The cheap motel room smelled of stale cigarettes and floral air freshener, but all I could focus on was the intoxicating scent of her. Bridget stood before me, a vision of commanding grace in a floral sundress that flowed over her curves. Her long legs, sheathed in the promised black nylon, disappeared into a pair of scuffed, knee-high leather boots. She hadn’t said a word yet, just offered me that slow, knowing smile that made my knees weak.“You’ve been so good, waiting for me,” she said, her voice a low, warm hum that vibrated straight through me. She took a single, deliberate step forward, the boot heel clicking on the linoleum. “Come here. Worship me.”I didn’t need to be told twice. I dropped to my knees before her, my forehead naturally finding a place to rest against the cool leather of her boot. I inhaled deeply, and beneath the polish and leather was the musk I craved, the scent of her day spent in nylons and boots. Heaven.Her hand, adorned with long, perfectly manicured nails, came to rest on my head, not petting, but claiming. “Hands behind your back, my devoted one. This is for me.”I obeyed instantly, lacing my fingers together at the small of my back. This was my purpose. Her free hand lifted my chin. “Look at me while you begin.”I looked up into her dark, pleased eyes as I leaned in. My first touch was to the side of her boot, a reverent kiss on the leather. I nuzzled my face against her calf, feeling the firm muscle beneath the nylon. I worked my way up, kissing and nuzzling, my breath hot through the thin material, until I reached the enticing gap where her nylon-clad thigh met the bare skin above.I pressed my lips there, a soft, open-mouthed kiss. Her skin was so warm. I could feel her subtle shift in stance, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Emboldened, I let my tongue dart out, tracing a slow, wet line along that sensitive border. The taste of her faint sweat was ambrosia. Salty. Sweet. Her.“Use your teeth,” she murmured, her voice huskier now. “Gently.”I obeyed, grazing my teeth oh-so-delicately along the edge of the nylon, tugging it down just a fraction of an inch. My heart hammered against my ribs. I was dissolving into pure sensation, into service.“The other leg,” she commanded, and I moved to her left leg, repeating my worship, my adoration. My world narrowed to the feel of nylon under my lips, the scent of her skin filling my lungs, the sound of her breathing beginning to quicken.After what felt like an eternity of bliss, she tapped my head. “The boots. Slowly.”My fingers, now freed, trembled as I reached for the zipper of her right boot. I pulled it down with a soft zzzip, my movements ritualistic. I peeled the boot off, and then the thick sock beneath. The smell that bloomed in the room was overwhelming, a potent, musky fragrance of warm leather, sweat, and her. I closed my eyes, pressing my nose into the wool of the sock, committing the aroma to memory before setting it aside with utmost care.Her foot was still encased in the nylon. It was perfect. Long, elegant toes, a high arch. I brought it to my face and inhaled deeply, the nylon trapping and concentrating her unique scent. I could live in this smell.I started with her instep, kissing the nylon, my tongue making damp circles through the sheer material. I lavished attention on every inch, every toe. I took one nylon-clad toe into my mouth, sucking gently, my tongue swirling around it. A low, throaty moan escaped her, and her fingers tightened in my hair.“Yes… just like that. Your mouth is perfect for this.”I was hers completely. I moved to the other foot, removing the boot and sock with the same reverence, drowning in the scent of her devotion. With both feet nylon-clad before me, I was in ecstasy. I kissed, I licked, I suckled, losing all track of time, aware only of her soft sounds of pleasure.Her hand guided my head upwards, along her calves, her knees, until I was kneeling between her thighs, the hem of her sundress brushing my cheeks. The air here was different, charged with a new, wet sweetness.“Make me come,” she breathed, her voice ragged with need. “Use that talented tongue. I want to feel you worship me there.”I needed no further invitation. I pushed the dress up around her hips, revealing the sheer black panties she wore, already dark with her arousal. I buried my face in the hot, damp silk, inhaling her deepest, most intimate scent. I hooked my fingers into the sides and slowly drew them down her legs.And then I was there. At her core. I glanced up once, silently asking for permission. She nodded, her eyes glazed with anticipation, one hand fisted in my hair.I dove in.My tongue found her center, and she gasped, her hips bucking slightly. I held her firmly, my hands on her thighs, and began a slow, deliberate exploration. I licked broad, flat strokes, savoring her taste—tangy, rich, utterly addictive. I circled her clit with the very tip of my tongue, again and again, feeling it harden under my attention.“Oh god… right there… don’t stop…” she panted, her words dissolving into incoherent moans.I intensified my efforts, flicking my tongue rapidly, then sucking gently. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. She was so wet, so hot, clenching around me. I felt the tell-tale tremors start deep within her.“I’m… I’m going to…”I redoubled my efforts, my tongue a relentless, worshipful instrument. Her thighs tightened around my head, her moans became shouts, and then it happened. A gush of her release hit my tongue, warm and copious, and I drank her down greedily as she shuddered through the most powerful orgasm, her body writhing under my devoted mouth.She collapsed back onto the bed, breathless, spent. I rested my head on her thigh, nuzzling her gently, covered in her essence, happier than I had ever been.After a long moment, she stirred, running her nails lightly down my cheek. “Such a good boy. Such a devoted tongue.” She took a deep, satisfied breath. “We’ll rest now. Just for twenty minutes. Then… then it’s my turn to play.”

In the motel room, I worshipped Bridget, starting with her boots and working my way up, kissing and nuzzling her nylon-clad legs. I brought her to orgasm with my tongue and fingers, drinking down her release. She then promised me a turn to play after a short rest.

The cheap motel room smelled of stale cigarettes and floral air freshener, but all I could focus on was the intoxicating scent of *her*. Bridget stood before me, a vision of commanding grace in a floral sundress that flowed over her curves. Her long legs, sheathed in the promised black nylon, disappeared into a pair of scuffed, knee-high leather boots. She hadn’t said a word yet, just offered me that slow, knowing smile that made my knees weak.

“You’ve been so good, waiting for me,” she said, her voice a low, warm hum that vibrated straight through me. She took a single, deliberate step forward, the boot heel clicking on the linoleum. “Come here. Worship me.”

I didn’t need to be told twice. I dropped to my knees before her, my forehead naturally finding a place to rest against the cool leather of her boot. I inhaled deeply, and beneath the polish and leather was the musk I craved, the scent of her day spent in nylons and boots. _Heaven_.

Her hand, adorned with long, perfectly manicured nails, came to rest on my head, not petting, but _claiming_. “Hands behind your back, my devoted one. This is for me.”

I obeyed instantly, lacing my fingers together at the small of my back. This was my purpose. Her free hand lifted my chin. “Look at me while you begin.”

I looked up into her dark, pleased eyes as I leaned in. My first touch was to the side of her boot, a reverent kiss on the leather. I nuzzled my face against her calf, feeling the firm muscle beneath the nylon. I worked my way up, kissing and nuzzling, my breath hot through the thin material, until I reached the enticing gap where her nylon-clad thigh met the bare skin above.

I pressed my lips there, a soft, open-mouthed kiss. Her skin was so warm. I could feel her subtle shift in stance, a soft sigh escaping her lips. Emboldened, I let my tongue dart out, tracing a slow, wet line along that sensitive border. The taste of her faint sweat was ambrosia. _Salty. Sweet. Her._

“Use your teeth,” she murmured, her voice huskier now. “Gently.”

I obeyed, grazing my teeth oh-so-delicately along the edge of the nylon, tugging it down just a fraction of an inch. My heart hammered against my ribs. I was dissolving into pure sensation, into service.

“The other leg,” she commanded, and I moved to her left leg, repeating my worship, my adoration. My world narrowed to the feel of nylon under my lips, the scent of her skin filling my lungs, the sound of her breathing beginning to quicken.

After what felt like an eternity of bliss, she tapped my head. “The boots. Slowly.”

My fingers, now freed, trembled as I reached for the zipper of her right boot. I pulled it down with a soft _zzzip_, my movements ritualistic. I peeled the boot off, and then the thick sock beneath. The smell that bloomed in the room was overwhelming, a potent, musky fragrance of warm leather, sweat, and *her*. I closed my eyes, pressing my nose into the wool of the sock, committing the aroma to memory before setting it aside with utmost care.

Her foot was still encased in the nylon. It was perfect. Long, elegant toes, a high arch. I brought it to my face and inhaled deeply, the nylon trapping and concentrating her unique scent. _I could live in this smell._

I started with her instep, kissing the nylon, my tongue making damp circles through the sheer material. I lavished attention on every inch, every toe. I took one nylon-clad toe into my mouth, sucking gently, my tongue swirling around it. A low, throaty moan escaped her, and her fingers tightened in my hair.

“Yes… just like that. Your mouth is perfect for this.”

I was hers completely. I moved to the other foot, removing the boot and sock with the same reverence, drowning in the scent of her devotion. With both feet nylon-clad before me, I was in ecstasy. I kissed, I licked, I suckled, losing all track of time, aware only of her soft sounds of pleasure.

Her hand guided my head upwards, along her calves, her knees, until I was kneeling between her thighs, the hem of her sundress brushing my cheeks. The air here was different, charged with a new, wet sweetness.

“Make me come,” she breathed, her voice ragged with need. “Use that talented tongue. I want to feel you worship me there.”

I needed no further invitation. I pushed the dress up around her hips, revealing the sheer black panties she wore, already dark with her arousal. I buried my face in the hot, damp silk, inhaling her deepest, most intimate scent. I hooked my fingers into the sides and slowly drew them down her legs.

And then I was there. At her core. I glanced up once, silently asking for permission. She nodded, her eyes glazed with anticipation, one hand fisted in my hair.

I dove in.

My tongue found her center, and she gasped, her hips bucking slightly. I held her firmly, my hands on her thighs, and began a slow, deliberate exploration. I licked broad, flat strokes, savoring her taste—_tangy, rich, utterly addictive_. I circled her clit with the very tip of my tongue, again and again, feeling it harden under my attention.

“Oh god… right there… don’t stop…” she panted, her words dissolving into incoherent moans.

I intensified my efforts, flicking my tongue rapidly, then sucking gently. I slid two fingers inside her, curling them, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed. She was so wet, so hot, clenching around me. I felt the tell-tale tremors start deep within her.

“I’m… I’m going to…”

I redoubled my efforts, my tongue a relentless, worshipful instrument. Her thighs tightened around my head, her moans became shouts, and then it happened. A gush of her release hit my tongue, warm and copious, and I drank her down greedily as she shuddered through the most powerful orgasm, her body writhing under my devoted mouth.

She collapsed back onto the bed, breathless, spent. I rested my head on her thigh, nuzzling her gently, covered in her essence, happier than I had ever been.

After a long moment, she stirred, running her nails lightly down my cheek. “Such a good boy. Such a devoted tongue.” She took a deep, satisfied breath. “We’ll rest now. Just for twenty minutes. Then… then it’s my turn to play.”

In a seedy motel room, a married man, a devoted oral slave, worships his mistress Bridget with his hands and tongue, fulfilling his foot fetish with her smelly socks and nylons.

She commands him to make her come multiple times, squirting, during their first session.

In the second session, she uses his face, mouth and tongue however she pleases, squirting as much as she wants.

In the final session, he ties her up with rope and a leg spreader bar, making her come even more, no matter how much she begs him to stop.

Worshipping Bridget's Intoxicating Dominion

0 words