Eating Food From the Floor
My prior entry didn’t do justice to the night: the moments of suspense, omitting the other things Alexandra did to me. Partly I wanted to focus on the effects of penis kicking. Partly it was just that I’m not good at narrative. And with sessions my mind is a bit muddy, chronology eludes me.
I: The Joy of Foot Worship
Alexandra told me it was time to put on my collar. She leashed me and I crawled behind her to the bedroom. After I helped her remove her boots she told me to lick the sweat from her feet.
Like a grateful puppy I licked, my mind sinking deepest as my tongue worked between her toes. Feeling the status of a pet has come to be as wonderful as that of a slave (not that the distinction is really clear). Happily I lay next to her as she put on a new pair of boots.
II: Dinner Time
Alexandra enjoys object crushing. It is a minor disappointment that I can’t connect to this. It is impossible for me to identify with, say, a cereal box she’s trampling.
Last night watching her crush an object made me shudder with anticipatory disgust. Alexandra told me that I was hungry and would have half a banana for my meal.
Dropping the fruit to the floor she began to tease it with her boots. Artfully she broke the banana into sections that she slowly ground into the floor. Knowing that I’d eating the bits she’d smeared into floor, with the dirt they accumulated made me shiver.
Finally my head to the floor I began to lick and suck up my supper. I was a pitiful human vacuum cleaner. Naturally I had to clean the residue from the bottom of her boots.
She mocked me for being a creature that wallowed on the floor in filth (something like that). For wanting to grovel. Being ridiculed by your owner for being her slave is eerily satisfying.
Few things she’s subjected me to have left me feeling more low and degraded.
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III: More Penis Kicking
Ordered to my back I lay there as she kicked my penis. Some of the blows were harder than last night. At times each kick followed the other with machinegun rapidity. A few times she kicked my balls. Not with enough force to really hurt but the freaky sensation clouded my mind as momentarily the universe shrunk to my defenseless testicles and her boots.
It is with curiosity, dread and desire that I wonder what my mind will do if and when she uses her hand, boots or a tool to make my testicles hurt.
IV: I Become Part of Her Boots
The boots she’d changed into have a ring at the top. Leashing the ring to my collar she led me about. As I fumblingly tried to keep up my eyes couldn’t leave the boot that controlled me.
Putting my penis in the Gates of Hell she leashed to the boot she walked me about again. As I would several times that night I kept wanting to tell her that I worshipped her. But I find it impossible to speak without permission.
Being attached to a woman’s boots was an old fantasy of mine. I’m so thankful to have actually lived it.
V: Boot Slave
Alexandra was squeezing and rolling about a clementine with her boots. Was I going to have to gobble that up from the floor? After the banana it would be anticlimactic. Only the yoke of a boiled egg could compete with the banana. Actually liver would be ghastly. Thankfully she doesn’t like liver.
She ordered me to lick her boots. As she kicked and rolled the fruit around the floor I scrambled to keep up with her. It became the longest and actually exhausting session of boot worship we’ve ever had. She walked about, me in her wake trying to get my tongue to her boots. I strove to attend to both boots, not miss a spot and lick and kiss with enough energy for her to feel me working.
VI: Swept Away
I’d never thought of a broom as a BDSM toy.
Having spent so much time on the floor I was covered with dirt. Alexandra brought he broom to sweep it off me as if I were a floor. I flinched as the straw scraped against my chest and nipples.
And visibly winced as the broom brushed across my cock. This tickled her so much that she began to work my penis with the broom. As she laughingly made me cringe I wanted to wriggle over and begin licking her boots again. The more she used me the more I adored her.
I have to confess that even though the psychological bondage of the collar and leash were wonderful there were a couple of moments I wished my wrists were bound by chain. My need to be as unable, helpless as possible .
There are parts of last night I can’t fit in neatly. A few times she grabbed me by the hair at the back of my neck. Even a light caress there leaves me feeling submissive. Being controlled by my hair pushed me deeper into slavishness. As being flat on the floor with her boot resting on my head.
It was a wonderful night of serving her that followed another wonderful night. I hope tonight witll be yet another.