October 21, 2013

Time is on Your Side

Posted in stories tagged , , , , , at 4:59 am by littlesubmissions

She grinned, then started and looked around the room. The curtains were still tightly closed, no way anyone could see in. She looked back at him, and forced the words out. “Hey, like my boots?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” He laughed a little from across the room, then paused and rubbed the palms of his hands on his slacks. “I mean, yes mistress.”

“Mistress?” Her eyebrow arched, and her voice rose an octave. “I’m not some weekend bang in a rented city apartment full of fake fur. Think of something better.”

He swallowed hard, “Yes, bride? Wife?” His brow furrowed as he tried to think of synonyms. “Partner?” Mike and Arthur from the fantasy football league had used “partner” to describe their relationship, but they got married last month, so he wasn’t sure if it still applied. “Goddess? Ma’am?” He chuckled nervously. “Sir?”

She made a little cooing sound, and tilted her head. “I like that one.” She leaned forward, and licked her lips. “Call me ‘Sir.'” She thrust a boot out, and wiggled it back and forth. “Come over here on your hands and knees, and kiss my boot.”

“Yes sir.” The words felt strange and electric in his mouth as he slid from the chair to the floor. He winced a little as his knee hit the floor, the familiar shooting pain lancing up through his leg.

He started to crawl, and she felt a little thrill each time his knee hit the floor. The look on his face sent jolts of pleasure through her, and made her fingers itch. She forced them around the handle of the riding crop, making her fingers close, ignoring the throbbing pain in her own fingers.

The boot stopped as he crawled up to it, the tip pointed at his lips. Callused, lined hands sank into the carpet as he leaned forward and gently put his lips on the toe. His lips lingered, and his breath rolled across the black leather.

The end of the crop smacked into his left shoulder, then the right. She wasn’t sure how hard to hit him, and the strike made the arthritis in her hand flare, but the jolts of pleasure deep insider her drove them out of her mind. She alternated sharp slaps of the riding crop back and forth from one shoulder to the other until she couldn’t ignore the protests of her hand any longer. “Lick them.”

He had focused on those boots while the stinging pain popped through his shoulders and down into his chest, making his cock twitch. His tongue dropped out of his mouth, and he leaned forward and slid it across the top of her boot. The smell flooded his nostrils, and he felt his tongue slide across the smooth surface. He liked the toe of one, then the other. His eyes were closed, and he was someplace warm and soft.

She was slumped back in the chair, eyes half closed and wearing a dopamine grin. One finger rubbed the handle of the crop, the tip sliding over the rough texture of the leather. She felt it pressing into her leg, and wanted to him again, to make him call her sir again, to see his tongue on her boot again, and to do so much more. But where to start?

She reached forward, and carefully stroked his hair. He sighed, and she knew it didn’t matter where they started, just as long they started somewhere. They had time.

Preview: “Isn’t this what you had in mind?”

Copyright Jerry Jones. Unauthorized use is prohibited.

2 Comments »

  1. This one is awfully sweet. 🙂

    • littlesubmissions said,

      Thanks, sometimes I like to go for awfully sweet, I think it makes the doom more doomoriffic. If that’s a word. Which I think it is.


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