My Dom in Boots (750 Words)

This story is part of the 2025 750 Words Challenge. It is therefore only 750 words long. Similar, longer, stories of mine are linked at the end, for anyone wanting more.

___

I knew, intellectually, my Dom was a switch. The masterful man, who controlled me most effectively, wasn't always in control of himself. Occasionally, he wore a collar. Sometimes, he'd glance to his Lady, his partner, for permission - for something. It was never clear what.

Whenever I visited, we'd all socialise a while, good friends; then she'd leave us alone. Whereupon he became my confident, fearless Dom, testing what painful or embarrassing things I'd let him do. He usually dressed in unobtrusive casual black - skinny jeans or jodhpurs, band T-shirt, plain jumper.

Sometimes, he'd wear high-heeled boots under his jeans: "Women like them; I like being taller. They're sexy, and anyone who gets freaked out by them can fuck off. Or just get over it, if they're my students. Being fair,

they

do. Only faculty say it's 'inappropriate'. Luckily, our gender-neutral dresscode says 'screw them'. No, not literally, thanks!"

Once, he'd worn a shiny metal collar during a session with me. I'd asked the significance.

"None."

He'd clarified, "I'm not submitting to you. So it's just decoration, as far as

you're

concerned.

Your

collar, on the other hand... Helping you get to the right headspace? Hm?"

Today, he'd warned he was 'inclined to take out

lots

of frustration on a visiting submissive.' Building my anticipation, really - he whacked my arse hard every time!

His partner messaged me. 'Everything OK?' I asked her.

'Sure! He's looking forward to you! Just a heads-up: he'll be dressed rather differently to usual. But it won't make a difference. He's his usual self.'

I wondered what she meant. Cross-dressing? No, he didn't believe in binaries to cross, and wore feminine goth wear whenever he felt like.

She answered the door, all cheerful long hair and floaty skirts. "Hey, love! Sit down. Cuppa?"

Then I noticed him, standing in the corner. Virtually naked. He dutifully faced away, hands clasped behind his back. He hadn't shifted with my arrival.

"Oi, boy! Go make your girl some tea!"

He turned.

His legs were clad in patent-red thigh-high boots with lurid laces, their stiletto heels at least five inches. His only other clothing was a smooth steel collar with matching cuffs, all fastened with small padlocks. Now he faced me, I could see his cock was neatly packed away in a metal cage, balls dangling beneath.

When he reached for a mug, I saw his backside again. He also wore a butt plug, if 'wore' is the right word. Nothing else. Shortly he approached me, knelt, offered me my tea, and sat back, silent.

He didn't look nude. Partly, because he lacked embarrassment. The calm confidence he exuded detracted from his nudity.

Mostly, because little pale skin showed above his boots.

Not hidden by clothes. No; his back was lurid with red and crimson lash marks. Purple bruises, nearly as dark as his usual jeans, littered his bum and fleshy areas. Plus pink lines, perhaps from clamps or whips?

Like someone covered in tattoos, it made him appear clothed.

"Good boy." To me, "Now, I'm going out. You're all his, for the next five hours. You strange, trusting, creature... Great kinky sub, rather! Anyway, your choice, your problem, as usual! He's his typical self, don't mistake and think he isn't! Apart from not being allowed any extra clothes inside, and no removing anything if you go outside, he's free to do everything he normally does. I'll leave you both to it. Bye-ee!"

He kissed her goodbye, then stood up straight, legs confidently apart.

He strode around, stretching his muscles, then looked down, assessing my reaction. Finally, he spoke.

"Yeah, I'm dressed like this. A filthy slut! And marked. But it doesn't change a thing." He pointed at me; I put my empty mug aside, to concentrate on him.

"It doesn't matter whether I look like the sluttiest whore in the world. It doesn't matter that I

am

the sluttiest whore in the world!" Arms akimbo, he gazed down at me. "

You

just need to remember one thing."

His possessive smile returned. "I'm still

your

fucking Dom." He grinned. "Master. Remember, you're

mine!"

He stood before me, self-assured, knowing I appreciated the kinky boots, not to mention his bare chest and great balls being shown off. He seemed proud, having proven he could take what he dished out - and more.

I shivered. I felt myself sliding into submission to him. Like every time we played.

Only with a new, curious, urge - to kiss my Dom's boots.

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If you enjoyed this, please comment! Other stories you may like are https://literotica.com/s/tell-me-what-you-want-5 and https://literotica.com/s/bad-brat-girl, plus various of my others in the BDSM category.