I’m never quite sure what other travelers think of me. A woman alone, of indiscernible age, wearing a combination of understated designer clothing while also displaying visible tattoos—high-quality and artistic, yes, but still full coverage style of tattooed person which is slightly an ‘in your face’ aesthetic by definition. The juxtaposition rattles so many, it’s cute seeing my presence and style alien illicit such responses. I feel powerful affecting strangers by simply being me and dressing well. I notice their curiosity—where I’m traveling alone, how I can afford a business-class upgrade or a boutique hotel stay for just one night. Clearly passing through, yet indulging in a little luxury for myself—as I always do
I am rarely curious in response, mainly because seeing a family , couple or a business traveler isn’t mysterious as to why they are traveling. The well dressed, expensive looking woman or man in business row 2E looks exactly like they belong. Boring. Uninteresting to me.
Which is why I was taken by surprise in Bruges when I stopped along a much longer route, and met a rather curious fellow solo traveler who drew my eye. I was driving through Europe to land for a few months in a new city. I chose Bruges as it was historic, ornate and a new city to me. The hotel I chose for my one night pass by was a restored old building done up to be a Castle-esque stay. The rooms, huge by design turned into suites, mine with a golden bathtub at the end of the room facing the bed.
Upon checking in the hotel owner Had prepared a little cheese plate and champagne As a welcome so I sat in the front room enjoying it while checking messages and noticed the only other guest was just arriving himself. He was late 30’s early 40’s, well taken care of type, tall Dutch looking and traditionally handsome. He was wearing a simple tracksuit top but paired with a well cut blazer. The combination of all that caught my eye for some reason and so I let my eyes wander. His shoes were expensive, Italian leather, not sure on brand but clearly nice and he was wearing some kind of fancy watch. I’m not altogether educated on high end watches and jewelry but something about it told me it was such. He caught me taking him in visually and somehow managed to smile confidently while blushing. This combo sent a wave of heat through my body and I shifted in my seat. He turned back to the hotel owner so I uncrossed my legs slowly watching for his reaction.
Though I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, I could tell his words faltered. He shifted slightly, his peripheral vision entirely engaged with me. I re crossed my legs, the top leg now facing slightly towards him. My McQueen wool dress fell just above my knee, my opaque denier stockings concealing my tattoos while accentuating the curves of my thighs and calves. He glanced ever so slightly,his eyes starting at my knee and running down to the Louboutin leather booties I was wearing rather than up to my thighs. Ah, a shoe or foot lover are we. I smiled to myself purposely looking away as I sipped on my champagne.
I heard them walking towards the room I was seated in and as they approached I could understand that the hotel owner was going to coordinate the missing luggage arrival and my new, flustered, hotel mate was preparing to stay for the extra nights needed to receive the missing luggage.
He was given the same cheese boards and champagne and offered a seat across from me on the opposing sofa. He was equal parts nervous and excited. It was like I could smell it on him. I let the tension build between us a little, allowing his eyes to dart towards my legs and boots but never quite reaching my eyes. Finally his gaze dared to look up at me, he had gathered his confidence it seemed. I let his eyes settle on mine for a moment, his lips parted as if to say something and in that moment I uncrossed my legs and lifted the top one onto the table, presenting my thin, stiletto heeled boot for the room, aiming at him.
“I think you like my boots and can’t stop staring at them.” I said calmly, no air of accusation, yet.
He coughed and laughed at the same time.
‘I do, I really do. And I apologise if it was rude to… or if it was obvious that I was admiring them. They really are something but especially on you…’ he trailed off.
The nervous yet confident response set my hormones souring and I immediately wanted to be closer to him. To feel the heat of his body beneath his shirt. To get a whiff of his pheromones.
“Apology accepted, although just because I take it doesn’ mean I disliked you admiring them so obviously. One could say you were ogling.”
He blushed. The ever so slight disciplinary tone of my last sentence had affected him in the way I was hoping. I leaned forward and ran my hand down my leg towards the boot, stopping just before the leather began, his eyes following my hand but looking up at me when it stopped. His inhale was audible now, sharp and needy, betraying his self-control. I held his gaze intently and moved my hand but allowing my whole arm to move so it would be even more visible, down to the pointed toe of the Louboutin. I saw his struggle, his eyes fighting to hold the gaze I had requested without words of him to hold, while everything else in him was pulling his focus to where and what my hand was doing. Unspoken, I gave him permission to look by looking down, myself, towards my own hand which was now stroking the soft leather upper of my boot. Slowly he followed and let out his breath finally. He was breathing really heavily now, watching my hand stroking my own boot, holding his breath slightly whenever my fingers would trace the arch or flirt with going down further to touch the stiletto heel. All of this was causing my own body to react, the heat between my legs starting to reach levels I felt I may not be able to control.
Few realize the restraint a Dominant must exercise when their own arousal reaches fever pitch. It’s an art, one of control, patience, and discipline. But I know the rewards of drawing out anticipation far too well to surrender to urgency.
I let my finger slip down onto the thin black and red backed heel and stroked it with two fingers. His breath got so heavy, I could feel heat emanating from his body and I felt my pussy flinching beneath my skirt. Neither of us realized how close he had leaned in, mere inches from my boot. My resolve disintegrated. In that instant, I decided to take what I wanted I lifted my foot up and put my boot directly onto his face. In his shock he gasped and threw his hands full out the side to steady himself, but he did not move an inch. He stayed still with my red sole pressed against his heavy breathing mouth. I was breathing hard now. We both sat there for a moment, mirroring each other, broke hands on either side of us on the sofas, both of us breathing heavily. The only difference was one counterpart had their Louboutin, so Kate boot, on the other’s face.
I lowered my foot, and for a moment, we just stared at each other, both acutely aware of the risk, the sheer improbability of what had just happened. The thrill of it pulsed between us, impossible to ignore. I licked my lips and parted them to speak. He mirrored me, his own mouth opening in silent anticipation, I couldn’t help but break into a huge smile. The tension between us was unbearable, sending a sharp, electric thrill through me. I was struggling just as much as he was.
“I’m in the antique room on the top floor at the end of the hallway. I want you to come up 90 seconds after I leave this sofa and knock on the door. Do you understand my instructions?”
‘Yes Ma’am, I do. Thank you Ma’am.’
Ma’am wasn’t something I was used to as an honorific but The way he used it seems so organic as it was something that was natural for him to say and it sounded so right to me in that moment
I got up, finished the last of my champagne, bent forward to put the glass down, looking him in the eye whilst doing so, stood up straightened my clothes holding his eye contact and then turned (literally on my heel) and walked out of the room with my heart rate beating so heavily I could hear it in my ears. Or maybe it was his heartbeat I could hear, I couldn’t tell anymore.
Upstairs, I walked into the room and sat directly across from the door on the bed. I looked at my watch and waited.
95 seconds later, I heard a knock at the door, and my smile couldn’t have been any bigger. I told him to enter and when he did, he closed the door behind him and lowered his gaze to the floor.
“Get on your knees for me,” I lulled. He obeyed immediately, his hands clasped behind his back. I could tell he had some experience, if not formal training in my world. His head remained bowed as I stood, walking toward him. The sound of my boots, the very ones that had facilitated this encounter, seemed so much louder in the thick silence and private enclosed space we were now in.
I circled him, as I always seem to do when I have a man kneeling before me. I’m not sure if I’m observing them, evaluating them, or maybe both. It is always so enjoyable for me, to have such an effect on them by doing so little. Simply walking around a man and feeling the way his breath quickens, the way muscles will tense and relax almost autonomously from his control. Or when their body begins to tremble with both the intensity of having me in such close proximity combined with not knowing what I will do next.
These moments, the circling of my prey, are some of my favorites. The clear display of the power dynamic. The obvious intoxication if gives me and the thrill that gives them. The quiet, barely moving exchange that is flying between us before anything has ‘happened’ The power I hold in my footsteps, in my hand and in my gaze. Sometimes, I want this moment to stretch on forever and I guess in some ways, it does.
I came around the front and placed my foot between his legs. Leaning down, I placed my hands on his face—the first time we had touched skin to skin. I let my lips brush against the shell of his ear and whispered:
“I want you to kiss my thighs, starting from the top, all the way down to my ankle. But you are to not permitted to kiss my boots. Yet.”
He inhaled sharply.
‘Yes, Ma’am. And again, thank you for this, ma’am’ The last part was weighted and breathy.
He lifted his head, looking at me with my hands still cradling his face. He was beautiful. So handsome. Traditionally handsome. It always feels special when a man like this kneels for me. The kind of man society wouldn’t allow in this role. As if submission is reserved only for the weak, the unsuccessful. It’s fun seeing the reality though, kneeling before you with big handsome eyes and muscles lightly flexing under business shirts. Delectable, even.
He shifted higher on his knees, and I lifted my skirt so the top of my thigh was visible. He placed his hands at the outer sides of my thighs and looked up once more, as if seeking both final a permission and silently asking God ‘is this real?’.
I nodded and he leaned forward and kissed my thighs, ever so delicately. He followed my instructions perfectly, moving slowly, kissing both legs equally—which impressed me. He moved lower and lower, finally reaching my knees, kissing them softly rather than ignoring them simply because they weren’t traditionally sexual. Good, I thought.I appreciate these little notes of attentiveness. Of adoration.
He moved down further. I could feel his breath labored, warm and increasingly unsteady. His body tensed the closer he got to my boots, which, of course, was precisely why I had given him this task. He kissed along my shins, then the insides of my calves. As he reached above my ankle, where my boots began, he stopped, breathing heavily for a moment.
There, he pressed a very slow, very thoughtful and warm kiss to the opaque nylon covering my skin just above where the edge of the boot began. The boot we both could so desperately feel throbbing below us, like the shiniest, horniest elephant in the room, only, encasing my beautiful feet. He looked up at me.
“Kiss all the way back up.” He obeyed, kissing his way back up my legs. As he reached the top of my thighs, I lifted my skirt higher and guided his face so close—close enough to feel the warmth of my arousal against his skin. “You’re making this part of my body very excited.
‘You make every part of my body excited, Ma’am.’
I laughed warmly, pulling his face back but not letting it go,. I guided him lower, his face tilting downward toward my boot. Then, bending over myself, I let my lips firmly press into his ear as I gave my next instructions.
“Worship them. I want you to lick them, like you’re going to lick me.”