I was sitting alone in the hot tub when I heard the back door close. Amy, my wife of seven years, had come out into the yard, probably to smoke.
"Hey," I said. She smiled as she approached. Without saying a word, she rolled up her sleeve and slipped her hand into the bubbling water.
"Oh," I said, feeling her grab me through my trunks. "This is unexpected." She smiled at me, and slipped her other hand under the waistband. My cock rose quickly under her fingers. She's always been good with her hands. Lightly, she ran her painted nails along my shaft, leaving me groaning. Then she wrapped her warm hand around my cock and squeezed gently while her other hand cradled my balls. Then, she switched to using her nails on my sack while rubbing my cock under the water. I was panting with desire when she reached a hand back behind my balls and began to rub a single knuckle against my perineum. I groaned as she massaged my prostate, molten bolts of pleasure running through the base of my spine as my scrotum tightened against my body.
"I think we need to lose these shorts," Amy said, pulling my trunks over my straining cock.
"Uh huh," I nodded dumbly, frantically tugging at the trunks until my feet came free and Amy pulled them from the water, letting them land on the patio with a wet splat. I was naked in the tub while she stood outside, still in her jeans and sweater that she wore to work that day.
Her hands slipped below the water again, and a single fingernail traced the length of my cock, slowly, lightly, from base to tip, following the trail of my boiling veins. I was ready to explode. She grabbed my balls, and held them; not hard enough to hurt, but enough to get my full attention.
"Mine." she whispered in my ear. She tightened her grip, and abruptly released me.
She dried her hands on the towel I had next to the tub. Then she picked up my phone, pressed a few buttons and put it back beside the towel.
"Meet me inside in fifteen minutes," she said. "I set an alarm on the phone to let you know when it's time. And don't touch yourself while I'm gone. I want you hard for me."
She picked up my towel and my soaking bathing suit and headed for the door.
"Wait!" I yelled after her. "Don't take those!"
She turned. I could see her smile in the rectangle of light cast by the open back door. But she said nothing. The door closed behind her.
It was two months since we had the talk. I hate those talks, the kind that every relationship needs now and then. But I had to do it. Our sex life had virtually collapsed. I was tired of always being the initiator, tired of being turned down for one reason or another. I told Amy how I felt, and she agreed that our sex life was lacking, but it wasn't because she didn't want to. "I'm self-conscious," she explained. "I want to do all these things, but then I think about how fat I am and I can't go through with it."
She was never fat. But over the course of our marriage, she had put on a few pounds, and it was bothering her a lot. We talked about it, and she decided she was going to put more effort into our sex life. She meant it, too. The next day she took out a gym membership and hired a personal trainer. To support her, I started working out too, and pretty quickly, we both started looking and feeling a lot better.
In fact, she looked fantastic. She always had a natural hourglass figure, and when she began losing weight, her waist got even thinner, making her DD boobs look even bigger than they already were. I always wanted her, but as her body got into better and better shape, my desire grew stronger.
So did hers. She was feeling good about herself, and the sex became more frequent. She even began initiating it. But this was the first time she had ever been this aggressive.
It was the longest fifteen minutes of my life. I watched the time crawl past on the phone's illuminated screen. The alarm barely got a beep out before I silenced it, and I launched myself out of the tub like a sea-to-air missile.
I ran to the back door and turned the handle. Well, tried to.
It was locked.
Trying to cover my nakedness with my hands, I rapped on the door with a knuckle.
Nothing.
Terrified the neighbours might be watching, I knocked again. "Amy!" I called urgently through my teeth.
Finally, I heard the leisurely clicking of high heels on the four tile steps inside that lead down to our back door. The door opened, and I gasped.
Since the day we met, I'd always wanted to see Amy in a corset. She was built for it, with her slender waist, round hips and huge breasts. But with her body issues, it had never happened. Yet here she was, stood in the lighted doorway, in an expensive-looking green satin corset decorated with black lace. Her breasts were pushed up high above her tiny waist, the pale flesh quivering with every breath she took. Her natural red curls cascaded down her bare shoulders to rest on her magnificent chest. The hard-on I'd almost lost while I waited for her roared back to life as I looked at her, and she smiled.
I stepped forward, my arms reaching for her, my cock brushing against her thigh. She pressed her palm flat against my chest, firmly pushing me back.
"Not so fast," she said. "You want to come in?"
"Yes," I stammered. "Yes, I do!"
"Why?" she demanded.
"Why? I want to fuck you!"
She arched a delicate eyebrow.
"Well, I don't know about that. Look at me."
She placed her hands on her hips, her breasts rising even higher as she drew a deep breath.
"You look amazing!" I said.
"I do, don't I?"
"So sexy," I said. She smiled.
"I don't think you've earned the right to have sex with me looking like this. Do you?"
"What?" I asked, though I heard her perfectly clearly.
"Do you think you deserve to have sex with me?" She breathed deeply again, making her breasts swell out over the corset's lacy top.
"N-no" I tried. Her smile showed her white teeth.
"No, you don't. But maybe, if you're a good boy, you might earn a little treat. Do you want a treat?"
"Yes please," I said.
"Do you want to be a good boy for me?"
"Yes, I do."
"Good. You can start by showing me the proper respect. On your knees."
Humiliated, I dropped to the cold concrete.
"Now kiss my feet."
I looked up at her in disbelief. She stood over me, lit from behind, her hands on her hips. She seemed to tower over me as I knelt in the doorway.
"Do it," she commanded.
I had never seen these shoes before. The black patent leather shone in the light from inside the house. Her feet arched beautifully on the five inch stiletto heels, with her painted toes peeking out of the hole in front. They laced up to the top of her ankles, and they were sexy as hell.
I don't exactly have a foot fetish, but I've always had a taste for sexy heels and boots on women. Especially boots. Amy knew this - she'd worn heels in bed from time to time - but we'd never taken it to this level. I never thought she'd wear a pair of shoes like this.
I planted a kiss on the shiny upper surface of her right boot. Then another on her left. I felt degraded, utterly humiliated, kissing my wife's feet while I knelt naked before her where anyone could see - and I'd never been so turned on.
"Did I say you could stop?" Amy said quietly.
I hurried back to my task, planting passionate kisses all over her feet, from her exposed toes up to the top of her boots and back down. She laughed as she looked down on me, her naked husband grovelling before her.
"You like my shoes?" she asked.
"I love them," I said between kisses. "They're so hot."
"Well, I'm glad you like them," she said, pivoting one foot on its tall heel so I could reach the side of the shoe with my mouth, "because they were expensive. And it's going to be your job to look after them."
"Ok," I mumbled into her toes.
"In fact," Amy went on thoughtfully, "while I've got you here, there's a few things I think I'm going to have you do from now on. Seeing you on your knees like this has got me thinking. You'd do pretty much anything to fuck me right now, wouldn't you?"
"Yes, I would." I panted. "I want you so bad. You look so fucking hot right now!"
"Don't slobber on my boots. I want them nice and shiny. Clean them with your tongue."
Without hesitation, I did as I was told, running my tongue all over the boot's smooth surface. I heard her laugh again.
"If I'd known how easy it was to make you my little bitch, I'd have done this a long time ago. You are my bitch, aren't you?"
"Yes," I said quietly. My face reddened with shame.
"Say it." she demanded.
"I'm your bitch." I said.
"No, say it properly. Look me in the eye and say, 'I'm your boot-licking bitch boy, Miss Amy'."
"I'm your boot-licking bitch boy, Miss Amy."
"Louder!"
"I'm your boot-licking bitch boy, Miss Amy!"
"Better. It's about time your learned your place. How does it feel, bowing before your wife like this?"
"Good, Miss Amy. I feel degraded, but so turned on. I love this. I love you."
"And you love my boots, don't you? Give them each one more nice big kiss. Good boy."
She turned and walked slowly up the four steps into the house, her thong-bared ass swaying from side to side with each slow step. At the top of the stairs she turned, and I saw her smile as she looked at me, still kneeling naked on the concrete outside with a raging hard-on.
"Come in," she said. I sprang through the door and shut it behind me, relieved to be away from prying eyes. But as I climbed the steps, a glare from Amy stopped me in my tracks.
"Did I say you could walk?" she said angrily.
"Uh...no?"
"No what?"
"No, Miss Amy."
"On your knees, now!"
