“You are nothing but a boot cleaner. Do you understand?”

I am wearing my beautifully shined thigh-high PVC boots, perfectly laced all the way up. Slave T has an opportunity to worship them, but he must beg for the privilege. On his knees before me, his pathetic attempts at pleading are laughable. He must prove to me that he is worthy to worship my boots, and I remind him that they have been well worn around the dungeon and that they will be very dirty. He attempts to beg and plead again, but it is cut short as he prematurely puts his tongue out to try and reach my boot hovering clo...

“You are nothing but a boot cleaner. Do you understand?”

I am wearing my beautifully shined thigh-high PVC boots, perfectly laced all the way up. Slave T has an opportunity to worship them, but he must beg for the privilege. On his knees before me, his pathetic attempts at pleading are laughable. He must prove to me that he is worthy to worship my boots, and I remind him that they have been well worn around the dungeon and that they will be very dirty. He attempts to beg and plead again, but it is cut short as he prematurely puts his tongue out to try and reach my boot hovering close to his face. He is desperate, he wants to taste the PVC and dirt on his tongue so badly, almost in tears as he continues to plead for worship. I finally allow him to adore my boots- but there is a catch. He is granted permission to lick and kiss the surface of the boots, but I plan to use his tongue to clean the soles and rub it raw. He gently kisses my boots, but I grow tired of his slow approach so I grab his head and push his face onto the PVC. He reacts with moans of eagerness, and he soon learns his lesson as he vigorously adores my boots with his mouth.

I instruct my boot slave to lift his head and stick his tongue out. I rub the sole of each boot in turn over his wet and willing tongue, scraping all of the dirt off. He is nothing more than my boot cleaner, simply used for my enjoyment and boot cleaning requirements. He tries to move his head away to avoid the pressure I’m putting onto his tongue, but I instruct him to move forward again- he can’t escape his duties. I change to a faster rhythm, pressing each sole up to his tongue in quick succession, one after the other.

I continue to scrape my boot soles over his tongue, the noise of each abrade cements his place as my boot cleaner. I remind him that he must show enthusiasm while worshipping my boots, even though his tongue may be sore. I tell him to lay on his back on the floor, so that I can torment him further. Open mouthed and tongue exposed, I drag my boot sole over his sore tongue and trample his face and chest. I shove one of my heels into his mouth, and challenge him to deepthroat it. He gags and splutters as he sucks it, enjoying it far too much for my liking- proving that his boot bitch would do anything to worship my thigh high boots.