At the convention

This story may some day end up coming true. I've noticed that a few of the requests I get are like that; people want me to more or less write a script for them, set up something for them to actually do in real life.

That's pretty cool, actually. While I wish, most of the time, that I was a more direct part of these scenes, it's really flattering to think that people are taking these fantasies I write and making them into realities.

This might be part one... depends on your reactions.

The Cage

Chris let out a sigh and looked at the bars surrounding him. She'd left the room once he was settled down. The door was latched, but not locked; if anything happened, he could leave if he wanted to. But leaving meant ending the scene, and that wasn't something he wanted to do.

She'd met him at the airport, and immediately checked to make sure that he was, in fact, wearing the butt plug she'd told him to wear on the plane. He had managed to avoid the full body scan at the airport, so he was pretty sure no one but him knew it was there. It made the walk through the concourse interesting, and made every moment of turbulence during the flight exciting. But that wasn't the point. As she'd told him, the point was just to practice. She wouldn't say what he was practicing. But he'd learned not to ask.

Being in the cage was boring. The heat was up enough that being naked didn't bother him, so long as he didn't lean up against the bars. But there was no television, nothing to read, nothing to do. The light hummed with the florescent glow that washed out everything in the room.

He knew why she was leaving him there. Let him see what would happen if he displeased her. Let him get a taste for the kind of punishment she'd give him if he was bad. There would be punishment he'd get if he was good, too. But that punishment he'd enjoy. That punishment would have pain, sensation, and a certain amount of pleasure. This, this was just boring.

Chris perked up when she opened the door. “There's an old saying,” she said. “The best way to torture a masochist is to tie him up and then not beat him.”

“I understand Mistress.”

She stepped in front of the cage. All he could see was the black leather of her boots as she set her feet apart. The heels were high and curved inwards from the back, giving them a sensual shape not unlike the woman who was wearing them. He let his eyes travel slowly up the soft leather, imagining how good it would feel for his tongue to run its way up, over her knee, to where the very top of the boot waited for him.

Then she bend down, leaving the top of the boots still out of sight. She smiled at him, the black lipstick giving her smirk a hint of evil. “Good boy,” she said. Then she reached out a leather covered hand and unhooked the cage. “You can come out now.”

He crawled out, not wanting to stand until she told him to, though his body begged him to stretch out anyway. He forced himself still; he hadn't been in that cage long.

She tapped him gently on the ass with a riding crop, hitting the edge of the plug and sending a pleasant jolt to his prostate. Then she snapped her gloved finger and started walking out of the room. “Come along,” she said.

Chris watched her walk, watched the sway of her hips and the way the skirt hugged her curves. He almost forgot what he was doing as he watched her place one booted foot in front of the other. His eyes followed the line of the riding crop up to the black leather gloves that slithered up over her elbows. He shivered at her beauty, then rushed his crawl to try to catch up.

She went and sat down in a plush chair, crossing her legs and making the boots stretch and the leather creak. She looked at him with a smirk in her eyes, tapping the crop against one hand.

“No sex,” she said. “No exchange of bodily fluids. Those are the rules.”

Chris nodded. “Yes mistress.”

She sighed. “It's too bad, really. I was kind of looking forward to making you lick me until I'd had enough orgasms to offset the rest of the year. Did you know that the average person has five hundred orgasms a year?”

His face went a little pale at the thought. “No mistress. I didn't know that.”

She nodded, then sighed again. “I wouldn't make you do that. We only have the weekend, after all. But my last few months have been a bit light. So I could have at least gotten a few.” She laughed. “Of course, that's assuming you were able to actually give me an orgasm. And we don't know if that's true, do we slave?”

“No mistress.”

“Then again,” she tapped the crop against the leather of her boot, drawing his eyes to it as she ran the crop up her own leg. “I guess if you didn't do a good job, I could always just beat you. Or piss on you.” She smirked, then shook her head. “But that would be bodily fluids again, wouldn't it?”

Chris had to clear his throat to get any volume in his voice. “Yes mistress.”

She looked down at him, at the erection already trying to form even in the little cage she'd locked his cock in before putting his body in the big cage. She laughed.

“Thankfully, we have plans for the weekend. Don't we slave?”

“Yes mistress.”

She pointed to her feet. He crawled closer. She slapped him across the face with the crop before he could kiss her boots. It wasn't a hard hit, just enough to shock him. “Not yet,” she said. “I know you, little slave. You'd focus so much on my boots that you'd only be half listening to the words I say. It's important that you listen. Isn't it slave?”

“Yes mistress.”

“And you wouldn't pay as much attention if I let you lick these beautiful, soft,” she ran her gloved hands down the boots, and the sight of leather on leather made Chris shiver in pleasure, “wonderful boots. Would you slave?”

He shook his head. “No mistress. I'd be too focused on pleasing you.”

She hit him with the crop again, this time on the top of his head. “If you weren't listening, you wouldn't be pleasing me. You'd be pleasing yourself licking my boots. Wouldn't you?” She hit him again, once on each shoulder, like she was knighting him with lashes of her crop.

“Yes mistress,” he said.

“Apologize, slave.”

“I'm sorry mistress,” he said. She hit him again, across the chin. He looked up at her. She glared at him and hit him again in the other direction. “I'm sorry I was more concerned with my pleasure than yours, mistress.”

She nodded, satisfied. “Forgiven, slave. Now, where was I?”

“You wanted my full attention, mistress.”

“Good boy.” She smiled again and started rubbing the crop on his chest, teasing at his chest hair, moving softly and gently, knowing that it would be distracting. “I wanted to tell you the rules of this weekend. I like to wake up to a cup of coffee. I want it black. I expect it to be ready, hot, and waiting for me when I open my eyes.”

“Yes mistress.”

She flicked at one nipple, making him jump.

“When it comes time to bathe, you will kneel at my feet in the shower. You will not open your eyes, and you will not touch me or yourself.”

“Yes mistress.”

“When I am finished bathing, I will turn off the water. You will immediately get a towel and dry me off. You will be careful, gentle, and thorough. When I am satisfied, then and only then are you permitted to use that same towel to dry yourself off. Do you understand?”

“Yes mistress.”

“Each night, you will give me a massage and tuck me in when I am ready for bed. Then you will sleep on the floor at my feet.”

Chris glanced over at the king sized bed. Clearly large enough for both of them to share.

“Yes mistress,” he said.

“Good boy,” she said. “I'm glad you understand your place in all this. If you continue to be a good boy, I have reserved one of the St. Andrews crosses tonight. I will whip you bloody, and will invite others to join in the fun. Would you like that?”

Chris doubted she would actually make him bleed, but the idea still turned him on. “Yes mistress. Please do, mistress.”

“It should be fun,” she said. “Maybe it'll even turn me on enough that I'll want to cum.” Then she looked down at him with mock sorrow. “Oh, right. You can't have any part in that, can you?” She sighed. “I guess I'll just have to take care of myself.” She smirked. “While you watch.”

“Yes mistress.”

She shrugged. “There's no reason for us both to spend the weekend without orgasms, is there?”

“No mistress.”

She smiled again. “Good boy. Now come with me. I want to change shoes, put on jeans and a t-shirt. Which means I need to put my gloves away, take off this skirt, the blouse, and these boots. You may use your hands to do this, but I expect every inch of leather to be completely clean before you put it away. And I expect you to then clean the boots I put on.”

She laughed and shook her head, looking a bit embarrassed. “I'm sorry, I misspoke. I meant that I expect you to then clean the boots that you put on.” She stood up and walked over next to the bed. “I don't intend to do any of this work. You're my slave. It's up to you to dress me. And to undress me.”

“Yes mistress.” Chris smiled and crawled after her.

She hit him again with the crop, a warning hit on his chest. “This is not sexual,” she said. “I don't want to see you ogling me, you little pervert. You just take my clothing off and put it away.”

“Yes mistress.”

“And I want to watch you clean it all before you do.”

He smiled and bent down to lick her boots. She flicked the riding crop under his chin and raised his head. She shook a finger at him and frowned. “No no no,” she said. “First take them off. Then you can lick them clean. If you want to lick boots while they're on my feet, you have to earn that right.”

“Yes mistress.”

Chris went to work unbuckling, unzipping, and sliding leather off her skin. She sat on the bed in her bra and panties and watched him clean the leather, laughing at the sight of her little slave licking a pair of gloves that no one was wearing, watching him lick the skirt that a few minutes ago had been pulled tight against her ass.

“Good boy,” she said.