Confessions of a Bootlicker (6)

That's three in a row. Good start.
It seems that I'm focused on some very specific things recently. Fantasies that both arouse and disgust me. Things I like, but that I don't think I'd ever want to do. Interesting.

Confessions of a Bootlicker: the vampire files

                In college, I was a nerd. Not much has changed. One of the nerdy things I did was play Vampire, in a live action setting. I’d never played before, but I loved the challenge and loved the idea of pretending to be someone else. Something about escapist fantasy has always appealed to me.

                My first game, I met someone who was younger than me, and who was as goth as they come. I don’t remember his name, but I do remember that he kept calling his characters by incredibly cliché names, so much so that I referred to his characters as “Damon Evil-Black-Night-Blade-Knife-Shadow-Guy.” At first, I didn’t like him. In fact, it became my hobby to get his characters killed. But in the doing of it, I got to know the Damon behind the Damon. I got to know some of his friends, and we even started a table top game.

                Which is how I met Jade. She and Damon went out for a while, but were just friends at that point. She was a short little goth girl, just a few pounds overweight, enough to give her curves and disqualify her from ever being ‘truly’ goth, but not enough to be unattractive. At least, I never thought so. She had black hair, with a streak of bright fire-engine red on one side. Her lip was pierced, as was her eyebrow, her tongue, and her ears (seven times between them). She always wore these knee high ass-kicking boots, laced all the way up, with a tiny heel and a sole that looked dangerous. They were delightful, and she wore them all the time. She’d tuck her jeans into them, or wear skirts and fishnets. The only time she ever let anything cover them was when she wore baggy bondage pants, though even then, I could see the boots peeking out.

                I was giving her a ride home after game one night when she asked me a question. “How come you dress like that?”

                I laughed. “What do you mean?”

                “You hang out with us, you’ve got the whole vibe and everything, but you’re wearing cargo pants and a t-shirt. Why?”

                “You think I should dress more goth?”

                She shrugged. “I think it’d look good on you.”

                I smiled at that. “You really think I could pull off the bondage pants, the fishnet shirt, the dog collar, all that?”

                “Certainly the dog collar.”

                She said it softly enough that I could have pretended I didn’t hear it. I could have just kept talking, or dismissed the whole thing and change the subject. But…

                “You think?” I asked.

                “Oh,  you’d look great in a collar,” she said, smirking at me and playing with her tongue stud. “Maybe I’ll get you one. If I get you a collar, will you wear it?”

                “I’d wear anything you got me,” I said. It was an opening, but could have been a joke.

                She took it as an opening. “Probably just the collar then,” she said. “I don’t think I want you wearing anything else.”

                “You just said I should dress more like you guys.”

                “Yeah, and you should. But if you’re doing it for me, then I just want the collar.”

                “And nothing else?”

                She smirked at me. “Is that okay?”

                I pulled up at the door to her apartment building. “Yeah,” I said. “If you get me a collar, I’ll wear it. And nothing else.”

                She reached over and turned the key, turning off my car. “Good,” she said. “I’ve got one for you upstairs.”

                I swallowed hard. This wasn’t my first time, but it was still a bit of a surprise. I hadn’t expected we’d be doing this so quickly.

                Still, by this point in my life I was willing and eager to follow the orders of a woman in boots, so I didn’t question it. I just headed upstairs with her, through the door of her apartment, and back to her bedroom.

                She pointed to the walk- in closet. “In there,” she said. She handed me a leather collar with a big ring in the center. “Get on your knees when you’re done. I want to make sure we’re going to be alone.”

                She left me there for a little while, naked, hard, and collared. When she finally came back, she hadn’t changed a thing. She was still wearing her boots, the baggy bondage pants, and the strategically torn shirt she’d been wearing all night. She looked me up and down, then walked around to take a measure of me. I was shaking there on my knees, no idea what was coming.

                So I was a bit surprised when she grabbed my hair and yanked my head back. I opened my mouth in a gasp of almost pain, and she spat right down my throat. Then she pulled farther, until I fell onto my back.

                She straddled my chest, her knees on my shoulders, the soles of her boots grinding into the skin above my ribs. She looked down at me, giving me time to see how completely helpless I was. I could kick out, I could buck at her, but the leverage was wrong. I wasn’t going anywhere.

                Not that I particularly wanted to.

                “Yeah,” she said. “That’s much better.” She put her hand on my chin, turned my face side to side. “We should really get you pierced,” she said. “Ears. Nose. Eyebrows. Tongue. Definitely tongue. Let me see that thing.”

                I pushed out my tongue. She pinched it between two fingers. “Absolutely,” she said. Then she bent over and gave me a kiss, forcing her tongue into my mouth, then sucking mine into hers. “We could hook the piercing to your collar. Would you like that?”

                I didn’t answer.

                She slapped me. “I asked you a question,” she said. “Would you like it?”

                “No.” I didn’t want to get pierced.

                She drew back her hand and punched me in the jaw, right along the jaw line. My head hit the floor, and I saw stars a bit.

                “Did you know that you won’t bruise much from that?” she said. “I know exactly how to hit you.”

                She leaned back then, putting her hands in my crotch, then lowering most of her body weight down onto them. I whimpered a bit in pain.

                “What’s the matter?” she asked, as if she had no idea how much pain she was causing. Her hand was grasped firmly around my balls, and she had even twisted the sack a bit so they couldn’t get away.

                She squeezed them so hard I’m sure her knuckled turned white. I thought they were going to pop, and I briefly forgot how to breathe.

                “You’re really bad at this,” she said. “I asked you a fucking question. What is the matter?”

                “It hurts,” was all I managed to gasp out.

                She laughed. “Well, I’m just getting started. But if you don’t like pain, there’s really only one other place I know where to go.”

                I was afraid of the answer, but I asked anyway. “Where is that?”

                She let go of my balls and leaned forward again, unzipping her bondage pants and showing me that she wasn’t wearing panties. Her pussy smelled of arousal and urine- it was a scent I would come to get very used to.

                “Humiliation,” she said. She ran her tongue up the side of my face. Then she pulled back and cleared her throat. She spat a glob onto my face; it ran into my eye and forced it closed.

                “And I’m just getting started.” She chuckled a little at that, just as I could feel, taste, and smell the little trickle that started to wash against my face.