- by heather m. -
How did I get here?
His boot cold and unyielding pushes squarely between my shoulders and flat against my naked spine. My face, wet with determination, lay against the carpet, the scratchy surface a reminder of my discomfort and my need to release. The smell of leather and pine consumes each desperate breath I dare to take - a strong smell, a sensuous heat - of man and of nature, of wood and of oil, of ancient forests reverberating in solitude, the sanctity broken only by the soft crunch of leaves underfoot…
“Cum for me,” he commands.
I am yanked back to my reality, prostrate and bare beneath his black booted feet. The frantic hum of my vibrator echoes between my thighs. It’s ceaseless vibrations tether me to my task and my commitment to succeed. The gravity of his words weigh heavy on me, just like his heel - pressing me low, lower still, making me break until I can bear no more...but I can. I can bear it. The place where his boot presses in, connects us - a point of flames, cold and hot, twisting and stretching across my skin. The place where I ache for him to fill me, divides us - a vacant empty space folding in, coiling tightly with desire.
A hush quiets the noise in my mind as a slight shiver whispers its way across the hairs of my arms and the valley of my neck. The sensation dances and grows; its humming tendrils reaching - aching, expanding - pin pricks of cool air plucking my nipples, tickling my ribs, and circling my thighs. I inhale his boots again, my senses acute to each and every detail. I can hear the carpet breathing. I can feel the floorboards moaning. I see the blackness throbbing behind my lidded eyes. And the purr of the silicone wand hits a magical beat between my molten lips - my clit ripe with a fever for release...
My body freezes...
“Please, Sir, may I cum?” a gasping sound, barely escapes my mouth. I inhale for fear of plunging head first and head long over the edge, but not too soon, so I hold my breath and I hold myself on the tip of that very ledge.
Oh right...that’s how I got here.
It was his demand for Huberd’s shoe grease. The kind they sell in crafted storefronts, perfectly curated, perfectly vintage, and perfectly tailored to discerning hipsters’ tastes.
It was his arrival at my doorstep. Adorned in motorcycle gear and brewing a mix of curiosity, adventure and danger, all broadcast in one fateful look.
It was his seductive hand around my waist. The other pulling me in for a greeting and kiss that nearly happened.
It was his order for me to disrobe. A living doll to possess and to control, unwrapped and unencumbered by frivolity and decoration.
It was his decree that I clean his boots. Carefully, methodically and adoringly, with a smile and a devotion to please him.
It was his ritual and his ceremony. Presiding over me in reverent service to him.
It was my desire to submit to him.
That was how I got here.
My body waits for his words. Silently begs for his permission.
“Cum for me,” he growls, “Give me your release.”
I exhale in a rush of air and I plunge over that cliff, plummeting into ferocious abandon. I press my vibrator hard on my clit and melt into the abyss that uncoils and unfurls, swallowing me into its depths. I am one and I am many - convulsing and exploding - devouring his leather boots with my lips and my tongue. I am primal and enraged, bursting through the sanctity of the masculine domain, my liquid feminine pleasure consuming the constraints and the obedience. No longer bound. No longer tame. I am a Master and a Queen over my dominion of pleasure and of pain. And just as my head finds a home in the stars, my body rejoins the earth below. He waits for me now, until I return and recompose.
“Thank you, Sir,” I reply in my rediscovered breath.
And with that, my submission sets me free.