A display of submission
My Master’s boots sit by the door in their spot. Waiting for him to come home and lace them up so once again I can display my submission to him. My devotion to him. Honoring him by making sure all the little details that HE notices when others don’t – are just right. His refrigerator is clean and in order. His cabinets are immaculate, everything in it’s dedicated place, labels facing out. You could eat off of the floors that his busy little submissive cleaned with a toothbrush until they sparkled. His dinner is already made and on the stove, waiting for him. Those boots, though. They are dusty; he doesn’t like that. They will need to be cleaned, and by HIS preferred method.
I am waiting for him as well. In my own dedicated spot; completely nude, on my knees, next to his favorite chair. Displaying my submission to him, my back is turned to the chair and my eyes are cast downward showing my respect for him; they do not deviate when he walks in the door. I can hear him, taking off his shoes, slowly changing into his “after work” clothes for my training and service.
And finally, he sits down in his chair, so close that his knee is nearly touching my back.
I know the sound of his boots being donned; the way he slides on each one, then stomps down hard on the floor to drive his foot the rest of the way in. The sound of his laces pulling tight against the leather then being whipped hard and fast through the hooks. Then finally the tight knots he makes at the tops. They are well-worn from his service to our country, but once I am finished with them, they will shine like they are almost brand new!
I feel his hand run through my hair, then down my naked back; stroking his pet almost absent-mindedly as he turns on the TV and flips to the proper channel to find the news shows he prefers. I prepare to hold my waiting position for as long as he chooses. Sometimes it’s minutes. Sometimes it’s hours. My submission belongs to him, so whatever pleases him on this particular day? Is what he shall have. After what seemed like an hour (but was probably only minutes) I hear his low, sexy voice for the first time since he arrived home. One sentence, with his hand gripping my shoulder for emphasis.
“Do your work.”
There are some days that his command would require more explanation to his silly little pet, but not today. I knew those dirty boots were my job to tackle. Immediately turned in his direction, eyes still carefully cast downward, waiting for him to pull out his foot stool and perch his boots at just the right height. I lean in, wet tongue extended, and make contact with my tongue; holding it flat, controlling my eagerness so that I can use it to make the long, slow licks that he prefers, from toe to top. Long, wet streaks left on his boot as a measure of what has already been cleaned.
Over and over I will lick. Even after his boot is clean and shining. My submission belongs to him. I lick and clean until he is satisfied and orders me to stop – and not one second before. I do not question, I do not wonder how much longer. Just obey his command – and do my work.
After my job is considered worthy of his approval, so much more goes on. There are tiny ways I show my Master that he owns my submission – and there are much bigger ways, that involve more pain than a tired tongue. Call me if you want to hear about them.
