It was late on a Saturday afternoon that I drove to the east side of the city, following directions that had been given to me by Miss Julia. Near the industrial park where she worked, I turned onto a state highway and continued
east just until signs of civilization began to fade. Making several turns down side roads and back roads, I found the large farm that was my destination. Sprawling green pastures with grazing horses were bordered by white
plank fences. There was a complex of barns and sheds visible on the property, and I turned in the open gate, following the wide gravel driveway towards a large house.

Miss Julia and I had been dating for just over a month and up until today she never told me where she lived. She had always picked me up at my apartment or we had met at an agreed upon location. For whatever reason
she had preferred to keep her address a secret and I respected her decision. This evening though, she had invited me over to her house for dinner. I knew that the small mansion at the end of the driveway was not my destination.
Miss Julia said that she lived in a small cottage on the property. Before reaching the main house I turned onto a narrow lane which circled around by the stables and past a maintenance shop. Off by itself in a nice private setting
by the edge of some woods was Miss Julia’s cottage.

It may have been the original farm house. Tiny, with ornate trim and tall gothic windows. Paint peeled in large flakes, the front porch sagged, and the ridgeline of the roof had a noticeable swayback. On an otherwise well
maintained farm, it seemed odd that this little cottage would have been allowed to deteriorate into a shack. Had Miss Julia’s yellow Jeep Wrangler not been parked out in front, I wouldn’t have thought anyone lived here.
The planks of the porch floor felt surprisingly solid underfoot. I knocked on the screen door. The front door beyond it was open to a sparsely furnished living room with a fireplace along the back wall. After knocking a second time
and getting no answer I assumed that she wasn’t home. Perhaps she was feeding horses for the evening over at one of the stables.

We had only had some steamy makeout sessions up to this point. Any time I tried to make further advances she stopped me, saying that she liked to take things slow. There had been no more domination role play, though I
almost always addressed her as Miss Julia because that seemed to thrill her. Since I had been invited to her house this could be a special occasion. Thinking she might be waiting for me in her bedroom, I checked the screen
door. Finding it unlocked, I went inside to see if she was home.

A pair of steel gray high heeled pumps was just inside the door, one upright and the other lay over on its side as if she had taken them off after coming home from work and left them there. An entertainment center of sorts was
improvised out of planks and cinderblocks, as a roommate of mine had done when I was in college. It took less than a minute to look through the small one bedroom cottage, and Miss Julia was not home. Before going back out
onto the porch to wait for her, I couldn’t help bending over and picking up one of her shoes. The spike heel looked like it was a little over four inches tall and the throat had a deep vee shape that would likely show off a bit of toe
cleavage. The sole and tip of the heel had some heavy wear. Older shoes, or maybe favorites. I held it up to my face, pressed my nose inside and inhaled deeply. There was only a faint hint of her scent. It would have been
better to sniff them yesterday when they came off her feet after a day at the office. Placing the shoe back on the floor, I made sure it was back in the location I remembered.

No chairs were on the porch so I sat down at the top of the steps. I had to admit that her home was not as I had expected. My beautiful goddess lived in a shack and was a slob of a housekeeper. While I waited for Miss Julia I
thought about our last date. We had been out to some nice restaurants before, all of her choice, but on the last date when she arrived at my apartment she was dressed casually, wearing some tight jeans, cowgirl boots with tall
heels, and a plaid shirt. I had been dressed as if going to work at the office and she insisted I change into some jeans, my hiking boots, and an old t-shirt.

As always, she drove. I told her that if she was taking me to a country bar to do some line dancing, I had no experience at all, but was willing to learn. She just laughed and put on a Dierks Bentley CD. We drove east of town and
out to the country, where I lost track of all the turns and streets, most of which were simply county roads with numbers instead of names. At the end of a narrow gravel road was a huge barn. Pickup trucks and older cars were
parked everywhere. The large sliding doors on the barn were open and light and music spilled out into the night. Twangy electric guitar and a fiddle, somehow amplified, that spiraled out a series of notes faster than I could think.

There was a cover charge of only a few dollars and the draft beer was free. Serve yourself from one of many kegs that were sitting in metal trough full of ice. A large dance floor of polished wood planks lightly sprinkled with
sawdust had been set up in front of the improvised stage. Christmas tree lights had been strung high in the rafters above and shone down like multicolored stars. While there were mix and match tables and chairs off around the
sides of the vast open space, almost everyone was on the dance floor.

I don’t consider myself to be much of a dancer, and I’m not even a real country music fan, but that night was the most fun I’d had on a date in a long time. Learning dance steps on the fly, our clothing damp with perspiration when
we held each other tight during the slow numbers. We only left the dance floor a few times for some cold beer, and I don’t think the band even took any breaks. They only paused occasionally for another person to get on stage
and pick up a guitar or sit down behind the drum kit. The fiddle player was a frail looking old man but he played effortlessly all night long.

The crowd was a curious mix. Some tough looking rednecks like you might expect, but a lot of old people too, and even some little kids. A few people were very well dressed, but most looked like they just got off work from the
farm or some blue collar job and went to the dance. Miss Julia’s friend Sue and her boyfriend Dave were there, but we didn’t hang out with them much. There was also an old couple I remembered. They owned the property
where the trailer was where Miss Julia had severely paddled me some time ago. She told me that night that they had been foster parents of hers when she was younger and she stayed in touch with them, occasionally fishing in
their pond or using the trailer as a weekend retreat. While people at the dance seemed friendly enough, to my surprise Miss Julia was a bit of a snob towards most of them. Near the end of the evening I had this feeling like I was
a trophy wife that a former geek had brought to his high school class reunion just to show off.

I was brought back to present time as I heard the low growl of a diesel engine approaching. Miss Julia came into view driving a large yellow end loader, fitted with a backhoe. The tires of the machine were coated with fresh mud
and the front mounted scoop contained some heavy chain, lengths of dirty rusty pipe, and some tools I didn't recognize. Her thick dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore tan coveralls and floppy rubber work boots, and
both were heavily smeared with mud. To see her dressed like that and driving the end loader, I found to be incredibly sexy. Miss Julia pulled a few hydraulic levers, lowering the backhoe and front bucket to the ground, throttled
down the engine, then shut it off.

"Sorry I'm late," she called out to me as she climbed down from the driver's seat. "I had to take care of a technical difficulty." I assured her that it was no problem.

Miss Julia gave me a cautious embrace so as not to get me dirty, and a deep kiss with her hot tongue. She momentarily sat on the front steps to pull off her muddy boots and then tossed them to one side of the porch. I hadn't
been ordered to worship her boots or shoes in a while, and I was glad that I wasn't going to have to lick that pair clean.

"You told me that you could cook," Miss Julia said in a challenging tone as we walked in the front door. "I have some pork chops in the fridge. Go cook them up for us along with whatever else you can think of while I get cleaned
up. Don’t disappoint me." There was no time for me to ask any questions as she quickly slipped behind her bedroom door and closed it.

It was true that I've always considered myself to be a good cook, though as a bachelor I didn't make many elaborate meals at home unless I had a woman over. Having someone over for dinner was always convenient as you
didn't have to awkwardly ask them back to your place afterwards. Miss Julia may have similar thoughts. Perhaps later on we would light a few logs in the fireplace and then find other ways to heat things up.

The kitchen was primitive. A small addition off the back of the house, one step down from the living room, with a low sloping ceiling. I found the pork chops in the refrigerator as promised. Dirty dishes were heaped on the
drainboard of the old porcelain sink across the back wall of the room. After a quick search of the few cabinets I realized that I'd have to wash some dishes first, just for the sake of having some clean utensils to work with. The
pipes were already screaming with running water as Miss Julia was evidently in the shower. I imagined her in the prefab shower stall that was jammed into the tiny bathroom adjacent to her bedroom. Steam would be rising off
her wet naked body, her breasts rolling gently under the hot water as she massaged thick suds of shampoo through her raven hair. Assuming that the water pressure was bad, I cracked the tap open just enough to wash a few
items without disturbing her.

I found a partial bag of mixed vegetables in the glacier lined freezer. She also had some spaghetti and enough spices and condiments that I thought I could whip up a sauce to make that into a tasty side dish.

The gas stove was an antique but the burners fired right up. While the pork chops I had dipped in flour were starting to sizzle in a heavy cast iron skillet, I checked the refrigerator again. Near the back and possibly being saved
for a special occasion was a bottle of chardonnay. I had no idea if that was a proper wine to serve with pork, but I set it in the center of the table along with two glasses. That was when I took a closer look at the bottle and realized
that the label had been run off on a computer printer. There was a family name, something complicated and possibly of German origin, and the name of a small town just east of here. It was then that I remembered that Miss Julia
had a source for getting some homemade wine. It would be interesting to try.

As I was finishing up in the kitchen, the bedroom door opened and Miss Julia came out. I had to catch my breath when I saw her dressed in a blue satin bustier top with black lace trim. It shaped her figure wonderfully, leaving the
tops of her breasts fully exposed, the nipples barely covered by a border of black lace. She wore a black mini skirt that I could only assume barely covered her ass. Her shapely legs were sheathed in black nylon stockings, the
tops of which were just visible below the hem of her skirt. Unexpected though were the boots that she wore.

On one of our previous dates, Miss Julia had worn some black leather knee high boots with some sexy heels. They would have been a better look with her outfit than the black rubber riding boots she was wearing now. Boots that
I had been ordered to worship several times in the past, and perhaps would be licking later on as my desert. Her dark wavy hair was still slightly damp, and there were light traces of makeup on her face. Her smile was
provocative, seductive, and challenging all at the same time.

"You can put your eyes back in your head, Eric." she told me.

"Sorry, Miss Julia," I said.

The title seemed appropriate now since she was wearing her black rubber boots. For all I knew she might order me to put my plate of food down on the floor, where she would stomp in it and have me lick my supper from her
boots.

"That's okay," she replied. "I'll take it as a compliment.

She sat down at the table and seemed to have no objection that I had place settings for two. Miss Julia nodded in approval towards the bottle of wine, so I quickly retrieved a corkscrew from a drawer where I had seen it earlier,
and poured us each a glass.

"This looks interesting," Miss Julia said as she served herself a small portion of the spaghetti in the light creamy sauce. "What's in it?" she asked.

"It’s just something I through together on the spot," I said. "It's pretty good. Try it," and I took a bite because I knew the sauce had turned out better than expected. A little flour, milk, water, parmesan cheese, and a selection of
spices.

"Not bad," she agreed. "If I ask for the recipe later and you don't give it to me, I'll beat it out of you," she said with a provocative smile.

"In that case, I refuse to tell," I replied.

Though I was certainly up for a domination session, I was hoping that our relationship might progress in a different direction later this evening. Maybe pull the ratty blinds closed, and finish off the rest of the strong wine while
getting cozy on the futon.

Eventually I'd work a hand up her nylon clad thighs, above the top of her stockings and under that short skirt. She was probably wearing some skimpy lacy panties, and they would be moist with her arousal. Then I’d kneel
between her legs, push up her skirt, move the damp panties to one side with a thumb and part her moist pussy lips with my tongue. I envisioned her hooking one of her legs behind my head as I pleasured her and I doubted
she would bother to take her boots off.

"Do you like my cottage?" she asked, suddenly bringing me back to reality.

"It has a certain utilitarian flair," I said, trying to be polite. "Since you drove up on that end loader I guess you work here part time, so living here is probably cheap. Maybe you board a horse here for next to nothing, so it’s
probably a good arrangement."

Miss Julia explained that the farm's owners had been foster parents of hers at one time. She had lived in the big house back then but had always liked this little cottage, where a young couple had lived and worked on the farm
part time.

"It always reminded me of a doll house with that Victorian trim around the front porch. I knew it was rundown," she said. "But I still thought it was cute and would be a nice place to live."

Miss Julia then told me she had been living here for a few years now, rent free, in exchange for feeding and watering horses on weekday mornings, and helping out with some of the larger projects as needed. She was currently
paying off student loans and saving her money for a down payment on a townhouse condo a bit closer to work, and thought she would be here only another year at the most.

"I'm not going to ask you why you were in foster care," I said. "But whatever negative stuff happened, you seem to have been pretty resourceful. That is, networking in a sense with old foster parents for a place to live, a place
where you can get away and fish, and who knows what else."

She just nodded and changed the subject, asking me about my work, and that's pretty much how the rest of the meal went, like any other dinner date. When we finished I offered to pour her another glass of wine and light a fire
in the fireplace.

"I think you should wash that big stack of dishes," she countered. "Then join me in the bedroom for desert." There was only a brief flash of a grin before she stood up and turned for the bedroom door, her walk a provocative strut.
The sound of her rubber soled boots with their flat heels as she walked across the old hardwood floor was mesmerizing when combined with her hips swiveling under the mini skirt that barely covered her ass. Needless to say I
attacked the pile of dirty dishes with speed and enthusiasm.

When I entered Miss Julia's bedroom, she was waiting for me just inside the door, still fully dressed and holding a fierce looking riding crop. I hadn't been sure if pleasure or pain had been on her agenda until now. I'll admit I was
a bit disappointed, and scared as well. The riding crop she brandished wasn't some bedroom toy that you might find next to a set of furry handcuffs at an adult video store. Her crop had a robust handle and a thick loop of
leather on the tip. It was a serious tool that a jockey would use to get their thoroughbred across the finish line to win by a nose. She had possibly borrowed it from one of the stables here on the farm, but more likely it was hers.

"Strip naked and get on your knees," she said in a voice that was barley a whisper.

"Yes, Miss Julia," I replied as I kicked off my shoes and began to remove my clothes as fast as possible.

"Take a look on the bed and tell me what you see," she commanded, stepping to one side so that her bed was now in full view. Until this day I had always envisioned her sleeping on a king sized bed draped in lush satin sheets.
In reality she had a full sized bed, which barely fit into the tiny room and was covered with a plain quilt.

"It’s a pair of thigh high boots, Miss Julia," I answered, now kneeling at the foot of her bed. The boots were black leather with pointed toes and stiletto heels that had to be at least five inches tall. Although I saw a zipper on the side,
this was a pair that also laced up in the front through chrome grommets near the foot and what looked like too many chrome hooks to count all the way up to the top of the shaft. A pair of genuine dominatrix boots straight out of my
perverse fantasies.

When Miss Julia and I had first met, she told me that she owned a pair of thigh high boots and I would eventually see them once I had proven I knew how to properly worship her riding boots. While I was delighted to learn that I
might have finally proven myself worthy, I couldn't help but notice that this pair of boots looked brand new. The sole and heel tip on one boot was just inches from my face and it looked like it had never been on the floor, and the
scent of the black leather was strong and intoxicating as if the pair were fresh out of the box. There was no time to contemplate whether or not Miss Julia had lied to me at the time about owning boots like this, because she
distracted me from my thoughts by slowly and gently tracing the tip of her riding crop from the small of my back up to the base of my neck.

"Do you like those boots, Eric," she asked teasingly, knowing well what my answer would be. Then she asked if I would like to see her wear them, and again I answered,

"Yes, Miss Julia."

"Well then," she said, now standing behind me. "Before that happens, you need to turn around and properly worship the boots I'm wearing right now."

Staying on my knees, I turned around and quickly dropped my elbows to the wooden floor, the planks worn perfectly smooth over perhaps a hundred years. I lightly kissed the rounded toes of her black rubber boots, and then slowly
licked the tops, stopping at the base of the shaft. Then I gently kissed her boots just below the ankles and licked the sides of the low flat heels, taking my time. She didn't say a word as I slowly kissed and licked my way up the
shaft of one boot, then crawled around on the floor behind her to work my way back down to the floor. While I had licked these boots before, this time I made sure that my lips or tongue made contact with every square inch. The
black rubber was smooth, and lightly warmed from her body heat.

As I began to worship my way up the backside of her other boot, Miss Julia began to lightly run the tip of her crop through my hair. Gently tracing through it and playing with one lock of hair and then another. She had told me that
she liked that I wore my hair a bit longer than most men, and I had been letting it grow a bit more since then just to please her. As I circled around her other side, my tongue not breaking contact with the shaft of her boot, Miss Julia
continued to caress my naked body with the tip of her riding crop. I'd seen enough femdom video clips on the internet to know that a crop could deliver a lot of pain, and I wouldn't mind taking a few strikes from it to see just how
bad it hurt, but for right now I was content. Feeling the tip of her crop gently dragging across my back like a slow massage was wonderful, and extremely arousing.

Miss Julia placed the tip of her riding crop under my chin and without a word gently directed me to raise my head. On my knees directly in front of her, staring up into her dark brown eyes but stealing glances at her firm breasts
covered by tight satin and lace, she told me that I had done a good job and that she was pleased. She then sat on the edge of the bed and quietly ordered me to take off her boots. They had no zippers and appeared to be a
snug fit, but kneeling in front of her and cupping one hand around the back of a heel, I was able to pull the first boot easily off her foot.

A plain white ankle sock covered the foot of her nylon stocking, and she held it up to my face as I set her boot on the floor to my side. I held her foot gently in my hands and pressed my nose lightly into the sole, deeply breathing in
the faint odor of light sweat. There also seemed to be just a hint of perfume near her ankle, as if she had planned to have her foot in my face all along. I caressed and lightly kissed her socked foot, inhaling deeply. Miss Julia
hadn't ordered me to do this but she didn't object. My cock now hard and straining, she pulled her foot away and presented me with her other boot. When I had removed it, she told me to smell the inside. Placing the open end
of the shaft over my nose and mouth, I slowly inhaled the lightly damp perfumed atmosphere.

"How does that smell?" she asked.

"It smells wonderful, Miss Julia," was my muffled reply. I thought I would get to savor the moment longer but then she handed me one her thigh high boots, the tall unlaced shaft flopping open and the long laces draping on the floor
threatening to become a tangled mess. She presented her left foot to me, down turned with her toes pointed up, as if wearing a high heeled shoe. This allowed me to easily slip her foot into the leather boot. I was really nervous
about being able to lace up Miss Julia's boots to her satisfaction. All the hooks to loop around and the seemingly mile long laces, it looked like it might take all night. Then she turned slightly and stretched her leg out along the
edge of the bed. That way I could position the long unlaced open boot shaft under her smooth nylon sheathed leg. It was now just up to me to lace through all the hooks.

Some time ago I had come across a video on the internet where a dominatrix had her male slave lace up her pair of thigh high boots. Even if the video had been staged with paid actors, I was still envious of the guy, and it was in
a way tough to believe I was in that situation right now. I remembered that he had hooked one of the laces first, and then with both laces off to the same side, he was able to hook the two laces at once. Then in a quick side to side
motion he moved up the shaft two hooks at a time. He had made it seem quick and easy. I tried to duplicate the technique, thinking that Miss Julia would be impressed. My efforts were slow and a bit clumsy, flipping the long
laces from one side of her leg to the next, periodically having to draw them out through my fingers to their full length to prevent them from tangling. I was halfway up to her knee when she slapped her riding crop on the back of one
of my hands.

"Where did you learn that?" she demanded to know as I recoiled in pain and put the back of my hand to my mouth, sucking on the hot stinging welt. "Have you been putting on another woman’s boots? A professional dominatrix
perhaps?" she accused.

"Miss Julia, I can explain," I said, and then told her about the video. "Before we first met, I considered trying to find a pro domme," I confessed. "But I couldn’t do it. Even if they enjoyed their work, they'd still just be with me for the
money. This is…" I fought to find a proper term. "Intimate. You, a girlfriend. We can go out and have a good time, but then you also know how to dominate me. The spankings, licking your boots, I don't want to do that with
anyone but you, Miss Julia."

I had sunk down even lower on my knees, my cheek against her leg covered in soft black leather, looking up her face. Her expression looked as if she were deep in thought. After a few long moments she gently tapped her crop
on the side of her boot and told me,

"Get back to work."

While I had been lacing her boot nice and snug, when I got to her knee I tried to leave a bit of slack, thinking that might be needed so she could comfortably bend her leg. I wasn't sure how much slack to leave, and was concerned
about what might happen if the laces were too loose and popped off one or more of the hooks. The bright red mark on the back of my hand still stung. If that was the price I paid for showing off, the punishment for screwing up the
job would be harsh.

After passing the laces around the last of the hooks, there was still plenty left over. Miss Julia bent her knee, raising it off the bed, giving me room to wrap the excess laces around the top of her boot, where I tied them neatly.

Her mini skirt had ridden up exposing the dark border of her stocking top, a bright silver clasp from her garter belt locked firmly to it in the front. I could also see a tight triangular patch of black lace covering her crotch. She was
unshaven, perhaps even untrimmed, given the number of stray dark pubic hairs which peeked around the edges of the fabric.

"Enjoying the view?" she teased, lightly grasping a handful of my hair and pulling my face in for a closer look.

"Yes, Miss Julia," I answered, my mouth feeling dry and my penis throbbing.

"This is my favorite garter belt," she said. "It’s a six-shooter." Miss Julia gave a low laugh and pulled up her skirt some more so I could see that there were three straps holding up each stocking. It might also be some sort of
inside joke as I remembered she owned a gun of some kind, but couldn't recall how I knew that. I lost my focus and only heard the last bit of a sentence, something about a garter belt leaving her easily accessible. Miss Julia
placed the sole of her boot squarely on my chest and gently but firmly pushed me back away from the edge of the bed. She then placed her other leg up on the bed, and callously tossed me her other unlaced boot. Now having a
bit of experience, I could have probably laced up the second boot faster, but I worked as slowly as I dared to enjoy the task. When I had finished, she stood up and adjusted her skirt back into place.

"I know you want to lick these boots, Eric. Right now though, all you’ll get is a small taste. Place one light kiss on the toe of each boot and don’t linger," she ordered.

I did as I was told, the scent of new leather strong as I lightly pressed my lips against the toes of her boots.

"Now one kiss at the base of each heel," she commanded, and started to caress my back with her riding crop as I lay one cheek against the wooden floor to kiss the tip of a tall spiked heel.

"Very well," Miss Julia said after I had kissed the heel of her other boot. She stood in front of me as I remained kneeling on the floor.

"You've been very attentive and obedient so far, Eric. You haven't been foolish enough to intentionally be disrespectful or refuse an order to see what you could get away with. A smart move," she emphasized. "I've had no reason
to punish you, but perhaps that is why you are still willing to go out me. You are here in my bedroom and should consider that to be a privilege. I'm ready to take our relationship to the next level, and can see that you are ready too."

Miss Julia started to gently stroke the underside of my hard penis with the tip of her riding crop. I shuddered, having been so strongly aroused for what seemed like eternity, and I thought I would shoot multiple bursts of cum all over
her boots. She must have sensed I was close to the point of no return, so she tucked her crop under one arm and strutted slowly around behind me, the new leather boots making soft creaking noises.

"However, before we can take things any further, you need to be tested," she said in a soft menacing voice. "I need to know if you can handle being punished by me. Stand up, and hold onto that shelf," she ordered.

While I wanted a few lashes with the crop, to feel the difference in the pain compared to a paddle or belt, I sensed that she was about to give me a severe whipping. I was terrified, yet I wanted to roll with her onto the bed later this
evening, so I slowly rose to my feet.

"Please, Miss Julia," I begged in a weak voice. "Be merciful."

"Shut up!" she yelled from behind me, and I flinched at her suddenly raised voice. "Do as I say!"

The bedroom had no closet. Instead, an entire wall had been covered with an assortment of brackets, scrap pieces of plywood, and lengths of used piping, arranged as a system of shelving and rods for clothes hangers. I lightly
gripped the edge of a shelf that was at shoulder level. Thick plywood that at one time was painted a light blue color that I associate with swimming pools. Upon it were several plastic milk crates loaded with shoes and boots.
Different heel heights and colors, most of them pretty sexy in some way, all jumbled together with no sense of order.

Miss Julia was standing behind me speaking in a low voice, though I confess it was difficult to concentrate on her exact words, essentially telling me that I was about to get a fierce whipping, and would receive a similar one if I ever
displeased her. Her riding crop made a loud snap as the leather tip made contact with my bare ass. I flinched and stifled a cry of pain in a hiss through gritted teeth.

“Hold still, bitch,” Miss Julia said in a warning tone.

The crop landed at random on my buttocks in a series of loud snaps, and each time I recoiled in pain. The impact reminded me of a time several years ago when some friends and I rented CO2 powered guns and shot paintballs
at each other in some local woods. I had several good bruises and welts after that day despite wearing several layers of clothing for protection. There was no doubt in my mind that she would be leaving marks on me this evening.
Suddenly the tip of her crop snapped me on the back of my right thigh. I couldn’t help jumping and crying out.

“I didn’t tell you to dance,” she said. “Hold still or I’ll have to restrain you.”

There was no doubt in my mind that she would have something on hand to anchor me to the wall. The open bedroom door was to my right, and even though I was naked I preferred to not be bound and have the option of making
an escape if I felt that the situation was getting out of hand.

I was almost glad when she resumed whipping me on the ass and I tried to hold as still as possible. Though my eyes were tearing up with the pain, I looked down the improvised clothing rack. It looked like she had a lot of nice
clothes for the office. Living rent free would be an advantage for a woman who liked to shop. Through watery eyes her clothes were a blur of satin and other fabric that looked expensive, mostly in conservative colors.

“Ahh!” I cried out, jumping and howling as another blow landed on the back of a thigh. “I’m sorry, Miss Julia,” I offered as a quick apology, planted my feet and gripped the shelf again with white knuckles.

There was a long pause and I heard her slender boot heels click on the wooden floor a few times. Perhaps she was reaching for a roll of duct tape that I might not have noticed on her cluttered dresser. I was getting really nervous
when suddenly three sharp blows snapped the back of my left thigh, almost all of them in the same location. Groaning quietly, I managed to keep my feet planted on the floor, though I thought my left leg was going to collapse under
me from the pain. Bowing my head and assuming the worst, the next loud snaps across my buttocks felt lighter, though that was probably my imagination. Down at the far end of the wall of clothes I could see some dresses on
hangers. The ones against the corner were bright colors and looked out of place. Then I remembered my sister had kept all of the bridesmaid dresses she had worn, and looked as if Miss Julia did the same. My sister eventually
married, but the way Miss Julia liked to dish out pain, it was easy to imagine her as a bachelorette for many years to come. The next painful blow landed on my right shoulder blade. It was so unexpected that one hand lost its grip
and I had to stifle a yelp of pain.

“You just can’t take it,” she said under her breath before the riding crop snapped again on the opposite shoulder blade.

I glanced to my right through the open bedroom door. It would be one long stride from there to the front door, which was standing open. The screen door beyond would offer little resistance, but without my clothes where would I go?
Bowing my head and bracing myself, I squinted back the tears. As she whipped my ass some more I tried to detach myself from the moment, recalling the last trip I had taken with my previous girlfriend to the Smoky Mountains.

In my mind I tried to bring back ever detail of our little rental chalet with the round bed and heart-shaped whirlpool tub. The balcony overlooked the wooded mountainside and the tourist town of Gatlinburg below. Over those few
days we only drove down in the evenings to dine at restaurants. The rest of the time we spent in bed, or in the tub, on the balcony, making love wherever and whenever we pleased. How had that relationship gone bad? Pressured
to marry and settle down, had it been too predictable or normal for my kinky desires? Was it worth abandoning to end up here in some shack taking a painful test administered by a beautiful but potentially dangerous woman? If
I passed the test and got Miss Julia into bed she probably wouldn’t bother taking off her thigh high boots, and I tried to imagine what the soft leather would feel like with her legs wrapped around my waist as I got to bang her for the
first time, convincing myself that it would be worth enduring the pain.

Miss Julia’s riding crop landed a few sharp snaps on my tender shoulder blades, and one hit on the back of a thigh that almost made me lose my balance. Out of a corner of my eye I saw her riding crop land on the bed as if tossed
carelessly to the side. Her spike heeled boots clicked on the plank floor and leather creaked as if she were pacing slowly. I was silently crying, and slightly trembling, and there was no way that she couldn't notice. Was the test
over? Did I pass? I couldn't help thinking that she was simply taking a break. Maybe she would bind my wrists to some of the shelf brackets because I had moved around too much. Her wooden paddle was surely close at hand
so maybe I still had to endure a number of painful swats, or get whipped with one of the many belts that hung close by on a makeshift rack assembled from scrap wood and mismatched screws.

Thinking of femdom porn I had looked at, the most brutal instrument of all seemed to be the cane. The slim bamboo wand that sliced through the air and left bright red stripes on a bare bottom and sometimes even broke the skin.
It would make sense that Miss Julia would own such a thing, and I hated to think of one in her hand. If she did pull out a cane and only wanted to give my sore ass one stroke I would have to bolt out the front door. Running barefoot
on the gravel road would be painless in comparison to what I had just survived.

"Turn around and get on your knees," she ordered, breaking the dreadful silence. I readily complied, the test hopefully over.

Miss Julia stood at the foot of the bed with her back turned to me, her ass just inches from my face. After a few moments she reached for the narrow zipper that ran up the backside of her skirt, and to my surprise she slowly
lowered it. She let her mini skirt fall to the floor with a slight rustle of black fabric, where she stepped out of it and kicked it off to one side. The pale skin of her perfectly shaped ass was enticingly framed by the rear straps of her
garter belt, which was made of wide heavy looking cloth and had none of the usual lace trim. The stocking clips and strap adjustments were robust shiny chrome. Not the usual cheap lingerie garter belt, this one seemed like it
was made for regular use, and it was easy to envision her wearing it under a conservative skirt to work. The panties I had caught a glimpse of earlier were a thong, and a thin strip of black lace was firmly clenched between her
butt cheeks. I had no idea if I had lost my erection during the painful whipping, but my cock was straining now, my scrotum feeling tight with denial.

"Kiss my ass," Miss Julia said quietly. While that phrase is normally an insult, coming from her lips I knew it was an order, and I willingly obeyed.

Using a combination of soft gentle kisses, and light nibbling ones that I might normally apply to a woman's neck or earlobes, I worshiped her sweet ass for what seemed like a long time. Listening to her slow deep breathing, I tried
to gauge what she liked. Then she reached behind her and grabbed a handful of my hair, positioning my nose right in the crack of her ass.

“Lick it,” she commanded, spreading her legs a bit so that my nose was enveloped between her soft cheeks.

I’d never done such a thing before. Maybe under different circumstances I’d find such a task repulsive, but she had showered not long ago and smelled of soap and light perfume. Also, I didn’t dare disobey her. That would call
for a real punishment session, and right after my so-called test, I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle it. Starting as low as I could, I gave a slow continuous lick upwards to the waistband of her thong, the lace strip between her cheeks
coarse on the tip of my tongue. After doing this a few times, I concentrated lower, where I knew her asshole was barely hidden by the fabric. I assumed she would tell me to do this soon enough, and while I was a bit unsure about
it, I felt it best to make the move when I was ready instead of risking hesitating when given the order.

Miss Julia responded with a soft moan. Her high heels scraped on the floor as she spread her legs some more, then bent over the edge of her bed giving me better access. Reaching around and hooking an index finger under the
thong’s vertical strip of lace, she pulled it off to one side, fully exposing herself. Sensing what she wanted, I gave a few tentative licks at her small puckered asshole and hearing her gasps and moans in response, I moved in more
aggressively. There was no foul taste or odor as I might have guessed, still I couldn’t help but thinking that what I was doing was nasty. At the same time I was more turned on than any time I had gone down on a woman in the usual
way.

Soon she was breathing quickly, occasionally punctuated by low moans or hissing gasps. I felt a subtle rhythmic movement in her body and I realized that she was fingering herself. She probably had her whole hand down the front
of her panties, pleasuring herself while I worshiped her asshole. Sensing her tension building, I didn’t let up, swirling around the small indentation, occasionally probing her with the tip of my tongue. She came with a series of hard
stifled grunts. I tried to maintain contact while her hips bucked involuntarily, and then I slowed to light teasing licks as her spasms subsided. Her breathing was now loud slow exhales, like a steam locomotive throttling down as it
pulls into a train station.

Miss Julia reached around and adjusted her thong back into place. My work done for now, I sat back on my heels and waited for my next order, which it turned out was to hand Miss Julia her skirt from off the floor. While I was
certain at that point that I wouldn’t be getting into bed with her, my erection was almost painful now and I hoped she would allow me to masturbate.

“You didn’t pass your test,” she told me with a tone of distain. “But since you’ve proven yourself useful in the bedroom, I’m willing to give you another try. Now I realize that I’ve been pretty rough on you, so it’s only fair that you
should have some time off to think. You need to go home now. Don’t try to contact me. In a week or two I’ll call you when I’m ready to administer another test, and at that time you can tell me if you are man enough to take it again.”

She took a few steps across the floor to where my clothes were laying in a pile, and gave them a swift kick. I caught my shirt in the air while other items landed around me.

“If you refuse to take the test,” she warned. “This relationship that we’ve gotten off to a good start will be over. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Julia,” I said humbly.

Soon afterwards I was on the long gravel driveway, a light contrail of dust rising behind me as I slowly approached the main road. I hunched forward a bit in my seat. Like having bad sunburn, the backrest of the driver’s seat was
painful on my shoulder blades if I leaned back. My ass felt like it was on fire, but there was nothing I could do about that. Knowing I’d be passing a drug store on my way home I wondered what I might get to help with the pain.
Maybe there was some broken skin that needed some antiseptic. I winced at the thought of more pain on top of pain.

In the end I just went straight home, where I finally got some sexual relief by means of my own hand. It was strangely unsatisfying. While worshipping her ass had been really hot during the moment, I now felt degraded, especially
since I had willing let her savagely whip me beforehand. Miss Julia had me under her control, knew it, and so she used me and then kicked me out of her house when she was finished.

Over the next few days, as expected, the ugly red welts on my backside morphed into a collage of bruises in various dark hues. Some looked like they might never fade away. Miss Julia was on my mind constantly as I sat
uncomfortably at my desk at work, or as I lay on my stomach in bed at night, trying to fall asleep. She was a sexy dominant goddess straight out of a pornographic fantasy, and perhaps for me it should stay a fantasy. If she would
ease up a bit on the paddling and whipping, I’d probably do anything she wanted. That would never happen though and I knew it.

The engineering firm that I work for is in a modest sized office building with several other companies. By chance I was introduced to a young lady who recently started working for an insurance company on one of the upper floors.
Sandra was an attractive brunette about my age, and we had started going out to lunch together on a casual basis. She always wore skirts or dresses to work, nothing slutty but sexy enough, and seemed to have a nice collection
of high heeled shoes, which always turned me on. Quick witted and a bit adventurous, she seemed perfect and it felt as if things could develop further between us if I made the first move. There was nothing wrong with that since
I hadn’t heard from Miss Julia in several weeks, and even if she called it would be to schedule another test with her. An invitation that was less appealing every day.

Sitting down at my desk one morning with a fresh cup of coffee, looking over some plans for a new boiler plant, my phone gave the distinctive ring for an outside call. The desk phone had a built-in caller ID display. I recognized
the name as that of a sheet metal fabricator on the east side of town, where Miss Julia worked. As the phone rang again, I considered letting my voicemail pick it up.
This story is written by Christopher D.B, please send comments and appreciation to christopherdb113@gmail.com