Boot Shopping! By Throne (11 Pages) (Patreon)

Boot Shopping!

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 ​[email protected] 

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. 

BOOT SHOPPING

by Throne

Teressa called and said I should be ready for her to pick me up in fifteen minutes.  She didn't say where we were going or why.  What she did say was that I should put on the new underwear she had gotten me.  The sleeveless undershirt and jockey shorts were meant for a boy, not a 22 year old like myself.  They were bright green and covered with images of the popular cartoon character Spongy Rob and his animated friends.  Worse, they were much too small for me, despite my modest build.  The top cut into my armpits and the shorts compressed my male parts uncomfortably.  The latter effect was exacerbated when I put on my slacks.  Soon she arrived and I had to hurry out to her car. 

I had started by thinking of her as my girlfriend but rapidly came to realize that she was extremely dominating and saw herself more as my owner.  Like me, Teressa is not tall, but while I am slender she is full-bodied, a sexy Mediterranean type with olive skin, thick black hair worn long, dark eyes, high cheekbones and a full mouth.  Her figure knocked me out from the first.  She is busty, with wide hips and plump thighs, but most strikingly has a broad protruding bottom.  She took over my life in no time.  When she insisted that I share my deepest fantasies I confessed that I have a longstanding obsession with boots.  That amused her and it was especially convenient because she already possessed a closet full of exotic footwear.  Teressa loved to make me maintain her boots, worship them, and even hump my cock against one while she wore a pair, until I spurted against the leather and then had to lick up my own cream.  She also used that vulnerability to get me into panties and other lingerie.  From there I was introduced to feminine outerwear.  Sometimes there were cosmetics.  Of course she required me to remove all my body hair. 

She had on a close-fitting jumpsuit with a zipper running down the front.  There was a big ring-pull at her neck.  I sat in the passenger seat, glancing sideways at the thrust of her bosom, lowering my eyes to her upper legs, but most of all peering at what was visible of her boots.  Today she had on one of my favorite pairs, tall brown ones with stacked three-inch heels and squared toes.  I breathed in through my nose and exhaled between pursed lips.  What I really wanted to do was to pant at the sight of what she wore below her knees.  I might even have drooled slightly if that was an option.  Instead, I sat there, silent and ready to obey, my hands folded on my lap. 

We went into a part of the city I wasn't familiar with.  There were side streets lined with small shops.  We parked in the middle of a block and got out.  That gave me a better look at Teressa's boots.  As she strolled a few steps ahead of me I couldn't stop ogling her swaying backside, so round, so firm, so fully packed.  When she suddenly turned into a store I almost stumbled.  As I snapped back to paying attention I saw we were entering a shoe shop.  There were a variety of products in the display window, including some eye-catching boots, with one example that was blatantly fetish oriented.   My heart raced as I followed her inside.  There were two other customers, one male and one female, along with three salespeople and an older woman I took to be the manager. 

We sat down and Teressa asked to see something in a thigh-high boot, in grey.  The cute salesgirl brought out two long boxes.  The first one she opened held stunning examples of the shoemaker's art.  The tops went up in a neat curve in front and dipped down into a tapered opening behind.  There was a border of decorative stitching that followed those lines.  Beside that the boots were unadorned.  They had four inch stacked heels that took away my breath.  When the clerk went to put them on her, Teressa smiled and waved her away. 

She said, "My... companion will do that.  He enjoys... helping."

Those intentional hesitations made clear what she meant.  The clerk gave her a knowing smile and stepped back.  I sank down onto one knee and, handling the grey boots reverently, got them on her.  She stood and walked around, while I remained kneeling.  The male customers surreptitiously admired her.  The female shopper eyed me and smirked.  Teressa decided immediately that I would buy them for her.  She glimpsed the other pair, which were the same design but in red, and said she would take those as well.  I mentally estimated the cost and knew that I would be packing bag lunches to take to the office for a few weeks.  It didn't matter.  Seeing her in those boots would make it worthwhile.   The idolatry I would perform for them would be priceless.   Teressa signaled me to rise.  I unhappily obeyed, unable to hide the small bump my erection made in the front of my pants. 

Then I was surprised by her telling the clerk she wanted to see something for me.  Girls' boots.  Teressa gave her my size and suggested, with a chuckle, that they might have something in the stockroom that had been there a long time, which no one yet had been interested in.  The young girl nodded knowingly.  Was my lowly status that obvious?  Teressa had never made me wear boots before, but it made sense that she would do it now, after she had started feminizing me for her amusement. 

When the clerk returned she held only one box.  As she opened it to show Teressa the contents, blocking my view with her body, my owner's eyes reflected delight.  She told me to stand and asked if it would be alright to have me strip down to my underwear.  Everyone was aware of what was going on and could hear what had just been said.  The presumed manager checked and was given nods by both clients.   I shuddered as I began to unbutton my shirt.  Soon my first shameful undergarment was revealed.  There were snickers from around the room.  Then I got out of my shoes and shed my pants, which provoked more amused reactions. 

Next I sat and got my first look at the boots.  They were high ones with three-inch cha-cha heels.  In pale yellow, they featured clusters of fake gems down their outer sides.  The faux cut-stones were the cheapest possible kind, like you would find on a little girl's plastic tiara.  The toes were pointed and, in an idiotic attempt to be fancy, had been turned slightly up at the ends.  Those boots were ugly and stupid and awful, and I was putting them on.  Once I had them fully in place I became aware that they were also cut poorly and pinched my toes.  I tottered around in them and Teressa laughed.  The manageress joined her.  That gave the clerks permission to share their merriment and the customers followed.  I had a roomful of people enjoying the ridiculous sight I made, barely able to walk, in nothing but those juvenile underthings and tasteless boots, with me obviously being Teressa's property.  Comments began to be made.

"He obviously needs some practice."

"But I'm sure he's used to being trained."

"And he dresses so well.  Those boots certainly complement his outfit."

"I can only imagine what you put him in, Miss, when you're alone."

"And he obviously took pleasure in putting your new boots on you."

The remarks continued while I blushed hotly.   The owner of the store had me walk some more, making the excuse that she wanted to be sure my feet were comfortable, even though I knew she could tell they weren't.  When she produced her phone and asked if she could take a few pictures, Teressa said that would be fine.

"I have some regular customers," the woman explained, "women who put men into feminine shoes and boots.  I'll share these shots with them, if you don't mind."|

"Please do," Teressa told her.  "And post them on-line, if you'd like."

Other phones appeared and I had my likeness captured by everyone there.  It was resoundingly humiliating.  By the time I was allowed to remove the boots and dress myself, I was trembling with mortification.   Instead of letting me put my shoes back on, Teressa had me stuff my feet into the uncomfortable boots again.  She said, in everyone's hearing, that she looked forward to making them the centerpiece of some very femme outfits. 

We left the store and visited a bakery several doors down.  Teressa selected some pastries to take home and a cheese Danish to eat there, while lingering over a mug of coffee.  As she did that I had to sit there with nothing but a glass of tepid water -- no ice, please, my owner had specified -- with my legs stretched out for maximum visibility.   Most of the passersby couldn't miss my absurd and very unmanly footwear. 

When we got back to my place Teressa came inside.  I was told to strip naked.  She made a quick check of my main closet, where male shirts and trousers had been replaced with blouses and girly slacks.  There were also dresses hanging there.  In my dresser drawers was lots of feminine finery and related items.  Teressa selected a black bra and half-girdle, both in pink and of a retro style.  The bra had large cups with breast forms sewn in, and the girdle had pads in the hips and seat.  With those on I achieved a womanly figure, in contrast to my short hair and male face.  I was also made to put a filmy pink cover-up that flowed down to my knees.  Then came the unwanted boots, which I hadn't had off for very long.  My feet were imprisoned once more in their ugliness.  I had to strut around and pretend that I was happy to be wearing them, along with everything else.  It was shameful but also strangely erotic. 

We went to the back patio.   The small yard was enclosed by a high fence.  It was all private but I still felt exposed.  Teressa had me remove her boots, unzip her jumpsuit, and peel it off her.  Once she was naked and I'd had an exciting look at her well-upholstered figure, she sat in a large basket-chair and let me replace her boots on her feet.  My small dick tried to get erect but was tucked back into the compressing girdle.  I moaned as contact with her footwear got me more and more excited.  Then she made me caress and kiss and finally lick her boots.  I was in fetish fantasyland with no hope of gaining release.  My dick was leaking and I could feel wetness against my trapped testicles. 

That was when she decided out loud that she was ready to have her pussy licked.  I knelt on the patio and leaned in, my hands on her bare thighs, lower face against her mound.  She kept her abundant and unruly pubic hair mostly shaved, with just a narrow vertical strip above her slit.  My nose was nestled in that as I dutifully licked and sucked, lapped and probed.  Teressa purred contentedly as I built her up toward a climax.  When she came it was loud and wet.  As I tongued her through an afterglow, my hands drifted down to her boots to gently caress them.  I had to go inside then and fill a stemmed glass with white wine for her.  Of course there was nothing for me.  She liked the flavor of her body to stay in my mouth for a long time. 

She took a sip, chuckled, and told me how silly I looked in my foundation garments with the artificial curves they gave me, along with my gauzy covering and those tacky boots.  I knew I appeared emasculated, servile and style-impaired.  It was all so demeaning.  But more importantly I was being permitted to adorate her boots.  That was the main thing.  And if I was very lucky, if my owner felt especially generous, I might even be told I could shed the restrictive girdle and rub my laughably little dick against her new boots and even be allowed to squirt my spunk.  It would be sickening to have to lap it up afterwards but that is simply the way it is, when you are an owned boot slave.  Or maybe she would make me wait, while I got more and more desperate, until she felt charitable enough to grant me the right to finish.  All I could do was accept her decisions. 

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