There was nothing Dude hated more than a woman that would bust his balls, or so he thought.  It wasn’t until this evening that he realized he only hated it in a figurative sense.  Nagging was still a fate worse than death, but feeling the platform of one of the Mistress’s signature Demonias against his junk?  Holy shit.

“You’re a pathetic pig, aren’t you?”

Dude bobbed his head.  The heel of those boots pressed upwards, grinding against his nutsack.  The pain was so immense he felt like he was going to be sick.  Stars formed in his vision and he had to choke down his groans.  He didn’t hate this, but he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.  Christ, what had he gotten himself into? 

It only took her months to realize that he didn’t ever bother learning her name.  He figured she’d be more upset about it, but she apparently got a kick out of learning that he referred to her as “The Mistress” exclusively.  Of course, this mean that she was going to show him the Mistress…  So now, here he was, on his knees and completely at her mercy.

“You’ve always been a little bitch, haven’t you?” she asked while keeping her foot firmly against his crotch.  “A big, dangerous man like you, always bending to the whims of women around you.  It’s good that you know your place.  Almost makes you worth keeping around.”

Her fist tangled in his hair and yanked it back.  She leaned down, hovering her face above his.  Her free hand took his shades and plucked them off, tossing them to the side and leaving him completely vulnerable under her hot gaze.

“Open.”

Dude’s lips parted, but it wasn’t enough.  The hand that wasn’t holding his hair by the roots gripped his chin to force it open wider.  She spat directly into his mouth, then forced his jaw shut.  When a brow raised over the frame of her own shades, he knew what she expected of him.  He swallowed.

“I oughta make you scream my name so hard you never forget it,” she said, taking a step back.  She walked around behind him as she continued talking.  “But you know what?  I think I like it better this way.  My name doesn’t belong on a tongue like yours.”

He felt her boot between his shoulder blades before she shoved him forward with a gentle kick.  His hands darted out to prevent him from landing on his face.  With him on all fours, she strolled back in front of him.  One of her feet raised to dangle her boot in front of his face.  He pursed his lips and leaned forward, kissing the tip.  She scoffed at the sight and nudged his face.

“The fuck are you doing?” she laughed.  “Lick it clean, dipshit.”

Dude stuck his tongue out and swiped it across the toe of the boot.  These shoes were perhaps one of the most eye-catching things about her, and that was saying something.  It didn’t matter if she was going to work or heading out half-asleep to grab a pack of cigarettes; she’d strap into those boots and be on her way.  They were an extension of her larger-than-life personality.  A woman crazy enough to stomp around in those deathtraps on a daily basis demanded both attention and respect.  While she never towered over anyone in them, she definitely stood her ground.  It was only fitting that she use them to establish her dominance over him. 

It was tough not to grimace at the taste of the dirty, bitter leather, but he’d had worse.  He continued to drag his tongue across the surface of the shoe until she put her foot back down.  He only had a split-second reprieve before the right boot took its place.  He followed the same procedure and licked the boot until she was satisfied.  A string of saliva dangled off his lip when she pulled the shoe away.  The sight shouldn’t have made him shiver the way it did.

“Good boy,” she said, running her fingers through his hair.  “God, you’re lucky I have such a soft spot for pathetic perverts like you.”

He kept his eyes to the ground, not out of respect.  Fuck no.  Because he didn’t want her seeing how fucking flushed his cheeks were from all this.  His balls were still aching— half from being squashed like grapes, half from being so blue they might explode.