"I was disappointed I missed your class. I was demo bottoming for another presentation at the same time. So, if you don't mind me picking your brain, how did you get over piss play?"
"I've liked piss since I was a kid. The class was about piss play and different ways to use piss."
"Oh, well... Um, then may I ask your opinion? How can one get over their hangups about piss?"
"There's a few ways. Some people simplify it; think about it like it's just warm water. Others will take the degradation route. Like, say... There are a few drops of piss left on my boots from my class, and only a filthy fucking slut would want to lick the piss off my boots."
I met Boymeat last year. We spoke less then ten words during our initial introduction. Hellos were exchanged as Boymeat began punching a mutual friend. I quietly excused myself as to not disturb the two of them.
The Thursday night of Fusion, I patiently waited for my shift at Playdate with the Pros. I had arrived early in case Shay needed help; she didn't. So I found myself with an hour to kill. And then in a conversation I desperately wanted to have. And then in a situation that both scared and thrilled me.
"Boymeat, do you want to sign up for one of my playdate shifts?"
"No."
"Shit."
"It's so hard, the torture of deciding what to do. Knowing that you'll have to ask for it. Get my permission to lick piss off of my boots. That I won't give you any help. That you will have to make the decision yourself."
I bent and twisted inside. I was wet, wetter than I wanted to admit. The idea of piss play had been on my mind for some time. Readers of this blog may have noticed its occasional appearance in pieces of erotica as of late. And now here was this sick-twisted-incredibly-hot man pushing me to do the things I wanted but feared.
And so, I leapt.
"Boymeat, may I lick the piss off of your boots?"
"Drop."
I sunk down to my knees.
"All the way down."
On all fours, I stared at his leather. At the drops that would soon be in my mouth. I crept towards his boots, stuck out my tongue, and licked. Lapped up his piss. First one boot, and then the other. The event swirled around us, but the people were far way. My world held only my body, writhing in pleasure, and Boymeat's boots for my tasting.
When I finished, I stood, a huge grin on my face. Boymeat adjusted himself.
"The problem with not cuming after your pissing class, and then having someone lick piss off your boots."
He must've seen my smile. Must've noticed the extra perk in my face. Boymeat is great at reading people.
"I'm gonna go sit on a bench over there and light a cigarette. Only a filthy fucking slut would randomly sit down, pull out a cock, and suck it from a guy she's never met. Let's see if a filthy little whore is going to come by and service me."
As soon as he walked away, I dashed about looking for safer sex supplies.
"Where are the condoms?" I asked Shay in my rush. She pointed me towards a small table in the middle of the room.
"Poetic, what's wrong?" asked Stefanos as he mingled among the guests.
"Oh, nothing. I just need a condom, now."
I found the condoms, grabbed one, and scurried through the crowd.
Boymeat had just lit his cigarette when I stood in front of him. He looked up and smiled at me. I handed him the condom. He ripped open the packaging, pulled out his cock, and put it on.
In a breath, I was down on my knees with his covered cock in my mouth.
As my mouth bobbed up and down on him, took all of him in. As Boymeat gripped my hair, guiding my lips along his cock, he spoke sweetnesses into my ear.
"Such a filthy little whore. Such a dirty little slut. Sucking on some stranger's cock. You don't even know me.
"You licked piss off my boots and we barely know each other. You want me to piss on you now, don't you?
"Tonight, when you're lying in bed, touching yourself, you're gonna think about my piss in your mouth. When you masturbate tonight, you're gonna cum to the idea of me pissing all over you."
He fucked my face til he came.
"Are you one of those lucky few whose clit is hard wired for pain?"
"Yes."
He grabbed my shoulders, turned the flesh. He hurt me as I writhed in his crotch. First my head brushed against him stomach, then lifted closer to his face. My body snaked across his chest. My hands rested on his thighs. My noises came. He enjoyed them.
He gripped my breasts, pulling, twisting at the flesh, deep under the muscle, rubbing against my ribs.
"Please. Please."
"Please. I love to hear that."
I was so wet, so slick from his work. I begged. Whispered my pleas.
He allowed me to cum. I twisted in ecstasy from my pleasure and his pain.
He started punching my chest. Concentrated on one side. And planted the seed of yet more fun to come.
"Sometime tomorrow, when you least expect it, I am going to find you, throw you to the ground, rip off your clothes, and pee on you."
When I dropped off Gray at his cabin, off loaded his things, and made sure he was good, I stepped up to hug him. I kissed his cheek. He turned his face into my kiss. He wanted more than a peck.
His lips met mine. We kissed. And kissed. And kissed. I stood up on my tip toes. My arms around his chest.
Eventually he ended our embrace.
"You better go. My cock's getting hard and you have to work."
He slapped my ass and sent me on my way. I, regretfully, went back to setup duty.
~
"I just wanted to ask for your advice on running for Dirty Pig."
"Well, you've seen the show before. You know what to expect. I think the only thing that might harm you is wanting it too much."
Brakes screeched in my brain.
FULL STOP, yelled a voice in my head.
~
"Maybe I'm trying too hard? Maybe I'm taking this too seriously? I'm gonna stop. I'm not going to talk about Dirty Pig for the rest of the night. And as far as bribing the judges..."
"When it comes to the judges, I think they need to get to know you. You can't just be the next person offering them something. Not just another pretty face. They need to remember your name."
"You know, I was thinking. I went to Del's class at GKE. And I saw Carol at CatalystCon. And I just got an email about possibly getting a short story published. What if I spoke to them about those things first? Make myself a person instead another contestant just trying to get a vote."
"I think you've got this, Lil Sis."
~
"I just wanted to thank you for teaching Top of the Boot at the first GKE. I was fairly new to bootblacking then, and it was the first time I'd seen a class from the perspective of the person receiving the blacking. I really appreciated the presentation.
"Also...A little birdie told me you were one of the judges for Dirty Pig. I'm running for Dirty Pig. How would you like me to bribe you?"
~
"Yes, you can use rope for breath play. You can use twine. You can use piano wire, but then you'll run into other issues."
"Mmm," I moaned, while stroking my neck.
"You are one sick and twisted chic."
~
"Other fun activities can also be used for breath play."
"Yeah, I know." Rough turned me, noting my sly smile as I stood in front of the class.
"Really?"
"Yeah, last night."
"Good on him."
"Indeed," I said.
~
"How do you want me to prepare for your Basic Suspension class?"
"Don't eat a big meal beforehand, and don't die in Rough's class."
~
"Now, I'm at a disadvantage for my class. Poetic is an experienced suspension bottom. She's suspended herself and others, and can make up for any mistakes or discomfort this suspension may cause."
Wow, I thought. People, even Gray, actually notice my rope-y-ness. I may be kind of good at this.
~
"Now, what if she fainted in her suspension?"
I let my body go limp in his ropes. Listened as Gray explained how to get someone down to the ground quickly. Felt as familiar hands lifted my frame, loosed the ropes, and rested me on the floor. Kept my eyes closed, and my body unmoved, as people "scrambled" around me.
"Okay, you can get up now."
I popped up to sitting, smiling at the class.
"Okay, everyone spread out on the frames and try your suspensions." Gray looked down on me. "Can you...?"
"Yup." I scooted my butt across the floor, ropes still tied to my body. In the corner, I started untying his ropes and leaving them in neat-ish lines to be coiled.
~
"If he were at Summer Camp, he would totally win Fresh Meat."
"Well, it's not exactly a competition."
"Well no, it's a popularity contest."
Rough looked at my friend.
"Can you hold this please," he asked. My friend took up Rough's bag.
Rough's fist slammed into my chest before I had time to register his movement.
"Thank you," he said, taking back his things.
"Thank you," I said to Rough as he left class.
I was a smiley-happy-floaty girl again.
"Poetic, you like breath play."
"Yes."
"And I know you."
"Yes. Rough, do you need a demo bottom for your breath play class?"
"Yes."
"We should probably practice."
"Yes."
Rough stood and beckoned me from the porch into the cabin.
It was early in the event; most people had yet to arrive. We crept through the cabin trying our best to not disturb Gray was napping before dinner. We found an empty quad in the back, new beds barely broken in.
Whispering in the empty room, Rough asked me about my previous experience with breath play. I informed him only one other person had used blood chokes on me: NHF in Minnesota. I described NHF's technique; Rough was familiar with it. I also mentioned how NHF had taken about 7-10 seconds to get me out.
Rough had me stand at the edge of a bed. He stepped behind me. Asked me to lift my head. Point my arm up and to the left at a forty-five degree angle. He wrapped his arm around my neck and squeezed.
I felt my body fall through the air, but I didn't feel the impact of the bed, though I may have heard it. It was as if I were moving through water, as if I were a marionette and the strings on my body had been cut. I never went out, never forgot where I was. But for a moment I lost control of my muscles, lost the ability to stand.
Rough stood over me. "That was faster than seven to ten seconds."
I smiled into the mattress. I talked to him about my experience. Explained what it felt like.
"You were in that sweet spot, loss of body without the loss of consciousness."
We decided to go a bit farther. Again, my arm rose. Again, his arm wrapped around my neck. He squeezed and I held my arm up. Held it with all my might. Held it until...
When my eyes opened, I had forgotten where I was. I don't know what I dreamed, but I know I dreamed something. I looked up and saw the ceiling. When I registered I was in a different place than I had been, that what I thought was real was actually a dream, my memory came crashing back.
I was at camp. Rough was behind me. And I was high as a fucking kite.
I was so gleeful, so full of the awesome with life, that I couldn't stop smiling. I picked my body up off the bed. Rested on my knees on the floor. Looked up at Rough. I couldn't remember feeling this good in so long. I was so appreciative of Rough for giving me this gift, for imparting these feelings in my brain, I asked him an odd question.
"If it is not against your dynamic, may I kiss your boots?"
"Of course."
I bent over and met my lips to his leather. I kissed both his boots in appreciation and adoration for my experience.
My Wednesday had been shit. Setup had been difficult. And hot. And full of starts and stops. And took so long. Before I laid on the porch of the cabin feeling dejected. My camp had just started, but it felt like all my possible glee was gone.
And then Rough's arm had been around my neck. And my world felt right again.
Rough had other material he wanted to go over before class. I stood, my back to the wall, Rough standing in front of me. With a quick move, he clamped his hand over my mouth and nose. I tried to hold back my lizard brain, tried to keep myself from struggling. But soon enough I couldn't stop my hands from grabbing his hold. His other hand found my face. I flailed about. I pulled; he followed.
And then he let go. And breath rushed back into my lungs.
For his next practice, he instructed me to give him a double tap when I wanted him to stop. Again his hands clamped over my mouth and nose. My hands twitched. My feet stomped. I held out for as long as I could trying to stop my lizard brain from reacting. But, eventually, I tapped on his arm four times.
"You know, since that was a quadruple tap, I shouldn't have let go."
He pushed me up against the wall. His fingers pinpointed on my neck. I slipped once, twice, before I felt my muscles about to give out. Rough slipped his knee between my legs to stop my descent.
"How are you?"
"Excellent."
"How do you feel about face slapping?"
"Absolutely."
Rough hit me hard across the face, left to right. He grabbed my head and bashed it against the wall. All the while, my arms lazed at my sides, scratching against the wall.
"What's with the gripping?"
"When I'm cuming, or when I'm about to cum, I grip. When I'm turned on, or wet, I grip. It's fun when I'm on a bed."
Rough sat on the bed to my left. I settled against the wall for a moment, perfectly happy, before transitioning to the bed on my right.
"Why would anyone take drugs when you can do things to make your body this high?"
I rested my head against the wall, lazing in my post play haze. In that moment, I was completely uninhibited, and decided to be bluntly honest.
"You have this look in your eyes. You always have it. It's... gripping. Intoxicating."
I saw his satisfaction at my revelation.
"You know I'm gonna write about this, right?"
"Kinda figured. Just wait til Tuesday."
In that moment before dinner, before it was time to wake Gray, I realized I didn't have my notebook on me. I needed to take notes, now. I made my way back to my cabin.
As I skipped towards my temporary home, a giddy-happy-bubbly-girl, I stroked my neck and said over and over again to everyone and no one in particular, "My life doesn't suck. My life doesn't suck. I love my life."
The Cabaret had just ended. There was a crush of people in the hall. A slow lumbering line out of the main dungeon.
I was excited, anxious, at what awaited me.
He stood at the first aid table. When I arrived, he looked me up and down.
"Am I ripping that off of you?"
"Uh, no."
Costume change. I took off my tight strapless black dress. Got naked in the hallway. Threw on a tank top and boxers.
He had a rig held for us. We walked back through the throng. Back into the dungeon. Back towards my fate.
His toy bag sat by a wooden double frame. Scenes were just starting up. We sat down our stuff. Laid down a sheet. Created our space.
He started pulling out all the items in his toy bag. Mean things. Horrible things. Rope-y things. Many many things.
He jumped up on the frame. Pulled up, testing the strength of the wood. He thought he might tie me at some point. He never did. But I didn't care.
I was a ball of nerves. Jumpy. But also horny. He wore boots. His outfit looked vaguely military. This was going to be brutal.
Still, I didn't know what to do with myself. So I talked. Stammered a bit. Giggled a bit. He bought into the ruse. We both knew it was just a matter of moments, though, before I was on the floor.
In the blink of an eye, I was splayed out on the sheet, sobbing immediately. He went from zero to ten; no warm up. Pulled out his knife. Tore open my shirt. Slashed at my boxers.
He punched. Kicked a bit. And slapped. Fuck, he wouldn't stop slapping me. My face. My arms. My back. My ass. That was the worst, at first. The stingy, unforgiving pain. And then gripping the surface he just assaulted. Rubbing in the hurt. Making it last that much longer. It was intense and almost overwhelming.
But then he started with his toys.
A small marble dagger-shaped paddle. Smacking my breasts. Attacking my nipples.
His bath brush, minus the loofah. Burning stings to my biceps, my thighs. It created impressive bruises from the start.
His cane struck all over me. He'd hit a spot. I'd curl in, trying to get away. But it just gave him something new to attack.
My hands flew out instinctively trying to stop the pain. He yelled at me for this. And then came the punishment for my infringement: my sternum.
He slapped my sternum. Hard. And then he told me what he was going to do. Told me he was going to punch my sternum. Told me, if my hands got in the way, he would punch me more than the two times he had planned. He asked me if I could take the two punches without blocking with my hands. Or did I want more?
He punched me once, twice. It hurt like a bitch. And yet, it was the kind of delicious pain I crave.
All during his tortures, he took moments to check in with me. Coming in close to my face. Whispering in my ear as I sobbed.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm okay."
"Do you want to stop?"
"No," I whimpered each time.
"Good girl. You are such a good girl."
He took the remains of my clothes. Put them to my face. Wiped away my tears and the snot.
Once, in the middle of our scene, he asked me a question I suppose many wonder about.
"Why do you do this?"
Through snot and tears. Trying to more than mumble. Trying to speak so he could actually hear me, I answered him.
"Because it forces me to cry. The pain takes me to a place where I can't ignore emotions. I like to cry. Love the release. And I like to know I can take it. I can take the pain. Even when it really hurts."
But he wasn't always sweet with his words. Wasn't always kind. More often than not, he was just the opposite.
"You are in way over your head," he said, many times, an evil laugh following.
During one check-in, my back on the floor, looking up at him, he asked me if I wanted to stop. I had no sense of time at that point, and I worried I would not have enough time for our aftercare, my blacking his boots.
"You are amazing. I'm beating your ass and you're worried about my boots?"
He barked at me to kiss his boots. I got on my hands and knees. Planted my face at the toe of his boot. Kissed and licked up and down his leather. Felt the pain melt out of me. Felt the lust I'd had from before build again. My head went back and forth between his boots, loving his leather.
He moved away. I followed him around. He bent down. Grabbed his whip.
I felt the first pop on my ass. I shrieked, but kept kissing and licking his boots. Another pop. Another yelp. Another lick.
He moved about, whipping me. I tried cowering away. He yelled at me. I was to keep adoring his boots. I scrambled around. Towards his leather. Away from his blows.
He checked back in with me. I wanted to keep going. I wanted to keep pushing myself. But I also wanted to take care of his boots. So I stopped the scene, leather love more important than my tears.
~ erotica ~
{Trigger Warning: This is a rape fantasy.}
I carried my backpack over my shoulder, beleaguered from my long day and night's work. Though there were few contents, it still felt heavy, weighing me down as I tried to walk home.
I knew this path, this way I took every day or night. My long hours dulled my mind, but I could never forget the way home. Down two blocks, turn left. Pass the cheap gas station where beggars asked for change during the warmer days. No need to avoid the fried chicken and lake trout restaurant across the street, whose aromas often tempted me. Right after the corner store; too late to stop in for a few groceries. Five blocks more, and then home.
My feet moved without me thinking. My mind didn't register the actual short length, instead feeling my fifteen minute walk as a labor.
I loved these streets, the people in the them, the neighborhood which I adopted and the inhabitants who accepted me.
So I knew it wasn't one of them who did it.
Not Mr. Brown, who swept his front stoop every Sunday, watered his flowers in his window box every other day, and was the first to have his trash and recycling out, ordered and more neat than refuse should be.
It wasn't Dobs or Karl, the vets who rested their bones on the sidewalk in front of the gas station from March to September, and only asked for a little help when I could.
It wasn't Ms. Crystal, who owned the restaurant, and always wanted to put good food in my belly and a smile on my face.
It wasn't the Asian family who ran the corner store, whose kids I'd seen grow up in the five years since I moved to this part of town.
It wasn't my neighbors, my community.
It happened after a particularly long day. Sixteen hours of work with few moments of rest. My whole body ached.
My steps were slow, my march home more strenuous then need be. My limbs moved out of will to rest, knowing at the end of my journey a bed and soft covers would soothe their pain.
I didn't notice the van as it approached. Didn't hear the door open. Didn't know a man got out behind me. Didn't know he had a knife, wore a mask, and stalked me for a block before he attacked.
First I felt the pull on my hair, craning my head back. Then there was the knife on my neck, the scratch, the few drops of blood. My hands gripped his arm. My bag hung from my elbow. He dragged me to the open door of the van. Pulled me in. Closed off what little light from the dark night was left.
There were four of them. One driving, because the van kept moving. One to hold my arms. Another to hold my legs. The last, my original attacker. They all wore masks. They all wore gloves, leather. Boots, too. I guessed they were military. They communicated without words. Their cruelty was precise.
One pulled away my bag, pulled down my pants and panties. One by my head used his knees to hold my arms. He tore open my shirt. A knife split my bra. In a matter of seconds, I was naked and open.
I was pinned with my back on a mattress. It didn't move as they worked.
I heard the ripe of condoms, and was shocked at a flash of relief.
The one by my head placed his hand over my throat. I felt a knife against my cheek. I knew what he would want.
The one by my ankles bent my knees. All three flipped me over.
The one by my head grabbed my hair. Lifted my head. Pushed open my jaw. He shoved his cock in my mouth. I gagged, but took it. Tears trickled down my face. He rubbed a gloved hand over my eyes. Then smacked my ass.
The one by my ankles gripped my hips. Lined up his cock. He drove his dick deep inside my cunt. My hands held onto the edge of the mattress. He pounded my pussy hard and fast.
The one at center used a gloved hand to stroke his cock. Rubbed his dick against my ass. Used a cold slick finger to probe my asshole.
The one in my cunt stopped, pulled out, moved back. The one at center took his place. His dick circled my asshole before pushing, pushing. Sliding all the way inside me. More tears.
He didn't fuck my ass. He followed the rhythm of the man by my head. Rocking his body with mine, cock slid in and out of my throat but remained in my ass.
Then I felt two sets of hands on my hips. Heard a gasp of pleasure. The man who invaded my pussy took refuge in the asshole of his friend.
They all followed a rhythm, a beat they knew well. I took them, accepted my fate.
When they were close, each rising to a crescendo together, the van stopped. I heard the driver's door open and close. In the time it took him to walk around, they all came, grunts and groans filling the small room.
The driver opened the side door. He pulled me out onto the sidewalk. Another flung my bag out.
All four men stood over me. I cowered, hiding my face from the dim light of the night, from their eyes. I felt the four streams of piss hit my back, my ass, my hair.
When they finished, they got back into their van and left.
I laid on the ground for a few breaths before raising my head to figure out where I was. At once, I knew. The small tree. The bike rack. The number on the building.
They discarded me at my front door.
I had more than my fair share of memorable moments and lesseons learned from this past Winter Fire, but one in particular has stuck with me: I will always schedule myself for the last bootblacking shift of an event.
The last two hours of my chair time at DO:WF were hectic, and challenging, and I would not trade them for the world. I can't even tell you how many people sat in my chair. Person after person put their leather in my hands.
I was nervous at first, but when I saw the long list of people waiting, and it dawned on me the limited amount of time we had, I found myself dropping into a zone I had not felt before.
Fast forward to this past weekend at Frolicon. I scheduled myself for eight hours of blacking, two four hour shifts over the two days, one of which included the last shift of the event. My chair time was not as hectic as it had been in February, but it was still something altogether amazing.
Just a year ago, I was a novice bootblack. I sat and watched as Elegant worked, taking pointers from her wealth of experience. Previous to that event, I had only blacked for friends, never publicly. Elegant offered up her kit to me, and a new friend sat for me to black his boots. He took pictures I later posted to my Fet.
This past weekend could not have felt more different from last year. I was confident. I felt sure of my skills. No more nerves. No more fear. I sat in my chair and waited to perform my service.
As the last shift ended, after I'd had a couple dozen people cycle in and out of my care, I felt great. I packed up my supplies with a smile.
But my new found confidence was not the only reason for my happiness. As the last bootblack finished work on her last piece of leather, others gathered in the area. Her friends blocked the view right beside my stand. A person served as a table, holding boots to be gifted.
When the last bootblack finished, her friends parted. Her mentor spoke words for and about her. There were hugs and tears and cheers. The last bootblack was gifted a shiny pair of boots of her own, showing her progress in her craft, her care, her dedication to her work, all that she had learned over 14 months of instruction.
As her mentor laced up the new boots with pretty pink chord, I stood on the side of the circle, seeing all the faces of her friends. In that moment, I felt something stir inside me.
I wanted that, the community, the fidelity, the shared comradery of this group of folks in leather.
I am not where she is, nor have I had the training she's had. Still, I am a bootblack (though maybe just a baby bootblack). Each time I sit down and work, I am learning. I am grateful for my haphazard training, for the many voices who've guided me along the way this past year and a half, and for those who will teach me more as I grow in my craft.
And I hope, one day, I too will have that moment of a gift of leather.
~ erotica ~
"May I?"
He gave a small head nod in consent. I practically jumped up from my seat and scurried towards him, descending down to the floor, resting on my knees by his feet.
His boots were tall stiff leather that, over time, had come to meld closer to the shape of his calf. The very top of each boot ended just below his knee.
He had ladder-laced each boot to the top, cinched each tight, wrapped the lace around his calf, tied with a simple bow in the front, and tucked the excess lace in between the tongue and side of his boot.
I found the ends of one, bringing them back out to the front. Slowly, I pulled the bow lose, leaving just a simple overhand knot. Hooking my forefinger, I made just enough space for my digit to fit between his leather and the lace before languidly tugging the crossed fiber forward until the two pieces separated.
The half of the boot lace that weaved under his work I rested to the side of his boot. I gripped the other's end and again used my forefinger to hook into the lace, slowly, intentionally pulling it through the eyelet, leaving just a fraction of its length at the end, creating a floppy U shape that dangled above the tongue.
This time, gripping the side of the U closest to the eyelet, I hooked my finger once more and pulled, sliding the lace through, leaving about four inches between the previous set of eyelets, and creating yet another floppy U. I repeated this process over and over and over again, working down his leg, til I came to the last set of eyelets.
Now, at the toe of his boot, I spread the sides of his leather apart, loosening the grip on his foot, creating the space he would soon need. Scooting myself forward, I wrapped my thighs around his leather and sat on his boot, my clit resting on his toe. With my head still tilted down, I cupped my hands in the back, gripping onto the heel.
"No."
My head tilted up and saw his face. His eyes looked stern, but not upset. He directed my gaze to his other boot. It seemed his preferred process was different from how I'd been taught, but I was happy to appease his wishes however he wanted.
Unsettling my body from his boot, still on my knees, I scooted over to his other foot. Again, I found his tucked bow. Again, I took care in undoing the simple knot, as well as the initial loosening of the crossed lace. Again, I pulled through each eyelet in long measured strokes, taking care to run the lace against the leather in hopes that he felt the friction even through the barrier. Again, I came to his last set of eyelets, spread the sides of his boot, and loosened the leather to give room for his foot.
And, just as before, head down, my thighs hugged his boot, my hands cupped his heel, and my clit rested on his toe. I waited patiently for him to slip his foot from his boot.
But then I felt the gentle rock up and onto my clit. Felt his muscles flex beneath me. Felt as he slowly maneuvered his toe up and down, up and down.
My grip on his heel grew tighter. My thighs squeezed together. I tried to keep my breathing low and calm. I licked my lips, sighed, and then bit my lower lip.
Was this a test? Was this a tease? Either way, I knew what I wanted, what he drove me closer to with each flex of his foot.
"Please?" It was a whisper.
"No." It was a command.
I bit my lip harder. I rested my forehead against his shin.
"Please?"
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
He gripped my hair, tilted my head back, and looked into my eyes. There was a muted satisfaction in his gaze as he took in my wanting agony.
"Please, Sir?"
A wide grin broke across his face.
"Yes."
He lifted his leg up hard multiple times as my body shaked before freeing his foot from his leather. He released my hair and I bent my head down, resting it against his boot. I picked up the loose laces and draped them inside of his boot before setting it to the side.
Again, I scooted over to his foot and placed my body as I knew he wished it, and as I so wanted it. This time he merely lifted his foot out; no reprisal of my ecstasy tonight. I draped the laces inside as before and set the second boot next to the first.
Still on my knees, I leaned over, resting my hands on the floor beside his leather. I licked the toe of each boot clean, and then kissed his boots.
~ erotica ~
[Note: The following is an excerpt from my NaNoWriMo project. Enjoy...]
I knelt on the ground, my head bent down, naked, waiting. He told me to wait. Told me he would be back. But when he'd be back I did not know. The chain around my neck, and it's lock by the top of my sternum, weighed heavily on my chest.
When would he return? Would he return? Was this a test? All I wanted was my Daddy. All I wanted was his cock. On me. In me. My mouth. My ass. Wherever he wanted. I wanted my Daddy.
I heard footfalls, the familiar click clack of his boots on the wooden floor. Daddy was coming. Daddy was back. Daddy was home.
He opened the door and closed it behind him. I didn't look. I knew he didn't want me to look, knew he liked it when I just waited, same as he had left me, same as he wanted me, on my knees, hands on my thighs, head bent in supplication to him.
I heard the click clack as he walked to his chair right in front of me. Out of my periphery I saw those familiar boots, and those familiar chaps. I smelled his cologne. Even from those few feet away, I felt his heat. My Daddy was ready for me, wanted me, needed me. And his boy needed him too.
"Stand."
I curved my toes under and glided up, my head still bent.
"Look at me."
And, finally, I saw his face. His salt and pepper beard. His sky blue eyes. His jet black hair.
"I missed my boy."
"I missed you too, Daddy."
"At my knee."
I rushed towards him, gripped his leg tight, and rested my head at his knee. He caressed my head, his leather gloved hands in my hair. My head instinctively leaned into his touch, leaned into each stroke of his hand.
And then came the grip. He held onto my hair and pulled my face towards his. With his free hand, he unzipped his jeans which he wore under his chaps. Out came his massive and hard cock, the cock I had so missed, that cock that would soon be inside me.
Daddy pushed my mouth onto his cock, all the way in, down my throat. I gagged at first, but made myself relax. My Daddy was in me again. I couldn't be happier.
He pulled on my hair, moving my head back and forth on his cock. Stroke, stroke, hold. Stroke, stroke, hold. Daddy had taught me how he liked his cock sucked, taught me how he would use my body for his pleasure.
Once he pulled them out, my hands eased up to my Daddy's balls. With each pause at the back of my throat I was to squeeze as hard as I could. This meant my Daddy would soon cum. My Daddy loved it when I squeezed his balls.
Stroke, Stroke, hold/squeeze. Stroke, stroke, hold/squeeze. He grew faster with the rhythm, faster and deeper in my throat. I gripped harder and harder, so much that my hands hurt, but I didn't care. It was what my Daddy wanted, what my Daddy needed, and I would do anything for his pleasure.
And then it came, my Daddy's grunts as he spewed into my mouth; warm cum filled me. I love the taste of my Daddy's cum, love it when he cums in me, in my mouth, in my ass, just in me.
Pulling me up by my hair, my Daddy encircled his arms around me as he kissed me, licking his cum from my tongue, filling my mouth now with his own tongue. Oh how I missed him, his dick, his tongue, his cum, my Daddy all in me.
But he wasn't done yet.
As my Daddy lapped at his cum in my mouth, one of his hands now gripped one of my ass cheeks and a finger played with my asshole. My Daddy was especially horny and wanted yet more of me. I leaned my ass back into his touch, wanting more than just his finger playing with it.
And then I was turned around, bent over, my hands on the floor. Daddy gripped my hips and pulled my ass into his mouth, licking and lapping at my hole. He spit into my crack. He licked and sucked all he wanted.
His first ungloved finger slid in and I gasped from the surprise and the sensation. A moment later, after working me good, his second slid in. Daddy was opening me up good and wide. Sure enough, his third finger soon followed.
I breathed. I screamed. I cried my pleasure as my Daddy stuck in a forth finger deep inside me. Daddy was going to do it. Daddy was going to give me my greatest pleasure, my favorite pleasure.
A moment later, my Daddy's full fist slid inside my ass. "Yes!" I moaned as Daddy began pumping his hand in my ass, ramming me hard. He punched my prostate, bracing his arm in front of my thigh both so that I wouldn't fall but also to give him extra leverage, extra pushing as he pummeled my insides how I loved.
With his hand so close to my crotch, he soon began stroking my cock as well. It was so much, oh so much pleasure as my Daddy fucked me right. And then, oh my god, and then Daddy bent down and started sucking my balls too. I could barely stand, could barely think of anything but all the sensations, all the pleasures running through my body.
"Daddy, please! Oh god, Daddy please!"
"No!"
Daddy pounded my ass harder, squeezed my cock firmer, and lapped at my balls even more.
"Please please please, Daddy! Oh god, please let me cum. Please Daddy, I want cum for you. I want to cum for you. Please!"
"No!"
Daddy sucked both my balls into his mouth, held his knuckles against my prostate, rotating around, and gripped the base of the shaft of my cock.
"Fuck! Daddy, please! Please!"
"Cum!"
The world went tumbling as Daddy flipped me onto my back, my cum racing from my body into his mouth, onto his face, lapped up and on him. He used his hand to milk my cock, pulling every last bit of cum out of me for him to enjoy.
Daddy slowly eased his fist out, then brought his face to mine. His kissed me softly as I tasted myself on him. He let me lick his face, lick my cum off of him, before kissing it from my lips again.
His hand caressed my cheek, then cradled my neck, lifting me up off the ground. He softly placed my head back by his knee where I rested, waited, happy to have my Daddy back home.
It was Friday night at Rope Camp.
Cigars, Boots, and Chocolate was winding down; fewer than a dozen people remained in the Pavilion, though we all stood around smiling and chatting, still enjoying each others company.
The social had gone well. Even though I arrived late. Even though I had to run back to the cabin for supplies. Even though I didn't black one boot. There was laughing, good conversation, chocolate, some whiskey, and of course cigars.
Funny enough, there was also coconut rope.
As per Gray's standing request, whenever I took his ash into my mouth, my boobies had to be out. For this particular evening I wore my black-top-gray-skirt dress and was easily able to free my chest for his amusement.
But somewhere during the social he decided he wanted me in coconut rope. Dictating that I should just pull my entire torso out from my outfit, I pushed my dress down to my waist.
And then came the rope.
He wound it around my chest, over my nipples, secured it under my piercings, and placed knots in wicked spots all over. Just wearing coconut rope is a predicament in itself. You feel it dig in with each and every breath.
Throughout the evening, the attendees of the gathering would approach me with one of two requests: may I touch it or may I pull on it. I granted both, either slipping into to teaching mode or willing bottom space.
To make up for the lack of bootblacking at the get together, Gray instructed me to lie on the floor of the Pavilion. Then he and Rough provided the necessary boot action by suffering my body with their leather.
Both men stood on my body in various places (back, thighs, hair) and marveled at my ability to take all their weight with my flesh. Gray also thought it fun to kick my crotch. But as I laid on the floor, Rough's boots on my hair, and the toe of Gray's boot occasionally connecting with my cunt, I heard laughter from the attendees. As I learned later, Gray decided to dance in between his crotch shots.
When I stood, I let both men in on a small detail they failed to realize: with each of their movements, my nipples rubbed up against the floor. Not only did I feel their leather bound blows, I also contended with the abrasions of the rope and the floor. Personally, I think I was bad ass to have taken so much.
With just over half a dozen people left, Gray removed my box tie. And oh, it hurt just as much coming off as it did going on. Gray made sure of that. Gliding the rope along my skin, whipping my body around, push and pull. If ever there was any doubt, yes Gray is most definitely a Sadist.
When finally the last inch of rope was gone from my body, he rubbed all over my skin. I slumped forward, relieved at the soft and caring touch.
However, with my coconut rope gone, I now felt the cool of the evening. I pulled my dress back up and slipped on my jacket. Our small group continued to chat.
I don't remember how we got on this topic, but there was one conversation exchange I will not forget.
"How about making a bottom cum til they pass out," someone suggested.
"No," Rough argued. "How about making me cum until I pass out." I grazed Rough's left bicep. He turned to me.
"Hi," I said with a wink and a smile. Everyone burst out laughing.
And then it happened, my last highlight of the get together.
To end the evening, and once again I don't remember how this happened, but somehow we all ended up in a group hug coalescing around Rough. I stood behind him, my face on his back.
And then people, while still in the hug, started hurting me.
Rough stepped back, pressing the heel of his boot on the top of my right foot. And Elf pinched the back of my neck, right where he had bitten me before. And another pinched my left arm. And I think Gray went for a pressure point on the right side of my jar. I can't really be certain because my eyes were closed for almost all of this, but fuck did it hurt.
My face sunk into Rough's back as new sensation after new sensation took hold. I screamed and yelped as they all laughed and enjoyed my pain.
And yet, we were all still hugging, throughout the entire time. It was funny and odd and... something. Something.
A good time. It was a good time.
It was the simplest movement, the simplest motion. A submissive sat with her head on her Dom's knee. Then lightly, gently, she brushed her cheek against his knee. That was all it took to bring me to tears.
I quietly snuck my way downstairs, located the bathroom, leaned against the wall, and cried.
I wanted that. I missed that. I yearned for that.
Something so simple as my head on a knee, such slight affection. I had, for some time, forgotten how much I loved that, how much I ached for it each day.
I let myself cry, letting my sorrow spill out. I grabbed a paper towel and dabbed at my eyes, wiping away my tears. I took a breath. I let myself cry again.
And then I regained my composure. I contemplated leaving the gathering, but I knew that would only make my heart hurt worse. Instead I steeled my resolve. This place was full of friends. I would be okay.
Slowly easing back upstairs, I again stayed on the periphery of the gathering. Looking over to my left, I saw a woman sitting on the floor working on a pair of leather shoes. She used products and techniques I had no seen before. Curious, I sat in a nearby chair and watched her work.
And then I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Poetic, can you let down your hair." My curls were pulled up in a tight bun. I pulled off my hair tie.
"Come with me." I followed Scotty to the adjoining lounge area.
Standing in the spot where he led me, I was surrounded by Scotty and three other friends. My head bent, their bodies close to mine, they all blew smoke into my hair, over and over again. And just like that, I felt better.
Relaxed, I nestled on the floor. PrincessA sat in a chair behind me. Softly, tenderly, she caressed my head and pulled on my hair. I let myself float on the feeling of her hands in my curls.
As I sat, having falling into the atmosphere of the gathering, a friend asked if I would black their boots. For a tip, their girl offered up his ashes to me. I assured her she did not need to tip me, but she insisted all the same. I accepted her gesture with gratitude.
As I worked on his leather, I took my time, giving care and attention to his boots. He blew smoke into my hair and onto my skin. After I finished, he and his girl thanked me for my efforts, saying his boots looked almost new. He then offered up his ash as my compensation. I ate it from his hand gratefully.
Finished with my first pair of boots, I turned to PrincessA and worked on her leather. As I gave her boots attention, I realized I felt right again. Whereas before I had been sorrowful, dejected, once again I felt the care and love of my friends. I felt like I belonged.
~ Sunday afternoon at The Floating World ~
I first noticed him during a class. He sat a few rows behind me.
I happened to turn around and glance towards him. I first saw his boots. And then, slowly, up trailed my eyes, taking in the head-to-toe leather. Finally I saw the soft smile on his stern face, his gaze not on me.
I made myself turn towards the front. I knew it, as soon as I saw him.
Shit, another one. He was a leatherman.
When class ended, I walked out into the hallway, avoiding the incredible urge to go say hi to him.
It was the last day, and I was about to go to my last class.
I passed Lynk in the hall, and doubled checked where Sadistic Massage would be held. He pointed me towards a nearby room. I sat down my things and wandered about the convention center during the break as the classes turned over.
I stopped by the bootblacking station, checking in with D3 and rabbit to see how they were fairing. Few pairs of boots had graced their seats that day.
Wandering back towards my class, there he was. He stood, showing off his cricket bat to a man I did not know.
Meh, I thought. Why the fuck not?
I slowly approached him and lightly touched his shoulder. He turned, looked at me, and smiled.
"Hi. I just wanted to say your cricket bat looks awesome. I have a friend who uses one for play, and it's a lot of fun."
"Why thank you."
"I'm poetic."
He introduced himself. I smiled wide.
"Nice to meet you."
"You say your friend uses a cricket bat?"
"Yes. In fact for my birthday, during my birthday spankings, I got hit with his cricket bat. And a pool stick. And a hockey stick."
"Really?"
"I like pain. May I look at your bat?"
"Sure."
He showed it off to me.
"Yours looks rougher than his."
"Ah, his is finished."
"Finished?"
"Laquered."
"Yes. And stingy as a hell. Well, I have to go. Class."
"Which one are you attending?"
"Sadistic Massage with Lynk. It's happening right over there."
"Sadistic Massage? I may see you in there."
"That would be nice. Well, it was nice meeting you."
I smiled, turned, and walked away.
Fuck me; another one.
I am such a sucker for a man in leather.
~erotica~
He wore just a plain white jock strap and his mid calf boots. He knelt before me, head bent in supplication.
I stood, looking down on this toy for me to play with.
I could tell he was staring at my leather, a pair of boots ladder laced up the front in red, their end just below my knee. The legs of my black cargo pants were stuffed down the leather. My black t-shirt stuck to my skin, the sweat of the day's heat exploding on my back.
I stripped off my shirt, but still wore a white tank top underneath. My breasts were bound against my chest. I was in a very un-girly mood that day.
I unbuckled my belt, letting its opening dangle at my front. I hadn't decided yet just how I was going to play with my toy.
I saw him twitch when he heard me undo my belt, and again when he heard the sound of my zipper's opening.
"Take it out."
He tilted up his head, his stare now fixed on my crotch. His hands pushed aside the slit in my boxers and pulled out my black cock, which I'd packed just for him.
I knew he liked the black one more than any other of my rainbow assortment I had at home. The length and circumference were perfect for his mouth.
He licked his lips when he saw it.
"You have a mouth; why aren't you using it?"
My hand on the back of his head, I shoved my cock down his throat. He gagged for a moment, then began hungrily bobbing his head up and down my shaft. He was such a piggy when it came to sucking my cock.
Each of his downward strokes hit me just right, increasing my arousal. I didn't care that by the end of this, my boxers would be soaking wet.
"Gotta get it all nice and lathered up, my little cock slut. It's going in your ass tonight."
His eyes lids flared opened, a mixture of fear and excitement beaming up at me.
"Is it wet enough my little cock slut? Do you want it in your ass now?"
He vigorously nodding his head yes.
"No, I don't think so. I only heard you gag that one time. I don't think you really want it."
His sucking grew even more desperate. I could feel my cock hit the back of his throat. He gagged with each of his strokes now.
"My little whore, wanting it so bad in the ass. I think you've earned it."
I pulled his face off my cock and looked him dead in the eye.
"Hands and knees. Face down, ass up."
He quickly turned around and presented himself. I knelt behind him.
I brushed my cock against his asshole, teasing him at first. I heard his desperate whine.
With one good push, I slid in the head. He let out a sigh. I then thrust my hips hard, deep into his ass. He yelped and pushed back, his ass hungry for my cock.
I stroked his head, bent down, and whispered into his ear, "Such a good little cock slut." I could hear the smile form on his face.
I fucked him hard, pounding my cock into his ass. I grabbed his jock and ass for leverage and rode him harder still. I bent down and bit his ass, a hunk of meat for my tasting. He pushed back with all my strokes, wanting as much of my cock as would fit in him.
As I felt my arousal surging, I increased my strokes. Even with my quickened pace, he kept up.
"What do you say when someone fucks you right little cock slut? What do you say when someone rides your ass hard, pounding their cock into you?"
"Thank you."
"What?"
"Thank you."
"What!?!"
"THANK YOU....!"
He screamed as he came, obscenities falling from his lips.
When I came, I dug my nails into his ass, sunk my teeth in once again, and slumped on top of my toy.
My little whore had done well.
He stood beside me for a moment before his turn. He asked for a light for his cigar, which I gratefully gave.
Sitting down in my chair, the din of the event fell away. I picked up his boot and placed it on my thigh. I unlaced his leather and began working.
I was still in the bar shine mindset. I made myself slow down. I made myself take care with his leather. I cleaned each of his boots twice, making sure I massaged the flesh beneath the leather.
As I worked, he blew cigar smoke into my face and ran the cherry of his tobacco delicately near my skin. The intensity of our interaction increased.
He ashed into his hand and brought his palm to my eye line.
"May I?"
"Yes."
I took his hand into mine and licked up the flecks. Some ash spilled onto his thigh. His hand clean, I bent down and licked the ash off of his leather kilt, all the while nuzzling my face into his crotch.
His kilt free of ash, I sat back. He flashed me momentarily. I gave a smile, but got back to work. I'd already cleaned his boots once and not gotten to the polish; I didn't want to get sidetracked again.
As I reached down for my polish supplies, he stood, placed his boot on my thigh, and pointed. I bent my head down and licked all over his leather. I kissed. I caressed my face.
Satisfied, he sat back down, but then placed his boot in between my legs, applying intense pressure onto my clit. With the force of his weight behind him, he merely pulsed his boot as he fucked me with his leather.
I leaned back in my chair, moaning rather loudly. I begged permission to cum. He gave it. He allowed sweet warmth to pass through me three times, my hips bucking with the rhythm of his leather, before he ceased his delicious torment.
As I rode his boot, as I sunk into my ecstasy, I forgot about anything else going on around me.
When finally he stopped, I raised my head back up, regained my breathing, and got back to servicing his boots. I cleaned where his leather had met my pussy. I asked him what polish he preferred; Lincoln.
I pulled out my tin and popped it open. I rubbed the dark substance and applied some polish to his leather.
He took the tin from my hand. He built up saliva on his hand, so much so some dripped from his lips, rubbed his hand into my polish, and applied it to his leather.
Moving his hand to my face, his fingers rubbed my lips. My mouth parted and I sucked on his fingers, sucked like I knew he wanted me to suck on his cock. I could hear him moan from my mock fellatio.
Upon his request, I put the tin in my mouth between my teeth. I vigorously worked the polish from the tin into his boots. I buffed his leather.
Taking my brush from me, he licked the bristles and buffed his toe caps. Once again I followed his lead, licking my brush and buffing his heel caps.
"Now you are in my leather."
And you are in my polish.
"I can wait; she's worth waiting."
"Now you know what it's like to be a presenter; everyone wants a piece of you."
After the Dirty Pig Leather Contest, I packed up my kit and headed down to the Cigars and Services event in the Pavilion. It had already been underway for a bit, but I was the first bootblack to arrive. After retrieving a few chairs, I made a place for us at the edge of the stage, opened my kit back up, and waited.
While arranging the bootblack area, I happened to bump into SirRonC. He introduced me to his friend, Prophet, and inquired if I was doing cigar service for anyone. I informed him I was not, but that I was bootblacking at the front.
I ate ash from Prophet's hand, a new experience for him. I also offered to check on him throughout the night to see how he was doing.
My first set of boots was a fellow classmate from earlier that day. As I worked on his boots, we chatted. His leather was new and needed little attention other than a standard cleaning and conditioning. My services were soon complete and he was on his way.
As I waited at the bootblack station for my next pair to work on, Rabbit approached. He was to be another bootblack for the event. He left to retrieve his kit and came back as I was working on my next pair.
My next set of boots were far more difficult than my first.
Pendragon sat down in my chair. As I looked on his leather, I silently cursed. He had been working to help bring the camp back from the storm. As such, his leather was beyond dirty.
I worked hard to clean all the mud and grass from his boots. I earned my tip from him.
As I worked on Pendragon's boots, I heard people behind me. One voice I recognized was Stefanos. He was to be next in my chair.
At least, I thought he was to be next.
Once I finished Pendragon's boots, his companion, who had quietly sat on the stage floor next to him, sat in my chair. Neither her nor Pendragon informed me she also needed my service.
Stefanos was not put off. "I can wait; she's worth waiting."
I informed Pendragon's companion that I would be right back. I wanted to check on Prophet since it had been a spell since I last saw him.
As I stood up to step away, Gray, who had been chatting with Stefanos behind me, grabbed my attention for a moment.
"Now you know what it's like."
"What?"
"Now you know what it's like to be a presenter; everyone wants a piece of you. Just remember, keep something for yourself."
I took his comment with a grain of salt and rushed off to find Prophet. He was indeed good. His cigar was near finished, with no ash for me to eat though. I politely asked to be released from assisting him, my bootblacking obligation being more than I initially realized. He graciously agreed.
Back at my station, I worked on the companion's boots. These were her first pair and they were beautiful. I consulted with Rabbit as to how I should condition them. Once done, both she and I were pleased with the results. She walked away happy.
And then Stefanos sat down in my chair...
It was raining only a little, ever so lightly, as D3 and I setup our space.
As we sat, waiting for anyone to sit in our chairs, Chey came over and sat in my seat. She wore shoes and didn't want them blacked. But she did need them cleaned, having walked through the dirt and mud throughout her Sunday.
I used my saddle soap and towel to clean off her shoes, giving extra attention to massaging her foot as I worked.
Once finished, I turned back around in anticipation of the show.
"May I play with your hair?"
I gave my permission. She softly pet my mane, lacing her fingers through my strands. Quite quickly I was in my happy floaty place.
"I love your hair."
I loved her hands in my hair.
~
"Have any of you heard of the red and blue parade?"
I sat on a piece of fabric on the ground. D3 and I had setup a bootblack station on the side of the small hill next to the Barn stage. He worked on a difficult pair of boots; aside from Chey, I had no customers for my evening.
SherynB, who was hosting the Dirty Pig Leather Contest, was stalling for time. Contestants needed to prep for their pop fantasies, and, with over a hundred people watching, time needed to be killed.
"I want you to come up here and show us your bruises."
She didn't need to tell me twice.
I popped up off the fabric and galloped onto the stage.
However, someone had beat me to the limelight. I stood upstage as Sheryn asked them how they'd received their marks.
And then it was my turn.
I stepped to downstage center, lifted my dress up above my cleavage, took two steps to my left, twirled, and then walked back to SherynB, who asked me the obligatory question.
"Well Monday night was biting while fisting, as well as Tuesday morning. I had an interrogation, a kidnapping..."
"Ladies and gentleman, Dirty Pig contestant number six!"
My eyes grew wide. I think my hands went up to my face as I cutely cowered. I very quickly, and sheepishly, scurried off the stage and back to the fabric on the hill.
~
Once, towards the end of the competition, I looked over and saw D3 playing with his knife. He held it inside his mouth, never touching his tongue, cheeks, or lips.
With the show ended, he packed up his kit. Slightly concerned, I asked him if he was okay. He explained he didn't care for the show; that was all.
He then informed me he was leaving camp; this was it for him. As he sat in his chair, I got up on my knees to hug him. He sunk back down to the ground onto his knees for our bye.
We kissed, his lips and tongue now familiar. He sucked and played with my ring. He bit me a little. And we hugged.
As he walked away, I consoled myself with the fact I would see him at The Floating World.
And then it hit me: I liked him. Crap.
For a moment, it felt like my camp drop had started.
But I still had the rest of my Sunday night, and a pair of boots to attend to. I packed up my kit and headed down to the Pavilion.
"I like her. Can we take her home?"
Even though I was tired, having only gotten about three hours of sleep, there was no way I was going to miss the first class session Sunday morning.
I got up, quickly showered, put on my gray cotton stretch dress with mesh cut outs, laced up my boots, and almost skipped to the upper fire pit class tent. I was the first to arrive for WhipMasterBob and Bootpig's Puttin The Boot To Them.
I greatly enjoyed the lessons they taught in nonverbal communication using just your boots, but my favorite part of the presentation was the last thirty minutes.
The duo always left this time for student requests. Coming into the lesson, what did we expect to learn? From those answers, they would provide us with the final bits of information.
The consensus in the class was a desire to learn about rough body play with the boot.
Bootpig laid on a soft mat in the middle of the class benches. WhipMasterBob stood above her and spoke about different areas of the body to target. He stood on different parts of her body, suggesting that tops have something to hold onto to keep their balance.
But then he stopped. Bootpig was having back issues and could not demo the rest of the information. Could he have a volunteer from the class?
My hand shot up.
He waved me onto the mat. I got on all fours in front of Bootpig, who then didn't move off the mat.
"Oh, am I in your way," I asked.
"No honey. I'm just enjoying the view." Yeah, I wasn't wearing any underwear...
Bootpig complimented my ass before sitting on another mat to watch the rest of the demo.
Lying down on the center mat, WhipMasterBob now loomed over me. He spoke about how I'd positioned my body on the mat. I was flat on my stomach, my arms above my head, exposing my ribs. He then gave some swift kicks with the side of his boot to my torso.
Stepping towards my rear, he stood on my back, pushing my body into the mat.
Using the toe of his boot, he struck the lower portion of my ass with an upward angle. I started to softly moan as my hips ground into the mat with each of his strikes.
"Your welcome," he said.
With that as a warm up, WhipMasterBob had one more lesson to teach.
Slipping the toe of his boot under my clit, he inched farther and farther under me until my entire crotch was on his boot, my pussy right against laces. Using his other boot, he gyrated my ass, having me hump his leather. My moans grew loud as I rode his boot.
And then he stopped.
"What? I'm a Sadist."
The other students in the class groaned for me. Someone saw my pout and advocated to our instructor. WhipMasterBob looked down at my face and ah-ed.
"Can you beg with your eyes?" I did. "That's pretty good. Okay."
His boot was again on my ass, rocking my body against his leather, fervently humping his boot. As I moaned, I still felt the need to ask permission, but couldn't quite get out the words. WhipMasterBob, ever the experienced Dom, understood my garbled request.
"Yes, you may."
"Thank you," I panted.
And right there, in the middle of class, I humped his boot and came.
D3 stripped naked, save for his boots. I wore only a black strapless dress, a cute pair of underwear, and my boots. I told D3 how I like it when people take off my clothes.
"Mean or nice?"
"Whichever."
He stepped in close. We kissed, our arms wrapped around each other.
He began punching me. I slowly, blow by blow, backed up into the wall of the cage. I looked into his eyes as his punches landed on my chest, my arms, my thighs.
He kissed me, turned me, and then stripped off my dress, unzippering the back and quickly peeling it off my body. He left my boots and underwear on.
He punched my back, my ass. Using the toe of his boot, he kicked my thighs. He swung his leg and landed his boot across my ass.
Grabbing my hair, he pulled me to the ground. Lying on my stomach, he put his boot by my face.
"Lick it," he demanded.
My tongue traced up, down, and around his leather as he continued to punch my back.
Using his boot, he flipped me over. He loomed above, stepping onto my body, using the cage for balance until he could apply his full weight. Adjusting his body, he intensified his weight into his heel, down onto my flesh. Turning my head with his boot, he stepped on my chin line.
Coming down to my level, he chose to sit on my ribs and once again punched my chest. Using his elbow, he applied pressure points to my chest and arms. Pulling out a knife, he glided his steel along my chest and over my face. He made me endure more pressure points.
His knife away, he leaned down and once again kissed me. He licked my eyelids. As we continued to makeout, he pulled me on top of him. His body now laid below mine.
In an instant, the dynamic of our scene switched. I kissed him, teased him. I danced my breasts in front of his face. He pinched and sucked on my nipples. I leaned down and bit his neck. He encouraged me to bit harder; I did so. He moaned with my increased pressure.
I kissed him more. Without realizing it, I'd begun grinding my hips on his leg. I was happy my underwear was still on.
Without warning, he hooked his leg and flipped me back onto the mat. Again we kissed. My legs grasped his thigh as I continued to hump his limb.
He sat me up, crossed legged. He punched my thighs more. Using his lead shot mallet, he attacked my back and thighs.
And then he asked a magical question.
"What do you want to do now?"
I answered bluntly.
"Fist me or fuck me."
We laid down a chuck; he gloved up. I removed my very wet underwear and got comfortable on my back.
We started slow. I asked him if I needed permission to cum. He said I didn't. I could have as many orgasms as I wanted. "I love to watch people cum."
I orgasmed a few times before his full fist was in.
Once inside, he used a turning motion to make room, sending my muscles racing. What he thought was to be our final flourish was merely about a third of the way into the fisting. I continued to fuck his hand and cum like crazy, pushing back as he rocked me forward.
Once, during a rather intense orgasm, I lifted my hips up off the ground, bridging my body high. "That was intense," he remarked.
My ass back down on the ground, I hooked my calves around his elbow and squeezed my thighs. I rode his hand as hard as I could. I came so hard, I cried. I asked him to vibrate his hand, and then came again. He tried to open and close his hand quickly. I stopped him, coaching him instead to do it slowly.
Soon, his wrist tired. He asked me how long I could go. I informed him this was a loaded question, as my record for a fisting was an hour and forty-five minutes with forty-two orgasms (yes, we counted).
He decided, with his wrist about done, it was time to pull his hand out. There was a final flourish, the delicious feel of his knuckles against my pelvic bone when his hand exited.
Ungloving and joining me on the mat, we cuddled and kissed, and almost fell asleep.
He then asked me if I wanted to help him orgasm. I gave a very enthusiastic yes.
I then gloved up as he laid back. As he masturbated, I massaged his asshole. When he came, I caught his cum in my glove and smeared it onto his lips. He licked off his cum, sucking on my fingers, all the while our eyes locked on each other. It was so very hot.
Gloves again discarded, we cuddled more before cleaning up.
When we checked the time, we could hardly believe it was real. We'd started at about midnight. The time had flown by.
We finished at 2:22am.
I asked D3 if he wouldn't mind blacking my boots, seeing as my shift was up in fifteen minutes. He agreed, sitting on the ground as I remained in my chair, setting up his kit as I stashed mine away.
He then asked, "Do you need to go anywhere?"
"No," I replied. My commitments for the evening didn't start until much later, about two hours from then. This was his tester, to see how much care and attention he could give to my leather. In my view, he had all the time in the world.
We started with my showing him how to unlace my boots, first trailing up the boot & around the rosettes and then back down over the rosettes & through the side loops.
As he began with his cleaning, I as usual slipped into my happy floaty place. His hands massaged my calves. Pressure and sensation mixed with the feel of having someone so close to me servicing my wears. My head rolled back and I sighed.
To condition my boots, he used a mixed of Black Gold and Hubberd's. I loved the visual of him rapidly rubbing his hands together and them applying the mixture on me. As again his hands kneaded into my flesh beneath my leather, my sighs grew into moans. My eyes closed; my head collapsed back. I fell into the feeling of the service, and got lost in his hands.
When I peaked, just once, I saw what looked like Hubberd's on his lips. I smiled, closed my eyes, and allowed myself to be lost again.
His work mostly complete, I explained how to re-lace my boots, a chore all its own.
His work finished, I offered him a tip. He refused. He knew it would come from the tips I'd made earlier. Instead he told me to put the money back into my kit.
Not able to compensate him monetarily, I asked if I could give him a hug. He stood up on his knees into my seated arms.
As our arms initially intertwined, we somehow naturally... gently... kissed.
And kissed a little more.
And a little more.
Our lips parted. Our tongues played. Before I knew it, we were making out.
My hands trailed down his back and gripped his ass.
He started sucking on my tongue. Normally, I hate it when people do this. It's only happened to me once before and it was not a pleasant experience.
But D3, when he sucked my tongue, and played with my ring, I was so fucking aroused I started grinding against my metal chair and panting like a begging puppy.
As he sucked and I bucked my hips, I came right there in his arms, the smell of Hubberd's still fresh on the both of us. I never wanted to stop kissing him.
But, eventually, we did. Our kissing ended, we then actually hugged, and then slowly broke apart.
I slouched back into my chair, the intensity from the past minutes washing over me.
D3 asked what I was up to that evening. I knew I was to black Stefanos' boots, and had plans for play during the Circus. I asked him his plans. He, in fact, wanted a playdate with me.
We settled on midnight at the Dungeon.
I spoke about how I loved impact and showed off some of my bruises, exposing my breasts. He asked permission to play with my nipples, which I gave.
His tongue flicked and licked. His lips closed around and sucked. He bit, hard. I took in the pain, let it wash over me, until I had to call yellow.
We flirted. We exchanged numbers. We parted.
We would see each other again, later that evening.
Because of Friday night's storm, there was some confusion and a handful of things not going as planned at camp. The Pamporium was up and running though, albeit without hot wax, so I made my way over after lunch, a host of much needed calories after my abduction, in hopes of working my bootblacking shifts.
As I rolled past Oink's cabin, I saw TheatricalToy there, along with others waiting to be let back inside to retrieve their things. She informed me she would not be bootblacking, but if I wanted I could still try.
When I arrived at the Pamporium, Amethyst consented to my endeavour. I pulled two folding metal chairs over to a clear spot in the tent nearest the asphalt path. I found two small empty matching garbage bins and flipped them over.
I unzipped my kit, a piece of well packed carry-on sized luggage, and I sat.
As people walked in and out, I looked for anyone wearing boots. However, with the hot day, there were none. Me, in my cotton dress and knee-high boots, seemed an anomaly.
As I waited, D3 came by. He was to be the experienced bootblack on shift (to my novice spot), but he wanted to check on Toy and help her through her current ordeal. He said he would swing by when he was again free.
And so I went back to waiting.
I scanned folks walking by, hoping to see leather. And then, a bite. I saw a gentleman walk up the lane in a pair. I called to him, asking if he'd like his boots blacked.
As he sat down in my chair, he introduced himself. His name was B, and he was also suppose to be on shift with me. I'd signed up for two back-to-back slots, giving me boot time from 2:30pm-6pm.
Now with a pair of boots to work on, I started. As I worked, I enlisted his aid. It was agreed he would stay by my side, just in case, answering any questions I had and giving me pointers along the way. He, in fact, could not black that day because of some shoulder issues.
While I worked, my friend Phoenix came over. She saw that I was bootblacking and asked if I could teach her. I was more than happy to help. She scurried away to grab her Master's boots.
As I finished up B's boots, he said he had another pair for me to black if I so wanted. I did. He left as well. Both soon returned.
As another pair of boots sat in my chair, I explained the basics of bootblacking to Phoenix as she worked on her Master's boots on the ground to my right. Meanwhile B sat on my left watching my work. I was both the teacher and the student.
Later I blacked B's second pair of boots, and he taught me a method for spit shining. Out of gratitude for his aid and tutelage, I asked him if I could kiss his boots. He agreed. Gripping his leather, I brought my lips to his boots, kissed and caressed both sides, and gently parted from his leather.
At one point SkinnyBitch, who was inebriated, sat in my chair. She wore shiny flip flops and asked if I could black them. I looked through my kit, found a clean toothbrush, sprayed it with water, and dusted very carefully, making sure to not remove her sparkles. Challenge accepted and accomplished. She giggled with delight.
While waiting for another customer, Stefanos happened to walk by. I turned, saw him, and smiled. I offered to black his boots, but he was on his way to a class. He suggested later, to which I gleefully agreed. I would meet him after the Circus that evening.
As my shift grew near it's end, D3 came back to check on me. After chatting with both my mentors for the day, D3, B and I agreed to come back the next day for another shift, as well as setup shop for the Dirty Pig leather contest. Phoenix and B then departed.
D3, however, stayed.
"You are using the rope to deliver your message; your receiver is your bottom, not your knot."
At the front of the class stood a whiteboard. The bottoms faced the back, unable to see what Dart, the presenter, wrote. The tops read the word and began.
My class partner started softly, slowly. Immediately there was intense eye contact. Easing in closer, they pressed their body against mine and wrapped their rope around me.
Bringing my arms up, they tied my limbs in front of me in an almost prayer position. They hugged me from behind. I felt safe, loved.
Nuture.
For the second word, the mood in the Pavilion immediately turned cold. My partner took the rope, which they had previously unwound from my body, and used the fibers as a whip, stinging lashes across my skin.
"Do you like this?"
"Yes," I squeaked through yelps and cries, finding some solace in the catharsis of the pain.
Quickly working, they cinched their rope around me tight, the fibers biting into my skin. They dragged the rope across my body, burning brutally.
They pulled my hair. They forced me down to the ground. Their boots pressed harshly into my body.
They tied one arm above my shoulders, the other below. And they tightened. And tightened. And tightened. I screamed. I cried. I dove into the pain.
Dart told everyone to stop. He wrote something else on the board. We bottoms didn't see this as well.
And then everything changed.
My partner slowly began untying their bindings. They eased my arms from their ropes. Again they pulled the rope across my body, but this time sweetly, soothing my skin.
They joined me on the floor, laying their body against mine. They began caressing my hair. With a bunch of the rope in their hand, that massaged it against my face. With their body and the rope about me, I felt safe again.
When Dart brought the group back together, my partner and I never stopped touching each other. Some part of me was always touching them; we needed to remain connected.
As we began to talk about our scenes, what we noticed, how things affected us, Dart began with a rather surprising comment towards myself and my class partner:
"You two over here almost brought me to tears. That's a lot coming from a gay man."
People spoke about letting themselves fall into the words given, turning off parts of their brain to allow the scene to go where it needed.
I spoke about the change in how my partner drew the rope across my body, the same action but with opposite motivations. How something so basic can be performed in vastly different ways.
The second word Dart wrote: Ruin.
Dart's final words: I'll Protect Your Forever.
Class dismissed.
