Bootlicker’s Confession
There is never a day which goes by without me thinking and dreaming of my mistress, Domina Christy. I know where I belong, worshipping Her by kneeling at Her leather booted feet, my tongue ready and willing to serve. Such service is always the climax of my favourite session with this most wonderful, beautiful and cruel of Dominas. For other lowly slaves who crave an audience with Her, I have here described how you first fall under Her spell, where serving Her is worth any amount of pain and humiliation.
The greeting is always the same, “Hi! My slave!”, and, with those words, you are transported into a heaven of submission. The anticipation always grows and grows as you get nearer to the pre-arranged meeting point, where I sit and await Her arrival in a coffee shop, barely noticing anybody around me, as I wait and wait. The arranged time comes and goes, and I got ever more jittery. Is She coming? I knew She is making me wait. But who am I to expect my mistress to keep an appointment with a slave like me? Not that it makes it any better! Then the car sweeps into view, quickly drawing to a halt and my mistress is before me. Even in everyday clothes, predominantly black, She is a goddess of beauty and dominance. The eyes tell me everything. Hard, unyielding and yet with a flicker of compassion – Her slave is back where I belong. She summons me with a nod of the head. I quickly pay the bill for the coffee and am soon belting myself into the front seat next to Her. Even the act of putting on the seat belt is like giving myself in bondage to my mistress.
Domina Christy is a highly adept driver and this enables my submission to begin from the moment I am strapped into the car. In my lap are Her black thigh-length, spiked heel leather boots, which had been lying on the seat. I know immediately what I am expected to do and begin, without any hesitation, to clean them with my tongue. As I suck on Her heel, I am oblivious to people outside who catch a glimpse of me performing such essential duties for my mistress. She laughs with contempt, and yet deep understanding, as we sit at a set of traffic lights, where my predicament, paradise to me, becomes generally apparent to on-lookers. As the lights turn green and my mistress accelerates away, Her car surging ahead of all the others, even the taxis, I finally utter the words that I know, and She knows, will trigger the punishment and pain I crave from Her: “Mistress has such beautiful and cruel nails, thank-you, Mistress!”
Long, extremely sharp and beautifully manicured and painted, today in a dark purple, Her nails had been dancing before my eyes, each time I sneaked a look as my mistress skillfully negotiated Her way through the teeming Bangkok traffic. Now they will torment me through the next two blissful hours. Like talons, they will leave their mark all over my body, but particularly my nipples. Mistress knows all this and has merely been waiting to see how long I can resist the temptation of pain, and pleasure. Without saying a word and, while steering the car with her right hand, She now reaches over with her left, quickly undoes a couple of my shirt buttons and reaches inside. With unerring accuracy, the nails bite cruelly into my nipple. I gasp with the pain, ever more intense, but I am in ecstasy and respond by covering Her arm, black leather jacket and all, with kisses.
“Naughty boy! You forgot My boots! And what is that?” The object of her anger is only too obvious: the growing bulge in my trousers. As she parks the car in the quiet cul-de-sac, where her dungeon is located, she coldly says, “I am going to have to punish you very severely today, slave!” She leads me into the house and up the stairs to the top floor, and I follow dutifully behind, my eyes averted to the floor, once again, as at the coffee shop, overwhelmed by a sense of anticipation.
