Gwen Stefani’s bootlicker

Gwen Stefani’s bootlicker

Author Unknown

Gwen Stefani brutally ended her slave’s tribute to her boots with a swift kick from her right foot.
Helplessly Marc doubled over and fell at her feet, his hands still cuffed behind his back.
‘What a helpless worm you are’, she laughed. ’You’re just pathetic.’
Then she stood up and disappeared. She came back with a leather dog collar in her hands. To it a very short chain was attached. She first ordered Marc to his knees and then tied the collar around his neck, locking the other end around her booted ankle.
The poor guy’s face was now almost in constant contact with Miss Stefani’s leather bootheel.
‘Time to learn you some doggie tricks, my pet !’, she mocked as she triumphantly looked down on the helpless worm at her feet, her leather gloved hands sternly positioned on her hips.
‘Today I will teach you to heel a Mistress whilst licking her boots to a glossy shine !’
Marc shivered at the prospect. In this condition it would be very painful even to crawl behind his Mistress’ feet with both his hands and ankles tied. On top of that he would have the greatest difficulty cleaning her boots with his tongue under the constant threat of his face being smashed by her vicious heels
Of course Gwen knew this. It was just one of her countless ways to humiliate and torture her slaves, a way to show them who was in charge and to make sure they would fear her in any way.
‘Are you ready, my worm ?’, she teasingly asked her slave as she softly prodded his nose with her leather-clad heel.
‘Yes Mistress, thank you, Mistress’, Marc grovelled. This time however there was fear in his voice as if he knew he was going to suffer a lot of pain for his beautiful Mistress.
‘And better keep your tongue glued to my heels cos every time you fail you will get 20 lashes from my whip !’
Marc was in great despair. It was clear that it would impossible to do this. Either way this would turn out he would be a broken man. Either his nose would be broken, his bloody face almost mashed to pulp or he would face a harsh cruel whipping from Miss Stefani’s bullwhip.
He liked worshipping Miss Stefani’s boots but now he found himself in a living nightmare and was afraid of the consequences. Yes, he worshipped this beautiful blonde Goddess to the extent that he believed he was even lucky to be allowed to kiss the ground beneath her feet but this was totally different. Those same feet would now be his very doom. They would put him through a lot of unpleasant pain and no matter how much he enjoyed looking and crawling at Miss Stefani’s feet, he feared the prospect of being kicked and mashed by them.
He was now completely at the mercy of this woman’s feet, it almost sounded absurd. She now
had him completely in her power just by means of her pretty booted feet. It was hard to believe.
As if she could read his mind she addressed him in a very condescending tone :
‘That’s right, slavedog. You are now the slave of my boots. Now what do you think of that, huh ?
You should thank me for that. Do it, worm ! Thank my boots !’
Slave Marc couldn’t believe how cold and cruel his Mistress was. Already he was grovelling at the booted feet of his cruel tormentor, now he had to thank her boots for being allowed to be their slave.
Pathetically he started to squirm and crawl across the floor in front of Miss Stefani’s boots, expressing his humble gratitude.
‘Thank you, boots. Thank you for letting me be your slave. I swear I will worship you for the rest of my pathtetic life, boots ! Please have mercy on me, I am just a pathetic bootslave. Please boots, all I want is to please you and your Mistress, the supreme Mistress Gwen Stefani !’
As Marc wormed himself across the floor at her feet, Gwen burst out in gigglish laughter. The scene of a naked man crawling at her feet, begging her black leather boots for mercy was a quite exceptional and unusual experience. Yet she loved it more than anything else. It was showing her victim he was absolutely nothing compared to her gorgeous feet and that it was his true destiny to worship and honor these feet until the day he died.
Gwen silenced her slave with another kick of her boot and then turned her back on him. His face was now at eye level with her leather-clad Gucci heels, the length of the chain hardly allowing him to move his head backwards. It almost felt he was an extension of her heels forced to copy every move of her leather-clad feet.
‘Time to crawl and face the torture, slave’, Gwen said laughingly. ‘Prove your loyalty to my boots and maybe, just maybe I’ll let you live, heehee !’, she cruelly added.
Not a second later she started parading around the room, regally striding forward on her elegant heels, her abject slave struggling in blind slavery behind her to keep up with her pace.
His knees could hardly follow the jerking movements of his head and mouth which were now desperately trying to track Miss Stefani’s torturing feet.
Obediently he lapped at the leather of her boots while painfully burning his knees on the carpet . Soon every muscle in his body was screaming for mercy as his beautiful Mistress regally and majestically continued her walk around the room. She didn’t even seem to notice his presence. All she did was lifting and landing her leather-clad heels on the carpet, triumphantly flexing her nyloned toes inside her expensive boots.
While her movement was one of great ease, Marc’s was one big ordeal. Each time she lifted her heel with one simple movement of her ankle he had to use every muscle in his body to be able to continue his bootcleaning services. Nothing could have depicted the relationship between Mistress and slave more clearly. She, the regal Beauty Queen, carelessly strolling around the room, and he, the naked slaveworm, crawling in pain and agony like a snake at her mighty, booted feet.
Soon Marc came to the point of exhaustion. After a couple of minutes Gwen noticed he was soon to collapse. This was her favorite moment.
Knowing that he would have to give in soon, she now started to tease him with her heels, slowly pulling them away from his mouth to make it even more difficult and painful for him to lick them.
Sadistically she looked over her shoulder watching him struggle for his life.
‘Oops, that makes 20 I’m afraid !’ , she laughed as his tongue failed to touch her heel for the very first time.
‘Oops, that makes 40, heehee !’ she added as she cruelly pulled away her other foot from his humble slave lips. Slave Marc was desperately trying to regain his position at her feet but was simply too exhausted.
To frustrate him even more Gwen now started to walk a little faster.
’60,……..80,….., 100,…….120,………140,………. Come on worm, what’s the matter ? Already tired, heehee !’
When she finally reached 200 she decided he had enough and turned on her heels. Instantly he collapsed in complete exhaustion at her booted feet, his forehead resting on the tip of her right boot.
‘Well, I’m afraid you have failed the test, slaveboy ‘, she said mockingly.
‘Additional punishment will be necessary !’
Cruelly she unlocked his chain from her booted ankle and yanked him to his knees.
Then she ordered him to crawl to her basement where she would again submit him to a gruesome mix of pain and humiliation