Revenge and Shoes

Revenge and Shoes

By The Qmoq (based on characters created and developed by Qmoq, maddie and Uncle-Ed)

Well, if she never surprised me, I wouldn’t be with her, that’s one way of looking at it.

Ach, I’ve done it again, I always do this! I never seem to be able to start a story at the beginning. The “she” to whom I refer is my first and best submissive partner, Miss Marie Gonzales. She’s a teacher, and a damned good one too. She works at a school called Slothlands, where a whole busload of giggly schoolgirls pretends to study each day. It’s a fine school, mainly because of the care that is taken around the grounds by me. Ted Stoat, caretaker, reporting for duty. At ease.

This is not the story of how Miss Gonzales and I met, became close, and eventually became Dominant with a capital D and submissive with a small s. It is, however, the story of her latest treachery and subsequent comeuppance.

It begins with me ringing her doorbell with my nose, holding a damned heavy parcel with both arms. Miss Gonzales, being a typical ditzy woman, didn’t think to answer the door without making sure her face was perfect and her shoes matched her skirt and her hair was just so. Normally she would be forgiven all of this when she opened the door and I saw the result. Normally my arms aren’t about to be torn from their sockets by a hundred-pound weight I was holding.

I mouthed silent oaths at the closed door, and when it opened, I barged straight in without saying hello, storming past her like I was CI5 or the FBI or the KGB or the AAA. She tried to kiss me, but it was the hand that she draped around my waist that caused the problems. It distracted me. Four soft fingers of hers found a ticklish part on my side, and then her fingers deliberately slipped to my manhood, testing it to see how firm it was.

I dropped the parcel. It clanged off the wall, bounced on its end with a clunk that shook the floor, and then toppled over onto its side, the metal contents ringing like a demented campanologist.

“Flowers?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

And then the explosion happened when she saw where the parcel landed.

“My new shoes!” she yelled. “You clumsy twat! You just crushed my new fucking shoes!”

Her anger was understandable. I lifted the heavy box off the floor, and Miss Gonzales rescued the crippled shoes that lay underneath. The left was heavily scratched, the right's heel had broken off and its toe was crushed beyond repair. She stared at me angrily, and made to throw them at me, but then remembered herself. One of the reasons she chose to become my designated submissive was that I could help her with her anger management issues. It was working too: she proudly told me the previous day that when she caned Widget, she only did it because she wanted to, not because she was furious at her pathetic attempt at her General Studies homework.

The anger-management continued. At this moment, the rage was evident on her face, but the only other sign was a petulant stamp of the foot. She did not throw anything, she did not even swear aloud.

"I'm sorry," I said.

She stamped her foot again, clenched her eyes shut, took a deep breath to calm herself, but did not accept my apology. Instead, she changed the subject. She exhaled through her nose. "What's in the box?"

"Your new cage. Um, surprise!" I replied weakly.

"It's a bit small, isn't it?" she frowned, nudging the box with her foot. "I'd never fit in there."

As I dragged the box to her spare room and unpacked the contents, I explained that it was a self-assembly cage; she replied that IKEA had really branched out these days. I pulled her close to me and kissed her, and then she asked me if I had a wrench in my pocket, or was I just pleased to see her. I admitted that I did have a spanner in my pocket, which was a sort of wrench, and I added that when she was safely in the cage, she would see how pleased I was.

"Well then," she purred, "you'd better start building it. Can I help?"

"Cup of tea would be lovely, thanks. But I'd like you to wait downstairs so you can be surprised, so leave the cup outside the door."

"Promise not to spill the tea over any of my shoes?"

I smiled at her. "I promise," I said. "My shoe-wrecking days are over."

She kissed my nose, turned, and walked towards the door. “I hope so,” she said with a smile in her voice. I set to work, only pausing when the knock on the door came, to announce the refreshing tea outside.

It was relatively easy going during the cage’s construction, except when it finally began to take form, because that was when my mind began to race with thoughts of Miss Gonzales inside it for hours on end, pleading for orgasms and stimulation and attention, and getting prodded with sticks and ice and body parts in return.

You never know whether it will look as good as the picture in the catalogue, but I have to admit that it was a fine purchase. As it took shape, each tightened nut and spannered bolt made the cage more and more impressive. It was entirely metal, pre-painted black, and was about three feet long, two feet wide, and three feet tall. The bars were three inches apart and refreshingly strong. They would not bend.

At the end of the second cup of tea, I strode downstairs and announced proudly that it was finished, and told Miss Gonzales to strip and fetch me a padlock, in that order.

Whether it was deliberate or not, the way that girl bit her bottom lip with her top teeth turned me to jelly. You could forget the rest of her body and concentrate on that inch-square part of her face, the hard teeth against the soft red flesh, and I would be happy.

But my eyes strayed. They watched her delicate fingers unbutton her blouse. They mentally unveiled her chest before her hands pulled apart the lapels, and my eyes encouraged her hands as they drifted behind her back to unhook her bra. At that point, I stole a flash at her eyes, and guessed that they had not left my own eyes for a second. She was watching me enjoying her, and she did not disappoint. She unhooked her skirt and cast it aside like a rag. She was not wearing panties as I had previously instructed, though she knew that I was not looking at her pussy. I was watching her hands as she placed her palms on either side of her thigh, and rolled down the stockings that petulantly clung to her skin. She rolled them down to the ankle, and only then did she kick off the petite black heels she wore. When she placed her second bare foot on the floor, she was naked save for her earrings.

I pointed upstairs, and she skipped ahead of me, bounding up the steps two at a time. She was inside the playroom and examining the cage from the outside as I caught up, breathing a little heavily.

"Is it all tight?" she cooed, bending next to it and pulling on some of the bars. "I really don't want to be able to escape when I'm in here."

"I tightened them myself," I said.

"This one's loose," she frowned, looking at a bar in the corner of the cage, opposite the padlockable door.

"I'll get my spanner," I sighed, deflated, pulling the spanner from my pocket. I shuffled into the cage, where I could get the best angle for tightening the bar. I focused on the top and bottom nuts that held the cage in place, and then I felt the door to the cage push my legs inside.

"Hoi!" I bellowed.

Miss Gonzales shut the door tightly and forced her weight on it to keep it closed, before fastening a padlock to it. "There," she said. "Now we can begin."

I was stunned. I didn't even notice as she bent down and picked up the spanner. I had been locked into my own cage. One question came to mind. "Why?" And she gave a one-word answer.

"Shoes," she hissed.

"Oh ah."

"Take off your clothes, Ted," she smiled. I said nothing; I looked up at her with a blank expression on my face. She scuttled downstairs, and returned after two minutes with a small bucket of water. There was no warning; she simply poured it over me. I was no fool. Slowly, I stripped. It was difficult to unbutton shirt and pants in the wet, cramped conditions, but I did so. As each garment was removed, Miss Gonzales instructed me to feed them through the bars, so she could pick them up. At no stage did she step close enough to me to enable me to grab an ankle or a wrist.

"The underpants too," she drooled as I slid my boxer shorts down my legs.

I wondered whether I could convince her to unlock me through her own appreciation of my body beautiful.

“Oh my,” I purred. “That water was cool, honey, but I got to admit that I’m getting kinda hard in here. Heck, you know what I’m feeling, don’t you?”

“What?” she barked, like she didn’t want me to speak at all.

“The one thing I regret,” I smiled confidently, “is that I know I can’t get in a position where you could suck me, or where I could fuck you. The bars would just get in the way. I would love to get your cunt on the top of this cage where I could f-”

She left the room before I completed the sentence, returning quickly with a dozen shoe boxes held in her arms. She unloaded them carefully on the floor, and lined them up in an even row. It was then that she caught my gaze, not looking away as she eased off the first box’s lid with the big toe of her left foot. She slid that same foot into the shoe inside the box, and removed it with a cute blue shoe attached to it. She manoeuvred the second foot into the box, and wiggled that foot firmly into the right shoe.

She kicked the empty box to the side, and stood in front of me. They were pretty shoes, I had to admit that.

“Lick them clean,” she snarled.

They weren’t that cute. I told her so. She jutted her chin at me, turned on her pointed four-inch heel, and strode out of the room. I took a moment to check the bars of the cage, but they were as solid as ever. Damn my spanner, I thought. I let my hand drift to my cock, which was equally solid. There was something about this girl that provoked this reaction.

This girl. This girl, who was returning with two short candles in her left hand, and a box of matches in her right.

She said no words; she merely lit a match, placed it against the candle, watched the flame for a minute or two, and then poured hot wax onto my back from a height of eighteen inches.

“YOOOOOOOOOW!” I snapped.

“Lick them clean,” was her only response.

I bent forwards to place my forehead against the bars of the cage, my tongue outstretched. I licked the top of her left shoe, and my tongue stayed outwards as she turned her foot to let me clean the side and heel of her shoe. She did a cute shuffle, and I repeated the same with the other side of that first shoe. I was encouraged to lick the right shoe with the same incentive – hot wax upon my spine. She then returned that pair to the box, and put on the shoes in the second box. Despite this pair showing a tempting toe-cleavage like a sandal would, I decided that she had had enough revenge.

I said two words, but I expressed them with a firm, commanding voice that I had not used that day. "Miss Gonzales," I said.

She stopped with a shudder. "Yes, Ted?"

"Unlock me," I continued with the same firm, quiet voice. "Now."

She gulped, quivered, and then replied meekly "Yes, Ted." She bent down to the door of the cage, key at the ready. As soon as she had removed the padlock, she took three steps back and dropped gracefully to her knees.

As elegantly as I could, I emerged from the small cage, closed the door, and got to my feet, still naked. I clicked my fingers, and Miss Gonzales got to her feet in front of me, head bowed. From a single gesture with a finger, she bent over the cage. She looked back at me nervously as I left the room, returning a moment later with a few pieces of rope. I crouched in front of her and tied her wrists to the bars on top of the cage. I could have done it standing up, but there would have been a chance that she could have reached me with her lips, and I would have become distracted. There’s something about her mouth when it’s eager for cock, I can’t resist sliding myself deep in between those full red lips. Best to keep the temptation away from us, I thought, but my half-erection twitched at the thought. I put the thought from my mind and tightened the ropes around her wrists.

I paced around the cage, looking closely at her predicament. It looked too uncomfortable to have her whole weight rest on the cage, but I knew I could get her squirming if I added a little more uneasiness to her position. After tapping her on her right heel to get her to bend it up behind her leg, I took a third piece of rope, and tied the right ankle to the right thigh. A second rope tied the right knee firmly to the top of the cage.

It was her house, and so I was not completely au fait with the location of everything. I spoke for the first time since I emerged from the cage.

“Where is your black ballgag?”

She told me it rested in her shower bag. She often wore it in the morning whilst lathering herself under the streams of hot water, apparently. The gal knew how to defuse an angry man. I found the gag and returned, but I did not put the gag on her just yet, simply tying it to the bar of the cage just in front of her face, so she knew it was ready to be worn. Yes, I admit it, I was still angry, and I told her as much.

“P-please sir, do not hurt me,” she sobbed.

This was not the flirting, confident Miss Gonzales that I knew and was falling for and getting harder for; this was a scared young woman. She was petrified that I would genuinely hurt her.

I could have taken advantage of this fear, but I am not that kind of man. I cleared my throat, and in my most soothing voice, I said “Miss Gonzales, I am angry with you, but I would never ever take out my anger on a submissive woman by striking her. I will not hurt you.”

There was a visible reaction from the woman bent over on the bars in front of me. She relaxed. Until she did this, I had no idea that she was so worried. ‘This is a brave, beautiful woman’, I thought. Before I tied her, at the very height of her fear, she could have run, but she had stayed.

I rewarded her by choosing my next words as carefully as I could. “I never hit a woman when I’m angry. But I might fuck her while I’m angry.”

A wave seemed to undulate from her mouth and throat, moving down her body to arch her back and squirm her stomach as much as it could in her restraints. Even her free left leg clearly shivered as it supported her weight.

I placed the head of my cock against her pussylips, and eased it into her, just the tip. Her head snapped back with an “oh!” and I enjoyed her reaction so much, I left it there for a moment, draping my fingertips across her back and sides to provoke more reactions. She lost herself in the moment, and then I reminded myself that I was angry with the little bitch. I reached forward, grabbed her hair, and slid myself into her as I pulled back her head.

“YYYYYYYOW!” she sighed.

I pounded her. That’s the best word for it. It was as brutal as I could be. I thrust myself hard into her, testing the sturdy cage, testing my rope-tying ability around her wrists. Her head lolled forwards in acceptance whenever it could, only to be snapped back every other thrust, when I wanted to remind her of her place. Domination through fucking, not through fear. She adored it. Her oomphs became grunts and grew to yells and developed into screams. But still I fucked her. I wanted pleasure. Her wet pussy, my hard cock, her tied-up body, that was pleasure. But I was selfish, and it was all for me. I thrust into her, balls-deep each time. I just wanted to cum. I didn’t want to prolong it, I didn’t care if she enjoyed it, I just wanted relief; I wanted to get rid of my anger. And I wasn’t hiding this fact from her.

“You’re just a fucktoy, you know that? I don’t care if you enjoy this; you’re just here for me.”

“Y-yes,” she gurgled. That gurgle prompted me to reach a hand around to the front of her slender neck, and pull her head back a little.

“You sound like you’re enjoying this, Miss Gonzales.” My cock twitched inside her. I loved the irony of her being so submissive and still calling her ‘Miss Gonzales’. “I-I’m not doing this for you,” I snarled.

“No, yes, n-no, I know, I don’t deserve to enjoy it... b-but. But. But I am.”

She sounded so serene when she admitted it. Her voice found calmness in the midst of my sternest efforts to degrade her. I leaned forward, my anger lessening but my arousal increasing. “You slut!” I had never called her that before and meant it. “You just want a cock in your cunt, and you’re happy, aren’t you? Ah-Ahhh. Keep your pussy open, bitch, I don’t want you clenching on me like a whore.”

As I watched her back, her shoulder blades became sharp, loosened, and became sharp again. The girl was enjoying herself. I was pleased, but I still tried not to care.

“God, you are unbe-fucking-lievable. I should have whipped you when I was angry, shouldn’t I? I sh-should have left stripes all down your back and arse and th-thighs... ahhhHHHH.”

I slammed into her one final time, and spurted into her pussy. She hadn’t clenched on me or rotated her hips or said a single word, but I knew she loved it. It was the shoulder blades. A girl can fake many things to get what she wants from a man, but the shoulder blades are always a giveaway.

I was still hard enough so that I could have continued, but I had come. I withdrew, stepped around to the front of the cage, and wiped myself on her hair, letting the fringe flop in front of her face. I untied the ballgag from the bar, and eased it into her willing mouth.

“I’m not angry at you any more,” I said. It was true. Cumming into her cunt without letting her get close to an orgasm had changed me into Mister Sweetness And Light. Evened the score, somehow.

“Mmmhank myou,” she said in a hiss around the ballgag.

“You spoke too soon,” I replied. “I told you that I never hit a woman when I’m angry. I forgot to add that I love to hit you when I’m not angry. I love seeing you take the pain. Point your left toe in the direction of your best paddle.”

She grunted a frustrated purr, and then briefly let her entire body weight rest on the cage to point her toe one hundred and seventy degrees away from the way her nose was pointing. I patted her on the backside, and her foot dropped to the floor again.

She was correct. It was a black, firm little paddle, and I tested it on my own palm with a hard WHACK that echoed around the room and made her jump.

“You can’t cum tonight,” I said. She moaned a plaintive reply at this.

THWACK! The first smack of the paddle hit her right buttcheek, and every unrestrained part of her body moved. Her head whiplashed back, looking straight at the wall in front of her. [Author’s note - This is the image that Rabbit posted.]

I had never hit her so hard before, but there was no complaint in her grunt, just acceptance. I hit her again. WHAM! And she shook.

“I think...[WHACK],” I said, with a grin that I could not remove from my face, “that I might want to [WHACK!] keep paddling you until I get hard enough to fuck you again.”

She hummed between yelps. I knew she approved. So I added the clincher.

“But you know what else gets me hard?” I asked rhetorically, moving my free right hand between her thighs. “It’s getting a woman so close to orgasm that she begs for relief,” I continued, the middle finger of my right hand sliding between her pussylips and finding her clit. She shuddered, so I finished my thought. “And then arousing her more and more until she wants to explode.”

There was an exhale of air either side of Miss Gonzales’ ballgag that was like the snort from an irate bull in a cartoon. I flipped the paddle in the air, and caught it with my right hand, bringing it down on her arse in a sleek movement. She roared delightedly and her head almost banged on the bars of the cage as it lolled.

“Slut, we have barely started,” I smiled, as the fingers of my left hand crept between her thighs. Her shoulder blades wiggled encouragement at me as I drew back the paddle for another assault.

The end.