A BOOT SLAVE'S EDUCATION
A tale especially well-suited for devotees whose cravings and fetishes include boots and caning.
- submitted by prairie dog, 2015 -
It is almost time.
I check my phone once again -- 3:57 P.M. and I am waiting about a block from the Dungeon. Mistress Troy considers punctuality a virtue; more accurately, Mistress Troy considers punctuality essential and I do not intend to disappoint her, there's no reason to get off on the wrong foot before my training session has even begun.
At exactly 4:00 P.M. I make the call to begin the process of gaining access to Mistress Troy's domain. Several minutes later I am inside the dungeon: naked and kneeling, with eyes on the floor I await Mistress's entrance. The first sign that she is approaching is the sound of her boot-heels striking the hardwood floor. Still looking down as she enters the room I greet her in the prescribed fashion, a single kiss to each toe of her boots as she stands in front of me. After entering, Mistress informs me of the training and service that she will require of me today -- I will be responsible for caring for and polishing a pair of her beautifully-crafted Varda boots.
As an apprentice boot slave I have received a similar assignment several times before and by now have become quite familiar with the process. I must strictly follow a complete boot-care regimen involving several steps beginning with a thorough cleaning, then renovation work on the leather followed by the application of several coats of polish and ending with a final buffing.
At that point Mistress will thoroughly inspect the work to identify any shortcomings or mistakes that may have been made. On the basis of her assessment Mistress will then determine the nature of any further training required. Mistress Troy has a wide range of possible choices for the form of such additional training but it has been my experience that she maintains a strong preference for one in particular -- a course of remedial education involving the extensive application of an English school cane.
I am pleased that I have been chosen once again to perform this important service for her. I know that Mistress Troy takes great pride in her extensive wardrobe of boots and demands that her boots receive the highest possible level of care. It is an especially great privilege, therefore, to be permitted to serve Mistress Troy in this way. I am hopeful that her decision to assign this task to me once again is an indication of Mistress's trust in my service.
So I'm eager to get started but one more thing needs to be done before I can begin. Mistress Troy has thoughtfully decided that the use of a training aid will help me to complete the task. As Mistress searches through her exhaustive collection of aids I speculate (to myself, of course) which one or ones she will choose. Possibly a studded cock ring or clothes-pins for my balls? Or perhaps a fashionable piece of nipple-ware, the adjustable surgical forceps or those unbearably painful small rubber rings? It turns out Mistress's selection is a pair of nipple clamps linked with a heavy metal chain. Just the thing to provide motivation for the work to be done!
While I am aware that there is an unstated time limit for completion and, therefore, the work must be done efficiently, it is the quality of the completed assignment that matters most. Mistress Troy will tolerate no short-cuts or shoddy efforts and I must take care to avoid that at all costs and not rush any part of the task.
Once the clamps are put in place and the various materials and implements needed for boot care are assembled, Mistress orders me to begin. I start working on the boots while Mistress Troy enjoys a cup of tea on the opposite side of the dungeon, all the while closely observing how her slave is caring for another piece of her property. No doubt whatever she sees will be taken into account when it is time for her inspection and the rendering of her judgment. I am well aware that nothing I do or, just as important, fail to do, will escape her notice.
I proceed with the work of cleaning and polishing Mistress's boots, trying my best to do each step as perfectly as possible. When I am finally done Mistress Troy begins her examination, picking up and closely studying each boot in turn. Mistress's standards are extremely high and while perfection is the goal it is hardly surprising that her inspection uncovers numerous flaws, each one calling for further training in the form of cane strokes. The strokes add up, five here, ten there and as Mistress wraps up her inspection of the second boot the total stands at sixty strokes, certainly challenging but, based on my previous experience, a bearable sentence.
She places the second boot down next to the first and glances at the pair together as I wait anxiously for her to indicate that her inspection has been completed. But I now realize that her glance has turned into a steady stare. As she continues to study the boots sitting side by side on the dungeon floor I start to get a slightly uncomfortable feeling, a little queasiness. Kind of like the feeling you get when the dentist lingers a little too long over a particular tooth during your annual check-up. Similar to that feeling, just worse.
Still studying the pair of boots Mistress Troy addresses me:
"Slave, it appears to me that the shine of the toe of the right boot does not match the one on the left, the left boot is shinier. You have not properly completed your assigned task."
Now, this comment instantly causes my vague feeling of discomfort to morph into something greater. I suddenly recall a prior assignment several months ago when a similar mistake had been noted. This is not good by any means but I also reason that occurred months ago and Mistress Troy has had many, many encounters since with other slaves. She probably won't remember that particular incident or recall which slave did it or...
And then in the middle of this jumble of thoughts Mistress Troy addresses me again, this time in the form of a question:
"Slave, wasn't there a similar problem with a pair of boots you were assigned to care for some months ago?"
Further morphing, now well beyond queasiness or vague discomfort. I rapidly consider various possible answers to Mistress's question but know there is really only one that can be given:
"Yes Mistress, there was."
Mistress is now silent but I sense a subtle change taking place in her demeanor, a more resolute and serious tone appears to be emerging. The repetition by one of her slaves of a mistake or omission previously committed is something she seems to take very personally. Perhaps she sees it not simply as an individual failure on the part of her slave which in itself would be a source of disappointment, certainly. But, more important by far, I believe she sees it as an indication that there has been a fundamental flaw in the slave's training process: that despite all her work and effort, her slave has been unwilling or unable to grasp what is expected, or more accurately, required of him. In short, Mistress sees this as a failure to communicate, a situation that can only be addressed through much more rigorous training than has heretofore been required.
Now, no matter what you may have previously read or heard, Mistress Troy, in my experience, is far from merciless when it comes to the training of her slaves. She is sincerely concerned with the well-being, both physical and mental, of each and every one of her slaves and devotes considerable time and effort towards insuring that her slaves thrive under her direction. After all, Mistress is well aware that there is probably not a lot to be gained by unduly damaging her own property. Still, standards must be upheld and the necessity for proper and instructive punishment, when called for, can never be doubted.
After a brief pause Mistress Troy poses another question to me:
"Slave, do you recall how I dealt with the earlier mistake you made?"
"I believe it was thirty strokes, Mistress."
"Apparently thirty strokes had absolutely no effect. Perhaps ninety strokes will make a deeper impression."
"Yes Mistress" I respond or, rather, half-croak as my mouth for some reason has become somewhat dry. No matter. Mistress Troy addresses no more questions to me so I have no further opportunity to speak.
The rapid turn of events of the last minutes leaves me experiencing a range of emotions, none positive. First, of course, I have significant anxiety regarding the now much more severe punishment I am going to receive. But worse, I am genuinely disheartened that my poor performance has disappointed Mistress Troy and failed to meet her expectations. From the very first time I met Mistress Troy I had absolutely no doubt that the opportunity to serve and be trained by her was a rare, really a priceless gift, a privilege that very few will ever have. I would never want to do anything to jeopardize that opportunity in any way. This combination of anxiety and disappointment leaves me deeply troubled, to say the least.
By contrast, the shift I had earlier noted in Mistress Troy's demeanor to a more somber, serious tone seems to have quickly dissipated and I sense she has returned to her more typical cheerful and light-hearted self. The opportunity to provide necessary instruction and guidance to a slave sorely in need of it seems to have quickly re-energized her. Mistress Troy's initial disappointment has receded into the background as she focuses on the immediate task at hand, carrying out a necessary and well-earned correction. And she wastes little time getting started.
In short order, I am lying face-down on the bondage table, a pillow under my mid-section, arms and legs secured to each corner of the table and a wide strap across my back to further restrain any movement. Mistress instructs me that she will administer sixty strokes which make up the first portion of the caning and that I will be required to count each stroke aloud. She reminds me of her rule that any error or mistake made in the count will result in her starting again from "one." With that business concluded Mistress Troy steps into position to begin.
Regardless of the number of previous times I have received a caning at the hands of Mistress Troy, I never seem to be fully prepared for the powerful sting of that first stroke. But there's very little time to dwell on it, I call out "one" and try as best I can to set myself for what will follow.
I concentrate hard on keeping an accurate count. I also make every effort to take the caning quietly or, at the least, to keep any reactions on my part, verbal or otherwise, to a minimum. I have the strong impression that Mistress Troy is not at all pleased when a slave undergoing corporal punishment is unduly demonstrative. I believe Mistress feels that any slave worthy of a place in her stable should be able to maintain his composure when receiving an undoubtedly well-deserved punishment. After all, it was the slave's own behavior which forced Mistress to apply necessary correction. And the slave must therefore be prepared to accept the consequences of his own actions with appropriate self-control.
Mistress Troy administers the caning at a steady pace, leaving just enough time between strokes to allow the pain of each to fully radiate before the next one is delivered. By the end of this first portion of my punishment it feels like my entire buttocks area extending to the top of the thighs has been fully covered. I succeed in maintaining the count without an error; following the sixtieth stroke I thank Mistress and await the next phase of my punishment.
Mistress informs me that we will take a break before continuing to allow me to "catch my breath." And also, perhaps, to give me more time to contemplate what is to come and to allow the soreness in my backside to grow, although neither of those additional reasons is mentioned. I am untied and ordered to kneel in the corner while Mistress busies herself with other matters. I remain kneeling for more than enough time to catch my breath.
Eventually Mistress Troy instructs me to stand as it is now time to carry out the rest of my caning. Mistress decides to change my positioning for the next phase. I am now bent over the end of the bondage table, arms stretched out and secured to the far end of the table and feet spread wide and tied to the front table legs.
Once secured, Mistress leans over the table and gives me some further instructions. In her soft, melodious voice barely above a whisper, she cheerily informs me that she will be administering this phase of my punishment in three sets of thirty strokes each. She has also decided to use a different cane, this time selecting a longer, thicker one from her extensive stock. And finally, there will be no need for me to count out the strokes this time, she will maintain her own count so I will be free to focus entirely on the progress of the caning without any distraction. With her instructions completed Mistress steps back and to my left and prepares to resume.
The break has done little to dampen Mistress Troy's enthusiasm and she returns to her work with alacrity. Two light taps on my buttocks followed by a swishing sound and a sharp thwack as the cane lands -- the punishment begins once again. Tap, swish, thwack, the pattern repeats itself over and over as Mistress maintains a steady pace with little variation in the results. Except that now the caning is being administered on an already welted, well-bruised behind. After some time Mistress pauses and bends over the table once again. Smiling sweetly, she informs me that the first set of thirty is done with "only" sixty more to go.
The second set of thirty starts up as the relentless rhythm of the caning proceeds. Another brief break and then the third and final set begins. By this time the caning is taking a real toll but at least I feel that I'm in the final stretch. I am struggling with less and less success to project a stoic demeanor as the strokes accumulate and now just try to minimize my reactions as best I can. Although free of the requirement to call out the number of each stroke I continue to keep count in my head, always aware of how many are left. Eventually we are down to the final ten which seem to me to be especially vigorously struck and then, at last, it is over.
I experience a mix of different reactions and feelings now that the punishment has finally ended. Relief, absolutely, but also a feeling of disappointment and regret that my time today with Mistress Troy is coming to an end. After a brief pause Mistress loosens the restraints and after giving me permission to move off the table I kneel before her, thank her once again and place a single kiss on each toe of her boots.
Mistress Troy is solicitous and caring as our session winds down. I would like to linger in her presence but I know it's getting late and Mistress has many other things to do. I probably should be concentrating on avoiding the mistakes I made earlier or the current state of my rear-end but, oddly, neither of those things enters my mind as I'm walking away from dungeon. In fact, the only thing in my head once I'm back on the street is how hard it will be to pass the time until I have the opportunity to once again return to the magical domain of the incomparable Mistress Troy.