flip flops to a fetish club
I looked at the measly shoe collection I had. Dorming at ECU for the summer left me with very little shoe choice. A pair of exercise sneakers. A pair of Vans-like sneakers. Gorgeous, sparkly high heels that are murder on my feet but are absolutely fabulous. They’re black, studded with rhinestones. I kicked off my soggy Vans sneakers. I had stepped in a puddle and they were wet. Sir informed me of a violet wand demo at the nearest fetish club.
I was in a mood. Not horny, as Sir asked me. If I were horny, I would just have asked permission to masturbate with my vibrator and be done with it. No, I was in a mood to talk to people, interact. Make trouble. So I wore what I had worn around all day (polo, skirt, stupid blue polka dot panties) and walked to the public transportation. Oh, okay, I made a little bit more effort than that. I wore contacts, brushed and pulled my hair back into pigtails and used mouthwash. I locked my collar around my throat. I sighed and shoved my feet into my black flip flops. You know the kind. Old Navy flip flops. Plain black. With sparkly red nail polish on my toes.
After the violet wand demo, to my disappointment, most of the interesting looking couples left. I made a big dork out of myself at the demo. (I don’t think I like violet wands that much. Go figure.)
You see, Sir put in place a few rules.
- I could play with women.
- I could play with couples.
- I could only play with guys if I was EXTREMELY comfortable.
- I had to tell people I was not only collared, but owned.
Which made me feel a lot better.
So of course, men filtered into the club after the demo. Men looked me over, said hi. I subconsciously stroked and touched my collar. One Master I remembered from TESfest complimented my collar.
I was sitting on the couch watching a femdom and her sub boy onstage when a guy in a black shirt and jeans came up to me. He asked me my name. Then he asked if I was ever very mad at a guy before. I didn’t know where the conversation would lead so I didn’t really give a hard answer. Then he asked if I would be interested in stepping on his chest.
Note: For all my blog reading, I did not know that trampling was the BDSM euphemism for this. I learned about this later.
He lay on the floor and after I asked him a good number of times if this was really okay, I tentatively stepped on his chest with bare feet. He made a noise and I gasped and asked if he was okay.
“Honey, I’m in heaven. And you’re light as a feather.”
“Don’t flatter me.” I said dryly. With a shock, I looked up and noticed a small crowd had gathered of men. Some very jealous looking men.
He asked my age as I shifted my weight around. I hesitated.
“I shouldn’t tell you my age. I started exploring BDSM 20 years ago.” He said with a groan as I planted my foot in the middle of his chest. I was giggling, God help me. Giggling as I was, well, trampling on a man.
“My Sir is 40.” I said.
He laughed, with almost made me lose my balance. “I’m 39.”
After he had me push down on his chest with my feet and bounce up and down a bit, he helped me off and I scurried outside to call Sir. I told him what happened.
“Wait… you stepped on him in bare feet?” He said as I chewed on a nail.
“I wore flip flops out here.”
“You wore flip flops to a BDSM club? I love you.” He laughed.
I went back inside and he proceeded to give me a foot and leg massage as I talked to a friend of Sir and I. He massaged and massaged and then proceeded to actually lick my toes. He didn’t take any part in the conversation. Men stalked by, eyeing both him and I. One guy stuck around and watched me even though nothing sexual was going on.`He licked and nibbled at my dirty toes. (Flip flops in the big city mean that toes and feet get very, very dirty sometimes.) I guess I was… objectifying him, wasn’t I? Having him rub my feet and not acknowledging him, on his knees, while I carried on a conversation with another man. Hmm.
Then he accidentally tickled me and my foot flew out and accidentally kicked him in the face.
“OhmygoshI’msosorry!” I said all in one breath. I sat up. He looked… happy. He certainly didn’t look like he was in any sort of distress.
All of a sudden I just have this urge to play with a sub boy. Fuck him with a strap on. Torture his cock and balls. Make him worship my feet. Watch Sir flog him. Spanking the sub boy with a paddle, not my tiny, girly hands. Using those tiny hands to pinch his nipples. Slap his face.
Sir ordered me to pinch His nipples while I gave Him a handjob yesterday. While He was listening in on a phone conference, go figure. He would urge me to go harder, harder, harder. I was so tentative. Making sure He was okay.
“You can go much harder than that, pet.”
So I did. I was pinching hard as I stroked His cock. I liked seeing Him grimace and saying “fuck” underneath His breath as I pinched. I was squeezing hard when He said abruptly “Don’t stop.”
So I went harder. I was surprised at how hard I could pinch and watching His face closely, closed eyes, pursed lips. Then His cock exploded all over His stomach and my hand- which surprised me too.
I was surprised at how, well, fun it was. Fun to pinch His nipples and watch Him hiss in pain. Just like I was surprised at how fun it was to stand on a man’s chest and make him suck on my dirty toes.
So maybe I’m ready to explore this side of myself. I have these urges, but sometimes they feel overwhelming, like I quite don’t know what to do. I guess I have to see how things develop.
