Submitted by Misha Burnett.
I lie prone, cruciform, the chill of the tile beneath me soothing on the scratches she has left on my chest. She sits before me, but my eyes are on the floor. I wait, breathless, and I imagine that she can feel my need radiating from me like the heat I feel in my well-used back. I feel her shift before me and the toe of her boot is before my face. Kissing it isn’t a decision I make, my tongue moistens my lips and my lips reach for her as automatically as they part for breath.
Her other boot hovers above my head and I tell myself that I am not begging her, but it’s a lie. I’m not begging with my voice, I don’t need to, my whole body is a plea. For a moment her heel presses down against my head, pressing my lips into the toe of her other boot, holding me in a trap so much sweeter than any freedom. Then both feet are withdrawn and I feel the air move as she stands before me.
One foot on either side of my head, and she stands there, making me wait for it. My stillness does not conceal my desire from her.
The touch of the sole of her boot on my shoulder is gentle, most of her weight carried by her other foot. She is testing my resilience, getting a feel for the play of muscle and bone beneath her. She withdraws it, taps it against the side of my face, and that reminds me to breathe.
I am filled with a desire, as fierce as a cramp, to be seen, to be witnessed, and at that moment she brings her heel into my ribs, raking it along my side. A fold of skin and muscle is caught between her heel and the tile. It hurts like fire, and I have tears in my eyes, breathing raggedly between clenched teeth. I don’t cry out, not then, not yet. I can not bear the thought that she would stop.
She lifts that foot, sets it firmly on the tile beside me, rests the toe of her other on the side of my spine, and begins shifting her weight. I breath into it, feeling the pressure growing, not quite pain against my reddened skin. Something else. Something wonderful.
I hear her own breathing, a bit a chuckle, a bit of moan, and I know that we are feeling the same thing. I am hers in this moment, bought and paid for, utterly owned. I can feel her awareness of her power in the width of her stance.
She brings her heel down on my skin and grinds it against me. I cry then, unashamed. We are past the point of stopping now, she is claiming her property, a precious thing that she would never injure.
But hurt me she will, and my face is covered with tears. She patrols my body, marking her territory with those lovely heels, and in between my sobs I kiss the floor beneath my face, overcome with the need to give worship with my lips.
I could never say how long she walks all over me. While it is going on I have never been nor wanted to be anywhere else. It is my place, my home, and hers as well.
When she sits before me again my flesh is bruised and my face is red and wet. She raises my head and my eyes to her body, one toe on my forehead, pushing my head back. She is smiling down at me. Seeing joy in her face is life to me, nothing else matters.
She brushes her heel against my lips and I part them, wet and greedy. She pushes and I accept, taking her heel into my mouth, letting my eyes close, sucking her into me, desperate to be penetrated.
To someone watching, to those I need so desperately to observe how I serve her, it would seem that I have been reduced, but I feel exalted. I feel perfect, and loved. I feel that I am loved because I am perfect, and that I am perfected by her love.