Aug 132012

(continued from part 1 and part 2)

After a few short moments and four long strides, J was inside the room. I immediately regretted standing so close to the doorway. Even with four and a half inch heels, J still towers over me. Although he was naked and I was clothed, I felt oddly exposed.

Still, I wanted him to look at me. I wanted his reaction, but I didn’t have any idea what I wanted that reaction to be. I wanted something.

Neither one of us moved. He was waiting for my next instruction and I was waiting for his compliment. After an awkward silence, I took a few steps backwards (dangerous work in unfamiliar heels) so he could get a good look. He looked down at the floor.

“Look at me,” I snapped.

He did as he was told. I took notice of where his eyes lingered and it nearly made me laugh. He barely seemed to notice my pushed-out-to-there cleavage, but instead, he let his eyes wander across my collarbone, over my shoulders, and down to the leather gloves. He smiled slightly. The leather mini-skirt didn’t seem to impress him, but when he finally looked down at the boots, his smile faded and his eyes went wide. He stared, unblinking, for too long. I had no idea what that meant, but I liked it.

“Pay me a compliment.”

“I’m hard, Ma’am.”

“I see that, but that isn’t a compliment. Pay me a compliment.”

There was a long pause–I wasn’t sure if he was taking me in or thinking of something to say.

“You’re beautiful, “Ma’am.”

I turned and walked across the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

He took a step towards me and I stopped him.

“No, baby. On your knees.”

He clasped his hands behind his back, dropped to his knees, and shuffled forward. When he was nearly within reach, he sat back on his heels and looked down at the floor, or at my feet, I wasn’t sure. I caught his earlobe and pulled him back up on his knees. I dug my nails into his flesh and pulled him toward me, forcing him to look me in the eye. I leaned in until my face was a few inches from his and half whispered:

“You need to pay me a compliment… I’m going to give you some time to think of a good one. While you think, I’m going to entertain myself. Do you understand?”

“Yes Ma’am” he whispered, resting his hands in his lap.

“Hands back where they were–behind your back.”

He complied quickly. I crossed my legs and extended a foot, tapping the underside of his balls with the pointy toe of my boot, bouncing them on my instep. I pulled his balls forward, squeezed them up against the insides of his thighs, and pushed them up towards his body.

I leaned back and rested my weight on my elbows to more comfortably use my boot to play with his cock. Over and over again, I pushed the head of his cock down towards the floor, pulled away, and let it bounce back up. After a while, his cock went a little soft. It wasn’t nearly as fun then–the bounce wasn’t as satisfying with a half-hard cock.

Instead, I used the sole of my boot to pin his cock against his stomach. In the process, the skin on the underside of his balls caught on the tip of my stiletto heel. He winced–it wasn’t an “in pain” sort of wince, but an “anticipation of pain” wince. Sometimes I think I enjoy his anticipation more than I enjoy his actual pain.

A second later, he blurted out “A compliment… I have a compliment Ma’am!”

I smiled and wondered whether he had really thought of a good compliment or whether he just blurted something out when his balls snagged. It didn’t matter though–I was enjoying myself too much to think about compliments.

“I’m not interested in what you have to say right now. You can tell me later.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

I smashed his cock back against his belly, harder this time–hard enough that he had to tense his thighs and abdomen to keep upright, hard enough that the head of his cock sort of squished up over the pointy toe of my boot. When his cock stiffened again, it wasn’t nearly as satisfying to squish against his belly. Besides that, my leg was getting tired and I was getting uncomfortably wet. I wanted his mouth.

I released him, opened my legs wide, and motioned for him to come forward.

I didn’t have to lift my skirt much to give him access–it was short enough that he could see how wet I was. When he had shuffled forward far enough, I nodded, and he leaned toward my pussy. I stopped him just short and draped my knees over his shoulders. I pulled him in closer to me, digging the stiletto heels into his back. I used him to pull myself forward until my ass was on the edge of the bed. I leaned back on my elbows and squeezed his face between my thighs.

Propped up on my elbows, I looked down over my own breasts threatening to spill out over my corset, down over the shiny steel buckles and black leather cinching my waist, over my tiny skirt bunched up around my hips. I looked down to his face held fast between my thighs at the precise place where my pale skin disappeared underneath the black leather boots. Just over my skirt, just past my own wet cunt, his hungry, beautiful blue eyes stared back at me, asking for permission to plunge his tongue into my pussy.

[read “dressing Domme, part 4]


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  10 Responses to “dressing Domme, part 3”

  1. Well, the long-winded narrative helps me visualize the scene between you and J in great detail. I’m eagerly waiting for part 4. Another well-written narrative!

    • @Dave: Thank you kindly! I tend to get more wrapped up in the detail than I do the more exciting stuff because my brain is constantly in high gear (processing all the details, which is perhaps, part of my body’s anti-orgasm campaign…)

  2. Ohhhh, I can’t wait for the happy ending! Thank you for sharing this.

  3. nice way to get his attention. Obviously the outfit had an impact on him. But how did it make you feel?

    the curious,


    • @Mick: “But how did it make you feel?”

      I think I can break “what I felt” down into five stages:

      1. I enjoyed getting ready, it was fun and made me feel sexy.
      2. It made me nervous. For a little while, I was too self-conscious about what was popping out where and whether or not I could stay upright (sky high stilettos are fine, but I HATE boots).
      3. The clothing felt restrictive–I didn’t have the range of motion or ability to bend and move like I normally do.
      4. I fucking forgot all about it and enjoyed myself.
      5. Part of the outfit became a sort of fun prop/toy at the end of the evening (more on that soon). :)

  4. Fairly new reader and first time commenter. I really enjoy your description of the evening’s events and I’m eagerly anticipating the next installment.

  5. Gasp! What I wouldn’t give to be J!

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