The sun was as brilliant as it was stifling on this cloudless day. Four weeks of heavy rains had left much of the countryside a flooded, humid, ruined waste. Crops had been annihilated and any house unlucky enough to be on the low lands had been swept away or smash never to bee seen again.
With so much destruction and so very little help from Lord Howle, it was no wonder many of us turned to less honorable means of survival. I hated doing it, I really did, but my choices were so small. Join Lambert and his little band of highway men, or starve begging in the streets. I recalled a lesson from church when I was very small, That the Gods favor the bold over the passive, I prayed each night that this was true and did my best to only take what I needed.
Lambert was a tiny sleaze of a man, errr halfing really. However his plan was a simple one and that is why it was working. Near the middle of the forest path was a clearing and in this little clearing was a spring of fresh clear water. We guarded this spring and charged a fee for it’s use. It was kinda like being a highway man, but we never stopped anyone from passing. There was a even dozen of us, men and women, some soldiers, some outlaws, our past didn’t really matter what mattered was that we needed to eat and the coin we collected here let us do that in a fine fashion.
Thankfully, no one ever fought us, not with weapons anyway. Many groups argued, some for hours but we never yielded without our payment, and once they payed we never bothered them again. Our little group just looked scary, rusted weapons and drawn faces made us look fierce and desperate when really we were just desperate. It was going well, so well I had begun to rebuild my home. Until that day, that brilliant stifling day when the suns fury overhead was at it’s greatest.
A whistle came from the trees, high and loud. It was Robert, signaling that someone was approaching, we rushed to our positions and grabbed our weapons, being sure to sit casually, we didn’t want to scare them after all. A wagon was trundling along the forest path, a fine one at that. Four horses drew it along and the wagon itself was painted white and gold. A young boy in chain-mail drove the wagon forward stopping along side of our little blockade.
The boy halted the wagon and stared down at us with contempt. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked in a high and noble voice. Lambert spoke up, he loved this part and we all hated it. “Greeting fine Sir, if you wish to make use of the spring there is a small fee for it today. It’s for a good cause, all the money goes to help build homes for the many who lost them to the flooding.” He said with a smile as big as his face would allow.
The Boy atop his wagon considered us all in turn. “You do not own this spring, and you are not Lord Howle’s soldiers. I name you highwaymen preying on travels and the desperate. How do you answer that?” he asked with a sneer utterly confident in his accusation. Lambert had heard this before and we had all heard his reply a hundred times now. “Sir, I take offense to that, we are no highwaymen No Sir. The road is open as it can be you are free to move along at whatever pace you deem fitting to your tasks and preferences.” The boy rolled his eyes at this response. “Springmen then, whatever you wish to be called it is but another name for robber, not stand aside or there will be trouble.” he said doing his best to sound authoritative. Lambert gave a quick flick of the wrist and we all stood, ready to play our part.
We rose, drew weapons slowly, and gave our most menacing expressions. The boy sat silent for a time staring back at us considering us and our gear it seemed to me. “So be it” he said standing up and drawing a long sword that was in my opinion slightly too big for him. “In the name of Lord Howle and Saint Ajora lord of martyrs, I deem you criminal and sentence you to death!” He shouted.
He leapt from atop his wagon sword flailing this way and that with wild abandon. He cut down Robert before any of us could react. The sudden sight of blood drove us to action. I stepped forward, shield and short sword in hand and made a clumsy effort of blocking and parrying his blows. The boy was screaming now, raging with each swipe, but his swings were slow to my eyes and I placed my shield between them and myself with ease each time. My wooden round shield was rapidly becoming splinters under the ferocity of the lads assault, but I had done all I needed to do. Lambert was slipped around behind him and slashed both the boys ankles with his knife. He fell to the ground with all the grace of a brick and then was impaled half a dozen times with various farm implements and and stolen weapons. His screams ended, and silence followed.
The silence was brief however, the door of the wagon opened slowly and a figure stepped out. Clad in bright silver half-plate with the ax emblem of saint Ajora etched into it, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. The brightest yellow hair I had ever seen had no business being tied back in that loose braid. Eyes so blue and shining, I mistook them for sapphires or perhaps stars fallen from the night sky. Her heart shaped face had but a single mark upon it, a small scar under the left eye clearly a cut of some sort. She had a loose smile on her face, a face that in my opinion needed kissing, caressing, licking, or maybe even biting.
She was looking over at us, calmly and silently. I had not even noticed the longsword in her left hand. Lambert was the first regain himself. “Greetings my fair lady. It is regrettable it came to this but the boy was quite hasty in his decision to damn us all. Now for just five silver coins we can put this whole mess behind us and you can enjoy the spring and it’s comforts.” He said returning to the salesmen I think he used to be before all this.
The woman said nothing, but began to gently glow, a pale white light emitting from her skin I and many others took a step back in confusion. She began to walk forward blade in hand, and with the ease of opening a door or climbing a ladder, became to cut us down. We surged forward as a group hoping to overwhelm our armored attacker. A spear made for her exposed face, a knife aiming for unarmored ankles, my own shield bash hoping to unbalance, all were doomed endeavors. As if by divine prominence or foresight the spear was sliced in two along with the hands of it’s owner, Lambert found an armored foot in his face and tumbled unconscious into the spring, and my own shield was reduced to kindling by the mailed fist of woman. Then the screams began, panic and desperation set in. The dazzling woman thrust her sword through the neck of Jeane as he brought his ax up for a strike, an armored elbow found the face of Markus as he desperately tried to tackle her.
Sliced fingers, crushed throats, scattered limbs, she inflicted them all with such ease and speed. They ran, the ones that could anyway. I was stunned, knocked on my ass at the start of the fight I watched in awe and horror at her handiwork. Blood and severed limbs drifted in the springs once clear waters. Suddenly I was alone, alone with her. She strode over to me, her long sword dripping with the lives she had taken. With a swift kick to my wrist my rusty short sword was knocked aside, deep into the spring. She stepped forward to stand over me, that same loose smile upon her lips.
“Looks like I need a new squire.” she said, her voice was high and soft, like a wind chime in an afternoon breeze. “Lets see if you’ve got what it takes.” she said as deft hands put the sword away and drew a knife in the same instant. She knelt over me and began to cut my pants off in rough single cuts. She tossed the tatters of my clothing aside leaving my manhood exposed and I moved to hide it from view.
“Don’t cover it” she snapped at me while removing the sabaton from her left foot leaving it’s flesh now exposed to the world. It was smaller than I might have guessed, pale, and calloused through a lifetime of walking. She daintily dips it into the cleanest portion of the spring in easy reach and swishes it up and down before withdrawing it and then with no preamble rests her rough, moist foot down upon my tiny shivering pride and joy.
She presses down hard at first, until I wince then eases slightly and begins flexing her toes up and down along my length. “what…what are you doing.” I dare to ask in a quavering voice. Her smile grows bright and the smallest laugh escapes her as she begins to gently grind my head into the grass with her wet, warm heel. “testing you.” she says struggling to hold back her laughter. Shifting her foot, she wraps her toes around me and begins to squeeze rhythmically to a song only she can hear. I surge with anger and embarrassment as I feel myself responding involuntarily. “There he goes.” She says mildly, her bright sapphire eyes shining down at me.
I squirm backwards through the grass and dirt on all fours, desperate to be away from her. My hands search blindly for a weapon or rock or anything to defend myself while my eyes are locked to hers in fear. Her smile turned to the most subtle of frowns as gained a small distance between us. “That won’t do at all.” She said ,disappointment leaking into her high and gently tones. My heart leaps as she steps forward and plants her steel sabaton on the fringes of my filthy coat with a loud THUD, trapping me in place under her weight of flesh and iron. Her bare foot was then drudged through the dirt, muscular toes flexing to unearth small patches of the earths muck and mud that eagerly stuck to her moist flesh, caking it in fresh soil.
My wide eyes follow her dirt drench bare foot as she deliberately slides it up along my leg clutching my dirty pants in places with her muddy toes. Up and up they slide, along my waist, across my chest, brushing my neck, be fore finally she stops them, resting on my lips. “clean them.” She says pausing for a moment. “Clean them to my satisfaction, and maybe you’ll get yours.” I make to reply but find her toes forced into my mouth the moment it opens. I look up and see a hard stare of expectation locked upon me. Fear bests my outrage, and I begin to “clean” her toes.
I close my mouth around her biggest toe and use my lips to begin peeling the dirt off with a gentle back and forth bobbing motion as the taste of dirt and grass crowds my senses. “Hmmm thats right.” she says, her voice deeper and more intimidating than before. I continue my efforts and rage at myself, this indignation seeming only to stiffen my manhood. I slid my tongue between her two largest toes scrapping away at the grime held within, wrapping it around each toe in turn. My efforts knock free much of the mud that has begun to dry there and I suck down the filth as quickly as I can. I hear a sharp breath from my assailant but they make no efforts to stop me, to the contrary they push their toes deeper into me drawing out a rough cough from me before they withdraw their toes in response.
With no delay, she places her muddy heel directly on my lips and her look gives no room to interpret her intentions. I feel my smaller self twitching with anticipation, and with the quickest of glaces I see the tip\[ has become moist and engorged. I have no time to contemplate this and instead try to focus on my task. I open my mouth as wide as it is able and drape my pink tongue out before I draw it’s wet length along her slimy, mud caked heel scarping off the earths grime like a house slave peeling fresh fruit for their master. The mud comes off in thick globs full of hard bits and just as I make to dispose of it she interjects with a a quake to her voice. “Don’t swallow, I want to see it.”
Confused as I am, I obey. I push her foot away just enough to show her the wet earth pilled in my throat sticking to my tongue and teeth like clay. Her eyes narrow gently and I can feel her tremble ever so slightly. “THE ARCH, NOW!” she yells and impatiently and presses her foot back to my lips. I jump in surprise at the sudden excitement in her voice and take to the task. I lap at her high arches like a dog desperate for water, caressing the entire length of the arch with short ferocious swipes.
She breathes heavily with her eyes closed while she pulls tightly on her loose braid with her free right hand. She presses and withdraws her foot in time to my rhythm and begins to shake her head back and forth wildly. Shaking, trembling, quivering, she gasps for air, pressing my down into the dirt with her foot covering my mouth.
Her trembling slows and she stops to catch her breath. She lifts her foot from my mouth and sits down in front of me, working to place her sabaton back on her drenched and filthy foot. I watch as she carefully slides the steel back into it’s place, and fastens each leather strap securing it back in place. She rises in front of me and says. “You’ll do. Drive the wagon, we have a meeting with Lord Howle this evening and I’d rather not be late.” before walking back and sitting down on the front seat of the coach and waiting for me.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/rir4iu/fantasy_paladin_dominates_a_peasant_femdom_feet