I wore my boots because I knew he’d like it. I wore my gray and black Delicious dress because it hugged my curves just right, making me feel sexy. I ran to meet him because I was running late.
Once again music requirements made my evening’s start hectic. I was to meet Jim at the bootblacking station at 8:30pm. I made it at 8:35. I apologized profusely for my tardiness.
He held a black baton. The leather wrist strap laid beautifully across his skin. I wondered what he had in store for me.
We made our way to the Dungeon. It was rather full, busy with multiple scenes started. He, however, went straight for the cage. Stepping inside, I set my bag in a corner along with his things. He had me retrieve two chucks. I gave them to him. He closed the cage door behind me.
I leaned up against a side of the cage. He came in close, looming over me. I could feel the heat of his body, just inches from mine. He began lightly punching my chest. He asked what my limits were. I had few. No bathroom funsies. If he fucked me in the ass, please use lube. Don’t cut off any body parts. “But I can destroy your hair.” I liked that he sought out loop poles.
My arms rested at my sides. My hands gripped the chain-links. His punches increased. I gasped with each blow. He asked if this was too much, or was I just highly reactive. I noted that was an excellent description of myself in a scene.
He continued his punches. Normally I would have closed my eyes, but I found myself learning Jim’s rhythm and instinctively tensing, waiting for his blow. Often he’d pause, then hit me.
Unlike my normal scenes, I endeavored to keep my eyes open. I looked up at the ceiling, able to glean Jim’s next hit through my periphery. Occasionally I ventured a glance at his face. I looked into his eyes, saw the quiet concentration, and rested back into my pain.
I made my body relax. I un-tensed my muscles as hit after hit came. He concentrated on my chest, punch after brutal punch.
With his now harder blows, my body curled forward. I explained crying was good, in case it came up. I anticipated its occurrence; Jim punched hard.
I told him how I, when in need of a moment of respite, would curl my body away, taking from him his target. With a breath or two, I would be back for more pain. He understood my gestures, but warned unless I verbally safeworded that he may not heed my body language. Instead, if he felt so inclined, he might go after me more. I acknowledged this as a possibility.
He had me disrobe, but keep my boots on.
Jim was oh so close as he punched. One arm rested above my head as he too leaned against the side of the cage. One leg stood in between my thighs. His head just above mine. His free fist working my chest, over and over again.
He stood back, now wanting to change up a bit. He punched the sides of my arms. He punched the sides of my thighs. He took my face in his hands and slapped it.
Coming in close, he went back to my chest. Blow after punishing blow, my torso rocked with the force of his fists. I loved the brutal agony of withstanding his punches, loved the radiating pain, dull and powerful, through my lungs. With each breath, I felt the impact of his hands. I gasped and groaned. I almost cried.
Stepping away, Jim grabbed a chuck and spread it out. I laid down.
Looming above me, he used his own booted foot to guide my legs together. He held each boot above my face and asked if there was anything on the treads. I said they looked fine.
Gripping the top of the cage, he placed one boot across my thighs and the other on my chest. Letting down his weight, the pressure of his mass pulsed through me. I loved the feel of being under his boot, loved the sensation of his weight through my body, loved feeling this new type of pain. I sunk into it. He slowly moved about, changing positions slightly. I moaned with the feel of him on me.
He stood on my hands, lightly. He stood on my biceps, less lightly. His boots pressed down my hair. He took this opportunity to bend over and punch my chest.
His weight returned to my body. One boot found its way to my chin, pushing my face back. Then it rested on the center of my chest. He stood balanced, not holding onto the cage, allowing his full weight across my thighs and torso. I looked up and saw his tall boot with its red laces, his long supple chaps, his flattering vest, and his ever-hard-to-read-yet-always-welcoming face, a tableaux I will not soon forget.
Stepping off of me, he removed his vest and put on his black disposable gloves. My knees up, he knelt down by my boots. He used my lube.
He started slow. Clit stimulation. Pulling on my labia lips. He inserted a few fingers. Within moments, I begged to be allowed to cum. “No. Too fast.” He worked more.
My right boot found its way to the cage wall. My hands reached out for something to grip onto. I begged again, this time more fervently. He relented. I cried out, cursing, thanking him, screaming his name, and cuming hard.
I asked him to push. He worked his hand all around, creating the space it would need. He pushed. I could feel my pelvic bones slowly separating.
He was in. I asked for permission again. He obliged. I bucked my hips. He punched my chest hard.
I loved the blended sensations. Pleasure and pain, writhing on the floor, my body gradually moving towards one end of the cage. We stopped, twice, his hand still inside me as I moved back towards the center.
I endured the beautiful pain, asking him a few times to stop and start, finding a moment to breathe without the intense sensations of my now. The pain pleasure grew. I came close to having to stop. I mistakenly kneed his chin. I apologized profusely. Finally, I hooked my boots onto his shoulders and pushed him off. I loved the smooth feel of his fist escaping my body.
He laid down next to me. He stroked my skin. He relaxed me. He admired the boot marks on my chest. I touched the treads in my skin affectionately. I breathed.
I sat up. We hugged. We cleaned up.
He bent down and picked up his baton. He’d forgotten to hit me with it.
He thanked me. I thanked him. We spoke of IMsL and hopefully seeing each other there. He opened the cage door and we exited.
I saw MaryLeo, SkinnyBitch, and DeepEnd had been watching. I walked over to them. Jim followed.
I realized I never received any time during our scene to love Jim’s boots. I asked if I could steal a moment to do so before I had to leave. He granted my request. On my knees, I gave each boot just one kiss.
Standing, I thanked him again, and then ran off for my next play date.
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