Aug 212012
 

(The end of the “Dressing Domme” story, or at least, it’s as much as I’m willing to tell. Continued from part 1, 2, and 3)

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His mouth was too much and not enough and I couldn’t decide whether to push him away or pull him closer. I wish I could say I was satisfied, but I wasn’t. I always seem to need more or less or different.

I put my boot up on his chest and pushed him away in earnest before lying back down on the bed to collect myself. I took a few deep breaths and tried to let go of my frustration. After a few moments, I propped myself back up on my elbows and looked down at J.

He sat back on his heels looking disappointed and hurt. His expression was worlds away from the smug, eager smile I’ve come to love and hate. I never know what to do when he’s disappointed with himself like that… for something that isn’t his fault. Sometimes I want to hug him and remind him that I’m the one who’s broken and defective–not him. Other times, I want to grab whatever is closest, flip him over, and beat sweet little welts into the backs of his thighs. Whatever action I end up taking, the motivation behind it is almost always the same–I want to drown the disappointment, to displace the frustration, and to reclaim my headspace and re-secure his.

I sat up, smoothed down my skirt as best I could, and tried to ignore his sad-submissive face and tragically limp cock.

I was about to stand up, but when I put some weight on my feet, I realized how much they hurt. The boots looked hot, but they pinched and rubbed and felt awful.

“These fucking hurt. Take them off.”

I wasn’t trying to be coy or sexy, nor was I consciously trying to make him feel submissive. I just wanted them off, but with the corset laced so tight, I could hardly bend to unzip them.

He looked down at my boots and back up at me. If he hadn’t looked so serious (and if my feet didn’t hurt so badly), I would have laughed out loud at his expression. The disappointment had completely faded from his face and was replaced with the softest, sweetest reverence. He looked as if I had given him a beautiful gift. In that moment, I remembered what I had noticed earlier–the leather boots turned him on. Being told to take them off my feet excited him in ways I didn’t anticipate. His cock was getting hard.

J says he doesn’t have a foot fetish or a boot fetish, and in general, I believe him. But something about that particular moment got to him–a hard cock doesn’t lie. My own disappointment and frustration melted away–I was almost too delighted to have made this little discovery.

All the same, my feet fucking hurt.

“Stop looking at my shoes and take them the fuck off. I wasn’t kidding… they hurt!”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

J moved more quickly, but he still looked far-too-happy about the whole thing. He unzipped one, starting at the thigh and sliding down to my ankle before working it off my foot. It took more effort than either one of us expected–the boots weren’t broken in and they were tight. He set the boot on the floor between his knees, and went to work on the other. He was about to set that one next to the first when I stopped him.

“Sniff it.”

He looked at me, blankly.

“Stick your nose down into the foot and smell it. Go ahead… Do it.”

He stuck his nose down by the ankle, between the open teeth of the zipper, and I watched his chest expand as he took several deep breaths.

“Ma’am… it smells like leather. But… but, it smells good!”

I wasn’t really serious in my request, but I was curious to see how he would react. I just didn’t anticipate such a deadpan, honest reaction… I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, they’re brand new, so I guess they still smell like leather… Whatever!” I laughed, “I saw it in porn…so… I figured it must be the right thing to do!”

He laughed too.

I figured “Domme dress-up” time was over, and I worked off one of the gloves. He watched me, still smiling. I fucking love that he’s willing to laugh with me and take me seriously (when it’s possible).

I motioned for him to come closer and he got back up on his knees to reach me. I kissed him long and hard, wrapping my bare hand around his throat and wrapping my gloved hand around his cock. I pulled back a little, holding his bottom lip between my teeth. I bit down and tugged at his cock and god… he was so fucking hard.

I pulled away and looked down at my hand wrapped around his cock–my cock, the cock I own, the cock I control. His face was still turned towards me, his eyes closed.

“Look down at my cock, boy.”

His eyes flew open and he looked down at my hand wrapped around his cock. He was dripping precum, and I could feel his heartbeat in my hand–through his cock, through the glove, straight into my palm.

“You like my gloves, don’t you boy?”

He looked back up into my face and nodded.

“Tell me, do you want me to jerk you off like this? Wearing leather gloves?”

He nodded again, smiling slightly.

“Yes, Ma’am…” And then that smug fucking smile flashed across his face and I knew he was about to be a smartass…

“Did you see this in porn too… Ma’am?”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. It was funny, but all the same, we both knew he had probably overstepped his boundaries just a little.

Still smiling, I wiped up a dribble of precum from his cock and smeared it across his cheek. He stopped smiling, but I didn’t. With my hand still wrapped around his neck, I pulled his face close to mine and whispered in his ear.

“It’s okay. I know you’re embarrassed… but you like it. It’s okay… I’ll make it easy for you. I think you should jerk off into my glove.”

He wasn’t sure if I was serious until I sat up, peeled off the other glove, and tossed it down at his crotch. He looked my glove and then looked back at me. I was still smiling. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was serious either, but as usual, I wanted to see how he’d react.

“Go ahead… jerk off.”

I leaned my elbow on my knee and rested my chin in my hand in mock-impatience.

He picked up the long glove and examined it for a moment. His face was totally blank. He held it gingerly, found the opening at the elbow, and was about to pull it on over his cock…

“No!”

He froze, about to stick his cock into the opening of my glove.

“No! No…. don’t jerk off into my glove. I don’t know how to clean the lining. I want you to wrap it around your cock, pretend it’s my hand, and jerk yourself off.”

His face was blank.

“Jesus. Don’t stick your cock in it! Wrap it around…” I gestured with my hands to show him what I meant.

He seemed to get it and nodded once, slowly.

“Yes… ma’am.”

He wrapped my leather glove into an empty fist around his waning cock and looked back at me. I suspect he was thinking I’d let him off the hook. I didn’t.

“Good boy! Now… keep your eyes open, focused on me, and jerk off. Go on… jerk off.”

“…okay… okay. Yes… Ma’am.”

He tugged at his cock, and like a good boy, he stayed focused on me. In less than a minute, he was hard again. I smiled broadly, knowing that his body had betrayed him again. Jerking himself off with my glove turned him on. I’m sure he wished it didn’t, but it did.

I watched him masturbate himself with the empty leather glove. I sort of wished it didn’t turn me on either, but it did.

  4 Responses to “dressing Domme, part 4”

  1. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I was serious either, but as usual, I wanted to see how he’d react.”

    I couldn’t count how many times I’ve done this out of some silly thought that hits my head. I call it my mad scientist mode.

  2. Time to buy some leather gloves me thinks

    • I don’t use them often (I live in the subtropics — it’s never cold enough), but I have to say… they were worth every penny. ;)

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