The Passing of Winter

I love the Fall and Winter months.

Living in California, where warmth a blue skies are the norm, a few months with some overcast and rain are almost a relief to me. Something in me longs for the moody feeling of dark clouds and a chill wind.

And, of course, it is Fall and Winter when women are most likely to wear boots.

So as I walked to lunch today in the bright, warm sunshine, I thought back to the last overcast week we had and considered what I saw.

A big woman, weighing more than I, crossing the street in her sharply tailored black skirt suit and a pair of black high heeled boots that might have been custom made for her. She exuded a self assurance and power that made me want to follow in her wake. I pictured myself as her male administrative assistant, fetching and carrying for her all day long, then getting on my knees under her desk at the end of the day to help her relax, my locked in place by her powerful thighs.

A tall black woman in a pair of gorgeous burgundy suede boots that went up to mid thigh over her leggings. She was already tall, and in those boots she was taller than I am. Black women already intimidate me, so this ebony goddess, larger than life and striding down the street could have had me on my knees at a glance. I did not even have a fantasy on the spot about her, as I was sure I was less significant than a bug on the sidewalk as far as she was concerned. Still, I could picture myself gladly working hard, very hard, to earn a moment of her notice.

Two petite young Asian women in tight jeans and matching riding boots. Real riding boots, not department store knock-offs. They had thick soles and heavy leather shafts and a texture that would take a shine that was subtle yet a mile deep, if you worked very hard buffing and polishing them. They must have gone to a tack shop for them. As I passed by them, I could picture the two of them leading me to a remote barn or stable, suspending me from a cross beam, and then taking turns thrashing me with all their might before letting me drop to the floor. There I would polish their boots back to a dress sheen with my tongue.

And now Spring is at the door and all I can hope for is a sudden cold snap soon before most boots go back in the closet until Fall comes again.

Boots and Knickers

My favorite project leader was back in the building today and came over to talk to me. I am lucky it was because I was asking her for something, because she has such an air about her that I am afraid I could deny her nothing.

And that is the case on any given day. Today she had on a pair of very sharply tailored grey wool knickers below which she had on a magnificent pair of boots.

This woman has no plain boots. Every pair I have ever seen her wear are stylish, unique, and overwhelmingly sexy. Today's pair was no exception.

Today she was wearing a pair of caramel brown boots that looked both soft yet were buffed to a glossy sheen that simply oozed the word "expensive." I bet they are as smooth as butter to the tongue. Along the back of these boots were laces that went from the top of the boot, right below her knee, all the way down the back of the five inch high wedge heel.

The laces were, of course, primarily decorative rather than functional, but they were not a cheap or addition. They may have has some elasticity to them because the boots fit her perfectly.

That was my eye full for the day. And she even granted my meager request. I was so entranced I found three excuses to go up to her floor in hopes of another glance. I was rewarded with two additional views, including a walking-away angle that showed the laces on the back of the boots to good effect.

Leopard Print Boots at Lunch

Walking around during my lunch time today I saw a great pair of boots.

A petite Asian woman was sitting down at a bench having a smoke. She was dressed all in black, with a sweater, skirt, and hose. But her boots stood out. They were an animal print with a light cream colored base with dark spots that were black at their centers.

They were very nice boots to start with. They had spike heels that helped for a nice clear arch and they fit her calves and ankles quite snug.

But the bright animal print pattern, when contrasted with her black outfit, made them stand out like a lightning bolt. The only thing I would have added were matching gloves. That would have been perfection.

The boots were so nice that I even violated my "no gawking" rule and stared at them quite openly. She noticed, of course, but clearly had no use for a tall Anglo staring at her footwear. She glanced up at my face then turned her head to exhale smoke with a slight sneer on her face.

Of course, the sneer just made the whole encounter that much better.

I myself have no use for smoking, but I would put up with some to get close to a pair of boots like that again.

Lock It Up

I suffer from... or rather, women I have known have suffered from... a number of very common male problems. One of they key ones is that, as soon as I ejaculate, my interest in sex, romance, women, and anything requiring any effort, goes out the window.

I am a typical male. Once I have shot my load, I will roll over and fall asleep.

Call me a pig. I know it is true. Men are commonly limited in their sexual stamina, despite boasts to the contrary. They do not have the advantage of being multi-orgasmic like many women.

There is an answer to this problem of course, don't let your man cum. Easier said than done of course.

A man who wants to cum will do anything to shoot his load. Even when well-meaning and eager to please you, if a guy feels the need, he'll get himself off. And if you think you can put him off, tease him a bit, then think again. He'll go off and masturbate to get himself off if need be. That will take the edge off of his passion and reduce a woman's hope for pleasure.

There is a solution to this. This male problem can be solved via enforced male chastity.

I will write about devices that I wear or have worn in the past, but rest assured, I speak from experience in this regard.

There are varying degrees of enforced male chastity, but the basic elements are a device that prevents male ejaculation (or arousal in some cases) and a way to secure said device so that the male in question cannot remove it without permission of the woman who has decided to take control of his sex life.

A lock with a key is the common method, though there are other ways, less secure but verifiable. Unless a woman is in a position of absolute authority to discipline the male, it is better to use a lock.

How long should you keep a man in such a device. Well, if you search the web, you can find all different answers. There are testimonials from women who say that a man should never be allowed to touch his own cock. They say that such an arrangement gives you total control, bonds a man completely to you, makes him your willing and pliant slave, because he knows all his worldly pleasure comes from you.

On the other end of the spectrum, there is short duration chastity, with which I am experienced.

Short term is usually a weekend for me. Locked up by my wife Friday before I head to work with the promise that I will be let free in time to head to work Monday morning. She isn't much of a dom, but she knows the power this gives her. She usually dangles the opportunity of early release as an incentive if I perform well.

I almost always win early release. By the time I get home on Friday night, the constant restraint of my cock having kept sex on my mind all day (not that I need much to do that) I am eager to please. And she is usually there, wearing boots, ready to be pleased.

She likes to start slow. We have dinner, I clean up and wash the dishes (I do that every night already) and then she will suggest that we relax and watch some television. Of course, she will have rubbed up against me over and over as I cleaned up, even inviting me to give her ass a little dry hump before telling me, "Maybe later."

We will watch TV. She will lay on the couch after I have sat down, resting her boots in my lap, nudging the restraint on the cock. After we are done, it will be time for me to strip and be ready while she puts on something more comfortable.

Usually she leaves the boots on and leads me back to the bedroom. She likes to have me start by fingering her. She enjoys my finger work and will usually ride out an orgasm on that before moving on.

Then the oral exercised begin. I bury my face between her thighs and go to work until I am told to stop. She admits to not liking oral all that much, but she does like making me do it because it is a good measure of my enthusiasm. Finally she will select a dildo and have me wear it in a harness and screw her through several positions until she is finally worn out.

Then it is time to sleep. She is tired. I take off her boots and put them away, rub her back for a little bit, then she goes to sleep.

Of course, I can't get to sleep. Not right away. I am as horny as can be. If I am lucky I can calm down in about an hour and fall asleep.

Saturday is about chores for her. Chores and back rubs and foot rubs and fetching things.

Saturday night she likes to rev me up a bit more, so she'll have me do some things that she knows will get me going. I might get to select the boots she will wear and I will certainly put them on her. Then she will have be kiss the boots, suck the spike heels, and generally indulge my fetish.

The she might tie me up and play with me, or give me a paddling, or have me lie face up on the bed and straddle my face and let me eat her while she grinds and moans on top of me. She will keep me focused on her while indulging me a little. Again I will bring her to orgasm again and again while my cock is held tight.

finally, if I have performed well, she will let me out and mount and ride me to climax. It usually does not take long. I have been on fire for two days and my cock is glazed in petroleum jelly used to keep things smooth in the device, so it can be a matter of sliding right in and shooting my load.

After that we both sleep quite well.

Of course, some times she keeps me in until Sunday morning for another round of fun for her. Once she even went until Sunday night. She has never kept me locked up until Monday morning. That is probably a good thing, as I would be a wreck at work.

So how eager am I after having been locked up and teased for a while?

I recall a cartoon I saw on the subject once that illustrates how eager to please men can be when locked up. It featured a woman lying on her stomach on a bed, looking over a list in her hand. He husband, his member locked up tight, is behind her, his face buried between her ass cheeks, obviously rimming her quite passionately. As she is looking at the list the woman is commenting, "Well, there is another item off your list of things you said you would never do. What is next?"

I would do that and more if my wife asked. In fact, one of my disappointments is that she won't demand more. I imagine her putting on the harness and screwing me with the strap on or just making me suck it clean after I have used it on her. I know I would gladly tongue ream her or do any number of things. In that state I am pliable in the extreme. I wish she would test my limits. Ah, such is life.

The Art of Namio Harukawa

Namio Harukawa is probably my favorite fetish artist.

The women in his art, with their full hips, round asses, shapely legs, and ample breasts, are something of a feminine ideal to me. They are proud and savage with their Gaia-like Earth-mother bodies that ooze sexuality. They are strong, solid women, with the proud stature of Goddesses.

I don't just love big butts, I love the full big package.

The men, by comparison, appear weak and scrawny. They are usually a head shorter than the women and obviously their inferiors in every way. Their cocks are rarely shown, and when they are, they are the subject of ridicule or abuse.

The role of men in Harukawa's art is that of object or toy solely for the enjoyment of the women. The men are usually restrained, often painfully so, and have their faces driven deeply between the thighs or cheeks of the Goddesses who reign in these scenes.

There are many pictures from his collection that cause me to fantasize about being the hapless male shown, fully at the mercy of a well rounded woman. When I think of his portfolio, certain images always spring to mind:

• a small man in a hospital, kneeling at the foot of his iron framed bed, wrists tied the foot bars, and a Goddess nurse, uniform skirt pulled up to reveal stockings and no panties, pressing her sex so forcefully into the mans face that you can see his arms stretched the maximum and the ropes digging deep into his skin.
• a man tied between two bar stools on his knees, face up to act as a seat for a plump Gaia who sits serenely sipping a drink at the bar.
• a man in a small wooden cage, his head sticking out of a trap door in the top, help in place by ropes around his neck as his booted Mistress begins to wrap her legs around his head to squeeze him into her pussy and force from him all the pleasure he can give.

I love these pictures. I see them and I want to be the man in them, helpless before a Goddess eager to take her pleasure without regard to me.

Not that I want to act out every scene he has drawn. There are a number of pictures that feature the women passing fecal matter straight from their anus into the open mouth of one of these men. That makes me gag in revulsion. Yet even as I gag, knowing I could never be part of such an act, or similar pictures where men's mouths are quite obviously being used as a substitute for toilet paper, I am fascinated by the women and their power. I still want to be the men, if not in these exact circumstances.

Urine also features in more than a few of his pictures, though I find this less revolting. There are some of those scenes where I still want to be the man shown, even acting as a helpless urinal for the mighty Goddesses. I sometimes think about what my limits really are, how far I would go for a dominant woman, a Mistress. I think I could manage that, I think I could cross that line if ordered. I wouldn't ask for it, but to please a Goddess, to show my obedience, to demonstrate the level of degradation to which I am willing to sink in the service of such a woman, I think I would be able to take the plunge.

I have a link here to his artwork. Do not open this at work. This contains explicit pictures featuring scenes such as I have described above.

Namio Harukawa

If you go there, I hope you find something that you like, or at least get a feeling for what I am trying to express. The site contains the work of a number of other fetish artists. While the site is in Italian, it is easy enough to navigate.

Dressing for Pleasure

Of course I knew the day would come. I secretly hoped the day would come.

After a year or so of going out with a woman nicknamed Slim, I knew she would turn the tables on me. She had threatened as much when we first started going out.

Slim. She was 14 years older than me, a woman in her late 30s. I was young, nubile, and eager to serve.

In general, I heartily approve of older women having younger boy toys. Somebody has to teach them. Slim was pretty good, but had too many other issues in her life for us to be long term. She could have owned me for the rest of her life if she wasn't more than a little messed up herself.

I met Slim at a friend's party. She was wearing a very low cut dress, dark blue sequins at the top over a black skirt, and was sitting down next to where I was standing. She caught me looking down the front of her dress. She said she sized me up right there, knew she could have me if she wanted me. She was, of course, right.

We started going out. A Dom/sub relationship, part time, was established. But I began to annoy her a bit. Being eager and young, I was always trying to run things from the bottom, especially when it came to her attire. I was like a broken record in those days, yet bad at communicating.

What I wanted to let her know was, here are the keys to the kingdom. If you're wearing boots and black stockings, I will fall over myself in obedience, lust will make me the most pliable toy you have, and my limits will fade.

What I said was "Are you going to wear your boots? I like when you wear a garter belt and stockings. I love high heels. I like it when you wear those leather gloves." On and on I went. I am sure I would have spent a lot more time gagged if she did not have better uses for my mouth.

So early on, when I was whining about what she should wear, she warned me that if I was so obsessed with women's clothes, maybe she would dress me up some time.

The thought both scared and thrilled me.

I had tried on women's apparel before. Nothing about dressing up as a woman thrilled me particularly. It isn't an activity I spent a lot of time with.

This threat came up a couple more times. Then one day we went shopping.

We did not go any place special. J.C. Penny's as I recall. There she bought a plain white garter belt, very utilitarian, with metal hardware and a pair of white stockings to go with it. She also bought panties and a satin cream colored camisole top.

She did not announce in advance that these items were for me. We were just going shopping. Slim was nearly 6' tall, so just a few inches shorter than I was, so buying items that fit me would nearly be the same as buying items that fit her.

When we got home though, I did find out what was up. I was told to strip in the bathroom, then come in the bedroom when she summoned me.

She left me waiting for a while. (There is nothing that builds up anxiety or worry in a slave like just waiting for something to happen. Never be in a hurry.) When she finally summoned me into the bedroom, arrayed on the bed were her new purchases. I thought she might be wearing them, but instead she had shucked off her jeans, put on a skirt and a pair of her boots, both black. She also had a riding crop in her hand.

She said, "You are always telling me how to dress, now I am going to let you experience it."

I was told to put everything on.

The white stockings had seams down the back. I did not notice this as I put them on, but she did. I was directed with the riding crop to keep them straight. I ended up taking the stockings off and putting them back on again after a few swats aimed at my awkward adjustments.

The stockings on, I fumbled with the garter belt. In this she had done me a favor. The big shiny metal hardware was easy for me to deal with. I was able to get the garter belt on and attached to the stockings almost right. One garter was twisted. The crop demanded correction. I redid the garter.

Then I pulled on the white panties. They were opaque and of a silky material, with lace about the waistband and leg holes. My hard cock bulged in them. Yes, I was excited by this. The panties soon betrayed the stain of anticipatory pre-cum.

Then the satin camisole went on. This was a bit small on me, which made it tough to get on without ripping it, and I dared not do that. The crop again encouraged me along, biting at my ass and thighs if I was slow.

Then I was dressed. She walked about, appraising my efforts. I was sloppy, awkward, and slow. I would need a lot of practice I was told. But I had done well enough to earn a reward.

A reward!

She brought out a box. In it was a pair of black patent pumps. They had 5" heels. They had locking straps that went around the ankles. They were in my size. "Put them on" she said.

I did, carefully sliding my feet into them. Before I could stand up she knelt, fastened the hasps on the ankle straps and padlocked them.

Now I had to walk around. I fell back on the bed on my first attempt to stand. The second attempt had me upright but wobbly. Then I was given walking lessons. The crop again lashed out as I was instructed in how I was to walk. Graceful steps, one foot in front of the other, move my hips, show her what a little slut I was.

She made me practice for well over an hour. After I began to get good, she sat down and just watched, relaxing as I strutted around at her command. She had me sit down and stand up again for a while. Then more walking. To this day I can walk in high heels without much effort. I get little or no practice, but that day of training still sticks with me.

Eventually I was deemed adequate, then told we were onto other activities. Off came the panties.

Back in the bedroom, my home made spreader bar came out. It was a 3' dowel with an eye screw in either end and another in the middle. Leather fleece lined cuffs were put on my wrists. I was told to lay in the center of our king sized bed.

The spreader bar was clipped onto the straps of the high heels. Another double clip help me wrists together at one end, then my wide spread legs were pulled up and clipped to the wrist cuffs with the other end of the clip. So I lay on the bed, wide spread legs in the air, ass exposed.

Then she began to finger my ass. She was applying lubricant to it. She inserted a finger, then two, loosening me up. She had done that before, done it so well as to prostate milk me unintentionally. This time though she wanted to use more than fingers.

A nice, new, blue vibrator came into play. Made for ass play I suppose, it was rippled. She turned it on and let it slowly loosen up my anus. She had found I had trouble relaxing myself for penetration, but a vibrator seemed to do the trick. With some patience, she had slowly slid the whole vibrator into me and began moving it in and out.

She was so gentle yet firm with my ass, I loved her for that. Later, another woman would try to penetrate me with a dildo by just cramming it in me with out any, what I will call, anal foreplay. I screamed. My ass ached for days. I'll put my ass up for use, but warm it up please before going nuts.

And, leaving the vibrator in my ass, she came up and kissed me, whispering in my ear in her husky, bedroom voice, "Who is my little slut?"

I was. I had felt awkward, self conscious, foolish, and embarrassed putting on the clothes, but now I felt awesome in them, horny, slutty, and being screwed in the ass by a beautiful Goddess.

"I am Mistress" I said softly.

"I know," she replied in barely a whisper, the proceeded to straddle my face to take her own pleasure from the situation. She always rode my face roughly. There was no need for me to do anything other than press against her. She wasn't interested in my mouth, except as a warm up. I might suck on her clit for a short bit, but once she got going she wanted to get herself off on every contour of my face. It could be brutal at times, like being alternatively punched, crushed, and smothered, with her thrusting and grinding herself on my face. I have never felt so used by a woman as when she used my face as her sex toy. And I have never felt so satisfied having myself used in any way. She did not hold back on expressing her pleasure when it was good for her.

Eventually she rolled off of me, my face slick with her juices. She lay there for a bit, breathing heavily at first then calming down. Finally she sat up to examine me, still legs in the air. She smiled and reached over to turn the vibrator up a notch. Pre-cum was dripping from me. She looked at my full hard on and said, "I'd like to ride that too, but I know you would last about a second and then I would have to beat you. I'm too tired now to beat you."

She sat up and ran a hand over me thighs and butt cheeks, appraising the redness, tracing especially interesting welts with a finger tip.

"I suppose you've had enough for today."

She picked up the panties I had been wearing from the bed, draped them over my cock, grabbed it firmly and stroked it about five times before I was shooting my load and moaning for her to let go.

I was instantly so much butter. She unlocked me and let me lay on the bed. The cuffs, bar, and shoes went on the floor. She cuddled up to me, kissing me, stroking me, and telling me what a good little slut I had been, for a first timer. Eventually we wanted to sleep. I removed her boots for her, always my job, and then she undressed and got into bed.

I started to try to get out of the camisole, but she stopped me with a word. "No! Clean yourself up a bit, but come to bed dressed as you are. You'll have better dreams."

I had sexy, wonderful dreams, I must admit. And in the morning, I wasn't just sore from her crop or her using me. My legs were sore from walking around in high heels for so long. But all of it was good soreness.

Now, years later, I dream about being used like that again. I still have the high heels. Who wants to see if I can still walk in them?

See what you've done Slim!

Cable Ties in the Lab

I was in the fourth floor lab earlier today and saw a package of black plastic cable ties.

Here is how big of a perv I am. The sight of those cable ties got me aroused.

I can just imagine being bound, wrists and ankles secured, with tight plastic biting into my skin. Like handcuffs, once those ties are on, you need help getting out. I see myself secured in the server room by a woman in boots, blindfolded and teased, not knowing what will happen. Will she let me go? Will she leave me here for somebody else to find? Why did I let her talk me into this... or why must I obey so well?

And these cable ties are black. Even better. Black is so wonderful.