accepting her offer. Would they arrange whatever they had in mind. I sent her my contribution. I had committed! What had I done? I was… excited…
She responded a couple of days later. I had to report to her – to her, and Isobel and Katie, on Saturday two weeks later, at 11am. My heart was pounding. I’d paid! I was committed! I wanted this… But, public humiliation… I was afraid too. The fortnight was a time of worry, excitement, trying to go to sleep, imagining what they might have in mind. And each day… the day got nearer. Until it was tomorrow. And then.. today! I drove to the meeting place.
My legs weak, as I approached the door. I’d be OK! Once I’d met the girls, I would calm down. But then, I’d be publicly humiliated! Could I turn back? I wanted this… I knocked, heard movement, the door opened, and there was this girl, dark brown hair, quite long, brown eyes, attractive.. this girl who had plans to humiliate… ‘Michael?’ she asked. “Yes…” ‘I’m Susanne. Come in. Meet the girls…’ I followed her in. There were two girls, one petite with long lightish hair in a ponytail – ‘Katie’ said Susanne – ‘and Isobel’; Isobel was gorgeous… hair dyed a turquoise to blue colour, with green/brown eyes. ‘Here’s the victim’ commented Isobel. Katie said ‘We’ve got such wonderful plans for you, Michael. You are going to feel SO humiliated!’ and she squealed with laughter; they all laughed. ‘Are you ready for this’. I felt slightly sick, and could just nod. They laughed again. ‘We’re quite excited ourselves! You really are going to hate this!’ and they looked at each other with such enjoyment in their eyes.
‘Let’s get started’ said Isobel. Katie said ‘We’re going to take you somewhere. Public, of course. And you’ll find out where, when we get there.’ Isobel had been over to a table, and she came back with something strappy.. a harness. ‘We need you to put this on’ and she held it towards me to put my arms through. I did so, and she went round the back, and clicked the fastenings into place. Susanne approached me from behind, and a felt her adjusting the harness; it felt tighter, and I could feel something pressing lightly into my back. The girls stood back, smirking, and than burst out laughing. ‘This is going to be so humiliating!’ said Isobel. ‘I love it!’ said Katie… ‘I love humiliating men…’ They all laughed. Susanne said ‘Let’s be off then’. My knees felt weak. We were leaving the privacy of their room, and I had no idea what their plan was.
We went down to their car. I’d noticed, of course, their feet.. their shoes. I just look automatically at what shoes a girl is wearing. Susanne, dark haired, tall, big brown eyes – the leader? did they have a leader? – in patent black mid-heel stiletto shoes, her toes enclosed; Katie, her pony-tail swishing to each side as she walked, in black leather flip-flops, her toes painted in a deep burnt orange – gorgeous toes, the second toe longer than her big toe; and Isobel, with the bright blue hair, in white (well, dirty worn white) low Converse on her bare feet, from what I could see. I find it difficult not to look at girls’ feet… and they noticed. ‘You like our feet? Of course you do!’ Isobel was right. I couldn’t resist looking. ‘Such a wanker’ commented Katie, as she got in the car. ‘Yeah!’ said Isobel.
As we drove, Susanne began to explain. ‘We did consider putting you in a dog collar. Attaching a chain, leading you though this scenario of ours. But we decided against it. It would have felt you belonged to us. As though it was our plan to lead you. So… we dropped that idea. You’ll be on your own. We won’t be ‘with you’ seemingly. We’ll be there! On either side, filming your humiliation, one out well in front, catching it all, from different angles. But it will seem… as though you are on your own. And so humiliating!’ They all, grinned again. And glanced at me, their eyes amused as they looked at me. A new fear ran through me. I could feel the straps around my body, the clip at the back, like a lump pressing into my back. We drove, into the town and through it. ‘This event. Nobody knows you will be there. You will just be you, with this thing… happening…’ I swallowed. Was there no turning back? What was about to happen?
We were approaching a sort of park or display ground in the town. As we approached and parked up, what was unusual was the number of girls making for the entrance, all dressed up in smart clothes and pretty dresses, high heels and some wearing fascinators or little hats. We got out, and Katie started telling me that this was the local student fashion week; there would be displays in the large marquee of the fashion designs by students from the local University. ‘But don’t worry. The show doesn’t start for an hour or more. These girls are just gathering to get a glass of Prosecco and a bite before the show begins.’
We all approached the tent, which was full of girls in beautiful dresses and gorgeous shoes, their legs seemingly endlessly long. What did my humiliatrixes have in mind. I could sense that they were getting more exited now, as the moment of my humiliation got nearer. I looked again across the crowd: one or two waiters, but then… just girls, chatting away excitedly, waiting for the event to start. Susanne took hold of my shoulder and turned me towards her. ‘Michael. This is it. All you have to do is walk from here, through the marquee, to that exit on the far side.’ It looked quite a distance. Through all these waiting girls, the length of the stage and more, and not an open route at all. But, that was it? Just walk through? I felt relief… and then, why was I wearing this harness? Had they attached something.. a message?.. on my back, for the girls to see?
‘Whilst you are walking through, I’ll be on the other side, filming you coming through. Do what the girls tell you…’ and Susanne started to push through the throng of girls. As she went, Isobel said ‘I’m going to walk along over to the right there, and film you from the side’ and Katie said ‘I’ll be doing the same from the left’. They looked over to where Susanne had gone and noticed that she had just reached the other side and was facing us. Katie said ‘Now we are going to start – when I say Now!’ Isobel had started moving over to the right to film, and Katie said ‘Just give me a moment to walk over there a little, then start walking through. Don’t go too fast. There’s a lot of girls to get past, and you shouldn’t just push through. Count ten seconds before you go’. As she said this, I felt her hand at the back of the harness, and then she left me and pushed through the girls to the left. I counted to ten; I could see Isobel to the right, with her camera ready, and Katie to the left. I noticed a slight hiss as I counted to ten, and then I started to walk through, just passing by and through five or six girls immediately in front of me. The tent was quite full, with perhaps three to four hundred girls all chatting away. As I pushed through, suddenly from behind me I heard what sounded like a banjo, and realised it was coming from me, from the harness on my back; a banjo, loud enough to to be heard above the conversation around me. Some of the girls nearest to me glanced in my direction, disturbed by this interruption to their chatting. I thought I recognised the tune, and then a spasm of fear ran though my heart as I remembered what it was. I was on the edge of this pack of girls, just starting to make my way though to the other side, and knowing what track was just about to start…
It started innocuously enough….
“My mother said
That I never should
Never play with the naughty rude girls in the wood
Their giggling talk I could never understood
And that’s why I fell in love with my right hand”
… although Susanne had set the volume a little loud. I didn’t like disturbing the chatter of the girls as I threaded my way between them. But then, it got to the chorus
“And that’s why
I’m a wanker
I’m a wanker
And it does me good like it bloody well should
I’m a wanker
I’m a wanker
And I’m always pulling my pudd”
Oh, this was awful. The girls looked at me as these words sounded loud and clear across the tent. The buzz of conversation lessened as other girls realised something was happening. Girls near to me, as I made my way past them, looked me in the eye, some with slight annoyance, others with amusement, or they looked at each other and said a word. And all the time, the repeating phrase of “I’m a wanker” boomed out. I felt my face going red as I continued to pass more and more girls. The second verse started…
“I was 25 years old
Before I was kissed
And then I found the guy prefered
A swift one off the wrist
Its cheap and convenient
And you can’t catch vd
Its avalible at anytime and its absolutly free”
and then the chorus again
“And that’s why
I’m a wanker
I’m a wanker
And it does me good like it bloody well should
I’m wanker
I’m a wanker
And I’m always pulling my pudd”
I was so embarrassed. Disturbing these girls. This loud message about me being a wanker. And there was Katie, a little distance away, filming my embarrassment, my humiliation. Isobel must be somewhere to the other side, filming also, and up ahead – I was still less than half way across the marquee – Susanne would be there, as I approached. The girls were now parting in front of me, leaving me more exposed to their stares. The song continued…
“Oh Mrs Palm
And your 5 lovely daughters
Thank you for having me
And being oh so kind
I’ve got pains in my arms
And my donkeys growing shorter
My knees have turnt to water
And I think I’m going blind”
Oh, let this end. I must look such a miserable, perverted man, walking between all these young girls whilst this song played out.
“I’ve wanked over Italy
I’ve wanked over Spain
I’ve wanked in an omibus
I’ve even had a wank in a train”
They could have no doubt now how much of a wanker I was, in all senses of the term; this ‘wanker’ word, describing all these places I’ve meant to have wanked in. I kept catching girls’ eyes; I wanted to avoid them, look down in shame, but I couldn’t help but look ahead, seeing these beautiful girls, all watching me as they heard these words.
“I’ve used a badger
And a lemon
And a cat
A inflatable Linda Lovelace
And a David Crocket hat”
One or two girls started laughing. Others joined in, so that some girls were laughing, others still looked annoyed or spoke to their friends; many just looked amused by my discomfort as I continued the long walk between them. Some now stood their ground, making me walk up to them and then shift round them, looking me in the eye as I passed.
“And that’s why
I’m a wanker
I’m a wanker
And it does me good like it bloody well should
I’m a wanker
I’m a wanker
And I’m always pulling my pudd”
I could hear girls in the background joining in the chorus, their female voices with the singer’s, but singing the line “He’s a wanker, he’s a wanker…” I was getting closer to the exit from the marquee. I could see Susanne, with her camera, still filming. The girls were closer together now, and I was pushing through, slowed by the number of them. Some were singing “He’s a wanker” and others just looked me in the eye, saying ‘wanker’ and ‘What a wanker!’ The next verse started
“Oh Mrs Palm
And your 5 lovely daughters
Thank you for having me
And being oh so kind
I’ve pains in my arms
And my donkeys growing shorter
My knees have turnt to water
And I think I’m going blind”
and as the song finished and I got closer to Susanne, the girls were shouting ‘wanker’ or still singing “He’s a wanker!”. I noticed Katie and Isobel closing in from the sides, still filming; they were laughing as they approached, and the girls became aware of them. One turned to a camera and said “He’s a wanker!”, another girl… “What a wanker’, and finally I was through them, with Susanne, Isobel, and Katie with me. ‘Humiliating, eh?’ said Katie, laughing. Isobel looked over my shoulder back into the marquee and shouted to the girls ‘He’ll be wanking over this tonight!’ and some girls responded ‘Yay!’, ‘Wanker’ and sang “He’s a wanker!”. One girl shouted ‘He’ll be wanking more than just tonight’ and Susanne waved her camera at them, holding the potential video that I would inevitably wank over many many times. As we walked away, cries of ‘Goodbye, wanker!’ and ‘Have a wank for me’ followed us, with some final singing female voices “He’s a wanker!” ‘I seem to have broken the ice’, I said.
[If you don’t now the song, it is on uTube – search “The Wanker Song” or “I’m a Wanker Song”]
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/fpte7m/fwankers_my_humiliation