Knackered he climbed from the car, stretching his back as he walked towards the house, music was blaring upstairs and he smiled, She was happy, listening to the words he hummed them as he pushed the key into the lock “these boot are made for walk…..”.
As soon as his key turned, the music shut off, his gut sank, “Your late” a flat tone called from upstairs, he knew apology was useless, if She said it was so, then it simply was. Instead he opted to remain silent.
“I said fucktard that you are late”
Mind racing he thought of things to say, as he heard he coming towards him, turning the corner he caught sight too late.
SLAP, her hand collided with his face, he raised his own to the stinging hand print, and she slapped the other side, “If you had come to me on your knees,crawling like the misbegotten maggot you are, I couldn’t have reached you could I?”
He dropped to his hands and knees, and quickly gave his rote response “No Mistress”. Sensing resistance she kicked him in the ribs, “with feeling twat”, this time fearing greater pain and trying to minimize what would inevitably be to come he said “No Mistress, You are right as always, i should have crawled”. She reached down and ruffled his hair gently, “We, my little twattete are going shopping” and she walked past him.
She stood by the car as he opened her door, then waited within the car to be told were to go, she directed him, each direction requiring acknowledgment “Yes Mistress, Thank You Mistress” till they reached a large retail park. He quickly opened Her door walking as always behind Her, anticipating Her route and speeding swiftly in order to open doors and remove obstacles, in public She had strict rules for his behavior and repercussions were grim.

They entered a large shoe shop and She walked swiftly to a section at the back, Her dress and manner calling attention almost instantly, it was part of Her attraction the sheer charisma with which She carried herself. She walked upright always, Her appearance impeccable, he, he felt may have earned their money but she had a full time job in just looking and being the embodiment of powerful femininity that She was. Sitting she pointed to a pair of black patent boots, and a clerk, a young boy no more than 18, sprinted to reach them, nervously he asked her size and She, was polite and reserved in Her responses, Her eyes playing with him, even as she saw his own fall within the dark realms of her cleavage, merely winking watching him blush and rush away to get her boots.

She clicked her fingers at her slave and he walked to her, reaching up she grasped an ear painfully, dragging and twisting till he was on all fours, whereupon she placed her booted feet, reclining now She was comfortable, the young boy, blanched as he walked towards the tableau, her leaned back, her feet dangling across the well dressed man’s back, “be a dear could you, take these old things off”, the boy, hands shaking did as he was told, and handed her the box containing the new ones, clearly scared, he seemed to vanish as she squealed with delight at the new looking boots.

She draped her foot in front of her slaves face and watching himself in the shoe mirror he saw his mouth and tongue do what he must, taking each toe, gently, lovingly into his mouth, caressing them, cleaning them, glancing up only once to see the pleasure and amusement upon her face. As his his made their way long the top of her foot, she switched and he started again, his face burning read as he noticed the shop keepers nudging each other, each swapping places to watch. When she had deemed him finished, she handed him the new shoes, and he held them, helping her slide them onto her feet. Standing, she told him to put out his hand, and placed the heel over the palm, slowly increasing the weight until, his face contorted, clicking her fingers, the boy appeared, his face red and his voice unsteady “these will do he will pay” she pointed to the slave pinned by her heel to the floor. She lifted her heel as the boy scarcely whispering “what do you want us to do with the old ones madam”, she arched a perfect eyebrow and laughed, pointing again, he will wear them, and you will bin his shoes.
Face burning he removed his shoes, pulling on the painfully tight high heeled boots, standing with difficulty he tottered to the till, his feet pinched and agony and his progress slow as he tried to make his way in too small boots on too tall heels. She waited patiently at the car as he paid, face sweating with shame, he opened her door, and then resumed his position. She handed him his old shoes, “you will need these to drive my dearest boy, take off my boots and take us home”
he thanked her profusely as he changed and then as they puled away she added “You wont be late tomorrow will you?”

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