left. I could have told him to fuck off. If I’d made enough of a fuss he wouldn’t have made me do it. Probably. But somewhere along the way stubborn pride and a small corner of my brain were telling me I could do this. I should do this. Even that it’s sexy to do it – after all submission isn’t really submission if you only obey the stuff you like to do. It was a very small part of my brain and as I got closer to his feet it shrank further.
I couldn’t begin to understand why this was affecting me so much. I knew his feet were clean – he wasn’t evil after all – and they were just feet. No one was watching, it was just us and him. OK, in wider terms feet felt a bittaboo, demeaning, but trying to move past that shouldn’t be this difficult, should it?
How is it any worse than kissing his hands?
I thought, trying to chivvy myself along, making my conscious thoughts more businesslike.
I lowered my head to his feet.
I can do this. It’ll please him if I do this. If I get it over with quickly we’ll move on to something else and it’ll be sexy as hell
. I closed my eyes.
Do his feet actually smell? Am I imagining it because I can’t see them?
I moved in even closer but I couldn’t quite bring myself to take the final step. I took a couple of deep breaths and tried again. Still no good. My lips were dry, my mind racing.
I can do this
, I thought to myself. If I did it quickly he wouldn’t realize how much it was bothering me.
‘Did I tell you to breathe on my toes?’
He knew how much it was bothering me. Blatantly. My voice was small. ‘No.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go on.’
Tentatively I shifted slightly on the bed and leant down to kiss his little toe. It was a feather-light kiss, I licked my suddenly parched lips and pushed my face back down, in opposition to every screaming instinct. He made a small murmur of pleasure as I connected with his toes again and I knew it was about my submission to his will rather than the sensation of my mouth on his foot. I could almost see him smiling behind me and it made me furious, at him, at myself and the part of me that craved this even while bridling at my own, at least partially self-inflicted, abasement. I kissed each toe, gently and respectfully and slowly – I wasn’t going to have him make me do it again – finishing with a lingering kiss on his big toe. And then Iturned back to look at him, breathing heavily, my face and neck red with embarrassment. I was trying not to glare but his smirk made me think I wasn’t hiding my ire especially well.
Succinctness was what was going to stop me getting into more trouble, so I went for brevity even though my tone was mutinous. ‘OK?’
He smiled at me. ‘Not quite yet. You’ve got the other foot to do. Lean over me and suck my toes.’
I turned back quickly, wanting to face his feet rather than look into his eyes, which seemed to see too much. Tom was more experienced in D/s terms than me, and it was a constant source of wonder and irritation to me that he seemed to understand this part of my nature better than I did, leaving me scared and infuriated even while the intensity of the scene was making me wet. I veered between feeling so exhilarated it felt like flying and wanting to smack him about the head for being arrogant, even while a tiny voice inside me knew it was unfair to call him arrogant when most of the time he was actually right.
I moved over, straddling his outstretched legs to get to his other foot, thinking I could endure this last bit of grovelling. Just do it, don’t think about it. I started by kissing the top of his foot, before screwing up the last of my courage and finally taking several of his toes in my mouth. It actually didn’t taste bad, so I moved along his foot, sucking his big toe. Licking it. Worshipping it. My mind running a mental mantra – this will soon be over. This. Will. Soon. Be. Over.
Then unexpectedly he put his hand between my legsand I moaned
I couldn’t begin to understand why this was affecting me so much. I knew his feet were clean – he wasn’t evil after all – and they were just feet. No one was watching, it was just us and him. OK, in wider terms feet felt a bittaboo, demeaning, but trying to move past that shouldn’t be this difficult, should it?
How is it any worse than kissing his hands?
I thought, trying to chivvy myself along, making my conscious thoughts more businesslike.
I lowered my head to his feet.
I can do this. It’ll please him if I do this. If I get it over with quickly we’ll move on to something else and it’ll be sexy as hell
. I closed my eyes.
Do his feet actually smell? Am I imagining it because I can’t see them?
I moved in even closer but I couldn’t quite bring myself to take the final step. I took a couple of deep breaths and tried again. Still no good. My lips were dry, my mind racing.
I can do this
, I thought to myself. If I did it quickly he wouldn’t realize how much it was bothering me.
‘Did I tell you to breathe on my toes?’
He knew how much it was bothering me. Blatantly. My voice was small. ‘No.’
‘Well, what are you waiting for? Go on.’
Tentatively I shifted slightly on the bed and leant down to kiss his little toe. It was a feather-light kiss, I licked my suddenly parched lips and pushed my face back down, in opposition to every screaming instinct. He made a small murmur of pleasure as I connected with his toes again and I knew it was about my submission to his will rather than the sensation of my mouth on his foot. I could almost see him smiling behind me and it made me furious, at him, at myself and the part of me that craved this even while bridling at my own, at least partially self-inflicted, abasement. I kissed each toe, gently and respectfully and slowly – I wasn’t going to have him make me do it again – finishing with a lingering kiss on his big toe. And then Iturned back to look at him, breathing heavily, my face and neck red with embarrassment. I was trying not to glare but his smirk made me think I wasn’t hiding my ire especially well.
Succinctness was what was going to stop me getting into more trouble, so I went for brevity even though my tone was mutinous. ‘OK?’
He smiled at me. ‘Not quite yet. You’ve got the other foot to do. Lean over me and suck my toes.’
I turned back quickly, wanting to face his feet rather than look into his eyes, which seemed to see too much. Tom was more experienced in D/s terms than me, and it was a constant source of wonder and irritation to me that he seemed to understand this part of my nature better than I did, leaving me scared and infuriated even while the intensity of the scene was making me wet. I veered between feeling so exhilarated it felt like flying and wanting to smack him about the head for being arrogant, even while a tiny voice inside me knew it was unfair to call him arrogant when most of the time he was actually right.
I moved over, straddling his outstretched legs to get to his other foot, thinking I could endure this last bit of grovelling. Just do it, don’t think about it. I started by kissing the top of his foot, before screwing up the last of my courage and finally taking several of his toes in my mouth. It actually didn’t taste bad, so I moved along his foot, sucking his big toe. Licking it. Worshipping it. My mind running a mental mantra – this will soon be over. This. Will. Soon. Be. Over.
Then unexpectedly he put his hand between my legsand I moaned
Similar Books
