Jane Davitt's Blog - Posts Tagged "freebie"

This is a short based on a photo of guys wearing high heels and nothing else (mmm...) that I wrote for Boy Meets Boy Reviews a few weeks back.

Come to Heel

“I can’t walk in them.”

“I can’t walk in them, Sir.”

The correction’s accompanied by a stinging slash from the switch that lands across my calves. Ow fucking ouch. I have a fondness for that skinny little sucker when it’s used on my fellow sub. Watching Andy’s butt become a living tic-tac-toe board leaves my balls tight and my inner sadist drooling.

What, I can’t be a sub and a sadist? Sorry, didn’t get that memo. Or it’s filed in the drawer marked, ‘Oh really? Now fuck off’.

Used on me, though, and I’m tempted to snap the switch in half and take what I get by way of punishment with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

Okay, maybe not the song. Sir would make damn sure I was too busy screaming for mercy, forgiveness, and shit like that to focus on a tune.

I wriggle my toes. They’re pushed into a triangular space. Toes aren’t made to do that. It hurts. And my calves are a tight, taut stretch of flesh because I’m in four-inch fuck me heels and the angle and tilt – you have no idea unless you’ve worn them.

They’re all I’m wearing. Not even a cock ring. Classic black pumps, the Italian leather as soft as a sigh, needle-sharp heels making my muscular legs look elegant as a racehorse’s.

I stare in the long mirror. Yeah. Gorgeous. I can see it and Sir likes the view too, judging by the bulge in his pants. I preen a little, but I can’t do what he wants. I tried. I tottered. Staggered. Shuffled. Wearing heels, I’m as graceful as a toddler and I hate it. Hate disappointing him.

Tears. Fuck. He draws blood before he gets them usually and now they’re spilling out.

“Ssh.” He rests his hand on the back of my neck, clamping down. “I didn’t say you could cry. You haven’t failed me yet, but if I hear you tell me you can’t one more time, I’ll make you Andrew’s sub for a week.”

I hiss out a breath. No. Kneel to that cocky little shit who thinks he’s got a better ass than mine? Never.

“Again.” Sir caresses my cock, waking it to hardness after failure’s left it limp, working it with cool efficiency. “Maybe this will help your balance.”

Oddly, it does. Cock jutting, I throw back my shoulders, do the whole deep breath, focus bit and set off across the room, heels tapping on the wooden floor. God, my ass must look incredible. I throw in a sassy hip wiggle and get the switch again, catching the top of my thighs and leaving behind a sear and sizzle of pain.

I yelp and he clicks his tongue reprovingly.

“Is that how you’d normally walk? I don’t think so. These are what you’ll be wearing from now on, Tony. I like them on you. Get used to them and walk naturally, please.”

“Sir?” He can’t mean it.

“Oh, don’t worry.” He chuckles. “I got them in more colors than black.”

Really wasn’t what I was worried about.