I am kneeling. my hands cuffed behind me and I cannot do much more than flap my hands against my back. I know I’ve done something bad, but I don’t have time to work up a list. He squats, so he’s staring deep into my soul. When he’s in the glasses, I know it will not be easy.
“You will keep your eyes closed, Benji. You will clean both boots, and you will not speak.”
No gag and no blindfold.
I’m certain that where I’m kneeling, my hands could not do much more than flap against my backside. I’ve done something bad, something that will not let me do much more to him than circle the tip of his boot with my tongue. The smell from the leather, the hair, the sweat, all of it urges me on. The words left unspoken because he forbade me to speak. My eyes fight to open, but he won’t let me have the satisfaction of him till I have trailed my tongue over both pairs, over the laces and the sole of his boot. He pulls me up from my kneeling position, the cuffs still tightly bind me behind my back.
He presses against me, letting me breathe in the scent from him, my body shivers from the sensations and I know this will not be an easy undressing. This is my punishment, I only get to watch, get to smell, get to stand there with that bulge pressing into my ass. I thought I wouldn’t have time to enjoy any of him, because he walked away from me, I no longer felt him behind me. The tingling in my wrists.
It wasn’t until I felt the sting of the black leather riding crop that I even remembered I was being punished. The feeling of release I always felt after an intense session with Sir left me weak in the knees. And like the consummate professional he is, he placed the crop in my hands as he held onto me before I collapsed. We meandered to the makeshift bed in the room’s corner. I heard the click of the cuffs and felt the crop pressed against my lips; I left a soft kiss upon the leather handle.
