Clippitty cloppity clog

“First times” are often disappointing, and frequently frustrating. Some of you may be recalling that very first time you had sex. You probably ended up asking yourselves, as so many of us have: What is all the big fuss about? As debutants we don’t realize that, as in any other human activity, complete mastery requires many hours of practice, preparation, and that stern word: discipline.

But I’m not talking about sex here. Or rather, yes, I am, but almost certainly not as you presume: I’ll never forget that very first time I ever wore a pair of clogs. I’m not talking about the all-wooden Dutch clogs here, but the Danish or Swedish style, with a leather upper and wooden sole, which had been so “in” during the 70’s and 80’s, and worn by both sexes.

I was madly in love with them from the day a fellow male student showed up at school wearing his pair with total naturalness… can guys wear those too? I wondered. I then became aware of Europeans boys, happily clogging along without any problem.

How, and why did clogs become my fetish? Maybe at a sub-conscious level, they meant for me some kind of transgression, the possibility of “crossing” that taboo line towards a femininity which I hadn’t explored yet at that time. Was it that wearing some “unisex” garment made it “socially acceptable” for a guy to cross that border? These considerations never crossed my head at the time. I simply loved their looks, loved the sound they produced when walking, and girls in clogs really turned me on (they still do). I loved to watch gals playing with them, sliding their feet out of them and putting them back on… As a true fetishist, even as a teenager I became obsessed about getting my own pair. But they were already going out of fashion, and it was not easy to come across them, unless, of course, I traveled to Sweden! (Today Sandra can get whatever she wants for me over the Internet)





So there I was that lazy afternoon, at a friend’s house, watching TV. Or should I rather say, she was watching TV, I was staring at the wonderful worn-out clogs she had just kicked off her feet and that were sitting there, on the floor. As we were both lying on her bed, I had taken my shoes off too.

“Are these any comfortable?” I asked, trying my best to sound as natural as possible.
“Sure”
“Some guys wear them too” I clarified
“Sure”, she said, without taking her eyes away from the TV set, “Try them on”

I slid my feet into them. I felt elated, and was probably blushing. Even if they were not my number (I blessed with small feet: women’s 8), the sensation of my feet in contact with the wood was something amazing, but then… comfortable? Not really! I couldn’t walk. I, who had barely worn anything other than sneakers during high school, tried some steps around the room, but they were as demanding as walking on the moon. Much more difficult to wear than I had ever imagined: they slipped off, bent my ankles, and so forth.

“You get used to them” she commented squarely, while still watching TV.

Had my love affair ended abruptly that day? Not indeed: I did get my own pair, in my number, but I stack them in my closet and wore them very seldom, mostly at home.





It was a Saturday morning and my second weekend as Debbie, Sandy’s maid. I had changed into my uniform, like the previous weekend, and was looking forward to a wonderful weekend of hard work as a submissive housekeeper, rounded off with a session of wild sex, hopefully stamped by Sandra’s muddy boots, and, if I was lucky enough, with a complete orgasm, which she had previously denied me.

“Those shoes are terrible”, she said as soon as she saw my sneakers, “we have to get you some new shoes… something like maryjanes or sandals”

“Why not…” I dared to say timidly, “why not…?”
“Why not what?” she asked inquisitively as though she had caught me into some secret of mine (she actually had)
“Why not clogs?”
“So you like clogs, naughty little girl, huh? Good. Granted: As Debbie, my own personal sissy-maid, from now on, you’ll always wear clogs”

I hastly went to her room, and took out of the closet my old, almost unworn, pair of clogs. I showed them to her for her approval.

“Cool! I love them! We’ll have to get a new pair, though, more feminine, with hand painted flowers or something… We can go to the art fair and see if…”

“There’s a problem, ma’am…. As you now know, I not only love clogs, but they are actually a fetish for me. But, on the other hand, they are not too comfortable for me to wear: I’m not sure if I’ll be able to do every single house chore wearing clogs… maybe I could wear them only for…”
“Stop it! I didn’t say you could speak! What do you mean they are not comfortable? All you need is some discipline! You won’t wear anything but clogs, all day long, seven days a week, during a complete month, starting today and that’s that”




Clog-discipline

For those early days as a sissy-maid, Sandy bought for me a a beautiful pair of white clogs. After the first couple of weeks in her "nothing but clogs" training, I found them not only confortable, but a real delight to wear. They are still my favorite footwear. Sandy has bought me more clogs that any other kind of shoes, including some with thick wedges and high heels. For house-work, I still prefer traditional Danish clogs

“But I can’t wear clogs to the office!”
“But you will!”
“Sandy, please!”… And the delightful answer, so longed for in my inside, came ringing out:
“You will do exactly what I say! Now go, start cleaning up, sissy-maid! Wearing your clogs… Or don’t you want an orgasm tomorrow night either?”