stevef
04-28-2003, 5:22 PM
Julie Trent and the Lightning by
Laura Emmet
here is an appetizer
Milissa entered the hallway that led to her throne room. She was hot
and sticky from the day's hunting. The corridor before her had a
thick carpet of young men. They were lying face down, tightly packed
together, with their skin exposed for their mistress's boots.
Millissa smiled wickedly as she brought the dirty hunting boot down
on the first man's back. The boots she wore were heavy, black, and
went right up to her knee. Laces criss-crossed the front of the
boots, encircled them at the top, and were tied in two perfectly
symmetrical bows (one of her slaves had tied them so, that
morning). She shifted the full weight of her body onto the slave
beneath her boot, and then listened for the tiniest of sounds from
her human doormat. If the slave did make a sound he would be
summoned to the throne room to take part in her next evil game. She
needed six slaves for that game, and one way or another she would
have six slaves before she sat down on the wooden throne. The slave
under he boot made no sound, and so she continued. The second slave
did not make a sound but the mistress liked the look of his strong
muscular back. She rubbed her hand across her exposed, bronzed, and
completely flat midriff as if to indicated she was hungry. She then
jumped in the air and landed heavily on the slave's back. The slave
sighed quietly with pain, but it was enough. The pitiful man knew
what he had to do. He would follow his mistress into the throne room
once she was there and seated. She continued to walk along her human
carpet, carefully selecting five more males that she could use for
her wicked pleasure. Normally she would pick twice that number, but
in two days time she would have her twentieth birthday party, and she
wanted the entire palace carpeted in males—she didn't want to run out!
She sat down on the sturdy wooden throne, and without a word being
said, her footstool slave positioned himself in front of her, on his
knees. She placed her booted feet on his back, then made herself
comfortable in the throne, fixing her long, brown hair and surveying
the room with her piercing dark, brown eyes. There were ten slaves
standing around the room holding flaming torches. The light from the
flames made her bronzed skin look even more glorious as the light
danced erratically on her legs above the knee where her skin was
exposed, and on her uncovered stomach. The six carpet slaves came
into the room on their knees and positioned themselves in front of
their mistress.
"Rise," she commanded.
The slaves stood up and she inspected them carefully.
"Who am I?" she asked.
"You are the mistress-goddess," the men replied, without hesitation.
"And who are you?" she asked.
There was no reply. This was just as they had been trained to
think. She was everything and they were nothing.
She pointed to the one on the left.
"Left sole," she said.
Then to the one beside him, "Right sole."
Then to the others in turn, "Right clean, left clean. Right polish,
left polish."
Clicking her fingers, six more slaves moved from the side of the room
with branding irons which glowed bright orange. The six slaves she
had selected were duly branded at the tops of the their backs—LS, RS,
RC, LC, RP, and LP, to indicate which job they were to carry out—
which part of her boots they were responsible for. She clicked her
fingers again and the sole slaves got to work. They approached her
waiting boots cautiously on their knees as if they were made of
gold. Then they began. They licked the dirty soles of the boots,
getting their tongues into the deep groves of the thread, sucking out
the dirt, and wetting every inch of the bottoms of her powerful boots
with their saliva. This was the worst job for a boot-cleaning slave
as it was hard to get the soles of those boots gleaming like new with
just their tongues. The sole licking slaves worked on the boots for
almost an hour while the mistress looked around the room at the
thirty slaves that waited for her command. She considered the rack
of assorted boots at the side of the room and mulled over which pair
she would have the slave in that part of the room bring her to wear
once her boot licking slaves had finished their work.
Once the sole slaves had finished, two more slaves moved into
position at her feet. They were to lick all the dirt from the top
part of her boots. They worked the black leather, again removing the
grime from her day's activities in the forest. This lasted about
half an hour. Then the last two slaves moved into position. With
the dirt all but gone from her boots, it was their job to use their
tongues to add the final sparkle to her footwear. It only took them
ten minutes to bring the black leather to a high shine with their
eager tongues. With the job complete Millisa examined her boots.
They looked fine from where she sat, but she needed another opinion.
It was not the job of a mistress to examine her own footwear too
closely; she had slaves for that too.
"Inspectors," she demanded.
Two slaves rushed across the room and carefully lifted her booted
feet from the back of the footstool slave. The young men examined
every inch of the boots, from top to bottom. After a few minutes the
mistress grew impatient. "Well?" she demanded.
One of the inspectors hesitated. "There is some dirt on the left
sole," he said, cautiously. The inspector then proceeded to lick the
dirt from the boot sole. The inspectors then moved away. The slave
who had LS branded on his back moved into position in front of the
mistress. On his knees he waited for his punishment. He didn't have
to wait long. Millisa got to her feet and towered over the cowering
slave. She drew back her right boot and kicked to slave in the
head. The slave fell back on the floor. Millisa moved towards the
man and continued…
This is an extract from the book, Julie Trent and the Lightning by
Laura Emmet. There are many more scenes in the book with mistress
Millisa.
Laura Emmet
here is an appetizer
Milissa entered the hallway that led to her throne room. She was hot
and sticky from the day's hunting. The corridor before her had a
thick carpet of young men. They were lying face down, tightly packed
together, with their skin exposed for their mistress's boots.
Millissa smiled wickedly as she brought the dirty hunting boot down
on the first man's back. The boots she wore were heavy, black, and
went right up to her knee. Laces criss-crossed the front of the
boots, encircled them at the top, and were tied in two perfectly
symmetrical bows (one of her slaves had tied them so, that
morning). She shifted the full weight of her body onto the slave
beneath her boot, and then listened for the tiniest of sounds from
her human doormat. If the slave did make a sound he would be
summoned to the throne room to take part in her next evil game. She
needed six slaves for that game, and one way or another she would
have six slaves before she sat down on the wooden throne. The slave
under he boot made no sound, and so she continued. The second slave
did not make a sound but the mistress liked the look of his strong
muscular back. She rubbed her hand across her exposed, bronzed, and
completely flat midriff as if to indicated she was hungry. She then
jumped in the air and landed heavily on the slave's back. The slave
sighed quietly with pain, but it was enough. The pitiful man knew
what he had to do. He would follow his mistress into the throne room
once she was there and seated. She continued to walk along her human
carpet, carefully selecting five more males that she could use for
her wicked pleasure. Normally she would pick twice that number, but
in two days time she would have her twentieth birthday party, and she
wanted the entire palace carpeted in males—she didn't want to run out!
She sat down on the sturdy wooden throne, and without a word being
said, her footstool slave positioned himself in front of her, on his
knees. She placed her booted feet on his back, then made herself
comfortable in the throne, fixing her long, brown hair and surveying
the room with her piercing dark, brown eyes. There were ten slaves
standing around the room holding flaming torches. The light from the
flames made her bronzed skin look even more glorious as the light
danced erratically on her legs above the knee where her skin was
exposed, and on her uncovered stomach. The six carpet slaves came
into the room on their knees and positioned themselves in front of
their mistress.
"Rise," she commanded.
The slaves stood up and she inspected them carefully.
"Who am I?" she asked.
"You are the mistress-goddess," the men replied, without hesitation.
"And who are you?" she asked.
There was no reply. This was just as they had been trained to
think. She was everything and they were nothing.
She pointed to the one on the left.
"Left sole," she said.
Then to the one beside him, "Right sole."
Then to the others in turn, "Right clean, left clean. Right polish,
left polish."
Clicking her fingers, six more slaves moved from the side of the room
with branding irons which glowed bright orange. The six slaves she
had selected were duly branded at the tops of the their backs—LS, RS,
RC, LC, RP, and LP, to indicate which job they were to carry out—
which part of her boots they were responsible for. She clicked her
fingers again and the sole slaves got to work. They approached her
waiting boots cautiously on their knees as if they were made of
gold. Then they began. They licked the dirty soles of the boots,
getting their tongues into the deep groves of the thread, sucking out
the dirt, and wetting every inch of the bottoms of her powerful boots
with their saliva. This was the worst job for a boot-cleaning slave
as it was hard to get the soles of those boots gleaming like new with
just their tongues. The sole licking slaves worked on the boots for
almost an hour while the mistress looked around the room at the
thirty slaves that waited for her command. She considered the rack
of assorted boots at the side of the room and mulled over which pair
she would have the slave in that part of the room bring her to wear
once her boot licking slaves had finished their work.
Once the sole slaves had finished, two more slaves moved into
position at her feet. They were to lick all the dirt from the top
part of her boots. They worked the black leather, again removing the
grime from her day's activities in the forest. This lasted about
half an hour. Then the last two slaves moved into position. With
the dirt all but gone from her boots, it was their job to use their
tongues to add the final sparkle to her footwear. It only took them
ten minutes to bring the black leather to a high shine with their
eager tongues. With the job complete Millisa examined her boots.
They looked fine from where she sat, but she needed another opinion.
It was not the job of a mistress to examine her own footwear too
closely; she had slaves for that too.
"Inspectors," she demanded.
Two slaves rushed across the room and carefully lifted her booted
feet from the back of the footstool slave. The young men examined
every inch of the boots, from top to bottom. After a few minutes the
mistress grew impatient. "Well?" she demanded.
One of the inspectors hesitated. "There is some dirt on the left
sole," he said, cautiously. The inspector then proceeded to lick the
dirt from the boot sole. The inspectors then moved away. The slave
who had LS branded on his back moved into position in front of the
mistress. On his knees he waited for his punishment. He didn't have
to wait long. Millisa got to her feet and towered over the cowering
slave. She drew back her right boot and kicked to slave in the
head. The slave fell back on the floor. Millisa moved towards the
man and continued…
This is an extract from the book, Julie Trent and the Lightning by
Laura Emmet. There are many more scenes in the book with mistress
Millisa.