Black Boots

Someone else entered the kitchen. Black boots. That’s what she saw as she lie splayed on the table with her arms tied to the corners. A tilt of her head and she saw the stranger’s groin beneath her blindfold, which lent her no clues beyond worn denim.

Black Boots maneuvered around her, tracing a finger down her side before his whole hand roughly claimed her ass. Who was he to take possession of her nakedness like this? And where were the stockinged feet belonging to her lover?

“Who are you?” She asked, sure that she was breaking some as-yet-unspoken rule by breaking her silence.

“Shh…,” was all he said.

“Where is Dan? He should be here,” she whispered as she felt the stranger push her feet apart with his boots.

A firm smack landed on her butt; her head snapped back in surprise.

“Shh…,” he said again.

There was silence in the kitchen. She counted the seconds in breaths, her mind scurrying along with her racing heart. They had talked about this: acquiring a “second opinion” during one of their play sessions. But nothing had been agreed upon, no third party had yet been chosen. And never had they discussed a surprise visit — but she guessed that that would defeat the purpose.

Her thoughts and breathing stopped when she heard a belt rushing out of loops. Where is Dan? He should be here, she thought but didn’t say.

Earlier, Dan had warmed her over his knee, and briefly at the table after restraining her with a solemness she hadn’t understood. Despite the lengthy warm-up, she could feel the glow ebbing. This black-booted stranger was about to revive it.

Leather kissed her cheeks, making its intent known before it struck. Her bare foot kicked a response just as another stroke landed. Black Boots was unrelenting, giving no pause except to change sides. Her breasts pressed against the oak table as she squirmed; her wrists began to feel the pain of the unmoving restraints as she struggled against them. She called out for her lover, but there was no sign of Dan, only the shuffle of boots behind her.

And then it stopped. His hand was there, probing, spreading, assessing. Despite her predicament, she felt her hips rise to meet it — this felt too good to deny herself the comfort. If it weren’t for the restraints, she would have jumped when she felt his tongue draw a path from her cleft to her clit. She could do nothing but allow it as he sunk deeper, his tongue running circles while his hand squeezed her freshly assaulted cheeks.

Her climax was quiet as opposed to the uninhibited expressions she shared with Dan. It embarrassed her, to be rocked this way by a strange man. Despite Dan’s complicity in the delivery of it, to verbally enjoy the orgasm elicited by Black Boots might be perceived as betrayal.

So she bit her lip and stiffened her legs as she contracted around the stranger’s tongue.

When she was finished, he was gone. The front door clicked closed; a lock was flipped and moments later, white socks emerged in her line of sight: Dan.

“Where were you?” She said, trying not to sound accusatory, but maybe she did.

“I was in the other room, listening,” he answered as he freed her from the blindfold. Blinking against the brightness, she was relieved to read arousal on his face. “You enjoyed yourself,” he stated.

“I’m sorry that I did,” she said, feeling suddenly guilty as she remembered her orgasm.

“No, you’re not. You shouldn’t be, anyway. I arranged it. I liked listening,” his fingers raised her chin so she could see the cotton-clad bulge of his arousal.

“I see,” she licked her lips and smiled up at him. He quickly unbound her wrists and helped her from the table. A not-too-soft pat to her bottom had her scurrying for the bedroom where he would receive her gratitude for the gift of the stranger.


Morning sun broke through the blinds and she turned lazily away. With her head hanging off of the mattress, she remembered the events of the previous night and gently rubbed her bottom — still sore.

Beneath the bed, hidden, stood a pair of discarded, well-worn black boots.

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