Service, furniture, and (of course) boots

Hello faithful reader and random assortment of delightful pervs!

I've decided to take a more active role in the universe, and as such I made a twitter account. You can reach me now at @Boots_EBR. I'm funny, I promise. And I take requests through twitter now. Requests like this one.

I didn't have much to work with... pretty boys, service submission, boots... but it was enough to be inspiring. I hope you like it.

The next pair

She looked down at the shining leather, turning her foot to the left and then to the right. Beneath her, the stool shifted in place a bit, and her riding crop lashed out almost of its own accord to remind him to hold still.

“This is acceptable,” she said once her examination was complete. “You may remove them and go get another pair.”

She leaned back, taking a drink that was right where she reached for it, and put her feet up on a stool that rushed onto his hands and knees in front of her while the other boy, his freshly shaved body glistening in the candlelight, carefully began untying the boots and gently sliding them from her feet. He made sure her stockings and socks were firmly in place, smoothing them out and making sure she was comfortable, before bowing and standing up, leaving him completely exposed and right at her eye level.

She smirked at his erection and reached her crop out to trace along the skin. He stopped moving entirely, a mixture of panic and hope on his face. She slid the crop slowly, letting the little loop of leather trace along the skin, putting the slightest bit of pressure on it as she moved up around the head and down underneath. He slowly started to lift up onto his toes, almost without even noticing it, his chocolate eyes starting to glaze over.

With a flick of her wrist, she snapped the crop against his balls. Even his yelp was cute. “Get. The next. Pair.” she said, her voice colder than the smirk on her face would suggest. He hurried out of the room, and she let out a small chuckle as she watched his bare ass, still red from earlier, as he carried her boots out of the room.

She looked down at the one who had rushed forward to be her stool. He was so excited to do anything for her. That's what he'd said. She slipped the crop underneath him and tapped on the cage she'd locked his cock in, making him moan quietly.

“Don't worry,” she said. “Soon you'll be completely broken, and you won't need the cage anymore. Another month, maybe a year.” She chuckled at his whimpering “Maybe two years, just to be safe. Think you can survive not cumming for two more years, little one?”

He swallowed hard. “Y-yes mistress,” he whispered. “If that's what it takes to please you.”

She moved her foot over to his face and rubbed the sweaty sock on his cheek in a loving caress. “Good answer, boy,” she said.

“Thank you mistress.”

She heard the other boy coming back. “You think about how long you could last while I get a new pair cleaned,” she said. She ignored his whimpered 'yes mistress,' her attention on the new pair of boots.

She raised an eyebrow as if she didn't approve. “Docs?” she asked, looking at the beat up old pair of Doc Martens he held in his hand.

The boy stopped, his chocolate eyes sparkling with hope even as he struggled to put words together. “I thought maybe you'd enjoy them mistress,” he said.

“Why?” she asked, her voice still icy, enjoying the look of beads of sweat sliding down his chest. It looked so much better hairless. So much prettier.

“B-because you'll be able to feel it better,” he said quietly, looking down at the floor.

She let the silence stretch as long as she could, knowing that his thoughts were far crueler than anything she might come up with. It wasn't until he was ready to apologize, to go get another pair, that she finally sighed.

“Very well,” she said, wiggling her toes at him. “You may proceed.”

He slid the boots onto her feet, almost completely untied. She hadn't left them unlaced like that, but she knew that was part of the fun for him, so she didn't say anything. She just sat there, holding the boot up, as he started sliding the black laces through grommet after grommet, the little white stitching on the laces forming a nice pattern as they criss crossed up her leg, almost to her knee.

He pulled the laces tight, tying the bow and then double knotting the way she liked it. Such a well trained boy she had. No wonder she wasn't letting the chair beneath her or the stool in front of her do his job. Not yet, anyway. Someday.

As he worked on her other foot, she made sure to bend her ankle in the boot that was already tightly laced on, knowing that the sound of stretching leather would – yes, that's it. She smiled as he shivered in pleasure, as he inhaled sharply and let out a tiny moan that he couldn't hold back. She felt her foot stool take a deep breath too, knowing she was driving him just as wild.

She handed off her drink, the slave boy rushing forward to grab it before she just let it go. As the one in front of her finished lacing up her other boot, she looked them over, pretending to be disappointed.

“They're so old,” she said. “I can't believe you'd even find them attractive.”

“They're gorgeous Mistress!” he insisted, dropping to his knees without needing to be told. He cradled her boot in his hands like it was a delicate thing he was afraid to touch too roughly. “The leather is worn into the shape of your feet, into the curves of your body. They are an extension of you Mistress, and there is nothing I would rather do than clean them for you.”

“Nothing?”

He shook his head.

“Start with the soles, I think,” she said, practically kicking him in the face as she extended her foot towards him.

Without pause, complaint, or question, he began to run his tongue over the sole of her boot, sliding across the soft brown material. His tongue moved quickly where the sole had worn away to practically nothing, but he paid special attention to the ridge under her heel and to those few places were the lines of tread were still there to be cleaned. Her sole was soon soaking wet, and he placed a kiss against it before moving on. His tongue slide over the side ridges and over every yellow stitch around the base of the boot, giving each one his full attention.

She slid the crop over his shoulder, dragging it along his back. When she smacked him, he twitched, but his tongue never slowed. She tapped her crop against his back rapidly, but he never stopped his inexorable licking, sliding up over her ankle bones and moving upward, sliding his tongue alongside the laces while she slapped him with the crop.

He was well trained. He couldn't stop himself from twitching, but he didn't complain or slow down when she hit him, no matter how hard. His skin was practically glowing red as he made it back down her boot, licking over the stitching along the back of her foot.

She let out a soft sound of pleasure. He'd been right; she could feel it. The pressure of his tongue on the leather, the gentle movement as he made love to her boots, it was like a foot massage. She could feel the tension leaking out of her, feel the pleasure replace the soreness. It wasn't just the state of the boots though. It was him. She knew it was him.

These were his favorite pair. These were his pair. The pair that he dreamed about, the pair that he always begged her to wear, the ones he would choose every time. Even if his erection hadn't been straining at his skin, even if she had locked him back up, she knew this pair was the best one for him to clean.

Would he cum just from cleaning them? He might; it happened before. Oh, how she'd laughed at him, making him lick them clean all over again to get his man spunk off them.

“Do you remember the time you licked the cum from these boots?” she asked. “The first time, I mean.”

“Yes Mistress,” he said, his tongue sliding along the curve of boot that separated the toe piece from the side piece. He left the toes for last, always had. They were the best part, and he savored them.

“Do you think any of it was pushed into the leather? Do you still taste it when you lick them?” she laughed. “Is that why they're you're favorite.”

He blushed, so it couldn't be too far from the truth. But he didn't answer. He was miles away, his tongue pressed against her toe, sliding over the flat top of her foot with a slow and eager movement, a desperate licking, a dedication to her boots that sometimes made her wonder if he liked them more than her.

She held up the boot and inspected it as he waited her permission to continue on to the other one. What torture it had been when she had told him he couldn't! It was worse than any beating she could give him. Worse than locking him up, almost worse than sending him away. One boot clean, the other filthy in comparison. A job left undone.

It had been delicious torture. But she wouldn't do it again. She wanted them to look good, the black boots against her pale white skin. Of course, that didn't mean she had to accept them right away.

He'd never believe that he'd missed a spot. But she didn't need to say anything. She just had to look carefully at the boot, watching the shine of his saliva on the leather reflecting the light. She took her time, making him sweat, making him shuffle on his knees.

She snapped the crop to his chin and lifted it up a bit. “Don't move,” she said. “It's distracting.” The crop held his head up at an awkward angle, but he didn't try to adjust when she moved the crop away. “Good boy,” she said. Then she sighed. “All right, I suppose you can do the other one.”

“Thank you Mistress!” he said, as excited as he'd been the first time she'd let him do it.

She glanced at the other slaves in the area and pointed at her bootlicker as he went back to work. “The rest of you could take lessons from him,” she said. “So deliciously eager.”

She smacked him on the side of the neck with the crop. This time, he didn't even flinch. “And resilient too,” she said, settling in for another soft foot massage.