She had a love for improvisation.

That’s where the hood came from, a passion for turning common things and everyday objects into kinky toys. The idea that he wasn’t safe from some particular torture just because the usual implements were sold on the internet or in the sex shops downtown for a few hundred bucks made her rub her thighs together. The thought that there were things all around him she could use to hurt him, that the simple objects he walked by every day could make him cringe and squirm and moan and beg, that some day everything in the world might be a reminder of the power she had made her want to slide her fingers down her panties.

She was looking for a rag when she found the hood. Just an old stocking cap thrown in the odd clothes drawer, the kind that didn’t have the eye holes that would make it a ski mask. A simple watch cap made out of heavy cloth.

Behind him, she’d pulled it down over his face, felt him tense up and swallow hard. Dragged down the front until it covered his mouth, then hooked it below his chin. Started wrapping electric tape in tight, short loops around his face, pulling the cloth hard against his skull.

Hot breath filtered through the cloth and moved across her hand when she pulled the tape tight into the groove made by his lips, pulling his jaw open and holding it there, cinching the tape down tight over the cloth between his teeth. Working her way up and down, across the bridge of his nose and looping down to catch his neck. Across one eye and then the other in a rounded X pattern. She finally broke the tape off with a snap, worked the end under one of the black loops, and pulled his head back tight against her chest.

Her fingertips ran across his smothered features, his face muted and blank. No expressions, no pleading eyes or trembling lips. Everything she did to him would look the same on this featureless black skull, no matter what he felt.

He’d never been very vocal, but now… She wondered if he’d try to tell her how much it all hurt when his garbled and muffled voice was all he had left, or if he’d still suffer silently. Asked herself which would soak through the heavy cloth first, his drool, his sweat, or his tears. Tried to decide if he’d be able to tell which part of her body she was rubbing across his covered lips.

Thought about what she’d do to him if he guessed wrong. Smiled and picked the stapler up off the desk.

She had a love for improvisation.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” She rolled over, still purring, and slid her hand under the back of his shirt tail, traced the bright red parallel lines running between his shoulders.

He stood up, got to the bottom button, and realized he had missed one. “I don’t know.” His fingers started shoving the buttons back through the holes, carefully lining the top hole up with the top button.

Her feet swung around until they hung off the edge of the bed. She leaned forward, moving herself closer, being careful not to touch him. “You love it, you know. It’s a part of you, and there’s nothing wrong with it. I can see it when I…” Her words caught in her throat when his shoulders twitched.

“Please don’t. Please.” He’d begged her with those exact words less than an hour before, filled with passion and lust, pleaded for her to hurt him more, to break him into a thousand pieces. It had been the crazed shouts of a fanatic in the thrill of ecstasy, a man desperate to be consumed by cleansing fire, not this pitiful whisper. This was the sound of a tortured animal, begging because it knew it couldn’t be saved. Begging because it didn’t know what else to do, except cry out in pain.

She shook her head. “Look…”

The red skin on his legs, bits of wax still clinging to his flesh disappeared under the blue denim of his pants. “No, it’s cool, I just need a few days.” He kept his eyes on the floor while he pulled on his shoes. “You know, grow some skin back.” A hollow chuckle fell out of his mouth.

She remembered how they had laughed between his screams, even through the gag she shoved in his mouth to keep him quiet. She felt that white light washing over her again, turned from joy to rage. “Fuck you! You know what, just fuck you. You think this is fair to me? Coming over here once every few months, making me feel like shit when you slink out with your tail between your legs? You think I enjoy wondering if you’re okay when you won’t even talk to me for weeks? You think your little pity parties are fucking fun for me?” She kicked herself up, walked over to the dresser and found a pack of cigarettes.

“Sorry.” She looked at him sharply, found him looking back. “Seriously. I really am sorry. I didn’t know it bothered you so much.” He shifted in the chair and winced.

She remembered how he had winced earlier, when she dragged the belt across his skin… and the anger melted away. Left her feeling tired and sad. “Hey, no…”

“No, you’re right. It’s not fair. Every time, I think it’ll be different.” He looked away from her, pretended to be checking the knot on his shoelace. “And it’s not. I really am sorry, I’ll go now.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yeah, I do.” He stood up, shoulders slumped, and walked to the door.

She shook her head, sighed, and decided to try one last time. “Hey, you know, there’s a saying in the kink community. Some people confront their demons, we harness ours up and take them for a ride.”

He looked back at her over his shoulder, gave her the sad smile that kept making her let him back into her life. “There’s a saying in the demon community too: The best way to get a person to let you ride them, is to make them think they’re riding you.”

She sighed and shook her head. He nodded and stepped outside, light spilling out the door around him onto the steps leading down.

His silhouette disappeared as the door swung shut behind him.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

His tongue snaked out and stole a taste of shining leather.

He heard the catch in her breath, but kept his eyes down, guilty, afraid of having been caught. She let him hang for a minute, daring him to do it again and confirm his rebellion.

“Did I tell you to do that?” The question was full of casual venom.

“Sorry.” He shrunk in on himself a little, pulling his arms tight against his body and trying to sink into the floor. “I mean, no, you didn’t. tell me to.” The silence stretched out.

“Do you want to lick my boots?”

“Yes…” His affirmation trailed off into a whimper of lust and dread.

“Wait here.” The thick rubber soles stomped off to his pants, still lying on the other side of the room. She jerked his belt through the loops, then passed the end through the buckle as she walked back to where he was still laying face down on the floor. Her knees thudded to the floor on either side of his back and she put the loop over his head, pulling it tight and standing up with the end still in her fist.

The belt came up, pulling him to his hands and knees. The leather around his throat was just tight enough to make breathing hard, her arm leaning down at a slight angle.

“Can you breathe?”

“Yes.”

“Lick them.”

He started to lower himself eagerly, automatically, and the belt tightened around his throat. His arms instinctively extended and his elbows locked. He stopped and looked up at her with puppy dog eyes and whimpered, knowing what she expected.

“Come on, I want my boots licked. And if you don’t do it now, I might not be in the mood again for a very long time.” She let a little slack into the belt, then pulled it tight again, drove home what he had to do for her.

Deep breaths forced themselves into and out of his lungs, and his eyes clamped shut as he made his arms fold and brought his tongue to her boot. He could feel the air coming harder as she held up on the make shift noose, then stopping entirely as he ran his tongue frantically over the toe, the leather loop around his neck tightening just a little bit more. His tongue worked frantically back and forth then side to side, drool pooling in his mouth and running out, his lungs burning until spots started to cloud his vision and he shoved himself back up, his chest on fire, frantically breathing in cool air and feeling his arms tremble to hold him up.

She waited until he had taken several more deep, gasping breaths before tapping her toe impatiently. “There’s still a lot of boot there.”

He took one final deep breath before dropping down again, the pressure on his throat closing off his air, running his tongue up and down one insole then the other, wrapping his tongue into the hollow made by her heel before pushing himself back up with the last of his energy.

He was gasping, choking, and swallowing hard, spit still rolling down his chin when she tapped her other foot. “I think this one now, and do a better job. Worship it, don’t just lick it like some disgusting animal.”

More deep breaths and he forced himself down to her other boot. Soft kisses wrapped around the toe this time, moving up the tongue, teasing each eyelet with his lips, wrapping around them tenderly and pulling away with soft pops. By the time he got to the top his nose was running, his eyes watering, and he was gasping again for breath.

She knelt down then, and held his head up by his hair, watching his chest rise and fall beneath him, gently caressing his cheek. “Do you still want to worship my boots?”

He shook his head no, sweat pooling and falling off his face as his head moved from side to side. “No, please, I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“What if I took the belt away? Then would you want to?”

He nodded, hated himself a little for how weak he was before her. “Yes.”

“On your knees.” She shoved him back, helped him balance on his knees, dropped the belt and let it hang off his neck. She kicked his thighs apart and stood in the V made by his legs. “Jerk off on them.”

His hand started to stroke his cock and he closed his eyes, dreading and lusting for what he knew was going to happen next. It didn’t take long, his deep breaths turned to lust filled moans and his hips started to roll until he was coming hard, his body jerking and then settling back on his ass as his cum dripped out.

He looked up guiltily, waiting for her to pronounce sentence, and instead saw her standing back, looking down at the puddle of his cum on the floor.

She smirked at him, then deliberately stepped in his warm cum, moving her foot around, working it into the deep tread of her soles. “You didn’t get the soles earlier, so that’s where you’ll start. And be sure they’re clean, or we’ll keep doing this until they are.”

She switched feet, ground her other boot on the floor between his legs, right at the tip of his soft cock. Her boots swung back, pivoted, and walked to the recliner across the room, leaving sticky white footprints on the polished hardwood. “You can clean that up on your way.”

He shuddered and wiped the sweat out his eyes, the drool off his chin, and then threw the end of the belt over his shoulder and scooted back, lowering his face to the floor, only once looking up to count the footsteps that led to the white stained bottoms of her boots.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.