The Romance of Boot Worship
In an abstract way I’d always admired how boots look on women. Back in the days of the miniskirt go-go boots were part of an aesthetic of cheerful and newly freed sexuality. They were - forgive the word - cute.
Then there was the midiskirt, a term I think dead but my knowledge of female attire is limited to idle appreciation. A long skirt, a nice blouse and boots can have a captivating elegance.
And there’s something about some booted women that evokes androgyny, the form of erotic beauty that has so often made me happy to continue living and breathing.
When Alexandra and I first started talking about BDSM she told me about the strong sexual connection she felt with her feet and what she put on them. One night she put on a web cam show of shoes. The next morning I had one of the most surprising experiences of my life.
Luckily I get to my used bookshop long before we open. I went to pull the books people had ordered via the web the prior night. I heard soft moaning: mine. I was standing against a bookcase with my eyes closed. It was a delayed response to watching her show me her footwear. My first ever experience of the submissive trance.
I had lots more money when she first came to visit. And was profligate in buying her shoes and boots. It was a special thrill to find something I thought she’d like and make a gift of a pair.
Boot worship and service became very important to me. Sometimes it was strenuous. I remember the night she worked my tongue so hard it grew raw. And the night when she ordered me to lick out all the dirt trapped in the narrow grooves of another pair. Ah, and when she connected the testicle leash to a boot with an D ring.
Being allowed to kiss and lick her boots could also be a gift. She knew how happy I was to be down there. To make sure I didn’t miss a spot. To lick with enough intensity so that it felt like I was massaging her feet.
Not being a born retifist the adoration wasn’t the mere jolt from satisfying a kink. Boot worship was simultaneously an offering of homage and love. An act in which I could not please myself if it did not also please her.
Happy memories.
(I see I elided over a key point: my pleasure in adoring her through the medium of her boots didnt come from looking at photographs of pay domme. It was an adaptation to her sexual sensibility.)
