I heard the basement door open, and I dropped to my knees. Automatically, my hands found their positions on my lap, and my gaze came to rest on the floor in front of me. Miss M was descending the stairs, and I felt each footstep as it rang out from her boots, reverberated through me, and sent my heart racing faster and faster. Soon she stood above me, but all I could see without raising my eyes were her boots and the legs of her leather pants.
For long moments she just stood there, and I knew she was drinking in my submission while I knelt at her feet and watched my cock harden. Finally she extended one foot, and I bowed my head to the ground, kissing the toe of her boot. My lips, still savoring the taste of leather, parted to offer my mantra as always: “I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.”
I thought I could hear her smile as I sat back up, but I kept my hands open on my lap and my eyes lowered to the glistening moistness I left on her boot. Miss M acknowledged my greeting with just a momentary pause before speaking. “Did you miss me, little one?” Her voice was slow like honey.
“Yes, Miss M,” I said, even as she was already stepping forward with her other foot, applying pressure to my balls with the toe of her boot, playing with her toy. My cock, already at attention, stiffened further before she trapped it beneath her foot. I watched helplessly as she slowly applied more and more weight, maintaining my composure as best I could. Only my deliberately measured breathing betrayed the impact Miss M was having on me. That and the pulsing throbs of my cock that I knew she could feel through the soles of her boot.
“Good boy,” she cooed. “You may look at me.” My cock was still trapped beneath her foot as I took in a kinky vision in leather. Miss M had a glow about her, a smile in her eyes. I felt the full weight of her superiority over me. Miss M released my cock from beneath her boot, her eyes twinkling as it sprung back up to attention.
I moaned softly, my eyes closed briefly in pleasure, even as Miss M turned away and strode over to the only place to sit comfortably down here, a simple leather chair. It’s the only thing in this basement dungeons of hers I’d never once touched during all the time I've spent here. I followed on my hands and knees, relishing the thrill that coursed through me as she loomed larger and larger above me as I approached, a supplicant to her throne. I settled onto the leather pad that Miss M had gifted me as a mercy and a gift, one of my first rewards for good behavior. Although it had been previously used, it felt just right, like it had been broken in just for me.
I began my worship of Miss M’s boots in earnest, feeling the warmth of service and submission spread through my mind and my body. I explored every inch with my lips and my tongue. I savored my place, my role beneath her. As I cleaned her boots more properly, I remembered the pride I had felt in how quickly I learned Miss M’s preferences, despite being new to boot blacking. It had helped being so much more turned on by Miss M’s feet than I had thought possible, upon meeting them in person.
When she was done with me, Miss M rested one booted foot on my chest and just pushed me back. “Good boy,” she said, studying me with unusual intensity. At that point I noticed the crop in her hands, the way she ran her finger along the edge of it, an act simultaneously sensual and menacing. “Now help Miss M out of her boots.” I crawled closer again and got to work loosening the laces, carefully and evenly, with practiced hands. I tried not to think about what Miss M might be planning for me. I pulled her boots off and enjoyed her contented sigh, evidence that I was serving her well. She began to shimmy out of her leather pants before raising an eyebrow at me. “Watching Miss M get undressed? Naughty boy…”
I slipped into child’s pose so quickly, I almost struck my forehead against the floor. “I’m sorry, Miss M!” My eyes were closed, just in case. I needed to be a good boy. Still, I focused my attention on the gentle sound of her pants being pulled off of her perfect legs.
“Miss M will help you be a good boy,” she murmured, as though she could read my mind. Her whispered voice was close, perhaps inches away. I felt the warmth of her breath on my ear, and then a weight settling around my head. For a moment I thought I was being hooded, but then Miss M’s scent enveloped me, mixed with the sturdy smell of leather. Her pants, still warm from the heat of her body, cradled my head and left me in darkness. Although I could see nothing, I clearly heard her laughter, intimate yet superior. I felt hot inside. I felt my cock stiffen again. Then I felt the words of my mantras stirring deep within me, bubbling up, filling my head, finally emerging from my lips.
“Miss M knows best,” I whispered. I heard her moan softly. “Good boys listen to Miss M.” Her breathing became more shallow, and I knew she was touching herself, watching me on my hands and knees, reciting for her. “Good boys obey Miss M.” I heard the whirring of a vibrator. “Good boys see to Miss M’s needs first.” I breathed deeply, allowing Miss M’s scent to fill me, from both her pants still warm on my head and from her pussy just a few feet away. “I need to be a good boy for Miss M. I will be a good boy for Miss M.” Miss M’s moaning grew louder. “I owe my life to Miss M. I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.”
By the time I finished, I realized my hips were gently thrusting with each line, my body moving along with the current of words pouring from me. “Mmm, yes, hump the air for Miss M.” My eyes remained closed as I lifted myself onto my hands and knees. I began to thrust into the empty space beneath me, the leather pants slipping from my head. “It’s okay, little one, you can look at Miss M now.” She was wearing only her Wolford stockings, her legs drawn up onto the seat of the chair, the tights holding her vibrator in place against her pussy. The hum of the vibrator began to modulate, as Miss M pressed the wand harder against herself in time with my thrusts. My cock grew harder as I watched Miss M get off on my pathetic humping motions. She purred, and I let out an involuntary whimper. Studying me intently, she smiled and whispered, “Do you think you can cum for Miss M, like this?”
I glanced helplessly down at my cock, at the bead of precum hanging down from the tip, swaying with the motion of my body. “I don’t know, Miss M. I don’t think so. But I want to.” And I did want it. My arousal was all I could think about.
“Aww, poor boy,” was all she said at first, before pulling her tights off and putting aside the vibrator to give herself more access to her pussy. She traced her pussy lips so delicately with her fingertips, flaunting her power over me, taunting me. She watched my cock twitch with naked desire. A moment passed, and then she rose from her chair, moving behind me before adding, “Here, Miss M will help you some more.”
She crouched down behind me and I moaned as I felt her pull my cock back with her stocking. As I throbbed against the hosiery stretched tight between her hands, she slowly drew the nylon back and forth over the head of my cock, just for a moment. I understood she was showing me that she could, if she wanted, polish me as sensuously as I had polished her boots. Instead, she pulled my cock back farther before letting the stocking slip off and my erection spring back forward. I gasped, and Miss M laughed, delighted.
As much as I ached for more, I blurted out, “Thank you, Miss M! Thank you!” She just gave a thoughtful hum and pulled the stocking down over my cock like a giant nylon condom, oversized and loose around the shaft. Shle left it draped there for a moment while tightly securing the other stocking at the cock base wound snug around me like a cock ring. Miss M threaded the loose end of the stocking between my hands and towards the chair, a leash for her to hold.
Miss M sat in the chair above me and leaned down to pick up the nylon leash encasing my cock. She pulled, oh so slowly, savoring my reactions as I gasped, the sensual material gliding across the glans. “And now, little one? Do you think you can cum from this?”
My cock twitched in its nylon prison, feeling the pull of Miss M’s control with that sensuous stroke. “Mmm, yes, Miss M, I think so…”
She patted my head affectionately, before letting her hand trace a path from my ear, down my jawline, to my chin. Gently, she tilted my head up to face her full glory. “And do you want to cum, little one?”
I didn’t think about whether the question was a test or a trap or a tool for instruction. I only knew the truth of the pleasure radiating from my cock like the light of a beacon, flooding my senses. “Yes, Miss M. Yes, please, I want to cum.”
She laughed, as though I had told her a funny joke. “And why is that, little one? Do you even remember the last time you came?”
“It feels good, Miss M, when I cum. It made me feel good inside. It must have been—.” I tried to remember, but I could not pierce the fog of memory. It didn’t seem like it should have been that long ago. Weeks, perhaps? But that didn’t seem right. It felt like a lifetime ago.
Miss M registered the confusion on my face, trying to remember the last time I came. She sat back in the chair with a pleased grin on her face, winding the foot of the stocking around one hand. With her other hand, she teased herself, one fingertip circling her clit, as though to focus both of our attention there, on her pleasure.
Then, watching me intently, she pulled again at the nylon leash around my cock, slowly, sensually, even as continued to stimulate herself. I listened to Miss M purr in pleasure, even as I felt the sheer material of the nylon glide back and forth against that exquisite spot beneath the head of my cock, as she repeatedly allowed me some slack and took it away again. “Oh, little one, it’s been so long. Do you think I should let you cum?”
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the pleasure roiling within, pulsing within, wanting to be free. “I want—” I gasped as Miss M pulled me towards her once more, the stockings still warm from her heat, caressing me. Somehow, I held back the tide. “I want to be a good boy, Miss M. Good boys don’t cum.”
I looked up at Miss M again, desperate for her approval and found laughter in her eyes. “And why does not cumming make you a good boy, little one?”
I almost said the first thought that came into my mind: that denial and submission felt better than cumming. But as I looked up into Miss M’s face gazing down at me, studying me, a deeper truth spoke through me. “I want whatever Miss M wishes.” Not just any Miss M, my Miss M.
A smile broke across her face. For a delicious moment she closed her eyes and touched herself, moaning. “Mmm, good boy. Yes, it pleases me. I like you like this, your orgasms just a distant memory. Your cum is your sacrifice for Miss M’s pleasure.”
My cock throbbed against its leash at her words. Then her right foot was on my face, so that with each pull on my cock and each thrust of my hips, I rocked her back in the chair before she extended her leg, pushing me back on my knees. We continued to thrust back and forth, a two-person engine of pleasure, Miss M’s pleasure. Her vibrator hummed to life then groaned in pleasure, modulating in pitch as Miss M matched the pressure to the rhythm of our motion.
I watched Miss M get off on my helpless, my desperation, my denied arousal. I whispered what then seemed an obvious truth. “I don’t get to cum.”
Her radiant smile was my reward. “That’s right, little one. You don’t have permission to cum. But it’s up to you to be a good boy for Miss M. This is supposed to be hard.” She pulled on my nylon leash again, triggering another wave of pleasure dangerously close to spilling over. “And it pleases me to see you struggle. Oh, I’m going to keep you like this until you’re begging for just the fucking memory of what cumming feels like. Only good little denied boys are allowed to toyed with in Miss M’s Dungeon.”
I followed Miss M’s eyes to the crop she had placed at her side, meeting the threat in her gaze with helpless vulnerability. “Please, I don’t get to cum…” I repeated. “I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.”
Slowly, sensually, she resumed her torment. “Repeat that three more times for Miss M,” she instructed, with utter finality. “Keep begging. I want to see how good a boy you are. Three…”
I locked eyes with Miss M. I could see how much it pleased her to see the fear on my face, as I processed her commands and repeated my lines for her.
Please, I don’t get to cum. I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.
As the last word of my mantra passed through my lips, Miss M pulled firmly at my nylon leash. Pleasure surged through me, and suddenly a memory swam to the surface of my mind, as if pulled out of my depths.
I remembered kneeling naked in front of Miss M, back when I first started worshipping her. I remembered the ache of the clothespins covering my body: my arms, my thighs, my chest, my tongue, my scrotum. I remembered her whispered words: “Miss M will take care of you. If you are a good boy.” I remembered that sense of surrendering to her voice, so full of love, so steeped in menace. I remembered staring at her feet, captivated, as she dominated my mind. I remembered learning the words that would become my mantras, and the flash of delicious pain as she removed a clothespin for each time I repeated them. “I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.” I remembered knowing that each time I spoke, I was complicit in exploiting my own weakness for her feet, to sear a new Miss M kink into my brain.
The memory passed, and I focused again on the present, on Miss M’s foot on my shoulder. On holding my cum for Miss M. She continued her countdown. “Two…”
Please, I don’t get to cum. I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.
The intensity in her eyes was like nothing I had seen before, but I relished her incandescent smile as she pulled me to her again on my nylon leash. I struggled to contain myself, even as another memory rushed to the surface.
I remembered waking for the first time in Miss M's dungeon, lying on the bondage table, cuffs having been detached while asleep, coming to consciousness with deliberate effort, following her voice as she roused me. The first thing I see is Miss M’ foot, hovering above me, ready to nudge my face. Or step on it. She is naked, beautiful, a goddess. Then I remember I am naked, too and she is asking me a question: “Do you even know where you are?” I remembered shaking my head slowly, searching my memory for how I got here and finding only inky blackness. I remembered instinctively trying to get up off the table, then Miss M putting her foot on my chest, forcing me back down, beneath her. I remembered her wicked laughter. I remembered thinking I should be afraid, but just staring instead at her foot on my chest, feeling its heat and my cock’s response to that exquisite perfection gracing my body. I remembered wondering how I never knew I had a foot fetish, how she could read my mind in ways I couldn’t even read myself.
Miss M’s foot brought me back to the present, pushing me back on my haunches again, even as her moans grew more urgent. Her last stroke had been more than just a tease. It could so easily have ripped an orgasm out of me. Did she want to see me fail or to endure? I realized only obedience mattered. That’s when she whispered, “One….”
Please, I don’t get to cum. I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.
The words emerged as a desperate prayer. My eyes were wide and pleading but her eyes were closed. The hum of the vibrator filled all the space between us and around us. Miss M pulled my leash one last time. I cried out as my vision fuzzed and pleasure surged through me. With it came one last memory, the one that had eluded me. In that split second before cumming, I remembered.
I remembered my anxiety at finally meeting Miss M in the flesh, being invited into her space. I remembered my gratitude at her kindness, offering me a guided meditation to help me find stillness. I remembered finding peace in surrender, closing my eyes and letting Miss M take control, feeling warm inside from the hot tea she had given me. I remembered Miss M taking so many thoughts and anxieties off my mind, not only giving me permission to let my cock do the thinking for me, but binding my consciousness and memories to the cum I built up for her.
In this instant of recollection, as my cock spasms within its nylon prison, I understand that I am cumming. I understand that as I spill my cum from my cock, I also spill from my mind all the memories I have formed in Miss M’s Basement and which make up who I have become. As the ejaculation pierces my mind and body and soul, I have one final thought.
Please, I don’t want to go.
***
Now she is crouching over me, her arms resting on one knee. The way she looks at me, I wonder if she is reading my mind right now. “Do you know where you are? Do you know why you are here?”
I take a moment to gather my wits but mostly draw a blank. Then I feel the words bubble up from somewhere deep down. They rise and expand, filling my mind with clarity and purpose. “I worship at Miss M’s feet, where I belong.”
Miss M smiles warmly. Her hand on my chest is both possessive and life-giving. “Good boy,” she whispers, before settling back into the leather throne.
She lets one foot dangle above me just so. Somehow I know just what to do.
