A few years ago I was involved in what I call my first real "boot" relationship. Her name was Christine. To say it was a "rocky" relationship would be an understatement. We just had too many differences. However, because I thought her a good and honest person—not to mention incredibly sexy!—I worked to keep this relationship alive in order to see where it was going.
One day we were sitting on the couch watching TV, and she was flipping through a Spiegel catalogue. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed she was looking at the shoe section. She caught me watching her and asked with a laugh, "See anything you like?"
Deciding to take a risk and bring up the subject of boots, I stopped her from turning the page and pointed to a pair of knee-high, high-heeled boots. "I’d like to see you in those," I said.
She took a closer at the page. "What color?"
"Black," I said.
"Hmm." She looked at the price. "Kind of expensive." She was still in college and didn’t have much money either. I had just gotten my first real job, and the thought of spending $130 on a pair of boots was a bit much for me too.
"Why would you like to see me in them?" She closed the catalogue and set it down—I definitely had her attention.
"Well . . . they look like they would fit very closely to your legs—to accentuate them. And with the heels, I just think you would look seriously sexy in them."
She smiled. "You like boots?"
"I definitely think more women should wear boots. Way too many wear those nasty hippie-sandals."
She frowned for a few seconds, thinking. "You mean Birkenstocks?"
"Yeah, those," I said. "Man, they are ugly."
We both laughed.
"You know, I do have a pair of boots," she said.
"Really? What kind?"
"Nothing fancy. They’re black. Knee-high. Flats."
Not bad, I thought. A good start.
"Wanna see them?" she asked, suddenly a little excited.
"Yeah," I said. She leaped off the couch and went to her bedroom. I could hear her rustling around for a few minutes; then she came out—blue jeans tucked into her black leather boots. They were the style that probably millions of other women have—starter boots. The top cuff could be folded down, and they were available in about any color you wanted. They may not have been fancy, but she did look very good in them. I told her so.
She sat back down on the couch, farther away from me this time. She stretched out and crossed her legs, resting her booted feet in my lap. I felt the soft leather and examined the boots. They were in very good shape and looked as if they had hardly been worn. Even the soles looked good. Feeling confident after getting this far, I lifted one of her booted feet and pressed my lips against the toe and inhaled the leather smell. Christine giggled a little at this, but did not pull her foot away—a good sign.
I kissed it a few more times, and I could feel her toes wiggling inside the boot. My cock was starting to bulge uncomfortably now. I kissed it a few more times and then rubbed the side of my face against the soft leather. To my surprise, she pressed back with her foot, rubbing harder. She shifted her other foot so that the sole was against the bulge in my pants. We continued this for about ten minutes, before I had to stop because I was so wound up. After getting a drink of water, I came back to the couch and placed her feet back in my lap. We began talking about getting her more boots—from riding boots to thigh boots. She was not just humoring me; she appeared to be actually turned on by the whole thing! Christmas was coming, and I was making a list of things to get her.
Over the next week, we explored our shared fetish. I really wanted to have her walk on me while I was on the floor, and she was eager to try. She was definitely in the petite category, so I had no trouble supporting her weight. I loved the feeling of her standing on my stomach and chest. Initially she stepped carefully. But after she learned to keep her balance and saw that she wasn’t hurting me, she stepped with more authority. She liked to plant her booted foot firmly on my balls and then pivot quickly to start walking back up my body. I didn’t argue. Occasionally, she would stop at my chest and then place the sole of one boot on my face.
Other times, I was her footstool as she watched TV. I would get down on my hands and knees while she rested her feet on my back. From time to time, she would take one foot and poke the toe of her boot between my legs and into my balls. It was always playful, never done hard. I loved it.
After a few days, she said, "You know, I think you should be naked when we play like this sometimes. The thought of my naked boyfriend lying at my feet and nuzzling my boots really turns me on." It was obvious that the woman I once thought was conservative was actually quite kinky. However, I didn’t complain—the idea sounded great to me!
She had a small footstool that was only about eight inches high. While she stretched out comfortably with her feet resting on the footstool, I would kneel at her feet naked, nuzzling and kissing her booted feet. I had gotten braver as we played more, and I had begun licking her boots. She greatly enjoyed relaxing with her booted feet resting on the footstool as my tongue covered every inch of the leather. Occasionally, she would tease me, telling me that I had missed a spot. I could not hide my excitement at the whole thing. My dick stuck out in full salute to her. She took full advantage of the situation, batting my bare balls around with the toe of her boot or rubbing the supple leather up and down my shaft.
In her ultimate act of teasing, she tied me naked to a wooden chair—legs and arms immobilized. Then she blindfolded me. She was dressed particularly sexy that night: a short, sleeveless black silk dress worn over a sheer black top, and of course, the boots. Unfortunately, I could no longer see how good she looked. For the next hour, while she watched her favorite TV show, she sat on the couch with her booted feet resting on the chair between my legs, the soles pressed against my cock and balls. Occasionally, she would jiggle her feet or slide them around on the chair, tormenting me. After half an hour, I was begging for relief, but none came. She kept her feet right there, laughing at my increasingly urgent pleas for some release. Finally, I could hear that the show was over. She pulled her feet away but left me tied and blindfolded.
After a few minutes, I felt her soft hands at my cock. She stroked my cock a bit, letting her fingernails glide over my engorged flesh. After a few seconds of this, I felt her climbing onto my lap, guiding my cock into her. We had had sex before, but never like this. I was so turned on by her teasing. She was apparently equally turned on, and it didn’t take long before we both came. I came so hard I thought I was going to pass out. She rested against me for a few minutes, hugging and kissing me, probing my ear with her tongue. Eventually, she climbed off, and I heard her go into the bathroom. I sat there still tied, trying to recover. After maybe ten minutes she came out and whispered in my ear.
"Are you OK?"
"Yeah . . . yeah," I finally got out. "That was just really . . . strong."
I once again felt her hands—and a washcloth—at my now sensitive cock. She was cleaning me up and drying me off. She went to the kitchen, where she got a can of Coke. Leaving me blindfolded, she raised the can to my mouth so I could take a few sips.
"That was really good," she said. "You know I had never thought much about this, but I love the feeling I get from dominating you like this. I assume you’re OK with it? This is what you’re looking for, right?"
I nodded, partially dumbfounded. "Yes. I do like it. Very much."
"Good," she said. She sat back down on the couch and starting watching TV again. With me still tied to the chair, she placed her booted feet back between my legs and proceeded to torment me for another hour. . . .
Unfortunately though, our differences proved to be too great. A week before Christmas, we had a terrible argument. Things were said—mostly by me—that couldn’t really be taken back, and she left my apartment crying.
During the Christmas holidays, I began to wonder if we could patch things up between us. I hated to let a good boot woman go! After days of debating, I decided that it just wouldn’t work. A few days after Christmas, Christine called. She wanted to pick up a few things she had left at my apartment. We were cool but civil to each other; I told her she could come over. Around thirty minutes later she arrived, and I went into shock.
She marched right in and took off her overcoat, revealing a short taupe dress and matching stockings. I had seen this outfit before, but this time she had added something new: taupe thigh-high boots! They had a two-inch spike heel and pointed toe and appeared to be of very high quality. I was in awe. She had never even owned any boots like this before the fight. These were obviously a Christmas present from someone. My thoughts immediately turned to our reconciliation.
She walked over to the kitchen and hopped onto one of the stools I had at the counter. She crossed her leather-clad legs, and I was nearly hypnotized.
"Do you have my things together?"
I snapped out of it. "Uh . . . yeah. Just a minute." I got a box from the bedroom and brought it out to her. "How have you been?"
She was bouncing her foot a little. "I’ve been fine. You?"
"I’ve been all right." I replied. Here it goes, I thought. "I missed you."
She said nothing. She was obviously still upset about our fight, but she didn’t get up to leave. She just sat there, still jiggling one booted foot.
"I’m sorry about the things I said. I was hoping we could talk about it."
"I really don’t think there’s anything to talk about," she said, but still made no move to leave. It dawned on me that she was really going to make me work for this. I got down on my knees in front of her and gently cradled her booted foot close to me.
"Please, Christine. I made a terrible mistake. I’ve missed you so much. Isn’t there anything I can do to make this up to you?" I placed a kiss on the toe of her boot and looked up at her. She smiled a little, but appeared unconvinced. I kissed her boot a few more times. "Please. I was wrong. I’ve felt horrible since you walked out of here."
"Then why didn’t you call me earlier to say these things, if you felt so bad. I would have."
"Well," I said as I nuzzled her foot, "you’re a better person than I am."
She laughed at this. "You know, I believe that you’re sorry. I really do. I forgive you. But we can’t get back together. It just won’t work."
I was starting to get worried. She wasn’t just dragging this out to make me pay, she was serious. I pulled her foot closer, pressing the sole against my chest, the toe actually touching the base of my neck.
"No, I mean it, Christine. What do you want? Name it and I’ll do it. Please." I was scrambling for the right words.
She shook her head. "I really don’t think there’s anything you can do."
I tried to kiss her boot again, but she gave me a little shove with her foot, and I toppled over backward. She grabbed her stuff and headed over to her coat. I crawled over to her on my hands and knees. Once again, she smiled but kept putting on her coat. I knew I looked ridiculous, but I didn’t care. I grabbed one of her feet and began kissing and licking the soft leather, occasionally taking time out to mumble a "please." Leaning back on the couch for support, she placed her other foot against the side of my head and pushed, trying to get herself free.
"NO!" she said loudly enough to finally snap me from my trance. I released her foot. She stood in front of me, rather haughtily, I thought, and wagged a finger at me. "Look at you. You should be ashamed of yourself, groveling like this."
She looked so sexy and powerful standing in front of me as she chastised me. She had pulled on matching taupe-colored leather gloves. I was more in awe of her than any other woman in my life. I crawled forward to her and placed my head on the floor between her feet. "Please, Christine. I’m sorry," I pleaded one more time.
She laughed a little, moving one foot closer to me and rubbing the side of my face with her boot. I pushed back. She sighed.
"We did have some good times, didn’t we?"
I looked up at her. She was frowning a little, a combination of annoyance and pity. "I’m definitely seeing a different side of you here," she said. "You know you really pissed me off?"
I just nodded. She stepped back a little and extended one leg so that her boot was only a few inches away from my nose. She gave me that wicked little smile that had always turned me on.
"Lick the sole of my boot clean."
I swallowed hard at this, but leaned forward and pressed my tongue against the sole and began licking. I continued for at least a minute, covering the entire sole, ignoring the particles of dirt and other debris I came across. I pulled away and looked at her.
She lowered her leg, shifted her weight, and extended the other leg. I repeated the process, dutifully cleaning the sole of her boot. As I licked the sole with my eyes closed, I did not notice her reach into her purse and pull out a Polaroid camera. A flash and a whir of the camera made my eyes pop open, and I looked up at her to see her waving the developing photo.
She looked at the photo and began laughing very hard. "Oh my God! I can’t believe you did it! That’s disgusting! You are so pathetic. I can never, ever, be involved with someone like you. I don’t know what I’ve been thinking all this time."
She turned around, opened the door, and walked out. I could hear laughing in the hall as she walked out of the building.
I was in shock, and I felt like an idiot. I had crawled and groveled at her feet for nothing, and I had an enormous bulge in my pants that betrayed me. I never saw or heard from her again.
A few months later, I was doing some shopping in a local grocery store when I saw a female friend of Christine’s. I had met her only once before, but we had gotten along well. Her name was Olivia, and she was the most stunning of Christine’s friends. She had silky dark hair, beautiful features, and was the same height as Christine, but with more curves. We talked for a while. I eventually asked her what Christine was doing. Olivia said she had moved to the other side of the state and was involved with some engineer.
I had already started to walk away when she said, "By the way, how did those soles taste?"
I was confused. "What?"
She was laughing now. "Christine told me and our other friends at a party. Those boots weren’t even hers—they’re mine! She had no intention of taking you back; she just wanted to make you beg and humiliate you for being such a ‘pain in the ass,’ as she put it." She was laughing harder now. "We all thought it was hysterical, but we didn’t really believe it until she showed us the picture! So how did those soles taste? Did you find anything good?"
I could feel the hot burn of humiliation all over me. I just walked away as she continued laughing.
I spent the rest of my time in the grocery store desperately trying to avoid her. I peeked around corners to make sure I wouldn’t run into her in another aisle. When I had everything I needed, I hurried to a check-out line, threw my items on the conveyor, and quickly paid. There was no sign of her anywhere. I rushed out to my car, placed the bags in the trunk and pushed the cart over to the nearest corral. I turned to head back to my car, when squealing tires announced Olivia’s Mustang stopping beside me.
She was still chuckling a little and flashed me a wicked smile.
"What?" I exploded. "What now?"
This made her laugh harder. "Calm down," she said as she reached out and stuffed a folded piece of paper into the front pocket of my jeans. "Just because Christine is gone doesn’t mean that we can’t be . . . friendly." She shifted her car into gear, but before pulling away, she said, "Besides, those boots are mine, you know."
I retrieved the piece of paper while watching her pull out of the parking lot. Carefully unfolding it, I couldn’t help but let out a little smile when I saw that the paper revealed her phone number, 215-627-5366.