Bootblack

A transmasc Daddy (ze/zir) and a transfem Sir (she/her) dom a nonbinary butch bottom bootblack (they/them). 

CW: kink party, leather, bootblacking, blowjobs of transfem Doms, anorgasmia, grinding on boots, sexual ‘games’, vaginal fingering, dildo cockwarming with clit vibrator, heavy spanking with belts on ass, thighs, and cunt until the sub cries, dyke reclaimed

 

Electronic music pulses in the background of the kink party, but it’s not loud. We can still hear each other talk. The soft neon lights are brighter than I would have expected, but I guess that’s because there’s performances tonight. 

A sub sits in a wooden chair, naked except for a leather collar and black, shiny boots. The Dom tugs on their leash while licking their boots from the base up the side. 

“That’s hot as fuck,” I whisper to Nick.

“No fuckin’ kidding,” Nick mutters, laser focused on the scene playing out in front of us. “They’re about to fly out of the chair, though.”

It’s true. The sub is trying, I’ll give them that, but I guess biting the inside of your cheek near-about raw can only do so much. They’re practically writhing in the BDSM chair that features cuffs attached to its arms and legs. Their Dom tugs on their leash harder, forcing the sub to bend to their level. The Dom says something I can’t quite catch at this distance over the buzz of chatter and impact toys and no-name electronica. Their eyes are burning.

The sub nods, frantically, gripping the edge of the chair with a ferocity that makes me wonder what the fuck did their Dom say? I don’t have to wait long to have a pretty good guess, though. The Dom returns to licking – long, slow laps up the toe of the boot and along the shaft. The collared sub squirms again under their gaze, under their attention, and the Dom smacks their thigh.

I think I catch a “sorry, Daddy” from the sub, but the Dom just holds their gaze and removes their belt.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nick chuckles.

“Um,” I mumble. “Wow.” 

The sub’s eyes grow wide and pleading. 

“Please, Daddy, I’m sorry –” I hear, louder this time.

“Bend over,” the Dom says in a clear, commanding voice. I feel a spark of electricity shoot through my stomach to my cunt. Christ. 

The sub climbs out of the chair and obeys, and I catch their jaw working, throat swallowing. The first smack of the belt on their bare ass is loud, and the sub’s cry matches it. 

“One, thank you, Daddy,” the sub announces as loud and clear as they can manage. The Dom bends down and murmurs something in their ear. I’m itching to know what it is, to be closer to the scene, but I stay put. I’m distracted by my own nerves for my performance – Nick is teaching me how to bootblack and I’m going to take care of a hot Sir tonight while Nick and Sir both dom me. I haven’t met Sir, also known as Kerry. I’ve only seen pictures. But my God, she is hot. 

I’m tugged out of my reverie by the crack of the belt across the sub’s ass again. They gasp, “Two, thank you, Daddy.” Their Dom steps back a bit, and for a second, I think I’ve watched the quickest punishment I’ve ever heard of.

Then I watch their grip shift on the belt.

“Oh, shit, they’re gonna get it,” Nick mutters; a faint tone of evil glee tints zir voice. Ze’s a little bit of a sadist, which either doesn’t bode well or bodes very, very well for tonight’s performance, depending on how I choose to look at it.

Nick’s right. The Dom uses their firmer underhanded grip to whip a series of quicker strikes onto their sub’s ass. The sub makes it to seven before their best attempt at a clear count becomes a shriek.

“I didn’t hear a ‘thank you,’” the Dom warns the sub, sternly.

“Thank you, Daddy, thank you, Daddy,” the sub whines, eager to address their mistake. Really, it comes out as a rush of syllables with no space between them. The Dom returns to their slower pace. I watch the sub rub their thighs together between strikes. My hand aches, and I glance at it only to realize I’ve been gripping my beer like I’m trying to shatter the bottle. I set it down, trying not to shift too much in my own seat.

“Twenty two, thank you, Daddy!” the sub cries out.

“You know, you’ll be saying ‘Thank you, Daddy’ too, soon,” Nick murmurs in my ear. I blush hard, my cheeks and ears hot. I want Nick to fuck me so badly. Knowing that ze likes to be called Daddy has featured in more than one of my masturbation fantasies. 

“Yeah, yeah,” I say jokingly, trying to play it cool, but I can feel my heart racing and my nerves on fire.

The sub counts to thirty and they’re trembling, struggling to hold themself up over the chair. 

The Dom’s strikes slow and then stop. They lean down over their sub again, and another murmured exchange passes between the two. Really, the Dom murmurs; the sub just whimpers something and nods.

For a minute the Dom just massages the sub’s welted ass, pulling mixed whimpers and sighs out of their mouth. The sub’s head droops, and their eyes flutter shut. 

That ends abruptly, with a hard smack from the Dom. The sub yelps; I hear Nick hum underbreath in vicarious satisfaction and I swear I can feel a bead of sweat drip down my neck in response.

“Sit,” the Dom orders. Owch.

The sub murmurs “yes, Daddy” (again, more like yesdaddy), and turns again, sitting back down in the chair. Their ass barely makes contact with the seat before they yelp again.

“Daddy, it hurts,” the sub gasps.

“I’d hope so. Whose fault is that, boy?”

“Mine,” the sub whimpers, head dropping even lower in submission.

“If you’d followed orders and stayed still like a good slut, I wouldn’t have to hurt you, would I, boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Take notes,” Nick laughs in my ear, nudging me in the ribs. I nudge zir back, but don’t meet zir eyes. Half of me is too invested in this scene, and the other half is worried if I meet zir gaze ze’s going to somehow know I’m getting wet from all this, and then I’ll never live it down.

The sub settles onto the chair, wincing, and the Dom whispers in their ear again. They nod eagerly. Then the Dom walks around to face the sub, taking their wrists and expertly binding them with their leather belt. I’ve never learned how to do that, but I’ve always wanted to. I’m sure Nick could teach me. God. 

I try to pull my attention back into the scene in front of us. The Dom has returned to licking their sub’s boots, but the hand not wrapped in the leather leash is drifting up the sub’s bare calves towards their parted thighs. The sub is squirming again, but now that they’re effectively bound to the chair and their Dom’s kneeling between their legs, there’s not much they can do other than inch their hips forward and thrust their chest out a few inches.

Apparently, though, that’s still too much.

“God, just can’t stop fidgeting, can you, fucktoy?” The Dom shakes their head, apparently exasperated, but I can hear something that sounds like amusement in their voice.

“Sorry, Daddy,” the sub breathes, “I can’t… I can’t help it, I…” Even from here I can spot their dilated pupils, and the heavy rhythm of their chest rising and falling. 

“Can’t think, huh?” The sub shakes their head, and the Dom continues: “That’s alright, boy, that’s why I’m here, I think for you when you get stupid and senseless like this.” The sub mouths thank you, Daddy, or else whispers it – I can see it, but not hear it. 

The Dom stands and turns to the small crowd gathered around the scene. “Can I trouble one of you fine perverts for another belt? My toy’s acting up tonight.”

“Be right back,” Nick murmurs to me, and claps me on the shoulder. I watch as ze throws the Dom a dyke nod, already undoing zir belt as ze walks. The Dom accepts the additional belt with a grin and a wink. Nick returns both. I can feel a strange charge in the air – I wonder if they’ve met before, or if I’m watching the beginning of something. Either way, it’s making me hot, watching this strange Dom tighten Nick’s belt around their sub’s chest and the chair back.

From what I saw of it earlier, I could tell the Dom’s belt is one of those pieces with rivets all the way through, just leather instead of nylon or whatever the hell else they made those Hot Topic statement pieces out of back in 2008. Nick’s belt is black leather, hand-tooled with an oak leaf motif and a silver toned buckle. It decorates the sub’s full chest as much as it restrains them. 

The Dom retrieves their sub’s leash and kneels again. Nick crosses back over to me as the Dom’s mouth travels up the sub’s calves to their thighs, teasing just at the edges of their wet cunt.

“Please, Daddy!” the sub bursts out, desperate, eager. 

The Dom says something back to the sub – my guess is it was something like “say that again,” because the sub says, “PleaseDaddypleaseDaddypleaseDaddy” in one short breath, tugging on their restraints, unable to move anything but their hips. 

I suddenly imagine being in the place of the sub, saying PleaseDaddy to Nick, begging for zir to eat my pussy. My mouth goes dry. I reach for my drink, taking a sip of the beer and letting it cool my throat. I concentrate on breathing evenly, keeping my eyes trained on the scene, not looking at Nick no matter how badly my brain is nagging at me to just glance, just for a second. 

The Dom has indulged the sub, licking up their slit in concentrated strokes. 

“Thank you, Daddy, thank you, oh fuck, thank you, thank you,” the sub babbles. 

The Dom growls some bit of praise – good boy? Good toy? I can’t hear, they’re muffled by their sub’s cunt – and that just makes the sub more incoherent.

Their moans roll and pitch with the movement of their hips and their Dom’s mouth. They become breathier, longer, a little higher-pitched… and louder. Much louder. I wouldn’t be surprised if their begging carried clear across the floor.

“Please, Daddy,” they plead. “Please. Please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

“That all you can fucking say?” the Dom asks between licks, and the sub keens:

“Please, Daddy.” 

“What do you think the odds are on them getting permission to cum?” Nick muses, and now I have to look at zir. I just hope ze thinks the blush on my face is from the beer.

“Fifty-fifty,” I laugh. I’m so nervous. My nerves are buzzing, and I’m looking at the growing crowd and thinking about my own performance again. The one where Nick is going to boss me around and potentially call me a good boy in front of all these nice people. We’re going last, which means I have the rest of this scene and another one to sit in my nerves and get hotter and more bothered. 

The sub’s gasps change pitch and their begging becomes particularly desperate. 

“Please, Daddy, please can I cum, please can I cum, please can I cum…” they whine. 

The Dom answers them with something and returns their attention to their cunt, licking them harder. 

“Oh, Daddy. Please, Daddy. Yes, Daddy, yes! Yes! Yes!” the sub screams, their voice carrying over the crowd and the music as they cum hard on their Daddy’s face, shaking in their restraints. 

The Dom continues for a long moment – overstimming them? Cleaning them up? I’m not sure. But I watch as they, eventually, stand and cross behind the sub to undo their bonds and place the belts gently in their lap. I watch as the Dom whispers into their sub’s ear, rubbing their hands over their sub’s newly freed wrists and unrestrained chest. The sub seems to float for a minute, a small smile growing on their face.

The Dom asks something, and the sub nods, retrieving the belts from their lap and passing them over. The chatter of the crowd seems to fade for a moment, but that might just be what happens to my brain when I watch a hot, dominant dyke walk in my general direction.

They pass Nick’s belt back to zir with a smirk. “Very nice work,” they remark, tapping the belt’s motif.

“I could say the same to you,” Nick grins, nodding towards the chair where the sub still sits, gathering their composure. The Dom winks and returns to their sub, who they bundle away into the crowd. Aftercare calling, I guess.

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss underbreath, taking another sip of my beer just to wet my desert-dry mouth. At this rate, I’ll be out before the next scene’s half over.

“How you doing, handsome?” Nick asks. I blush again, all the way to my toes this time. 

“Good,” I say. “Great.” I wrack my brain for something more to say. 

“Feeling nervous?” ze asks. Dammit. It must be all over my face. 

I wince. “A little,” I admit. 

“Would it help to know more about what to expect?” 

I nod, glancing down at Nick’s mouth, catching myself, and pulling up my gaze to zir eyes. 

Ze leans in, wrapping zir arm around the small couch we’re perched on. I can smell Nick’s cologne and I want to combust, want to be swallowed by a hole in the ground, want to… Who am I kidding? I want to be fucked. It’s a few minutes while the next performers are getting set up. Nick walks me through exactly what ze plans to do with Sir, going over what we’ve already discussed and sharing juicy details that get me hot in anticipation. 

It doesn’t help with my nerves, not really. It just gets my heart racing more. But it passes the time between sets, and soon a new pair of leatherdykes is up and ready to perform for the crowd. One of them is dressed in a full leather outfit – pants, shirt, tie, boots. The other is in leather booty shorts and a bulldog harness, plus a pair of black Docs. 

The sub in short shorts gets to their knees and starts cleaning the Dom’s boots dutifully. It’s a mesmerizing process: the circular motions of the soft bristle brush across the dirty leather, wiped away by an old t-shirt. Repeated in small sections across the boot. The sub brings out a small pair of scissors to snip a loose thread in the stitching, flicking a lighter to seal the end of the thread. The bootblack attends to the boots with such care and detail. He reaches for a leather conditioner; my guess is that it’s coconut oil based or a similar texture based on how it comes off in hard chunks and melts in his warm hands. With close eye contact with his Dom, he massages the conditioner into the boots, repeating the process until the entire calf-high boot is shiny, rich, and moisturized.  Repeating the process on the left boot, with fiery tension between the two performers in their silent but burning eye contact, the bootblack puts away his supplies, wipes off his hands, locks eyes with his broad-shouldered Dom, and stands.

It’s interesting, watching the dynamic between these two. There was so much verbal communication in the last scene, but here, everything seems physicalized: the way the Dom raises her chin a moment to give the sub permission to stand, the way the bootblack presents his leather-clad ass and waits a moment before peeling his shorts off and over his boots. It’s just as sexy in a different way, and I’m starting to wonder if letting Nick fill my brain with all the things ze and Sir have planned was the right move. Between the scene in front of me and the thoughts rattling around in my skull, my breathing is definitely getting shallower.

The bootblack kneels in front of his Dom, and my breath catches outright when I realize he’s straddling one of her flawlessly cleaned boots.

“See something you like?” Nick teases – of course ze noticed – and I just nod, not trusting my mouth at the moment.

The bootblack runs his hands over his Dom’s leather-clad calves, thighs, up towards the laces at her crotch. I can see the swell of her cock through the leather, and I resist the urge to fan myself with a stray paddle or something.

The sub speaks for the first time in this scene.

“May I, Mistress?”

The Dom looks down at him, and shifts back in her chair. Her posture reminds me of a lounging mountain lion – relaxed, but no less menacing for it.

“You may.”

I watch with rapt attention as the sub unlaces her crotch. I swallow. He pulls her girldick out of her leather pants and I can feel waves of heat wash over my skin. With an eagerness, the sub takes the cock in his mouth and bobs his head up and down, his hips beginning to grind into the Dom’s boot. 

The Dom watches her sub work with a quiet intensity that has me on the edge of my seat. She runs her hand through the sub’s short hair – and then tugs, pulling his mouth deeper onto her cock.

The sub moans, and his hips start working faster. Each thrust of his hips leaves her boot a little shinier. I bite my lip, realizing I’m basically watching this bootblack get wet in real time. Christ.

The sub’s cocksucking grows more fervent, less polished, with his Dom’s guidance; she edges the toe of her boot up into the path of her sub’s thrusting hips, and he grips her thighs, fingers scrabbling helplessly against the leather for purchase as he groans with his mouth full.

In contrast to the mess of a sub grinding on her boots, the Dom is the very soul of self-control. The only change in her face is the slow tightening of her jaw. For some reason, that level of composure makes me hot. My mind drifts back to my scene with Nick and Sir, now imminent. I wonder if Kerry’s going to be like this, all steely eyes and cool manner.

That thought dries out my mouth again, and I swipe at my forehead, trying to dispel phantom beads of sweat.

“Feeling nervous?” Nick asks, smirk on zir handsome face. 

“Shuddup,” I say, shoving zir. Ze shoves me back. 

“For real, how are you feeling, dude?” ze asks, seriously but gently. 

I pause, considering how to phrase it. Nick waits.

“…Okay. I’m nervous,” I finally admit.

Ze slings an arm around my shoulders; the touch grounds me, like the last-minute jitters running up my spine are bolts of electricity and Nick’s toned forearm is a lightning rod, channeling the energy out of me. “It’s okay to be nervous, Finn.” Ze pauses, eyes searching my face a moment, before adding: “And it’s also okay to table the scene.”

“I don’t want to,” I assure them hastily. And I don’t. I’m nervous, sure; anxious, almost definitely. Maybe a little overstimulated, too, by the red lighting making everything look desaturated and the electronica bumping in the background and the occasional far-off impact noises. (They sound far-off, anyway.)

But I’m also excited. And I think I’m more excited than I am anything else.

I tell zir so: “It’s… it’s a lot. And I am, you know. Nervous. But I think some of it is, you know, good nerves?” It’s not the most eloquent, and I pause, glancing from my fidgety hands around my bottle back to Nick’s face.

“You’ve got this, dude. You’re a good bootblack. You’ve learned the skill. And you’re a good boy,” ze says this with a wink, “and you know how to follow orders like a good boy, don’t you?” 

My heart hammers in my chest. “Yeah,” I say breathlessly. 

“Then that’s all you need to do.” 

I’m comforted by this, but my body doesn’t get the message. My nerves feel like they’re on fire, and my hands are trembling a little. 

I remind myself to breathe through it, and try to distract myself with the scene playing out in front of us again.

The sub’s on all fours, cleaning his cum off his Dom’s boots with his tongue. The Dom’s eyes are blazing, staring down at him, and he doesn’t break eye contact for a fraction of a second as he slowly licks the side of her boot, then the toe, then the other side. My guts seem to come unmoored and backflip. It feels like neither of them remembers the crowd, or else isn’t concerned with it – I feel like a voyeur in the best way, watching the Dom reach down and tug the sub over to her other boot. Like I’m peering into a private, intimate, incredibly fucking sexy moment between these two strangers.

She runs her hand through his short brown hair for a few seconds, eyes still locked on his, before sitting back again to watch her toy work. I’m caught up in the scene for a moment, a minute, longer, I don’t know.

A cool mid-toned voice with a slight twang breaks my reverie.

“Hey, boys.”

Nick turns. I turn. My heart drops into my stomach as Nick exchanges a bear hug and a hushed greeting with the newcomer, who totes a large black duffel bag on her shoulder that intrigues me with all the possible contents. 

I recognize her from her photos. It’s Sir. And, God help me, she’s hotter in person.

Somehow, I find my voice. “Hi,” I say. “Sir.” 

“Good boy,” she says, sounding delighted. She holds her hand out for me and I reach for it, shaking it, getting lost in thought about how tall she is, how broad her shoulders are, how handsome her strong jawline is, her soft skin, the way her long curly hair falls around her face. 

“Thank you. Nice to meet you,” I say. “Sir.” 

She smiles – well, smirks. Fuck. – and tells me, “Likewise.” To Nick, she adds, “Such good manners.” The mixed praise and condescension makes me shift my weight from side to side a bit; it’s not a squirm, not really, but I can tell by the way Sir’s eyes narrow that she noticed it.

“I’d hope so,” Nick chuckles, giving me a knowing look. “I’ve taught them everything they know.”

“Not everything you know?” Sir teases, and Nick laughs again. I feel a little bit like a toy being tugged between two big dogs, or something, and it’s making my thoughts stutter and stall.

A shiver runs through the gathered crowd – a little clapping, a little conversation, folks shifting in their seats – and I look back to see the scene’s wrapped up. 

I try to swallow, but somehow feel like my tongue’s been superglued to the roof of my mouth. 

Our turn.

I look at Sir and Daddy – as they are to be called for the rest of the scene – and motion for them to go first. The crowd parts for us and I follow them, heart hammering in my chest. 

Sir sits in the bootblacking chair, the picture of composure. Daddy stands next to her, smirking at me. 

Sir is wearing all black leather, and it’s sexy as fuck. Her boots zip up to her knees, with a leather strap around the ankle. My job is to clean and condition her boots, but I know better than to just get to it. I look to Daddy and Sir for guidance, hoping they’ll offer some, but they’re silent, smirking at me. They’re gonna make me say it. 

“Please, can I clean your boots, Sir?” I ask.

“No,” she says. “Get to your knees and ask again.” 

I do.

This time, her smirk grows. 

“Yes, boy, you may clean my boots.” 

“Thank you, Sir.” 

I reach for the glycerin soap and brush, following a similar technique to the previous bootblack’s: circular motions on small sections, wipe away with a microfiber cloth, repeat. It’s so dark and the red light makes it especially hard to see anything on these boots. I do my best, cleaning the threading with a toothbrush and wiping away the soap. 

When I finish, I sit back on my knees, feeling the blood flow to my feet slowing. I wiggle my toes and feel pinpricks. My hamstrings are tight. 

Nick clicks on a flashlight and inspects my work. My heart hammers in my chest, nervous to perform as a bootblack in front of this crowd of onlookers. In front of Nick zirself, as my bootblack mentor. 

“You missed a spot,” ze announces in a deadpan voice. “And another one.” Ze moves to the other boot. “And another one.” 

The disappointment in zir tone hits me in the gut.

“I’m sorry, Daddy –” I start to say.

“Don’t apologize,” ze snaps. “If you can’t see the dirt with your eyes then you can taste it with your tongue.”

Fuck. It’s so hot, it makes my sore knees weak and my throat tight. 

“And after all this time that Daddy spent teaching you bootblacking? You can take off a piece of clothing for each mistake you made,” Nick orders.

“Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.”

“Well?” Nick says. “Do it.” 

My heart practically beats out of my chest as my shaky hands lift up to tug off my t-shirt underneath my bulldog harness. It’s not impossible, but it’s also not easy, and I slip out of the shirt and tug it out from underneath the leather harness. The rest of my outfit is my boots, jeans, and belt. I wonder with a bit of confusion if my belt or shoes count as clothing but decide not to argue and just strip. 

Naked, my clit hard and throbbing, I glance at Daddy with wide eyes. 

“You can put the boots back on,” ze says. I obey with a ‘Yes, Daddy,’ feeling hot in nothing but my bulldog harness and leather boots. I kneel. 

I brace my hands against the floor on either side of Sir’s left boot. I can feel a fierce blush burn across the back of my ears and up my cheeks. I manage to get one lick in (Sir’s boots taste like, unsurprisingly, leather, and the faint undertone of wax and something chemical I can’t place. It’s hot. It makes me blush harder.) before I feel a sharp tug on the back of my head.

“Slowly,” Daddy orders behind me; the throbbing tightness of zir grip on my hair matches the pound of my pulse between my thighs. “Don’t rush it. Flat tongue.” As if to demonstrate, ze drags me up the side of Sir’s boot. Once, then twice. 

I don’t whimper, but it takes a Herculean effort. I mumble a “yes, Daddy” against Sir’s boot and do my best to mimic the pace ze demonstrated. It earns me a smack on the ass and a “good boy” from Daddy, who releases zir grip on my hair.

“Thank you, Daddy,” I pant, quickly returning to slowly licking Sir’s boots. I can feel my cunt throbbing and wet, exposed to the crowd as I kneel naked. This is turning me on like nothing else ever has. I’ve never really done public… anything before. Feeling the crowd’s eyes on me as I submit to two butches on my knees is sending all of my blood flow straight to my clit. I concentrate on Sir’s left boot, licking it slowly but thoroughly, reaching every inch, making occasional eye contact with Sir and Daddy. 

When I’ve finished with Sir’s left boot, Daddy tugs me by my bulldog harness to her right. I have to crawl to keep up, and it makes my cunt twitch around nothing. I’m painfully aware of how empty I am, all of a sudden. How exposed I am. How the crowd has a great view of my ass as I’m on my knees spit shining Sir’s boots.

Maybe the same thought occurs to Daddy, or maybe ze just likes to watch me sweat for it, because ze kicks my knees apart a little and presses a boot on my upper back. (So that’s why ze was cleaning out the soles when I arrived late. I should have known. Funny what the brain comes up with when it’s short circuiting.) The posture ze forces me to take puts an arch in my back, putting my ass on further display, pressing my face more firmly into Sir’s right boot.

Another smack, this one sharper, cuts through my thoughts.

“I didn’t say to stop.” Daddy’s voice is low, warning.

“Sorry, Daddy. Sorry, Sir,” I rush to say. I hurry to lick Sir’s boot again, and Daddy tugs hard on my hair and hisses, “Slowly.”

I slow down. Take my time. Get every inch of Sir’s boot wet with my spit, while my cunt throbs beneath my jeans and I try not to make a sound.

“That’s a good little bootblack,” Daddy whispers in my ear. I can hear my blood rushing in my ears, muffling the murmurs of the crowd and the light electronica in the background. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” I whimper. 

Sir smirks down at me as I make my way to the toe of her boot. My face is slick with spit and sweat. She looks just as polished as she did when she walked in. The contrast, and the intensity in her gaze, make me feel pleasantly weak and lightheaded. I do my best to match her stare; Daddy hasn’t corrected me from looking up yet, which means ze might do it if I break eye contact with Sir. 

And I don’t want that. I want to be the good little bootblack Daddy just called me.

So I hold Sir’s gaze as the roar of my blood overtakes the ambient noise in the room, as my shaky breath slows and evens out. As my thoughts slow to a crawl. 

“Good boy,” Sir says, the corner of her lip tugging up. Fuckyeahfuckyeahfuckyeah, I think. My mouth goes dry.

“Thank you, Sir,” I manage. 

Daddy and Sir look at each other and smirk. 

“I think I see a spot that needs buffing, don’t you, Daddy?” Sir says, grinning. 

“Yeah, Sir,” Daddy says. “I do too.” 

“Be a good little bootblack, and grind on my fucking boot, boy,” Sir instructs. “Buff it out.” 

Her command sends a bolt of need straight to my clit, and I nod hurriedly, shifting up to straddle Sir’s boot. “Yes, Sir.” My own voice sounds distant, muffled, as if heard from the bottom of a body of water. I can’t break my eyes away from Sir’s face. I can’t imagine why I’d want to.

My positioning is a little awkward at first; I’m not sure where to put my hands. Daddy solves that problem for me, grabbing my wrists and placing my hands so I’m practically hugging Sir’s calf and thigh. I can feel strong muscle under the leather of her pants, and I can’t help it: my eyes flutter for a moment and my head drops a few degrees.

Daddy’s grip in my hair is firm, sudden, and relentless. “Look up.” Zir voice is stern, but not cruel. Not yet. I don’t want to tempt zir. 

“Yes, Daddy,” I gasp, correcting my gaze and letting it travel back up Sir’s body. Her hand rests next to a noticeable bulge, and I let out a small moan before our gazes lock again. Sir is sitting back, eyeing me with the corner of her mouth curled up.

“Now fucking grind,” Daddy orders me, zir grip on my hair loosening but not relaxing entirely. Ze’s going to make me keep looking at Sir while I grind on her boot.

“Yes, Daddy,” I groan. And I do.

Sparks of pleasure shoot up my body as my clit rubs against the smooth, cold leather of the boot. I can’t help it; I start to moan and whimper as Daddy keeps a firm grip in my hair. Sir stares at me with what I hope is lust. I grind and let the pleasure escape my mouth in noises that are growing louder, and Sir smiles at me. 

“Tell me how good it feels, boy,” she says. 

“Oh, Sir, fuck. It feels so good, Sir. Your boot feels so good on my cunt. Thank you, Sir.” 

“Good manners,” she praises. 

“Thank you, Sir,” I say at the same time as Daddy says it. Ze chuckles. The sound of zir laughter stokes the flames that are burning in my guts, and I whine, the rhythm of my hips stuttering a little.

“So well-trained,” Sir continues. “You’ve clearly put a lot of effort into teaching the boy, Daddy.”

“Oh, I have,” Daddy confirms. I can hear pride under the condescension in zir voice. Both make me wetter. “Effort. Sweat. Tears. Mostly theirs, of course, but still.”

Sir laughs, tossing her head back a little. The movement highlights the strong angles of her jaw, and I just ache, watching her. 

“Well, that deserves quite a thank you. Doesn’t it, boy?” Sir’s tone turns firm as she addresses me, and I whine, eager to serve, to be a good boy.

“Thank you, Sir. How can I thank you, Sir?” I ask, so eager. 

She smiles softly, but with a wickedness underlying it. 

“You’re not done bootblacking, prettyboy. Take care of these pants next,” she orders, stroking her hands up her leather clad thighs, her hands pausing to frame a growing bulge in her pants.

I start to reach for the soap when Sir stops me: “Uh uh uh. With your tongue.” 

Cunt dripping on her boots, I continue to grind my hips while my eager, flat tongue slides its way up and across Sir’s thighs until my mouth reaches her hands framing her crotch. She casually and easily slides two fingers into my wet, hot, eager mouth. I hum around her fingers, frantic in the jerky movements of my hips, with wide eyes staring up at Sir. 

“That’s it, boy,” she says.

“That’s a good fucking toy,” Daddy praises.

Daddy’s sexy voice, which has so frequently instructed me as a bootblack, is in my ear announcing dirty things about me to a crowd of people. This is real. This is my life. I blush and feel my body melt into the pleasure of the boot under my clit. 

Sir’s hand transitions from my mouth to grabbing the side of my head, gently guiding me back to her leather pants to lick them clean. My tongue slides over the bulge in her pants, playing with where I guess her tip is.

She announces that my guess is correct with the way she thrashes in the chair and gasps, “Good fucking boy. Jesus Christ, Finn. Fuck. I want you to blow me.” 

She says this with desperation, breathlessness, and need. I scramble to obey.

“Yes, Sir,” I answer, reaching for her leather belt and tugging it open, unzipping her leather pants, finding her commando underneath. 

Sir’s girldick is waiting for me, that gentle kind of hard that comes from a few years on an HRT regimen and almost silky to the touch. Her eyes are dark and glimmering, staring down and through me as if peering directly into my skull to read my thoughts. I wonder what she sees, if she can tell how wet I am for her.

I lick her, sloppy and slow, tip to base, eyes fixed on her teeth as she worries her lip between them.

“Good boy,” she approves, and I blush from boots to the tips of my ears, trying not to be distracted by how hot she sounds with my mouth on her. I layer wet kisses down the length of her, teasing a little, until her fingers thread through the back of my overgrown fade and guide me to her head again. I take direction very well – it’s how I got here, on my knees, in front of a group of leather-clad strangers, giving some hot Sir a blowjob in just my boots – and so I obey, licking at her eagerly, lavishing my tongue over her and lapping over the underside of her clit whenever I crave the praise Sir sighs through gritted teeth. (I crave that pretty frequently, it turns out.) 

I lose myself to my task with eager abandon. Sir’s hand on the back of my head and her hips moving beneath me lull me into a kind of cockdrunk rhythm, pulling me into something like a soft frenzy, all spit and tongue and wet flesh. I almost forget I have an audience until Daddy murmurs close behind me: “Look at you, Finn, in nothing but leather, desperate and messy for your Daddy and Sir.” I feel zir hands warm on my shoulders, zir short fingernails gently scratching down my bare back. 

I moan in response, which earns a sweet sigh from Sir, who loses just a bit of her perfect posture as she tilts her head back over the high back of the chair she’s seated in. 

“Attaboy. That’s it,” Daddy croons, fingers grazing over the edge of my collarbone, up over my shoulder, down the delicate outer jut of my scapula. “So attentive.” I whimper in affirmation, mouth half-full of girldick and tongue working away at Sir, who curses fuck underbreath. Daddy drags zir blunt nails down my neck, as if to reward me, and zir touch might as well be cold steel for the way it makes me shiver and calls goosebumps to the surface of my skin. 

Sir curses again, but there’s an undertone of frustration in it this time, and something in the air – in her – tenses a moment. Another sigh escapes her, this one vexed and short. Her grip on the back of my neck relaxes. She nods, and some inconceivable message in her intense stare passes through her gaze over my head to Daddy. I stiffen, worried, as I sit back on my heels, and a string of labored thoughts pierces the fog in my brain – did I do well? Did I fuck up? Am I still a good boy? – but Sir presses her soft fingers in my mouth. That erases any concern, or coherent thought, I could have. Daddy’s hands land firm on my shoulders.

“So eager. So good for us. Do you want a reward, good boy?” Daddy asks.

“Yes,” I whimper, staring into Sir’s eyes. My consent comes out muffled and drawn out; Sir smirks at me, fucking her fingers a little deeper into my mouth. I can’t help it, my eyes roll back a little. She laughs at me, smearing spit across my lower lip with her thumb. 

“Poor pathetic thing. Can’t even keep their fucking eyes straight.”

“I think they should probably sit down, Sir.” Daddy’s voice is teasing, just shy of mean. My hackles raise. It’s so hot, the two of them talking about me like I’m not right here, like I don’t even hear them, like I’m just a toy they’re playing with. 

“You know, Daddy, I was thinking the same thing.” Sir withdraws her fingers from my mouth without ceremony to tuck her clit back into her pants and zip them back up. I can’t even whine about having all my holes empty before Daddy’s ordering me:

“Get up, boy. I want your ass in that chair.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I rush to say, stumbling to my feet, thighs wobbling from the strain of kneeling so long. 

Sir smirks. “Need a hand, prettyboy?”

Warmth flushes my face and I accept her outstretched hand. She steadies me as she stands up from the chair and helps me sit down in the wooden chair. I gulp nervously and murmur, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Good manners, boytoy. But don’t thank me yet. You have to win at our little game first. And it’s mean.”

Just when I was starting to catch my breath, I feel my heart thudding. My jaw tightens and I look at Daddy with wide, nervous eyes. What game? 

Daddy winks at me, getting to zir knees and collecting the bootblack kit. 

Sir retrieves her black duffel bag from its resting place to the side of the chair and begins rummaging in it. My heartbeat kicks up as she pulls out a small hand towel and proceeds to lay a series of sex toys on it in front of me, in full view of the audience we’ve gathered that I am trying very hard not to look at. She lays each out slowly, taking her time, watching my reactions. A rabbit, a cordless wand vibrator, something small with a strange slightly bulbous head that doesn’t look like anything I’ve ever used before, a few dildos, something I think must be some kind of clit suction toy, another vibrator with something that must be a remote –

Daddy’s hand tucks under my chin, forcing my gaze away from Sir and towards zir.

“The rules are,” ze tells me slowly and in a firm voice that fills the hollow spaces of my skull, “you are going to pick a cock and one of these vibrators.” Oh, fuck. “And you’re going to sit here and take them like a good boy while I bootblack you. You do not have permission to cum until I finish.” Oh, Jesus fucking Christ. 

Sir tucks away the duffel bag and returns to my side to fiddle with the leather wrist cuffs attached to the wooden chair. 

“If you’re a good boy and you hold off,” Daddy continues, eyes drinking in every fidget and flustered movement, “you’ll get rewarded. If you don’t, or can’t… well, you’ll be a bad boy. And what happens to bad boys, Finn?”

My voice barely makes it through the desert of my throat. “Bad boys get punished, Daddy.”

“So you have taught them something,” Sir muses, tightening the other wrist cuff and fisting her hand in my short hair. A short ‘uh’ slips out of my mouth as I stare at her, mouth wide open, drinking in her handsome face. “What was that, boy?” she asks sternly, her grip tightening in my hair. I try to hide a wince from the pain.

“Uh,” I repeat, dumbly. “I, uh…” 

Daddy and Sir laugh at me meanly in unison. “Aww,” Sir mocks. “What’s a matter, boytoy?” Daddy asks from between my legs, a soapy brush in zir hand. 

My prefrontal cortex is not remotely online at the moment. That’s the only way I can explain my stuttered answer: “You’re – fuck – you’re both just so hot.”

Sir laughs again and thumbs my lower lip with her free hand; I open my mouth automatically to accept it, just a dumb slut with an oral fixation in this moment, and she mocks me: “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, boy, even if it’s true. Pick, or I will.”

A gulp grasps my desperate throat before I can stop it. I clear my throat. “Yes, Sir,” I strain to say. I take in the array of toys laid out before me, imagining each of them and growing increasingly hot and bothered. “The, um –” I pause and correct my manners: “Please, Sir, can I have the black toy and the vibe with the remote?” 

A mischievous, almost sinister smile takes over Kerry’s face. “Good choice, prettyboy,” she praises. She makes quick work of grabbing the dildo and lube, and my eyes bounce to Daddy, starting zir thorough cleaning process on my left boot. Ze’s in no hurry to bootblack me quickly tonight, if Nick’s slow circles with the soft bristle brush are any indication. The sight – my naked body, tied to a chair, with Daddy between my legs and a serious, concentrated expression on zir face – is enough to make me cum already. 

Sir approaches me with a soft hand on my thigh, her other hand holding the lube and black silicone dildo. We both look at her hand, and back to each other. 

“Finn…” she says, and my name sounds like velvet cake on her tongue. “This is where you beg for my fingers in your dripping wet cunt.” 

A strangled noise escapes my throat before I can stop it. 

“Sirrr… Fuck,” I pant, breath coming hot and fast. “Please. Fuck. Please fuck me.” 

“Is that what I told you to say, boy? I said, beg for my fingers in your dripping wet cunt,” she repeats herself slowly and roughly. 

My blush deepens and I rush to correct myself. “Please! Sir, I need your fingers in my dripping wet cunt. Please can I – please can you – God, please finger me.” 

Sir chuckles and the soft palm of her hand brushes further up my thigh until I feel her thick finger stroke up my slit. 

She swears under her breath and praises and demeans me for how wet I am. 

“Fucking Christ, prettyboy, you’re such a slut. You’re so fucking wet, you little pervert. You like this, huh? You like being teased and used in front of all these strangers watching you.” 

Sir continues to talk dirty to me while I whimper, “Please, please, please” – still begging for her fingers inside me. When she obliges, the sound from my throat is not a moan but a scream of pleasure. She starts with two fingers and graduates to four before I can string together a proper sentence to thank her. 

“Look at that,” Sir murmurs, her thumb stroking my clit with every thrust of her fingers inside me. “Such a perfect, pretty hole for me, Finn.” The fire under my skin burns brighter with every filthy word from her mouth. “You’re taking me so well. Like your cunt is just hungry for this cock.”

“Please,” I gasp, barely able to breathe with the enormity of the sensation she’s putting me through. It’s overwhelming. It’s all-encompassing. It’s exactly what I want – except I want that fucking cock inside me and I can’t manage to beg for it properly. “Please, please, I need it, please –”

“Is that all you can say? ‘Please, please, please’?” Sir mocks me, withdrawing her fingers from me slowly. She leaves me so empty I could cry for it. If she teases me any more, I just might. “If you need it so badly, you can beg for me in a full sentence.”

I tear hungry breaths from the air, trying to regulate my heartbeat, trying to form something like a sentence from the swarm of sensation and dizzying, aching lack pulsing between my thighs as she lubes the dildo for me. “Please,” I whimper, “fuck me. With that cock.”

“That’s such a good boy,” Sir approves, teasing my clit with the head of the silicone dick. I can barely gasp before she’s pressing it inside me. It’s big, bigger than I’d be able to take without prep, and I can feel myself stretch around it. My fingers scrabble against the chair. I want to claw her back, to grip the well-cared-for leather of her jacket, to do anything, hold onto anything. But my wrists are cuffed to this chair, and I can’t move. So I throw my head back and cry out, instead.

“Such a handsome little whore,” Daddy approves from between my thighs in zir warm, deep voice. I almost forgot ze was there, and that was a small but vital mercy, because now I have to remember that ze’s kneeling between my spread thighs watching Sir fuck this cock into me until it’s hilted inside me. The vibrator isn’t even on me yet, and I’m aching. I notice that my soapy boots are without laces. It takes a beat, but through the fog in my mind, I realize my laces are draped over Nick’s neck. Ze is gonna take zir sweet fucking time blacking these boots.

“They are handsome, aren’t they?” Sir agrees, leaving the cock hilted in me. “Such a sweet little prettyboy fucktoy. They’re missing an accessory, though.” She stoops to retrieve the vibe I’ve requested and its remote control. She presses the power button on the remote and the teal clit attachment buzzes to life in her hand. 

Sir leans in to whisper to me as she presses the tip of the toy against my throbbing clit. I yelp, twitching and gasping. Her deep chuckle is in my ear as she tells me, “I’m gonna love every second of watching you lose this game, prettyboy.” 

She slips the clit attachment inside me so that it stays put, and the buzzing grows stronger as she fiddles with the remote in her hand, seeming to enjoy pressing random buttons and watching my increasingly desperate responses. 

I thrash against the bondage of the wrist cuffs, tossing my head back in some effort to redirect the molten energy building in my core.

“Stop squirming,” Sir hisses in my ear. I try, I do. I want to be a good boy, I just want to obey, I want to win this game and get rewarded – but as I force my head to still, my eyes catch on a familiar face. The Dom that Nick – that Daddy – loaned zir belt to earlier is watching me, steel gray gaze traveling a slow path from my boots up to my shaking thighs. Up the curve of my stomach and hips to my tits. Up my throat, which Sir has wrapped a possessive hand around, to my face.

They wink.

A full body shudder rolls through me, and I throw my head back again, whimpering.

“What did I just say?” Sir asks, her voice firm and demanding in my ear.

“I – I – I –” I gasp, forcing myself still. I’m so wet. This chair is soaked, my thighs are soaked. I cast my eyes around the room again, searching for something to hold on to, something that won’t push me any closer to the edge I’m approaching at breakneck speed. Instead, I find Daddy, kneeling with that stupid bottle of leather conditioner that looks just like cum. Ze smirks at me, drizzling the conditioner over zir fingers and rubbing it into the thirsty leather of my boots. I can feel Nick’s strong hands on my ankle and calf as ze massages me through the leather. 

“If you can’t stay still,” ze purrs in that silky tenor, “we can… help you stay still.” Sir laughs in my ear, her thumb stroking along the line of my jaw. Help sounds like a threat, and that just makes me fidget more, God damn it.

I nod, certain Daddy’s going to make me beg for it, but ze’s already pausing in zir work and glancing over zir shoulder, zir eyes traveling the crowd until ze spots…

the Dom from earlier.

“We’re going to need my belt later. Any loaners?”

What?

I don’t have time to contemplate my fate, though, because the Dom with the bleach blonde crew cut is already rising from their seat and tugging their belt from its loops. They offer it to Sir folded, at a respectful distance, but I can feel their eyes raking every inch of my skin. “One good turn deserves another,” they remark to Nick, who huffs a laugh in response. If I had a spare brain cell, I’d probably be wondering again how these two know each other, what’s the story here, what delicious tension is stretching between the two of them like stressed sinew.

But the vibrator buzzes harder against me and I shriek, as leather wraps around my chest and upper arms, binding me more firmly to the chair. I’m close already. Sir is evil.

Nick has returned to massage the conditioner into my boots, and the mysterious Dom has returned to their seat. It all comes down to this. Can I last until Daddy re-laces my boots?

If the pathetic, helpless sounds falling from my mouth are any indication, I don’t stand a chance. 

Sir plays with the remote more, pressing buttons that change the pattern from continuous vibration to a vibration that escalates and suddenly drops, from max to nothing and back again. This normally doesn’t do a damn thing for me when I masturbate, but I’m so fucking desperate and wet and throbbing that any stimulation right now is driving me closer and closer. 

I’m going to lose this game. 

That realization hits me directly in the clit, unfortunately for me, and I whine, trying to wriggle my hips away from the vibrator. It’s no use; Sir leans down over me and presses an insistent hand to the toy, keeping it against me. “Just for that,” she growls, “I’m turning it up twice.”

I wail, unable to thrash under the increased stimulation, unable to snap my thighs closed with Daddy’s broad shoulders between them, unable to look away from the glinting eyes of the watching crowd with Sir’s free hand firmly against my throat. 

Desperate, I glance down, certain Daddy must be done with relacing my boots by now, but fuck, ze hasn’t even started. I’ve never seen zir hands move slower. God, I’m going to lose. I’m going to lose, and then I’m going to be punished. The thought plucks some dangerous string deep in my guts, sending ripples that pulse up my spine and down into the depth of my cunt (which pulses against the cock I’m warming, which makes this all so much deliciously worse). 

“Oh God,” I moan. 

“What’s that, prettyboy?” Sir asks. “Need something?” 

My answer amounts to useless whimpers until I can start to form words. “I need – oh, I need – Fuck. I need a break or I need permission or I need something, please, Sir, I don’t – I can’t –” 

“Can’t what? Can’t be a good boy for us?” Sir asks condescendingly. “What’s the matter, prettyboy? Are you such a filthy little fucktoy that you’re going to cum without permission?” 

Daddy finally, finally takes the laces from zir neck.

“Remember, Finn: bad boys get punished,” Daddy reminds me, as ze starts the slow work of weaving them through each eyelet. 

“Bad boys get their filthy little asses beat in front of all these nice people,” Sir taunts in my ear, fingers teasing my lower lip. “You’re not a bad boy, are you, Finn?”

“N-n-no,” I gasp, eyes fluttering against the strain of resisting this orgasm.

“Oh, but I think you are,” she tells me, stroking my lip with her thumb. “I think you’re a nasty little freak who can’t follow simple directions because you’re too fucking busy thinking about how good it feels to get teased and fucked in front of a crowd. I think you’re a pretty, pathetic little painslut who’s just barely clinging to this side of an edge. And I think you’re going to cum in about five seconds.”

“N-no,” I protest, but she’s not interested in hearing it.

“And when you do? Remember you deserve to be punished, because –”

Daddy’s hands have stopped moving on my boots, and hot breath coasts over my right thigh. I want to glance down. I want to, but I can’t, not with Sir’s hand so firm on my throat. When Daddy’s teeth tease the soft curve of my flesh, I know I’m fucked.

“ – you’re a bad boy.”

The words hit my brain just as Daddy’s teeth sink into the most sensitive part of my inner thigh. The pain sends its hot tendrils up my core, where I’m throbbing, wet, waiting, and the sensation tears through the thin shreds of willpower keeping me from giving into the urge to let go.

I scream when I cum, Sir’s hand firm on my throat, Daddy’s mouth sucking a hickey into my thigh and soothing the mark with a flat, soft tongue. I tremble in the chair, grip firm on the chair’s arms and my thighs tight around Daddy’s head. I pulse and ache as the pleasure throbs through my body. 

Gasping, I protest. “That – that’s ch-cheating – that’s not fair,” I whine. 

“Who said we’d play fair, fucktoy?” Sir sneers, gripping me by the jaw as she undoes the belt restraining me.

Daddy’s gaze is a line of fire cutting through me like dry brush, and I feel like I’m going to melt under the heat of it until Nick glances down to make quick work of re-lacing my remaining boot. Sir undoes the cuffs binding me to the chair. I rub my wrists automatically, encouraging circulation and massaging the sensation of restriction away. 

“You knew the rules, boy. You lost. Now get your ass up and bend over this chair.”

I could complain more, but ze’s right. I did lose. I was –

“Such a bad boy,” ze chides me. “Hands.”

I present my hands behind my back almost automatically, my heart beating out of my chest. Sir rummages in her play bag and withdraws a pair of black leather wrist cuffs. The silver toned hardware glints in the low, red light as she crosses behind me; the leather is cool and somehow comforting as it tightens on my wrists. Daddy crosses in front of me, their tooled leather belt in hand. Ze presses the edge of it to my lips, and I whimper.

“Bite.” 

Obediently, I open my mouth and sink my teeth into the soft black leather. 

Sir presses her hand in between my shoulder blades, pushing me to bend over the chair. My body gives in easily, and I feel the strain in my thighs and hamstrings from kneeling for so long as a bootblack. Sir fists my hair and growls in my ear: “Now be a good boy for us, and take your punishment.” 

A quick whoosh of air brushes by my bare ass, and then another. I try not to squirm with the realization that Daddy’s testing zir aim, try not to imagine the arc of that borrowed riveted belt or how the metal will mark up my ass. I’ll know soon enough. The air grows tense and thick, almost syrupy with suspense; sweat beads on the back of my neck, and the silence is almost as bad as I imagine the belt strikes will be. I open my mouth to say “Please –”

Before the syllable is fully formed, the first strike of the belt stripes across my ass. My breath leaves me with the shock of it – I’ve seen Nick throw a belt before, I know that’s just a warmup blow, but I wasn’t expecting it that very second – and Sir laughs at me, crossing back into my field of vision.

“I still think you should make them count,” Sir remarks, threading her fingers through my hair and forcing me to look up at her; my neck aches with the contortion, and the second strike startles a muffled “oh” out of me.

Daddy laughs – short, low, dismissive. I squirm, and a firm hand stills my hips. “They’re too stupid to wait for permission to cum, they’re definitely going to be too dumb to count in a minute.”

“Well, that’s alright. When you’re this pretty, you don’t need to be smart. Do you, prettyboy?” Sir teases me, and I don’t know how the fuck to respond with a belt in my mouth while the two of them are just toying with me like this, treating me like I’m barely even there.

The third strike of the belt surprises me again, clear across the back of both thighs, and I yelp with the deep sting. My skin throbs where the belt made contact, and my still tingling clit matches the pulse. I’m distracted and becoming delirious with pain and pleasure; the fog from my orgasm hasn’t lifted and a thicker fog of pain is darkening my vision. 

Daddy takes advantage of my distraction and slaps me with three quick successive blows down my ass. My mouth drops open in shock and I drop the belt I’m supposed to be biting. 

“Oh, bad boy,” Sir chides, plucking the belt from the ground. Her eyes glint at me, a knowing smirk drawn across her face. I don’t register that her gaze has shifted behind me until the air shifts above me.

Daddy’s hand wraps around my throat, forcing my head up again. Zir breath is hot on my neck, and though it definitely shouldn’t, the venom dripping from the way ze hisses at me makes me wetter: “Such a dumb disobedient boy. Can’t even follow simple directions. Now my belt’s as dirty as you are. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I’m s–” 

Zir movements are quick and decisive; I barely register the cool air on my neck where zir hand was before the bite of the belt on my right thigh startles a shriek out of me. “Can’t wait for permission to cum.” A mirrored strike on my left thigh rains fire into my nerves. My cunt pulses. “Can’t keep my belt in your mouth.” Ze layers a sharp overhand strike over some already-blossoming sore spots. The pain burns and branches like a lightning strike, lichtenberging beneath my skin and razing my nerves. I cry out. Sir mimics the sound to mock me, higher pitched than I’d like to admit and raspy with strain. I whine, humiliated, turned on, aching and so fucking wet and empty. “God, listen to you, I try to give you a little fucking dignity –” the belt cracks against both my thighs again, I don’t even know how ze’s doing that, and I wail – “let you muffle these filthy noises you’re making –” – another strike, and the guttural cry ze practically tears from my guts surprises even me, even now – “– and you don’t even want it, do you?” I draw breath, trying to prepare myself for the next blow. Daddy’s firm, rough hand gropes my sore ass, startling a needy moan out of me instead. “You want to show these nice people how pathetic you are, prettyboy? How much you like being beat by a mean dyke? Fine. I’ll let you. I’ll make you fucking cry, boy.”

“Give us your color, boytoy,” Sir prompts me. God, I forgot she was there for a second, running her fingers through my hair and over the sloped curve of my neck.

“I-I’m green,” I gasp. “I just –” I just want you to fuck me, please, I want to beg. But Sir interrupts me.

“You just what? Just need to take your punishment like a good boy? Yeah, I’d say so.”

“Please!” I cry, as Daddy lays another blow with the belt. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” 

“Aww, listen to that,” Daddy says in a mean drawl to Sir. “They’re sorry.” Sir laughs. “I’ll make you fucking sorry, boy,” ze says in that sharp, cruel tone that makes my knees weak. I shiver at their promise.

And then the belt snaps down on my hot, bruised ass again, and all I can do is shriek.

Zir blows fall into a steady, stern rhythm. They come one after another, in quick succession – ze strikes. I scream. Ze strikes me again. It’s a vivid, vicious cycle, and I surrender to it. To Daddy. Every round of strikes leaves me a little more breathless than the last – or maybe ze’s just giving me a little less time to breathe between, until one wail ebbs into another and one strike flows seamlessly into the next. Waves of pain pound ceaselessly at the shoreline of my senses until my vision blurs into color and vague shapes, and the rhythm is the only thing that exists. 

Sir kneels in front of me, grip still in my hair, and I realize my eyes are swimming with unshed tears. 

“Poor prettyboy,” she mocks. “Are you gonna cry for us?”

I open my mouth to answer – what, I’m not sure, stringing syllables together seems like an impossible feat at the moment when my ass and my thighs are throbbing in time with my cunt – but Daddy’s belt answers for me, a hard mean blow biting into the soft flesh just underneath the curve of my ass. I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain, and the “ffffuck” that crawls out of my throat is long, low, drawn-out. Breath heaves out of my chest. Sir licks a hot stripe up my jaw, catching the hot tears spilling down my cheeks on her tongue. I just sob for her and for Daddy as my empty cunt aches.

“Oh, boytoy,” she purrs, voice too sweet, too saccharine to trust, “did we break you? Poor pathetic thing. So handsome when you’re falling apart like this.”

Daddy’s hand ghosts across the fiery flesh of my fresh-beaten ass, and zir light touch is enough to set me gasping. As if encouraged by my noise, zir fingers dig into my thighs, spreading me apart for zir. I whine with the exposure, with the sensation, and a hot flush spreads across my cheeks.

“So wet for it, too,” ze growls. “Such a slut for this.” The edge in zir voice is sharp, keen, honed by craving. “I think you can take five more.” Five more on my ass and thighs feels insurmountable, but zir fingers trail up my inner thigh, chasing sweat and slick til ze finds the source of it and trails zir fingers up my slit. “Right here.” The sound that escapes my throat at the sensation of barely being touched is nothing short of pathetic. 

“Please, Daddy,” I pant. 

“Aww, please what, prettyboy?” ze asks. “Please make them hurt? Because you’re still being punished, so that’s the only correct request right here.” 

I close my mouth with a whimper. 

“Now… Sit.” 

Daddy unclips my leather cuffs on my wrists. Ze grabs me by the back of my neck and lifts me to standing, watching as I shakily sit on my throbbing, sore, no-doubt-red ass and whine at the pain of sitting on my bruises. Ze smiles cruelly at my pain. Ze spreads my thighs apart, standing back up and gripping the belt firmly in zir hand. 

“Be a good boy and keep those thighs apart for me,” Daddy instructs me, eyeing me with the firm focused gaze of a mountain lion tracking its prey. I swear I see a little eyeflash under these red lights as ze takes in the sight of me, naked except for my boots and harness and trying not to squirm in this chair. Sir’s hands land firm on my shoulders, pulling me back against the wood. Her touch is grounding, and it brings me back into my body enough to remember my manners:

“Yes, Daddy,” I breathe, unable to look away as zir arm raises.

The first strike on my clit and wet cunt short circuits my brain. “One,” Sir murmurs in my ear, and something else, something mean said sweetly, but I can’t hear her, or else can’t process it. The jolt of the impact travels up my spine, and Daddy was not fucking kidding, it hurts. It hurts so good.

“You’re fucking welcome,” Daddy corrects me sharply, and I realize ze expects me to thank zir. 

“One. Th-thank you, Daddy,” I manage.

“Attaboy. After all, this is for your own good. You’ve got to learn to behave somehow.”

“Yes, Daddy,” I agree. 

Another strike against my swollen, dripping cunt. My thighs shake with the effort of keeping them open under Daddy’s onslaught, but I’m a good boy. I obey. Another. I count and thank Daddy, straining to keep my thighs open, my grip on the chair arms white-knuckled. 

“That’s a good boy,” Sir praises in my ear. “You’re taking it so well, Finn.”

Daddy hits me again, and when I cry out, I still don’t know whether it’s zir blow or her praise that makes me so loud, so needy, so desperate.

“Three,” I gasp when I can hold air in my lungs again, “thank you, Daddy.”

“Over halfway there,” Sir praises, “such a good painslut.”

The next blow rocks my hips back into the chair, and Daddy makes fun of me for it as I gasp my count and thank zir: “what, are you trying to fuck my belt? So needy.”

“Yeah, just a needy little dyke and everybody can see it,” Sir coos, condescension dripping from her voice. “We don’t just want to see it, though, do we, Daddy?”

“No, I want to hear it.” Daddy’s eyes burn my face with the intensity of zir stare. I can’t meet zir gaze, but I can’t look away, I just pant as ze stares me down, hungry for my pain. Hungry, I hope as ze devours my body with zir eyes, for me.

“Take a deep breath for us, boytoy,” Sir’s voice has turned that dangerous kind of soft again, the kind of sweet that hides a sting, but I don’t think about it. I just obey.

The last belt strike falls against my cunt with the precision and fury of an act of God. I scream, thighs snapping together, head slamming against the tall back of the chair. The sting lasts much longer than the strike, and as the throbbing gradually transitions from pain to pleasure, I gasp and moan. 

“Good boytoy,” Daddy praises. “Good little painslut. Taking your punishment so well in front of all these people.” Ze motions to the crowd and starts an applause for me. I blush under the attention of so many strangers, but at the same time, it feels hot and affirming to have my accomplishment acknowledged – that was one hell of a beating, and I’m going to be nursing this ache for days. 

Sir hands off the borrowed belt to the sexy stranger and makes a little small talk as the crowd disperses. Nick hovers by me, protective and attentive, rummaging in Sir’s play bag until ze finds a bottle of water ze had to know was in there and uncapping it with steady hands before offering it to me. I accept it, grateful my shaky hands don’t have to fiddle with fine motor movements at the moment, and drink greedily. 

“Thirsty?” Nick asks with a smirk. 

I laugh, blushing and nervous. I can still feel the aching throb in my cunt – the ache from pleasure as much as pain – and I try not to blurt out how badly I want Nick’s butch cock inside me, like, right this moment.

“In more ways than one,” I manage to say, taking another gulp. 

Ze raises an eyebrow, the edge of zir smirk pulling back until I can see nearly all of zir teeth. Ze looks wolfish, like that – hungry. There’s that fucking word again. God, I want to ride that cock I know ze’s packing until I can’t see straight – and eyes me up and down. “Oh, yeah? I can help with that. If you’re not too worn out yet,” ze teases.

“Not yet. I might need a hand up the stairs, though,” I say wryly. My legs are trembling while I sit. No way am I making it up to the play area of this dungeon without some help. 

Nick laughs, and rests a hand on my thigh. That leg, at least, stops trembling. Mostly. “Hey, I’ll haul you up ‘em on my back if I have to. But there’s no rush. Catch your breath. And finish that.” Ze taps the bottle in my hand, only halfway drained.

“Yes, Daddy,” I say, my voice coming out lusty and deeper than intended. Nick’s grip on my thigh tightens, and so does my swollen cunt. Ze leans into my space a little, and I tilt my head back to meet zir eyes, heart half in my throat.

“Oh, so now you’re taking orders well, huh?” ze prompts, staring me down. I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes to mind, I’m just imagining zir staring at me like this while ze fucks me. Christ. “Good. Guess I beat some manners into you after all.” I want to object on principle, but Nick fixes me with a firm stare and adds, “Now, I’m going to pack up Kerry’s bag for her, and while I do that, you’re going to drink up. You’re going to need your stamina.”

I drink the water while I quietly take in my surroundings; Kerry has said goodbye to the stranger with the belt, who’s disappeared into the night. She helps Nick pack up and throws the duffel bag over her shoulder. 

“Good work, boytoy,” she says to me with a handsome smile. “I’ve got places to be and people to see, but I enjoyed myself. I hope you did too,” she adds with a wink, walking to the exit with a butch swagger that I envy. 

Nick offers me a hand and I accept, raising myself to standing. God, I’m going to be in so much pain for days after this; muscles sore, bruises sore, and with any luck, my cunt sore from a thorough fucking by Daddy. We walk up the stairs, slowly, Nick carrying my discarded clothes. There’s a crowd around a threesome on a spanking bench, and I hear the sub’s cries and moans as we walk past. 

Daddy takes me to a semi-private room with an empty bed, and after months of fantasizing about my hot bootblack mentor, ze fucks me exactly like I’ve been dreaming about.