The Lucky Intern
      Submitted on 01/10/06


By solestruck

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