Miss Clarke Pt. 11

My phone buzzed.

Once.

That was all it took.

That single vibration made my body freeze. My skin flushed hot. I already knew who it was. Her name had not even appeared yet and I could feel my pulse shift. The air in the room got thinner. My breathing shallowed. I reached for it with shaking hands.

And there it was.

Miss Clarke.

I tapped the screen.

The message opened.

I have had my gym shoes on, sockless, since ten this morning.

They are going to stink worse than anything you have ever smelled.

I do not need a reply to know how hard that makes you.

I know you are full.

I know it hurts.

Do not touch.

Do not break.

I want you overwhelmed the second I sit down.

I actually moaned.

Not a whisper. Not a breath.

A real sound.

It came out of my mouth before I even realised. A raw and low noise like my body had spoken before I could stop it. I slumped back in my seat. My mouth hung open. My eyes blurred.

Every word hit me like a physical blow.

She was still wearing them.

The same cheap black gym shoes she had told me about that morning. The ones she had slipped her bare feet into before heading to the gym. She had gone the entire day without socks. Without airing them. Without taking them off.

All that sweat.

All that movement.

Sealed in.

Pressed into the fabric.

Her arches would be soft now.

Her heels damp and tacky. Her soles slick. Her toes squashed and wrinkled and sour beyond belief. Her skin soaked in heat and salt and filth. And she was just sitting there. Letting it build. Letting it rot. Just for me.

My cock pulsed so hard it almost hurt.

My chest rose and fell with shallow, uneven breaths. My jaw was clenched. My fists tight in my lap. There was nothing else in the world except that message. That image. That reality.

Miss Clarke had not just sent me a text.

She had sent me a command.

And a reminder.

A confirmation that I was hers.

That I was beneath her.

That I existed for one purpose -- to kneel, to obey, and to be broken by the stink of her feet.

---

I stared at the message for minutes.

Read it again.

And again.

And again.

Each time made my body feel weaker.

Not in a helpless way.

In a devoted way.

Like everything inside me was giving up its shape to make room for her scent. Like I was already shrinking into the role she wanted for me. The ache in my cock was unbearable. But I loved it. I needed it. I welcomed it.

I did not reply.

She told me not to.

She said she did not need me to confirm how hard I was.

She already knew.

Of course she did.

She always did.

And that only made it worse. Better. Both. The perfect kind of unbearable.

She had planned this.

She had chosen this.

She had walked through her day knowing what those shoes were becoming. Knowing what her feet were turning into. Knowing how swollen and ripe and cruel they would be by the time I arrived.

And she knew I would take it.

On my knees.

Without question.

---

That was what this really was.

Obedience.

Not desperation.

Not suffering.

Not even lust.

Worship.

That was the word.

I was not sitting in this ache because I was addicted to pain.

I was sitting in this ache because it meant something.

Because she had made this stink for me.

And the only way I could prove myself worthy of it was to sit here with my cock straining and my thoughts spiralling and do absolutely nothing about it.

Nothing.

No touching.

No moaning.

No whining.

Just stillness.

Just silence.

Just obedience.

---

She had worn those shoes for me.

She had kept them on.

She had gone to the gym in them.

She had sweated into them.

She had run errands in them.

She had let them marinate on her feet for hours in the heat of the summer sun.

She had probably felt the sweat bubbling between her toes by now.

The insole soaked.

The fabric turning smooth and slimy and hot.

Her toes glued to the lining with sweat that had dried and rewetted five times over.

And she knew.

She knew exactly what they smelled like.

And she knew exactly what I would do the second she let me near them.

---

I was not even promised anything.

Not a kiss.

Not a word.

Not a stroke.

She never said I would be allowed to cum.

She never said I would be allowed to beg.

She just said she wanted me overwhelmed.

The second she sat down.

That was it.

She wanted to break me with scent.

She wanted my brain to go silent under the weight of her filth.

She wanted me dumb and wide-eyed and obedient, sitting at her feet like a ruined thing, thanking her silently with every desperate sniff I was allowed to take.

And I would.

God, I would.

That was all I wanted.

To be under her.

To be beneath her soles.

To breathe in the worst thing she could create and be grateful that she even let me that close.

---

She had taken her day and turned it into my fantasy.

Without asking for anything.

No praise.

No promises.

Just the knowledge that her feet were festering.

And that I was suffering.

And that I was meant to.

Not for punishment.

Not for fun.

But because that was what a good toy does.

It sits. It waits. It aches.

And then it sniffs.

And it never asks for more.

--

Time was moving too fast now.

All day it had crawled.

Stretched and slow and unbearable. Every minute a taunt. Every hour another twist of the knife.

But now it was racing.

The clock on my phone glowed back at me.

Almost time.

I had to leave soon if I wanted to be there on time. And I would never be late. Not for her. Never for this.

I stood up too fast.

My legs were shaky.

My whole body was hot.

My hands were stiff like I had been clenching them without realising. My cock throbbed so hard it almost knocked the air from my lungs. My thighs trembled. My teeth clenched. I had not touched. Not even for a second. Not even accidentally.

I had not been given permission.

So I stayed untouched.

Fully, perfectly obedient.

And I was proud of that.

Because this was not a burden.

This was a gift.

This was everything I had ever wanted.

---

Getting ready felt strange.

Like I was preparing for something sacred.

I showered. Clean. Quick. I did not linger. I did not let the water do anything except wash away the sweat. I dried fast. I dressed with purpose. Nothing too flashy. I was not going to impress her with clothes. That was not my place. That was not my job.

I trimmed my nails.

Brushed my teeth.

Made sure I was presentable.

Respectful.

Neat.

Like I was going to church.

Because in my way, I was.

---

Everything about tonight mattered.

But not because I was hoping for something.

I was not hoping for release.

I was not hoping for praise.

I was hoping to be broken.

I was hoping to crumble the second she let me kneel.

To fall apart the moment those shoes came off.

To see her bare feet, slick with sweat and stinking of every hour they had suffered sealed inside that rotting fabric, and know I had earned the right to sniff.

That was the dream.

That was the reward.

Not touching.

Not cumming.

Just her feet.

Just her stink.

Just her power wrapped around my face while I stayed silent and still.

---

My cock was so hard it hurt.

There was nothing I could do to make it better.

No adjusting.

No crossing my legs.

No distractions.

I carried the weight of it like a mark.

Like proof.

Proof of how much I wanted this.

Proof of how deep the obedience went.

And still, I did not touch.

My hand hovered once.

Only once.

Then pulled away like I had been burned.

Because it was not mine tonight.

Nothing about me was mine tonight.

Everything belonged to her.

My mind.

My body.

My ache.

My silence.

All of it hers.

---

The walk to her place was excruciating.

Every step was a throb.

The air was warm. Still. The kind of evening heat that feels like it is pressing down on your skin. I walked faster than I should have. Not to arrive early. But because I needed to move. I needed to burn off the tension before I saw her.

It did not work.

I still pulsed with every step.

My mind kept racing.

Was she still wearing the shoes?

Had she sat down?

Were her feet up?

Were her toes twitching?

Had she touched herself imagining my face under them?

Had she smiled at the thought of my obedience?

Had she even spared a thought for my pain?

Or had she forgotten me entirely until I arrived to remind her just how far I had fallen for her stink?

---

I reached her street with ten minutes to spare.

I stood at the corner.

Hands in my pockets.

Heart pounding.

I wanted to savour the last few seconds.

I wanted to slow down.

To breathe.

But my chest was tight.

My stomach knotted.

My cock strained.

And I could not stop imagining it.

Her shoes hitting the floor.

That first wave of heat.

That rotten, sour, sweet stench of flesh and salt and stale sweat rolling out into the room like gas from a broken seal.

And then her voice.

Calm.

Sharp.

Telling me to kneel.

Not touch.

Not speak.

Just breathe.

And I would.

---

I turned the corner.

Her building was there.

The lights were on upstairs.

Her window open.

A soft glow behind the curtains.

My feet carried me without thought.

One step.

Then another.

Each closer than the last.

The path curved up to her door.

I swallowed.

Raised a hand.

Paused.

And knocked.