June 7th, 2012
He came in and sat down with his dinner. Tells me he’s really done a number on his boots, with camping and bartending, they’re a mess. I glance down and nod, indeed. Go get your kit. There’s not a lot of time. Oh we have half an hour. Hey, you wanna help? The engineer has been asking for a lesson for a while now. Sure.
So, I get my kit, get some water and set down at his feet. Me on his left foot, her on his right. I begin the lesson. Gotta get new soap. I have a bare ring left in the tin and the edge is all rusted. I get the rust on my hand and onto a spare rag. Gotta keep it off the boot. We make lather and start in. Wiping off a lot more than I usually have to, for all the gunk on them. Even the soles get work this time. We get a few stray comments from the peanut gallery and he comments on how good a massage it is. Then they are clean and I’m about to grab the grease, but I look up at him first.
“Now, this is the time to lick them.” he tells her.
I explain that some people lick after the grease, but that creeps me out, especially with the black dye in mine, but my heart is beating just a little faster. Did he really want us to?
“Guess what I read?” he says to me.
“My blog.” I answer, starting to blush.
“Yep, I got all caught up before I came out tonight.”
I’m blushing harder and mumbling to her, but she hasn’t read it yet. He really means it, he really wants me to do it. She’s a bit in shock to, as he tells her to as well. And then we begin.
I’m scared and nervous and embarrassed and excited all at once. I’ve never done this before, oh I’ve wanted to. Dreamed about it. Went to classes on it. But, but, but. Just do it.
And I do, and it tastes like clean leather. And it’s his boot. His boot. Those Carolina boots I’ve been staring down at for nearly four years now in this form or the other pair. These are the steel-toes I’ve been cleaning and caring for since he bought them. I’m holding his boot and running my tongue down the leather, from toe to heel.
And I can hear him appreciating it. I can hear people around him saying how hot it is. My face is burning, so I bury it in his boot. Kissing and licking. Pressing the sole against my chest and my shoulder as I turn my head to one side then the other. He says it’s a mix of warmth and pressure, and I’m glad he can feel it. I glance occasionally over at her and she is just as happily involved as I am.
So happy, and excited. Arousal has replaced all fear and is chasing embarrassment into a corner. I’m gasping against his boot, kissing and catching my breath. Enjoying the sensation of the tread against my chest. Loving the taste and feel and smell of the leather. I don’t want to stop,
I can hear them getting ready for class. We’ll have to stop then, we are far too distracting and distracted. Not yet, please not yet. I ignore the sounds and keep licking.
The arch of the boot is my favorite, a sensitive spot on my own foot, but hard to get to. I remember what Bootpig said about speaking to the person through bootlicking. I thought I understood it then, watching. But I really understand it now. I pour my love, gratitude and yes, arousal, out my tongue and onto his boot. And it is amazing. I never thought it would feel like this.
And I’m glad the engineer is on the other boot. There wouldn’t have been time for this if I’d had to do both. And while we are separate in our licking, together, we are making him happy.
When class does finally start, I have no idea how long we were licking, but we come up grinning like mad, and curl up, arms around his legs, happy with our first taste of bootlicking.
November 17th, 2011
I don’t know where to start. It’s been a week of crazy ups and downs. Excellent times together, and painful moments, too. Through it all, communication. Keep talking, keep expressing, keep feeling, keep reacting, keep it honest and open. We had great moments of connection. A wonderful flight on Saturday. Cuddle-nap-play time on Monday. And last night was the topper. That’s really what I want to talk about today. Conversations were all finding stabilization. Worry was hanging about. I was feeling a bit wobbly before practice. Okay and “fine” but not great.
Class is almost over, I’ve been fidgeting. Glancing at the clock, wondering if he’s upstairs. Worried about him. She says it’s all good now, toy seems happy, but what about him? He arrives with the tote and sits just outside the door. Looks happy, but class isn’t done. Patience. And clapping. Up for hugs, he’s grinning and wandering about greeting. I’m petting toy when I notice him at the table, looking over the new stun gun. Panic, I run around and jump onto the bed, hiding behind the crowd. Laughter and this is pointed out to him.
Whimpering, I get up and walk to the edge of the bed.
I hop off the bed. He crackles it and I jerk away in fear, breath already quickening.
I kneel in front of him, too terrified to put my hands where they belong, but my knees are spread properly. I hope this is good enough and he doesn’t object. He crackles it some more and I jerk away against the bed, whimpering.
I calm my breathing, steadying on the trundle. He snaps it by my ear and I lose calm, gasping in panic, trying to get a grip.
If you let me do it, then I get to zap her. He points up to a bystander. There’s some discussion and the crowd agrees this is what she said.
Do you want to do this?
He shocks my leg light and and I squeak. Then harder and harder til I squeal. But it’s not as bad as it sounds. It never is.
Ready? He pulls it away for a gap.
Steady my breathing, grab the trundle. Yes Sir.
Shock and scream and jerk. He giggles.
The bystander tries it after I explain the pain isn’t the bad part. Then he asks toy. She’s not ready. He crackles it at me and I whimper and cringe. Toy looks scared. More crackling, more whimpers.
I’ll torment your Miss, til you say yes.
He starts zapping the top and inner thighs. Making me jerk and squeal.
Don’t you want to, toy?
Finally a yes. He gives her a taste. Not too bad. Just scary.
Back to me. Crackle and zap. Squeal and cringe. He grabs my foot, I’m panicking nearly to tears.
Hey, what about the shock collar? They try to put that on someone, but terror is enough, no shocks needed. Stray comment inspires him.
Stick out your tongue.
What??? Oh gods.
Stick out your tongue. All the way. All The Way.
Shaking, whimpering, leaning back.
Do you want to do this? Will you let me do this?
If you really want to, Sir, but I’d prefer you didn’t.
He giggles happily and someone suggest the nose and I rock all the way back to the floor at his laughter.
He lets me back up and crackles it a bit more for effect, then presses it against a breast and makes me look down at it. I don’t want to take my eyes off his. But eventually his command is forceful enough and I look down. He presses the button, but nothing. I whimper and he turns on the flashlight, I still cringe. A couple more crackles, a couple more whimpers and he’s done with that for the night.
He wanders off and I catch my breath. Scared to get up, still keeping tabs on him. He starts practicing on the wall. Toy wants beat and she wants practice. Hook them up and head over to get them started. Find some floggers, trade him for the ones he had.
And then I’m tossed up to the wall. Shirt pulled up and off. I slip my bra off to join it. No cross. I don’t have an anchor point. I fold my arms under my breasts and wait, about six inches from the wall. He starts out hard, but not too hard. I’m already high on fear, so I adjust into the floggers quickly. It’s harder to move with the beat like this, but I sway a little. Grunting into the hits, squealing at the harder ones. I fall into breathing before too long, quiet pain space. Until the six-count brings me back out with a squeal. The tips break through my concentration. I hit the wall and then back to my stance. He comes in and out. Hard, softer, tips, thud. It sends me higher.
The deerskin comes out. Huge thud, pounding me solid. So good. I breathe in and out with the hits. Relaxing, comforting. I am breathing with him now. And he starts making huge swings. Harder, but not tipping. I’m rocking with each stroke. Heaven.
Rubber mops now. Starting with thud. Solid, slightly stingy thud. It takes me a bit to get back from the grunts to the breathing. I find myself turning, favoring my left shoulder as it stings more. I try to stay straight, give him a flat target. My hands come up, cradling my chest, anchoring to myself. I’m not going to give in. Tonight, I’m breaking through the barriers of pain, and he is right there with me, not pushing too hard or too fast. I find the rhythm, tapping my foot and breathing with the strikes. Six count knocks me to the floor again, back up quickly. He stays with me. Stingy for a while, screams down to breathing. Pounding, thudding, stinging. It doesn’t matter anymore. Breathing, rocking, turning. Occasional screams just punctuate the scene.
Then his bare hands slam down on tender skin, pounding me to the ground in screams of pain. I try to get up, but he has followed me and I collapse, tears breaking free. The pounding continues and I crawl onto his lap, clinging to his leg through the tears. Eventually, I break through that barrier too, and we readjust, me a ball on the floor, him sitting beside me, pounding away with bare palms. I breathe with the hits, occasionally trying to adjust my body. Elbow not quite comfy, but it’s the best I can do. Head down, no, cement bad. Just maintain. Solid hits stinging my skin. Breathing through solid hits, squeals on sharp smacks. Pounding me down to a puddle of meat.
His hand in my hair, he pulls my face into his lap. My arms around his legs and I sink. The feel of him, the smell of him, the comfort of him. My glasses come off, and I anchor to him. Breathing, I can feel him breathing. Hearts beating. Reality slowly returns. I hear talking above me. Eventually he pulls me up.
How are you?
I smile a spacy smile. Very good.
Is that what you needed?
Yes, Sir. Thank you.
We both need to recover. Sitting next to each other, watching the room. Glowing, the energy and the happy still filling every ounce of me. Even as I finally return to the world and go take a look at hubby’s rig.
An excellent night, amazing play, and it pulled me right into balance. It was full of the love and energy and wonderful connection we share. Nothing else mattered during the flogging. It was us, sharing with each other. And when we came up, our other loved ones were right there, surrounding us. It truly was, exactly what I needed.
March 12th, 2010
She was shiny. Head to toe, black latex covered not quite every inch of flesh. High heeled stiletto shoes over form fitting latex stockings, all the way up to mid thigh, stopping just short of a short slick jacket over an even shorter little black, curve-hugging dress. He was sure that if she bent over just right, he would see shiny black panties peeping out at him. Even her hands, nervously adjusting her clothes were covered in the stuff. She caught him looking at her and brightened, his smile washing away her nerves as she beamed back at him, shining as much as her clothes.
“You look good.” He held out a hand to her.
“Thank you.” She went to him, wobbling only slightly on the unfamiliar heels, stockings swishing as she walked, and took his hand.
“Turn for me.” He lifted her hand and she spun in a slow circle, giving him full view of her outfit. “You did well.”
“Glad you like it.”
He undid the belt around her coat, and pulled it aside, pushing it down off her arms to reveal bare skin from shoulder to elbow. He kissed and nibbled her skin as it was uncovered. He paused to hang the jacket on the back of his chair he turned back to her, running his hands down her smooth sides.
“I like it very much.”
He slid one hand around the back of her neck, catching her hair tightly, pulling her against himself. Kissing her softly, he ran his other hand down her back and over her ass, enjoying the feel of her tightly encased body. Slipping his hand up the inside of her thigh, he found what he was looking for, slippery panties to match her outerwear. He teased a murmur out of her and then withdrew his hand.
He stepped back half a step, and took another look at her, fingertips running along the curves of her dress, down her thighs to the tops of the stockings. He turned her around, walking fingertips on her thighs, and then trailed them up to the top of her dress. Catching the zipper, he pulled it down, savoring the sound. Then he peeled back the dress, his mouth following his fingers, licking, nibbling and kissing the exposed flesh. He pushed it off her arms and let it fall to the floor.
Grabbing her shiny hips, he turned her back to face him, and kissed her hungrily. His hands rose to her breasts, fondling, and squeezing. Fingers found nipples and pinched, eliciting a gasp into his kiss. He kissed down her neck and chest, first to the right breast, nibbling and sucking on her hard nipple and then across to the left, devouring her flesh as gloved hands stroked his hair.
His hands slid down to her waist, hooking fingers in the top of her panties. He glanced at her eyes, dark and eager. He kissed down her belly and then started to slide her underwear down, following with soft kisses over her mound, tongue flitting out as he slid them down her thighs and calves. She stepped out of them, gloved hands now finding balance on his shoulders, and he pressed in, with fingers and tongue, finding a different kind of slickness.
She moaned softly and pressed against him, her arms and legs still covered in shiny latex. He ran his hands down her thighs and calves, enjoying the feel of her as she shivered against him. He stood up, trailing hands from latex to flesh, and down her arms to latex again.
He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist, arm around his shoulders. He paused to savor the moment and then carried her to his bed, tossing her playfully down where she lay open and waiting to be fully devoured.
August 5th, 2009
Years ago, I began to learn orgasm control. I had Doms who required me to ask permission before orgasming, and I picked it up fairly quickly. About a year ago, I began learning to orgasm on command and to control them. To make them soft, or hard, to keep going or to stop short, depending on what was demanded of me. To even have orgasms, if commanded, in the middle of a crowded restaurant with very little stimuli other than his voice. Above all, to not orgasm without express permission while I am with him, no matter what. (No one has yet tried to control my activities when I am alone.)
All this considered, it is not to say that every commanded or permitted orgasm is equal. They are not all as intense or satisfying. I still get reliably better orgasms from fingers or tongue(depending on the wielder of such) than from intercourse. I can have incredibly intense orgasms out of painful pleasure, and softly satisfying ones from sex. That is not to say I don’t have great sex, or even occasional great orgasms during sex. It all depends on build up, mood and balancing everything just so.
A word about how I’ve been trained, as some people find it very interesting. I’ve been trained to orgasm on the count of three. Some people like to play with this, randomly counting to three, but it doesn’t work like that. As with many things in life and the scene, it is the intention behind the words and the control taken by the speaker and given by me. It is also a very vocal trigger at this point. I was recently asked if counting by showing fingers would work. I suppose I could learn to work off that as a trigger, but it is very much connected to the sound right now. I like to hear the words, the emotions and the command in his voice.