A Game of Trust and Triumph

“Follow me to the sofa. Crawl.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I sank into the cushions, watching him shuffle across the floor on all fours. He stopped at my feet, head bowed, waiting. I let the silence stretch, relishing his submission, the power coursing through me. He didn’t flinch, didn’t question — just waited.

“Kiss my shoes again. Then lick them clean. They’re a little dirty.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, thank you!” He dove in, lips brushing the leather before his tongue darted out, lapping at every inch. I leaned back, smug, as he worked. My boots gleamed under his care, and I lifted one, pressing the sole to his mouth. He licked without hesitation, groaning softly. I dragged the tread across his tongue, using him like a rag, then smeared it over his face. His moans grew louder, desperate.

“Please, Mistress,” he gasped. “Please let me touch myself. I’m losing it.”

“No, pup. Not yet. Keep licking.” My tone brooked no argument.

“Please, I’m begging you…” He licked harder, voice breaking as I pressed my sole against his cheek.

“Earn it, and maybe I’ll consider it. No promises.”

“As you command, Mistress,” he said, resigned, moving to the other boot.

A small pool of pre-cum glistened on the floor. I stepped in it, smearing it across his face. “Clean it up.”

He obeyed, tongue sweeping the mess with devotion. I rested my foot on his head as he worked, pinning him down until the floor shone. Then I yanked his hair, spat in his face, and watched him shudder.

“Go wash your mouth and face with soap, you filthy mutt. I’m going to use you, and I want you spotless. Move.”

He bolted to the bathroom, returning damp and kneeling before me. I grabbed his hair, dragging his face between my thighs. He went limp, dazed, utterly mine. I could feel how soaked I was, and it fueled me.

“See how wet you’ve made me, slut?”

“Yes, Mistress. Please, let me taste you. Please…”

I tugged his hair harder, slapping him repeatedly. “You want it that bad?” I rubbed myself against his face, loving his helpless, adoring expression.

“Yes, Mistress. I want it so much. Please.”

Another slap. “Say it again.”

“Please, Mistress, let me have the honor of pleasing you. I’ve dreamed of you for so long. I’m begging.”

“Humiliate yourself more. Bark.”

“Woof, woof.”

“Louder.”

“Woof, woof!”

“Crawl around.” He did, clumsily eager. “Give me your paw and stick out your tongue.” He complied, panting. I was unraveling.

“Now take off my shoes and lick my feet. Beg while you do it.”

He pried off my boots, tongue tracing my soles, my arches, between my toes, pleading all the while. “Please, Mistress, let me please you…” I touched myself, teetering on the edge, his desperation pushing me closer.

I shoved my foot in his mouth, silencing his pleas, and we both moaned. Laughing, I pulled it out, smacking his face with it, then offered it back for more licking. He was a wreck, and I was soaked.

Finally, I stood, shoving him back with my foot. I hiked up my skirt, revealing lace panties, and beckoned him closer. “Smell me. Get used to your Mistress’s scent. No licking, no kissing — just smell.”

He inhaled deeply, eyes glazed, trembling with need. I ground against his face, letting him stew in it, then stepped back. He whined, and I laughed, peeling off the panties. His jaw dropped, hunger etched into every line of his face.

I sprawled on the sofa, legs spread. “Come here, pup. Your reward — eat me out.”

“Thank you, Mistress! Thank you a million times, my Queen!” He dove in, tongue everywhere — lips, clit, deeper — driving me wild. I came hard, gripping his hair, smearing my release across his face. I spat on him, slapped him, then shoved him back down for more.

“Hands behind you. I’m using your mouth, your tongue — they’re mine now.”

“Yes, Mistress. All yours. Use me however you want.”

I rode his face, controlling every move, climaxing again and again — four, maybe five times. He begged to cum, and I denied him, slapping him harder, relishing his frantic devotion.

“Lick my feet and thank me for using you.”

“Thank you, Mistress, for letting me taste you, for using me.” He lapped at my feet as I reclined, sated.

“Get me wine and a snack,” I ordered. He fetched a bottle of red and some cheese, setting it up neatly. “Now, head on the chair. You’re my throne.”

He positioned himself, face up on the seat, and I settled onto him, eating casually. His breathing was ragged beneath me, and I lifted occasionally to let him gasp, then sank back down. I came twice more, ignoring his muffled pleas.

“Please, Mistress, let me cum,” he whimpered.

“Beg again.”

“Please, I’m begging —” I smothered him mid-sentence, laughing. “No. Focus on my pleasure. That’s all that matters.”

“Yes, Mistress.” A pause. “Thank you?”

I sat harder, grinning. When I finished eating, I sipped wine, scrolling my phone, treating him like furniture. Eventually, I stood. He kissed my feet, murmuring, “Thank you, thank you,” and I softened, stroking his back. Then I kissed him — soft, surprising him. He lit up.

“Eat my ass now.”

He attacked with gusto, tongue relentless, my grip on his hair unyielding. I lost count of my orgasms. When he begged again, I dragged him to the sofa, sat on his face, and said, “Make me come more, and I’ll let you.”