Waiting for the Party to End

Sorry I’m late everybody, had a deadline on something in real life.

His feet shifted nervously, a rigid grin fixed on his face while he made small talk. People circulated from drinks to snacks to back to watching Guitar Hero while he leaned against the wall. Their kinky friends smirked as they walked by, and he wondered if she had told them or they had just figured out something was going on. Their vanilla friends just made small talk and wandered off, they’d always figured he was strange anyway.

She appeared from the kitchen, handed him a cracker with cheese and meat on it, smiled up at him. “No more leaning against the wall. I went to a lot of trouble to put those cane marks on your feet. I want you to feel them.”

He hid his mouth behind the cracker as he leaned forward, sharp lines of pain throbbing across his feet. She put her foot on his, pushed down lightly, smiled as he winced.

“I doubt you’ll be able to stand by the end of the night. But let’s make it interesting…”

He leaned in as people argued about the next song and her voice dropped to a whisper. “At the end of the night, we’re going to fuck. You’re going to be standing, barefoot, holding me up against the wall.”

She leaned in tight against him, nudging the tops of his feet with her own, enjoying his muffled gasps. “You’ll get me off first, of course. If you want to stop after that, that’s fine. We’ll try again tomorrow, maybe.”

Her foot pushed down harder, and she could feel him forcing his breath to remain normal. “But if you don’t get me off, if your poor feet are just too sore, my feelings will be very hurt. I think I’ll lock you in your chastity cage, and every night you can crawl to me on your knees, the cane in your mouth, and beg me to pound your feet raw so you can try again. You’d better beg really well, or I’ll use it on every part of your body but your feet, and leave you locked up. Your begging usually gets so much better after a week or two without orgasms. Sound good?”

He pulled her in tight, leaned in to rest his head against the crook of her neck. “Yes ma’am.”

She smiled at him, giggled as his breath tickled the skin below her ear. Her hand brought up her drink, poured the contents down her throat and then rattled the ice in the glass. “Fill this back up for me.” She pressed the glass in his hand, took up his place against the wall as he hobbled off, and wondered how long it would be before everyone left.

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.