Becoming
Hers
John knew there wasn’t much chance
with Veronica. She had laughed with him when they met, she had
smiled, and she had flirted right back, but then, almost immediately,
she started to withdraw, stood aloof, and gave John the impression
that he didn’t stand a chance. She was manipulating him. He knew
that. She had told him she did that sort of thing. But knowing a
thing was happening didn’t mean you could prevent it.
He finally got the courage to ask her
out when he came across her having lunch one day. He asked her if
she wanted to hang out some time, in that nebulous way that he used
to try to avoid rejection.
“Are you asking me out?” she said,
not letting him have his safety net.
“Yes,” he said, immediately
regretting it.
She looked at him, and he felt like an
idiot. Of course she’d never go out with him. He had to be some
kind of moron to think that Veronica would ever consent to dating
him. She was gorgeous, exotic, interesting, and exuded power. Why
would she stoop to dating him? “I’ll go out with you,” she
said, and his hopes momentarily soared. “On one condition.”
She smiled, a smile filled with hidden
promises, and John had no choice. “Anything.” He said.
She put her foot up on the bench she
had been sitting on. She was wearing boots, just little ankle high
ones, but boots nonetheless. “Kiss my boot,” she said. “Right
here, right now, kiss it, and I’ll go out with you.”
John couldn’t believe what he was
hearing. He also couldn’t believe the sudden flush of butterflies,
the pumping adrenaline, the suggestion stirred within him. “Are
you serious?” He asked.
“Completely,” she said. She let
her head sag to the side in a sexy and seductive way. “Come on,
you said anything.” She wiggled her foot a bit. “Just bend over
and kiss it. You better hurry, or someone might start walking past.”
John tried to think of a reason to
explain himself, tried to understand what the hell he was thinking,
but he came up with nothing as he bent over, put his lips on her
boot, and kissed. As soon as he did, she pulled her foot away from
him and put it on the ground. She was flushed, breathing deeply.
“Great. Be at my place tonight at eight o’clock. Can you do
that?”
“Sure,” John said, still in shock.
“Don’t be late,” she said,
walking backwards and talking a bit louder so she could still be
heard. “If you’re late at all, I’ll make you lick them.”
It seemed a ludicrous threat. How
could she possibly make him lick her boots? That was insane. Of
course, a voice inside him pointed out, so was the idea of her making
him kiss her boot in broad daylight, in public, but she had done
that. Maybe she could. He didn’t want to find out. Or at least,
he didn’t think he did.
He left early, gave himself plenty of
time, and drove to her apartment. Traffic was bad, but not terrible,
and he was parking in plenty of time. It was a few minutes to walk
there, a bit of time to make it up the stairs, but he was there, at
her door, at exactly eight. He knocked.
There was a pause. Silence. Then he
heard footsteps. He waited for the door to open.
It didn’t. Had he imagined the
footsteps? He knocked again.
The door opened. “You’re late,”
she said. “It’s eight oh one.” She turned and walked into the
apartment.
“I was here on time,” he
protested.
“Doesn’t matter. I said be here
by eight. You weren’t. You’re just arriving now.” John was
about to protest, but she turned on him suddenly, rushed forward, and
put her lips on his, slipping her tongue into his mouth, and her hand
down the front of his pants. When she broke the embrace, he was
completely befuddled. “Now remember what I said. You have to lick
them.” She pushed gently on his shoulder, and he dropped to his
knees. She presented her boot.
John shook his head and looked up at
her. “I’m not going to lick your boots,” he said, not
believing he was even in this situation.
“Fine then,” she said. “I guess
that means I can’t trust you.” She started to move away.
“What do you mean?”
“You said you’d do it,” she
said. “And now, when the time comes, you’re backing off. I
can’t go out with someone I don’t trust, John.” She turned
away. “You might as well go, I guess.”
John didn’t get up, just stared at
her in confusion. She turned and looked at him, on his knees. “Oh,
come on,” she said. “I really do want to go out with you. I
just can’t. Unless I know I can trust you.” She moved forward.
“Come on, John. Make me trust you.” She put her foot forward.
He started to lean down. “There you go. Good. Just a bit
further. Now show me that tongue of yours.” She was very
encouraging, but there was a tinge of laughter to her voice. “Do
it, John. Lick. Put your tongue on my boot, and start licking.”
He couldn’t understand it, but he did. He started running his
tongue over the leather. Surprisingly, it didn’t taste all that
bad. “There you go,” she purred. “I knew I could trust you.
Keep licking. You were very rude to come late. Mean, like a dog.
Lick like a dog. Come on doggy boy, lick my boots.”
John found himself getting into it.
Something about the whole situation just sent bolts of electricity
through his body. She adjusted her foot to make it easier for him to
lick different parts, over the toe, up the laces, down the side,
along where the sole started. She kept encouraging him, and calling
him a dog.
“Stop!” She insisted. John was
on his hands and knees; tongue out and still touching the leather.
He came back to himself and stood up nervously. She moved forward
and entangled herself in him, nibbling his ears, holding him up when
his knees gave out. “Good,” she whispered. “Very good.”
Her hand snaked down his stomach, into his pants, and she started to
gently rub him. “Now be honest with me. Can you do that John?”
John nodded, barely able to talk.
“Good boy.” She kissed him, and
then locked his eyes with hers. “Now tell me, honestly, did you
like doing that?” She nodded her head for him. “You did, didn’t
you?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Yes what?”
“Yes I liked licking your boots.”
“Veronica,” she prompted.
“I liked licking your boots
Veronica.”
“Good boy.” She kissed him again.
“You’d do it again if I wanted you to, wouldn’t you?” He
nodded. “Without being late?” Nods again. “You’d even ask
me to be able to do it, wouldn’t you?” Her hand tickled his
scrotum. “Next time, you have to ask. Okay?” She grabbed him
by the balls, not hard, but enough to be noticed.
“Okay Veronica,” John said, barely
risking the breath. She started gently playing with him again.
“John, there’s something I want.”
She said, her voice still barely above a whisper.
“Anything.”
“I want you.”
“You can have me.”
“Maybe you don’t understand,”
she said, letting go and stepping back. “I mean I want you, I want
you to be mine. I want to own you, like a piece of property.” She
looked him square in the eyes as she undid his pants and unzipped his
zipper. “But don’t answer right away. Think about it a little.”
And then she dropped to her knees, pulled his already erect cock
into her mouth, and began convincing him.
John agreed, loudly and often, before
she finished with him. He agreed to be her property, he agreed to
let her own him, whatever she wanted, anything, oh god it felt so
good, anything you want Veronica, I’m yours!
He staggered out of the apartment when
she told him to leave, but she insisted that he be there at six the
next night, when she would tell him the rules. And this time, he
really couldn’t be late.
Not that he had any intention of being
late. Ever again.
Five fifty five the next day, he
knocked on her door. She opened it at exactly six. “Come on in,”
she said. Somehow, she was calm. John was almost shaking, he was so
nervous. He hadn’t been able to focus on anything all day long,
just trying to figure out what would happen when he arrived that
night. He stepped inside.
She closed the door behind him, then
walked around to look at him. While she looked at him, he looked at
her. Her boots were black, low heeled, with a hiking tread and laces
that went all the way up to her knee. Above the leather, her skin
was bare up to a loose skirt, then again up to a tight shirt.
When
he got to her face, she did not look happy. “Well?” She asked,
impatient.
“You’re beautiful,” he said,
thinking maybe that’s what she meant.
“Did you forget that fast?” She
demanded. “You said you were going to ask on your own. Don’t
you want this?”
John ravaged his mind to find what she
was talking about. Suddenly, it occurred to him, and he blushed.
Not only because he knew what she wanted, but also because he knew
that he really did want to also. “Sorry,” he said. “Can I,
um. Can I lick your boots?”
“What was that?” She asked. He
hadn’t said it very loud.
“Can I lick your boots Veronica?”
He asked again, his voice stronger and clearer.
“About damn time,” she said. “Yes
you can lick them. But don’t make me wait next time. Understand
doggy boy?”
Want to read more? It's in Book One
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