Day 03

I wake up early. I make you lunch to take to work, clean up, shower, dress, make pancake mix ready for breakfast. My balls feel taught, heavy, aching. I feel, paradoxically, good. I want this, you want this, I am elevated by this physical sensation of my worship of you. I want you to feel proud of me, lifted up by my giving of my self to you. Deep thoughts for the early morning. I bring you tea, set it beside you, wait for you to stir.

"I love you." I say, when your eyes come into focus. I want you to know immediately.

"Mmm. Love you too! You're very enthusiastic this morning." You say sleepily, reaching for the tea and sitting up.

"I feel good today" I shrug "You want pancakes in bed?"

"Fuck yeah I do!"

I smile, and go to make pancakes. By the time I bring them to you, you've finished your tea and are fully awake.

"Thanks babe! You trying to butter me up?" You say, digging in.

"No!" I answer, I feel almost offended. "I just.. I guess I wanted to show you I'm feeling grateful?" I feel foolish saying this, even if it is true, and pancakes in bed hardly seems sufficient. You laugh.

"You're welcome." You say. "I'm having fun."

"Me too. I feel.. good."

"Not sore down there?"

I shake my head "No, I mean don't get me wrong my balls are absolutely throbbing! But.. it feels good that they are? Is that crazy?"

"Well yeah, but that's why I love you, perve." You say, smiling. "So it feels good being my bitch?" I nod. "Good, then you can kiss my toes while I eat my breakfast, bitch!"

"With pleasure!" I say, kneeling at the foot of the bed, and uncovering your feet. I kiss each toe softly, working from big to little and back again. Your feet smell sleep-sweaty. You talk to me while I kiss, and you eat.

"I was thinking we could go to the movies tonight, I want to see that new one with the guy. Fancy it?"

"Sure" I say, pausing in my adoration of you "You want me to book tickets for later?" You push your toes against my lips, indicating that I should return to kissing.

"Yes, please. Lick between the toes now, bitch." I slide my tongue between each toe, swallowing between each lick. "You should book seats at the back of the theatre, so nobody will be able to see what I'm going to make you do. Kiss now." I raise my eyebrows at you and switch back to kissing the pads of your toes.

"Well I don't want you to feel embarrassed when I make you lie on the floor!" I stop kissing for a moment.

"I don't get to watch the movie?!"

"Of course not. You don't expect me to put my trainers on that dirty floor do you? You'll be on the floor with my shoes on your face, or maybe somewhere else, if I'm feeling generous. And I did not say you could stop kissing my toes, bitch!" I smile at you and resume my worship. You finish your pancakes, do something on your phone for a while, ignore the man kneeling at the foot of your bed, silently worshipping your feet as if I were simply an amenity of the room.

I feel good all day. Sharp, focused, sexy. Strange how being forbidden from sexual agency can make you feel desirable. I book tickets for the film, making sure they're in the back row. Nobody else has picked seats nearby, thankfully. I text you to let you know, offer to buy you dinner out before the movie - there's a killer noodle joint up the street from the cinema.

You message back to tell me that sounds perfect, you'll meet me there, I should wear some of my 'pretty' underwear, because you like the thought of it struggling to contain my dick and you want me to be reminded that I'm your slut. I open the drawer where you keep the girly knickers you bought for me, and inspect my options. I pick a black pair, silky, lacy. I slide them on, adjust myself awkwardly in front of the mirror. I look ridiculous, feel strangely sexy. I pull my jeans back up, feeling the denim against my backside, feeling my cock slide against, pop out, of the absurd underwear, as the humiliation tweaks it hard.

I am intensely aware of myself on the way there. The feel of the silk against my backside, the too-tight hold on my balls. I adopt unusually upright and excellent posture, conscious that if I bend over anyone behind me will see my lacy thong peeking from the top of my too low riding jeans. I try not to look like a man wearing women's underwear, but still feel like everyone on the bus can tell.

I'm early, you're late (of course). I sit on a bench seat at one of the shared tables, facing out of the window and nurse a glass of beer Chang. When you arrive, I'm reading the menu and don't see you until you're behind me kissing my ear and whispering "Nice undies". Shit, are they on show? I move to hoik up my jeans, but you shake your head meaningfully as you sit down, and grab the menu from me. I feel flushed, and flustered, and you grin broadly. We order food (Xiang biang), talk about our days like normal people. I relax, forget that everyone can see my display, forget what they must think. You pay the cheque when it comes, which is either being nice, or a small, targeted emasculation, depending on how you look at it.

"Thanks babe" I say.

"You're welcome sweet cheeks" You wink.

We walk up the street holding hands. When we reach the cinema, you pull me down to kiss me, your tongue probing between my lips, one hand sliding down my back until you can run your fingers under the waistband of my trousers to feel the silky panties beneath. You kiss my ear, then I feel your teeth sharp and hard biting long on my earlobe. I groan softly in part pleasure part pain, and shut my eyes, feeling you warm and soft against me, agony and your damp breath in my ear. You break away abruptly, and when I open my eyes you're already walking towards the door. "You coming then?" You call over your shoulder, and I scurry after you, my earlobe throbbing dully.

The theatre is, happily, not crowded. A dozen or so other people take seats, none in our row.

"You ok?" You ask me, glancing over and touching my arm "You're all fidgety"

"Yeah, just.. nervous I guess"

"Oh? Why's that babe?" You ask, butter unmeltingly innocent.

Because I'm about to publicly humiliate myself, I think. I give you a raised eyebrow. You lean closer and speak softly.

"Tell me" You say, sliding a hand down my chest "exactly what" my belly "is making you" lower "nervous" You hold the head of my cock softly in the loop of your thumb and forefinger.

I an rigid in my seat with anticipation, fear, excitement, shame. I swallow through a dry mouth, and thick tongue. I'm suddenly afraid I'm going to lose control of the volume of my voice, bellow to all and sundry what you're going to do to me.

"Just.. what you said you would.. do to me." I say in barely a whisper. I'm hard against your fingers, you squeeze to the point of discomfort and hold me tightly.

"And what was that?"

"I, uh. You.."

"I... what?"

"You, um. Said you would make me lie on the floor and use my face as a footstool." The lights are dimming, but I must be visible across the room purely by the red glow of my face.

"Did I? Oh my. But.. what if somebody saw you?" You start to jerk me off almost imperceptibly "what if everyone knew you were down there under my sneakers?" I'm squirming in my seat.

"I don't-"

"You don't want that? You don't want to get down on the dirty floor and be my foot rest? Well ok then." You say, whipping your hand away and turning to the screen.

"No, nonono I want it. Please? Please let me?" I say in a keening stumbling whisper. You ignore me. The film is starting, the lights are dropping. I take a deep breath, and scramble to my knees, start kissing the toes of your Nikes. The floor is sticky under my hands, there is a tracery of mud on your shoes, and I can taste dirt when I lick my lips. You allow this to happen, but pay no attention to it, until after a few minutes you shift yourself more comfortably in your seat, and in the process bring one shod foot down against my face, irresistibly forcing my cheek into the floor, then rest the other casually on my thigh, leaving me crunched in a frozen grovel beneath you. The floor is hard and cold against my cheek, sticky with ancient spilled soda. The tread of your shoe grips against my face painfully, my neck already hurts from my unnaturally twisted pose. I can see nothing, down here, in the dark. I can't move. I can't do anything but listen to the slightly muffled noise of the film, and feel the weight of your leg, the gritty rubber against my skin, and imagine that any second somebody is going to notice this.

After an apparent eternity (how long is this movie?), the pressure on my head is released and you kick me in the side just hard enough to ensure my attention. You kick me again, and I roll onto my back, hoping that this is the correct interpretation. You put one foot squarely on my forehead, lean down and peer to see me in the dark. "Clean my shoe." You mouth to me, bringing your other foot down heel first against my sternum. I take your foot in my hands, and bring it reluctantly to my face, part my lips, and run my tongue across the tread. There is no purpose to making me do this except degradation - you can't feel my tongue, can't see me even if you were looking, and once your shoe is as clean as I can make it by feel and taste, it will be filthy again by the time we're half way home.

You offer no assistance to me, your leg heavy in my hands - if I stopped holding it up the full weight of it would smash down against my lips. I keep licking, swallowing down the muck, grit between my teeth. Abruptly, you switch feet. Your just cleaned shoe comes to rest pressing my erection into my belly, moving restlessly. The other moves to my mouth. I start licking. Dirt. Grit. Rubber. Your other foot teasing, rolling, crushing. You use the toe of your shoe to tug my top higher, revealing my flesh, my cock swollen hard, a slick of precum dribbled onto my gut. I keep lapping. Dirt. Grit. Rubber. You bring the toe of your shoe to the head of my cock and tap it absentmindedly, before applying pressure, and twisting like someone putting out a cigarette.

Luckily there are explosions, to cover my involuntary yelp of pain as rubber tugs and twists the sensitive skin. Apparently satisfied, you change position in your seat, bracing against my body, and settle back, one shoe pressed into my face, the other resting softly against my cock. By the time the movie finishes, I am stiff and sore, my erection gone and my bladder bursting. It isn't until the lights come up that you release me, immediately bursting out laughing when you can see my face. You snap a picture on your phone, turn it to show me the tread marks indented on my cheek, the dirt smeared around my mouth, the popcorn stuck in my hair.

"Oh my god you look a mess" You laugh, pulling a package of face wipes from your coat pocket and handing them to me. "Finish this, your mouth must be gross" You say, handing me the melted dregs of your drink. I grin up at you, swill my mouth, swallow, wipe my face. "Better?" I ask.

"Sort of" You say, stroking my cheek where evidently the print of your shoe is still visible. "Hope we don't run into anyone we know on the way home!"