geobunny
02-10-2010, 10:44 PM
pov from the domme :) first time writing this sort of thing, so feel free to leave me some comments...
A regular of mine, Gerald has monthly appointments, though the date is never set. He always comes in after the heaviest predicted rain, judged by the farmers who tend to his fields. While not of blue blood, he holds handsome estates and carried on his wiry body is a wallet that grows fat off the harvest. He, at our first meeting, struck me as a peculiar man.
He is thin, as aforementioned, with an honest uneducated face, and thick hair. Incredibly thick masses of dark brown hair all over are his most notable physical feature. The second notable characteristic is the common way he dresses: no excessive pride for such expansive tracts of land. His hand surprised me when I shook it first, for it is rough. Gerald grew up poor. His empire was something built from rubble, and was not yet comfortable in his own wealth. I could only imagine the fantasies he had dreamt up before coming to meet me.
I assumed he would be awaiting a goddess of jewels and gold and velvet: someone supple, calm, and domesticated. I was going to be his china doll to ease him into the folds of his new money. That was until he explained why he had come after a heavy rain, of course.
“I want you to walk on me,” he requested, his voice quivering slightly out of embarrassment. “In muddied boots,” he added on quickly, quietly. “I- I would like to be forced to kiss them.” Oh, I cannot tell you the joy that was lit within me. What a request! This otherwise common Gerald had brought me a wish I had not heard in my years of work. Not that he knew it, but there would be a special treat for the man who came to me with a request that actually interested me.
“Well then,” I sternly snapped, removing my tightly drawn golden corset and heavily laden jewels, “What the fuck are you doing sitting on my couch? Get on the floor where you belong.” I was now wearing only my black satin chemise: a loose shirt with long bell sleeves that barely reached past the underside of my ass cheeks, and a thick silver belt about my waist. Reaching towards my tall black leather boots that were stationed upon a mat by the door, I paused. “Why in God’s name am I reaching for my boots? Fetch me my boots, maggot!” I ordered, not bothering to raise my voice or change it from its usual honey tone.
Scrambling onto his hands and knees, Gerald gently picked up the boots and brought them to my feet.
“Am I to put them on for you?” he inquired, shakily, his fingers dancing about the leather with the same reserved excitement as though it was a woman’s breast.
“Strange, I wasn’t aware that maggots knew how to talk,” I snarled down at him, a lock of my black hair falling from its loose bun. How I must have looked in the candlelight, my eyes blazing with the thrill of being in control, my full breasts outlined by my loose chemise, my silken thighs exposed completely, and my bare feet awaiting their boots. “Put them on quickly or I will punish you severely.”
He was so nervous that he took a few moments to distinguish which boot was meant for my right foot, and which for the left. After the first hurdle, he performed quite well, and as he laced the second boot, he leaned back in awe to stare. I was quite fond of the boots, myself: shiny black leather, sturdy 10 centimeter metal heels that came to a half centimeter in diameter at the end. It had taken me a week just to learn how to walk properly in them, but the pointed toe and discrete laces up the back of the calf made it worthwhile.
“Now, then, lay down,” before I finished my command, he had flattened onto his stomach at my feet, his head propped up so that he could watch me walk to his side. Surveying him, I ordered that his clothes come off. After he obeyed, I relaxed for a little while, walking around him as he lay on the floor in anticipation: I let him take in the sound of my heels against the hardwood floor, the scent of my rose perfume, the sound of the rain on the roof, and the feel of the cold floor beneath him. Steadying myself by holding the back of my chair, I stepped onto the middle of his back. The skin gives some, but in general it’s a much more solid platform than one would wager.
He hissed through his teeth at the pain: mind you, as a tall woman, I am no petit flower. Taking a few cautious first steps around his shoulder blades, I glanced down to see the wonderful little array of marks my heels were making on his otherwise tan, even skin. Such a thin man he was, yet he could take quite a lot of weight. As soon as I gained my footing, I began to indulge my own curiosity and amusement. Here was I, clad in black silk and black leather, walking on my own human rug!
I began to stride along his whole body, from calf to shoulder, and give a quick turn on one heel, digging into his flesh. At first, the squirming of his body beneath my feet caused me some alarm, but after the first few painful groans I began to enjoy twisting the spike of my heel into the soft skin on his back. With a wicked new idea in mind, I stepped off of him for a moment, and suggested that he turn onto his back with a swift kick to the side.
I nodded slightly to show he should move closer to the wall so that I might have something more stable to steady myself with, and once he was situated I pranced up and down the floor next to his body, observing my stage before I took it. With my right foot on the middle of his ribcage, I lifted my left foot onto his stomach: immediately he clenched his abdominals so that I would not sink into his organs with my metal spike. It was a thrilling sensation to feel his ribs give slightly at my weight, as though I could crush him at my whim. Utterly amused with the novelty of the whole ordeal, I took baby steps along his torso in a small circle very slowly, wiggling my toes inside of my boots as I did so. Then I began to explore my options.
One foot solidly planted on his aching ribs, I laid the pointed toe of the boot on his forehead, the tip of my heel landing on the tip of his nose. Shifting down, I held my heel above his mouth and glanced down at him as his eyes raced back and forth from the tip of my boot up my legs to my exposed pussy over my curvaceous hips and voluptuous breasts to my enchanting smile and burning eyes.
“Suck my heel, bitch,” I laughed, almost regretting that the trampling had worn the mud from my boots. Gerald listened and acquiesced, puckering his lips around the metal heel that had been warmed up by his own skin. For me, there was obviously no physical stimulation, but watching my bitch suck on the lifeless heel of my dirty boots was a rush of control. I felt myself become aroused: warm, thick wetness glazed my pussy, my cheeks blushed a pale red, and my fingertips tingled just slightly. “Enough.” I informed him, tearing my boot away, and turning completely around by swiveling hard on the one heel that dug into the skin above his sternum. In retrospect, it was a terribly dangerous maneuver, but as luck would have it, the slave remained alive. Alive, he was, but also in incredible agony as he withheld what would have been a monumental scream. I almost felt sympathy for him.
Instead, I decided to step on his cock. Even though it was fully erect, his dick felt slightly squishy under my foot, and it throbbed hard with every step down I took onto it. Stepping onto the floor between his legs, I at first only nudged at his dick to see the reaction, and gradually built up more forceful small kicks before pinning his cock against his stomach with the ball of my boots, and pressing my heel into the base of his dick. Gerald’s teeth clenched together, and his head moved back against the floor, but he managed to keep silent against my torture. I had sort of, in some sadistic way, been hoping to find his breaking point, and so I moved on.
His erect cock kept itself out of my way as I began to step on his testicles. I pressed the worn leather sole of my boot against his balls and began to shift more and more weight onto him until the gelatinous little orbs slid away from my shoe. Here was an opportunity I wouldn’t pass up, as one of his testicles was now trapped in a small section of his scrotum. Keeping my balance by holding to the wall, I held my first foot stationary to hold the ball in place, and stepped directly onto the captured testicle. Gerald’s body began to curl up a little, his abdominals tightening and his head lifting off the ground, his chin tucked into his chest to watch the pain be administered with watering eyes. While the anguish was overbearing, it was not sufficient. I wanted his breaking point: I wanted to own him, and he was on the threshold of giving up entirely. With the sharp heel of my left foot, I dug into the abused testicle and twisted my heel back and forth only twice before Gerald completely crumpled under my feet. Having achieved my goal, I eased off of him, watching a small bruise form almost immediately on his battered balls. Gerald lay somewhat still for a few minutes before he turned his face towards me and smiled.
“Thank you,” he murmured between labored breaths.
“Do you think I am finished, maggot?” his demeanor fixed itself, and he struggled to his knees in front of me.
“What can I do for you, Madame?” he practically begged for a command.
“While in session, I am Mistress,” I informed him, giving him a general slap for such a grievous mistake.
“What can I do for you, Mistress?” he corrected himself without any acknowledgment of the pain, though his cheek was crimson.
“My boots- take them off,” as the words left my thick cherry lips, the boots were lifted from my feet. “My toes are sweating. Clean them.” Gerald began to look around himself for a tissue or something of the sort. “Clean them with your tongue,” I specified. At first, he looked up at me with widened green eyes, as though the idea was repugnant. His second reaction, however, cured him of any hesitance.
Gerald glanced down at my feet, which were clean and cared for due to a life of luxury. My toe nails were painted a deep red, and I recalled being complimented on the elegance of my feet, especially my thin, closely spaced toes, every time I went in to the shoe shop. Apparently the opinion was shared by my current slave, as Gerald’s body reacted instantaneously. On his knees, muddied and beaten, his cock grew thicker and engorged with blood simply by staring down at my naked toes.
“I won’t ask you again, slave, clean my toes,” and this time, he listened. Lifting my foot by my soft, pink heel, he pressed the thin pad of my big toe against his bottom lip. I soon realized his hesitation was actually a practice of deep sniffing: I had to suppress my first reaction of giggling, but soon relished the idea. This man worshiped my existence to the point of being further aroused by the heavy musk of the smell of my feet. After six deep breaths, he parted his lips and began to suck tenderly at my toes, going one by one along my right foot, and then lapping at the tender skin between them, which was particularly sweaty.
I had been caught off guard by just how sensitive the skin between my toes was, and so gave the bitch a little present by allowing him to hear my subtle moans. Having satisfactorily cleaned my right foot, Gerald eagerly moved to the left, sucking more vigorously, but just as gently, on each toe, massaging the heel and the arch of my foot as he held it lifted to his face. Allowing my free right foot to roam, I pressed the ball of my foot against his dick so that it stood upright against his hard stomach. He began to shake slightly, and so I commanded that he stop his cleaning.
“I’m going to be honest with you, slave boy,” I smiled deviously down at him, “You’ve been quite some fun for me, so I’m going to give you a special treat. Don’t think that you’ll earn this so easily in the future, bitch, you’ll have to work for such a thing if you want it again.” Standing up and ambling to my bed, I slid onto my soft sheets and propped myself up on my elbows. I lay casually on my stomach, and looked back at him, my chemise having risen high enough that my thick ass was fully exposed. My feet dangled off the edge of the bed, and I wiggled my toes as though they were waving him over. “You may finish on my soles.”
His walk was laughably awkward: men walk funnily enough when erect, but it was as though he wanted to hide just how thrilled he was by stifling his pace. Gerald still made it to the edge of my bed before I could blink. He leaned forward slightly, his thighs resting on my tall bed, and he delicately moved my feet so that there was no gap between them, and they rested just beneath his aching cock. As he positioned himself, I rested my arms and head on my soft mattress and waited for him to relieve himself. Leaning forward, he rested his left hand on the bed, and began to stroke himself with the other. Already so close to cumming, he moved slowly across himself hoping to extend the experience. Despite his best efforts, his grunts were deepening and hastening, his fingers tightening their grip over his dick until finally his whole body began convulsing. With a deep groan, the tension was released, and he looked down to watch his cum spill out onto my feet. The orgasm lasted longer, as the sight further increased his arousal, and eventually the thick white ooze had coated the arches of my feet and was dripping through the small space between them.
He was instructed to use a tissue to wipe my feet clean, which he did with shaking hands. I summoned my apprentice, who came with bandages and water to clean out his wounds. After his cuts had been tended to, and Gerald redressed himself, I offered him a seat and some tea. As a true gentleman, he pulled my chair back from the table before seating himself, and then offered to pour the tea for me as well as himself. His demeanor had transformed itself from an embarrassed, tense landlord to a relaxed, submissive servant.
A regular of mine, Gerald has monthly appointments, though the date is never set. He always comes in after the heaviest predicted rain, judged by the farmers who tend to his fields. While not of blue blood, he holds handsome estates and carried on his wiry body is a wallet that grows fat off the harvest. He, at our first meeting, struck me as a peculiar man.
He is thin, as aforementioned, with an honest uneducated face, and thick hair. Incredibly thick masses of dark brown hair all over are his most notable physical feature. The second notable characteristic is the common way he dresses: no excessive pride for such expansive tracts of land. His hand surprised me when I shook it first, for it is rough. Gerald grew up poor. His empire was something built from rubble, and was not yet comfortable in his own wealth. I could only imagine the fantasies he had dreamt up before coming to meet me.
I assumed he would be awaiting a goddess of jewels and gold and velvet: someone supple, calm, and domesticated. I was going to be his china doll to ease him into the folds of his new money. That was until he explained why he had come after a heavy rain, of course.
“I want you to walk on me,” he requested, his voice quivering slightly out of embarrassment. “In muddied boots,” he added on quickly, quietly. “I- I would like to be forced to kiss them.” Oh, I cannot tell you the joy that was lit within me. What a request! This otherwise common Gerald had brought me a wish I had not heard in my years of work. Not that he knew it, but there would be a special treat for the man who came to me with a request that actually interested me.
“Well then,” I sternly snapped, removing my tightly drawn golden corset and heavily laden jewels, “What the fuck are you doing sitting on my couch? Get on the floor where you belong.” I was now wearing only my black satin chemise: a loose shirt with long bell sleeves that barely reached past the underside of my ass cheeks, and a thick silver belt about my waist. Reaching towards my tall black leather boots that were stationed upon a mat by the door, I paused. “Why in God’s name am I reaching for my boots? Fetch me my boots, maggot!” I ordered, not bothering to raise my voice or change it from its usual honey tone.
Scrambling onto his hands and knees, Gerald gently picked up the boots and brought them to my feet.
“Am I to put them on for you?” he inquired, shakily, his fingers dancing about the leather with the same reserved excitement as though it was a woman’s breast.
“Strange, I wasn’t aware that maggots knew how to talk,” I snarled down at him, a lock of my black hair falling from its loose bun. How I must have looked in the candlelight, my eyes blazing with the thrill of being in control, my full breasts outlined by my loose chemise, my silken thighs exposed completely, and my bare feet awaiting their boots. “Put them on quickly or I will punish you severely.”
He was so nervous that he took a few moments to distinguish which boot was meant for my right foot, and which for the left. After the first hurdle, he performed quite well, and as he laced the second boot, he leaned back in awe to stare. I was quite fond of the boots, myself: shiny black leather, sturdy 10 centimeter metal heels that came to a half centimeter in diameter at the end. It had taken me a week just to learn how to walk properly in them, but the pointed toe and discrete laces up the back of the calf made it worthwhile.
“Now, then, lay down,” before I finished my command, he had flattened onto his stomach at my feet, his head propped up so that he could watch me walk to his side. Surveying him, I ordered that his clothes come off. After he obeyed, I relaxed for a little while, walking around him as he lay on the floor in anticipation: I let him take in the sound of my heels against the hardwood floor, the scent of my rose perfume, the sound of the rain on the roof, and the feel of the cold floor beneath him. Steadying myself by holding the back of my chair, I stepped onto the middle of his back. The skin gives some, but in general it’s a much more solid platform than one would wager.
He hissed through his teeth at the pain: mind you, as a tall woman, I am no petit flower. Taking a few cautious first steps around his shoulder blades, I glanced down to see the wonderful little array of marks my heels were making on his otherwise tan, even skin. Such a thin man he was, yet he could take quite a lot of weight. As soon as I gained my footing, I began to indulge my own curiosity and amusement. Here was I, clad in black silk and black leather, walking on my own human rug!
I began to stride along his whole body, from calf to shoulder, and give a quick turn on one heel, digging into his flesh. At first, the squirming of his body beneath my feet caused me some alarm, but after the first few painful groans I began to enjoy twisting the spike of my heel into the soft skin on his back. With a wicked new idea in mind, I stepped off of him for a moment, and suggested that he turn onto his back with a swift kick to the side.
I nodded slightly to show he should move closer to the wall so that I might have something more stable to steady myself with, and once he was situated I pranced up and down the floor next to his body, observing my stage before I took it. With my right foot on the middle of his ribcage, I lifted my left foot onto his stomach: immediately he clenched his abdominals so that I would not sink into his organs with my metal spike. It was a thrilling sensation to feel his ribs give slightly at my weight, as though I could crush him at my whim. Utterly amused with the novelty of the whole ordeal, I took baby steps along his torso in a small circle very slowly, wiggling my toes inside of my boots as I did so. Then I began to explore my options.
One foot solidly planted on his aching ribs, I laid the pointed toe of the boot on his forehead, the tip of my heel landing on the tip of his nose. Shifting down, I held my heel above his mouth and glanced down at him as his eyes raced back and forth from the tip of my boot up my legs to my exposed pussy over my curvaceous hips and voluptuous breasts to my enchanting smile and burning eyes.
“Suck my heel, bitch,” I laughed, almost regretting that the trampling had worn the mud from my boots. Gerald listened and acquiesced, puckering his lips around the metal heel that had been warmed up by his own skin. For me, there was obviously no physical stimulation, but watching my bitch suck on the lifeless heel of my dirty boots was a rush of control. I felt myself become aroused: warm, thick wetness glazed my pussy, my cheeks blushed a pale red, and my fingertips tingled just slightly. “Enough.” I informed him, tearing my boot away, and turning completely around by swiveling hard on the one heel that dug into the skin above his sternum. In retrospect, it was a terribly dangerous maneuver, but as luck would have it, the slave remained alive. Alive, he was, but also in incredible agony as he withheld what would have been a monumental scream. I almost felt sympathy for him.
Instead, I decided to step on his cock. Even though it was fully erect, his dick felt slightly squishy under my foot, and it throbbed hard with every step down I took onto it. Stepping onto the floor between his legs, I at first only nudged at his dick to see the reaction, and gradually built up more forceful small kicks before pinning his cock against his stomach with the ball of my boots, and pressing my heel into the base of his dick. Gerald’s teeth clenched together, and his head moved back against the floor, but he managed to keep silent against my torture. I had sort of, in some sadistic way, been hoping to find his breaking point, and so I moved on.
His erect cock kept itself out of my way as I began to step on his testicles. I pressed the worn leather sole of my boot against his balls and began to shift more and more weight onto him until the gelatinous little orbs slid away from my shoe. Here was an opportunity I wouldn’t pass up, as one of his testicles was now trapped in a small section of his scrotum. Keeping my balance by holding to the wall, I held my first foot stationary to hold the ball in place, and stepped directly onto the captured testicle. Gerald’s body began to curl up a little, his abdominals tightening and his head lifting off the ground, his chin tucked into his chest to watch the pain be administered with watering eyes. While the anguish was overbearing, it was not sufficient. I wanted his breaking point: I wanted to own him, and he was on the threshold of giving up entirely. With the sharp heel of my left foot, I dug into the abused testicle and twisted my heel back and forth only twice before Gerald completely crumpled under my feet. Having achieved my goal, I eased off of him, watching a small bruise form almost immediately on his battered balls. Gerald lay somewhat still for a few minutes before he turned his face towards me and smiled.
“Thank you,” he murmured between labored breaths.
“Do you think I am finished, maggot?” his demeanor fixed itself, and he struggled to his knees in front of me.
“What can I do for you, Madame?” he practically begged for a command.
“While in session, I am Mistress,” I informed him, giving him a general slap for such a grievous mistake.
“What can I do for you, Mistress?” he corrected himself without any acknowledgment of the pain, though his cheek was crimson.
“My boots- take them off,” as the words left my thick cherry lips, the boots were lifted from my feet. “My toes are sweating. Clean them.” Gerald began to look around himself for a tissue or something of the sort. “Clean them with your tongue,” I specified. At first, he looked up at me with widened green eyes, as though the idea was repugnant. His second reaction, however, cured him of any hesitance.
Gerald glanced down at my feet, which were clean and cared for due to a life of luxury. My toe nails were painted a deep red, and I recalled being complimented on the elegance of my feet, especially my thin, closely spaced toes, every time I went in to the shoe shop. Apparently the opinion was shared by my current slave, as Gerald’s body reacted instantaneously. On his knees, muddied and beaten, his cock grew thicker and engorged with blood simply by staring down at my naked toes.
“I won’t ask you again, slave, clean my toes,” and this time, he listened. Lifting my foot by my soft, pink heel, he pressed the thin pad of my big toe against his bottom lip. I soon realized his hesitation was actually a practice of deep sniffing: I had to suppress my first reaction of giggling, but soon relished the idea. This man worshiped my existence to the point of being further aroused by the heavy musk of the smell of my feet. After six deep breaths, he parted his lips and began to suck tenderly at my toes, going one by one along my right foot, and then lapping at the tender skin between them, which was particularly sweaty.
I had been caught off guard by just how sensitive the skin between my toes was, and so gave the bitch a little present by allowing him to hear my subtle moans. Having satisfactorily cleaned my right foot, Gerald eagerly moved to the left, sucking more vigorously, but just as gently, on each toe, massaging the heel and the arch of my foot as he held it lifted to his face. Allowing my free right foot to roam, I pressed the ball of my foot against his dick so that it stood upright against his hard stomach. He began to shake slightly, and so I commanded that he stop his cleaning.
“I’m going to be honest with you, slave boy,” I smiled deviously down at him, “You’ve been quite some fun for me, so I’m going to give you a special treat. Don’t think that you’ll earn this so easily in the future, bitch, you’ll have to work for such a thing if you want it again.” Standing up and ambling to my bed, I slid onto my soft sheets and propped myself up on my elbows. I lay casually on my stomach, and looked back at him, my chemise having risen high enough that my thick ass was fully exposed. My feet dangled off the edge of the bed, and I wiggled my toes as though they were waving him over. “You may finish on my soles.”
His walk was laughably awkward: men walk funnily enough when erect, but it was as though he wanted to hide just how thrilled he was by stifling his pace. Gerald still made it to the edge of my bed before I could blink. He leaned forward slightly, his thighs resting on my tall bed, and he delicately moved my feet so that there was no gap between them, and they rested just beneath his aching cock. As he positioned himself, I rested my arms and head on my soft mattress and waited for him to relieve himself. Leaning forward, he rested his left hand on the bed, and began to stroke himself with the other. Already so close to cumming, he moved slowly across himself hoping to extend the experience. Despite his best efforts, his grunts were deepening and hastening, his fingers tightening their grip over his dick until finally his whole body began convulsing. With a deep groan, the tension was released, and he looked down to watch his cum spill out onto my feet. The orgasm lasted longer, as the sight further increased his arousal, and eventually the thick white ooze had coated the arches of my feet and was dripping through the small space between them.
He was instructed to use a tissue to wipe my feet clean, which he did with shaking hands. I summoned my apprentice, who came with bandages and water to clean out his wounds. After his cuts had been tended to, and Gerald redressed himself, I offered him a seat and some tea. As a true gentleman, he pulled my chair back from the table before seating himself, and then offered to pour the tea for me as well as himself. His demeanor had transformed itself from an embarrassed, tense landlord to a relaxed, submissive servant.