Every Kiss a Debt

[Re****]

We walked into the boutique and I pointed out a pair of heels that caught my eye. Tall, sharp, sleek. The kind that made every step sound like punctuation. I sat down, crossed my legs slowly and slipped them on. He watched silently, lips parted just enough for me to notice. The salesgirl thought he was just admiring me. She did not realize he was already hard, already fighting the plug humming inside him.

I stood and walked across the soft carpet. The click of the heel was muffled but in his head it was thunder. I stopped right in front of him, one hand on my hip, and tilted my foot so the tip of the shoe pressed against his thigh. “These” I said to the girl. He did not even look at the price. His card was in her hand before she could ask. That part always makes me smile. The quiet panic in his chest masked by the calm of his face.

The shoes were not just a gift. They were a contract. He knew it. I knew it. Buying them meant he was agreeing to worship them, to ruin them, and to replace them again when I demanded.

Later , I walked past him without a word and headed to the bedroom. He followed, already loosening his tie, fingers trembling. In the hallway I ***led the jacket from his shoulders, undid the buttons one by one, slid the shirt from his skin, and left it in a pile. He undressed himself the rest of the way, eyes never leaving my heels.

He didn’t wait for instructions. He went straight to the shower. Steam rolled from the bathroom and when he returned his skin was flushed, hair damp, the scent of soap rising from him like a confession. He dropped to his knees on the rug without hesitation, palms flat on his thighs, head down, back straight.

I extended one leg and rested the new heel against his chest. He bent forward and kissed it before I even spoke. Lips dragging over the leather, spit shining where polish had been. He pressed his forehead against the tip, breath shallow. Every kiss was a stain and every stain was another debt.

Then I shifted my weight, sliding the heel down until it pressed against his cock through the fabric. He gasped, shoulders jerking but I only leaned forward a little, letting the sharp point trace slowly up and down. He trembled, hands clenched into fists on his thighs, desperate not to move without permission.

“Good boy” I whispered, grinding just enough to make him whimper.

The pressure made him twitch, a bubbling mess of breath and half ***d moans. His face twisted between shame and bliss, the exact mixture I like best. I pressed harder, not enough to hurt, just enough to make him understand how thin the line is. How easily his so called control belongs to me.

By the time I pulled away his cock was straining, his body shuddering. He collapsed forward, forehead against the floor, kissing the heel again like an addict begging for another taste.

I let the moment stretch until the sound of his breath steadied. Only then did I slid my foot back and extended the other. Without a word he began unbuckling the straps, lifting each heel from my feet and holding them as if they were relics. He slipped them back on again, kissing each strap before fastening it, eyes never leaving the floor.

Then I leaned back into the chair and stretched my legs. He knew what to do. His hands cradled my feet with care, as if they were more precious than the shoes he had just bought. His thumbs pressed into my arches with slow deliberate circles. He traced along the curve of each toe, kneading the tension away, pausing only to press a kiss at the base of my ankle. My muscles melted under his touch, every stroke a reminder that even after the sharpest edge of play, I still owned the softness of his service.

When my breathing slowed, I brushed his cheek with the top of my foot. “Enough” I said softly. He lowered his head against my instep, lips pressed to the skin, holding still as if my foot was his altar.

I stood, left him kneeling, and moved into the kitchen. He sat at my table still damp from the shower, eyes lowered, waiting in silence while I moved around him. When I placed the plate in front of him, I touched his hair and let my voice soften.

“You did well today. You spoiled me, you endured for me, and you made me proud.”

His shoulders dropped, tension melting at the praise. He ate quietly, his eyes softer than they had been all evening.

🎀miss

[Deleted Member]

Disgusting predatory. Sad to read things like that. Take advantage masked as domination. Man that let this happen are not masculine at all,

[da****]

3 hours ago, SensualRoughDom said:

Disgusting predatory. Sad to read things like that. Take advantage masked as domination. Man that let this happen are not masculine at all,

This comment should be deleted 😒. This is an open, No judgment community. Who are you to say those things? You don't have the right mindset ti be apart of this space.

[Deleted Member]

Probably another predatory “sugar baby” disguising prostitution with kink. Get out of here. Never mix kink or BDSM with ***.

[da****]

2 hours ago, SensualRoughDom said:

Probably another predatory “sugar baby” disguising prostitution with kink. Get out of here. Never mix kink or BDSM with ***.

🤣 Now you're trying to label me too! I'm definitely not a sugar baby! Your attitude is disgusting and gross. I agree with you! But your communication is to attack everyone. How is that building trust and openness??

[Re****]

9 hours ago, SensualRoughDom said:

Disgusting predatory. Sad to read things like that. Take advantage masked as domination. Man that let this happen are not masculine at all,

I will take the time because I want to be clear.
I couldn’t care less and neither does he about what you call “masculine.”
He doesn’t submit to you, and you don’t have to like the way I lead or the way he chooses to let go.
We’ve been in a dynamic long enough for me to know exactly what I’m doing.

I’ve worked hard to make him feel safe expressing what he likes and to not feel ashamed about it. I will take care of my submissives.
When I write, it’s about scenes we both consented to share. He likes to show off, I like to write. Why would I write about things I buy for him? Those aren’t scenes, that’s just life outside of kink.

You don’t have to like the way I lead, fair enough, but stop judging submissives who genuinely want this kind of play.
BDSM is about consent and communication, not your personal idea of it.

If you think a pair of shoes is sugaring, you’re lost.
You don’t know me, because if you did, you’d know I take care of myself very well and do it better than any of you ever could.

And just to be clear, this was about the shoes not buying them.
And that pair of shoes will not bankrupt him, I promise you that.
Have a great rest of your day.

[CJ_SilverQueen]

Lovely writing. I like the way you captured the feelings you both have all the way to how it affects your breathing. I’m a female sub with a preference for a male Dom and it made me want to see and touch your shoes.

[Re****]

5 hours ago, CJ_SilverQueen said:

Lovely writing. I like the way you captured the feelings you both have all the way to how it affects your breathing. I’m a female sub with a preference for a male Dom and it made me want to see and touch your shoes.

I’m glad the writing made you feel it. 🌸