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Mistress’ Filthy Bootlicker
There was a timid knock at the door. I knew it was him, he was exactly on time. A good start. The instructions I’d placed in the package had been perfectly clear.
Wear these items when you visit on Monday morning, at 10am sharp. Let yourself in the main entrance, then come find Me in my dressing room. You will kneel, knock and wait for permission from Mistress to enter.
So far, so good.
I had specific reason to instruct slave to visit today. I’d spent part of the weekend gathering up my heels and boots from storage after the recent move to my new, beautiful home. Upon seeing the state of some of my vast collection I had been rather disappointed. Temporarily. Thinking on it, what a fine opportunity my filth encrusted boots offered to my slave. This was a chance for him to prove to his Mistress what a brilliant little bootlicker he really was.
“Yes, come in slave.”
The door handle turned then his hand returned to clasp the other behind his back as he kneeled at the entrance of my dressing room. His head, mostly covered by the lace-back leather hood, was submissively bowed. I knew he was desperate to look up and see his Mistress again. The vanilla jeans and t-shirt had allowed him to retain his dignity while en route, worn over the pink satin panties and large butt plug I’d sent along with the hood. The hood undoubtedly slipped on upon his arrival at my doorstep. Another last minute addition will have been the wide black leather collar circling his neck, buckled at the back and with a large O ring adorning the front.
Reminding him of his submission at all times was the semi-permanently locked chastity cage fixed on his pathetic cock. From my position perched on my sex chaise, I toyed with the keys around my neck as I admired the view.
“You may come in. Crawl over here and look up at your Mistress.”
He complied. As he reached my feet, having followed the sound of my voice, I detected a sharp intake of breath. The shiny black leather of my boots had entered his field of vision, and consequently his chastity cage would be feeling tighter than it had in weeks. As he looked up to meet his Mistress’ eyes, I reached out with a gloved hand to take him by the collar’s O ring.
“Is that all you can say?” I laughed. “Hello, slave. I have a lot of work for you to do today.”
I allowed him a moment to take in the view. I’d really gone to town; my black hair loose, the vivid red streaks through it matching the blood red of my lips. I wore my favourite black leather elbow-length gloves. My breasts were perfectly supported and presented in a tight laced black corset, and my cinched waist contrasted to the flare of my hips which were encased in a tight leather skirt. The suspender clasps were just about noticeable beneath if you looked closely, and they held up my sheer silk stockings.
Slave was indeed looking closely.
If he was surprised at his Mistress not completing her outfit with trademark shiny heels, it didn’t register on his face. Nothing registered on his face but absolute devotion… and a rather large amount of chastity-driven lust. He obviously hadn’t even noticed the enormous pile of high heels and boots to the side of the room.
“Right, let’s get you out of those horrible normal clothes… we both know there’s nothing normal about you, don’t we slave!”
I laughed in his face again, which turned into an evil cackle as a crimson blush slowly spread across it.
Cruelly yanking on the collar’s O ring I continued, “You will take off those jeans and that t-shirt. And shoes and socks, obviously. Now. Go.”
Once again, slave obeyed. Although remaining on his knees to remove the top he did have to shuffle into an awkward crouched position to remove his jeans and not disobey the ongoing rule of not letting his head get higher than Mistress’. He almost fell over a couple of times. I stifled more giggles at the funny little show.
Soon he returned to kneeling in front of his Mistress, naked except for his slave accoutrements: that lace-back hood with eye and mouth holes, collar, sissy pink panties over the large butt plug and chastity device reminding him of his lowly status. Prissy pathetic slave. Chaste, plugged, owned.
“Good boy. Now, today we’re going to work on your bootlicking skills. You’ve expressed an interest in the past in providing oral service for Mistress, so now’s your chance to shine. To shine my boots!”
I shamelessly laughed at my own joke.
The blush was fading from slave’s face, which turned altogether more pale. It’s amazing how, when faced with the reality of a long-held fantasy, slaves can often feel entirely different about something. Oh well, I thought… I’m sure it will be a hot memory for him. And anyway, I need those boots cleaned somehow. Tough luck, slave.
Gesturing to the shoes and boots mountain to my left, I began.
“Go fetch me a pair of those filthy boots, slave. Look at Mistress! Over there. Bring a pair one boot at a time, between your teeth, and drop them by my feet.”
By now, and having glanced at the enormous pile of work waiting for his subservient tongue, slave looked absolutely terrified. However, he was bound to obey…
The view of his pink satin covered rear, with the hint of the flared base of the plug underneath, wriggling this way and that as he crawled away from me caused a surge of sexual need directly to my clit. I toyed with the chastity keys at my neck again in Domme contentment, and watched on in amusement as slave first tried to find a matching pair of boots then pick one up between his teeth without damaging the material. The punishment for damaging Mistress’ boots was appropriately painful to contemplate.
Soon, slave was crawling back to me. His chastity cage was satisfyingly prominent against the pink satin of those panties, which in turn matched the blush of humiliation which had spread over his face. One boot dropped near me on the floor, and he was careful not to let the filth-covered boot touch my stockinged feet. As he returned to the pile for the other, I began to put the patent leather boot on. Knee-high, the shiny material clung to the curve of my lower leg and I stretched out to lace them all the way up the front, tightly. Upon slave’s return, I did the same with the other.
Gesturing at him to kneel at my left side, I crossed my legs, which raised my right shiny-leather-covered toe to his mouth level.
“Come on then, bootlicker. Show Mistress how good your tongue skills are. I know you men are proud of such things.”
I could tell the sarcasm-laden mention of the word ‘men’ made something click inside slave, and years of cultural conditioning fought with his submissive tendencies. The result was complete inertia, rather than immediate obedience, causing me to reach forwards to grab him by the O ring of his collar again and reiterate my command.
“I won’t tell you again, bitch-boy,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “Get your tongue cleaning my boots or I’ll give you the worst punishment you can imagine…”
Leaning back again, it only took a moment of contemplating whether I meant a harsh caning or an even harsher ban on contact with me for a long time for slave to make his mind up. This was something he had to do. He had to prove his worth and his devotion to his Mistress. He’d said he’d do anything. And he wasn’t a real man, anyway. Yes, he was Mistress’ filthy little bootlicker.
Finally he shrugged off any sense of ego and resignedly lowered his face and mouth to the tip of the leather boot dangling in front of him. With the first touch of his tongue to the patent leather it was as if he was lashing that tongue directly against my clit. I was wet, pussy juice determined to escape down my inner thighs, and it got worse with every tongue stroke against my boots.
It was as though I could sense him slipping into subspace as I reached out, my gloved hand in his hair, keeping his face and mouth to its task. Gripping his hair in my fingers I could angle him this way and that, forcing him to clean exactly where needed on the surface of the boot then the extra filthy sole.
All semblance of resistance faded away when I let him up for air and raised my leg higher, proffering the somewhat phallic 6 inch heel for a tongue service. My legs parted slightly to allow me to raise my booted foot up high enough, and he could detect the scent of my need-filled, uncovered pussy for sure. I certainly could. The room felt hotter, suddenly, and the air was heavy with the smell of leather and denied sex.
“Yes, you may touch.”
He needed to guide the slender heel into his mouth, and his shaking fingers set about their task. It was obvious to both of us that this task wasn’t only to hone his skills as a bootlicker, but also to show Mistress how well he could service anything I might choose to put between those lips. The cute pink blush which had matched his sissy panties had darkened with the realisation of what he was doing, sucking Mistress’ heel in such a fashion. His face now matched my favourite shade of lipstick.
I doubted he could even still taste whatever mud and filth had coated my boots just moments ago; his senses were full of Mistress’ wet pussy so close yet forever out of bounds, plus the large plug filling and stretching his arse, the still-locked chastity cage confining his own urgent need -and the fact I was obviously training him to suck on something other than a leather covered stiletto heel.
“Good boy. That’s it, suck on it… I know, you love Mistress’ boots, don’t you? And you love sucking too, you little slut…”
A piteous whine escaped around the heel filling his mouth.
“Ok, that’s enough for that boot I think. Now time for the other… you know what to do, bootlicker…”
Slave obediently moved around as I crossed my legs the other way. Again, the initial revulsion of tongue cleaning the grime and muck from my boots was quickly replaced with arousal at the sheer humiliation from all aspects.
As he worked, I reflected on how glad I was that all this bootlicking was having such an effect. On me, I mean. The wetness at the apex of my thighs now formed a puddle on the seat beneath me. Juices which would be fine refreshment for slave’s tongue after he’d completed his task to my satisfaction.