"No. Something else. Something that you really want to see. Something for me and not for you."
"Please Mistress. I want to see you being fucked."
"By a real man"
"By a real man" he repeated.
"Maybe I'll get you to clean me after. When I'm finished being fucked by a real man. Would you like that?"
"Yes Mistress."
"Who knows. I might be able to arrange something. As for these- she looked down at her boots- they're brand new and I really don't want your tongue slobbering all over them."
She stepped over him then and walked out of the room.
When he awoke his neck was stiff and his arm was numb. Waking up he thought. He hadn't really slept just dozed fitfully, curled up on the too small sofa. Karen had locked the bedroom door from the inside and had ignored his knocking, his begging. The spare room was filled with boxes. He'd had no choice but to sleep on the sofa. Sleeping had been impossible. No matter what position he was in he just couldn't get comfortable. But that wasn't the reason.
Every time he closed his eyes the image came into his mind. Karen standing over him, hands on her hips, staring down at him, glaring, sneering, mocking, revelling and gloating in his humiliation. And her boots. He had been able to smell the freshness of the brand new leather. His tongue his ached to lick and lap at her boots. Totally debase himself. He had almost wanted to weep when she had stepped over him and walked out of the room. He had wanted to crawl after her like a dog and agree to any demand she made.
Why had she tortured him like that? Why had she been so cruel? He thought about that cruelty and felt himself grow erect.
He threw back the blanket that he had used to cover himself and sat up on the sofa. He rubbed his eyes. He heard her footsteps on the stairs. She came into the room and smiled cheerfully at him.
"Good morning bootlicker. How did you sleep?"
He rubbed his eyes again and muttered under his breathe.
"Did you say something bootlicker? I didn't quite catch it."
"Why are you calling me that?" he asked her.
"Calling you what? Bootlicker? Because it's your name. Isn't it? Bootlicker4mistress?"
"It's just a nickname."
"But it suits you." she beamed. "I'm going to call you that from now on. Bootlicker. Or should it be wannabe bootlicker? Have you actually licked any boots yet?"
"No."
"Are you sure about that? Maybe you've been going through my closet and licking my boots and shoes when I've been out?"
"I haven't. Honestly."
"Hmm. I believe you. Even though you're a lying, deceiving piece of shit."
She sat down in her armchair. He turned his head to look at her and found his gaze moving downwards, unable to meet hers.
"So were you disappointed that you didn't get to lick my new boots?"
"Yes." he admitted.
She lit a cigarette. "That was really cruel of me, wasn't it. Bringing you to the edge like that. Making you beg and debase yourself so much and then- she snapped her fingers- nothing."
He didn't answer.
"So what are you plans for today bootlicker?"
"I have to go into work shortly."
"I'm going to go shopping bootlicker. Guess what I'm going to buy?"
He shrugged.
"You can't guess? I'm going to buy boots. Lots and lots of boots. I was thinking about buying a pair of riding boots. And then I was thinking of walking around in them. Getting them really dirty and muddy. But then they'd have to be cleaned. Do you know anybody who could clean them for me? Somebody who could lick the mud off with their tongue? Do you know anybody who might possibly have a fetish for doing something like that?
"Please."
"Please what?" she snapped.
"Please Mistress."
"Better. And what's your name?"
"Bootlicker" he whispered.
"I can't hear you. Speak up."
He lifted his gaze slightly, still unable to meet hers fully.
"Bootlicker Mistress."
"Good boy. She stood up then.
"Have a nice day at work bootlicker. I'll see when you get home and we can have a nice little chat about all the changes that will be taking place around here."
Then she was gone. He went upstairs and got into the shower. When he got out he stood over the toilet bowl and masturbated furiously. Was the fury directed towards her, towards himself? The way she had looked at him and her words; the contempt in them. He'd felt the humiliation building up inside him. Hadn't that been what he had been seeking? Hadn't that been what he had begged for from women online?
He had been so close to it last night too, on his knees in front of her, those magnificent boots just inches in front of his mouth, his tongue aching to lick and lap at them. The scent of the fresh new leather drifting into his nostrils. What could he have done to make her relent and give him what he wanted, what he needed? Why didn't she understand? Why didn't any of them understand? Why did they have to be so selfish? He had needs. Maybe he was too aggressive at times in trying to pursue his needs but they were the ones putting up those pictures, tempting and teasing them. All he wanted to do them was worship them. They should be grateful for that. To have a man who was willing to do that for them. He had tried to explain it to them, all these feelings inside. He had been honest with them.
He tore a strip of tissue off the roll and wiped himself and then threw it in the toilet bowl. He flushed. Then he washed his hands. Work would be agony today. And then when he came home this evening. What kind of changes had she been talking about? What had she got planned? Would she allow him to lick her boots. Maybe that's what all of this was leading up to. If he played along with her then maybe he could manipulate her into giving him what he needed. She was his wife. Surely it was her job to satisfy him?
He went back into the bedroom to put on a clean shirt and pants. Changes? He just hoped that they would be the right kinds of changes.
When she got into the car and locked the door Karen took a deep breathe. Her hands were shaking. She had done it. She was doing it. She hadn't believed that she would be able to go through with it. She hadn't believed that she was strong enough to find that cruelty inside her. But she had found it and not only had she found it she had absolutely revelled in it. Watching him grovel at her feet, listening to him beg. She had loved every second of. And then denying him what he had wanted and just walking away. That what had been the best part. That look on his face. She had almost laughed out loud. She had so badly wanted to just spit in his face. She had wanted to slap his face and grind him into the dirt with her heels.
She had been holding so many feelings inside her for months now; anger, betrayal. When she had read the messages that he had been sending her skin had crawled. She didn't know him. He was her husband and she didn't know him. What else had he been keeping from her? Had he had been cheating or was it all just words?
But even words was cheating. The women on the site that she had been talking to in the discussion groups had told her that. Get rid of him, you're worth more than that most of them had told her. Then one of them had sent her a message.
Right now you must be feeling extremely angry and betrayed and you have any right to be. Your husband has been lying to you. Maybe not in words but certainly through his actions. He has betrayed you and shown how little he cares about your marriage. So what should you do? That decision is entirely up to you. Kick him out? Divorce him? Those are certainly options and they are the options that many women in your position would choose. There is another option though.
Make this work for you. He wants to be a slave. That might be worth considering. Keeping him as your slave. BUT ON YOUR TERMS.
Of course this may not appeal to you at all but maybe it's worth considering but only on your terms. You'll need to find your inner bitch. Do you have one. Consider all the options and choose the one that works best for you. This may be the end of your marriage or it may the start of something new. An exciting new journey.
She had read through the message a number of times. Keep him as her slave? Make this work for her? She had fantasies from time to time- most people did- but they only involved things that she wanted to do in the bedroom. She had never fantasised about dominating anybody and certainly not her husband. It just wasn't in her.
But then she spoke to some of the women in the chat rooms and the more she thought about it then the more appealing it became. The anger and resentment she felt towards him turned into something else. Could she be cruel to him? Could she humiliate him? Maybe she could. He claimed that it was something he needed. Needed or deserved? Didn't he deserve to be taught a lesson? And what better way to teach that lesson but to give him what he needed. But on her terms. He wanted humiliation? Fine. Let him have it. Let him choke on it. She had the power to deny him. She had the power to give him what he wanted and she could choose which. She, not him.
Could she fuck another man in front of him? There were plenty of men out there who were willing to take that role- bulls they were called-. Of course most of them were full of it. Like a lot of men online, full of bluster and bravado. She needed to be cautious too. She had chatted with a few of these men online. Most of them were creeps but there was one at the moment who seemed promising. She'd know more when she met him. It was difficult to judge people properly online. So many people created persona's that were the total opposite of who they truly were.
She turned the key in the ignition and started the engine. She felt totally calm now, totally in control. Time for some shopping. Lots of shopping. She was really going to enjoy teasing and tormenting him later.
Shopping, what woman didn't love shopping? Especially shopping for shoes? Fetish or appreciation? Maybe a little of both. Of course she wasn't just shoe shopping at the moment. She was shopping to please her husband, her poor fetish deprived husband. It was really about time that she did her wifely duties and it was her duty to tease and torment him.
She took a pair of red heels off the display rack. They were horrendously expensive and the heels would be difficult to walk in but she'd break them in soon enough. Did he like shoes too or was it just boots. Some fetishes- she'd learned- were extremely specific.
She sat down on a stool, slipped her sandals off and then put on the heels. Then she stood up and looked at herself in the mirror. She had good legs, long and slender. Pretty nice feet too. The heels felt good on them. Sexy and classy and much easier to walk in than she'd thought to be. It helped that they had a good solid sole on them. Strange that she had never noticed him looking at her feet or what she wore on them. He'd hidden his fetish very well- at least until it had become an obsession. Would she have minded if he'd discussed it with her? Would she have been willing to indulge it for him? She wasn't sure.
She took the shoes off and put her sandals put on. Boots next. Lots of boots. It was going to be a boot fest in her house. She'd have to practice strutting in them. She wanted him to drool and slobber like a dog. Her boots would be like a nice juicy bone held just within his reach. Footwear as torture. She took a pair of riding boots off the shelf. Soft black leather. Glossy. Fresh and new. Yes! He would definitely like them. She could definitely draw out the torture with these on her feet. Maybe she'd let him touch them and then again maybe she wouldn't. Everything on her terms. Holding temptation in front of him, watching him squirm, a look of absolute desperation in his eyes. Then she would snatch it away. She had that power now.
She took the boots and the heels and left them with one of the sales assistants and then she went back to browsing. All this shoe and boot shopping was really going to play havoc with her poor husband's credit card. Oh well. She choose a pair of grey suede boots next. Not fetishy but they'd be comfortable. It wasn't all about him. Actually it wasn't about him at all. A pair of patent leather ankle boots, thigh high PVC ones, another pair of riding boots; her arms were laden down by the time she was finished. She brought the boots that she had purchased up to the counter and paid for everything.
As she left the shop, four large carrier bags in her hand, her phone beeped. She took it out of her bag and looked at the text. She typed a one word reply and then put the phone back into her bag. She had plenty of time. Plenty of time for more shopping.
She walked back to the car park, opened the boot and put her purchases so far inside. Now where to next? She mused.
She knew what the items were called because she had seen pictures of them and she had had conversations about how they were used with women online. There were whips. There were floggers. There were paddles and canes. There were dildos, some of them with spikes. There were chastity belts. There were items designed to give pleasure and ones that were designed to inflict pain. There were others too and it was difficult to determine what there purpose was. They were in baskets, on shelves, in glass cases. Some of them were hanging from the ceiling. Implements of sadism and masochism. A combination of both. They would bruise and cut. She was shocked by what she saw. A picture was one thing but to see them displayed like this, like food in a grocery store was quite different. Could she use these things. Had she got that level of cruelty within her? Words were one thing but to strike flesh, to bruise it and cut it. What if he screamed? What if he begged for mercy? What if his words touched the part of her that had loved him?
