You'll see what I mean.
Since today's story is all about licking boots, and about licking specific boots, I thought I'd be extra kind and give you some visual aide. The two pairs discussed in the story are below the cut, woven into the story.
Enjoy.
What just the taste of leather can do
Tonight is the night. My first real opportunity to impress
my new mistress, to give her all that I can. I want to show her that she made a
good decision accepting me into her service. I will be the best slave I can be,
and do all the things she wants me to do.
I was very careful getting dressed for this. I shaved my
legs, which made it a lot easier to get the stockings on and hook them to the
garter belt. And once they were attached, putting on the panties was a smooth
and silky experience. My cock isn’t all locked up, not yet at least, but I
still tucked it back so that when my mistress sees me, she’ll know that I’m
trying to be a pretty girl. I know she has a sissy maid, so I’m guessing she
wants me to be at least a little bit of a sissy. And I will do anything to
impress my mistress.
I put on the collar underneath my shirt, so no one will
notice it while I’m on my way to the party. I hooked the lead right under where
my tie would cover, then slid the chain leash down my sleeve. There’s a little
tiny loop that comes out at the wrist, so she can grab it to lead me around,
but it’ll still look like she’s just holding my hand. I don’t want other people
to know what’s going on. Not the people who weren’t invited to the party,
anyway. The general public shouldn’t be a part of our play. Once we get there,
once everyone knows what’s going on, then I’ll take off my pants, my tie, and
my shirt. Then I’ll dress the way my mistress wants me to dress, the way I wish
I could dress all the time.
She’s wearing a delightful new pair of boots, black leather
hugging all the way up to her knees, chunky heels with straps running from the
heel to the crook of her knee. They’re beautiful, and I can’t wait until we get
inside. Because once I’m ‘properly dressed,’ I know what the first order of
business is going to be. And I’m so excited.
Soon enough, I’m down on my hands and knees, one of my
mistress’s feet cradled in my hand while she talks to her friends. She’s asking
them the normal, casual questions one asks when seeing friends. She asks how
they’ve been, what their week was like.
She’s asking, while I’m running my tongue along the leather.
I’m tracing the straps back and forth up the back of her leg, sliding bit by
bit into the diamonds of leather left between the straps on my way back down. I’m
kissing down the chunky heel, around the one inch platform at the front. I’m
sliding my tongue, pressed hard against the leather, over the mounds of her
toes, pushing hard enough that I know she’ll feel it. I slide along her instep,
and part of me hopes it tickles just a little. Not enough to annoy her; I don’t
want to annoy her. But I want her to enjoy the feeling.
I want her to enjoy when my tongue presses over the nubs of
her ankles, as it presses against the leather against her shin. I want to send
that little shiver of pleasure down her body when my tongue flicks, ever so
gently, over the top of the boot and against her leg. Not enough that it seems
sloppy; just an acceptable mistake, an understandable little slip.
Soon, her boot is shining, my saliva slowly drying against
the leather. I press my lips to her toe and give her a kiss, and I feel a chill
run down my own spine, a tingle that waits at the base of my back, off to the
side just a little bit. It’s waiting, as if deciding whether or not to head
into my crotch, to push the incredibly obvious erection just a little bit
further. Like it’s trying to decide whether or not I’m going to cum on her
boots.
I take a deep breath. Thankfully, my wonderful mistress
takes that moment to decide to switch feet. She yanks her boot out of my hands,
and then rudely thrusts the other one in its place.
I go back to licking as she and her friends talk about something
they saw on television the other night. I inhale the scent of her leather as I
pull in its taste, enjoying the texture against my tongue as I slide where the
sole of the boot meets the beginning of her foot. I smile, imagining what I
must look like to those around her.
Apparently, her friends approve of how I’m doing. Their
conversation slips away from pleasantries, and my mistress’s friends start to
examine the boot I’ve already cleaned and turn a critical eye to the one I’m
still working on. One of them says something about the size of my erection, and
my mistress assures her that I am turned on simply by serving. That licking
boots alone is enough to give me sexual satisfaction.
“Do you think he’d be able to cum just from licking them?”
her friend asks. Another shiver runs down my spine, taking its place right next
to the other, making it stronger, more insistent.
And then my mistress, my wonderful mistress, says the words
that I hoped she would say. Like she’s reading my mind, she says “Let’s find
out.”
She pulls her boot, now as shiny and clean as the other one,
out of my hand. She bends down to pat me on the head. “You have my permission,”
she says. “You can cum, but only if you do it while licking boots. And no
touching yourself.”
“Yes mistress.” I don’t know if I can; I’ve never done it
before. But I’d certainly like to try.
“Me first.” It’s the same friend who asked the question. She
takes the lead attached to my collar and starts walking towards the edge of the
club. I crawl after her, staggering as I go, and the chills at the base of my
spine start to evaporate, though my erection shows no hint of slowing down.
She sits down in a chair and crosses one leg up over the
other one. “Do this one first,” she says, bobbing her boot in front of me. It’s
got a more military look to it, NaNa Mayhem boots that lace all the way up the
front. She points the sole at me, making it very clear where she wants me to
start.
I push my tongue in between the treads, the rubber of the
soles a distinctly different –though not unpleasant- taste. There’s a bit of a blank space between the
front of the foot and where the little half inch heel begins, and I slide my
tongue over the insignia there before moving up the lip of the heel.
“I can tell you like doing this,” she says, her other foot
reaching forward and knocking once against my cock. “If it were up to me, I’d
rub my boot all over your cock until you blasted cum all over the place.” She
pulls her foot back and presses her other foot a bit harder against my tongue. “Of
course,” she says, “I’d also make you lick it all up afterwards. Especially
what hit the floor.”
She pulls her foot away from my mouth, bending her ankle to
give me access to the leather, not just the sole. I slide over her toe,
noticing the little rise this kind of boot has, the almost point at the top of
the toes. “I’d grind my foot into it first, though,” she says as I slide around
the stitching where the leather of the boot meets the leather that holds the
grommets for the laces. “That way, it would get deep into the sole. And you
could press your tongue between my treads, just like you did a second go. Only
then, when you did it, you’d get to taste your own cum while you were at it.”
She takes a deep breath as I slide up the grommets on one
side, then back down the other. “Maybe we’ll do that anyway,” she says. “Just
because you aren’t allowed to cum with anything but the act of licking doesn’t
mean that no one can.”
I close my eyes to enjoy the leather. It’s cheaper than what
my mistress wears, but that just gives it a different taste, a different
texture. They won’t last as long; and sooner or later the polish will wear off.
Maybe, by the time I’m done, my tongue will be as black as her boots.
“You mistress is over there with her sissy maid,” the girl
says. “She’s giving the sissy a good caning. I bet you wish that was you, don’t
you?” She runs a hand over my hair, then pushes my face a bit harder into her
boot. “But you won’t even look over there, will you? Not while you’re serving
my boots.”
“No ma’am,” I assure her, my attention fully on the leather
in front of her.
“Good boy,” she says. “Where was I?” her foot twitches a bit
as she thinks, and the lace slides up my face, pulling at the skin enough to be
uncomfortable, but not enough to actually hurt. “Oh yes,” she says, clapping
her hands. “I was talking about you licking cum out of the soles of my boots.”
I close my eyes again and try to focus on the boots
themselves. The chill comes again, starting right at the small of my back.
Inching its way forward.
“If not yours, then whose? Who should I get to cum all over
the floor, so I can grind my boot into their cum? That way, you can go ahead
and lick some other boy’s cum out of my treads.” The chill moves forward a bit,
starting to slither its way around me.
“Although,” she says, “I guess it doesn’t really matter
whose cum it is, does it? Just the fact that it’s cum, and that it isn’t yours,
that’s pretty bad. A bit on the disgusting side, don’t you think? Pathetic, you
might say.
“Then again,” she laughs and pushes me away, then snaps her
fingers and points down at the boot on the floor. “Pathetic is kind of the
point, isn’t it? If you were a real man, one who was actually worthy of the
attention of a woman in normal circumstances, you wouldn’t be here. Would you?”
I bend down and start at the insole, licking around the
curve of her foot. She puts her other boot on my shoulder, digging the heel
back and forth just a little bit. “So it doesn’t matter whose cum. Maybe it
would be best if you didn’t know. Then you’d be licking cum, and you wouldn’t
know who it came from. For all you know, it could have come from a big black man.
Or from some underage kid. Does that turn you on? Are you a bit of a pedophile?
No? Good. But maybe the cum will be from your cousin. Is that still incest?
Would it be bestiality if it was horse cum?” She laughs, and the foot on my
back bobs around a little bit.
I focus
on licking, on pushing against the leather so she can feel it. “I guess it isn’t
important,” she says. “It’s cum, and it isn’t yours. Someone else, some other
guy, was more worthy of cumming. And all you are worth doing is licking up
after him. Your only real value is as a cum slurp, a receptacle for sperm. You’ll
lick it, cold and sticky, out from the slits of my boot.”
She
pulls her foot off my shoulder and presses it to my chest, forcing me up a bit.
Then she pushes her other boot, the one I have only just barely finished cleaning,
right into my face. She presses the tread against my face hard enough to make
me wonder if it’ll still be visible when I pull away.
“Imagine
that,” she says. “You push your tongue into the treads. Go ahead, get to it.” I
press into the tread. “Maybe you’re cleaning up old cum.” She laughs. “For all
you know, you are. Maybe it’s been there for a while. All crusted and old.
Maybe someone else has tried to get at it. Maybe you’re not the first
bootlicker I’ve had try to get the cum out of my boots. Hell, maybe it belongs
to him. Maybe you’re licking up the remains of someone so pathetic he actually
tried to lick his own cum out from the soles of my boots.”
The
chill slides forward, focusing itself in my groin. I try to stifle a moan. If
she wasn’t leaning closer, if she wasn’t paying such close attention, she might
not have noticed.
“He was
so pathetic, that boy who tried to lick his own cum out from my treads,” she
says. “So pathetic, and yet here you are. Finishing what he started.” She takes
a deep breath. “You’re picking up his
scraps. Cleaning up after him. Even more pathetic, even more disgusting and
dirty.” She smiles at me, her head tilted to the side. “Your only value is
cleaning up after the wasted cum of some other pathetic and worthless slave.”
And
that does it.
Turns
out, I can cum just licking boots.
Who
knew?
My mistress knew. I can hear her laughing.
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