Message-ID: <11932eli$9806062206@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/11932.txt> From: beccatoy@aol.com (BeccaToy) Subject: philosophy Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-Id: <1998060618024500.OAA22192@ladder03.news.aol.com> Reclaiming My Boots Today I reached way back into the dark recesses of my closet and pulled out my white boots. Not just any white boots, these are thigh high boots, with a turn down thigh cuff and 5 inch heels. When I was growing up I used to listen to my mother's Nancy Sinatra album, it had a picture of Nancy in white go go boots. I dreamt of wearing boots just like those, and baby those boots were made for walking. Later the heels and thigh highs took on new meaning, as I found myself sexually attracted to the world of BDSM, and fetish wear. When I wore these boots I felt sexy and strong, and helpless and vunerable, at the same time. It was these boots I was wearing when I first talked to my new Dom on the phone. I was so excited, after years of dreaming I was about to be told what to do, spanking myself for the pleasure of another person. The session was incredible, sadly the relationship was not. I overlooked his cruelty in everyday interactions. I told myself he treated me this way because he was a Dom, and maybe I deserved it. My desires were strange, I had been told often enough the pain and humiliation I craved was a pathetic sickness and I should be in therapy. Although I had loving support from my husband, he didn't understand the need and craving that drove my dark desires. So I stayed in a bad relationship with good sex.. I would rebel occasionally, the part of me that was a survival instict, that whispered, "you don't deserve to be treated this way" but I would go back. Ugly months of sex and tears and sex. Finally I left for good, we danced around a bit, but it was never the same. And I hated my boots, threw them in the back of my closet, vowing to never sub again. I hated myself, the dark hunger to be controlled, the desire of pain and humiliation. I couldn't stay away from the stories, the BDSM rooms, the people. Only this time I began listening, asking questions, researching. And finding the knowledge that was always inside me. That Doms, like anyone else, are human, with good and bad people wielding the crop. That good sex doesn't make up for a bad relationship. That submissive doesn't meant victim, and I am strong and witty and in control, but I have the responsibility of choosing who I give my power and control to. If I choose poorly then I must accept and live with the consequences. I'm not a victim, I'm a submissive, but I'm more. I'm funny and smart and bright. If a person can't see that it's up to me to move on and find someone who appreciates me. I slip my foot into the familiar boot, sliding the leather sensouosly up my my leg, onto my muscular thigh. I zip my boot slowly, admiring the way it encases my leg like a lover. I turn down the cuff, enjoying the arch the heels give to my foot, my leg seems to go on forever. I do the same with the other boot, I stand and look in the mirror. These boots were made for walking, for fun, for someone strong, and sexy, and self confident. These boots were made for me. -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>