Muddy boots

We were in the garage. She sat on a stool, a tub of muddy water at her side. She was wearing a pair of very low cut boots.

I was on my knees. A leather rope was wrapped around my balls, holding them behind me. The wire ran to a pulley and then down, tied to a post at her side.

“We’re going to have a little contest.”

I groaned inwardly. Her contest only had one participant: me. And winning was more a matter of doing the best I could to minimize my losses.

“While I like my little toy man to offer his worship slowly and lovingly I’d like to see how fast you could learn to clean these boots.”

She held up a stopwatch.

“The rules a very simple, simple enough even for you. After I pull my boots from the water you will bend down. On my ‘mark’ you will begin licking my right boot. On ‘switch’ you move to the left. At ‘stop’ sit back.”

“I’ll give you thirty seconds for each boot. You’ll know how well you did by how hard I pull on this.” She gave the cord three quick tugs each producing a stifled yelp from me.

“There’s plenty of mud so you’ll have plenty of practice.”

Thirty seconds each? It would be a very losing game.