Tuesday 15 April 2014

More adventures of Foot mistress Fifi - Or "How I mixed it up with the upper classes"...

<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/13554047/?claim=ksg5rea6rs4">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>


HELLO FOOTBOYS!

Fifi - your foot mistress is back at the blog helm once more and she is raring to go.

My apologies for not blogging sooner.  I had to go to Sydney for the Mardi Gras Parade and Party  -   And before you ask, yes the Mardi Gras Parade was fabulous, the rain mainly stayed away, and the after party - well, let's put it this way,  after 2 a.m its all a bit of a blur...    I do so think that is the mark of a FAB party!!

Now before I forget, you can come and meet me in person on camlive.com  or  streamates.com (same site - different names) - I am listed as   the_foot_lady    so check out my profile and lovely pics therein.

I am usually "on cam" Tuesday and Friday mornings around 10am (my Aussie time), so check my schedule and come and say g'day...

I have about 10 regular footboy visitors but I am always happy to have a few more.   And if you have cam to cam, and I can see you dressed in stockings or pantyhose, well - I'm sure we can have a bit of fun together...

But I digress!  I am sure my fans out there are all dying to know the next ep. of  my adventures, so without further delay, I'll continue.

But I have to tell you something vital now,  in the following naughty memoirs of my past days, names have been changed to protect the guilty...



And before I do...  Just a quick few pics to keep you interested.



Afternoon light, tan stockings...


suspenders, tan stockings....



Antique rug, light tan 1960s nylons...

----------------

Now where was I?  Oh yes, I had just done my first 'live' show as a foot mistress. And I had told you all about that - if you missed that- see my previous blog to this one.

I think I mentioned that as the good times were rolling, I had quit my job at the shoe shop?  

Well, that's what happened, and Martin and John - my managers - were booking private parties for me most weekends.  Life was good.

I had become the foot mistress 'du jour' and demand was high; but we did the right thing and kept our fees the same, but asked for decent transport, if possible,  to be provided.  (Due to the problems of parking in London, it was best not having me walking the streets at night, looking like Madame Lash...)  

Often it would just be a taxi paid for by the host of the party when I arrived (which was good) but once, a Rolls Royce rocked up for me...

Oh yeah, only the best for Fifi...


1980 Rolls Royce Silver Shadow

But I'm getting ahead of myself here, let me backtrack a bit, and I'll tell you the whole story...

Are you sitting comfortably?  Then I'll begin...

                                             ================================

Things were going well, so well, that I left behind (after a few months) the crappy flat in London's East End and moved into a one bedroom flat in Chelsea, in Cathcart Road.  I was loving every minute of my "new life" as a foot mistress.    The awful shoe shop job was now just a bad memory.

John and Martin were my  "managers", taking 20% of all my earnings.  It sounds a lot, I know, but they knew most of the people booking me, and always came and helped with my welfare -  that fact alone made me feel 100% safe.  

Word had spread among the fetish crowd that a sexy foot mistress was in town.  And of course, everyone likes to try out a new girl.

One summer night in my Chelsea flat, John, Martin and myself were having dinner; it would have been the mid 1980s from memory;  the boys were in fine form.  Especially after a few glasses of Smirnoff Red Label vodka had been consumed.

'Honestly Fee, I don't know, ha ha!'  John was laughing like a hyena. 'I don't know how you managed to make that funny little man, who.... who looked like a tax collector, you remember that one?'

I nodded, thinking it must be the party that we had worked two Saturday nights past, in Kensington.

'Oh him!'  I said, sighing sardonically.

'Well,' John went on, 'How did you make him come at all, when he had a cock the size of a matchstick? Ha ha...'   

'Now John' said Martin, in a mock stern tone - and pointing at me -  'you know once she gets her feet to work on a willing penis, its kind of game over'.   

Martin emptied his glass and reached for the Smirnoff.

I shook my head as Martin proffered the bottle to me.  

"No thanks, I have a pedicure in the morning and need to do some grocery shopping.  And anyways guys, his cock wasn't that small, he was just terrified of me in that red PVC and leather outfit...  His cock had stage fright!"

Laughing, I stood up to clear the table of the dinner plates.   

As I did, Martin said casually to John  'Shall we tell her now, d'ya think?'

John gave Martin a wink and said 'Oh! Go on then - why not?'

Knowing how the banter between these two went, I decided to play along.  

'Tell me what?'  I said, putting the plates down and looking pensive.

A knowing look passed between them.  Then John said 'OK - you tell her...'

Martin stood up and paced over to the stereo,  turning down the Sonny Rollins CD  I had playing and said: 

'Well, Fifi, you know how at that last party I got chatting to that chap who was dressed in a bad Superman outfit?'

I looked quizzical and said 'Yeah, I think so...'

'Well'  Martin continued, 'it turns out he is the parliamentary assistant to M.P. Tom Ranler, one of Maggie T's top men in the Foreign Office.  And here's the best bit, our Tom is a mad foot fetishist.  And he wants you to come to his country house at Tring, in Hertfordshire - he's planning a fetish  party for selected friends in two weeks time!'

Martin took a sip of his drink then said 'But the best bit is that they want you, and us of course as minders, to stay for the weekend,  plus they are picking us up on the Saturday morning, in a bloody Rolls Royce!'

'Yeah, right !' I retorted in my best sarcastic tone.

'I swear its true Fee!'  yelled Martin -  'Honest -   Tom Ranler phoned me himself yesterday.  And he's paying top money as your amazing reputation has gone before you...   It's gonna be a wild weekend, I can feel it!'

Seeing that the look on his face was genuine, I sat back down at the dining table and grabbed the vodka bottle, saying to the boys -

'Fuck the pedicure appointment  - I need a drink after that news...' and poured myself a quick shot.

                                                       ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The next two weeks were a blur;  new outfits were purchased, hair dressing appointments booked, and a pedicure readied for the Friday afternoon before the big day.  

Wow - a Rolls Royce!  Talk about arriving in style.  A few sports cars of late had come to pick me up for parties, but a Roller!  I was on so looking forward to it.

 I had, if memory serves me,  done my show for some very high flyers then, but, I had never (as far as I knew) had the pleasure "of pleasuring"  a Member of Parliament! I just hoped I was up to the task.   This could be the start of a big leap up the social ladder.

I knew John and Martin were thinking too, along these lines. This Tring fetish party could be a huge word of mouth bonanza.  If the right people enjoyed themselves...   But time of course, would tell.
  
John and Martin decided I should take a few outfits along, the fun may not only be happening on the Saturday night, it may also be the Sunday too.  Who knew?   So I packed a few different ones, just in case.

Did I mention that this party was being held  in what is laughingly called a British summer?  Until I went to Australia to live (more on that in the future) I wore my bikinis once a year on the odd hot day at an English beach with no sand, only pebbles.

Luckily the weather forecast for this "big" weekend in June was very good. Sunny, no rain and warm.  I just prayed the weather gods were with us, as Martin was told part of the party festivities would be outside, around the pool.   Wearing a cardigan with a fetish black leather dress was so 'not a good look'.        

The day of the party, Saturday,  arrived and I was as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.  As I would be getting dressed for the show at the house in Tring, I decided that looking smart but elegant on the way there was the way to go.

We were at my flat in Chelsea, awaiting the transport.

I wore a navy and white striped T-shirt, white jeans with a navy blazer.  My hair was loose and I decided on subtle jewellery and makeup as I would be wearing a lot of both when on stage and doing my show.

John and Martin were dressed in pale chinos pants, button down collar shirts and loafers;  mind you, these two could wear a paper bag each and look a vision of sartorial splendour...

I had one big suitcase with me and a smaller vanity case with make-up in.   As I checked the zips on the case,  John was pacing the floor like a caged tiger.

'Will you please try and calm down' said Martin in a soft voice, 'you're making me nervous just looking at you...'

'Sorry guys' said John.  'It's just that this party could really make or break us...'  his voice trialled off...

Suddenly the doorbell rang.  'I'll go!' said John, rushing down the hall to the front door.

We could hear voices, and John sang out, 'The car's here guys, let's go!'

Grabbing my case I wheeled it towards the door, and on exiting onto the footpath I let out, like Eliza Doolittle in 'My Fair Lady' on Ascot Day,  a few bad words...

'Holy fuck' I exclaimed.  

Before me was a gleaming midnight blue Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, and standing next to it was its chauffeur.  Realising my front door was still ajar, I yanked the case toward the open cavernous boot of the car.  

'Allow me Madam' said the driver, and put my case in.  He was dressed in a black chauffeur's uniform with gold buttons and looked very elegant.

'Tha... thanks...' I mumbled, then turned to go and lock the door, and promptly bumped straight into Martin with his suitcase.

'Sorry Marty!'  I yelled, shooting across the footpath, with keys in hand.

On making the door of my flat secure, I then took my spot in the rear of the Rolls; I was in the middle of the very large back seat.

John and Martin (I think) were in shock.   Before us gleamed an array of chrome and walnut veneer finishes unlike anything we had seen before.  

'Sure beats my old Cortina...' said John, hitching himself into the seat belt.

'Well, considering that your Cortina is held together with wire and rubber bands, yes, it certainly does...' I said, in a mock sarcastic tone, clicking my middle seat belt on.

Martin just sat back in the leather seat and smiled, shook his head saying, 'How the other half live...'  as the Roller glided down the road.

'Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, if you wish for a drink,  the drinks cabinet is in front of you...' said the driver over his shoulder to us in the back.

'What's your name, mate?' said John.

'My last name is Graham, so most people just call me by that, or 'driver' if you prefer...'

He spoke very well, with a slightly posh English accent.  Unlike my two Cockney companions.

'OK, thanks Graham,  I think a quick drink would be very nice...' replied John.

'Very well sir...'  said Graham and turned onto the M25 motorway to  our destination, Tring.

John opened the cabinet.  Inside was a 10 year old malt Scotch whiskey, a bottle of water in a lead crystal decanter and lead crystal whiskey glasses.   A filled ice bucket completed the set.

'Well guys,  I think the choices are Scotch or water?' said John, laughing as he undid the Scotch. 'Who's for a quick one?'   

As John poured the drinks, we all had a toast "to good parties" and sat back in splendid luxury, as the Rolls purred its way up the motorway.

                                            ===========================

We all decided on the drive to Tring, that arriving pissed was not going to be a good look, so after that first drink, we stopped.   

The drive took about 50 minutes and as we sat there nattering,  time passed quickly.

Graham, our driver, coughed.  'Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but we are only a few minutes away from Belton House'.

I quickly grabbed my handbag, checking my makeup and hair, and re-did my lipstick.  

'Do you ever leave the house without lipstick?' asked John, as he checked himself in my makeup mirror.

'Only if its burning down...' I replied, grabbing my mirror from him.

As we turned into a long country lane, the house came into view. 

'Bloody hell!' said Martin, as we saw before us a very grand country house.

Again, Graham our driver coughed. 

'Yes, its a very fine house, building began in 1785, but these days, Mr Ranler only uses the downstairs dining and drawing rooms and a few upstairs bedrooms....'

'How many bedrooms does it have?' I said to him,  not quite believing what was before my eyes.

'Fifteen, madam, but most are not in use these days...'

Graham drove the Rolls around to meet with the front steps of the house, and we all got out.

I just looked at the front of this magnificent building, feeling a bit stunned,  and John said 'Fifi, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...' and we all just cracked up laughing.

"Good morning!" a cheery voice boomed, and I turned to see a tall man in a tweed jacket and green cord trousers, rushing down the steps with an outstretched hand.   

'I'm Tom Ranler, and you must be Fifi?' 

I blinked a few times and then said, 'Yes... Er, .... Hello, how are you?'

Tom smiled and said 'I'm jolly good. And these must be your companions?'

I quickly did the introductions, and the boys shook hands with Tom.

'Now, we'll get the bags in and I'll show you to your rooms, and then I think some tea in the garden may be just what the doctor ordered?  Follow me...'  

A knowing look passed between John, Martin and myself that said 'Wow!'  and we practically floated up the stone steps as Tom Ranler M.P  lead the way....

                                         +++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sitting in the garden with a bone china teacup in hand, I surveyed the scene.

Tom was pouring tea from a Wedgwood china teapot, and handing the cups to John and Martin. 

'So glad you could come down for this little gathering...' Tom said.  'I do love to host a good party. Please have a sandwich.  We have cheese and those are cucumber.  Now  - about your fees...?'

Martin leaned forward in his wicker chair and taking his tea cup from Tom, slowly said 'Well Tom, we like to get 50% up front, if that's OK, and the rest after Fifi has done her show?'

'Oh of course!' said Tom,  as he put down the teapot, and reached into his tweed jacket and took out his wallet.  

'Will 500 pounds for now,  be acceptable?' he said as he lent over and offered this  huge wad of money towards Martin.

Looking a little overwhelmed at the sight of so much dosh, Martin said 'Er,  yeah, thanks Tom, that's  great...'  as he took it from Tom, and quickly stashed it away in his wallet.

'Now I have to go and organise things for tonight's little gathering...' said Tom, 'they'll be some food served about 7pm in the dining room - I'm hoping the other guests will turn up for that - then a few drinks around the pool before the entertainment starts.'  

He stood up and said 'If you need anything I'll be in the wine cellar.' and strolled off.

Making sure Tom was out of ear shot, Martin turned to myself and John and whispered 'Did you see that wad of cash he gave me? Bloody hell!...'

'Well, I'm not complaining...' said John, grabbing a sandwich,  'that dosh is very welcome!'  

'But we don't usually get paid in wads of cash now, do we?'  I asked quietly.  I was starving and started munching on a few cucumber sandwiches.

'Sometimes we do Fifi,' said John, draining the last drop of tea from his cup 'but usually payment is with a cheque -  but the upper classes so like to wave their cash around, maybe its his way of telling us he's loaded?'   

Putting the cup back on the tray, he said, 'Anyways, who cares? All monies gratefully received...' 

                                                   ===========================


Now I'll just slip in a few pics of the toes, to keep my readers interested!



Holiday feet...  21.3.14






On the beach 21.3.14

==============================


After lunch, and in my very luxurious bedroom,  I unpacked my case of clothes and worked out what to wear.  One outfit for dinner, and one for the show after that.

I wore a green polka dot long mid length dress with green high heels to dinner.   I jazzed it up a bit with a bit of jewellery at the neck, let my hair be loose, and wore pink lipstick.  I would be in the Racing Red lipstick later, and needed to look prim and innocent before I transformed into my foot mistress persona.

Grabbing my matching handbag, I walked down the staircase to the dining room.  

Martin and John were just leaving their rooms too.  They were both wearing dark blue suits from the 'Next' shop (very trendy back then) and they looked amazing.

'Hey Fee, get a load of this place!' said John, admiring the pictures of the previous lords of the manor that were hanging besides the staircase.  'I could move in tomorrow...' he laughed.

'As if!' whispered Martin to me as we walked into the large oak panelled dining room.

There was one long dining table with about 15 or so chairs around it.  All the dinner plates had name cards on them, and luckily the boys and myself were seated together.    As we sat down Tom Ranler came in, dressed in a very nice pinstripe suit with shirt and tie.   He sat at the head of the table, a few places away from us.

Tom waved at us, 'I hope your rooms are up to scratch?' he said in a loud voice.  

'Very nice, thank you...' I replied, as I was the nearest to him.

Tom just smiled and gave the thumbs up sign and I did the same back, as the waiter arrived with a bottle of champagne.

I shot a look at the boys.  'Can I have just one glass?' I asked.   Because as you know from my earlier posts, a foot mistress does not drink while performing or about to.  She has to know what she is doing and being pissed is so not a good look.

'Oh -  OK Fee, but one only.  You have a big night ahead...' said Martin.  Always the sensible one, is our Martin, I thought, as I smiled at the waiter as he poured me a glass of bubbly.

'Cheers guys!' I said as I sipped on my one and only bit of booze for the night.  

The table began to fill up as the dinner gong sounded.    Some of the men were in dinner jackets, most of the women in long dresses, but there was not that many women at the table I noticed. 
Well, this was for foot boys, I reasoned.

Dinner consisted of three courses; a tomato based soup, a chicken risotto, and apple pie and cream for dessert.   I only had a small amount of each as I had a very tight dress to fit into later.  The wine was flowing, and all present seemed to be having a good time.   

I was sitting next to a very distinguished gentlemen who would have been around 50 years old or so but looked fit.    I introduced myself and we shook hand, as he said 'I'm Robert Lee - very pleased to meet you...'  

I had this feeling I had seem him somewhere before.  Racking my brains, I tried to remember - was he one of my footboys from a previous party?  

Feeling brave, I asked 'Have we met before? You look somehow familiar...'

Taking a sip from his wine glass, Rob said quietly 'Well, you may have seen me on the TV recently...' with a twinkle in his eye.

'Oh yes?' I said, examining him.

'Yes, I was recently appointed as the Governor of the Bank of England....' he said, 'it was on the BBC news...  maybe that's where you saw me?'

Suddenly, there was, a choking sound, and that sound was me, spluttering on the last drops of the champagne.  

'Oh I'm sorry....' I gushed. 'I expected you to say you were an accountant or something!'  

Rob laughed.   'No, nothing as exciting as that, I'm afraid... And what brings you here, Fiona?'

Oh dear, well - this was going to be tricky...  Did I tell him I was the foot mistress?  Or make up some lame story in case I offended him?   What is he was some moral do-gooder? 

As my brain was whirling, a voice boomed behind us: 

'Oh Rob, you've met Fifi, how splendid!' and I turned to see Tom Ranler, smiling broadly, 'did I tell you on the phone Rob, about the "entertainment" we have planned for later?'  

Rob nodded.  

'Well, this good lady is part of that.  I won't say too much as I don't want to spoil the surprise...'  And he laughed again.

I looked at the huge clock above the fireplace, and it said 9.30 pm.  Time for the social butterfly to turn into a female preying mantis...

          --------------------------------------------


I've just found this pic of what the dress I had back then looked like. (see below) so just picture me with matching boots or stiletto shoes and you get the drift...


Sexy black PVC corset dress

And yes, those dresses get very hot, and yes, I had a matching G String/Thong under the dress; you see that lace up bit at the back?  Well sometimes the laces came apart and trust me, matching underwear was the one thing that saved Fifi's modesty on a few occasions.   

OK, where was I? Oh yes... 

After taking over an hour to change into my 'mistress' outfit, I was a little unsure what was I to do next...  Luckily a knock at the bedroom door revealed on opening same, John and Martin.  They were very sexy looking in black leather pants and black T shirts (this was the 80s after all!). 

'Oooh you look fantastic!' said John, 'that PVC dress was worth going to the fetish shop in the Kings Road to buy...'   

'Yeah, it looks great' I said, tottering over to the dressing table mirror to look at myself, 'But the bugger's very hot to wear...  I'm sweating already.'

As this was a summer show, I wore black stiletto shoes, with no stockings.  My hair was up in a French Roll, I had enough black eye liner and mascara on to sink a battleship, coupled with a very crimson red lipstick.   A black spiky collar /choker completed the look.

'Now where am I performing?' I asked, spraying my hair to death with hair spray, 'outside by the pool?'

A look shot between John and Martin.

'Well, we're not sure at the moment...' said Martin, pulling a kind of puzzled look, 'we think so, but we're waiting to hear from Tom as to the exact venue.  There's a cellar with S&M gear apparently which has a tiny stage but that may come into play tomorrow?'

'Is there any equipment set up by the pool?' I asked, turning around to face them. I was feeling a bit anxious now, as usually the stage, chairs, lighting and music are ready in advance, and guests just sit down at the agreed time and the show starts.    

'Let me go and see if I can find Tom' said Martin, 'and I'll look by the pool to see if anythings going on...'   He quickly left and we could hear him running down the main staircase.

'Holy fuck!' I said 'What is going on?'

'It'll be alright Fee, just wait till Martin gets back -  I know you get nervous before a show.'

'No - not nervous John, bloody terrified...' I replied pacing up and down in the black patent stilettos that completed the outfit.   

Suddenly the door burst open, and in came Martin with Tom Ranler behind him.   

'Oh my dear!' said Tom, grabbing my hand and kissing it... 'You look ravishing!  My guests are just going to love  you!  And I must explain, there was a confusion about whether to use the outdoor area or use the cellar, and we're going with the outside venue, as the weather forecast says warm tonight, no rain,  but maybe rain tomorrow.'   

'Oh OK' I said in reply; always one with a witty comeback line! Not!   

But what had intrigued me and kind of stopped my listening to Tom, was that he was wearing a black ladies bra under his white shirt and jacket.  I had seen it when he kissed my hand, as he bent forward.   Mmmm...  This was going to be a very interesting night I felt.

---------------------------------------------

The pool area was lit up like a Christmas tree; lights were festooned everywhere.  I was surprised to see the seating area was tiered, like in a proper theatre.  I mentioned this to John who whispered back 'Tom spares no expense when he has his chums over.'

By now walking in my high shoes was a breeze.  But hanging onto a handsome boy's arm is no sin, and John escorted me to the pump room for the pool that was set back in the trees.  On entering it, I was amazed to see that it had, for my personal use, been converted into a small dressing room, with a large mirror, and a dressing table adorned with several large lamps.  All were burning brightly and I felt like Alice walking through the looking glass.  

'Bloody Hell!' I said as I plonked my bag of tricks onto the chair by the dressing table 'what a lot of trouble Tom has gone to!'

Martin helped John with my bags.  

'Well Fee, your formidable reputation has gone before you.  Tom asked for you by name, and said his other pals had raved about your previous shows.  I think Tom was an observer at that party we did in Mayfair last year?' said Martin.

'Well he obviously liked what he saw!' said John, humping my large bags onto a red two seat sofa next to a small bar fridge.  

'Any booze in that fridge I wonder?'  he said and leaped to find out.   It was stuffed with beers, wine and diet drinks.  'Woo bloody hoo!' he said in a sarcastic tone.

Grabbing a beer and pulling the ring tab, John waved it in the air, said 'Cheers' and began to gulp it down.  

Martin followed his lead, but I decided a cool head was needed if I was going to do a show near a pool.  I just hoped all watching or taking part could swim.

------------------------

My show went well.  I did the usual thing of whipping and treading on my willing slave.  I had changed my music to a bit of electronic dark stuff and this went well with the tone of the show. Dark and menacing - I got the lighting man to back light the small stage only, to add to the atmosphere.  I was wired for sound for a change as the acoustics in such a large open space demanded it.  The damn radio controlled box had to be stuffed down the back laces of my black sheath dress but the head set was black and quite small but did give me a more professional look according to John.

Now dear reader, you are wondering,

---  'where are the sordid details Fifi?  Tell me what you did to that foot slave!  Did he come like a fire hose over my stilettos?'  

Well, the reason I am NOT telling you about the show is because of what happened after the show. 


--   Intrigued?  Read on, and you'll find out how Fifi got to grips with some very upper class chaps and their pink bits ...

-----------------------

Plopping down on the two seat sofa in the pump room I let out a sigh of relief.  'I think now I'll have that glass of champers, thanks John.'   My hands were around my ankles undoing the skyscraper high heels I was wearing.  The bright red nail polish I had on my toes shone under the lights.

'I think we may have to hold off on the booze darling...' said John, as his hand went inside the cream suit jacket he was wearing.  'I have something for you...' and he pulled out the wad of cash.

I just looked on in amazement.

Martin said 'Is that the money that Tom Ranler gave you earlier?'

Throwing the money in my lap, John replied 'No... its a another 500 quid that I was asked to give to Fee - if she is willing to do a private performance.'

'Who with?' I asked quickly, now starting to collect the notes swirling over my black patent dress 'is it Tom?'

John looked coy.  'Well, I don't actually know who it is.  Tom just had a quiet word with me after the show just now, and handed me that wedge of notes.  And here's the best bit,  there's another 500 for you if the willing slave is happy with your performance....'

Martin got up and grabbed one of the five pound notes off my lap and held it up to the lamp.  

'Sure looks real to me!' he laughed.

'Bloody hell...' I said,  'I've never been asked to a private show! The stage ones have always been the main act.  What if this mystery man wants more than just a foot job?  We've always said 'no sex' with Fifi!'   I was on my feet now, picking up notes from the floor and handing them back to John.

'Don't worry Fee, I'm ahead of you there: I told Tom that no sex with you was possible, no matter how much dosh was offered.  He said he understood that, and the 'slave' was a dedicated foot boy and you would be treated in the manner becoming a mistress...  What d'ya think Fee?  Another grand on top of what we are earning anyway could be a nice little earner.'

I had removed my high shoes by now and was sat down at the dressing table, looking at my hot face, sweating in the warm night air.  My head was spinning.   We always had said that private shows were a possibility.  But this meant no back up if something went astray.  

My spinning head realised that my apartment did need a paint job and the plumbing was a bit creaky, so that money could fix things up.  

Suddenly  I realised it wasn't about the plumbing, it was about if I, Fifi, want to do this.  Did I feel OK about it?  Or not?

Rubbing my temples I asked John :

'So - how long would this show have to go on for? Where is it happening? And if things get weird, can I bail out?'

John looked reassuring.  

'Of course you can bail out at anytime.  Tom said that one of the bedrooms had been specially set up for this meeting, and the 'experience' must last at least until the 'slave' blows his load.  So, it could be 5 mins or it could be longer; who knows?'

It was Martin's turn to speak.  'Does Tom need an answer right away?'  he said,   'Fifi needs to freshen up a bit and maybe change costume?' he looked over to my bags, 'did you bring down another fetish outfit Fee?'

'I brought down four outfits Marty, as I was worried this tight black dress  might rip and I needed a couple of outfits to choose from in case it did.  I can wear the red leather outfit if that would be suitable?'

John realising that I was half convinced to do this show, said 'Oh yes! Fee that red outfit looks stunning on you.  The 'slave' will cream his pants in two minutes and you're done!'

Walking over to Martin and spinning around with my back facing him, I said, 'OK guys -  lets do it.  Marty - unlace me.  John - tell Tom Ranler MP that this gig is on!'

John rushed up to me and kissed me on the cheek.

'Good girl! I'll go and tell Tom to get that room ready for Fifi is about to strut her stuff...' and he rushed from the pump room/dressing room like a banshee.

-------------------------

I stood outside the door to the double guest bedroom, and smoothed down my dark red vinyl mini skirt. 

On Tom's instructions, I was to go into the room at 11.30 pm, and sit on the red leather chair by the fireplace, and await my 'slave'.  I was instructed that there was a CD player with a classical music disc therein, and to press 'play' when I was seated and ready to go.  

I was wearing a red vinyl long line bra that matched the tight red mini skirt, red high stilettos and I had an assortment of whips, prods and canes that I may need to use on the 'slave' - I had used these to great effect in the stage shows, it was amazing how many men liked to be caned on the bare bottom cheeks when they were not licking my feet hard enough.   

As usual,  there was a stop signal for the slave to use if things were getting too intense for them. It was usually a tap on the top of their head, or a couple of taps to their upper arm.    A few times this signal has been given, I've stopped but only to be begged by the slave to carry on.  I often marvel at the way the male brain is wired up...

The clock in the hall chimed 11 pm and breathing deeply, I entered the room; the first thing I saw was a huge four poster double bed with a green velvet canopy and curtains.   The poster poles were carved with flower designs and the bed looked to be at least 100 years old.  

Looking around I could see a large marble fireplace dominating the room, with a large gilt mirror above it.   Despite it being the summer a small fire was burning in the hearth.  The red leather armchair was beside the fireplace and facing the bed.   Behind it was a sideboard with various decanters of spirits, with a filled ice bucket and crystal glasses on a silver tray.  The mini stereo system looked completely out of place next to the lovely antiques that filled the room.  There was a huge carved wardrobe at the other end of the room that matched the bed.  

A crystal chandelier hung from the pressed metal decorated ceiling.  It was like something from a film set: I almost felt like I was dreaming.

As directed, I pushed 'play' on the CD player and sat down in the red chair.  The strains of Ravel's 'Bolero' filled the room.   I knew this piece of music... and how it built up and up...   I wondered then,  was this someones major fantasy?  To be a footslave to this particular tempo?

I'll include here a link to this particular piece of music, so you may read on, with this playing.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-4J5j74VPw


Destroying my mind in its wanderings, the door creaked open, and a man slowly walked in.  

He was about 5ft 9ins tall (175 cm) wearing a leather hood/ mask, with a zip over the mouth, black leather button fly trousers, with the back cut out so his buttocks were exposed, topped with a simple black cotton singlet.   The effect was striking!  His feet were bare, and like the rest of him, looked to be very well kept.

He had some grey chest hair, and this made me think he would be over 40 at least.  There was no wedding ring on his hand, or any other clues to his identity that I could see.    He slowly walked towards me - then at about 3 feet away from me, he stopped.  

His right hand came up to the mouth zip and slowly undid it.  His voice whimpered 'Where does my mistress want me to lay?'

Looking down,  I saw the green and blue Persian antique carpet in front of the fireplace -  this seemed as good a place as any to start my domination.

I stood up and grabbing the mini cat o' nine tails that I had tucked into my skirt waistband, I strode forward.

'On the carpet, slave! Get on your knees!' I boomed out, over the music, 'and be quick about it...'

'Yes mistress' he said and did as bidden.

I guessed my 'slave' wanted to get to the "money shot" when the music reached its climax - 'Bolero' was famous for being a good tune to get off to.   I just hope I could time things so the slave could be satisfied.   

I quickly began to walk around him, with the 'cat' whipping around the air.   I saw his exposed buttocks and asked "Have you been a good footslave?  Come and lick my shoes clean!" 

He replied 'No - mistress -  I've been very bad!'  

For this misdemeanour, the whipped cracked upon his raw flesh, leaving a welt spray pattern.   

He jerked his body with pain/pleasure.

'Thank you mistress!'  he whimpered.

I repeated this pattern of whipping for a few minutes, carefully listening to the tempo of the music.

Time to notch things up a gear.

'Slave, lay on your back!' I ordered.

As he turned over, my eyes were riveted on the massive erection, straining against the leather button fly of his pants.

The music tempo picked up.   

'Undo that button fly, and let me see that tiny cock of yours!' I yelled.

He dutifully obeyed and a very hard cock of about 8 ins (20 cm) in length appeared.  He was cut, and the pubic hairs at his base were grey.  I could only guess as to the age of this man, but whatever it was, he was fit looking and could maintain a very big erection.   I decided to go in a bit harder.

'Slave, would you like to touch my beautiful feet?'  I purred.

'Oh yes my mistress, I would!' he whispered.

'Well, unless I see that cock get harder, its not going to happen!'  I stepped back towards the chair and swapped the cat o' nine tails for the riding crop.   I ran the leather edge of the crop over the tip of his now very swollen cock.     He moaned in pleasure at the touch of it.

I kept looking for a stop signal, but none came.  So I carried on.  He obviously knew what he liked.

'Very good slave, now get on your knees and crawl over to the big red chair.'

I quickly positioned myself sitting in the chair, riding crop in hand.

I removed my left stiletto shoe, and as the slave was now by my feet I bid him to stop.

The music was quickening - I'd guessed this slave had been 'pleasured' to this music before, so I had to move quickly, but carefully.

'Slave - take hold of my foot by the ankle.'

'Yes mistress'  -  he held my foot as told.

'Is that cock of yours good and hard?' I boomed, 'is it?!'

'Yes, yes, very hard mistress...'

'Good, you may commence to lick the sole of my foot...'

He licked, and licked.  His tongue got behind my toes, and ran down the arch.  His breath was hot on my soles, and the licking got faster.

I was loving it,  but I had to switch off my feelings, to accommodate his.  

I slipped off the right shoe;  'Now do the other foot!'  

My slave duly obliged.   His erection was massive and the music was getting near the grand finale.

'On your back slave. Quickly!' 

He turned over, his huge swollen cock standing proud.

In a flash, I had positioned myself so that the high arches of my tiny beautiful  feet were over this massive organ.  

Grabbing the KY Lube tube I had stuck down the side of the chair, and aimed -  a jet of lube hit his huge red and angry cock -  and my feet joined the party.  He let out a huge moan of satisfaction.

Hanging onto the chair sides to stop myself slipping, for my vinyl skirt was a tad slippy, I grabbed his massive erection between my arched feet.  Slowly, I rubbed my feet up and down his magnificent shaft, as he moaned in pleasure.

'More, mistress, more!' he begged.

I just hoped I remembered when the end of 'Bolero' was due.  I had about 10 seconds of music left by my reckoning.   

My feet were moving like a piston in a steam train, up and down, and with each stroke of my arches, his pleasure increased;  

'Yes, yes!' he yelled.

I kept going, now working my feet faster and faster - the crescendo was nearly there!  

Suddenly as the music stopped, a huge gasp came from the slave and a massive jet of cum streamed out of that magnificent cock and over my feet.

'Oh, oh!' he gasped out, his breathing now heavy and guttural.

I sat back in the chair, quite spent from my exertions, now grabbing the towel I had left and began to wipe the pearly mess from my toes.

Job done!  Money shot achieved!

Suddenly, a bang came from the other end of the room.

I looked on in amazement.

The large antique double wardrobe door had burst open, and MP Tom Ranler was climbing out of it, yelling 'Mistress Fifi, let me worship at your feet...' 

This in itself was a sight to behold; but what made it more than a little odd, was that Tom Ranler, rising star of the Thatcher Government, was wearing a black lace ladies bra, matching g-string, and black stocking and suspenders.  His hair was greased back with hair gel, and he was made up with false eyelashes, black eyeliner  and pink lipstick.

For a second I was lost for words.  My brain asked 'what the fuck is going on?' before decorum took hold and Fifi the Foot mistress tried to keep control.

Tom was on all fours and walking towards me like a dog.

I quickly put my shoes back on and stood up and loomed over him.

'Bad dog!' I yelled at him, and to my amazement, he laid down and began to whimper.

'Please let me lick your feet, mistress...' he asked.

From nowhere, a voice I recognised suddenly spoke and said;

 'I say old chap, this was my booking with Fifi...' 

I quickly turned to see the 'slave' who I had just made come like charging horse, sitting on the bed minus the leather hood.   His face was flushed and sweaty, but he looked happy.  

It was, of course, my dinner companion, Robert Lee, the new Governor of the Bank of England.  

Tom Ranler stood up, not looking happy, so I sat back down in the red chair and said nothing.  It was all feeling a bit weird.   I just hoped a fight was not about to break out.

Did I mention that Tom too, had a raging erection?  No? Oh well he did, and it was not going down, poking through the lace G String he had on.

Rob Lee laid back on the bed, his silver hair glinting in the light from the chandelier.   His voice was angry but controlled.

'Now Tom, were you in that wardrobe the whole time I was with Fifi?  Did you plan the whole thing this way to get your own satisfaction?'

'So what if I did Robert? It's my house after all!' he shouted.

Rob Lee just smiled thinly and lay back on the silk bed cover. 

'Well that's true.  But I would have liked to have been 'in' on the action, why didn't you say something to me when I told you I wanted a private session with Fifi here?'

Realising that this could get heated, I began packing away my props.  

My shoes though were making a bit of a clatter on the wooden floorboards by the sideboard, as my bag was parked under it.  I grabbed it and began zipping it up.

Hearing the noise, they both looked over at me.

'Please, Fifi, don't leave!  I'm sorry if this has upset you... ' Tom's voice trialled off.  He stood in front of me, with a pleading look on his sad made up face.

I tried to put my stern mistress persona back on, but I think the shock of Tom's entrance into the room had made that part of me hide somewhere deep in my subconscious.

Robert leaped off the bed to stand in front of me:  he put his hand to a zip pocket in the rear of his leather pants, and fished out a wad of money which he offered to me with his hand outstretched. 

'Now, Fifi, I think you had agreed to do this private show, for an extra fee?  Here's 500 pounds.'

I was too angry and upset to speak.  My back was to them, and I turned around with my bags by my feet, my manicured red nailed hands gripping on the back of the red leather chair.

'Tom,' I said, 'I'm not upset, its just that it was a bit of a shock with you leaping out of the wardrobe like that...  If you had told me you wanted to join in by doing that, well, I would have played along...' 

Rob Lee was still holding this money, looking at me with an expectant look.

I reached out and took the money.  After all it was what I had agreed to work for, and I think Rob Lee got his money's worth.

It was Tom who spoke next.

'Whatever money Rob is giving you, I'll match it!  Just please let me worship at those feet of yours...'   
'Sorry Tom, the spell - so to speak - has been broken...'  I said.

A miserable look passed over his face.  

'Please Fifi, please!' he begged.

I did not want to blow the chance to get into the upper classes, but what is a girl to do?   My mojo had gone.

'OK Tom, - you win - I'll agree that you can come and see me tomorrow night... Not now.'

I leant down and picked up my bags and headed for the oak panelled door.

'But, but, I'm dressed up now for a session with you!' he protested.

'Sorry Tom, this girl can only do so much in one night...' I said in a tired voice.

 I sashayed out the door and back to my room, locking the door behind me.

'Tomorrow night would be very interesting' I was thinking.  And it was....

-----------------------------


Now as this blog ep. is getting a bit long, I'll stop here and I will continue to tell the tale of the rest of the weekend with Tom Ranler MP  in my next blog post.

Stay tuned!




Fifi xxxx