1 comments/ 8163 views/ 1 favorites Saucy gets Bootz and More By: saucysubgrl one of these days these boots are gonna' walk all over you... Author Note: this story is based partially on real events. The fictionalized ending represents her fantasy version of how things might have gone but didn't and she penned the little ditty for him to read and enjoy after he returned home. Even before a single word was shared between them, she was immediately captivated by his formidable presence. Standing beside her, he towered over her petite frame by at least a foot or more, their considerable difference in height leaving her feeling dwarfed in his presence; not a bad thing to feel, especially if it turns out his energy would be the Dominant yang to complement her submissive yin, even for an ephemeral spin across the kinky dance floor. Silently she mused about this possibility, hoping to discover her instincts were on target, but unwilling to be presumptuous, no less cocky about such matters. The answer to her private query would be revealed to her in good time, yet in the interim, she thoroughly enjoyed her silent reverie about possibilities as yet unearthed. Standing sentry at her post at the entrance to the classroom, dressed a bit fetishy as a punked out little school girl, she wondered who this tall, sexy stranger was and what might become of their incipient encounter, as they hovered around by the back door of the room where she was volunteering as a classroom monitor at a kinky conference they were both attending. The flirtatious banter had not yet ensued, yet she could feel his energy, his powerful presence next to her, and her eyes could not help but wander, leading her to ogle the oh so sexy, knee high, lace up leather boots he was sporting, the pants legs of his jeans neatly tucked into his boots, showing them off to full advantage. She could just imagine the warm, fragrant scent of the leather, and the soft feel as she brushed her cheeks up and down the tall boots, inhaling their sweet, earthy scent, as her silky skin caressed the boots as lovingly as she would stroke her lover. Before long, he spoke to her, although she has no memory of exactly what he said to get the conversational juices flowing - - perhaps it doesn't really matter because his gambit, whatever it consisted of, worked its magic like a sly magician teasing his audience deftly with sleight of hand. Before long they were engaged full throttle in conversation of the sort that curious strangers indulge in; the sizing up kind of conversation where each mines the other for relevant data in the quest to discover the nascent spark that might morph into flames if properly fanned. They chatted about the conference, from where they hailed geographically, and exchanged names, not real ones of course, but instead playful scene names. He seemed taken with her moniker, 'saucy,' and the cheeky, insouciant images it brought to his mind as he imagined her sweet spicy nature. Whether the product of wile or simply felicitous, Bootz managed to adroitly pepper their conversation frequently and playfully with her moniker, saucy, leaving her giggly and gushing like a school girl with each utterance of her pet name. Bootz introduced himself by name, whipping out his business card in one slick, fluid movement, like a cowboy slinking a pistol out of his holster. Energetic, engaged banter ensued as the duo chatted animatedly about various BDSM-related interests and kinks, notably saucy's penchant for objectification. Without missing a beat, cowboy Bootz lassoed saucy right in, like a steer rustled up on the plains, informing her that he just happens to teach a class on that very topic: music perking up her kinky ears of course. Saucy danced to his beat, regaling Bootz with stories of her own --teasing him with tawdry tidbits from her own, debaucherous objectification exploration, the remnants of which secretly lingered underneath her tiny plaid skirt. Scrawled across her ass cheeks in his perfect, artfully crafted font were those words, so hot they could have been branded on, but instead were penned only with a black sharpie. Bootz pulled out the edge play card, scaring Saucy with his fascination with needle play, piercings, and other edgy games, Saucy considered too 'out there' to explore. Capitalizing on her lack of experience in many kinky realms, Bootz whipped out a handful of "cherry cards," explaining that he proffered those cards to christen a scene with a sub who's kinky cherry he managed to pop. Men and their thing for virgins -- what can I say? Heaven forbid the sub's memory of the kinky deflowering wanes with time, a little cherry busting business card stands in for faded memories, poking and prodding until she's flooded with feeling as her mind rewinds and replays her internal recording. Curious about his cards, Saucy wondered whether this cowboy might pop any of her kinky cherries in the upcoming days. Although she might not have been ready to admit this fully to herself, saucy secretly hoped this would indeed be the case. Ever the cautious one, from suffering one too many crash landings, she was nonetheless mindful about not getting her expectations jacked up too far, only to crash and burn if the fire extinguished before the flames ever roared. Through bumps and bruises (not the fun kind), she has learned to don her cloak of caution when meeting new people, particularly tickling her kinky fancy with their verbal feathers. Saucy knows how easily she can be seduced by a whip smart man, painstakingly prying her open word by word with his ample vocabulary, jaunty turn of phrase, and perspicacity. Engrossed in their energetic exchange, saucy and Bootz continued their verbal sparring, diving into the dark sea of kink, and swimming around in the murky waters of self-definition, notably, the value of not defining oneself within the parameters of traditional restrictive definitional boxes. The conversation flowed like water from a fountain, continuously, steadily and effortlessly, when suddenly saucy noticed Bootz not so subtly seizing his gaze upon the crystal encrusted red leather collar adorning her neck. Seriousness quickly supplanting levity, he interrogated her about the significance of the rhinestone festooned collar around her neck, the unstated but obvious question being whether or not the collar was ornamental or a symbol of ownership, thus potentially relegating her to 'off limits' status. Inside, she felt a little giddy that he asked her about the meaning of her collar, as it suggested that he was at least curious about her availability as a potential playmate. She cheerfully explained that the collar was simply decorative, rather than an expression of ownership, and that she is a completely free woman. Although she did not state this aloud, she thinks of herself as "her own Mistress," enjoying her freedom to play as she wishes, with whomever she wishes, whenever she wishes, without the encumbrances and restrictions of ownership. Her freedom ranks high among her treasured states of being, and she wavers about whether she's capable of, or interesting in giving that away to someone, outside of the context of more circumscribed, negotiated, exchanges or scenes, allowing her to fully surrender, submit, please and obey to her heart's content, only to return to her cherished autonomous state upon conclusion of the scene. Saucy sometimes tells others she could never, would never completely submit to someone in the 24/7 sense, but then again, if she has learned only one important lesson on her journey, it's 'never say never.' So, while she might change her mind some day about belonging to someone or being collared and owned, for the moment, she embraces the freedom she possesses to explore her nature, whatever that looks like, and however that might express itself or evolve as she moves forward on her kinky journey. Playing it a bit coy or perhaps challenging her to test her perceptiveness, Bootz makes an oblique reference as to whether he too might be owned, but as is her nature, with characteristic cheekiness, saucy chuckled, retorting that it seemed highly unlikely that Bootz would be they type who would be owned by anyone, as he would be more likely to be the one doing the owning, rather than the other way around. By now, she was thoroughly convinced of his Dominance, even without direct, verbal confirmation from him - -some things are much better felt, experienced in one's pores, between one's legs or as breathing shifts and blood courses about the body signaling arousal, instead tossed about like a ball across the ping pong table - -and Dominance is definitely one of those things. True to her moniker, saucy took the liberty in making her slightly insouciant remark to Bootz about him being more likely to own than be owned himself. Despite the ever more titillating taunting between them, it was evident that the workshop was about to begin, and much to her chagrin, saucy's classroom duties summoned her to action and their delightful dalliance at the back of the room came to an abrupt halt. Throughout the hour-long presentation, Bootz remained in saucy's visual field, his stately, firm back to her as she stood at her post, like a sentry by the backdoor. Her thoughts meandered about like a babbling brook, replaying their conversation over and over in her mind, musing about what he thought about it - -about her. She wondered whether there was mutual intrigue, or if it was all smoke and mirrors, teasing without intention to cross that line, like so many before him. Saucy didn't think he was a tease and turn, but certainty lacked. Finally the workshop was over and audience members filed out like a band of soldiers and saucy stole another few moments to catch up with him, attempting to suss out his interest in her --was it interest or was he toying with her, tossing her a few table scraps for his amusement. Feeling emboldened or realizing that she had nothing to lose, saucy steeled herself up, asking Bootz whether he was planning to attend either of the two scheduled fetish balls during the next two evenings. He told her that he was going to hang out that evening with a friend, the instructor for the class she monitored, but that the following night he might attend the party. 'Non-committal' of course, saucy thought to herself - -a definite maybe; you gotta love that. Not. They said their goodbyes, and parted ways, saucy with a spring in her step left with wry a smile, secretly anticipating their next encounter. On her way out of the conference for the evening, saucy passed Bootz momentarily in the hall --he was dressed in a leather California Highway Patrol uniform, looking smoking hot. She almost failed to recognize him when he strode on by, given the considerable shift from his casual jeans and green T-shirt, to the sexy, leather uniform he donned. This sexy image left a searing impression in her brain. Although tired, with achy feet from standing in high- heeled boots all day long, Saucy left the venue with a wicked grin across her face, as she imagined Bootz's adventures that night - -he mind was filled with images of Bootz, formidable in presence, interrogating and handcuffing a little hottie, some unsuspecting, submissive squealing as he torments her. Saucy's mind raced ahead, filling in the prurient details -- if only it could be her, she fantasized. Of course, saucy didn't know whether or not their paths would again cross while Bootz was still in town, but she refused to let that uncertainty diminish the giddiness coursing through her veins on the heels of their encounter. The next 24 hours whizzed by in a blur and before she knew it, it was time to make a decision about going to the fetish ball. Saucy was conflicted for all kinds of reasons, many having nothing whatsoever to do with Bootz. For one, she was exhausted from that day and from her previous evening and part of her just wanted to kick back with a glass of wine, enveloped in the comforting embrace of a steamy lavender scented bath, the perfect amalgam of ingredients for a soothing solo evening. Saucy resigned herself to staying home, indulging in wine and a tub filled with fragrant water, and a night of soporific slumber. No sooner did she begin to settle in for her comfort ritual, something started gnawing away at her, pushing her, tempting her from her nest, compelling her to reconsider going to the fetish ball. Like a metronome, these thoughts ticked and ticked repetitively until some internal force seized her like a lightening bolt, jolting her out of stillness and solitude. Impetuously, she decided to forgo the night of quiet comfort and hit up the fetish ball instead. External appearances aside, saucy is actually on the shy, introverted side of the interpersonal continuum, so the idea of going to a fetish club she has never been to before, without a companion by her side to keep her company or a play partner to amuse her, daunted her. But somehow she managed to summon up the moxie to get her ass off the couch, get dressed, and make her way toward the party. As she quickly dressed, none of her usual pre-fetish party primping, her mind was racing...she wondered if she would see ANYONE she knew there, especially anyone she hoped to see, notably Bootz. Doubt crept in, anxiety kicked up a few notches, leading her to question her decision to go to the fetish ball. Already dressed and ready to go, doubts nagged at saucy, who contemplated stripping off the body hugging, super low cut boobage revealing, red pvc dress, fishnets, gauntlets, and strappy stilettos, in favor of cotton shorts, a stretchy tank top and the comfort of her cushy couch. Fighting her internal ambivalence, saucy summed up strength to go to the fetish ball, reassuring herself that if she was bored, or tired, or lonely, that she could simply leave the party and it would not be a big deal. With an exit strategy in place, saucy committed to the fetish ball, dashing out the door before her internal antics might once again be the interloper convincing her to stay home. Arriving at the party, Saucy scans the room --a crowd decked out in fetish garb; perfectly satisfying to her inner voyeur, saucy reassures herself that she could spend the entire night just ogling latex, leather, and vinyl-clad kinksters and leave a satisfied customer! Scoping the sexy denizens of this dungeon, out of the corner of her eye, saucy spots Bootz standing in the corner of the main room near the back of the stage. Tickled by the sexy sight of him, clad in leather pants, a leather short-sleeved shirt, and tall leather boots, saucy's pulse quickened, her heart raced and her face flushed. She felt the familiar signs of arousal coursing through her body, and worried that these telltale signs, obvious to her, would be transparent to him as well --or to anyone else who happened upon her at that moment - -busted. exposed. vulnerable. Brushing her apprehension under the rug, saucy gripped the reins of her desire, sauntering right up to him without a beat of hesitation in her strident step. Bootz met saucy with outreached arms, grabbing her tightly, locked in a body hugging embrace. The pair hugged and chatted for a few brief moments; Bootz was fretting about needing to find a cracker for his whip, as he was about to single tail a willing victim he corralled. He scurried off to his find a cracker and whip his sub into a frenzy, promising to catch up with saucy later in the evening. She caught part of his scene, which was incredibly intense, given the sub he was beating was taking some pretty heavy hits with the single-tail, without uttering a sound or even flinching from the bite of the whip, but instead, just taking it like a good soldier. After the scene, she saw the marking --an impressive sight to behold. She wondered how anyone could absorb all that pain without flinching or screaming, a skill she has clearly not, and probably never will, master. After the scene, saucy and Bootz chatted again for a bit, this time talking about possible scenes they might explore together. He explained to her that he was off to do some needle play and he promised to find her later on, to scene. So, saucy worked the room, watched the fashion show, and chatted with various and sundry people, including several male subs who begged her with their entreaties, "Mistress, Please stomp on my toes with your hot, red stilettos." But, OUCH, NO, that's not her scene; she tried assiduously to impress that upon them, all the while wondering why so many male subs were hitting on her at this party. Feeling weary, and tired, she found a place to rest on a makeshift chair that is actually some piece of dungeon furniture. She contemplated how much longer she wanted to stay, as she found herself growing weary, tired, and even a bit bored, but the possibility of playing with Bootz fed her, energizing her flagging spirits, and saucy did not want to eclipse that option by prematurely bailing on the evening. Pondering her options, she felt a large, firm hand assertively grab hold of hers and she looked up in surprise. The hand was warm, a bit sweaty, and was attached to an arm, that was attached to the body of Bootz. He grabbed her hand, pulling her immediately to her feet, channeling momentum into what she felt was a complete state of torpor; like a civilized caveman, he willingly dragged his captive off into a the corner of a busy play room. Before much even registered in her brain, he grabbed her, held her close in a warm embrace and began tugging her long lustrous locks. Feeling the strong tug of his hand at the nape of her neck, yanking her hair, she moaned and cooed little pleasure sounds and sunk into his body, deepening their embrace, and stoking the flames of her submissive desires. It was as though he knew, without knowing, that simply by grabbing hold of her hair and pulling while holding her close, saucy would melt and morph into a compliant, obedient, submissive state of being. How the heck did he know that about me? she mused silently. But just as quickly, it dawned on her that at least as far as the scene went, she would HIS to use, existing for his pleasure. She felt herself melt, like an ice cream cone on a sultry summer afternoon. In an imperceptible instant, with the tug of her hair, Bootz pushed the magic button inside her, and instantly she was transformed, her own energy morphing, shifting, dissipating until it was his current that ran through her, rather than her own. From their earlier conversations, Bootz knew how much saucy loved to be taunted verbally, to be objectified, and he used this knowledge to excellent advantage, whispering nasty words in her ears, reminding her of her hunger for cock, for cunt, and all things base, and debased. Bootz stroked her neck, just the way she likes, teased it with his mouth, with little tasty bites, and saucy moved her hair, making space, opening up for him, giving him free access to her vulnerable neck. Being teased like that really lit her up like a roman candle emblazoning the dark night's sky, her nerves firing at rocket speed, electrified flesh. Without warning, Bootz grabbed saucy's hips hard, yanking her flesh, biting into her neck, marking her flesh with his bites, alternating with soft caresses in the same places; pleasure juxtaposed with pain. Little sounds of pleasure escaped unwittingly from her pouty, red lips. With his firm touch, and his degrading words, he ignited her fire, torching, inflaming her cravings to surrender to his will, to belong to him completely, at least for as long as their scene lasted. For her, that time would stand still, and she would be his, completely. The thing about saucy is that her submission is neither easily, nor routinely elicited; it takes a special kind of Dominant to tap into her submissive energies, unearthing her primal urges to let it go, give it up, surrender to his own primal, raw hunger, existing just for him, an extension of his desires, his pleasures, losing herself in it - - in him. Saucy gets Bootz and More Bootz was playing with saucy, getting her all warmed up, and in touch with her submissive desires, when he hands her his brand spanking new Quirt to hold in her tiny hands, explaining that it's eco-friendly, even vegan and not yet road tested on anyone's ass or any other body parts for that matter. Saucy was lost in awe as she fingered the small whip, testing it's power, caressing it with her hands, but not yet pondering her fate, unaware of the possibility of the quirt landing on her own porcelain ass, marking it up with crimson stripes in the hue of her dress. Before the whip began its maiden journey on saucy's ass, Bootz asked her about markings and whether it was acceptable tot leave marks. As those words tumbled from his mouth, suacy excitement comingled with fear sputtered within, as the anticipation of the quirt landing on her lilly white ass was no longer an abstraction or a fantasy, but something palpable, real, and IMMINIENT! Bootz lifted her shiny red dress, exposing her ass, still faintly marked with elegant penmanship from a previous objectification scene the prior weekend, along with some bruises. Inquiring about her dress, Bootz questioned whether he ought to remove her dress or just lift it up, exposing her ass. Having already fallen deeply into a submissive state of being, saucy's deferred to his desires about her clothing, her decision-making prowess, frozen like the arctic tundra. Saucy quickly reached a point with Bootz where she craved complete surrender, forfeiting opportunities to think, ponder, or make any decisions. She found peace and liberation in those words, telling him she did not want to make any more decisions; with trust, placing herself in his capable hands. Freedom found in surrender for the saucy one. Bootz left her dress hiked up, and instructed her to place her hands above her head and rest them on the wooden pole in front of her. Slowly, methodically, he warmed her up with slow, kissing licks of the quirt, more sensual than painful. "mmm, she cooed," enjoying the feelings of the whip caressing her flesh, without causing any real pain. Bootz ratcheted up the intensity of the whipping, slowly, subtly building in intensity until the first bites of pain. He backed off, caressing her, only to begin whipping her again, this time, until she made audible sounds of pain, and then he backed off, once again, caressing her warmed flesh with his hands, nuzzling her neck, bringing out sensual and pleasurable feelings as an antidote to the painful ones. She adored the contrast between the pain and the pleasure that followed it, the confusion and befuddlement of the senses, pain becoming pleasure, pleasure becoming pain - -an indistinguishable morass of pleasure-pain. As the intensity of the whipping escalated, saucy's soft whimpers became yelps and screams, each guttural moan, louder than the last. Bootz enjoyed her screaming, the siren beckoning, awakening his inner sadist with her screams of pain. Saucy's senses on overload, Bootz whispers those magic words in her ear, those two little words he knows she will work very hard to hear, the two words that make her all ooey gooey, soft and happy inside: "GOOD GIRL". With each scream, louder and louder, Bootz whispered the magic elixir in Saucy's ear, those words she ached to hear and when they did, it was a magic bullet, the key to her surrender, and a salve for fire burning on her tender ass. Bootz came to understand and capitalize on saucy's desire to hear the golden phrase. He teased her, asking her what the two magic words she desperately wants to hear are, and when she responded with the obligatory, good girl, he teased her unmercifully, telling her, no, not yet, and withholding the coveted words. Although they just barely met - -his hands were buried deep inside her psyche; he knew instinctively how to play her like a finely tuned instrument. He was a master musician. Saucy's face registered disappointment at his withholding gambit, but she recovered quickly, instinctively sticking out her ass to accept the next round of bites from his stingy quirt. Saucy is impressed at how quickly he has come to understand her, read her cues, recognize her desires and play with them so astutely. Finally Bootz recognizes that she has reached her threshold in terms of pain, and stops the whipping. He holds her close, she melts into his warmth, her face buried in his leather shirt, inhaling its sweet, earthy scent along with his more earthy perfume, a heady combination leaves her off balance. Saucy rubs up again his body, feeling his warmth and strength through his leather garments. Bootz grabs her ample breasts, squeezing, pinching, caressing -- all at once. Saucy wished she wore nothing on top giving him better access to her tits; she wanted more. Bootz barked at saucy, telling her to get down on her knees; without missing a beat, she assumed the position he commanded, at his feet, on her knees. She found her face buried in his leather-clad crotch and she rubbed her face all over it, tasting her own deep hunger for the opportunity to worship his cock. She imagined what he would feel and taste like, as she longingly rubbed her face into his crotch, wishing for more, fantasizing about more, but embracing what was there nonetheless, and blissed out by the lustful feelings engendered by her favorite act of sexual reverence and devotion. It is an intimate moment, the one after a whipping, when feelings of intimacy and closeness bridge the gap between the pain and the person inflicting it. Bootz caresses her hair, nuzzles her neck, whispering softly that she did well, that she was a good girl during the whipping, enduring the pain he dished out. Saucy was pleased, that he was pleased; that is what matters to her. Of course she wished she was able to take more pain, but she endured as much as she was able to tolerate. Being neither a painslut, nor a masochist, taking pain for her is entirely in the service of her partner's pleasure, not hers. She endures as much as possible in the service of pleasing him, and she always wishes she could take more pain, that she could please him more by taking more pain. She wondered whether he was sincere when she told her that she did well, or whether the words were just platitudes, uttered as part of the scene but lacking sincerity; but she let it go, and uncharacteristically did not obsess about this matter. Taking a rest after their scene, Bootz perched himself atop of a piece of dungeon furniture, a padded table, below which was a cage, at that moment occupied by a submissive woman who was being toyed with by her Dom. Bootz was communing with his two of his friends, and he told saucy to get on the floor on her knees, by his feet, which were encased in his luscious leather boots. He told her to kiss his boots. For the next thirty minutes, she lovingly and attentively kissed and licked his boots, worshipping them the way she would worship his cock, if only she was lucky enough to have been given the opportunity to do so. She lost herself in his boots, tenderly ministering to them, rubbing her cheeks and lips up and down their length, enjoying the sensuality of their taste, touch, smell, and feel. Saucy looked up at Bootz, telling him she wished he could feel her kisses, her touch beneath his boots. Bootz, explained the magic of his boots, and the fact that he can feel everything through them, lighting up another smile on saucy's already contented face. Bootz instructed saucy to lie down on the ground, and now it was is turn to use his boots as an implement of pleasure/torture. He had her on the ground with her legs spread, and he used his boot, forcefully and strategically placed between her legs, as he rubbed and pressed the front of his boots into her pussy, rubbing it harder and harder, making contact with her clit. She moved her body into his boot, grinding against it, taking her pleasure from it. He moved his boot from her slit to her pubic bone, pressing forcefully against it with his weight- -she experienced a strange combination of pleasure and pain as his boot landed, making repeated contact with her tender flesh. Bootz continued his assault on her body, with his boots, stomping on her legs, hips, pelvis and face, even imprinting his boot into her tender cheek. As she remained splayed out on the ground, accepting, even embracing his use of her, she wondered whether her face would bear an imprint of his boot, smack dab in the middle of her cheek. The experience was new for her, and she was absorbing it like a sponge sucks up a puddle of water. He pulled her up off the floor and once again pulled her tightly into a sensual embrace, which enveloped her, losing herself in his touch, the tenderness of it quite the contrasting sensation to his boots pounding her flesh. Bootz grabbed her shoulders pushed her down on her knees, and once again she found her face buried in the leather of his crotch. Gratuitously, she took the opportunity to run her hands up and down his shapely leather covered calves, while she nestled her head between his legs. "Purrrr," she mewled like a giddy kitty. She was right where she wanted to be, lapping it up like a kitty at the milk bowl; her face buried, nuzzling his warm leather encased crotch, her hands groping his legs, as though she might find treasure buried within. But all the while, her hunger was rising, her ache for more of him was pulsating through her -- radiating through her body, ravaging her mind with images of his cock filling her mouth, pistoning in and out of her mouth as she worshipped him. She toyed with the idea of seducing him, something she might have readily done in her vanilla dating days, but she hesitated, knowing such a move might cost her in ways she is unprepared to deal with. As if reading her mind, Bootz grabbed Saucy by her hair, just like he did when their scene first began. With that tug of her luscious locks, she is tamed by this action, taken down with his invisible Taser gun, ready to be his toy, to be used by him for his pleasure, as he desired. The power of this simple gesture, the firm tug of her hair, transformed her instantly into a submissive doll, his submissive doll. Retaining a firm grip on her dark locks, he dragged her out of the playroom, through the main space of the club, all the way through it until they walked through the outside doors and are blasted with a shock of cold night air instantly chilling their damp skin. Her mind is aflutter, wondering what is going on, what he is doing, where he is taking her, and what's going to happen when she gets there. Firmly, but sternly, he barked, "take me to your car." Responding instinctively to the commanding tone in his voice, without hesitation, she replied, "yes, Sir." The pair walked in silence the four long blocks to her car. "Get in, and then let me in the passenger door," Bootz ordered in his deep, resonant voice. He moved in close, grabbed her hair, pulled her to him so that her left ear abutted his mouth. Softly, he whispered, "I know what you want, slut, but you are not going to get it until you beg me for it. I want you to beg me for it over and over again until I am satisfied with your exhortations, and then, I will decide whether to give you what you have been craving all night." Stunned into silence, saucy was speechless, a rare moment for the usually loquacious lass. Begging is not her forté either, which he did not know, but perhaps somehow divined. Weakly, she began her begging, "Sir, may i please be permitted to suck your cock?" Bootz does not respond, so she repeats her begging in earnest, hoping he might be moved by her entreaties. But much to her chagrin, she is greeted with a vortex of silence: nothing. Frustrated and shot down, saucy repeats the refrain of her cock-begging song, only this time, with more gusto in her voice, more sincerity, and a sense of supplication she dug deep into her being to summon up. This time it was real. No acting, no theatrics or badly executed lines; poor unadulterated hunger, surrender pure and simple. Bootz noticed the shift in her voice control, yet was still not convinced she earned the opportunity to worship his prized possession. His manhood. His cock, so he ordered her to continue begging, for at least another fifteen minutes without losing control over her voice quality. Saucy, having been transported to her deepest internal place of surrender - -a reverential, spiritual, devotional state of selflessness --existing as an extension of him, living just to please him. Finally, she hears those mellifluous magic words, "Good Girl; yes slut, you have permission to suck my cock." Saucy had been chomping at the bit all night, waiting for this moment, and now it is here, his crotch staring her in the face, and for a moment she is paralyzed with fear. Her mind goes to the dark side, thinking, "what if I don't please him? what if I can't make him cum?" Her mind races, ruminates about not being able to please him. Saucy's fears begin to take on a life of their own, yanking her out of her submissive headspace, headed straight for the icy waters of doubt. Bootz startles her out of her self-deprecating jag by grabbing her hair and shoving her face into his crotch, now stripped of its leather encasement. Saucy, neurotically trapped in a prison constructed of her well-crafted monologue of doubt, fails to notice Bootz's state of undress. As his nakedness registered in her mammalian brain, Saucy prepared herself for a long drawn out, languid session of delectable cock worship. She imagined slowly, sensually lapping away at his balls, then his cock, working her way up and down his turgid shaft, teasing and taunting him relentlessly before securing his hardness in her soft, wet, waiting mouth. Within seconds, she visually scripted the entire scenario in her mind's eye - -the way she would arouse him by taking the scenic route --no superhighway fast track to release. This was the journey not the destination, and Saucy was set on licking, sucking and tonguing the length and girth of rock hard shaft at her leisure, taking time on her journey to lick and suck his balls, stretching her small mouth to accommodate them fully, her tongue dancing around his asshole and running up and down that sensitive stretch of skin between his balls and ass- -the highway of pleasure. But this is nothing like the journey Bootz was planning to take. He had mapquested his own vision of their debaucherous encounter. The pair was not stretched out on a large, comfortable bed, or even on the floor of a spacious room. Instead they were in the leather bucket seats of her sporty car, stick shift inconveniently placed between them. What Bootz had in mind was not a long slow climb up the mountain road, eventually reaching the summit, but rather a good, hard fucking of the saucy slut's mouth, pummeling his rock hard cock in and out of her wet, hungry mouth until he could no longer hold back his volcanic explosion. And that is precisely what he did that night - - fucked her senselessly in her mouth, jamming his cock down her throat, gagging her with his length, forcing her to take it all in. He rammed her mouth over and over, relentlessly, like a jackhammer, until he felt the first bursts of cum spew forth. Quickly he withdrew his cock and spraying his copious load of cum all over her pretty face. He watched his cum paint her face like a blank canvas, dripping over her mouth, dribbling down her chin, onto her chest, splattering her like the dirty little cumslut. When he was finished cumming, he enjoyed viewing his artistry on her face and he instructed her to look in the mirror and tell him what she saw. Sheepishly, she said, "I see your cum all over my face, Sir. I look like your dirty little cumslut." Hearing her acknowledgment, he replied, "yes, you are and you were a very good girl taking my cock like that - -so forcefully. That's not what you expected is it?" Meekly, she said, "No, Sir, it wasn't." A period of silence ensued, during which he let her stew in her discomfort. Eventually he spoke, "what do you have to say to me, Slut?" She took a moment before responding, worried that she might say the wrong thing and displease him, but then she said, "thank you, Sir for fucking my face and leaving your cum all over my face, making me look like the nasty little cumslut I am." "Very good girl," he replied. Softly, tenderly he whispered in her ear, "Now, I am going to get out of the car, and you are going to drive home. You are not to wash your face tonight. I want you to go to sleep with your face plastered with my cum as a reminder of who you are. Do you understand that?" With confidence this time, she replied, "Yes, Sir." He leaned over, tugged her hair, hugged her tightly, and whispered "goodnight my good girl," before exiting quickly from the passenger side of her vehicle. He walked alone in silence back to the club, revisiting their scene in her car, playing it back in his head with the invisible rewind button. Saucy drove home in silence. No radio, just saucy alone with her thoughts and feelings, also replaying the scene in her head, reliving the sensations of his cock ramming into her mouth and down her throat. She wondered whether his cum landed in the same spot on her face as his boot did earlier. Once home, she examines herself closely in the mirror, inspecting her face, and her ass, enjoying the markings he left on her body with his whip and his boots, along with her cum soaked face. Tonight, she knows she will sleep well, her face and her ass, a testament to his objectification of her, a palpable reminder of her service and his pleasure.