Those who fear muddy feet will never discover new paths.

The fear of muddy feet is something I’ve rarely struggled with. On this occasion I was enjoying exploring new paths, seeing if I could find a way to somewhere a little different. A new friend, a fun game and some interesting outcomes….

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

Painting the picture of my day it was clear that I had a couple of hours free before the school run. A window of opportunity where you could play with me, push me, see what I was made of. The anticipation bubbled away as I made my way through my tasks for the morning, counting down to the arranged time. You had told me that the play would come in three phases, the first would be for me to get my feet nice and dirty.

At 13:27 I sent you a message.

It was time for me to show you I didn’t fear muddy feet. My shoes and socks came off, and out I went. I knew that the dry weather and road sweeper would limit my ability to get grubby so I wet my feet before stepping out of my courtyard into the street. The cold tarmac bit into my wet soles, the sharp little stones causing pretty pain to dance over my soles though they wouldn’t stick to my feet. I kept walking, finding grit and dust to trail through. It was no good, my feet were staying clean. Eventually I found some roadside shrubs with damp mud surrounding them. Digging my feet into the cool dirt I found success. And now that my feet were sticky and dirty they picked up more filth on the walk home.

If this was the first part what was to come…

Showing you my dirty soles as I sat on my front step I didn’t have to wait long to find out. “Do you have pegs?” My little box of pain has play pegs in it, but they were up my cream carpeted stairs in my bedside drawers. Looking at my washing line I easily had the dozen pegs you had requested. “Strip and get in the shower.” My need for clarity stepped in, should I have the shower on or off? I’m glad I asked as you wanted me in the dry shower. With the pegs.

• One on each nipple, close to the tip. Then, with your hands above your head, shake your breasts six times. Achy? Good…
• Now, three on each of your outer labia. Stand, stretch and shake again.
• Now put two on each of your inner labia. Stand, stretch and shake again.

At each stage I took a picture for you, showing you what had been happening.

Evidence for me as much as for you, when I look back and scratch my head in puzzlement.

Looking back at them now, I can feel the pulsing from my breasts, an ache that quickly subsided after the first set of shakes. The six on my outer labia set my body ablaze with sensation. The throbbing from the makeshift clamps causing my clit and inner labia to swell, making me feel needy and desperate to cum. And then the four on my swollen inner labia, a lighter sensation. It wasn’t an erotic pain, but it was a safe pain that I wanted to endure for you. The shakes before this third set of pegs had made my juices flow from the physical sensation, the third set was me becoming mentally undone.

• Now, crouch down, spread yourself with the pegs and piss all over your feet to wash them.

I hadn’t even realised I needed to pee, but the flowing nectar warmed my feet and I rubbed them together under the stream to remove as much dirt as possible, watching the grime flow over my white bathtub. My feet partially cleansed you checked in with me.

• How was I feeling? Throbbing. 
• If I said to use a toy to make yourself cum what would you choose? My Doxy.
• Pull the pegs off quickly.
• Edge yourself three times.
• Then give yourself three orgasms.
• Enjoy yourself. Make me proud.

Instructions that a girl can get on board with.

The pegs made me squeal quietly into my dirty shower, blood rushing back into my compressed and sensitive flesh. No sooner than I had got my breath back I was heading to my bedroom, the Doxy ready and waiting for me like she always is. Cresting three times, shouting “No” hoarsely each time, preventing the sensations to overtake me. Stopping just in time. And then bringing myself to two powerful orgasms. The third was elusive. Patience was my friend this afternoon, and with a sensational self-inflicted squirt the pleasure crashed over me once more.

With spray on my thighs and feet I realised the time.

I was just in time for the school run. Sending a quick “thank you” I dressed and headed from my home, dirty feet covered in my favourite socks. I love the school run with dirty secrets, and today was no different. I was aware of the filth between my toes as I stood chatting to another mum. Hugging my children and taking them on their way my brain switched from submission to motherly love. It wasn’t until later, when we arrived for their swimming lessons, that I took off my shoes and socks. My dirty, piss soaked feet were perfectly filthy.

The sight of them, brazenly naked on the poolside, sent a thrill through me.

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