Confessions of a bootlicker: refusing to take her virginity

So this is not true. Which shouldn't be a surprise; none of these 'confessions' are true. But they are based on truth. And there is SOME truth to this. But the names are different, and the details have been changed to protect the innocent and indulge the perverted.

This does directly connect to the first confession, and the greatest ever game of Truth or Dare. It is the same person. That much, at least, is true.

Oh, and it's about me. That's true too. And I DID refuse to take her virginity.

The rest? I'll let you decide.

Saying no anyway

            After my game of Truth or Dare, after high school was over, I thought I’d never see those girls again. Not Michelle, not Emily, not Helen. And definitely not Sarah. I’d made Sarah cry, she’d gotten her revenge, and that was that. I hadn’t seen her for two years.

            But she ended up at the same school. And she found me.

            At first, we were nervous around each other. Polite, friendly, never mentioning that party, never talking about the time I’d been on my hands and knees licking the soles of her boot. It was as if it hadn’t happened, or as if she had completely forgotten about it.

            She just went about her life, walking with the haughty grace that comes naturally to those who trained in ballet. She was tall and thin, statuesque in her beauty, and wore a look of general disdain whenever she let her mind wander.

            I probably shouldn’t have said anything. But the first time we were alone, even though it was just for a few minutes while a friend ran back inside to get her keys, I did. I said six words that I knew I’d regret, that I hoped to regret. I said “Why do you always look disgusted?”

            In and of themselves, the words weren’t that bad.

            The glare she gave me, the sheer venom that could curdle milk, on the other hand, was bad. “Did you say I look disgusting?” she demanded, her voice tight.

            “No!” I held up my hands in surrender and fought down the urge to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness. “No, I didn’t say you looked disgusting. I’d never say that. I said you look disgusted. Like the world doesn’t live up to your expectations.”

            She calmed down immediately, managing even to look sheepish. “Oh,” she said. “Well, it doesn’t.” Then she looked at me with a little bit of a grin on her face. “You don’t think I look disgusting?”

            I laughed. “Not a chance,” I said. “I think you’re stunning. You look like an ice carving.”

            She smiled a bit broader. She looked like she was going to say something, but her friend was fast approaching, so she just mumbled something about my choice of words, then dropped the subject.

            Later that night, we had a few moments alone again when her friend went to the bathroom, and Sarah declined to go with her. As soon as her friend was out of earshot, Sarah turned her eyes on me. “Do I really look like I’m disgusted by the world?” she asked.

            I nodded. “Just when you’re not paying attention,” I said. “It’s kind of like your default expression, you know?”

            She smiled.

            “It’s not bad,” I said, thinking I’d said something wrong.

            “Do you remember that party?”

            I’d like to say I was stunned by the sudden change in topic. But honestly, I hadn’t been able to think about anything else. Sarah was wearing jeans, but I could see the toe of her boot poking out every time she moved her leg. And I noticed. Every time.

            “Of course I do,” I said.

            “Do you think about it a lot?”

            I shifted in my seat, letting my erection settle a bit. I nodded.

            “Me too,” she said. “We all used to talk about it.”

            “Oh?”

            “Michelle wanted to do more,” she told me. “She used to talk about these grand plans of having you as our slave, of making you drive us around. Splitting you up day by day every week.” She gave a smile that opened the door in case I wanted to believe she was kidding. “We used to talk about the things we would do to you, always trying to one up each other.”

            I nodded. “That’s a shame,” I said.

            “Why?”

            I looked over her shoulder and saw that our moment was about to end. “Because I would have been totally down for that,” I said.

            She raised her eyebrows at me, but didn’t say anything else. Not until the end of the night, when I walked them both back to their dorm. Sarah sent her friend in, promising she’d just be a second.

            “I want to talk more about that,” she said to me. She didn’t have to explain what she meant. “But I have class in the morning. Are you, um. Are you free tomorrow night?”

            I could barely speak, so I let my vigorous nod do the talking. I threw in a smile in a feeble attempt to look suave. Sarah just smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and ran inside.

            At least, that’s how it looked to other people. Anyone watching would just see the innocent peck on the cheek. They wouldn’t see the light tap of her hand against my crotch, or the wink that promised a very interesting night.

            She came to my place after dinner the next night. Somehow, she made a t-shirt and jeans look like an elegant gown, and made the flat ankle boots look like the greatest fetish boots ever invented. She stood in my doorway like a queen, looking down her nose at me even though I towered almost half a foot over her.

            I invited her in. I was so nervous. It seemed like she was judging my apartment, judging me, and she was not impressed. I could feel myself being found wanting. She didn’t just look disgusted. She looked almost offended by everything around her. I had spent hours cleaning, and it still felt like she could see every speck of dirt.

            “Nice place,” she said. I smiled. “So, about that party.”

            “Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “You said something about you guys trying to one up each other.”

            She nodded. “Michelle always won that,” she said. “I think her best was when she wanted to kick you in the balls until you cried, then piss the tears clean. She was going to make you wait while the piss dried, then lick her asshole, and then make you go home without washing.”

            I smiled at the thought. And at the memory. They hadn’t all kept playing, but Michelle and I had more than the one party. But I didn’t cry, not exactly.

            “So no one could top that.”

            She shook her head. “The best I had was that I wanted to kick the shit out of you, then make you lick my boots as a thank you.”

            I raised an eyebrow. “You liked the boots thing?”

            A shiver ran down her body. “Oh yeah,” she said. She bit her lip.

            I smiled. “Me too.”

            I hoped that she would tell me to lick the ones she had on. I hoped that she’d just snap her fingers and tell me to get to it.

            Instead, she said “I’m still a virgin.”

            I didn’t know how to respond to that. I could tell her that I wasn’t, but she probably knew that. By the time I’d graduate high school, I’d built a bit of a reputation. Most of it wasn’t true, but some of it was. And I’d been in college for two years already. Virginity was like Atlantis: a lost curiosity that didn’t really matter anymore.

            She blushed, little hints of red on her icy pale skin. “I don’t know how to say this,” she said. “But I think I want to have sex. With you.”

            Even for me, that was direct. “Why?” Probably the dumbest question I ever asked.

            She shrugged. “Just to get it out of the way,” she said. “I hate having it hang over my head.”

            Not the answer I’d been hoping for. “Are you saying you want to go out?”

            She laughed and shook her head. She looked at me with that disgusted expression again. “No,” she said. “I don’t want a relationship or anything. I just want to lose my virginity.”

            “That’s it?”

            “Isn’t that enough?” She glanced down at my crotch. “Isn’t that all boys want? I’m offering you sex, no strings attached.”

            I sighed. “I can’t,” I said.

            “What?” She was more than disgusted. Back to offended.

            “You deserve more,” I told her. “You deserve to have a great first time, not just to ‘get it out of the way.’ You should find someone who you really care about.” I didn’t mention that I’d been willing to be that person. I didn’t even mention that I still wanted to be.

            “What are you, gay?” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m offering you a freebee, and you’re turning me down?”

            I could scarcely believe it either. But there it was. “I don’t want to be something you regret,” I said. “We have a great memory of that party. Let’s not sully it with a bad first time story.”

            “You think you’d be bad?”

            I shrugged. I was never one to brag about my skills in bed. No complaints, lots of instruction, and plenty of claims of satisfaction. But none of that really meant anything, and I knew it. People are weirdly polite about those things.

            “I think the experience wouldn’t be what you want,” I said.

            “It’s exactly what I want.” She was getting angry. She closed the door behind her and took a step towards me.

            I smiled. “No it isn’t. And I think you know that.”

            She frowned. I could see the frustration on her face. I briefly wondered if she’d try to force me, and I’m pretty sure I saw her consider it too.

            But she unclenched her fists. She took a deep breath. She settled her stance and looked a little embarrassed. “Is that it, then?”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Should I, um. Should I just go?”

            Then it was my turn to blush. “You don’t have to,” I said. She looked at me. “Don’t.” I said.

            “But you won’t fuck me?”

            I shook my head.

            She stepped closer and put her hands on my cheeks. She smiled. “I guess I should thank you for being a gentleman,” she said.

            “I’m sorry.” And I meant it.

            “Will you at least lick my boots?” she asked. “For old time’s sake?”

            I smiled and nodded.

            She leaned in, standing up on her toes, and gave me a gentle kiss. Just a soft press of her lips against mine. She kissed me, slowly lowering back down until her feet were solidly on the floor. I felt a tingle of pleasure from the kiss.

            Then her knee slammed into my balls. I choked from the pain, and the next thing I knew, I was on my back. I was clutching my throbbing balls as they throbbed. Her foot was on my neck, pressing down just enough to make it hard to breathe.

            “Do you really think I’d let you do that after you rejected me?” she asked. She leaned down on her foot, crushing my throat and cutting off all air. She gave me a smile far more gentle than the press of her foot would suggest. “Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I really do appreciate you being such a nice guy. But I’m not going to reward you for it.”

            She pulled her foot off my neck, and I gasped for air. She kicked me in the side. I gasped, and she kicked me again, in the same place. I curled up in pain around her boot. She was off balance when her other foot kicked me in the face, so there wasn’t much force behind it. More like a light slap. But it was a surprise, and it made me let go of her.

            Then her foot was on my face, pressing the sole into my cheek, crushing my head to the floor.

            “Maybe,” she said, “I’ll let you do it some other time. After I’ve calmed down. I’ll let you apologize for rejecting me.” She took her foot off my face, grabbed my hair, and pulled me to my knees. “You’ll have to beg, of course,” she said, looking me in the eye with lust playing all over her body. “You’ll beg for the privilege of licking my filthy boots. Won’t you?”

            “Yes mistress Sarah,” I said.

            She looked like she was practically having an orgasm just hearing me say those words.

            “Oh, we’re going to have fun,” she said. “Open your mouth.”

            Once I did, she took a moment to build up something serious and spat right into my open mouth. Then she kicked me between the legs again and threw me to the floor.

            “First, though,” she said. “I’m going to go find a real man.” She opened the door to my apartment. “One that’s willing to fuck me.”

            I looked up at her, my vision blurred as my eyes watered with pain. But I could see clearly enough to see her smile at me. I could see clearly enough to see her blow me a kiss.

            I could see clearly enough to know that I’d be seeing those boots again.

            Much more up close and personal.