"I'm BORED!" Deirdre exclaimed a little too loudly for my taste. At least she wasn't whining. I can't

stand it when Dommes whine.

"So am I," Corinne added with a touch of ennui in her complaint, apparently brought on by the tedium

of the long afternoon. "I want something to happen. I want some excitement. I'm so weary of the same

old same old," she finished, "that I think I'm in a rut."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two of our boys - mine and Deirdre's -- eyeballing each other with a

hint of apprehension in their gaze. I don't think they expected me to be looking at them at that

moment. What I saw must have been a private communication of trepidation between them. They

should have known better.

We don't allow our toys to talk to each other without permission. I made a mental note of that

particular transgression to be addressed later between my boy and me. Right now, we needed some

entertainment. I've learned that there's nothing more morose - or more dangerous - than a bored

Domme.

We had just walked our boys around the grounds and they seemed happy to have been outside for a

while. Their skin glistened with perspiration brought about by the hot mid-day sunshine and their tans

were getting deeper every day. Removing their bindings and other leather accoutrements helped reduce

their tan lines. With their leashes hanging down between their legs, I couldn't help but notice how

perfect their glowing skin seemed. I felt my mouth water a little.

I like my boy healthy-looking and that's the same look I have chosen for myself. Once, I tried wearing

leather but it wasn't comfortable -- it chafed and it was hot. White shorts and a T-shirt are comfortable

in the summertime, especially during the summer in the South where it seems always to be blistering.

And when I walk my boy outside or take him out for a run, I wear comfortable shoes. I mean, why

should I wear high heels when sneakers are so cozy and foot-friendly?

We take good care of our boys and used lots of sunscreen on their precious skin. Mine has skin so soft

and wonderful that sometimes I fear I'll tear it when the mood strikes me. In fact, when the girls get

together to let the boys have some group exercise, we give them bottles of the SPF-30 stuff and have

them smear it all over each other, reaching into those nooks and crannies that are hard to reach

yourself.

And we inspected them all very well, inside and out. I didn't need any skin cancer problems with my

toy, nope, he was too valuable to me. I take excellent care of my toys, which is why I get along so well

with Deirdre and Corinne and Bev. When my friends value their boys, too, I have no need to explain

to them why I take such good care of mine. And why I won't hurt him - well, at least not too much.

But the girls were bored. I looked up from my second mint julep that the houseboy brought and

caught a few of the condensation drips in my hand. I counted silently. "One. Two." Francois rushed in

with a napkin and stood silently, straight and tall, until I chose to take it from his offering hands. I like

it when my boy shows that he can think for himself and get me what I need almost before even I

realize that I need it.

I think that's why I like the new houseboy so much. At first, I had to work with him to get him to the

place where he could communicate silently with me and let me tell you, that was a real struggle. His

gray hair used to fly in the breeze as he rushed around doing things, but he couldn't seem to figure out

just what it was that I wanted unless I specifically told him.

He took excellent care of my toys, though, and I kept him around for that until he figured out how to

communicate better with me. In fact, he helped me acquire a superior toy collection and I was thinking

of taking a rider out on my insurance just for the entire assortment of gadgets. On a visit to the

locksmith, he insisted on having all my padlocks single-keyed and then ordered at least a half-dozen

keys, just for safety. That's when I realized he was a keeper.

Cute and fuzzy, I nicknamed him, "Teddybear," and he hated it.

"So what would make you happy?" I questioned no one in particular as Francois stood stiff and

straight beside my chair. He knew better than to move a muscle. Sometimes I played with him, just to

see if he could maintain that rigid posture.

When I dropped my left hand to his thigh, I felt him shudder, but he didn't flinch an inch. I'm not sure

that the girls saw it or even noticed it, but I did, and after all, I am all that matters to Francois. If I'm

happy, he's happy - and relieved. My hand played with his naked thigh and my fingernails eased their

way up to his groin. No, I wouldn't make him hard, I giggled silently, not in front of the others. It'd be

too humiliating to him.

That groin was mine and I loved exploring him there.

As Deirdre responded, my nails dug slightly into Francois's fabulous skin.

"I dunno, Abbie," she began, "but I know I want something! I want something different." I sighed,

almost hearing the italics in her voice and knowing that I would probably have to think up something

'different.' It was so hot outside that I didn't feel the energy to think up even anything boring.

Watching Francois's face tense in reaction to my probing fingernails, I saw Corinne beckon her boy to

her side. Damn, she was getting antsy such watching me play with my toy. I like it when Dommes react

to what I do.

She never said a word to him; instead, she just pointed toward the Oriental carpet. Smart boy - he knelt

at her feet, waiting for a command. The problem was that she didn't have a command to give him.

Corinne seemed just as depleted of kinky thought as were the rest of us.

Corinne's tan line showed evidence of her gold chain belt. I wasn't sure where she had it made, but I

adored the way she latched her boy to it. It was humorous watching him scurry along when she walked,

rather than feel the tug against whichever ring she dressed him in that day. Her style was real

professional, yet warm at the same time and he had beautiful hand-made rings in a variety of colors.

But when she broke into a jog, or worse, into a trot, the poor boy had to scamper to avoid feeling his

organs jerked around. I'm sure she did it on purpose, but it was marvelous to watch her train him to

keep in step.

Deirdre's boy stood alone on the other side of the room making eye contact with Bev's, only Bev was

still in the bathroom and didn't see any of it taking place. I was fairly sure she wouldn't approve of the

silent communication, but what the heck, those two weren't my boys and therefore weren't my

problems. The girls were my enigma at the moment. My clouded brain was reacting to two mint juleps

and my fingers were busy in Francois's crotch.

"Different," I mused aloud, "something different." I bounced Francois's lovely balls absent-mindedly

in my palm while I pondered. "Don't you sometimes think we've done everything when we can't even

come up with a kinky thought or two on a beautiful afternoon like this?"

The girls giggled and Bev returned from the bathroom with a question mark instead of a smile. I felt

the need to inform her of our indifference and un-Domme-like complaining about our kinky apathy.

But Bev didn't want to listen to bored Domme talk. Instead of paying attention to my moaning and

groaning, she turned her attention to her boy and beckoned him to her side.

"Have you been good while I've been away?" she asked just a little sarcastically. In fact, her tone made

me wonder if she had been eavesdropping visually from the hallway. The thought of that surreptitious

view made me smile. Bev was great when she was angry. I could almost feel the palpable trepidation

that suddenly filled her boy with dread. He also knew - probably better than I did -- exactly how she

was when was angry.

Dommes are funny when they're irritated and Bev was the kind of Domme who occasionally took her

emotions out on the keyboard. Some of her best work was done when a sub infuriated her and I made

it my business to antagonize her just a little when I felt the fury build inside. She did her best writing

when I got under her skin.

But when the Domme-fit hit her, I knew to watch out! First Bev would start a story, then she'd reenact

every iota of torture on the first sub she could lay her hands on. I mean, once when she was

particularly displeased, she duct-taped one of them once just to see if it were better than wax for hair

removal. It wasn't, but it made a great story.

Bev's fingers just flew when she was emotional and nothing will get you more fervent than a truculent

sub.

Unsure if an answer were required and in all likelihood a too scared to speak, the boy knelt silently with

his head down. If he were my boy, I'd have known instantaneously that something had happened and

probably just punished him quickly and publicly then gotten to the nature of the infraction later

privately when I had time. I wasn't sure if Bev were equally insightful into her toy - after all; she had

this one only a few weeks. It takes time to develop a rapport with a new boy and start to read his

thoughts.

And we all know that empathy is a Domme's most important trait. That's why I'm especially careful

never to intercede between a Domme and her boy - not unless she specifically asks for my help.

Bev eased back on the chair-and-a-half and rested her feet on the coffee table, a sight that my boy

didn't miss; after all, he's the one who cleans the table and I'm sure he was concerned about what was

on the bottom of her sneakers.

I think Bev tans the best of all of us. Somehow, even though we all get the same amount of sun, she

just always has the deepest tan. I bet she goes to the tanning booth when she's not with us, and I

wonder if she takes Bryce along to clean the bed or to rub tanning accelerator on her hard-to-reach

parts. What a sight that would be! A sub on his knees, reaching those precious parts on his nude

Domme and unable to touch her except for the job he was doing. Being treated like just a worker when

faced with his Mistress's nakedness -- I bet that made him crazy!

I might even have to try that with Francois, just to see how he reacts. My, my what a concept -- it was

enough to make me just a little wet. The thought of my boy on his knees applying oil to every part of

my body excited me, especially with the image of his leash hanging between his legs, waiting for me to

enter the tanning bed and drag him along with me as I walked. I could almost feel his scurrying across

the tiled floor to keep up with my cadence to avoid feeling the leash's sting as I changed my pace.

Francois was staring at the coffee table and at Bev's legs.

In fact, when I looked at his eyes, I noticed that he was really staring more at her feet, not at her legs or

the table at all. All I could see were her two white socks shining brilliantly

against deeply bronzed skin. What did the boy see? What intrigued him?

My fingers continued playing with his lovely shaved testicles as I bounced them aimlessly in my fingers.

Francois was sturdy; he had solid thighs, great calves because I ran him a few times a week that I called

the "running of the Frenchman," and thin hips with tight-as-a-drum asscheeks. That backside was one

of his best qualities. I loved watching him masturbate for my entertainment, especially because he

threw his whole body into the show and his cheeks humped diligently and forcefully up and down as

he got closer and closer to climax. Sometimes, I was so aroused by his ass that I just had to reach out

and grab both sides with a hard grip and squeeze.

I think he finally figured out just why I wanted him to turn his back to me when he masturbated and

why I insisted that he face me when he was ready to come. You see, I just love seeing a male's face

when he reaches orgasm. It's a wonderful sight! It makes me wet just watching him in that moment of

insanity that overtakes all of them - that moment when nothing is there except a penis in his hand,

when his entire being is wrapped up in stroking himself, when his fingers are his fervor and his

backside bounces so tantalizingly in plain sight. Once or twice, I've put him on display at our gettogethers

because I think he does the best masturbating of any sub I've had.

Francois smiles when I tell him to turn and face me. He knows what's coming.

And his ass is so wonderful to look at that I get envious gazes from my Domme friends when I show

him off at parties or socials or display him at an occasional showing, and nothing - NOTHING - is

better than Domme envy. I luxuriate when other Dommes are jealous of a new male toy I've taken.

That's why I'm very choosy in selecting my boys.

But what I was watching now was another thing completely. Francois was completely taken with

something about Bev, or her legs, and I didn't know what it was. This Frenchman entered my life one

cold and clear February night yet at the moment I met him, he was a stranger to me but from the

instant that I laid eyes on him I had a simultaneous feeling that I could read him inside and out.

But his head was somewhere else right now - someplace he hadn't been before, at least not while he

was mine.

Like when I first touched his neck: he shuddered. It wasn't sexual nor was it kinky, I merely laid my

fingers on his neck and brought his eyes to stare at mine. That's how we very often communicate - in a

sort of special silence. Even though he was on his knees and I was sitting in a straight-backed chair, he

was tall enough for me to pull his face right up close to mine and tell him special things that I insisted

that he remember. I like subs that serve in quiet.

Sometimes I think I should have Bev write a story about that - a sort of quiet sub story. After all, she's

the writer among us.

First meetings with subs are critical to building sound relationships.

That night I told him the straight-backed chair's meaning. I opened my knees, just a pinch, and pointed

to the inside of my skirt.

"This place is for your penis," I informed him as I opened and closed my knees, "and if you ever

require it, that's where it's

going." I waited and watched his eyes to ascertain whether or not he got my point. And I always use

correct vocabulary. I'm just that kind of Domme.

Francois got almost immediately hard and I realized he understood - and I figured out right then and

there that he liked the idea.

Every male requires a sound spanking once in a while to keep him in line and to make sure that he

perceives how deeply I take his actions - and inaction. I need my subs to comprehend what I want

even when I don't specifically outline every detail. A sub that can't think for himself is of no use to me.

Francois fathomed what I meant and because it was our first night together, I decided to show him

what a good spanking was. Reaching down, I took his semi-hard penis, lifted and dragged him up and

over my knees, being extremely careful to place his half-limp organ between them. Pressing my legs

together, I felt his growing rigidity - and maybe even a few drops of excitement as well.

That's when I knew he'd be a great sub. I didn't realize, but I had an inkling, that he had the makings of

a fabulous one.

With his asscheeks raised high and his right hand on the Oriental carpet for balance, I gripped his left

wrist and pulled it straight toward the middle of his back. I felt him both wince and breathe deeply at

the same time. Oh, he was going to be fun!

The straight-backed chair is situated in a tranquil room right next to an end table on which I keep a few

items ready. As I dampened his cheeks with a little alcohol to enhance his experience, I opened the

drawer silently and took out my best silver hairbrush. I mean, this was his first night and I wanted the

encounter to be quite memorable for him.

I also don't mess around when I'm spanking.

The first stroke was hard - harder than I think he anticipated - and his reaction was delicious. He

squirmed, and that motion rubbed his hardening and damp organ between the folds of my skirt. He

gasped. I was gratified that he didn't yelp or complain, after all, when I got him, they told me he was

trained, at least minimally. But he did that little squirm thing and I was delighted.

The second and third strokes were quick and without delay - one landed on each cheek, firmly and

soundly. He needed to know that I meant business. To his credit, he never rebelled, but I was

absolutely certain I had surprised him with the force of my blows.

But the fourth stroke was momentous for our new relationship because his legs started to quiver. I

guess I got him in his sweet spot - the place that when a boy is struck there, he can't control his

reaction. Those legs started trembling on their own, as if they were detached from his body. I don't

think he could have stopped them from shuddering if he tried and I'm sure he had no idea he was even

doing it.

That's what turns me on - when their minds unlock and their bodies take over.

If I had a magic marker, I would have put a great big "X" on that spot - the place that was now turning

beet red in the candlelight. I made the best mental note I could and struck him there one more time,

just to make sure that I had the right place. A Domme's got to be exact - and careful - especially with a

new boy.

I did. His legs almost bounced and every time his hips vibrated, his penis rubbed harder and harder

against the fabric of my skirt. I'm pretty sure he didn't even realize what his body was doing to him,

and that made the entire event even more exhilarating. I swatted him a sixth and then a seventh time,

this time repeating the individual cheek blows so I could enjoy the colorful display his ass was creating

for my enjoyment.

I stopped for a moment and dripped some rubbing alcohol on his red spots and felt him fidget as the

liquid's coolness decorated his burning cheeks. Intentionally, I allowed some of it to dribble between

his cheeks and let gravity take it to that sweet spot and when it hit, I had to grab his left wrist even

more firmly to keep him in place.

He was going to get ten, and I had three more to play with. The first of the final trio was directed at his

inner thigh and then for good measure, I added a second one to the inside of his other thigh. By now

he was bucking and humping between my knees and I allowed myself to relish his excitement. But I

needed a memorable place for the final stroke. Something he'd remember in the morning.

The choice seemed painfully obvious. I drooled a little more alcohol onto his sweet spot and held him

relentlessly in place as I watched his head swing from side to side with his dark hair flying about his

face. Poising my arm above his backside, I lowered it gently to tap his sweet spot, as if I were lining up

my stroke. Then, just to make him a little crazier, I tapped it again. In fact, I repeated the practice

tapping ceaselessly and enjoyed every thrust and hump his body performed as he hungered for the final

blow.

By now, he was moaning audibly, humping wildly and generating a cacophonous chorus of

unintelligible bodily movement that spoke only one word to me: delirium.

He was hungry for it - famished - starving for my touch. The longer I withheld the final blow, the more

maniacal he became. My skirt was damp from his secretions and my arm was almost weak from

holding him in place. Yet I loved every moment - every twist and turn and lunge he made - but I

especially fell in love with the way he lost track of everything in his reality except the physical presence

of a silver hairbrush poised directly above his bright red ass.

When they're hungry, I feed them. I take very good care of my subs.

I made him wait just a few moments longer and luxuriated in his personal insanity. Wild with desire, he

almost demanded the next stroke but knew better than to ask for it. In fact, he probably wanted more

than the ten I was prepared to give him, but an even ten made for a good introduction. I didn't want to

take him too fast too soon.

One final tap of brush against sweet spot and I was ready. By now, his ass was in a world of its own

and his hair, drenched with sweat, stuck to his scalp and forehead. I almost couldn't force myself to

deliver the blow. I wanted desperately to reach down, lift him by his hair and stare at his sweaty face.

But I gave him one more - a great one, I might add - directed toward that small red blot that I had

created in a magic place at the base of his cheeks. Even I was a little surprised at how much force I

could muster but Francois was more astonished, judging from his reaction.

I mean, the boy just bucked! His ass shot straight up into the air and his throat emitted a noise I'd

rarely before heard. It was a magnificent moment between us: our first night, his first spanking and the

first orgasm he performed for me. He learned several things that evening when he wet my skirt: how to

kneel between my legs and clean up his spilled semen and that he was granted fulfillment only when it

pleased me.

The other - and more important - lesson he received was that from the moment he entered my

household, his life as well as his comfort all depended on me.

Since that time, Francois has been dedicated to me, grateful for any spanking I offer him, and enduring

the disciplinary sessions with hardly a complaint. After all, some spankings are for fun, but their main

purpose is to let him know that he's displeased me. And I'm very good at that particular kind of

spanking. But that's another story.

Corinne moaned and that brought my attention back to Bev's feet on the coffee table and the way

Francois was staring at them.

"Damnit, Abbie," she complained, "you've got to come up with something amusing! After all, it's your

house."

That got at least a giggle from Deirdre but Bev seemed a little distant, like she - or her mind - was

somewhere else. I glanced at Francois and noticed he was still staring at Bev's feet. I was sure it was her

feet, too, not her legs. Feet? Francois liked feet? Why hadn't I realized that before?

In semi-disgust with our group boredom, Corinne also plopped her feet on the coffee table, a

serendipitous placement because it afforded me yet another view of Francois's admiration of two pair

of sneaker-clad Domme feet. I watched his eyes - I followed his gaze. Sure enough, just like he were

observing a tennis match at Wimbledon, those pupils of his darted from foot to foot to foot to foot

and then back again down the line of Domme sneakers that decorated the coffee table.

Damn! He was getting off on their feet! I could feel it in my fingers. He wasn't just dripping a little;

nope, he was getting downright clammy in my hand. I wanted to see more - to learn more about what

made this boy tick - so I figured the best thing to do was give him more of what he liked, just to see

what his reaction would be.

"Deirdre, lemme see the bottoms of your shoes," I half-demanded, half-requested, "to make sure we

didn't track anything into the house with us. Orientals are hard to clean," I explained and hoped they

would believe me. "Put your shoes up on the table and I'll have Francois check the soles." Without so

much as a peep of complaint or suspicion, Deirdre plopped her sneakered feet on the coffee table,

allowing my boy to inspect the rubber bottoms. After all, Deirdre also had some great Oriental rugs,

one rectangular dark blue one that I just adored, and she knew the disaster of mud on those particular

carpets.

His reaction was instantaneous. My hand felt it - the stiff hardness filled him and my fingers barely

could contain the discharge his body was emitting. I'm not even sure he realized his body was exposing

his lust to me, and by now, to the rest of the girls. Although his organ was fully in my hand expending

tankers full of precome, his eyes were fixed - and probably dilated - on three pairs of pure white

sneakers resting gracefully on the coffee table, only a few scant meters from his rock-hard dick.

Oh this was good! I had just discovered my boy's secret passion and I was certain that he didn't yet

grasp the fact that I knew it. This was a piece of information I certainly could use. And I fully intended

to use my new knowledge for my own, perhaps nefarious, purposes, like my personal entertainment. I

love it when my subs entertain me and I hadn't had such a good show since I found the ex-flyboy who

was desperate to wear high heels and

hose and never knew how to ask for it. When I discovered that particular piece of data, I used it to my

advantage. He became one very pretty flyboy and entertained us regularly until I traded him to a

Domme in Europe for Hans, but Hans is another story altogether.

I'm pretty sure that flyboy will always have fond memories of shopping in Nordstrom.

But the Frenchman was different. Hell, all subs are different, but now I knew that Francois plus

sneakers equaled hard on. That was the sort of algebra that I understood.

The girls wanted kinky afternoon recreation and I was about ready to give it to them.

"Francois, go over to Ms. Deirdre's shoes and inspect the soles," I ordered and the boy complied with

unabashed excitement for his upcoming mission. After all, it wasn't too often that he was allowed to fly

a sortie solo, especially when another Domme was involved. As he stepped away from me, I held onto

his shaft for a moment and let him figure out that I knew how hard he was. You see, being that hard in

front of my friends was embarrassing enough, but knowing that I knew it before he even realized it

himself would be absolutely mortifying to him. I loved it when subs were mortified - it was a fun

experience to watch them hang their heads, and other body parts, down. It was one of life's simple

pleasures.

Francois knelt on the far side of the coffee table to enable his eyes to peer directly at the bottoms of

her sneakers. His ass faced me, a position that I ordinarily adore him in, but just for good measure, I

kicked his ankles apart with my left sneaker so I could see his hardness press itself up against the side

of the coffee table. I wondered how long it would be before he was humping hard and fast against the

table's smooth edge.

"Do you see anything there that could stain my Orientals?" I asked as mildly as I could manage, but the

sight of his tight ass spread apart only a meter or two from my face was actually very exciting. I felt

myself shift in the chair.

The boy was becoming better trained, so he bobbed his hips up and down and whapped his hard shaft

against the table in a sort of affirmative salute. Of course, I had trained him to answer that way and I

was absolutely sure that the affirmative answer would give him opportunity to slide his drippy dick

against the table's edge. I liked my boys to communicate silently when they can and I do it back to

them; they just rarely realize I'm doing it. A single finger beckon is always much more effective than a

spoken sentence when you're training new boys.

"Can you clean those shoes?" I half-asked, half-demanded, and Francois's hips began that slow dance

of delight that I had seen a few times before, mostly during erotic spankings.

"Then go ahead," I concluded. Let the show begin.

He leaned in and drew his face to the soles of Deirdre's sneakers. By now, the three girls knew

something was up, but they're excellent Dommes and knew enough to sit silently and watch the events

unfold. Corinne caught my eye with a questioning glance, but I shook my head from side to side and

mouthed the word, "Watch."

Francois climbed halfway across the table to position himself closer to his goal. His long tongue, one

of his most endearing features, seemed troll-like as he flicked every speck of dirt from the shoes. For

five full minutes, he cleaned her feet before daring to take the next step. I could see the frenzy overtake

him - his hips gyrated, his back arched and his legs spread even farther apart. It was the act one of a

delightful show and it was far from being over.

Then it happened. Francois moved the side of his face an inch or two toward the canvas top of her

sneaker and rubbed gently against it. I put one finger up in the air to signal the girls to sit back, relax

and enjoy the performance. I had a feeling he was going to entertain us all.

Having received no reprimand and lusting in the implied permission I had granted, he rubbed his other

cheek slowly against the shoe's twin on her left foot. His face was ensconced carefully between her feet

and his hips swayed in rhythm to the syncopation of his cheeks against the canvas. Inch by inch, I

watched him climb the table, his legs still spread and his penis still at military-like attention. Soon, his

organ hovered above her feet and he descended slowly upon his goal.

The noise his throat emitted when penis met sneaker was delightful. Resounding throughout the room,

the guttural groan was almost animalistic in intensity and orgasmic in power. Francois was with us

physically, but his head was in space.

Crouching above her sneakers, he rubbed up and down between her shoes and like the kind Domme

she is, Deirdre drew her feet together to afford him a better target for his passion. His enormously long

arms held him almost upright and his strong legs drove his now-torrid shaft along the smooth white

canvas. He was crouched beautifully above her white Keds and I adored the image of submission he

posed. But I realized that if I didn't intercede soon, he was going to come all over her feet and I

couldn't have that, could I?

"OK, that's enough," I interrupted, "let's get on to the next pair, shall we?"

Creeping to the side, Francois positioned himself above Corinne's small feet and repeated the process.

This time, he didn't move merely front to back; instead, he added a new motion. Reaching in with one

hand, he pressed her foot upward into his rigid organ. Then he took the other one and gently

encouraged it to the same goal. In short order, Corinne got his point and was actively depressing her

sneakers into his now-purple penis in regular rhythm.

I still couldn't see his face, but the view from behind was magnificent.

Soon her white sneakers also glistened from the flood of precome he generated. I was absolutely

certain he was using it to lubricate his efforts. Apparently, he was a very clever boy, and I estimated

that he had certainly done this before. The realization startled me a little and I added it to my mental

spreadsheet.

For the grand finale, I had to have Bev's cooperation, and like the trooper she is, she played along with

me.

"That's enough, boy," I interceded in his exhibition, "there's still another set of sneakers for you to

clean." I hesitated a moment and then added, "Turn around. Let me see your face."

The grin that spread all over his face told me that Francois knew exactly what that instruction meant,

but the girls didn't have a clue yet. Realizing that I had just granted him permission to come, he

crawled quickly in a semi-circle atop the coffee table to face me and poise his eager dick above the

third woman's sneakers.

I grabbed the ring on his collar and drew his face to mine.

"Make it good, boy!" I demanded, and watched him lower his eyes in a vain effort to escape my stare. I

think he finally realized just how much I knew about his little peccadillo and could only imagine what I

would eventually do with this tidbit of information. That's the important thing about discovering a

sub's secret desires: how you use that intelligence.

After all, finding a boy's button is the ultimate weapon. All males are slaves, I figure, if not to me then

to their own penises. Find out what triggers their dicks and you own them. Not only did I know where

this boy's sweet spot was at the base of his asscheeks, but also I had just uncovered his heretofore wellkept

little secret. This particular fetish would certainly serve to amuse me in the future. For now, he

would regale my

friends with his talents.

Bev was beginning to get into the entire scene by now and she twisted her ankles to make her sneaker

tops face each other, a position that afforded Francois a v-shaped crevice in which to entertain both

himself and us. As she pressed her shoes closer together and gripped his organ even more tightly

between them, a low rumble emanated from the boy's very guts and rushed up and out through his

throat, finally finding the light of day from between his lips. It was absolutely unedited by his brain.

The sound was a visceral shriek, one that I had rarely heard before, but when it filled my ears it also

warmed my very core. Very few subs - only the great ones, as a matter of fact - are capable of that deep

a response.

Francois was quickly unveiling the very core of his being to the four of us, and oh yes, to the other

subs who were kneeling respectfully in awe of his bravura on the coffee table. I wondered how long it

would be before he couldn't hold it any longer. What height of passion would he be in when it all just

overwhelmed him and shot forcefully from his deepest loins?

The boy never hesitated, not even for an instant. Pulling his hips back and detonating them forward in

a dynamic tempo of pulsing excitement, Francois drove himself deeper and deeper into the headspace

that is a rare achievement among subs. Grunting and groaning, he drove faster and with delight into

Bev's sneakers. When I felt him reach his height, I demanded, "Open your eyes!"

The audience seemed astounded at my request and with almost superhuman effort Francois complied.

Millimeter by millimeter, his eyelids parted and his brilliant blue-green pupils met my own. I retained a

grip on his collar ring and brought my face closer to his. For a moment, I thought he would collapse

under the intensity, but he did me proud.

Except for his guttural noises, the room was silent. Every gasp he inhaled filled me with a deeper

passion and each thrust he discharged drove me a little closer to my own personal bliss. Something

about my sub experiencing such an ultimate height of passion just fills me with a sense of impending

paradise.

His panting took on a new tempo and I realized his time was at hand. Gripping his collar and hanging

on for dear life, I pulled his face to mine and ordered him to come with a single word.

"Now!"

The girls' eyes shifted to their own subs, kneeling or standing silently throughout the room. With my

face driven intensely into his, I never saw their boys' hands on their own organs, driving themselves

toward their own personal Valhallas. If that were a problem for their owners, then they could deal with

it later. Right now, I was busy.

My lips were literally touching his own and Francois almost shouted into my mouth when his moment

arrived. I leaned my face against his and felt the fire of his burning passion release itself forcefully into

the air. The final thrust was magnificent. I think he spewed almost 6 feet across the room.

He half-fell and half-leaped into my arms when the moment came. What he needed was my comfort

surrounding him and I was glad to hold the boy tenderly because his show had been enormously

entertaining. He could clean it up later.

One by one, the girls took their boys silently into separate rooms for a little personal afternoon delight

and left me to comfort my spent sub. I rubbed his head and neck carefully, held his shoulders and

stroked his back until I felt his breathing return to normal. Francois gets fully involved with every

orgasm I allow and needs time to recover from each one of them. With his exhausted body kneeling

between my legs, I held him tightly until I was confident that he was calm. Right now, all I wanted was

to hold him.

I think he realized before I did that his flaccid penis was mere inches above my own sneakers. His soft

organ dropped to touch them and a melodious moan escaped his lips.

"Later, sweetie," I reassured him, "and I will give you an experience you'll never forget."

Resting his head comfortably in my lap, I continued to stroke his scalp and neck. It gave us both a

sense of contentment. But inside my head, the wheels of a spreadsheet were turning.

A vibrator. Two AA batteries. One white sneaker. Yuppers. I could do it.

My thoughts, like my spreadsheet, were my own.

Tonight, my sweet, tonight your long arms will be bound to the bedposts, your wonderful quivering

legs spread by a steel bar. Your penis will enjoy my vibrator and shall be enclosed in your favorite

white sneaker - mine. I'll sip wine and watch you tremble and quake under the vibrator's unrelenting

whine. Your brown hair will be matted and stick to your face with delightful perspiration while your

mouth moans the song of delight that I crave. You know, I might even turn it on high. I love the noise

it makes when it's on full speed.

And your collar, the handmade leather engraved strip that surrounds your neck, will be leashed to my

ankle. When I cross my legs, you will know that I hold you in every way.