The Lucky Intern

Some years ago, when I was a third year law student in a major city, I had an internship with a state court. My direct supervisor was a woman named Ann who was a Harvard Law Grad. She was new to the position as a Judge’s Clerk. For those who are not familiar with the legal profession, judicial clerkships are highly sought after, very competitive and usually go to those who are politically connected, valedictorians or chief editors of the law review. The Clerks research and write the opinions for the judges.

Ann was from a very wealthy, well-connected family. Her father was a CEO of a major Fortune 100 company that I need not identify. She had gone to law school right from college and landed the clerkship. She had never supervised anyone before and had agreed to take an intern on reluctantly since she was very busy, and looked at it more as having an anchor around her neck rather than an extra pair of hands. She was forced to do so since the Chief Judge had committed to the law school to take on interns. Ann did not have great people skills. I guess she never really had to since with money, connections and two Harvard degrees she did not need them. The thing I disliked most was that she was short-tempered and curt. If I did something wrong, or did not receive enough direction, I would get chewed out, then she would angrily tell me she would just do it herself and I could find something else to do. I think her exact words were to make myself “useful.” I had to eat this crow though because the way it was set up, the internship supervisor gave a grade at the end and because part of the reason for doing internships was to compile a list of professional references.

Ann had very short brown hair, brown eyes, and was about 5’3”. She was not a hard body, but liked to run, and did so frequently at lunch. She was lean and in shape. She was very pretty in a clean, business way. She looked a lot like the short haired brunette district attorney on the TV Show Law & Order, but not quite as pretty. She always dressed nice and did the shoe change at the office thing, wearing sneakers or boots, then peeling off the white socks to reveal hosiery, then putting on pumps. Normally she had a collection of two or three pairs of pumps or boots in on a given occasion near or under her desk. On a few occasions, I arranged to work late in order to inspect and “clean” them when no one was around. I was always careful to try to put them back, but one time I did forget to tuck a sock back into a sneaker that was on the floor. On another occasion, the saliva left a pair of suede pumps in a matted condition that could have been a giveaway, but there were never any comments made.

We worked in an old building that had been renovated but had a lot of character like high ceilings, beautiful wood beams and a lot of small rooms, closets, cloisters, passages, illogically placed staircases, etc. Our office was on the fourth floor, and had big old metal desks and wood desks that you could not see under. It was crowded with too much furniture and boxes of files everywhere. The only nice things in the room were a brand new green rug and crisp new law books lining the wall to wall shelves. Ann’s desk was at the very far end of the rectangle facing the door, so her back was to the window looking right out the door. My desk and some other female attorney’s desk were further toward the door and were set up to look right across at each other with our backs near opposite walls. It was typical government set up with a real patchwork network wiring job on the computers, which frequently broke down, and for which there was no way to get any kind of support.

Anyway, every week I had to submit a feedback report on what I was doing, what I learned, any suggestions for improvement, etc. A theme I had repeated several weeks in a row, but in a gentle way, was that I was just being given scut work, and that I did not get any real meaningful responsibilities. I used to confide in the other attorney who clerked for some other judge and was coming to the end of her 2 year term. I don’t really remember her name or what she looked like but she was nice. She kept encouraging me to ask for more work, and whenever she could she would gently offer Ann suggestions about giving me more substantive work. We could not talk much though because anytime Ann was in the room she would rudely tell us to shut up or stop talking because she needed to concentrate on her work. Ann would then suggest we go the library or the café or just outside. She needed to concentrate. She was one of those stressed out types. I did enjoy the show on those days when I got in early and enjoyed watching her while working on filing projects but I hated the internship otherwise.

Most times, she would have me file papers in the boxes beside her desk or in her desk side file drawer. I viewed this as a little degrading but did not put up a stink because it meant going around behind her desk and kneeling or sitting on the floor to do the task which left me with a great view. She was constantly dipping her heels in and out of her pumps, kicking them off and would do this thing where she made a fist with her toes in the shoe or kicked off the shoe and rolled her toes under the foot. Great toe flexing show. This filing always took a long time. Maybe that’s why she thought I was not competent to handle more complex tasks.

One Thursday, during a week that the computers were acting up a lot, Ann was under another tight deadline to get a huge memorandum done for the judge. All week, she had to keep going under her desk and pressing the network jack back into the port and slowly releasing it in a delicate manner hoping it would stay there, because it was sort of loose. It was a shitty makeshift plastic junction box, jerry-rigged together with other such boxes all across the floor with the cables left in the walkways. The cheap CAT5 cable had one of those perma-twists in it and was a little too taut anyway. It regularly got kicked any time anyone came near Ann’s desk and that would make her lose her network connection.

Ann had already asked us to refrain from talking when I first came in and exchanged greetings with the other woman. She said she needed to concentrate. She had already had to manually press the network thing in four or five times in the fifteen minutes I was there. I was not sure if she was just her normal no-manners self or if she was upset because I had presumptuously wasted 5 minutes of her needed time the previous afternoon having a sit down about getting more “substantive duties with an important purpose” and “mission critical tasks,” since the internship write up posted at school said the job would involve “research and writing tasks.” In that meeting, she had told me, “You’ll have to talk quickly, while I change my shoes since I am in a rush and need to meet someone.” She did not even look up once during my airing of thoughts. Her response to my points was that “the profession requires a team player, and that filing and the few other tasks you have been given consist of work that I did myself before you got here, and that I will continue to do after your internship is over. I do not consider the work beneath me, so you should not consider it beneath you.” I had no response at the time since this had blindsided me. She just loved to beat people down.

Once I got settled in on that Thursday, about 10 minutes after arriving, I said in a very apprehensive and cautious tone that I knew it was a bad time but that I had nothing to work on, and needed something to do. She stopped typing, quickly looked up, abruptly rolled back her chair and with exasperation said, “I do have something ‘mission critical’ today. You can hold my network jack into the port while I finish this thing up. I was supposed to have it done by noon and the judge is leaving at four.” The other attorney said, “You can’t ask him to do that.” Ann replied, “Well yes I can, I am his supervisor, I will be giving him his grade, I will supplying a professional reference to him, and it is something that I have had to do myself all week and don’t consider to be beneath me. And besides, this today IS ‘mission critical.’ You can go get your own intern. I will manage mine the way I see fit.”

Realizing that I would have to be under her desk, which had a heavy solid wood structure in front of it, with two low book cases full of books in front of that, I just acquiesced by body language and started for her desk, saying, “I’ll help you out. I want to be a team player.” As I got there, she motioned down under the desk and said, “It’s off to the left toward the back.” I laid down on my back under the desk, and on the way, noticed that off to my left (her right) were a pair of those black, flat, pull-on knee high riding boots with the brown collar at the top, as well as one navy blue pump with the Enzo Angiolini logo showing. She must have had them already off for a flexing session when she exploded in response to my question. Since the pump was in the middle and I figured she would need room to roll forward to finish working on the memo, I laid down, and squished my body as far to her left as I could so my stomach was under her file drawers. Since that particular drawer with hanging file folders was open over my hips, I also had the benefit of even more cover, should anything arise.

I pushed the loose jack in and held it there, and she rolled back in. She had to angle her legs about 45 degrees to the side since I was occupying a fair portion of the main opening under the desk. It seemed like it might not be totally comfortable for her. Her right foot, with pump still on wound up just a few inches from my head. The other foot without the shoe was still tucked back, probably with her toes curled under. This was actually pretty sweet. Noone could see me, not even Ann. She then rocked her right foot up on the heel of the shoe and was twisting the heel into the floor, unconsciously rotating the top slowly from side to side and pausing for a 10 seconds or so at each end point. On each swing toward her left, it was going right near my face and pausing there. Being creative, I moved my head over when it went to the far side so there would be no clearance when it eventually came back to her left. To my delight, the sole rubbed right over my nose, and paused on my lips. I was waiting for her to flinch or say “ooh sorry.” But nothing. She must have been “concentrating.” It was curious though that she did not keep rotating after the sole of her show made contact with my lips and nose. I wondered whether she knew that she had the sole of her shoe against my lips and nose. I snuck my tongue out and pressed in carefully to the sole, stealing a few gentle, careful licks. I paused. No reaction. So I kept going. There was just typing and murmuring of legal mumbo jumbo coming from above. What a thrill, her knowing I was there, sole of shoe on face, not paying any attention to me, typing away, murmuring her words back to herself, and not knowing I had my tongue out licking her shoe and having no idea of the pleasure I was getting out of it. This continued for a while and then, unfortunately, she replanted her foot off to the side of my head again.

A few minutes later, the other attorney said, “How’s it going under there?” I said I was “holding up OK, keeping the place afloat.” We both started laughing. Ann then shooshed us. We continued talking though, the other attorney telling her to lighten up, and me chiming in, “If you want me to go to the library or the cafe, you will have to hold this thing in yourself.” The other attorney and I again began laughing. Just then, to my shock and delight, Ann shooshed again more angrily but this time lifted her foot and firmly stomped the sole of her pump right over my lips, the tip of it pressing up under my nose. This ended my laughing immediately, and rendered me unable to respond to the other woman’s question asking if I needed water or anything. Noticing the abrupt cut-off of my laughter and the lack of response to her question, the other attorney asked “What did you do, muzzle him?” Ann replied, “Something like that.” I was quickly getting very hard. Thankfully the file drawer was out.

She just left her shoe there on my mouth for what must have been 5 minutes of typing. My lips started to hurt a little, and her weight had been pushing slightly forward so that the tip of her shoe was starting to push up under my nose and hurt. Finally, she lifted her shoe sole off my face and placed it back on the floor beside my head. I then said “Whew, thanks,” and knowing it would get on Ann’s nerves but feeling a little antagonistic, I called out to the other attorney that “I will pass on the water, thanks.” Ann quickly replied, “If that is how you want to play it,” then swiftly brought her left shoeless foot forward and put the ball of it right over my mouth. The other attorney asked me some other question, and after I did not reply, she said “Hello under there!”. Again no response from me. She then asked Ann, “What did you do to him?” Without missing a keystroke, and probably without even looking up, Ann said “He is unable to respond.” The other attorney kept pestering, “Can he breathe?” Ann sighed, stopped typing and said, “He is fine, he can breathe, he will live. He just cannot talk because I had to cover his mouth to shut him up.” With a shocked tone in her voice the other attorney asked, “Do you have your foot on his mouth.” Ann ignored the question and continued, “Unless you are going to have a conversation with yourself, I suggest you either do your work or go elsewhere so I can do my work.” The other attorney huffed out muttering some comment at Ann.

Ann continued typing. Her toes were right over my nose. I could not say anything since the ball of her foot was pressed over my nose. I felt myself getting harder. I did not want to protest since I wanted her to keep it there but I was embarrassed since Ann had let the other attorney to know that Ann’s foot was on my face. Worse yet, or better yet, she began to do her patented toe flexes where she splayed them out and then gripped them unconsciously over my nose. She must have been totally absorbed in what she was doing. Or was she?

Why if we are now alone does she still have the foot on my face? Why is it in the exact spot? Why is she grabbing my nose? Did she hear me sniffing and suspect that I got off on it? Had I moaned or something?” Maybe I should have protested? Did she reason that the only way her shoe would make contact with my face earlier is if I moved to be in its path? Did she feel me licking the shoe earlier? Maybe I got into it a little too much? Did she notice her shoes moved or licked clean a few times only on nights I worked late? The white sock? I did not make a peep.

We stayed like this for a long while. Her “concentrating” and subconsciously flexing her toes, gripping and mauling my nose while the ball of her foot was pressed firmly on my lips, and me in heaven. It had to be an hour or more. Incredible, I was actually forced to inhale every molecule of air through the filter of her nylons right under her toes. They smelled only a little and it was a delicate smell mixed with leather smell. A few times while I was sniffing I had to catch myself so I did not become too loud. My brain started to race wondering whether I had moaned or something during the passing time.

During this span of time, someone came in the office and said, “The judge needs the memo by four.” Ann angrily replied, “I am well aware of my own deadlines.” The person then said, “Sorry, just telling you,” and left. This gave me a little thrill knowing there was another third party there who had no idea what was going on.

At one point, my lips began to hurt again from the ball of her foot pressing the weight of her legs right onto my lips against my teeth, so I managed to toggle my head a little side to side and pushing up and then quickly back down to create a little room so I could quickly open my mouth and get my lips out of the way. She then immediately stopped typing, momentarily lifted her foot and softly touched and felt around with it, as if probing to see what the disturbance was. She patted the ball and toes where my lips had been, seeming to notice that her toes briefly entered my mouth. She felt my teeth with her toes, briefly touching down all around the area of my face to verify what had changed. She paused with her foot hovering over my mouth and nose. My heart started to race a little, wondering if she was onto me enjoying this, but she soon placed her foot back down, the ball of it over my open mouth. It seemed as though she had noticed that I had opened my mouth on purpose and that I was keeping it open, so she took the invitation to rest the ball of her foot into my open mouth. She began typing again, and I slowly eased my tongue against the ball of her foot, increasing the amount of pressure. Sensing no reaction, I began to move it ever so slightly, in a slow French kiss type movement. The ever so slightly salty taste of her foot sweat was making me salivate so I had to swallow periodically which resulted in my sucking on the ball of her foot as I tongued it. For a long while I was tonguing and sucking on the ball of her foot. She either did not notice, or did not care. Either way, it must not have bothered her. I think I sucked the ball a little deeper into my mouth so that my teeth must have been digging into her flesh at the arch and the underside of her toes.

After about fifteen minutes, I realized she must have known my mouth was open because she lifted her foot, removing the ball of it from my open mouth, and with it hovering just above my face, she reached down with one hand and felt the wet stocking, pinching the fabric and pulling from where it had become all slimy and stuck to her foot. I noticed that the area I was sucking was all wet and discolored. I was worried since she had obviously noticed that it was all covered in saliva. But, she did not say anything. She just re-positioned her foot and replaced it so that the heel of her foot now went into my mouth opening. Her weight was now pushing on my upper teeth. I pulled the same little trick with my tongue, touching it to the foot ever so slightly and increasing the amount of pressure, then increasing the movement so I could get some licks in like a French kiss. She left the heel of her foot in my open stretched mouth for about 15 or 20 minutes. I was tonguing and sucking on the heel of her foot the whole time. Since the heel-down, toes up position results in a much greater amount of weight pushing down, my jaw muscles started to really ache.

She eventually lifted the heel of her foot out of my mouth, and said, “Will you close your mouth, your teeth are starting to dig into my flesh.” I felt a little embarrassed that she verbalized what I was doing out loud so anyone walking in could have heard it. I began to babble, “Sorry, I opened it because my lips were starting to hurt getting squished against my teeth. I wasn’t--” Without missing a beat, she pointed her toes and wriggled the foot into my mouth, cutting me off in mid-sentence with a foot gag. She leaned her weight onto it as she continued typing so that her foot entered as far as it could, limited only by how far open my mouth could stretch. I was looking straight up her shin with her foot rammed into my mouth as far as it would go. It appeared to me in about up to mid arch, and felt like over time with her weight leaning forward it was inching in further every few minutes. I felt a very mild gag reflex as her toes approached the very back of my mouth and throat but I was able to mentally hold it back.

This lasted for another 20 minutes or so, and our office-mate returned to retrieve something from her desk, and again tried to get Ann’s goat by asking me a question. I could not answer since Ann’s foot was rammed into my mouth as far as it would go. She kept on, are you still alive under there. Worried about the pestering and concerned that she might come around the back and see me with Ann’s foot rammed into my mouth with no protest from me, I tried to say “Mmm-Hmm” but I noticed that because of how far Ann’s foot was rammed into my mouth, it sounded like someone who was gargling, and it would have been obvious to anyone that I was gagged by something. In a startled tone, the attorney said, “Did you gag him?” Ann stopped typing, and replied, “As a matter of fact I did . . . with my foot.” I think the other attorney was shocked since there was a pause, before she said, “What?” Ann icily replied, “He opened his mouth and I stuck my foot into it. If he has a problem with my foot in his mouth, he can leave at any time.” The other attorney left again. Ann’s words stung since she had in a way outed me, telling the other woman about her foot in my mouth, leaving me an opportunity to protest and leave immediately if I was opposed to having a foot shoved in my mouth. Since I did nothing but lay there prostrate under her desk with her foot rammed in my mouth and made no effort to leave, the other attorney must now know what Ann had no doubt figured out: I must be getting some enjoyment from being gagged by her foot under her desk for hours at a time. Or maybe she really had no idea and just figured I was putting up with whatever degradation she could heap on me in order to avoid a bad grade.

I was feeling very embarrassed at this point since now the other woman knew exactly what was going on under the desk, and I had not taken Ann’s offer to walk away if I objected to having her foot placed into my mouth as a gag. About 15 minutes later, there was another person who entered and asked for a file. Ann adjusted her weight hard onto the forward foot in my mouth so she could lean into the file drawer, rummaged for the file folder, pulled it out and shut the file drawer that had previously been open. This gave me a little scare because it left my hips exposed. My crotch was no longer hidden under the file drawer. There was what seemed like a long delay with no typing and I wondered if when she closed the file drawer looking right down, she could not help but notice my erection since it was a full mast right under where the drawer had been. Maybe she was piecing it all together, suspecting my tongue licking her foot, feeling me sucking on it, feeling the saliva on her stocking, putting her foot right into my mouth, telling people about it, hearing no protest from me and now seeing the hard-on must have left no doubt that I was enjoying this. It was almost a full minute with no typing. I was thankful when it resumed.

About 20 minutes later, Ann removed her foot from inside my mouth and again placed her foot over my closed mouth with her toes over my nose. She made this embarrassment worse, toying with me by saying, “I have enough saliva on my foot now that I need to dry it before I put my shoes back on.” I did not reply and felt sort of exposed and helpless. She had kicked off the other shoe and was flexing that one on the floor. She then brought this other foot onto my face and pressed both of them there.

About ten minutes later, our other office mate, who must have returned, said, “I’m running out to grab a coffee, do you guys need anything?” Ann asked for a decaf but I could not speak since Ann’s foot was on my mouth and nose. The departing woman waited and said, “Did you kill him under there? Can you take your foot out of his mouth so he can answer?” Without missing a beat, Ann lifted the ball of her foot momentarily off my lips by rocking it back using my chin as the pivot point of a seesaw under her arch. Taking my cue, I said no thanks and Ann immediately rocked the foot right back down where it was on my face with the ball on my lips and the toes over my nose, and continued flexing, gripping my nose. The other attorney said, “I can’t believe he is putting up with this.” With a sarcastic edge, Ann replied, “Oh, I think he is doing just fine, and is not suffering as much as you may think.” This luckily went right over the other attorney’s head, and she left with a “Whatever.”

As I heard the clacking of our office mate walking away on the tiles of the hall, my mind started to race again. The comment Ann made had to mean that she was on to me. She was still flexing the toes. I was hard as a rock. Maybe she was secretly enjoying the power of this position. Maybe she was not onto me at all and was doing it to spite me for complaining about the internship and characterizing work that she herself did as scut work. The longer it went on with just us two in the room, the more I worried. I heard the printer start, which was right on her overcrowded desk. She leaned to her left where the printer was, and I heard her kind of chuckle to herself as she reached over to the printer leaning over where my exposed crotch was. I heard her gathering up pages.

What was the chuckle for? She then took her feet off my face, sought out her pumps with her feet, wriggled into them, leaned back into her chair for the first time in hours with a sigh, and then crossing her ankles, returned both of her feet to face, this time with her pumps on. She said, “You don’t need to hold that wire in while I proof this.” She was proof reading. Proof reading with her pumps on my face. I suppose she did not want me to get up and leave since she had put her feet back in my face. Was she toying with me to see how much humiliation I would put up with to avoid a bad grade? Or was she aware that I had a thing for her feet and just seeing what the limits of my perversion were? It had to be the latter, no one would be that presumptuous and have such a superiority complex that they would stick there foot into another human’s mouth, or place their high heeled shoes directly onto his face. She must have read for 20 or 30 minutes or so, jotting notes down. She had uncrossed and re-crossed her legs once or twice, and on one of those occasions, the heel of her pumps was resting too close to the edge of my face, so it skidded off down my cheek, scratching my face with the heel. I involuntarily said “Ow,” but she made an angry face and angry sound, replacing it with a little meaningful slam on my face, as if it was my fault that she was inconvenienced by her foot slipping off my face. It had been too long since the last uncross/re-cross, so her heel was starting to dig into my cheek and hurt.

Thankfully, she finished the note taking, saying out loud, “I just need to make these edits and we are done.” She took her pumps off my face, and I said “Whoa, thank you, my cheek was starting to hurt.” My mind was racing with nervousness and anxiety, so I began to babble again like an idiot. I continued to yammer about needing to get water, and get up and stretch. She rolled her chair way in again so she could lean forward and placed the tip of her left pump on my lips, ending my sentence for me. I took this as my cue to shut up and then felt her force the tip of her shoe past my lips into my mouth. She chuckled again. As she leaned in, more and more weight pressed the pointed shoe deeper into my mouth. The gag reflex was a little stronger this time since the taper on the shoe allowed it to reach deeper into my throat, than her toes did earlier. Still I fought it back. There I was again staring straight up her shin with her foot rammed into my mouth. I must have let my mind wander and forgot about my important role, since at some point she raised her voice and said, “Connection lost, I only asked you to do one thing—hold the cord in!”

Our office mate eventually returned about a half hour later with Ann’s coffee and she told me she brought a bottled water for me and asked if I wanted it. Wanting to avoid another description from Ann of what position I was in, I tried to say “Uh-uh” to decline the water, but given the depth of the shoe gag it sounded awful. The other attorney asked again, “Do you still have your foot in his mouth?” Ann coldly replied, “Technically yes, but it would be more accurate to say I have my shoe in his mouth.” The attorney said, “What?” with a tone of confusion. Ann calmly explained, “I have my foot in my shoe and my shoe in his mouth.” The other attorney said, “I cannot believe what I am hearing. He does not have to stand for this.” Ann replied, “No he doesn’t, but he is! For the past several hours, I have had my feet all over his face and in his mouth and he has not complained at all. Only you are complaining. I had the bottoms of my pumps pressed on his mouth for almost an hour. I had my bare feet pressed on his face for an hour. I had the ball of my foot and the heel of my foot in his mouth. I felt him sucking on them, and felt his tongue licking them. I did not ask him to do that. My toes were stuffed in his mouth for over an hour. My shoe has been stuffed in his mouth for almost an hour and he has not complained, asked me to remove it, or made any effort to leave. In fact, I think he is enjoying it.” She then abruptly pulled her foot out of my mouth, and asked me, “Do you want to leave or are you all set down there and actually enjoying this?” I was too embarrassed to answer, and said nothing for a long 5 second span. Ann continued, “If any of this is bothering you in any way, just speak up. Say something if you have something to say. You can leave if any of this is bothering you. If you are thoroughly enjoying this and want me to shove my shoe back in your mouth, just stay where you are and say nothing.” I just wanted this three-way conversation to end. The way Ann worded the question I was damned if I do, damned if I don’t. Silence was acknowledgement that I was enjoying this degradation. After 10 painful seconds of silence, Ann said, “I rest my case,” and she triumphantly forced the tip of her shoe back past my lips and deep into my mouth. She continued on the attack, “Now that you know he is enjoying his current task, maybe you can stop badgering me. He does not need you to fight a battle for him when he appears to be quite happy where he is, and I say that from personal observation.” She must have been letting me know that she had seen my erection. The other attorney said nothing.

The other attorney worked for a while. After about another 30 minutes, my jaw was beginning to ache from the weight of the shoe pressing as hard as it was. It had sunk so deep into my mouth cavity that my lips had almost made it to the flesh of her instep. Just then the other attorney was rustling around and I heard her say, “I need to take off, I will see you guys next week” Ann did not bother to say goodbye. I could not answer with Ann’s shoe forced deep into my mouth and her weight on it. The other attorney said, “Can you pull your shoe out of his mouth so he can say goodbye.”

Ann pulled her front end of shoe out of my mouth just long enough for me to say “Goodbye,” rotated her ankle a little to work a kink out and then, contracting her shin muscles to lift her toes, she placed both pumps on my face. She had moved in so far that he left knee was past my head, and I just got my mouth open to avoid the heel smashing my lips. The left heel was in my mouth with the rest of the left shoe pressing against my upper lip and nose. Luckily she had pulled the chair way in or the heel would have been poking into the roof of my mouth. The right shoe was a little further back so that my chin was between the heel and the rest of the shoe, the main bottom of which was mostly pressed on my lips. To further reveal that she knew what was up, she said with a very sarcastic tone, “Looks like your defender is gone. From my view up here, I’d say there is pretty good circumstantial evidence that you are very much enjoying yourself.” I said nothing. I knew that she knew. She continued, “If you want to lick my shoes, have the guts to do it while I am here and not after I leave work. Why don’t you lick the bottoms of my shoes now?” I did nothing, so she gave a little press, and said, “Well, go ahead, I know you have been doing stuff to my shoes after hours. Have the guts to do it now.” So I did.

Eventually she must have finished the edits, since the printer started to hum again. She momentarily took her pumps off my face, put them on the floor on either side of my head, and leaned left to grab the documents for the final proofread. With the final draft back in hand, she rolled back again, kicked off her pumps, placed her feet directly on my face and leaned back to begin proof-reading again. She held the paper aside so she could look me in the face. She then said, “Go ahead, you seemed to enjoy licking them earlier.” So I did.

Eventually, she lifted her foot off my face, pushed back her chair to stand up, and looked under the desk, not directly at me but just to find her shoes. She slipped them on, said “Thirty minutes to spare,” and started walking out. I asked, “Should I stay here?” She replied, “If you want.” I heard her clack away down the corridor.

I was not sure if I should take off or not so I stayed put, reveling in what had happened. When she returned about 15 minutes later, I was still under the desk and she said, “Wow, you’re still under there. Maybe I should chain you under there.” She told me to slide out a little bit, so she could use my face to change into her sneakers. She proceeded to sit down, and don her sneakers right on my face, pressing each one in turn squarely onto my face while she took her time tying it. She then made a phone call to a friend who was flying in that weekend, and during the whole fifteen minutes of the call, she rested her sneaker clad feet right on my face. When she leaned forward to take down her friends travel information her sneakers were really starting to hurt. When she hung up the phone, she lifted both feet off my face, looked right down at me and said with a chuckle and genuine amusement, “Oh my god, you have tread lines on your face from my sneakers.” She continued, “Well today was sure an interesting day for me. I have never seen a guy get a hard on from having feet on his face. I had friend in college who told me all kinds of stories about her boyfriend being some kind of foot weirdo, but I would not have believed it until I saw it for myself.” I could feel my face turning red. As she headed for the door, she said, “Unless you are going to lay there all night and sniff my boots or something, I suggest you go home.”

For the duration of the year, I arranged my hours to work when the other attorney would not be around because I was too embarrassed after being outed. We got along famously after that too. Two or three times a week, when I asked what I should be doing, Ann would just roll her chair back as a sign for me to get under her desk. For hundreds of semester hours, my research and writing assignments consisted of having Ann’s shoe soles, boot soles, running sneakers, sandals, cotton socks, nylons, knee highs, peds and bare feet pressed onto my face and shoved into my mouth. I think I must have spent 200 hours licking her feet and sucking on them. I must have licked every piece of footwear she owned. She knew I got off on it, and it worked for her because she did not have to waste time finding busy work for an albatross intern, and it was a nice little power trip to have a footrest intern that licked her feet and shoes and did all her busy work for her. I did not complain about anything after that. I did whatever filing and errands she needed, including getting her coffee, getting her lunch, delivering documents, even running personal errands for her like getting her dry cleaning. I wrote a glowing review of the program describing how I honed my legal skills and how challenging it was and declaring my supervisor to be a great mentor. She reciprocated and gave me an equally glowing reference.

End