“Do you deny it? You won’t take anything I give you?” he asks. “We’ll have to test that as well, then.”
My stomach churns. I made things worse for myself, didn’t I? What have I gotten myself into?
He steps back; emptiness envelops me. My pussy strains in agony, and my eyes sting. I hate him, but I fucking hate how much I want this. And more than that, I hate how hollow I am without his boot on my pussy and his leg in my arms.
He points to his boot. “Clean it.”
My skin flushes. I glance around frantically. What am I supposed to clean it with?
“Your tongue,” Dr. Ambrose says, reading my mind.
He wants me to lick my juices from the leather?
I knew I’d have to lick something; I thought it would be his cock. At least if it’s his cock, it would be a normal sexual act and I’d get the chance to please him. But with his boot? It’s so much worse, and it’s even more unbearable knowing my body wants to obey him.
The bathtub and the shower are in the corner. I can do what he says and avoid my own needy desires if I?—
He slaps my face.
I clench my jaw. Slowly, I look up and sear him with my gaze. His condescending expression tightens around me.
Not yet. Don’t do it, I tell myself. Even if hurting him will feel good, you won’t be able to kill him with your bare hands.
Even with the rage and the intense need for revenge, I want him to slap me again. I want him to fuck me raw.
Still, I growl. “How. Fucking. Dare. You.”
He fists my hair and jams my mouth to his boot. Pain darts down my neck.
“For fuck’s sake, you know what to do,” he scoffs. “Are you an adult, or are you a child, Miss Ward? If you make a mess, you clean it up.”
My tongue reaches out. Sourness and hints of earthy leather coat my taste buds, and those angry thoughts are gone, replaced by the need to do what he says. I look up for his approval.
His cock stretches, thin and hard and concealed by his pants, and I swear, with one thrust, his cock could tear through the fabric.
My insides incinerate with need. I slosh my tongue against his boots, eating every drop.
“Look at the sloppy mop whore. Licking up your cum like a starving animal,” he murmurs. Between licks, I gaze at him. His palm strokes his pants, and he squeezes the tip of his cock, his eyes glazed with lust. “You’re pathetic.”
There’s nothing else inside of my brain. I lick the leather, ingesting every single drop I can get. My hips lower until I’m flat against the concrete, my clit grinding on the floor. I close my eyes and stretch my tongue farther until my muscle strains.
He lifts his foot off of the floor, and I pant, flipping over so I’m lying on my back. I reach for his boot. He lowers the rubber sole to my face, increasing the pressure until my cheeks are smashed between the floor and his shoe. I lick through the side of my mouth, my tongue thrashing over the hard, plasticky grooves on the bottom of his boots, and I am completely consumed.
I’m here for a reason, aren’t I? I’m going through this for a reason. A good one. It doesn’t matter if I like this. It doesn’t?—
“So utterly pathetic,” he says in a low voice, practically singing his words. “No wonder he brought you here.”
Him?
Benji…
“He’s disgusted by you, you know,” Dr. Ambrose says. “I’m surprised the poor man was able to keep himself from vomiting. There were times I advised him to stay at the asylum until he was well enough to drive, but the idiot was determined to return and take care of you, his sick, perverted girlfriend.” He rubs his boots over me, and I hump the air. “I bet he had no idea you’re a boot licker too,” he snarls. “You’re no better than the scum on the bottom of my shoes.”
I whimper. My stomach twists, and I writhe, desperate for more.
“He must be so disappointed in you,” he says.
Shame roots itself into my core, but it quickly morphs into arousal.
