The Gilded Instep - Part 2

Part 2 of cleo's Gilded Instep commission. If you're interested in taking out a kink commission that's tailor-made for you, please fill out the Google Form, and I'll get back to you ASAP.
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Meredith Vance was gone. One day she was CEO, the next a cautionary tale whispered in the corridors--a psychotic break, they said. I knew better. I knew it started at that piss-scented shoe shop. As the new interim CEO, it fell to me to clear out her office. Amidst the sterile glass and leather, I found it: a cheap paper bag from "The Gilded Instep." Inside was a pair of gaudy men's sandals with flashy gold buckles. My rational mind screamed to burn them, but my arrogance took over. Meredith was weak. I was not. To prove it, I slid my foot into one. There was no warmth. Just a spike of pure, alien energy, a spark that shot straight to my groin. It felt like a man’s orgasm: quick, violent, and violating. I tried to pull my foot back, but the orgasm was too powerful, too good, and I was rendered unconscious.

I awoke in my office in pain. The transformation was already starting. My elegant, size-seven feet, the ones I regularly tortured in Louboutins, started swelling. The delicate bones groaned and popped, forcibly lengthening, my high, graceful arch collapsing until my entire sole slapped against the cold marble of my bathroom floor with a heavy, unfamiliar sound. The skin darkened from its pale ivory to a blotchy, uneven brown, the soles turning a tough, leathery yellow. Within a week, they were an Indonesian man’s size twelve--huge, veiny, and perpetually calloused, smelling faintly of a curried sweat. The only concession to femininity was the shiny black polish that covered each toenail. It was the horror of seeing these appendages at the end of my own legs that made me check the rest of my body, when I found the true horror. A small, hyper-sensitive nub of flesh where my small clit should be. As I stared at it, a voice whispered in my head, thick with an Indonesian accent. Sentuh, nona, it purred. Touch it, miss. You want to. It wasn't my thought. It was the sandal's ghost, and unlike Meredith, I knew exactly what was happening. So I did what I’ve always done. I fought. “I am Chloe Sterling,” I’d hiss at my reflection. “I own this company now. I will not be undone by a haunted shoe.” But the voice, Budi, was relentless, and the little cock… my cock… ached with a constant wet throb. I’d be in a board meeting, trying to stop the corporate bleeding from Meredith’s disappearance, and they’d coo, Just one little touch, Chloe sayang… and against my will, my hand would drift under the table to push and prod. It wasn’t till I was alone in my penthouse, shaking with rage and need, that I would fully give in. The moment my fingers brushed against the penis, my brain short-circuited. It was a chemical explosion that bypassed all emotion and hit the addiction center of my mind directly. With that first, shuddering climax, Budi laughed, and I knew I had lost.

My life collapsed in a spiral of autoerotic obsession. I stopped answering calls, not just because of the shame, but because the woman in the mirror was no longer a CEO. My skin, once pale, had darkened to a deep, coppery Indonesian brown that felt alien against my expensive silk robes. My face softened, my lips grew fuller, my eyes a liquid dark that wasn't mine. I still had my breasts, my hips, but they were the feminine curves of a stranger. “What are you doing to me?” I’d cry, but there was no answer. The true horror was the juxtaposition: this soft, exotic woman's body, and then the two cursed parts of me--the grotesque, size-12 man's feet on the floor, and the demanding little cock between my legs. The ghost, Budi, was becoming my reality, and they were sculpting me into their own perverse masterpiece. I was fired via a sterile email I barely read. My wealth became a slush fund for my addiction. Budi guided my hands, making me order toys and male escorts--not for connection, but as props. I was a passenger in this new, gender-fluid body, watching through a haze as they used my hands to touch myself and my money to facilitate it.

Soon, the penthouse felt like a cage. Budi was bored. Using my dwindling accounts, they booked a one-way ticket to Bangkok. I watched as he navigated the sticky neon-drenched streets, my huge, masculine feet slapping against the pavement in those garish cursed sandals. He led my body into a dimly lit bar and chose two of them--slender, beautiful ladyboys with hungry eyes who didn't even flinch at my grotesque feet. In a small, private room, Budi made me recline as they knelt. The slick heat of their mouths engulfing my coarse toes sent a shockwave of revulsion and pleasure through me. Ah, yes, manis, Budi whispered in my skull. They know how to worship a man’s feet. He made me watch as they took their pleasure, their hot, thick ropes of cum splashing across my dark skin and leathery soles. The sight sent a white-hot bolt of lightning straight to my groin. My small cock surged with new life, thickening, lengthening, becoming heavy and unmistakably male in a single, throbbing rush. “Oh god, what’s happening to me?” I gasped. Budi laughed in triumph. There now, Chloe sayang, he crooned. Now you are a real man. Now the real fun begins. The two ladyboys looked from my new giant cock to my face, their professional smiles turning predatory. Unnerved, I asked Budi what’s going to happen next. Silence. In the place of his voice was an overpowering instinct that made my cock throb and leak. One of ladyboys, the one with the serpent tattoo, pushed me back onto the stained sheets. “No... please... don't,” I whimpered, the protest sounding thin and pathetic even to my own ears. He climbed over me, his movements practiced and efficient. I felt the slick, probing pressure against my asshole, the girldick pulsing with need. “This isn't me... tidaaak...” The Indonesian word slipped out as he pushed inside. A sound tore from my throat, a ragged groan that was deeper than my own, and I almost blacked out. The pain of my virgin asshole being penetrated was immediately chased by a wave of perverse, soul-destroying pleasure that my new anatomy was built to receive. The last vestiges of Chloe's, my, horror were burned away by the hooting animal pleasure. I could feel every inch of him, each striation on his cut cock, the pumping of each vein. It felt like heaven. I wanted more.

I grabbed the other ladyboy by the hair, my grip brutal and strong. He whimpered, but complied, turning to present his bleached ass to me. I was on autopilot. My own cock, hard as stone, found his entrance. “Please... stop...” I heard myself say, but the voice was a gravelly baritone, thick with the accent I had fought against for so long. As I began to thrust, the words changed, becoming guttural sounds of effort and dominance. “Ah... yes... enak sekali...” I kept going, my vascular feet pushing against the bed so the ladyboy behind me can better hit my new prostate. My dark brown Indo-cock was a revelation of mind-numbing pleasure, and I could feel my cum churn up the shaft, even as I felt the Thai ladyboy whimpering that he about to finish. “Lepas semua, sama-sama!” (Let’s cum together!) I bellowed, as all three of us climaxed, my asshole blooming with fag-cum, as I deposited gouts of my semen in that ladyboy’s ass. The ladyboy in front of me splatted all over my face and chest, and like the slut that I am, I slurped it all up without a single thought. He pulled back, his voice tired, asking me if I was good. “Yes,” I said, “I am very good.”