This series explores the beginnings of a couple’s experimentation with female domination/male submission. You might enjoy reading the series in order, if you haven’t read the other parts.

In this part, like Boots 1, I write from the submissive husband’s perspective. In Boots 2, 3 and 4, I wrote from the dominate Wife‘s perspective. The events of this story are actually true, with some enhancement.

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I like it when my Mistress plays sternly with me. My Wife loves me and doesn’t want to really harm me. But when she assumes her dominance, she becomes my Dominatrix Mistress. I become her willing vanquished slave. My purpose is to serve, amuse and satisfy my Mistress. I obey her. Period. As her slave, what I hope she will do to me or have me do, is forfeited.

We live a typical life, our twisted little Sex game notwithstanding. Boots sparked something in us. A friend sent us a picture of herself in boots and motorcycle gear. We both wondered she looked Hot. My Wife wanted a pair of boots, too. She wore them for me, with nothing else, and I melted. She looked and felt powerful. She liked my response. My submissiveness was awakening.

I adored being her sexual servant. She did not have the same urgency to take control of me. So, communicating what I was feeling in the context of our typical life was a dilemma. How could I ask her to dominate me? The very request was antithetical to the premise of being completely subservient. And from her perspective, it would seem to be coming from out of nowhere. (See Boots 1 for details).

After an initial foray, I struggled to have her dominate me again. During pillow talk, I pressed it. She asked questions. And I was able to tell her what dominating me could look like. Reluctantly, she agreed. Later, she began to own it, and enjoy it.

We still live typical lives. But on her cue, I drop into my place as her willing, devoted slave. She makes me strip. Sometimes she lets me wear pretty, lacey boy-panties. I Love it when she treats me like her slutty maidservant.

She has a riding crop. Sometimes she teases me with it. Sometimes she pours ruthless attention to my butt, leaving lovely red and pink stripes as her mark, with a lingering, stinging assertion of her control.

The one constant requirement is that I must give her screaming orgasms. When I have accomplished that duty, she dismisses me.

When she takes control, I yield to my submissive desire. My pride is relinquished. As my dominatrix, she wields absolute control, with unlimited power over me. She takes benefit of my unqualified sexual subservience. I serve her meals, snacks and drinks. I do household chores. I grovel at her feet as she teases and humiliates me. My dignity is swept blissfully away.

I Love being subdued by her. At all times requiring orgasms, she doesn’t allow me to come. Unless she specifically permits it.

It is a game. A mutual game that I want to keep alive. So, if she ever initiates it, I never, never hesitate to surrender myself to her.

“Would you put away the laundry?” she asks one afternoon.

“Okay.” I don’t need a game to contribute to the workings of our household.

“Take off your clothes.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I become her slave seamlessly. Now my chores are a nude performance; she is the audience I must please. The possibilities of what the day has in store thrills me, even though I have no idea what they may be. She notices my swelling member.

“Come here,” she calls sweetly.

Sometimes she speaks to me kindly, sometimes she is severe. Her authority is never in doubt. My compliance is immediate.

She is dressed normally in shorts and a T-shirt. She stands with her weight on one leg, her hand on her hip. Her face is illumined with a devious grin. And she is holding the riding crop.

“On your knees,” she says. “Sit up. Don’t rest back.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Are you enjoying your chores?” she asks as she nudges my penis with the end of the riding crop.

“Yes, Mistress.” My penis grows some more, wetting the leather tip of the riding crop with pre-cum.

She frowns. “Look, there,” she says raising the tip of the riding crop to my face. “You need to clean this off.” She presses it into my mouth. I suck it, wiping my fluid off with my tongue.

“Is it tasty?”

I mumble, nodding. She pulls it out of my mouth and inspects it.

“Good. Put your hands on the floor.”

“Yes, Mistress.” I drop to all fours.

She pulls back. Extending her arm, she swings. Swishing through the air, the crop lands on my buttocks with a smack. I leap with a cry. I am nearly erect.

“You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“For what?”

“Thank you for sharing your riding crop with me, Mistress. I am grateful for your attention.”

“Do you know why I spanked you?”

“Any reason my Mistress uses her riding crop on her slave is a good reason.”

“That’s true.” She swats my Ass again. This time she waits in silence.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“I noticed you were partially hard while you were doing chores.”

“Yes, Mistress. It pleases me to serve you.”

“I want you to finish your chores fully erect.”

I begin getting harder, already. “Yes, Mistress.” She whips me again.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

She smiles sweetly. This will be an enchanting day.

With my butt stinging and my Mistress watching me, I have no trouble finishing my chores hard.

As I put things away, she comes out of the bedroom wearing tight jeans that hug her firm butt. She has a green cammie top that tightly outlines her soft round breasts and a black bra, its straps showing on her shoulders. She wears ankle-high black boots with a high heel. She looks incredible. My cock stands at attention.

“I’ve finished my chores, Mistress.”

“You’ve done well,” she says, as she strokes my rigid hard-on. “I’ve decided to let you give me an Orgasm.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“I have some errands to run and I expect you to make preparations.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“I’ll want my dinner ready to be served on the back porch when I return.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She has tamed me lusciously. I am excited to do her bidding in meek obedience. The surging feelings of docile subservience humble me, even when she is away.

I find out her meaning when she says “make preparations.” I make sure her bed is made, smooth and tight, as she likes it. I pick up the room. The bedroom is painted a rose colored pink, a sensuous, sexy color she chose. She also likes the fur and the twinkle lights.

We have strings of tiny pink LEDs. They hang from hooks in the ceiling and are draped between them. When they are the only lights in the room, they build a sweet, erotic effect. I turn them on.

The fur is a white faux-fur rug that covers the top of the bed. Even though it is “faux,” it is luxuriously soft. She loves the feel of it on her bare skin. She calls it her “Sex rug.” I lay the riding crop on it, it’s menacing black contrasting seductively with the soft sensuality of the rug. The sight arouses me.

What more can I do? I crave to emphasize my powerlessness in a way that asserts her dominance. When she returns, I can present myself as a gift, an offering to her ascendency, vulnerable and weak in her presence. I have an idea.

I discover the tiniest G-string I have. It is white lace with pink embroidery and a little pink bow at the top in the center. The minute pouch in front barely contains my package.

I put it on, feeling very girlish. The elastic wedges tightly in my crack, making me feel constrained. My besieged swollen member in such a sweetly feminine garment reflects her power commanding my body, encompassing my whole self. I look at myself in the mirror. Seeing it on me makes my penis stir. I feel pretty. I like it.

To further signal her control over me, I put on a simple rope harness that I made. It wraps around my waist. Extending from the waist is a long piece of rope looped to a set of rope manacles.

I slip my hands through the loops and let the rope squeeze my wrists. They are like soft handcuffs. I can slip easily out of them. My Mistress’ authority is enough for me to keep them on. I sacrifice freedom and manhood to her service. I hope she is pleased.

I set the table on the patio. Only one place; my Mistress didn’t say I would be eating anything, except, hopefully, her. I put out flowers and candles; it will be dark when she gets home. I place her wine glass on the table.

I prepare a simple favorite for her meal, keeping it warm on the stove top. I pull a bottle of wine she brought home recently. Both table and bed are prepared.

I text her: “Your meal is ready.”

She replies, “For supper, I require my favorite meal with my wine accompaniment.”

“Yes, Mistress.” “I am ready to serve you, Mistress.”

She will be here soon. I adjust the G-string and the rope around my waist. I am getting excited. I can not wait. I stand where she can see me when she walks in. And wait. I am breathless.

She steps in. I stand demurely deferential, bound in my tiny lace G-string.

“Dinner is ready to be served, Mistress,” I say meekly.

She burst out laughing. How perfectly degrading it feels.

“What did you do?”

“I put sissy pants on for you.”

She laughs again. “Those aren’t pants,” she mocks. “That’s girl underwear.”

A surge of electricity shoots through my body into my loins. She steps up to me, her sparkling eyes holding mine.

“So, slave,” she rumbles to me lowly and fondles my aching balls. “Do you like wearing sexy girly underwear?”

I gulp. “Yes, Mistress.”

She giggles. “So you do. Your cock is swelling in my hand.”

I clench my teeth as she roughly works my arousal.

“You are a naughty little girl. Wait for me by my chair.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She smiles as I turn and step out onto the patio.

She disappears into her bedroom. I am bent over the table lighting a candle when I suddenly hear a swish. The riding crop meets the bottom of my soft cheeks with a crack. The surprise and the sting causes me to gasp.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I wince.

I turn to see her wearing a black lace bustier, elbow length gloves and a very short lace skirt. She wears thigh high boots with six inch heels. She towers over me. She wears this for me, to assert her dominance.

“You look so adorable and feminine in your cute little sissy panties.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“My naughty little girl slave made the bedroom look inviting,” she purrs.

“Yes, Mistress. I hope you are pleased.”

“I’m amused,” she answers.

“Do I look Hot, slave?” she asks.

“You look very Hot, Mistress.”

“How Hot am I?”

“You sizzle with every movement. You make me raise a sweat. It makes me happy to be your humble Sex slave and service your every desire.”

She smiles as I hold her chair and she sits down.

“May your lowly maidservant serve your meal, Mistress?”

She sits and I bring her meal. I stand by, waiting until everything is satisfactory. I feel deliciously vulnerable, nearly naked and roped on the back porch. I wonder if the neighbors can see us in the dim candlelight.

“Bring my wine, slave.”

My penis stirs as I retrieve the wine and cork screw. I open the bottle in her presence and holding her glass, pour her drink. She sips it, and smiles.

“Yes,” she purrs “Bend over, little girly-boy slave,” she orders.

I place my hands on the table and spread my legs. Bending at the waist, I arch my back.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

The riding crop whistles through the air before meeting my Ass with a crack. The noise is frightful. Each blow causes me to jump. My Ass is burning. I imagine the pink stripes that now color my butt.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Bring me some water, servant girl.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I set a glass before her.

“You are such a prissy little maidservant. Bend over.”

She administers three more blows. Each blow pierces the quiet night of our sleepy neighborhood. They are clearly audible to anyone else sitting outside around us. They would hear the swish of the riding crop slicing the air, the loud crack as it meets my bare skin and my humble words of gratitude.

“Thank you, Mistress.” Pre-cum is soaking my little lace G-string.

I remain by her side as she begins to eat. My warm Ass cheeks are soothed in the gentle breeze as I stand exposed outside. Never has she used the riding crop with such intensity.

I feel even more exposed and vulnerable in her presence; ready to be tied, if that is what she wishes; ready to serve; ready to receive the firm swing of her arm bearing the riding crop. I am becoming more and more aroused from her imperious attitude, her demands for service and her most erotic stimulation of my flanks with the riding crop.

“This is good,” she says.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“It needs some salt.”

I dart inside for salt. This time, when I return, I compliantly bend over the table for her without being ordered.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

I gasp with each blow. It sounds so loud. There is no doubt that anyone listening around us would know exactly what was going on.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I said, loud enough for them to hear.

She has me fetch other items. I refill her wine several times. For each task, I am rewarded with three firm swats. She continues to rain them down on my now tender Ass throughout her meal. Each time, I express my appreciation for her loving and very firm attention. Her swats are harder than usual. They sting. I Love it.

“Thank you, Mistress,” I say following each luscious set.

She liberally showers my Ass with the riding crop. I clear her dishes. Swats. Serve dessert. Swats. Clear dessert plate. Swats. More wine. swats.

She sits back in her chair, looking me over. My swelling cock is barely constrained by the pretty feminine piece of lace that I wear.

“How does it feel to serve such a Hot Mistress?”

“I’m very lucky that I get to submit to such a Hot and beautiful Mistress who knows how to make me obey.”

She smiles. “Bend over, slave girl.” I gulp.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“I am ready for my Orgasm,” she says.

“As you wish, Mistress.”

She makes me walk in front of her as she swats my haunches repeatedly, adding to the stripes across my cheeks, driving me as I trot before her into the bedroom.

“Prepare yourself,” she orders as she goes into the bathroom.

Absolute vulnerability and readiness for any whim is expected of me. I remove the rope and the G-string so I can administer to her desires in bed. I stand at the foot of the bed naked, patiently awaiting my Mistress.

She looks me up and down when she emerges still in her dominatrix garb. I stand meekly awaiting her orders, naked and now fully hard. She smiles.

“Bend over the bed, slave.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

She pelts me with a solid swish of her riding crop.

She lets me assist in undressing her, unhooking and removing her bustier. I want to touch and fondle her firm round breasts. I want to nibble her tight pink nipples. But she won’t let me. And she leaves my hard dripping cock stranded in front of me.

She lays back onto the bed on top of the Sex rug. She raises her arms over her head and wriggles into the soft fur, loving its smooth, soft feel. Her breasts tighten and her erect nipples press skyward. At her feet, I see her Pussy covered by dark panties. I salivate and my erection jumps.

She lifts a leg toward me, turning her boot-clad ankle in front of my face. I cup her heel in my hands and kiss the sole of her boot. This pleases her. I kiss all over her boot, from toe to thigh, and rub it lasciviously in my face, taking in my breath as I take the pleasure of making Love to her boot.

I slip it off and adore her foot, still in a sweat dampened sock. I breath her scent, kissing and licking her sock. I repeat it all in earnest after rolling off her sock, kissing the bottom of her naked foot, the ankles, each precious toe. She presses her foot into my face, into my open mouth. And I do it all over again with the other foot.

She sticks a foot in my crotch. “You like this.”

“Yes, Mistress. Your feet are beautiful.”

“Just my feet?”

“No, Mistress. I venerate your whole body, one part at a time.”

“I want you to do that.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Pull off my skirt.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I crawl onto the bed on my knees, straddling one of her legs. I bend over to unzip her skirt. As I do, I stroke my rigid erection against the skin of her naked leg. It amuses her.

“Are you that desperate, slave? That you hump my leg?”

“My Mistress is overwhelming me with allure. I despair for stimulation.”

She swings the riding crop, striking me on the side of my hip.

“Your cock will touch nothing, unless I permit it.”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress.”

She raises her hips for me to pull the skirt off. She raises again for me to access her panties. I peel them over her hips, and near her crotch, I grab them at the crotch in my mouth, pulling them down her legs and off her feet. I sniff them deeply, breathing her aroma, and I kiss them. She lay naked watching me suck on her damp panties.

She whips me with the crop.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

I kiss her feet some more and work up her legs. Gently I kiss every muscle of her foot, calf and thigh, crossing from one leg to the other as I work my way up. She parts her legs allowing me full access up her limb.

As I near her Pussy, I smell her musky aroused scent. My mouth waters.

Swish!

The crop cuts to my butt, striking my already burning flesh.

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“I’m not ready for you to go down on me. Scratch my back,” she purrs as she turns over.

I obey. Gently, I lightly brush her back with my fingernails as I kneel beside her. Up and down her spine, around her shoulder blades and shoulders. I scratch her neck and her scalp. She revels peacefully as I touch her.

She turns over slowly and picks up the riding crop. “You are pleasing me,” she says.

Swish!

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“You like the riding crop, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress. Thank you for using it on me.”

Swish!

She gyrates languidly onto her back, her arms over her head.

“Continue, slave.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

I gently stoke her midriff, collarbone and thighs. Her auburn bush beckons me. I want to touch her most intimately.

“Do you like touching me, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Why do you like touching your Mistress, slave?”

“Every inch of you is arousing, Mistress. It is a privilege to be your slave.”

I focus on her non erogenous zones, passing closely by her bush, letting a finger barely brush a few strands.

“Yes. You are my wretched Sex slave. Your only purpose is to bring me pleasure. You must not disappoint me, slave.”

Closer and closer, I rub into her bush. Finally, I brush my full palm over her hairy mound.

“I will please you with a screaming Orgasm, Mistress.”

She moans. Swish!

“Thank you, Mistress.”

With that, she sets down the riding crop to focus on my touch. The burning glow emanating from my striped haunches fuels my arousal. But her desire is tantamount. I can only suffer in my acute unfulfilled urging.

She gasps as I touch her nipple, then the other. Manipulating them in my fingers, her breath deepens. I wet my fingers allowing them to slide over her sensitive nubs. She gulps as I bend over and suck each nipple in turn.

She moans. “No one else is allowed to touch me like this. You are my only Sex slave.”

“It is a privilege to be used by my Mistress.”

Sucking a nipple, I reach my hand down to her Pussy and stroke her slit with my finger. Gently, I insert my finger. She flinches as I brush her clitoris, reaching deep into her Vagina coating it with her juices, then running it softly over her clit. She moans as I insert a second finger. Tenderly, I finger fuck her to the music of her sighs and moans.