Sexy short stories by DIVA readers
Jay sat up straighter in the chair as the barber wrapped a towel around her shoulders.
“What can I do for you today, sir?” The barber made eye contact with her in the mirror.
“Number two, back and sides. Thanks.”
He flicked the switched on the clippers and Jay felt the familiar buzz and vibrate at the back of her neck. She relaxed a little. This felt good.
Back home she poured a jug of water over her head while leaning over the kitchen sink. Thousands of tiny, blunt hairs fell from her head and she swirled more water around the basin to get them all to go down the plughole. A quick pass of a towel over her hair, and into the bathroom to add a dollop of gel; she admired her new, sharp cut in the mirror.
Back in the kitchen she opened a cupboard beside the sink and pulled out a transparent box with a clipped on lid. She flipped the clips up and inhaled as she lifted the lid off: the smell was servitude and sex combined. She smiled.
Jay carefully spread newspapers over the kitchen floor and sat down cross-legged. The floor was hard and uncomfortable and she wriggled slightly to find a softer spot on her under-padded frame. She knew she was going to be there a while. She also knew that her comfort was not important.
Heather’s boots were creased with age and wear but had recently been re-soled: evidence of her longstanding relationship and attachment to them. Jay had spent many happy hours staring at these boots. Kneeling at Heather’s feet was one of her favourite things. Her next favourite was showing her devotion to Heather’s boots.
She removed the laces and stuffed clean paper inside, then she selected a tub of polish from her box and several brushes and began to methodically work the polish into the leather.
Just holding the heavy, solid boots got her wet. Add in the scent of the polish, the feel of the hard floor beneath her, and the still-recent memory of passing for a boy at the barbers, and she felt like her body was a jangle of fuses. She was just waiting to be detonated; waiting to go off.
Heather and her boots were the electrical charge to her circuit. Heather and her boots were what kept Jay seeking out bigger and better explosions for her body and her soul.
After over an hour of dedication the toes of Heather’s boots shone like the glossy black backs of oil beetles. Jay tidied away her kit, got up from the floor, and stretched her stiffened knees. She carefully stowed Heather’s boots in their black, cotton, drawstring bag and placed that inside her larger rucksack. Checking her wallet was firmly in her back pocket, Jay went outside into the early evening.
Jay stood at the door to Heather’s flat and waited while her breathing calmed down. She’d walked quickly, taking long strides to cover the short but necessary distance that kept her from her Master. Once inside, she carefully removed the boots from their bag and handed them to Heather. Heather examined them closely and then turned her back to Jay. “Come,” she instructed as she led the way into the lounge.
Heather hitched up her jeans a little before she sat down, her belt already casually draped over the arm of the chair. Jay knelt in front of Heather and laced the boots onto Heather’s feet, enjoying the sensation of the larger woman’s leg resting on her thigh, and the extra pressure from Heather’s foot as she tied the laces firmly and exactly as she had been taught. So far she had done nothing wrong. “Haircut?” Jay nodded. “I don’t remember giving you permission.” Jay’s cunt twitched in anticipation. “I’m sorry, Sir.” “I wonder how you had time to get your hair cut and attend to my boots. Have you been getting slack, boy?”
“No, Sir. I spent all afternoon on your boots.”
Heather raised her foot under Jay’s chin. “Are they clean enough?” she nudged Jay’s chin with her boot. “Take off your trousers.”
Jay acted quickly, folding her trousers the way she knew Heather expected.
“Fuck yourself on my boot. And, after you’ve come, you can clean them all over again. And, after you’ve done that, you can fuck me. Do you understand, boy?”
Jay felt the first explosions go off deep in her solar plexus. “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
Heather’s boots shone like the glossy black backs of oil beetles