Under Her Boot! By Throne (19 Pages) (Patreon)

Under Her Boot!

By Throne

© 2019-2020 QoS Comix All Rights Reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to ​Devinwhitegurl@gmail.com 

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

***DEVIN DICKIE NOTE***

All characters are OVER 18 years of AGE! This is a bullying fantasy and not real.  The acts in the following written work are only consensual  sexual choices and fantasy humiliation scenarios.

Bullying is NOT OKAY and If you or someone you know is being bullied, please alert the authorities. 

UNDER HER BOOT

by Throne

"Are you almost done, you lazy sissy?"  From out in the hall, Wife/Mistress Rosanna sounded more impatient than she had a half hour ago, the last time she'd fired this question at her husband. 

Corey, short and slight, with bland features and pale blond hair worn at collar length, was kneeling on their bedroom floor, wearing only panties and stockings.  He had emptied out all the boots from the bottom of her closet, wiped each one down with care, cleaned all their soles, and begun putting them back exactly where they had been before.  

Being sure to keep his voice soft and high, he told her, "Almost."  Then, as he did so often, he added an apology.  "I'm sorry I wasn't faster."  He had worked as quickly as he was able and shouldn't have felt the need to say that, but she had him conditioned to always feel inadequate and guilty.  "Just a few more minutes."

"You are such a slug, Coral."  She distinctly separated the two syllables of the femme name she had given him.  

 Rosanna sighed loudly and stalked away, the stiletto heels of her boots clicking loudly.  He could picture her footwear vividly.  Reaching almost to her knees, the boots were made of black leather and followed the curve of her full calves.  There was decorative stitching at the tops, all the way around, and zippers down the sides.  The toes came to points that were capped with steel, giving them a threatening appearance.  Their narrow heels lifted the backs of her feet three inches and created dramatic arches.  Corey loved those boots. He also envisioned the woman wearing them.  She was taller than him by several inches, plump in all the right places without being fat, and possessed of a blue-eyed, high-cheek-boned, full-lipped face, framed by long, naturally wavy hair of reddish gold. 

She had realized about a year ago that he had an unnatural interest in what she put on her feet.  He was attracted to sandals and shoes.  High heels were further up on his list.  But the top rating by far went to what fascinated and intoxicated him, which was the single pair of boots she had owned back then.  Those were made of some sort of faux leather, stopped several inches below her knees, were tan, and had flat heels less than an inch thick.  Even so, he was obviously drawn to them, sneaking peeks and thinking she didn't notice where his attention repeatedly went. 

Corey's wife had married him because he was rather shy and retiring and it was easy to make him do what she wanted.   He hadn't been enthused about using his mouth on her pussy but she soon had him doing it on command, which was a big improvement over his below average dick, premature finishes, and lack of confidence or technique.  When she observed his fixation on boots, however, it opened new vistas of possibilities.  She decided to do a bit of on-line research into kinky behavior and come up with a plan.  It had been easy and then she had started implementing her schedule for reducing him to a broken, sissified, bedroom slave. 

First she bought a second pair of boots.  Rosanna even gave the excuse that they were on sale and that the price was half her motivation for purchasing them.  She asked Corey for his opinion and then had him get down on his knees to feel the real leather.  She made sure he was close enough to inhale the distinctive scent.  Saying that she wanted to be sure the two inch, narrow-but-not-skinny heels were sturdy enough, she had him hold each one to be sure they were firmly attached.  He had gotten fidgety and when he stood up, which he did with obvious unease, she saw the erection he was attempting to hide by pulling his hips back and bringing one thigh forward, two tricks that failed to fool her. 

The next step was the night after that, when she got naked for sex and then, on what she acted like was a whim, slipped on her new boots.  She lay back on the bed and said something about how their dark color contrasted with her pale legs.  He barely heard the words as he stood there in his boxer shorts with a raging boner that tented the front of the underwear, though not much.  She invited him into bed and got him into the missionary position.  Then she wrapped her legs around his middle so that the boots kept touching him in that area.  He made more noise than usual and finished before he was all the way inside her, much to his embarrassment.

She told him, "Looks like somebody owes me an orgasm.  Right?"

"I guess so."

"And after this, maybe I should just put those boots in the closet and leave them there, if that's the effect they have on you."   She finished the thought with a giggle, as if she wasn't completely serious.

He blurted out, "No.  It's okay to wear them to bed."  Realizing how overly concerned he sounded, Corey went on, "I mean just sometimes.  You know.  For variety."

"Sure.  Variety is good.  Speaking of which, let's have some variety right now.  Like you licking up that mess you made.  And giving me a lovely climax or two while you do it."  To keep him under her spell she brought up the boots and rubbed them along his sides.  "You'll be a good husband and do that for me, won't you?"

"I..."  He didn't sound eager to lick up his own spunk.  But he was also anxious about the possibility of having the boots-in-bed option eliminated.  So Corey said, as if this was all perfectly normal and he was just being a good sport by playing along, "Sure, honey.  Like you said.  Variety.  It's the spice of life."  He forced himself to chuckle as he slid down into position and began the unwanted job.

She closed her eyes and celebrated silently as he tongued her slimy puss.  Because he hadn't gotten more than the head of his little dick inside, his cream was easy for him to reach.  He gagged slightly as he made himself scoop it out of her and, disgusted by what he was doing, swallow it all.  Rosanna found herself wildly aroused by what she had manipulated him into doing.  It was her turn to cum suddenly, except that she was capable of having a string of orgasms and so kept him down there, instructing him how to pace himself, until she was sated and his mouth was well used.  Then she insisted on cuddling so he couldn't escape to wash his face, rinse his mouth, or brush his teeth.  They drifted into sleep and he woke the next morning with that salty flavor of cum still on his tongue. 

After that she was cautious not to rush matters.  Like a practiced fisherman reeling in a catch, she played him expertly.  Before long he was helplessly dependent on her wearing boots during sex.  That was when she stopped doing it, with no explanation, and zero acknowledgement of the change.  He struggled to match her uncaring attitude.  The absence of boots led to him losing erections and then, when she 'helpfully' used her hand on his penis, experiencing shameful ejaculations into her palm.  She would console him at the same time was wiping his warm semen onto his belly.  Even then she never brought up the possibility that his problem was the boots being in the closet.

Finally, in desperation, he broached the subject.  Corey did it indirectly, for instance by saying how good they looked on her.  Or else he would comment that they made her walk extra sexy.  Flattery might get him anywhere in different circumstances but she had planned ahead and merely agreed with him before initiating another round of dysfunctional sex, which would always end with his head between her thighs. 

The third time that he tried to ease her into bringing back the boots, one night when they were in bed, she feigned at last understanding.  "That's a good idea, Corey.  But to make it fair, how about if we try something else at the same time?

"Um, what's that?" he asked uncertainly.

"Oh, it was nothing.  Just some kinky stuff I saw on-line.  If you're not interested we can skip it.  All of it."

He saw the missing boots never returning.  That was not acceptable.  She had gotten him too completely hooked.  Whatever silly little sex game she wanted to play at the same time, he would just have to go along with it. 

So he assured her, "No, it's okay.  Whatever you want is fine with me."

"I'm not sure."  She was proud of how well she hid her desire. 

"Please."  He tried not to sound as anxious as he felt.  "Anything you want."

"Promise?"

"Of course.  Sure." 

"Cross your heart?"

"Well, that too," he said a bit less eagerly.

"And swear you won't back out?"

That was more serious but, he told himself, whatever she wanted couldn't be too extreme.  After all, Rosanna had never initiated anything weird in the past.  She was always happy with him using his mouth on her.  If he could do that, despite not enjoying it, what could she come up with that was worse?

"Absolutely," he assured her.  "You have my solemn word.  If I don't cooperate you can... well... it won't come to that."

"All right.  I trust you, Corey.  And know you won't let me down."

Somehow this had gotten serious, to the point that there was a lot of emotional commitment at stake.  She swung her feet over the side of the bed and put on the boots, which she had conveniently placed there earlier.  Then she stood and set one foot on the edge of the mattress, giving him an eyeful of what he wanted.  Next she turned and went to her dresser to take something from the top drawer.  It was a little red shopping bag with handles.  She swung it playfully over his head. 

"What could it be?" she asked cheerily, lightening the mood.

"I don't know."  He relaxed enough to smile up at her.  "But I can't wait to find out."

She reached into the bag.  "Any guesses?"

"I'm thinking that maybe it's something super-sexy for you to wear while we get it on."

"Good guess."

"So that's what it is?"

"Sort of.  It is something to wear and it's super-duper sexy.  But it's not for me."  She pulled out a pair of sheer pink panties.  "It's for YOU."  Before he could get past his startled expression and put his thoughts into words, she reinforced his obligation by saying, "I'm thrilled that you're going to play this new game with me.  I had been thinking how fun it would be, since you love to go down on me so much, to pretend that you're my cute lezzie sex partner.  My cuddle bunny."

What?  Panties on him?  Lez fantasies?  And him liking to eat her pussy?  Everything about this was wrong but there she was, wispy panties still in hand, her pretty face so happy and full of hope.  Plus there was that promise she had gotten out of him. 

"That's... great," he said with a weak attempt to feign agreement.

Rosanna grinned and gave him a deep probing kiss that had him hard instantly.  She rubbed her soft hand over his nearly hairless chest, making sure to have lots of contact with his nipples, which she already knew were highly sensitive.  Then she slid his shorts down his similarly non-hirsute legs and got the panties over his feet and to his knees.  That was when she stopped, leaned over, and kissed the top of each of his thighs.  Rosanna had never sucked his undersized tool.  She had always said it as because he got overexcited and she didn't want to waste his presence in her mouth when she could have him in her pussy, which was so much better.  She made it sound like praise for his prick and his prowess, neither of which she would ever consider praiseworthy.  That was why he had never disagreed.  If she thought he was good in bed, and that it was for anything other than those frequent meetings of his mouth and her mound, he wasn't going to dissuade her. 

Corey's wife worked the panties up over his hips.  She had him raise his bottom so they could be pulled over his cheeks.  Then she got her hand on his dick through the thin material and began to massage it.  She knew him well enough, physically, to keep him writhing under her well paced ministrations for much longer than he usually lasted.

The devious woman kept saying things like, "I'm glad you're enjoying this so much," and "I'll bet you'll want this all the time," along with, "Isn't it nice that you're naturally turned on by what you're wearing?" 

All those suggestions and more worked together to create a narrative that he was enjoying his new role.  The reality was that he was enjoying an unrushed hand-job from his sexy sultry wife.  She began to fiddle with his nipples, bringing him almost to the limits of his self-control several times, until he was moaning constantly, in an ecstatic trance. 

She offered, "Sounds like somebody doesn't want me to stop.  Like somebody wants to be made to spurt in their new panties.  Because they're so into what's happening.  Like maybe they've always had a kink for roleplaying and just needed to be nudged in the right direction."  She wet her fingertips and brushed them ever so gently over his stiffened nipples.  "Does Corey want to squirt?  Does he?  To squirt in his pretty panties?  Hmmm?  Or should I just stop?"

There was only one answer to that.  His words were strained and elongated as he begged, "Don't stop.  Please.  Yes, make me... finish."

"Make you squirt?  Is that what you mean?"

"Yes.  Whatever you say.  Just don't stop now."

"All righty, Coral.  I think I should call my new girlfriend that.  Not Corey.  But Coral."  She gave his straining penis a squeeze.  He was on the verge.  The brink.  The edge.  The pre-cum-leaking precipice.  She requested, "May I call you Coral?"

"Yessss."  He could barely produce the single syllable. 

"All right, Coral.  Time to cum.  I'm going to make my lezzie lover finish with my hand.  Here it..."  She lightly tweaked one nipple and then the other in rapid succession.  By the time she returned to the first one, simultaneously increasing the tempo of her stroking hand against his panty-clad penis, he was at the point of no return.  As she concluded her phrase with the last word, "comes," his balls pulsed and he lost his load into the caressing material.

Corey's hips bucked but his wife maintained control over his member, applying just enough pressure and movement to keep milking him until a complete draining was done.  He lay back exhausted but she wasn't done with him.  Rosanna straddled his unmanly chest, making sure her boots rubbed against the tops of his thighs.  She inched forward, telling him to get his arms under her legs.  When he did that she was able to mount his face, putting her dripping puss over his mouth.  As she wriggled her hips he automatically began to lick and suck, like a well trained sex slave.  She rocked her pelvis gently, increasing her pleasure, both physical and psychological.  While Corey provided what she wanted, she was taking something else at the same time, emphasizing with her riding motion just who was in control, who was --  so to speak -- in the driver's seat.

He got his hands on her boots, gripping their ankles, rubbing his thumbs against the smooth sleek leather.    She stayed atop him until she had three hip-quaking climaxes.  When she finally dismounted he was red-faced and panting.  Despite that his little prick was up again.  Rosanna once more used his arousal to imply that he had enjoyed everything and wanted more of the same.  Confused and already doubting his own perceptions of the scene, he meekly agreed.  She kissed the air in front of his lips, showing affection like an owner might give a pet, at the same time not tasting the same sexual fluids that he had just been given such a generous serving of.  He lay there in his soggy panties, trying to understand everything that had happened. 

In the days and weeks that followed, she developed his new persona until it was not only the outer Coral, but began to take over the inner Corey.  Her most effective method was to keep him dressed girly as much as possible.  For starters, she had him wearing panties or thongs under his slacks when he went to work, and they were always too small.  Her husband was distractedly aware of the lingerie.  If he was lucky enough to forget it for a few moments, he would change position on his chair, get up for some reason, or have to attend a meeting, and his consciousness of them was renewed.  Of course, he could no longer stand at a urinal to relieve his bladder.   Instead he had to use a stall and it down like a female.  When he tried to complain about it to Rosanna she first pointed out that it was part of his fantasy, the one he hadn't fully aware of he had, and that he should enjoy it.  She was also inspired to tell him he couldn't stand to urinate at home either, with panties on or not. 

Then she made him order a laser hair-removal tool on-line.  As soon as it arrived she had him get naked and use it all over himself while she watched.  Then she kept him unclothed except for lace garters and a matching choker.  He had to spend hours waiting on her like he was some sort of serving girl.  She could see how much that upset him and included having him polish her new boots, oxblood ones with silver studs on the heels, while she wore them.  By the time he was done that and had eaten her pussy, after she made him cum prematurely into it, before full insertion, any rebellion was gone and he was once more fully in her thrall. 

She delighted in putting together outfits for him, the more insulting the better.  Often she would dress him like a slut.  For instance, there was one that started with putting his hair into two short ponytails at the sides of his head.  They were held there with bright elastic bands.  Then she used make-up on him, which up until then she hadn't done.  He made a feeble effort to protest but she had him so under her thumb -- or more accurately under her boot -- that his words trailed off after one harsh look from her.  Rosanna used plenty of eye liner and shadow, along with two pairs of long false eyelashes.  She heavily rouged his cheeks.  His mouth was outlined and his lips were painted with brush-on color, bright red, which was then covered with shiny gloss.  The end result was that he looked like a trampy hooker who was overselling her availability.

That outfit next acquired a tight cropped top that made it obvious he had no tits and was just a guy in drag.  It was pale pink with bright red letters spelling out AVAILABLE.   She demonstrated that, as thin as it was, she could easily tease his nipples through it.  Then came mini-micro shorts, the rear seam of which buried itself between his butt cheeks like a thong.  They were so snug that his genitals, tucked far back, were squashed painfully up against his body.  It was uncomfortable to walk and when he sat his weight pressed down on his trapped balls.  Next came fishnet stockings with elastic tops.  His wife had him parade around in them and strike erotic poses while she gleefully took pictures.  Rosanna made sure to capture several images that didn't include his face.  Those promptly got posted on an especially dirty website that she had found.  When he tried to object she told him to shut up unless he wanted the ones in which his features were clear to also get sent. 

Finally she gave him a pair of hooker shoes to put on.  They had three inch platforms that were bedazzled in the cheapest looking way possible.  After he buckled them on she handed him two small padlocks to use so that he couldn't remove them without the keys.  He obviously didn't want to have his feet trapped in those shoes, which would be tricky to walk in, but she left him no choice.  As soon as he was stuck that way she had him do another series of rude pin-up shots, not bothering to leave his face out of any of them. 

Because he was so distressed after the last picture was taken, and she didn't want her control compromised by his state of mind, Rosanna gave him an extended session of boot-play.  She started by stripping down and donning retro-style, black lingerie, and adding a flowing cover-up of filmy black material.  Then she put on yet another new pair of boots, riding ones in black pebbled leather, with rounded toes, ankles straps and gold hardware, plus two-inch stacked heels.  What they lacked in exotic Mistress looks they made up for with a sense of stern authority.  They were previously owned and well broken in.  That somehow made them even more attractive to him.  He fell for them instantly.  She sat at the dining room table with a mug of tea and a tin of biscuits to add to the British mood.  He had to get under the table and buff them with a chamois.  Corey shivered from excitement as he lavished attention on her latest footwear acquisition.  She thrilled him by saying he could set aside the cloth and check how clean they were with his hands. 

As soon as Corey's fingers and palms made contact with the pebbled leather he was in fetish heaven.  The tactile sensations sent his libido into overdrive.  He spent a full twenty minutes fondling them.  His poor penis was still imprisoned in the shorts and getting hard made it press against his balls, causing a mix of pleasure and pain.  Rosanna got up unannounced.  He was left there, kneeling under the table, his hands in front of him, yearning to continue with what he had been doing. 

She snapped her fingers and gestured for him to come out.  He did but, when he tried to stand, she halted him with a hand held out, palm forward.  Then she turned her back and started to walk away.  She glanced back over her shoulder, a picture of confident dominance, and signaled for him to follow.  When he understood that he wasn't allowed to rise, and began moving on hands and knees, she smirked and continued on her way.  They reached the bedroom, where she sat on the edge of the mattress, looking regally in control.

"All right, Coral.  You've been making a halfway good effort to behave lately.  I suppose you've earned a reward."  She let that sink in before she added, "So you may hump my boot."  His wife drew one leg back behind the other.  When he hesitated she told him, "This is a time-limited offer, girl."

He didn't like the slutty way he looked or being referred to as female, but he certainly couldn't pass up the opportunity she was giving him.  He closed the remaining distance between them, got up on his haunches, opened and wriggled down those confining shorts, wrapped the fingers of both hands around the back of the boot, and got the underside of his below-average penis against it.  Corey sighed as he began to work his hips, rubbing against the seductive surface.  It was humiliating to have to gain gratification that way, but it was also irresistible.  Even though he knew he was lowering his status still further in her eyes, and that he was taking a step that could never be reversed, he moaned and kept up his unhurried tempo. 

Rosanna gazed down at him, relishing what she had turned him into, a feminized weakling who was too obsessed with her growing collection of boots to resist.  She watched him hunch against the leather in a mesmerized state.  But he was taking too much time, extending his pleasure too long.  She knew how to put a stop to that.

"Let me help you, Coral," she offered charitably.

Corey's wife reached down, giving him an eyeful of her cleavage.  She got her forefingers and thumbs on both his nipples at the same time.  He groaned, knowing how easily she could overstimulate him and make him finish, not wanting to be hurried that way, but long past having any say in his own sex life.  She teased those erogenous zones skillfully and in less than a minute he was jerking his pelvis furiously and spurting onto the expensive leather.  Close to tears from having his ejaculation rushed, he nevertheless bowed his head and muttered a humble, wispy-voiced thanks. 

She chuckled and told him, "I'm glad you liked it.  There can be plenty more where that came from, if you're a cooperative little fluff.  Now lick up that mess you made, Coral."

He whimpered.  Eating his own cum was never welcome.  Even so, rather than risk the withdrawal of his boot privileges, he bent over, extended his tongue, and lapped up the long rivulet of cream that was crawling toward her ankle strap.  Unseen by him, she smiled triumphantly and made a mental note to refuse him entry into her vagina and limit him to boot sex only. 

Rosanna said, "Later on we can go shopping for another pair of boots at a custom leather place I found in the city.  And there's a cute boutique near there, that caters to sissies like you, where I can buy you something frilly that I'm sure you'll like."

As always, she was combining the practices he desired naturally with the ones she was forcing on him.  They were becoming more and more inextricably intertwined in his mind.  That was the way she wanted it.  An inescapable maze of desire that he would be caught in year after year, while she savored every moment of his never-ending helplessness and servitude.