Licking My Mistress’ Boots

My mistress/lover has many different shoes and boots that I am privileged to lick and smell as a reward and enticement. Often completely naked in her presence, she places her boots on me, prodding my cock, rubbing them against me, and then raises them to my face to smell and lick, sometimes pointing to the soles to show me she’s worn them outside frequently. I lick her footwear all over with complete passion and abandon regardless of their condition, often savoring the more soiled portions of her leather.

When we meet at the end of the day for drinks she’ll usually have a very worn sexy pair of boots or shoes on that she’s worn while we’ve made love in the past. She’ll tease me by telling me that she’s been wearing them all day, and show me how worn they are from the use they get. We then adjourn to her car where I lick her boots clean, remove them and smell their erotic perfume, then lick and massage her feet.

In her home I am often kneeling and naked, while she gently pushes my head against her shoes and feet as I lick and smell her leather and sweat. When she returns from a trip, she often shows me her dirtiest pair of shoes, pointing out the toe stains as she removes them from her feet. I then lovingly lick the dirtiest parts of her footwear as she watches. Several times she has taken me into restaurant bathrooms and had me kneel and lick her shoes and feet while she urinates. I am then allowed to lick her clean and bring her to orgasm.

My mistress/lover is not at all cruel but incredibly powerful and sensuous in using her boots, shoes, and feet to thoroughly captivate, tease, arouse, and enslave me.

She once met me for drinks after she had driven all the way from L.A to San Francisco on a hot day wearing a pair of soiled pink rubber beach sandals. We adjourned to her car and I spent over a half hour sucking and licking her black, dirty feet to a pink color, as she rubbed them all over my face, and forced them deep into my mouth, slowly and deliberately, while smiling sweetly.

They smelled and tasted of salty rubber, and my throat was coated with her foot grime yet I was in a sort of ecstasy that only a true fetishist/slave can achieve. I completely worship my mistresses body and footwear. Erotic enslavement is a wonderfully intoxicating experience for me.

Originally posted 2009-09-20 18:33:43.

2 comments to Licking My Mistress’ Boots

  • jan the sissy

    One of my jobs was the care of my late wife’s footware and feet. She was not mean or even dominant but she made it clear my position was at her feet. My service to her feet and shoes or boots ws not limited to at home in priviate. I have been told to kneel and dust off a shoe or boot in public. She had come home with friends and still expected to have a kneeling husband kiss her feet at the door and give her a much needed foot lick and massage.

    jan the sissy

  • Gretchen smiled as she moved her long nails across my purplish,
    throbbing shaft.

    She looked so cute…A pale beauty with short,
    slightly spiky hair.

    Gretchen is a little on the chubby side, but in a
    sexy T&A kind of a way.

    She was wearing a tight top and snug
    courdoroys as she leaned across the bed toying with my tortured Willy.

    “What’s wrong, Miles? Having a bad time?” Gretch asked me bemusedly,
    as she stroked my quivering shaft with a sharp thumbnail.

    “I guess
    you’re having a hard time with the 103 days so far?” Gretchen smiled
    at me evilly.

    Two and a half years ago when we’d started playing dominance games,
    I’d confessed to Gretchen my desire to be put into chastity, and
    to “earn” my orgasms.

    “How do you mean?” Gretchen had asked at the
    time.

    She’d already begun to enjoy the whole aspect of all the oral
    sex on her side, and my increased participation in the heavy
    housecleaning.

    “Well, it’s such a thrill making love to you.” I had told her. “I
    really think that your sexual favors should be earned by me.”
    Gretchen had laughed at the time.

    “Well, I already cut you off when
    I’m on the rag, or when you stay out too late with those idiots
    watching MSNBC.”

    This was true, Gretchen would most certainly cut me
    off even before we were married, just tell me no sex, because she was
    mad, and make me do all sorts of chores and favors to get her in the
    mood.

    This really had thrilled me, though her previous boyfriend, who
    had been a friend of mine, had told me many times that Gretchen was
    a “ballbreaker”

    When Gary had broken up with Gretchen, he’d warned
    me. “No, I don’t mind if you date her, man, but she’s really high
    maintenance.”

    Why had that excited me? The idea of trying to please this imperious
    princess had been just possessing to me.

    I’d immediately begun to
    prove to her that I was no insensitive Gary type, that I was
    primarily focused on making Gretchen pleased.

    We never switched the
    check or any of that nonsense, I always picked it up.

    After we’d married, it had been so gradual how we’d moved into a state of Gretchen being my dominant.

    I was an investment banker and brought home most of the bacon, and Gretchen did a little film-making.

    It was her career, but truly much more of a hobby.

    Theoretically, Gretch was supposed to look after the house, and make things comfortable and relaxing for me, and I was glad to subsidize her projects.

    But it had seemed from the start that whenever I got in at night, the house was a bit of a mess… Gretchen was quite often sitting in front of the TV.

    “Oh hey babe.” she’d say as I dragged in from a long day.

    “Didn’t get too much done, but there’s some kinda TV dinner thingie in the kitchen, you know I can’t cook.”

    And I could never get upset with her, and often I’d take off my jacket, put on an apron, and make us a good meal,as my mother had taught me to cook quite well.

    Then I’d try to pick up her discarded deli wrappers and stray shoes, and sweep the carpet a bit.

    “Your ass looks so cute when you’re sweeping, honey” Gretchen would say with a laugh.

    I’d often make her a special dessert, and spend excessive time rubbing Gretchen’s feet, hoping to get lucky at bedtime, and sometimes I did–

    Gretchen was a great lover, and she had a tight vagina! But more often than not, she was tired from whatever she’d been doing.

    I’d warm her up with a little cunt-lapping, and then a little more.

    “God you’re so good, Miles!” Gretch would say, gasping. “Can I come up now, and stick it in?” I’d ask hopefully. “No, just a little more, please.”

    Gretchen would push my head further into her hot pussy, and I would lick her til she was exhausted.

    “I’m way too tired now for screwing, babe, I’m sorry.” Gretchen would kiss me good night, and tickle my cock a little.

    “It’s this damn project I’m on.”

    And there I’d be lying next to her beautiful body, my cock bouncing like a metronome.

    Then I’d try not to bother her…though I wanted to touch her milky full buttocks, or if she was lying with her face to me, her full breasts.

    But Gretchen got very annoyed with me if I disturbed her sleep. What a curse it would be, rolling around on the bed, my cock stiff and painful!

    At first we still made love three times a week, with me eating her out about six times.

    Once in a while I got a blowjob from Gretchen, which she was quite good at.

    But then it cut down to once or twice a week, and Gretchen was amused, and then irritated by my sulkiness when I’d ask her, pleadingly, why she only wanted cunnilinguis.

    One afternoon, I’d been scrubbing the bathroom floor, and imploring Gretchen “C’mon dear, don’t you think I want to make love, too?” Gretchen had laughed.

    At the time she was wearing a halter and shorts, and I was working in only a long-underwear bottom.

    “I get such a kick out of it when you roll around and moan on the bed, and then when you go to the bathroom and jerk yourself off.”

    Gretchen had made an imitation of my light pants,and “a–ahhh”, which was an exaggeration of my orgasm.

    “It’s just so funny, Miles. You’re like a fourteen year old, still.”

    “And there’s nothing, NOTHING funnier than a man who’s pouting because he can’t get any.”

    Gretchen laughed. “You just strut around looking miserable like you’re going to have a tantrum, and I’m just fascinated by that.

    I was telling some of the guys on the film site about it, they thought it was hilarious.”

    My face had burned as I continued the scrubbing.

    All the guys Gretchen worked on her film projects with were tall athletic types, and I was a short little banker.

    Several of them were ex-lovers of my beautiful wife, and then there were the “guys” who were beautiful girls who worked with Gretchen.

    Some were actresses, some film strippers, and it was so humiliating that she’d tell them that!

    “Can’t you keep our private problems in the house?” I’d asked.

    “What problems, Miles?” asked Gretchen implacably. “I’m not having any problems.”

    And neither was I after I began to come to terms with my desire for servitude.

    The problem was, I thought I just wanted it to be a weekend thing–and Gretchen was very good at that.

    WHACK WHACK THWACK! “Ohhh!” I moaned after one of my early whippings.

    Gretch had tied me over the arm of the sofa with my pants and shorts huddling about my ankles, and she’d exercised a bamboo cane she’d picked up at a flea market.

    “What’re you whining about, Miles?” Gretch had asked cheerily. “This is your dream!”

    WHACK WHACK SWAT! “You wouldn’t believe how your butt looks now, hon. You’ve got all these purple marks all over your right cheek.”

    I’d turned with tear filled eyes to look at Gretchen in a snug striped turtleneck, slapping the cane in her hand. WHACK WHACK! I’d burst into tears.

    Gretchen had looked concerned and pulled me off the couch and began stroking my bottom.

    Then she turned me around, pushing my scorched butt against the sofa, and she began to pull on my cock, which had lengthened.

    “You want this, right, Miles?” Gretchen had breathed in my ear. “God forbid I do the wrong thing by you.”

    I was biting my lip, trying not to sob further. “N-no Miss Gretchen..it’s what I need!” Gretchen had laughed.

    “Miss Gretchen, huh?” She’d stuck a wet tongue in my ear and began toying with my cock all the more.

    My hands were tied, of course, to keep from jumping away when I’d gotten the caning, and now all I could do was writhe as she’d stroked my bulging cock.

    Gretchen had pulled and stroked my cock until I began feeling the familiar pulsating at the base of my tortured penis, the pull of the cum, which was now rising.

    It had been several weeks since I’d had sex with Gretchen, and I at that time was not a masturbator, having given that up after college.

    Gretchen had at this point become quite used to my oral ministrations, and depended on these for her release.

    And she had learned to make me go through all sorts of measures to “Get me in the mood” to actually be allowed to stick my dick in her.
    Gretchen’s soft, beautiful fingers were now playing a lullabye on my long-denied cock.

    And her other hand was squeezing and pinching my bare bottom, welted as it was from the bamboo cane.

    I was rather worried that our housemate might come home and wonder about…

    Why my fully dressed, sexy wife was standing, and stroking her hubby’s cock while his pants and undies were down on his Hush Puppies.

    God, Gretchen’s fingers were incredibly skilled. “Having fun, baby?”

    Gretch’s voice tinkled, and now she was kissing my ear, her tongue exploring my sweating neck.

    I gasped and my stolid erection began drooling excessive precum.

    I was getting closer to release. Oh, to cum in her hand. I wanted it so badly!

    My cock quivered as Gretch’s long, purple nails had tickled the vein crawling across the shaft.

    “It’s such a thick, burgundy vein, honey” Gretchen whispered.

    “It almost matches the shade of my nails, but not quite….but I’ll make the vein purple in time.”

    Oh, God, that voice. The way she could turn me into jelly! What kind of a monster was I creating?

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