SUSAN, redux - Ch. 1

It began with frustration, Susan would remember.

Frustration, and anger, and most of all, boredom.

It wasn’t personal. Mostly, it had been work. Work had sucked, things hadn’t gone well, the project had bogged down, management was demanding, co-workers were shirking, sales were idiots and suppliers were irrational. Susan had been frustrated, and frustration had bled into her personal life.

She was alone, which was just as well. Her last relationship had been with a loser. He’d been a soul-sucking self-centered drama queen. In the end, she hadn’t been able to stand the sight of his face. But being alone sucked. She still couldn’t let the anger and resentment of her failed relationship go.

She wasn’t much fun to be around, something she was well aware of when out with her friends. But she couldn’t stand being alone.

So she inflicted herself on her friends, hating that she was inflicting herself, but unable not to. Sooner or later, they’d start to avoid her, and that worried her. But she couldn’t help herself.

Out of desperation, her fifth best friend (she ranked them), Sandra proposed a blind date to her.

Insulted, she refused and walked out.

Two hours later, she called back to apologize.

She agreed to the date.

Not because she wanted a date. The very idea of it was deeply stupid and offensive.

But she needed her friends, and if she couldn’t help being a bitch, then she needed to make amends.

&&&

Mark turned out to be a lawyer, in reasonably good shape, but more from very modest exercise and diet than any particular athleticism. His hands were soft, his grip not particularly firm. Mark was bland and uninteresting, he had that ‘stamped out with a cooky cutter’ feel. Susan wrote him off immediately, five minutes in.

They went for dinner together. He chose someplace drearily conventional, overpriced, bland. It didn’t surprise her at all. They made small talk. He was dull. Susan was snappish.

Susan cursed herself. She didn’t particularly want to be a bitch, but she couldn’t help it. The free floating frustration and anxiety just seemed to seep out of her uncontrollably. Mark picked up on it quickly, and seemed to retreat within himself. He volunteered little about himself, and the few bits of information were carefully neutral and so uninteresting, she didn’t bother to inquire further. Instead, he politely asked questions about her life, drawing her out, which hadn’t been a good strategy, because it simply unearthed the anger and frustration.

But then, efforts to move to some neutral topic - politics, weather, culture, film and television, people in common were so uninteresting they were like sandpaper on her soul. She knew he was making an effort and it wasn’t his fault, she just couldn’t play along very well.

Fifteen minutes in, she decided to sleep with him. It wasn’t out of any interest in him at all. Just sitting here, she was dry as a bone. Any sex would be artificially lubricated, orgasm free, and if she had any read on men at all, he would be five minutes.

She just hated being a bitch to him. She couldn’t stop it. He didn’t deserve it, he was just some beige nobody. Worst of all, here he was, vainly trying to get through it all with some degree of civility and dignity. It made her feel like she was kicking a puppy.

The simplest thing to do would be to just drop it - “I’m sorry, let’s call it a night, you’re fucking boring, and I’m in a bad mood, and it’s just not going to get better.”

That would make her a psychotic bitch. He’d think she was the biggest asshole in the world, not that his opinion would matter to her. He’d probably be grateful to escape. But it might get back to Sandra, and god knows who else.

“Sandra,” she rehearsed. “I wen tout with him. It was nice. We tried. But it just didn’t click. Thank you so much, but don’t do it again.”

Just go through the motions.

She wouldn't even enjoy it. She'd just do it, getting through it, staring at the ceiling, thinking about checking her phone.

Think of it as an apology fuck.

The one thing that they would both be sure of, was that they’d never do it again. He might think she was a psychotic bitch, but he’d get something out of it, and her conscience would be clear.

It was, Susan understood, the worst reason in the world to have sex with someone.

But the world could just go fuck itself.

&&&

The restaurant experience turned out to be tolerable. The food was uninteresting, but prepared and served competently enough that Susan didn’t have an excuse to snap at the staff. There were enough strangers around, that she felt inhibited from expressing too much. That was probably for the best. Even Mark, quickly aware that he was walking through a minefield, was careful to avoid setting her off.

In the end, Susan was just left feeling like a bitch and hating herself for it.

The next step was supposed to be a nightclub show. She suggested going back to her place instead.

Maybe Mark would decline the offer. If she was in his shoes, she’d run for it. She could respect him for that, at least. The offer had been given, she’d made restitution. He had chosen his dignity. They could part company, with the score balanced, no hard feelings on either side, their heads held high.

She hoped he would decline, and end this miserable night.

He agreed. Of course he would. The loser.

Maybe she’d be surprised. Maybe she’d luck out and he’d be amazing in bed. Her life was shitty, a great fuck wouldn’t make up for that, but it would be something.

Not a chance, she decided, looking him over.

She sighed.

The sooner it was over and done, the sooner she could settle down to Netflix and boxed wine.

Maybe she should get a cat.

No.

It probably wouldn’t be able to stand her.

&&&

Mark was sitting on the couch, alone. Susan watched him from the shelter of her wingback chair. She’d poured them both a glass of red, ignoring the silent judgment as he’d watched her pour wine from a box. She’d blushed self consciously, right on the edge of kicking him out.

Bringing him home had been such a fucking mistake.

What she needed to do was join him on the couch. Then they’d put their wine down, have a perfunctory make-out session and then into the bedroom.

And after that? Out the door. Goodbye. So long. Oh it was fine. No I enjoyed sweaty inept fumbling. I'm so glad one of us came. Certainly. Oh no, I'll call you. Not call, text. Maybe. Just have a nice night. There's the door. Fuck off and get out of my apartment.

She just couldn’t bring herself to go to the couch.

Instead, she sat back in her wingback chair, legs crossed, sipping her wine, her foot swinging idly, watching him, trying to steel herself to go through with it.

Maybe he’d be satisfied with a handjob?

Or just tell him she’d changed her mind. He didn’t seem like the type to go psycho at rejection. Honestly, this must be as awful for him. He’d probably be relieved to be out the door and away from her.

“Those are nice boots,” he said, desperately.

Susan wanted to roll her eyes, simultaneously angry and guilty. He’d been floundering all night, one half-assed conversational gambit after the other, random lame compliments, and now this? Had he finally reached the absolute bottom? Was it really this dead? There was just nothing else to talk about?

She glanced at her swinging toe. They were nice boots, patent leather, almost up to her knee, hugging her calves like a second skin, the heel perfectly balanced for walking, room for the width of her foot, but with an elegant point to the toe. She’d paid a lot of money for them years ago.

“They are,” she said sarcastically, looking up at the ceiling, unable to help herself. “They’re very nice boots. Why don’t you lick them for me?”

Inside she cringed, she couldn’t believe she’d snapped at him like that. He must think she’s the worst person in the world. She was horrified. She needed to take it back, make it a joke, apologize somehow.

How do you apologize for something that ugly?

This was it, Susan decided. She waited for his face to turn to stone at the final unforgivable insult. In minutes, he would be walking out her door. The only question would be whether he would throw the glass of wine in her face, or simply call her a fucking bitch before storming off. She'd deserve it.

Maybe it wouldn’t get back to Sandra.

She was already thinking about damage control with Sandra. How to explain how it had gone horribly wrong so she could keep a friendship. Call it a joke? Say he overreacted?

Frozen, she watched the shock wash over him. The comprehension setting in.

Here it comes, she thought. He set the glass of wine down. At least she wouldn’t end up wearing it, then. He seemed hesitant, confused, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard.

He stood, awkwardly. Susan watched, her face carefully neutral. Should she apologize?

He took two steps toward her, and sank to his knees. Holding her boot steady with one hand, he licked the toe.

Three things simultaneously went through Susan’s mind in that split second. One was utter astonishment. The second was the worry that the boot wasn’t sufficiently clean, given that she’d been walking outdoors.

But the the third, the single most overwhelming thing, was that she was completely, absolutely, deliciously, instantly wet. Not just wet, soaking. She could feel it, a pulse like a slow earthquake, her vagina tightening and dilating of its own accord, her clitoris literally bursting with sensation, this impossible wet flood like a river of wetness, seeming to pour from between her lips.

For a moment she forgot to breath. She just stared at him.

Mark just kept licking the toe of her boot, as she watched, frozen with astonishment, her nipples going so rigid she was certain they were poking through her dress. Inside her, the most amazing storm of butterflies was rising from her stomach, seeming to fill every inch of her.

He stopped and looked at her. She realized he’d avoided her gaze, carefully looking down as he’d licked the patent leather. Now he was looking at her. What did he want? Approval? Condemnation? Was he finished? Her mind was an astonished blank. She had no idea what to say.

The toe of her boot was slick with his spit.

He was looking at her expectantly.

Susan swallowed, the motion making her head bob slightly. She turned it into a nod. That seemed to work for him. She decided to try risking a word, fearing the consequences, the disgust, the refusal, the laughter, but needing to say it.

“Continue.” The word came out as a chirp, a strangled whisper of a noise, barely audible, as if she’d forgotten everything she’d ever known about English.

But he nodded, and to her absolute thrill, he started doing it again, working is way along the side and up the arch. She couldn’t believe it. She wanted to burst out laughing in giddy ecstasy, and the only thing that prevented her from doing so was the fear that if she did, he might stop.

Her foot bobbed slightly with each stroke of his tongue. He was doing it. She still couldn’t believe it. She’d just said it, and now he was doing it. It had been a casual, stupid bitchy remark. She'd been ashamed of herself. But he was doing it!

She felt this overwhelming sense of power, as if the heavens had rearranged themselves with her whim, that with the slightest exercise of will, she’d reshaped reality around her, to her own absolute amazement. It made her feel immense, buoyant, as if she was ten feet tall, but so weightless that she might float away on a breeze.

His eyes lifted to her, as he licked. That human contact made her slightly uncomfortable. She shook her head slightly, a finger pointed downward, and his eyes dropped. Again, that surge of a sense of power and control, the most trivial gesture suddenly animated with irresistible force.

She took a sip of wine, to cover her stunned amazement, tasting it on her tongue. What was this? Where was it going? Was she supposed to have sex with him? That felt so weird, she was incredibly aroused, the slightest move of her hips brought home to her how suddenly drenched her panties were, but it didn’t feel right to have him in her.

What then? Was he supposed to do this all night? That seemed mean, and she didn’t want to abuse him. Unless he wanted to? That would be great! She almost quivered at the thought. But all night!

Was there a next step?

Susan had no idea. This was outside her experience. She vaguely understood that somewhere out there, there was a world of people who did this kind of thing. But for her, this was outside her experience. She had never imagined it, not really. Of course, there had been vague cartoonish domination and submission fantasies, everyone had those. But his act and her intense reaction, had shocked her, and left her adrift.

She sipped more wine, a larger gulp this time, holding it in her mouth, letting it swirl around on her tongue, as she watched him, trying to think. Every lap of his tongue, every gentle shove of it against her boot, sent shivers through her, made her pussy twitch. It made it hard to think.

Still, it was on her, wasn’t it. She was the one in control. She couldn’t just sit here all night. She needed to do something, exercise some more authority.

What she really wanted to do was send him away so she could masturbate furiously, reach her fingers into her panties, slip fingers into her vagina, and make frenzied circles around her clit. Hell, she just wanted to masturbate, plain and simple. Grab her vibrator.

Not in front of him.

All right then, what? She had given an order, accidentally. He obeyed. How to navigate this new territory.

A thought occurred to her.

Susan swallowed the mouthful of wine and cleared her throat, moving her boot way from his tongue. Oh, it almost hurt to do that last one. She enjoyed it way too much.

“This isn’t quite right,” she said. “I’m not pleased.”

He looked up at her, his eyes wide, frozen. Susan was pleased at how clear and calm her voice was. The wine had lubricated her throat and allowed her to speak normally.

“You’re overdressed,” she said. He looked blank. She winced mentally, she was still discombobulated, barely coherent. She hoped he didn’t think she was some kind of idiot.

“Naked,” she said desperately. “You should be naked.”

That sank in. He nodded.

“Can I stand?”

“Why?” she asked, confused.

“To take off my pants and shoes...”

Oh right, she thought. Otherwise, he’d just be squirming around on all fours.

“Of course, and socks,” she nodded. “Quickly.”

She bit her lip, and then took another sip of wine, to cover. She shouldn’t have said that last bit, it made her sound needy.

But if Mark noticed, he gave no sign. He stood quickly, rising up in front of her. Weirdly, it made her think of Botticelli, Venus rising from the waves. Hurriedly, he unbuttoned his shirt, stripping it off. The pants went down. Was he even wearing underwear? Yes, she saw boxers nestled in his trousers, he’d taken them down at once. He pulled the laces of his shoes, pulled one off, standing on one leg as he stepped out of his pants, and then the other.

Mark was very pink, he clearly didn’t spend a lot of time tanning. She was pleased that her assessment of his body was accurate, an average build, but not athletic, no sign of hard muscle. There was some hair on his chest, on his calves, a thicker cluster on his belly and genitals and inner thighs. No manscaping worth noting, she decided. It wasn’t an unattractive body, but not remarkable.

His erection jutted out like a pink spear, more or less average, she decided. Not circumcised.

She was proud of her clinical assessment, of her control. He stepped toward her. Are we going to fuck now, she wondered. Did I set that in motion? Despite her arousal, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. Like, okay, if it happened... sure. But should it? Did she?

“Stop,” she held up a finger.

He froze.

Again, she felt that weird feeling of exaltation, of control and power, that shot through her like a drug.

“I want to look at you naked.”

Did she want to? She wasn’t sure. Should she? Again, she wasn’t sure. Mostly, she just wanted him stopped, and he’d stopped. Again, to cover, she sipped her wine, this time barely kissing the glass and wetting her lips. She’d go through the glass at this rate, and she didn’t feel up to having a conversation or a distraction about another glass.

He waited patiently, while she tried to decide the next step. His erection was so hard, she noted, it bobbed on its own, a whitish bead of pre-cum oozing from the tip. No tattoos, she noted. No obvious scars or blemishes.

She needed to say something.

“I approve,” she said finally, her throat drying out and making the words awkward again. She made a note to herself, swallow a little before speaking. She made a small gesture indicating her boot, her toe bobbing. “Now, continue.”

Any thought they might proceed to sex evaporated instantly, as he fell once again to his knees, licking her boot.

If anything, it was even better, more exciting, more thrilling that he was now naked for it.

His fervor, his licking was even more intense, more urgent. Was he more aroused, she wondered? What was he experiencing? Was he getting hornier the more he licked? Was it progressive? Would he keep licking harder and harder until his cock spontaneously burst and he ejaculated? She almost wanted to see that.

Had the pause, the enforced nudity, aroused him?

Fuck, she wished that there was some sort of manual she could refer to. She had a fleeting whim to look it up on her phone, but it wasn’t the sort of thing you asked AI. She didn’t even know how to ask the question. And even if she did, she wasn't going to do it in front of him.

He was working his way around the other side, working towards her heel. She took a sip and swallowed.

How safe was what he was doing at all, she wondered. Should she even allow this? As wild as it was, she didn’t want him getting sick, or poisoned, or ending up with some splinter in his tongue.

“I don’t want you to lick my soles, or the heel,” she ordered. He glanced up, their eyes meeting, it made her feel awkward again.

“It’s not safe for you,” she explained. “I was walking outside in these boots. On the street.”

He nodded in acknowledgment and shifted, licking up towards the ankle.

She should stop him. Maybe put on different shoes or boots, something she could be sure was clean for him. But what? It wasn’t like she’d ever given a lot of thought to this kind of thing, how could she be sure that anything she had was cleaner than these.

What if she grabbed the wrong pair and he got botulism?

Could you get botulism from licking shoes? She’d have to make sure whatever she brought out was clean for him. But then, she’d have to clean them. That would distract from the moment, it would take time.

And frankly, she absolutely didn’t want him to stop. Somehow, they’d fallen into this magical spell of astonishment and ecstasy that was weird as fucking hell, and she absolutely was loving every minute of it. So no, no more time outs, no change of footwear.

He hadn’t died yet. That was a good sign.

She cleared her throat and shifted her hips, feeling her pussy roll liquidly, the simple movement sending electric currents of arousal through her. She uncrossed, and re-crossed her legs, presenting her other boot.

I’m an evil bitch, some far away part of her seemed to call out, as she redoubled on his humiliation. I should not be doing this to him, she thought.

Fuck that. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Now this one,” she ordered.

There was the barest nod, and an immediate compliance so utterly smooth and willing, so devoid of resistance, that if she hadn’t been soaked already, she’d have been wet all over again. She couldn’t believe how much she was loving this, how her pleasure went way past her arousal to some deep, profound joy at his eager, willing obedience, at his submission and her control. She felt like a goddess over an altar, soaking up worship and sacrifice.

Her boots were shining with his spit and saliva, glistening in the light. He was kneeling in front of her, naked, his erection bobbing away somewhere underneath him. He hadn’t even touched it, he was so completely consumed.

He was licking the inside of her angle, working his way up, toward the patent leather calf. She uncrossed and crossed her legs again, presenting the other calf. As if reading her mind, he started working his way up the inside of the calf. A moment later, she uncrossed her legs, leaving her knees spread, the heels of her boots turning inward.

“Do them both,” she ordered, taking a quick sip. The wine was gone, she set the glass aside, unable to take her eyes off him. “At the same time.. One to the other.”

Mark began to alternate, applying long tongue licks to one and then the other, working his way up. She stared, utterly fascinated by his eager enthusiasm. It was so bizarre, it was almost like being outside of her own body, something so beyond her experience. But each brush of his tongue against her calves brought her back to concrete experience. Intense, bizarre, wildly, erotic experience. And he kept moving higher.

"You're very good at this," she said, her voice low and breathy. She was surprised she could even get the words out. He grunted something that sounded like a thanks.

"You do this a lot?" she asked. A shiver of excitement went through her, a sense of catlike toying with him. "Are you the sort of man that goes around licking women's boots? Is this a regular thing for you?"

What if he was? The thought that she was in the grip of a fetishist was oddly thrilling. There was a shivering bouyant joy to the thought. At least one of would know what we're doing, she thought.

He shook his head. The merest pause in his licking.

"Oh my!" Susan smiled, catlike. Somehow, this was better. "First time? Virgin?"

A nod. It made her pussy clench. She felt powerful.

"Enjoying it?"

A nod. That was reassuring, as fucked as things were, that confirmation made her feel better, more confident. She didn't know where she was going with this, but at least she had a willing follower.

"A have a confession to make," she whispered. He looked up for a moment. Their eyes met. She reached out gently, lowering his head, holding him, feeling the pressure of his cheek against her calf, pressing on the leather.

"I'm really fucking wet," she said. "I'm dripping."

His head moved, and for a second lifted, their eyes meeting. Then he lowered, his tongue flicking out, leaving a wet trail on the pristine leather.

"I thought you should know."

He reached the top of her left boot, and she could feel his tongue sliding across the boundary of the patent leather, and against the bare skin of the bottom of her knee.

"You want to lick my pussy, don't you?" she asked.

A nod, a small grunt of affirmation.

Suddenly, Susan couldn’t stand it any more. She bent forward, grabbing his hair in her fist, her hips lifting as she pulled her dress up, and her panties to the side in what seemed like a single motion, and pressed his face between her thighs. He seemed to float in her grip, so willing and in synch with her, that he was almost weightless.

"You want this?" she demanded.

"Yes," he gasped, and pushed, she felt him against the softness of her body.

His face ground into her lower belly. Too high! She thrust her hips forward to the edge of her chair, her shoulders sinking down, and spread her legs wide, one knee rising involuntary into the air and then... Right there! Yes, his tongue slapped against her clit and her breath caught in her throat. Her hips pushed forward and she pushed down and he was lapping her pussy with frantic intensity.

“Oh god damn it!” she cried out, her grip on his hair like iron, she pushed his face into her, and he licked her with wild abandon. “Yes, yes, just like that!”

She didn’t last long, an orgasm rose up inside her so fast and hard it felt like it had stepped up slapped her face, leaving her breathless and panting. The pleasure was so intense, it became too much.

“Stop! Stop now! That’s enough!” She pushed his face away, releasing her grip, as he sat back on his haunches.

For a moment, she writhed in ecstasy in the chair, panting, allowing herself to recover. Her skin was covered with a light sweat, and beneath it, she could feel goose pimples.

The panting slowed down, Susan watched him watching her. She had no idea what was going through his mind. Between his legs, his erection was throbbing patiently. Unconsciously, she pushed her skirt down, covering her pussy.

What the hell was she supposed to do now? She had no idea. She needed to get away.

“Excuse me,” she said abruptly, levering herself up off the chair. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Susan retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She ran the tap, mainly as cover. The noise would let him know she was doing something and not to bother her. But she didn’t actually have anything to do, she rested her palms on the bathroom vanity, letting it take some of the weight off her legs. She was still wobbly, her heart still pounding. Then she sat on the toilet and took a deep breath, wrapping her arms around herself.

That had been the weirdest fucking thing ever in her entire life. How had that just happened? How had any of that just happened? Where had this come from? She’d been normal all her life, and now, as the post orgasmic bliss receded, she couldn’t even imagine the person she’d been only moments ago.

No. She could imagine it, she vividly remembered the orgasm, the wild urgency when she’d grabbed his head and shoved it between her legs. Even more: The elation, the overwhelming, shocking sense of power and control as he’d knelt and licked her boots.

Maybe it was the boots, she thought. She’d always liked them, had always thought they’d been exquisitely sexy. Not that anyone else paid them any special attention... until now. She’d apparently found someone who appreciated them even more than she did.

Also, her feet were sweating in them. It was almost clammy. She wiggled her toes, eager to be out of them, but decided to keep wearing them until he was gone.

What the living fuck? That kept going through her mind. What had just happened?

Her panties were so wet they were disgusting. She shimmered out of them, and then wiped herself down below.

Susan had no idea what to do next, or how to face him. Maybe he’d gotten dressed and left?

“Are you still out there?” she called.

“Yes, Miss,” came the answer.

Fuck.

“Have you moved?”

“No, Miss.”

Double fuck.

Take the hint.

Leave.

Except, on some level, she didn't want him to. She wanted him, but didn't want him. She couldn't imagine having any kind of conversation after this, the thought was ludicous. Post-boot-licking small talk? Ridiculous. She had no idea what to do with him. Sex at this point seemed inappropriate. But part of her didn't want him to go.

It was like they'd made a weird connection, shared something unique. He was the only other person in the world with this experience. If he went, it would be like it never happened.

She glanced at the time. Almost an hour and a half. He’d spent over an hour licking her boots. There was a moment of involuntary sympathy. His tongue must be raw.

Fuck it, she couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. She turned off the taps, and strode back to the living room. Yes, there he was, kneeling in front of her chair. She didn’t want to approach him. Suddenly thirsty, Susan went into the kitchen and poured herself another glass of wine. She drank it on the spot, and then poured another glass. She tried not to glance over at him as he knelt, but couldn't help watching him side eyed.

A warmth spread through her, helping steady her nerves.

Should she offer him another glass? No, she decided, not now. It didn't feel right.

What felt right? She had no idea what she was doing. But she wanted to do things, whatever they were. Susan took a breath.

She wandered over towards him, sat down in her chair and crossed her legs. Their eyes met, again, she felt that awkwardness.

“Did I give you permission to look at me?” she asked.

It came out meaner than she intended.

His head dropped, staring at the carpet at the foot of her chair. He was so close to her. Of course he was, she’d jammed his face into her pussy. She raised one booted foot, and prodded his chest gently.

“Move back... Please,” she ordered. Head down, he shuffled backwards towards the couch. When enough space had opened between them, she said “enough.”

Should she have said 'please'?

He waited for another order.

“All fours.... please,” she said. “Knees and elbows.”

He obeyed. He just did whatever she ordered, like it was the kinkiest game of Simon-Says ever. Even past orgasm, it was weirdly thrilling and satisfying, and erotic. But she didn’t want to keep him all night. He needed to go away. Tell him to just get dressed and leave? That felt anticlimactic, it felt unresolved.

Susan sighed. She stood up and walked around him, as he waited motionless. She still felt a little awkward about the cruelty of her earlier remark. Maybe it was the orgasm, or maybe the general weirdness of the encounter, but her bitchy mood had broken.

“You did very well tonight,” she said. “I’m very... pleased with you. I don’t know that we’ll do this ever again.”

This was definitely never happening again, she decided that on the spot.

“But I am very pleased with you.”

His head moved, nodding acknowledgment. He seemed reluctant to speak. Had she given an order about that? She couldn’t remember. She decided not to ask, it would make her look uncertain.

Susan went down on one knee beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder. He was warm to the touch. Her hand slid across his back, as if stroking a cat, and she felt his body responding, the flex of spine, a slight tremble in the muscles. It occurred to her that apart from a perfunctory handshake at the beginning, and jamming his face between her legs, this was the first time she’d voluntarily touched him. There was something sad in that thought.

She stroked his back again, then because he looked so dejected with his head hanging down, she lifted him with a finger under the chin, his face pointing away from her as she knelt beside him. She ran her fingernails down from the back of his neck, down between his shoulder blades, down the spine, making him arch his back, until she was cupping his ass cheek. A tremor ran through him.

“You did very well,” she said again. “I’m very happy with you. Good boy.”

Good boy? She winced. She was talking to him like he was a dog. But if he noticed, he didn’t mind. Another shiver ran through him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” she said carefully.

She felt she needed to establish that, but also kind of hated herself. It felt almost cruel, and she felt she needed to make up for it. Too bad, she was old and self-possessed enough that she wasn’t going to do pity fucks...

She remembered why she’d brought him home initially.

Well, she wasn’t going to do it now.

“But I am happy with you,” she said. “Do you want to come?”

No blow jobs either, that was very definite. The eagerness of arousal was past, and she had no intention of putting a stranger's thing in her mouth in the first place, much less allow it to ejaculate there.

She wasn’t even particularly excited about a hand job. Maybe she could just order him to ejaculate. Or possibly simply have him masturbate. He would probably do that, if she ordered it and watched. Hell, she could go tell him to do it in the bathroom, or somewhere she didn’t even have to watch. She could do anything to him, even be cruel!

“Yes, Miss... Please.”

It was the ‘please’ that got her. She sighed. It was a weird night, and he wasn’t a bad person. It wouldn’t kill her to offer a little kindness.

“All right,” she said gently.

She moved closer to his hips, bending forward a little bit, to reach under him. Her hand found his erection. It was surprisingly wet, under other circumstances, she might have been repulsed, but she just wrapped her fingers around it, moving back and forth. He grunted.

Susan wasn’t really sure how to handle him. The truth was, that in her experience, men just preferred to take things in hand themselves. She’d given many more blow jobs than hand jobs. It just wasn’t a thing. Still, she stroked him gently.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“Good.”

Disappointingly, he wasn’t as hair trigger as she’d been, and stroking, while clearly pleasurable, didn’t seem quite enough. She wasn’t sure what to do, too much might hurt him. After a moment, she reached around with her other arm, sliding it between his thighs and under his ass. She cradled and tickled his balls, and then reached under squeezing his shaft, while her first hand cradled his head.

“Good?” she asked.

“Very,” he moaned.

This was working, his body trembled and shook, tremors rippling through his muscles. He was starting to gasp, his breath coming faster and faster.

“Good boy,” she whispered. His cock was growing hotter and harder in her hand. “Good boy, who’s a good boy?”

Again? She wanted to kick herself, she was so self conscious.

But it was working his hips thrust against her hand, he grunted loudly, his body flushing hot, and muscles going stiff. She realized if she was going to do this, she should have put some newspapers down under him or something. But it was too late, with a loud moan he ejaculated, spurting all over her hand and beyond, and then suddenly going limp. He collapsed beside her, falling out of her grip, gasping for breath. She watched him, laying flat on the carpeted floor, in a small puddle of his own semen, panting. She stroked his back, feeling muscles tighten as her touch moved along. His skin was flushed, just slightly damp. It felt hot. She'd been with men when they'd come, but she'd never had the chance to observe a male orgasm, or a male afterglow this clinically before. It was fascinating... and sweet.

Impulsively, she bent forward and kissed the back of his head affectionately. “Good boy,” she whispered. “I’m very, very, happy with you.”

She stood up carefully, and grabbed her wine glass, swallowing the remainder in one gulp.

Then Susan walked around him, hoping that he wouldn’t just lie there, and made her way to the bathroom. When she returned, he’d crawled up to elbows and knees again. Was that the best he could do, or was he just being obedient? Please, she thought, just be normal.

“It’s all right,” she said. “You can get up. Play’s over. You can talk. You can even look at me.”

That seemed to work, he got to his feet. Still naked, but no longer erected, a long spool of semen hung from his cock. She reached down and wiped it, before he got it all over her furniture, and thrust a toothpaste and a toothbrush in its package into his hand. He looked at it.

“It’s for you,” she said. “Go to the bathroom and brush your teeth.”

He didn’t seem to comprehend.

“I walked all over the city in these boots, remember?” she told him gently, as if speaking to a child. Was she being condescending? She hoped not. But if she’d found it disorienting, then she supposed he must have too.

“Well,” he said, “those boots are made for walking.”

She snorted involuntarily. Had he just made a joke? Yes he had. Susan hadn’t thought he had it in him.

“I don’t want you catching anything, okay? So go and brush your teeth, and use mouthwash and rinse, all right? I want you safe and healthy. Okay?”

He nodded, seeming to understand. He was gaining clarity, focusing again. Good.

“That way,” she jerked a thumb.

It was only after she was listening to him brush his teeth, that she realized what she’d done, how urgently and impulsively she’d jammed that mouth hard up against her vagina in her desperate need to come. What the fuck had she done? Her stomach flip flopped at the thought, and she felt an urgent need to rush into the bathroom and clean herself thoroughly.

He was in there though, so she resisted the impulse, and calmed herself. A few more minutes wouldn’t make a difference. She remembered, her panties were on the bathroom floor. Awkward. Maybe he wouldn’t notice them.

Instead, she busied herself picking his clothes up from where he flung them, and arranging them on the couch. Hopefully, he’d get the message that he was supposed to get dressed and go away. She wasn’t interested in a sleep over.

To Susan’s satisfaction, when he emerged, he immediately went to them and started getting dressed.

“Well,” Mark said conversationally. “This was... unexpected.”

“It was,” she agreed.

“One for the books,” he said.

“Maybe we won’t be writing this one down,” she said.

Pants on, shirt still unbuttoned, he sat down to pull on socks and shoes.

“I don’t think we’ll do this again,” she said. “We definitely won’t. But it was nice. I don’t regret it.”

It was so hard to find the right level of certainty and niceness, to close the door, but not in a harsh way.

“I understand,” he agreed.

He stood, buttoning his shirt. Impulsively, Susan stepped close, to help him with the buttons, taking his wrists to do each cuff.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For taking care of me,” he told her.

She wasn’t sure what he was referring to. Making him brush his teeth? Masturbating him to orgasm? Allowing him to lick her boots? She didn’t want to ask.

“My pleasure,” she replied carefully. Impulsively, she wanted to kiss him, but she knew exactly where his mouth had been. So she pulled his head down, and kissed him on the forehead.

Then he was out the door, and she was finally alone in her apartment, with nothing left of him but an extraordinarily large semen smear on her carpet. She stared at it for a moment, trying to decide if she should try and do something about it right away. To hell with it.

Instead, she went to the bathroom, to clean and flush herself with warm water and rinse. Then, exhausted, she went to bed.

An hour later, after tossing and turning, filled with vivid dreams, she woke up and reached for her vibrator. She didn’t sleep the rest of the night after that, but she didn’t mind at all.

&&&

The next morning, she woke to the realization that her favorite boots were covered in dried human spit. That was kind of disgusting, when she thought about it. So she made sure to clean them thoroughly.

Then, on a whim, she cleaned the rest of her shoes and boots, just in case. They were all dirtier than she’d thought, and it was satisfying to go over them, to buff or polish or simply wipe them, until they almost had the gloss of freshness. She was careful to make sure she didn’t use anything that might leave a toxic chemical residue, just in case.

Susan had never thought about it, or cared very much. But people had pets, and pets sometimes liked to lick things. You shouldn’t accidentally poison people’s pets. So really, this was just courtesy and politeness and humanitarian impulses.

And her shoes ended up looking really nice. So bonus.

It wasn’t that she expected anyone to come by and offer to lick her shoes while she was wearing them. And anyway, even if they did, she would probably refuse.

Politely. She would politely refuse.

There would be no need to be rude about it.

Admittedly, a strange request. But it was a big world, and there were all kinds of people in it, no need to be judgmental. Some people apparently really enjoyed licking other people’s boots. Assuming that they were really nice boots, clean and worn by someone hot, there wasn’t anything wrong with that.

Not her of course, it didn’t appeal to her at all. But yes, she could acknowledge some people, very nice people she supposed, were into that.

And some people apparently enjoyed having their boots licked. Intellectually, she couldn’t see the appeal. But she’d had the experience and the memories were surprisingly fresh and vivid. While it clearly wasn’t her thing and she would certainly refuse another offer, she could at least appreciate...

Fuck. Susan was really wet. Fuck it, she didn’t have anything else to do tonight.

She went into her bedroom, to her vibrator.

&&&

The memory of the experience, remained vivid, breaking into disconnected moments of breathtaking erotic clarity. The moments of him kneeling, tongue to leather, of course. But so many sweet moments, his undressing at a command, the breathless impulsiveness of pressing his face between her legs and the sweetness of his compliance, the sarcastic remark that unfolded everything.

Even kneeling beside him as he was on all fours talking to him like he was a dog while she masturbated him. That should have felt stupid and mildly disgusting. But somehow, it was... beautiful. There had been an intimacy to it, almost a communion.

It amazed her that a casual hour or two had gone so strange, had packed such a wild vivid eroticism. It felt like it distorted time, it should have taken much longer, it was like a weekend of wild sex, packed and compressed, distorted into something bizarre and intense.

Susan couldn’t let it go. She thought about it constantly. She masturbated a lot to it, of course. But even at work, it intruded on her thoughts.

She’d always been smart. Always been talented and smart. Talented people thought about things. They over-thought things. They’d take an idea or an experience, and pick it up, turning it around and around like a jewel, examining each facet, investigating different angles.

She’d always been intrigued by sadism and masochism, bondage and discipline. Susan assumed that, really, everyone was. She’d been tied up in university, had gone to a few risque parties, spanked or been spanked.

But she had found out, or decided, that it was one of those things that was a lot more fun to think about, to anticipate than to actually do. When you actually tried it, the experience didn’t measure up, the bloom came off the rose. It all seemed childish, just dress up and role play and silly. You got on with your life.

But this? This had been extraordinary, it blew everything away, the tepid experiences, the childish fantasy, the oh-so-fake pictures and videos and stories. It was as if she’d accidentally, somehow broken through to a new deeper reality.

She didn’t know what to do with it.

Susan read up on S&M. It was all just blather, elevated philosophy about power exchange harnessed side by side with grotesque physicality. She bought old Anne Rice books, and found performative silliness. She looked up porn and images, and couldn’t find herself in it. It all felt fake and commodified, a lifeless empty sketch in comparison to that surreal evening.

She visited an adult store, a strange experience, in itself. The young woman who worked at the shop was Goth., her make up and hair and dress carefully stylized. But she was friendly and approachable, and when she smiled and spoke, Susan caught glimpses of a tongue stud.

Out of nowhere, Susan wondered what it would it would be like to kiss her

The store was cleaner than she expected, better laid out, with an assortment from kitschy novelties, to dildos and vibrators that ran the gamut from functional to beautiful to unearthly. The S&M section was overwhelming and intriguing, half of it almost repellent, half seemed odd and pointless, and half... that last half, perhaps a residue, was intriguing. Glass dildos like works of art, ropes and cuffs, a swing. Elaborate constructions of metal she couldn’t fathom, inscrutable harnesses.

There was a shiny steel butt plug, with an amethyst jeweled base that was simply beautiful. It was the sort of thing you wore to show off. She couldn’t imagine any conceivable occasion to ever wear it, or even put it in someone. She bought it anyway.

The final facet, of course, the last unexamined angle, was Mark.

Honestly, she’d thought about him from the beginning, wondered about him. He’d seemed so normal, so conventional, but that apparently concealed a kinky, boot-licking, naked on all fours, freak.

Definitely, not for her.

She couldn’t even imagine a conversation, that would be excruciating. What would she even say? And god, the things that might come out of him, what he might babble, she didn’t want to imagine it.

The best thing to do would be to never speak to him again. If she ran across him on the street, she’d just turn around and go the other way.

It took her until Thursday to get his phone number from Sandra at work.

She managed to get all the way past supper time, before she called.

&&&

“Hello,” Susan said.

Mark’s voice was carefully neutral.

“Hi,” he said.

“It’s Susan,” she said. Maybe he didn’t remember? She had butterflies, and not good ones.

“We had dinner last week,” she continued. “And then later at my place…”

She couldn’t bear to speak it out loud.

“I remember, yes.”

What kind of freak was he? He probably did things like that every other night. Prim pristine lawyer, but once he left the office, he probably wallowed in endless pools of degradation and debauchery, drugs, alcohol and sordid practices. He was probably a complete asshole. Disgusting. Repulsive. Degenerate.

“Good,” Susan said. “I thought I should just call up to check up on you, to make sure you were all right.”

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m fine.”

“I worried you might have gotten sick. Outdoor boots.”

“Completely healthy. Thank you.”

“Good. I don’t normally do this with outdoor boots. I wouldn’t want you to think... Hygiene, you see.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, “I get it.”

“It just sort of got carried away,” she said.

Susan winced. It sounded like an idiot.

Silence on the other end, it was going on for several excruciating heartbeats.

"Yeah," he said.

“So do you do this a lot?” she asked too quickly.

“The uhm...”

He seemed embarrassed.

“Yes, the uhm...”

“Not really. No, honestly, I’d never done anything like that. It just seemed to happen. One minute we’re sitting there, and the next...”

His voice trailed off.

“Did I do it okay,” he asked, it was almost plaintive.

“You did fine,” she reassured him. “I was very pleased. I told you that. It certainly felt like you knew what you were doing.”

He laughed softly.

“I just went with the flow,” he told her.

“There was definitely flow,” she replied.

She leaned back in her chair. Smiling. Was she actually flirting with this guy? Why not? It was safe, it was on the phone, there was a security in that.

“You’ve really never done anything like this?” she demanded, skeptically. “I’m not sure I’m convinced. You were very thorough.”

“I just followed your lead and let you guide me,” he said. “I think that was a big part of it. Just trusting you. You seemed very experienced.”

“I suppose,” she said, unconsciously playing with her hair. She felt an echo of that earlier sensation, of being in control. She shifted in her chair again, making herself more comfortable, crossing and uncrossing her legs. It wasn't quite arousal, she just felt... sparkly, and playful. “I’ve done it before. Not regularly. Not un-regularly. When it feels right. I just like... it.”

“I got that sense very clearly,” he said. “You definitely knew what you were doing.”

“I’m not a professional domme or anything,” she said, confidently. “I mean, doing it as a day job? That’s not me.”

She leaned back in her chair, relaxing and put one heel up on the cushion, drawing a quiet breath. Involuntarily, her hand crept between her legs.

“I respect that,” he said. “I’m actually flattered that you liked me enough, to open me up to a new experience. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said. The moment of his orgasm fluttered through her mind, clear and crystal, the way he’d helplessly ejaculated in her hand, his whole body coming unstrung. “I enjoyed opening you up.”

Her fingers slid under her panties, pushing them aside, her lips were already parted. She was wet.

Opening you up like like you were a Christmas present, she thought to herself. What the hell was she doing? Where was this conversation going? Idly, she played with her clit. She was enjoying this way too much. It was harmless chat, she decided, and too much fun to want to stop.

“It’s funny,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting it at all. At the restaurant, I didn’t think you even liked me.”

Susan felt a twinge of guilt.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “it’s just tricky to navigate sometime. This isn’t really a normal thing, it can be awkward to feel your way through. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable there.”

“So you were thinking of this at the restaurant?”

Susan stared up at the ceiling, wondering how to respond. She decided to lie.

“Mmmm,” she said. “I don’t know if I’d put it like that. I think maybe I sensed some potential. I thought... maybe.”

“Wow,” he replied. “I guess you were right. You’re really good at reading people, I didn’t see it coming at all. I was just... shocked.”

“Well,” she said confidently, “you do this kind of thing, you get a feel for it.”

“I guess,” he said. “Well, it was different. Thank you, for an unusual and remarkable experience.”

Wait, was he preparing to hang up on her?

No!

She was enjoying this, she was enjoying playing with him, talking to him. She was enjoying this game of harmless pretend. This was too soon.

“So,” she asked, desperate to keep the conversation going, “any plans this weekend?”

“No,” he replied. “Nothing special. You?”

“Oh,” she drawled. “I might...”

“That sort?”

“Could be...”

She teased her clit, making finger tracing a horseshow pattern back and forth.

“Anyone special?”

“I was thinking...”

The line was silent. There was nothing on the other end. She couldn’t even hear him breathing. Had she gone too far. This was just harmless flirting, it was barely even kinky. Not even kinky. Had she scared him.

“Are you there?” she asked.

Several more heartbeats of silence.

“What did you have in mind?” he asked finally.

What? She wondered.

“No dirty boots,” she said, to buy time. “Clean this time. Maybe not even boots at all. Something different. Maybe I’ll tie you up or something...”

She had no idea. She was just throwing darts at a wall. Maybe he could give her something? Suggest something?

“That’s... interesting.” He’d retreated into careful neutrality.

Oh fuck off, she thought.

“I promise you,” she said, “I won’t do anything that you won’t enjoy. I don’t want it to be unpleasant for you. That’s not my thing.”

“That’s intriguing...” he said. Was there a little life under that careful neutrality? Temptation?

Aha! She thought.

“Can you tell me a little more?”

Curiosity? Need?

She was drawing a blank.

“That would be telling,” she said, lowering her voice to avoid sounding uncertain to him. “I like to be a little surpising. It adds zest, when you’re not sure what’s coming. You enjoyed the last time. Didn’t you?”

“I guess...”

“You guess?” she demanded. “You’re not sure?”

“Yes!” he replied quickly. “I enjoyed it.”

“You’re not saying that to please me?”

“Yes. I mean, no? Yes, I enjoyed it. But I want to please you?”

She giggled.

“Mark,” she assured him. “It’s all right. This isn’t a cross examination.”

“Okay,” he said after a beat. “I have a question?”

There was something serious and plaintive in his voice.

“Go ahead.”

“Why me?”

Good question.

Why was she even in this fucked up conversation?

He wasn’t a bad person. Why was she toying with him, like a cat with a mouse? What was she even doing? Where was going? How could she even answer something like this?

“Because I like you,” she lied.

Susan decided she was simply an awful person.

“Okay,” he said. “Okay, sure. Why not? When?”

When? When? Fucking when? If she let it go too long she’d get stressed out. She’d chicken out. She didn’t want to spend days agonizing.

“Friday,” she said. “Tomorrow.”

She regretted it instantly. She'd gone from a playful, vaguely sexy conversation, making up a domme persona. And now she'd stumbled into a date? Even worse, an S&M date. What the fuck? She had no idea how to do one of those. And she hadn't even particularly liked him. He wasn't second date material.

“Wow.”

Exactly, Susan thought: Wow. As in what the fuck?

“That’s not good for you?” she asked hopefully. Here was an opportunity to climb down, back away with dignity.

Bail she thought. Let her off the hook. Please. Just retreat, we can both let it go. No commitments. Get me out of this trap, I've put myself in, she silently begged him.

“No! No!” he said. “It’s good. Tomorrow.”

You fucking asshole, she thought. Don’t listen to what I say. Just read my mind, and do that.

“You just move really fast, that’s all,” he said.

“Like I said,” she told him, putting confidence in her voice, “I know what I want.”

They said goodbye.

She leaned back in her chair, frantically making little reverse horseshoes around her clitoris. She pulled her panties over her vagina, but kept her fingers under, playing casually as she went over the phone call in her mind.

What the fuck was she doing? What was the point? What was the end game? She was using this guy like a chew toy, well at least he didn’t seem to mind. But now he was expecting full dominatrix tomorrow?

Fucking tomorrow? Why had she said tomorrow? What was wrong with next week? Next month?

What was she supposed to do now?

This, Susan decided, was what she always did. She got too far up inside her own head, she over-thought everything. She needed to stop. Just stop over-thinking. Just go with it.

She stood up and went into the bedroom.

The sound of the vibrator was loud.