Nicholas Learns to Kneel
# Chapter 1: The Command The bedroom air is thick with silence—my kingdom, and he’s about to learn its rules. I recline against the pillows, the sheer black stockings clinging to my legs, the heels a sharp punctuation to my control. From t
Chapter 1
The bedroom air is thick with silence—my kingdom, and he’s about to learn its rules. I recline against the pillows, the sheer black stockings clinging to my legs, the heels a sharp punctuation to my control. From this angle, I watch Nicholas, his broad shoulders straining against his own restraint. The leather collar wraps his throat, my lead dangling like a promise, and his bound wrists flex uselessly behind his back.
“Kneel.” The word slides off my tongue, low and sweet as venom.
His eyes—that defiant blue I love to break—flicker up at me, then down to the steel-tipped stilettos. I see the battle behind his gaze: the dominant pride, the aching submission. The muscles in his jaw jump. He’s so beautifully undone already, and I haven’t let him touch a single inch of my skin. I don’t need to. The pulse in his throat plays a frantic rhythm against the collar, and his breathing goes ragged. Every charged moment stretches, the only contact the invisible weight of my will pressing him down.
My toes curl slightly, the arch of my foot catching the dim light. I know he’s aching to worship what’s just out of reach. For now, I let the silence roar.
Chapter 2
Her voice cut through the heavy air, low and teasing. “Go on—worship what’s in front of you. Every inch of that stocking, Nicholas.”
His lips met the black nylon just below her knee, the sheer fabric cool then warming under his mouth. A shudder rippled through his shoulders, and I felt the tremor travel up the taut leather lead in my grip. I gave it a short, exacting pull, cinching the collar just enough to make him gasp against my skin. “Don’t stop.”
He traced the seam down her calf, slower, his tongue wetting the nylon until the taste of salt and her bloomed on his tongue. His bound arms flexed uselessly behind him, the strain digging perfectly into his muscles. My other leg rose, the arch of my foot pressing flat and firm into the bare chest before me—steel-tipped heel a sharp counterpoint against his pectoral, the ball of my foot planted over his hammering heart. “You feel that? My foot keeping you where you belong. Tell me what you want.”
A needy rumble escaped him, his mouth still fastened to her stocking. “Your shoe… let me kiss your shoe.”
I smiled, flexing my toes so the heel pressed deeper. “Beg better.”
His breath hitched, hot through the nylon onto her shin. “Please, Catherine. I need to taste the leather, the steel—I need to know my place is at your feet.” His tongue dragged a wet path to her ankle, tracing the edge of the stocking to where it met the black patent pump. I kept the lead tight, forcing his head lower, my other leg holding him pinned like a moth to my will.
“Then earn it. Every inch of that shoe with your mouth, and maybe I’ll let you breathe without this collar choking that pretty throat.” His cock strained against his trousers, the outline impossible to miss, but I gave no release—only the slow burn of his worship, the slick sound of his lips against the slender heel, and the delicious weight of my foot grounding him in utter submission.
Chapter 3
I let the heel trace downward, the steel tip a cold promise against his flushed skin until it met the straining bulge in his trousers. “Feel that, Nicholas? My foot right on your cock, and you haven’t earned a single stroke.” I pressed, just enough to make his breath shudder. “So here’s what happens now. You beg to taste my stockings — properly, with that tongue I own — and I’ll tell you exactly how I’m going to use that mouth.”
His hips shifted helplessly, bound wrists twisting. “Please, Catherine… let me worship your stockings. I need my mouth on them, on you.”
“Louder.” I ground the ball of my foot against him. “Mean it.”
“Please! I want to lick every inch of those black nylons, from your ankles to your inner thighs. I want to taste the sweat and the heat through the fabric. Let me show you how fucking desperate I am.”
I smiled, slow and cruel, and loosened the lead just enough for him to lift his head. “You’ll start at my toes. You’ll suck each one through the stocking until the nylon is soaked and clinging to my skin. Then you’ll drag your tongue up my arch, trace the seam along my calf with the flat of your tongue — no teeth, just heat. I’ll feel you trembling, and I won’t let you stop until my legs are wet from knee to heel.”
His eyes were glassy, his cock throbbing against my stiletto. I eased the pressure slightly, letting the leather slide along his length. “After that, if you’ve been good enough, I’ll part my thighs and let you nuzzle higher. Maybe I’ll let you peel the stockings down with your teeth and taste what’s underneath — my bare skin, my pussy that you haven’t earned yet. But not tonight. Tonight, you’ll worship only what I allow.” I tugged the lead, forcing his gaze back to my feet. “Now dry-heave for me until you’re drooling. Show me how much you want it.”
Chapter 4
“Stand up,” I ordered, loosening the lead just enough to let him rise.
He obeyed, thighs trembling as he straightened to his full height. I stayed on the bed, letting him loom over me for one breathless second before my fingers found his belt. The leather hissed free. I unbuttoned his trousers slowly, knuckles dragging against the hard ridge beneath. “Step out,” I said, and he did, kicking the fabric aside.
“Kneel.”
He dropped back to the floor, now bare from the waist down except for the collar and the rope biting his wrists. His cock stood thick and flushed, bobbing as he settled. I leaned forward, unhurried, and slipped the black stiletto off my right foot with a soft, deliberate slide.
“Look at me,” I whispered.
I turned the shoe in my hand—steel stiletto in front, patent leather gleaming. Then I fitted it around him: the heel curving up under his shaft, cool leather cupping his length from root to ridge. He inhaled sharply, hips jerking before I pressed the shoe flush against his belly. “Don’t move, Nicholas. This is my shoe, my cock now.”
“Fuck, Catherine…” His voice cracked.
“That’s exactly what you won’t be doing,” I purred. “You’ll rut against the leather only when I say. And right now, you’ll thank me for every slippery inch of it.”
I tilted the shoe, letting the smooth sole glide along his shaft, the steel tip teasing his swollen head. His whole body went taut, a moan spilling from his lips as his bound hands clenched behind him. “Thank you,” he gasped. “Thank you for using your shoe on my cock.”
I leaned back, crossing my stockinged legs, my free foot nudging his chest. “Good boy,” I said. “Now keep thanking me while I decide how long you’ll stay this hard.”
Chapter 5
“Worship my right foot through the nylon,” I say, my voice a low, velvet command.
Nicholas’s moan vibrates against the sheer black stocking as his mouth finds my toes. He sucks them in, one by one, tongue pressing the damp fabric against my skin until the nylon turns translucent and slick. I feel the heat of his breath, the desperate reverence in every lap. My heel rests on his chest, the stiletto still gleaming, and I let him work, my toes curling slightly to press deeper into his mouth.
My left foot moves.
Slowly, deliberately, I drag the sole down his stomach—over the ridges of muscle, the shallow dip of his navel—until the arch of my foot cups the heavy, tightened sack of his balls. Nicholas chokes on a gasp, his bound arms straining, his hips bucking upward. I press just enough to make him freeze, the soft skin of my foot molding around the delicate weight.
“Look at you,” I murmur, my right foot still in his mouth. “Sucking my stocking like a desperate little slut while my other foot owns your balls. Tell me how it feels.”
He pulls off my toes with a wet pop, a string of saliva bridging his lip to the nylon. “So fucking good, Catherine. Your foot on my balls—I can’t think. Please don’t stop.”
I grind my heel gently, rolling the tender flesh. “I won’t stop. But you’re not coming. You’re just going to worship me until I’m satisfied.”
His cock twitches, a thick, flushed column leaking onto his belly, untouched. I lift my right foot from his mouth, the soaked stocking clinging to my arch, and press the damp nylon against his lips again. “Lick the sole. Every inch.”
His tongue drags along the length of my foot, tracing the seam, lapping the salt from the fabric while my left foot continues its slow, possessive massage of his balls. I lean back, watching him tremble, the collar biting into his throat with every desperate swallow.
“Good boy,” I whisper. “Now keep going until I tell you you’re done.”