Where’s the…

…boots?

My blog is entitled “Under the Boot,” and I have a massive boot fetish. My wife in boots — hell, any decent-looking woman in a pair of boots — oh, how it sends me. (I remember a time when a buddy’s mom wore boots. That was…awkward.) So where are all of the boots…?

I don’t have a good answer to that. In our first few outings, a healthy dollop of boot worship was always a part of our play. My wife is one of those lucky women who has legs going up to her neck, with long, slender calves sliding into full, round thighs and a beautifully curvy behind. Her legs in boots are incredible to see, especially when she’s not wearing much else.

Our favorite position is me pounding into her while she’s on her back, with her legs up across my torso and over my shoulders. For one thing, it allows me to really drive into her so that she feels it “in her gut,” as she puts it, and for another, it gives her access to my face, my nipples, and all of the other best places to hurt me. Coincidentally enough, this position is perfect for boot worship — there’s nothing like having sex with her while her boots rest on either shoulder, the heels digging in, her voice ordering me to lick the soles and heels, her legs pushing them into my face, the smell of the leather right there in my nostrils…

Woah.

So, where are the boots? I dunno. My Mistress hasn’t been into them lately. I’ve tried to hint that I want to kiss and lick them, but she’s preferred foot worship whenever I’m down there crawling. (Our first full, we’re both into it/it’s honest to goodness D/s scene began with her having me clean and worship her feet. It was beautiful — she has such sexy feet, although she thinks they’re too big. But she’s a tall, long-legged girl, small feet would look freaky.)

The worst part is, the last time she came down here, we bought her a magnificent pair of patrol boots, which look like these but go a couple further inches up her leg:
Unfortunately, while they look marvelous, my wife thinks they’re uncomfortable, and so only likes to wear them when she’s on her back. She pegged me in them once, but said they were just too unstable a platform for her to really get leverage in. I briefly thought about asking her to practice walking in them to develop the right skills, but…that’s really, really presumptuous. I can’t imagine doing it — it’s not really my place to say, “Oh, you don’t wear boots often enough to peg me in these? Well, start wearing them more often Butch up!” That sentiment is not what I view as submissive in the way I want to be at all. And not only that, but her response would surely have been to correct me for having the temerity to ask. I mean, who’s running the show? Not me.

(As last entry showed, my Mistress is not adverse to putting on a little costume for me, but if it’s uncomfortable, it doesn’t stay on. I’m suitably grateful she gives me even the little time she does with her dressed up. Oddly enough, her favorite outfit is a little plaid skirt and plain white blouse, very Catholic-school girl, but very comfortable.)

She left those boots down here with me, and both times I’ve gone up to visit lately I’ve dragged them through airport security, hoping I wouldn’t have to explain why I have them and nipple clamps — for some reason I had all of the body clamps — on my person.

It turns out nipple and ball clamps aren’t really illegal to bring on planes. Weird.

But neither time did the boots get pulled out. She saw them. She knew they were there. But instead, I got foot worship. Which is great — I love sucking and kissing and adoring her feet. I love licking the soles. I love crawling over to her like an animal to snuffle and lick and beg. When the baby’s asleep and we’re watching TV in the living room, occasionally I’d just drop to my knees and worship her legs and feet for a while. But…boot worship is neat. Black leather. Buckles. The smell.

Anyway, more boot play. I’m going to have to beg for it, I think. And she still might say no. Which is one of the great things about a D/s relationship, I suppose: When you decide to give somebody the power to control the scene, sometimes their ideas and yours are different, and the flipside of all of the yummy beatings and humiliation and everything else is that she has the power to simply say, “Nope, not interested, figure something else out.” Back when we were vanilla, I could whine and bitch and she’d give in just to get some peace, but if I do that now she’s going to whip my ass or stand me in the corner.