A long ride - by kitten

July 10, 2002

Master JM's kitten

I rolled over, feeling the bed move, I heard him shower, brush his teeth and smelled his aftershave as he came back into the room. I felt the heavyness of his wet towel on the end of the bed and my whole body grinned at the thought of him standing there before me, clean and fresh. I kept my eyes closed tight knowing that, after the weekends activities and the fact that my sexual restrictions ended last night after we had gone to sleep, he would surely be late for work. I heard him set his boots down on the floor and knew he would be dressed by now so I crawled to the end of the bed and slithered off the end and "polished" his boots with my panties before he made his way out to save the world from a firey inferno and deadly drivers...well at least in Corona. With a kiss to the forehead he pushed me off and allowed me to lace him into the freshly polished pair of boots.

Get dressed kitten. It was a simple order. something slutty... that was not so easy, this new roll was extremely difficult for me. I had spent a lifetime hiding my figure, hiding all that was woman from the prying eyes of those that did not approve of my curves and large frame. He however, had the innate ability to make me feel not only like the most beautiful woman in the room, but the only woman in a room full of amazing flesh. Even when playing with others, even when I could feel their flesh on mine. I only had two concerns, him and my reactions to his command. The thought of this even as I type makes me wet.

I found a pair of cuttoff shorts that clung tightly to my rear and a white wife beater. No undergarments, the thick folds of flesh of my large labia had no where to hide and were prominently displayed for my Master under the tight denim. I heard Masters bike start and I figured he would be riding into work. I slung a black studded belt around my waist and hung it low on my thick hips. I put on a pair of black ankle boots. My tits displayed prominantly I found Master waiting in the living room, he had changed, wearing a sexy smile and denim and chaps that had been polished just this last Saturday by a boy we later brought home as a reward for a job well done on my own work boots. A blood red t-shirt and one hell of a sexy grin. our motorcycle jackets were on the dining room table. His arms opened and I knew he had taken the day off to spend with me as a reward. An entire day alone was something that he and I had not had in months, but with the kids away with their mother it was the perfect end to a weekend of hard training and the best reward he could have granted me to a month long sexual restriction. It was a beautiful morning and I ran into his arms and remember him kissing away tears of joy from my cheeks. Like a puppy I eagerly grabbed our jackets and headed to the garage. The summer air was already warm and as he sat there in front of me I mounted the bike every stroke of it's powerful engine reverberating upon my desperate clitoris.

We cruised the canyons of south orange county, stopped for lunch in Laguna and made our way home throuh Brea. I don't recall how quickly I fell to my knees but I know Master didnt make it off the bike before I had burried my face in the warmth of his crotch the smell of hot man and leather and warm rubber is too much for me to handle and I can still taste the salty flesh that was burried just under the denim just as clearly as I can feel the cement of the garage floor and the feel of his boot against the opposing cheek, then against my tongue as I kissed the bottom of his boot. The sinister fire in his eyes told me that is what he stayed home today for, it had been a month since I had properly cleaned and cared for my Masters boots. My clit missed them, my mouth missed the black valleys of rubber that supported the man who supported all that I have been allowed to become and supports all that I want to become. I missed the scent of cedar and leather and sweat that permiated the inside of each leather cavern.

I followed him on my hands and knees kissing the heels of his boots as closely as I could without being kicked in the face with each step. Master stopped at his chair and I stood only to fetch the sheets used to protect the tan leather and white carpet under it from the polish that was about to be used, though I was sure I could competenly perform the task without soiling his chair or home. He sat and stripped the clothes from my body. I knelt before him and lifted the shorts that had been worn that day and wiped the road grime from his left boot, then the right with the crotch of my shorts. I set his right boot upon the floor between my spread thighs, then his left beside its partner, slid back and remaining on my hands and knees stretched catlike, in a display that I knew drove the man crazy, pulled the blacking box from the cabinet beside his chair. I lifted to my feet and fetched him a Montecristo No. 2 from the large humidor in the library. A quick snip from the torpedo end with a bit of inuendo and he grinned. I licked the wrapper and lit the end until it had a perfect round cherry upon the end and then let a great slow white stream of thick peppery smoke slip from my lips and presented his cigar to him with a hug around his neck and a kiss from behind to his cheek. Turned on pandora to the swing channel that we had programmed. Ella Fitzgerald's let's do it was playing, perfect.

I resumed my position before him this time upon a small milking stool. I lifted his left boot by the sole to my right knee, I rolled the leg of his jeans up high on his calf well above the top of the subject of my attention and began to thoroughly inspect the boot that was now comfortably pressing into my lower thigh. The seams around the sole, over the toe and each side of its quick on zippered tongue. I noted that one of the gromets was a bit loose and would have this taken care of professionally next weekend. I used a firm bristled brush and cleaned each seam. I opened my saddle soap, and wet a bit of lambswool with water from my spray bottle and suds up. In small circular motions I washed his left boot. Upon setting the left boot upon the floor I let my head fall back and as I stretched my back and shoulders I allowed my mouth to fall open and as I lifted my head I waited the long ash that had no doubt formed upon that heady cuban in Masters hand. A thick mouthful of smoke was blown across my face, I couldnt help but inhale the smoke and giggled as I tried to not cough. I settled back into position and felt the ash extinguish itself upon the small puddle in my cupped tongue. The grainy tobbacco ash was accepted with loving adoration and a kiss to Masters lips.

I was gone my mind undressed as my body, he owned me more completely as the smell of cleaners and leathers and heavy tobbacco surrounded us there in that space. It was our favorite time together. This is my one sweet love. His boots, secretly, when he is gone I miss them almost more than the man, the solace I find is that the piece of me in those boots is with him wherever he is. But when I hear he is returning from camp or a fire...I know that THIS time is comming. The time when there is just us solitary and together with nothing and noone else. When he tells me to dance, I secretly dance for his boots, for the privaledge. Sometimes I wonder if he knows this, for they are never withheld as punishment, surely if he knew it was the boots and not his body that I got off on that is what he would withold. Wouldnt he?

I lifted the left boot back to its home on my right thigh and lit the can of kiwi and laid the lid upon it, then dipped my fingers into the warm goo and rubbed the toe, lower sides and heel, caring to not sully the white stiching as always. I made my way across the top of the toe and up the tongue and then the back and sides of the boot, massaging the paste deep into all the creases. The well cared for boots easily easily brushed to a shine that most patrol officers would be satisfied with, but Master's boots protected him from severe elements everytime he left the house, water, fire, blood and ashes assulted his boots almost every shift and it was my duty to serve and protect that which protected and served my Master. A buffing cloth snapped across the heel and to and circled along the sides of his boot brought out a parade shine that would disgrace most marines parade best. I smiled and kissed it lightly as I bent to replace it with its partner.

The scent of the cigar had long since faded into a reminicent fragrence, I peeked up at my owner and his head was laid back and he looked about to sleep, his face was angelic and as I re-warmed the can of wax, and dipped my fingers into the warm goo I began to imagine that the boot was a cock, I rubbed the smooth goo into the supple hide that surrounded masters hard leg. My hands slipped up and down the sides of the boot, I played with the toe of the boot with my fingers, I don't know how long I had jacked off that boot, but I woke from my day dream to a chuckling master, who seemed to read my mind. I blushed, then with feigned purpose returned to my task.

After, I had re-laced the black mirrored leather Master stated flatly, Perhaps another month and you'll be ready to truly serve that boot slut. Perhaps then you'll get it. I felt the shame of being caught mentally masturbating re-rise within my belly, and in that moment ... I got it as I slipped around his feet for a long ride and a good night alone with my Master and his boots.