I arrived at the Compound later than expected, and required, by some thirty minutes, delayed by a variety of factors I was nervously itemizing in my head in rehearsal of a plea for my Boss's mercy. Thus I entered her studio in a dejected and humble state, fearful of the consequence of my failure. I was met by her assistant whose reproachful stare I answered with the beginnings of my excuse, which she cut short.

- Just take off your clothes and go into the office. Boss is waiting for you.

The idea of Boss having to wait for me was so patently absurd it might have been funny in another context; in this context, though, it was closer to sinful, and I would be paying for it soon enough.

I removed my shoes, then my clothes and put them in a neat pile in a closet outside of Boss's office. I paused at the door, shuddered visibly, and entered the dimly lighted parlor. I heard my Boss's voice before I could see Her.

- Ah, my employee has finally arrived. How blessed I am that my employee was able at last to relinquish his higher priorities and afford me some of his time. I wish I knew how to best express my gratitude.

Her sarcasm was scathing and unnerving.

- I am thankful, too, that my employee has introduced his Boss to this new concept of employment where an employee makes time for his Boss and not the other way around.

I began to stammer just as she emerged from the darkness and slapped me across the face five times. After she delivered the last blow, we were both silent and still for an instant, and then she slapped me across the face five more times.

- Are you trying to say something to me?

I started to speak, and again Boss slapped my face, harder than ever.

- Are you going to defend yourself? Do you have an excuse?

My mind was unhinged, able to focus only on the ringing in my ears. I looked up to see her vexed expression and became transfixed by the beauty of her face which was fully visible as she had, as was her practice, pulled her beautiful blond hair back. My continued silence aroused Boss's anger further as she slapped my face three more times causing the muscles in my face to go numb.

- I want you on your knees this instant.

I immediately fell to my knees, and Boss began to slowly circle my prone body, her stiletto heels clicking seductively on the floor.

- I will not have this from you. I have consented to allow you a life outside of this place, and you have dared to take advantage. Your perspective has become skewed. I am going to make you understand. This is not your fantasy life. Your other job, your hobbies, your whole life, thats the masquerade - an attempt by you to be someone of importance. You are my property, and I decide what you are and who you are. Your purpose is to be what I want you to be.

- Yes, Boss. I answered meekly.

Boss was now standing directly in front of me. Looking down, all I could see were her beautiful, stocking covered feet in a pair of 6" heeled patent leather red shoes which, coincidentally, I had purchased for her (An increasing percentage of my income was used for the benefit and pleasure of my Boss. In my Boss's own words: The property of my property is, by extension, also my property.

- I think a vivid reminder of what you are is in order. A permanent reminder.

On these ominous words, she withdrew from the room and returned a moment later with a shopping bag in her hand. She dropped the bag in front of me.

- Look inside.

I hesitated and she bent over, pulled my hair until I was looking at her and slapped me across the face three times.

- I said look inside. You've not done one thing well today and my tolerance for your incompetence is nearly at its limit.

She released my hair and I opened the bag to find a pair of nude Donna Karan pantyhose, a bottle of red nail polish (the same shade, actually, favored by Boss) and a box which proved to contain a pair of open toe mules with a 5" heel. I looked up at her in confusion. She was smiling.

- Aren't those interesting items? Surely you realize what they are for, don't you?

- No, Boss, I'm not sure what they are for.

- Well, they're for you. You're going to wear them. They are three important building blocks in your development into what I want you to be - a wussy.

She reached down towards me, and with her beautiful and elegant fingers caressed my cheek.

- Does that shock you? Does it scare you? You'll get over that, in time, and even if you don't it won't matter because you're going to become a wussy no matter how you feel about it. Those hose you are holding in your hand right now will be on your body every day for the rest of your life. That nail polish will be on your toes every day. For the time being you will be allowed to continue to wear your male clothes outside of the Compound, but you'll always have your hose on and your toes painted underneath the false male exterior you present to the outside world.

These declarations were impossible to process! She continued.

- If you're wondering why I have chosen this for you, I'll tell you even though you are not technically entitled to know my reasons for doing anything, so you must thank your Boss for explaining this to you.

- Thank you, Boss.

- Thank you for what?

- Thank you for sharing your reasons for turning me into a wussy.

- You're welcome. First, I have no use for you as a man. Second, your recent failures - today's&Mac226; tardiness is an immediate example - suggest a perversion of the order of your life which must be corrected. You must be reminded that you are mine, and that the course of your life is for me, not you, to determine and decide. I intend to ensure that you will not again forget who controls your life. And how could you, for when you look into the mirror, when you feel the hose on your legs, the bra on your chest, you will know that you are a wussy and know that I made you that way, forever, and that you are therefore not only my property but my possession on a far more fundamental level - you are going to become my creation.

I literally felt as though I was near a state of blackout. Boss had given me no warning of this shift in my life which she had so deliberately and carefully conceived. I struggled to respond, but managed an answer.

- No, Boss, I do not understand.

I expected a violent reaction but found her calm, almost amused. She handed me the bottle of nail polish.

- You will, wussy. I assure you that you will. Now paint your toenails carefully for your Boss. You have so much to learn and it's important that you know how to make yourself beautiful for me. Next week we'll go to my salon and have your toes and face done professionally, but today we're going to let you try, so do it as well as you possibly can.

She returned to her seat and watched me as I carefully painted each of my ten toenails red. Once I had finished, she opened the package of hose and withdrew the cardboard from within and used it as a fan to dry the polish on my toes. Soon she was instructing me in the art of putting on pantyhose, taking special care to show me how to run the seam just underneath my toes.

- You'll be given time to learn, wussy, but if your seams ever show you will embarrass me when I am introducing you to my friends, and I won't have you embarrassing me.

- Yes, Boss.

She then reached down and pulled the waistband of my hose up around my waist.

- Step into your shoes, wussy.

Gently, I guided my feet into the open toe mules on the floor in front of me until I stood in them, five inches off the ground. I looked down to see my own erection pressed against my stomach inside my pantyhose. Boss noticed it as well.

- That's a beautiful sight, wussy, your penis simultaneously straining against and aroused by the pantyhose that encase it. A very fitting metaphor for your condition. You want so badly to fight against what you are becoming yet you are helplessly aroused by the experience. Look down at your toes, wussy. Aren't they pretty? You will always wear open toe shoes. Always. Every time you look to the ground I want you to see your own toes, to see the red polish, and to know that you have the feet of a wussy.

- Yes, Boss.

Was all I could possibly say. My reserves were gone; I was entirely deflated and humiliated.

- We'll practice walking in your new shoes later this afternoon, but now you're going to follow me into the bathroom and spend some time smelling my feet.

Boss sat on the toilet and crossed her right leg over her left and held her red patent leather shoe in front of my face.

- Do you know why I am allowing the pleasure of smelling my feet, wuss?

- No, Boss. I replied.

- Because I am somewhat pleased with your surrender this morning. Now remove my shoe.

I followed her order. Soon I was staring at her perfect, beautiful foot, encased in a black silk stocking. Her toes were pained red-the same shade as my own toes and they matched her shoes. Her foot was absolute perfection, just like the rest of her. Even though her foot was ten inches below my face, I could feel the heat rising from it.

- Look at that perfect foot. Isn't it beautiful? Study its shape, though I know you have memorized its features and know them better than you know your own name.

This was true. In my apartment I had several framed photographs of Boss's stocking covered toes-photographic evidence of my slavery decorated the walls of my apartment in the same way family pictures adorned the walls of other people's homes.

- I have been in my heels all day long, and I even slept in these stockings last night. Can you smell the aroma of your Boss even from that distance?

She slowly raised her foot until her toes covered my nose.

- Smell My wonderful, erotic, powerful scent and fall further under my spell.

I inhaled her rich, penetrating foot odor and felt my mind reel under its profound sexual influence. The aroma of her foot was very strong, and she used it to enslave me, for it was her beautiful, perfect essence and I wanted to take it in to my lungs until it clouded over my mind like the narcotic, or aphrodisiac. I inhaled her aroma with incredible passion as she gently pressed the base of her toes against my nostrils.

- Smell between my toes where my scent collects. Smell it deeply. I want to see your ribs as you inhale. I want you to hyperventilate and let my aroma intoxicate you.

I heard her other shoe fall to the tiled floor, and soon both of her warm, fragrant stocking covered feet were on my face.

- Smell them. Smell them and listen carefully as I outline the course of your new life as my wussy.