#boots.

“Tell me, pet. Something is different tonight, isn’t it?”

It wouldn’t meet my eyes, and when I finally guided her chin up so she was forced to look up at me, its eyes were wet, makeup beginning to blur and run around her beautiful wide eyes.

I pushed further. “And you were so unhappy when I first brought you into my service. Is that enjoyment I detect in you?”

The quietest admission, red-painted lips barely moving. It feels better than sex, Sir.

Oh? Oh… the pet finally got a taste for it, didn’t she?

I shoved my boot between her legs and she startled. Sir, what—

“You’re telling me…” I smirked as she began to grind. “That humping my boot doesn’t feel as good as satiating my hunger?”

Well, I. I don’t. It’s you, Sir, she said, like that made all the difference in the world. Maybe the blood-addiction really had gotten to her. Or maybe it was plain Stockholm syndrome. Either way, I wasn’t letting her go without proof. I drew her up by the collar, so our lips were mere centimeters apart.

“Oh, its me? You want me?” A nod. “You want a kiss from your Sir?” More frantic nodding.

Yes, yes, please.

“Then prove it.” I shoved the toe of my boot in front of her face. “Kiss my boot first.”

Sweet thing didn’t even need encouragement before ruining its lipstick all over my boot, licking and kissing and drooling mindlessly below me. I saw her spit collect in the divot of my toe box and pressed my other boot on its back, forcing its face into the leather. I was unbearably wet. I needed to taste my boot on her lips, to see the shine of spit covering the leather. Most of all, I needed to reapply its lipstick. Both my boots deserved the same treatment, no?

When I drew it back up towards me, it was shaking, weak and dizzy from blood loss and arousal and the expeirence of being my thrall. My ghoul. And before I painted its lips again, I couldn’t help but press a kiss firmly to her mouth.

"Do you want to help me?" I ask, motioning down. You knees buckle like you were only waiting for my approval, and you start your job.

First you help me slip my heel in, balancing on my cane. Then you slowly lace up every bit, making sure the laces are taut and the leather is tight on my skin. I can see you almost salivating at being that close.

You tie my laces and look up with those pleading eyes. You almost stand up again before I push your head back down.

"You forgot to kiss the tip, lovely. I can't go home without that." I say, lifting my foot up slightly. Your mouth eagerly meets my boot and I watch as your lips purse and part to let your tongue taste the leather.

"Harder." I say, and you make out with my boot like you were making out with me, needy, gripping, full of tongue. I enjoy the show for a second before moving my boot back. "Enough."