Chapter 7: The Bootlicker's Test (Jessica's Version)
The polished black floor was cold against her knees. The taste of cedar oil and old leather filled her mouth, a bitter, familiar paste on her tongue. Ava worked in a slow, clockwise motion, her head bowed over the toe of Ethan’s right boot, her saliva mixing with the specialist polish to form a thin, grimy lather. Each lap was a meditation in texture: the rough grain of the leather, the smooth chill of the eyelets, the stubborn grit trapped in the welt. Her world had condensed to this single point of contact. The party, the machine, the rod—they were echoes in her muscles, a symphony of dull aches and sharp, remembered pains. But here, now, there was only the boot. Her task. Her purpose.
The apartment was silent save for the soft, wet sound of her work and the faint click of the wall clock. She was naked, as always during evening chores, the air raising goosebumps on her skin. The welts on her thighs and ass were a tight, angry map, a tactile reminder of last night’s reinforcement. She polished them away in her mind, focusing on the leather.
The knock at the door was so foreign, so utterly disconnected from the enclosed universe of the apartment, that she froze, her tongue still pressed against the boot.
Ethan, who had been reading in the armchair, didn’t look up from his tablet. “See who it is.”
She shuffled on her knees to the intercom panel, her movements stiff. She pressed the button. The screen flickered to life, showing a woman’s face. Pretty, early twenties, blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, wide eyes looking uncertainly into the camera. Ava didn’t recognize her.
“It’s… Jessica? From Poli-Sci 402? Ethan Hayes?”
Ethan’s head lifted. A flicker of something—annoyance, then calculation—crossed his face. He set the tablet down. “Interesting.” He stood, straightening his shirt. “Let her in, Ava. Resume your task. Do not stop unless directly ordered.”
The electric lock buzzed. Ava scurried back to her place before the boots, lowering her head and dragging her tongue across the leather as the front door opened.
“Hey, Ethan? Sorry to just drop by, I was in the building visiting a friend and I remembered you lived here, and I had a question about the comparative government paper…” Jessica’s voice, bright and slightly nervous, trailed off.
Ava heard the soft click of the door closing.
There was a long, breathless silence. Ava could feel the woman’s eyes on her bare back, on the vivid welts, on the absurd, debasing act itself. The weight of the stare was a physical pressure.
“Oh, my God,” Jessica whispered, the sound strangled.
“Jessica. This is a surprise.” Ethan’s voice was smooth, unperturbed. He walked into Ava’s line of sight, standing beside the boots. “You’ve caught us during a maintenance ritual. Ava, this is Jessica. Jessica, this is Ava, my domestic partner.”
Ava didn’t look up. She continued polishing, her tongue moving in agonizingly slow circles.
“What… what is she doing?” Jessica’s voice was thin with shock.
“Achieving a mirror finish that can’t be had with a cloth,” Ethan explained, his tone conversational, pedagogical. “The enzymes in saliva react uniquely with this particular wax. It’s a technique passed down from old-world craftsmen. Of course, it requires complete submission to the task. Any hesitation, any lack of commitment, and the finish is cloudy.” He nudged the boot with his toe. “Ava, demonstrate the proper technique for our guest. Narrate your process.”
Ava’s mind went blank for a second. The humiliation of performing was one thing. Explaining it aloud to this stranger was a new layer of exposure. She took a shaky breath, her lips still wet from the boot.
“The tongue must be flat,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “Pressure must be even. You work in small sections, overlapping each pass. You do not swallow until the section is complete, as the polish must be emulsified fully.” To illustrate, she extended her tongue and laid it flat against the leather, dragging it slowly from the toe to the laces. She collected the thin, dirty mixture in her mouth, holding it on her tongue.
“See the commitment?” Ethan said, as if pointing out a fascinating detail in a painting. “The willingness to degrade a basic bodily function for a perfect result. That’s discipline.”
“It’s… she’s… you’re making her…” Jessica couldn’t form a sentence. But Ava, from her lowered angle, saw the woman’s feet shift. She wasn’t leaving. She was stepping closer.
“I’m not making her do anything. This is her chosen function. Her art.” Ethan’s hand came to rest on Ava’s head, a possessive gesture. “Her mouth is a tool. A very versatile one. Isn’t that right, Ava?”
“Yes, Master.”
Jessica let out a small, shaky breath. “Master?”
“An honorific. A recognition of truth.” His fingers tangled in Ava’s hair, gripping firmly. “Would you like a closer look? The nuance is in the details.”
There was a pause. Ava felt the new silence, heavy and fraught. “Okay,” Jessica breathed, almost inaudibly.
Ethan guided Ava’s head by her hair, turning her face toward Jessica, who had knelt a few feet away, her eyes wide and unblinking. Ava stared at the floor between them, a hot flush of shame burning her cheeks.
“Show her the mouth,” Ethan commanded.
Ava opened her mouth, extending her polish-coated tongue. The bitter, oily taste filled her senses.
“Look at that focus,” Ethan murmured, his voice dropping into an intimate, conspiratorial register. “No gag reflex. Total control. This is a mouth that has been trained to serve. To clean. To please.” His grip tightened. “It’s been trained to take a cock deep into the throat and thank the man for using it. Hasn’t it, Ava?”
“Yes, Master.”
Jessica was breathing through her mouth now. Ava could hear it. The initial shock was melting, replaced by a palpable, hungry curiosity. “How… how do you train that?”
“Repetition. Correction. Consistent reinforcement of the desired behavior until it becomes innate.” He released Ava’s hair and gestured to the second, unpolished boot. “Would you like to see the before and after? The difference is stark.”
Jessica nodded, mesmerized.
“Ava, polish the left boot. Show Jessica the standard you maintain.”
Ava shuffled on her knees to the other boot. She felt Jessica’s eyes like lasers on her skin, tracing the welts, lingering on the cleft of her ass, on the slick, exposed folds between her legs that were already wet—not from arousal, but from a base, pathetic physiological response to total exposure. She began to lick, her movements mechanical, her mind fleeing to a white room.
“It’s incredible,” Jessica whispered, not looking at the boot, but at Ava’s working mouth, at the way her throat moved. “She doesn’t even seem to mind.”
“She’s past minding. She’s in a state of purpose. It’s a beautiful thing to witness, isn’t it? The abolition of pointless pride. The elevation of utility.”
Ethan moved then, circling behind Ava. He unbuttoned his fly. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Ava flinched, her rhythm faltering for a half-second.
“Don’t stop,” he said, his voice cool. He wasn’t talking to her.
Jessica watched, her hand rising to her own throat, as Ethan positioned himself behind his kneeling slave. He was fully hard. He spat once into his palm, slicked himself, and then, without ceremony, guided the head of his cock to Ava’s exposed cunt. He pushed inside in one slow, inexorable thrust.
Ava gasped, her mouth leaving a wet streak on the leather. The intrusion was a brutal fullness, a stark violation made infinitely worse by the audience. She was sore, still loose from the previous night’s ordeal, but he was stretching her anew, claiming her in front of this watching, learning woman.
“This is another function,” Ethan said, his voice slightly strained as he began to move, setting a deep, punishing rhythm. His hips slapped against her bruised flesh. “A stress-relief valve. A living fleshlight. Observe her face.”
He reached around, hooking his fingers under her chin and wrenching her head up, forcing her to look at Jessica. Tears had welled in Ava’s eyes and were now spilling over, tracing clean lines through the faint smudges of polish on her cheeks. Her mouth was slack, breath hitching with each of his thrusts.
“See the acceptance?” Ethan grunted, pounding into her harder. “The tears aren’t protest. They’re a physiological release, like sweat. They mean nothing. She’s empty of protest. She’s just a hole being fucked. Say it, Ava.”
“I’m… I’m just a hole,” she sobbed, the words ripped from her.
“Being?”
“Being fucked.”
“Good girl.” He fucked her with a focused intensity, his eyes locked on Jessica’s enthralled face. “This is what real power looks like, Jessica. Not shouting. Not violence. This quiet, absolute authority. The power to turn a human being into a useful object. To reduce complexity to simple, reliable function.”
Jessica’s lips were parted. Her face was flushed. She was leaning forward, one hand now pressed between her own legs, over her jeans. She was rubbing herself, absentmindedly, as she watched.
The sight of it, the soft sound of her hand moving on denim, broke something final in Ava. The last vestige of a self that could be witnessed, that could be seen as human, dissolved. She was a demonstration. A living diagram of subjugation.
Ethan’s pace became frantic, jagged. “This cunt… has been used by other men… has been hammered by a machine… and it still takes me… it still fucking serves…” He was losing his lecturer’s control, descending into base, grunting need. He slammed into her, his balls slapping against her, the sound wet and obscene. “It’s my property… my perfect, fuckable property…”
He came with a sharp cry, driving his hips flush against her, pulsing deep inside her. He held there for a long moment, panting, before pulling out. He wiped himself casually on the back of her thigh, leaving a gleaming streak.
He stepped back, tucking himself away. Ava remained on her knees, his release already beginning to leak out of her, dripping onto the polished floor between the two boots. She was trembling violently, a silent earthquake.
Ethan turned to Jessica, who slowly stopped rubbing herself, her hand falling away as if she’d just realized what she was doing. Her expression was a mix of horror and a dark, awakened hunger.
“Would you like to try?” Ethan asked, his voice soft, inviting.
Jessica stared at the broken woman dripping onto the floor. She swallowed hard. Her eyes darted to Ethan’s crotch, then back to Ava. A war raged behind her eyes. Disgust lost.
“Yes,” she said, the word a thin, sharp exhalation.
“The mouth first,” Ethan instructed, taking on the role of instructor once more. “It’s the proper introduction. Ava, present
“The mouth first. It’s the proper introduction. Ava, present.”
The command cut through the humid air. Ava’s body moved before her mind could form a protest, the training overriding everything. She turned on her knees, the polished floor slick beneath her. Jessica stood frozen, a statue of conflicted desire, her eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Ethan guided Jessica to the leather armchair, his hands firm on her shoulders.
“Sit,” he said, not unkindly. “Just watch. Just feel.”
Jessica sank into the chair, her gaze locked on Ava’s approaching form. Ava crawled the short distance, the journey feeling endless. Each movement made Ethan’s spend leak down her inner thigh, a warm, shameful trickle. She stopped between Jessica’s knees, her head level with the other woman’s crotch. The smell of Jessica’s arousal, a sweet, floral perfume mixed with salt, cut through the scents of leather and sex.
“She’s nervous,” Ethan narrated, standing beside the chair, a curator explaining an interactive exhibit. “Her body is willing, but her mind is still clinging to old ideas. Ava’s mouth will teach her. It will demonstrate what pure service feels like.”
He placed a hand on the back of Ava’s head. “Begin.”
Ava stared at the denim covering Jessica’s mound. Her own breath hitched. This was a new quadrant of hell. Licking boots was debasement to an object. Licking this woman, Ethan’s girlfriend, was an act of social annihilation. It severed her from any possible sisterhood, any shred of shared humanity. She was to become a utensil for another woman’s pleasure, a sub-human lubricant for their dynamic.
“Now,” Ethan said, his voice losing its patient tone.
Ava leaned forward. She nuzzled the rough denim, feeling the heat and dampness through the fabric. She heard Jessica’s sharp intake of breath. Using her teeth, she found the button of Jessica’s jeans, fumbled it open, and tugged the zipper down with a soft, grating sound. The smell intensified. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of jeans and panties, pulling them down just enough to expose the neat, blonde curls beneath.
Jessica lifted her hips to help, a small, eager motion.
Ava’s mind split. One part observed with a cold, clinical distance: the pink, swollen lips, the glistening evidence of Jessica’s watching. The other part drowned in a sea of shame so profound it felt like vertigo. She extended her tongue. The first touch was a shock of salt and musk, a flavor utterly foreign, intimately human. Jessica jerked, a gasp escaping her.
“Relax,” Ethan soothed Jessica, his hand still a weight on Ava’s skull. “Let her work. She’s very skilled.”
Ava began to lick in slow, flat strokes, mimicking the methodical care she’d used on the boot. The texture was so different—soft, yielding, alive. Jessica’s thighs tensed on either side of Ava’s head, trembling. Ava focused on the technique, building a rhythm, circling the hardening clit with a pressure she knew from her own violated body. She hollowed her cheeks, creating suction, and Jessica moaned, a real, unfettered sound of pleasure.
“Oh, God,” Jessica breathed, her hands coming down to tangle hesitantly in Ava’s dark hair. She didn’t push, just held on.
“See?” Ethan said, his voice thick with pride. “No ego. No jealousy. Just pure, applied skill. Her mouth is a gift.”
He moved then. Ava heard the sound of his fly again, the rustle of clothing. He positioned himself behind her once more. His cock, already hard again, nudged against her sore, wet entrance. He pushed in, and the dual violation was absolute. Her mouth was filled with the taste of another woman; her cunt was being brutally re-filled by the man who owned her. She was a bridge between them, a living conduit for their connection.
Jessica’s hips began to move in tiny, urgent circles against Ava’s mouth. “Right there,” she whispered, her grip tightening in Ava’s hair. “Don’t stop.”
Ethan fucked Ava with deep, measured strokes, using her body as a steady platform for his own pleasure. Each thrust drove her face harder into Jessica’s cunt. Ava could barely breathe, suffocating in the scent and taste of Jessica’s climax, punctuated by the brutal snap of Ethan’s hips. Tears streamed down her face, mixing with the fluids she was diligently lapping up.
“You like that, don’t you?” Ethan grunted, his rhythm becoming erratic. “You like having my slut’s tongue on your pussy while I fuck her? She’s licking my girlfriend clean. That’s all she is now. A fucking cleaning rag.”
“Yes,” Jessica cried out, her back arching. “Yes, it’s so fucking good. Her mouth… Ethan…”
Ava’s world dissolved into a symphony of overlapping sensations: the coarse hair against her nose, the slick nub of Jessica’s clit on her tongue, the burning stretch of Ethan’s cock pistoning inside her, the ache in her knees, the salt of her own tears. Her emotions were a shattered mosaic. There was the crushing weight of her own objectification, a despair so deep it was bottomless. Yet, intertwined with it, a grotesque thread of a perverse pride sparked. She was doing this well. She was making Jessica moan. She was fulfilling her function perfectly, even in this fresh hell. The validation was a poison, and she drank it greedily.
Jessica’s climax hit suddenly. Her thighs clamped around Ava’s head, a shuddering, pulsing wave that muffled Ava in soft, quivering flesh. A high, keening cry ripped from Jessica’s throat. Ava kept licking, gently now, through the aftershocks, as she’d been trained to do—to serve the sensation to its completion.
The sound of Jessica’s pleasure seemed to push Ethan over the edge. His thrusts lost all rhythm, becoming frantic, punishing jackhammers. “Take it, you fucking shared cunt!” he snarled, his fingers digging bruises into her hips. “Take my come while you taste hers!”
He slammed home, shuddering, and she felt the hot, familiar flood inside her. He held there, pulsing, his weight heavy against her back.
For a long moment, the only sounds were ragged breathing. Ethan slowly pulled out. Ava remained with her face buried in Jessica’s sated, soft flesh, the taste of the other woman’s orgasm a final, branding irony on her tongue.
Jessica’s hands gently pushed her away. Ava sat back on her heels, avoiding their eyes. She was a mess of overlapping fluids—saliva, Jessica’s release, Ethan’s semen, her own tears and sweat. She stared at a scuff mark on the polished floor.
“That was…” Jessica began, her voice wonderstruck. She adjusted her clothing, a slow, dazed movement. “I’ve never felt anything like that.”
“It’s just the beginning,” Ethan said, his voice returning to its calm, controlled state. He zipped his pants. “Ava, clean yourself up. Then prepare Jessica a drink. She’ll be staying awhile.”
Ava crawled backward, then stood on shaky legs. The command was a lifeline, a return to a simpler script. As she shuffled toward the kitchen, she heard Jessica’s whispered question.
“Does she ever get used to it? To… all of it?”
Ethan’s reply was soft, confident. “She is used to it. This is her use.”
In the kitchen, Ava ran cold water over a cloth. She wiped her face first, scrubbing away the physical evidence of Jessica. The taste remained. As she mechanically prepared a gin and tonic, her hands steady, her mind was a silent, echoing chamber. The longing for connection, that deep, starving need that had once been for Ethan, had just been weaponized. It had been used to make her service his new lover. That part of her had finally, truly, been conquered. What was left felt less like a person and more like a well-maintained, empty vessel, waiting only to be filled with whatever purpose he decreed.
What was left felt less like a person and more like a well-maintained, empty vessel, waiting only to be filled with whatever purpose he decreed. She carried the gin and tonic back into the living room on a small tray, her steps silent on the floor. Jessica was curled in the armchair now, shoes off, her legs tucked beneath her. She accepted the glass without looking at Ava, her eyes fixed on Ethan with a kind of dazed, hungry wonder.
“So, the boot thing,” Jessica said, taking a sip. “Is that, like, a daily chore?”
“It is when they need it,” Ethan replied, settling on the sofa. “Maintenance is constant. Degradation is a preservative. It prevents the growth of ego.”
“Wow.” Jessica’s gaze flicked to Ava, who stood at a respectful distance, eyes down. “And she just… does it. After everything.” Her voice dropped. “After what we just did.”
“Because of what we just did.” Ethan smiled. “Each act reinforces the hierarchy. You are now above her. Your pleasure, witnessed and facilitated by her, is another brick in the wall of her containment. She will make your breakfast tomorrow. She will wash your clothes. You will exist in her world as a superior.”
Jessica absorbed this, her thumb tracing the condensation on her glass. “Can I… can I try something? With her?”
“Of course.” Ethan’s permission was a wave of his hand. “She’s a resource. Experiment.”
Jessica uncurled herself and stood. She approached Ava, who remained perfectly still. Jessica circled her, a predator unsure of its own instincts. She reached out and touched one of the darker welts on Ava’s thigh from the acrylic rod. Ava didn’t flinch.
“Does this hurt?” Jessica asked.
“It is a sensation, Miss Jessica,” Ava murmured to the floor.
“She’s not allowed to call it pain unless I specify,” Ethan explained from his seat. “Language is the first frontier.”
Jessica’s hand slid up, over the curve of Ava’s ass, fingers tracing the sticky, drying trails of Ethan’s semen. She brought her fingers to her own nose, then, with a boldness that seemed to surprise even her, she put them in her mouth. She sucked them clean, her eyes on Ava’s face. “Salty,” she said, a weak attempt at a joke that died in the heavy air.
“Her mouth is cleaner,” Ethan said. “If you want a taste of me, that’s the source. She’s an efficient filter.”
Jessica’s eyes lit up with a dark curiosity. “Kneel,” she said, the command shaky but clear.
Ava sank to her knees. Jessica stood before her, pushing her fingers into Ava’s hair. This wasn’t the hesitant grip from before; this was ownership, testing its weight. “Open.”
Ava opened her mouth, extending her tongue. Jessica leaned down and spat into it. A warm, wet glob landed on Ava’s tongue, a parody of a communion. “Swallow,” Jessica ordered.
Ava obeyed, the act a deeper violation than the cunnilingus. This was purely symbolic, a transfer of dominance, a marking by spit.
“Good,” Jessica breathed, her confidence growing. She looked at Ethan. “Can I fuck her? Like you did?”
“How would you like to?” he asked, as if discussing menu options.
Jessica bit her lip. “I want to use that thing. The machine from the other room. I saw it when I used the bathroom. I want to… run her.”
Ethan’s smile was broad, genuine. “An excellent choice. It removes the awkwardness of physical technique. It’s pure administration. Ava, to the training room. Assume position four.”
The walk to the training room was a procession. Ava led, her body moving on autopilot, the memory of the machine’s relentless thrusts causing a phantom clench in her gut. Jessica followed, with Ethan a few paces behind, the observer now becoming the guide.
The room was cold, the mirrors reflecting their trio in infinite regression. The fuck saw sat on its stand, its silicone shaft gleaming dully under the halogens. Jessica went to it, her touch almost reverent. “How do I…?”
Ethan showed her the controls—the dial for speed, the button for depth, the toggle for the thrust pattern. “Start slow. She’s already loose, but the psychological impact is in the control. In the noise.”
Ava had already fastened herself into the leather bench, face down, ass raised, wrists and ankles secured. The posture was a brutal offering. Jessica positioned the machine, her hands less sure than Ethan’s. The lubricated head nudged against Ava’s swollen entrance.
“Just push it in,” Ethan coached softly, standing beside her. “It’s designed to find the way.”
Jessica pushed. The head breached, a slow, cold invasion. Ava let out a shaky breath against the leather. Jessica gasped. “It’s so tight. Even after… everything.”
“It’s the body’s final, meaningless protest,” Ethan said. “Now turn it on. Start at level two.”
Jessica turned the dial. The machine whirred to life, a low industrial hum that vibrated in the floor. It began to move, a slow, withdrawing stroke, then a push back in. Jessica watched, mesmerized, as the mechanical penis disappeared and reappeared from Ava’s body, glistening with her fluids.
“Fuck,” Jessica whispered. “It’s like a factory. Like she’s a part on an assembly line.”
“Increase the speed.”
Jessica turned the dial. The machine’s rhythm became a steady, pounding thump-thump-thump. The sound of wet flesh slapping filled the room. Ava’s body jolted with each thrust, her restrained hands curling into fists.
“It’s fucking her,” Jessica said, a strange awe in her voice. “And I’m doing it. But I’m not even touching her.”
“You are the will. The machine is the hand. She is the material.” Ethan placed his hand on the small of Jessica’s back. “Now make it mean something. Talk to her. Tell her what she is.”
Jessica licked her lips. Her initial hesitation was gone, burned away by the power of the controls. “You’re a machine part,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “A warm, wet socket for this thing. That’s all.” She turned the speed higher. The thrusts became punishing, rapid-fire. Ava’s body shook, a rag doll in a hurricane. “You take this so well, don’t you? Because you’re empty. There’s no one in there to complain.”
Ethan’s hand slid from Jessica’s back to the waistband of her jeans. He unbuttoned them, slipping his hand inside. Jessica moaned, leaning back against him, her eyes still glued to the spectacle of Ava being mechanically ravaged.
“That’s it,” Ethan murmured in her ear, his fingers working her over as she worked the machine. “Feel your power. It’s a feedback loop. Her degradation fuels your arousal. Your arousal justifies her degradation. It’s perfect.”
Jessica was panting now, her hips grinding against Ethan’s hand, her own hand white-knuckled on the machine’s control dial. She turned it to its maximum setting.
The change was instantaneous. The machine became a violent, jackhammering piston. The sound was obscene, a brutal, repetitive slapping that drowned out everything else. Ava cried out, a raw, torn sound she couldn’t contain, her body straining against the restraints.
“Shut up!” Jessica screamed, her own climax building, fed by the visual and the visceral. “You’re a fucking cunt getting fucked by a machine! You don’t get to make noise!”
Ethan added his own voice, cold and clear through Jessica’s feverish shout. “You will thank Miss Jessica. You will thank her for programming your fuck.”
Ava’s mind shattered. The last fragments of a separate self blew away like dust in the hurricane of the machine. Her voice, when it came, was a broken, automated rasp synced to the hammer blows. “Thank you, Miss Jessica. Thank you, Miss Jessica. Thank you, Miss Jessica.”
Jessica came with a sharp, shuddering cry, her body convulsing against Ethan’s hand. At the same moment, she slammed the ‘depth’ button to its limit. The machine drove into Ava with a final, brutal stroke that seemed to bottom out in her very core, and held there, vibrating.
Silence, except for the low, angry hum and Jessica’s ragged gasps. Ethan slowly withdrew his hand. Jessica, limp and dazed, turned the machine off. The sudden quiet was a physical void.
Ava hung in her restraints, utterly spent, a string of saliva and tears connecting her face to the leather bench. The machine remained buried inside her, a cold, dead plug.
Jessica looked from the broken woman on the bench to the control panel in her hand, then to Ethan. Her expression was transformed. The last vestige of the polite Poli-Sci student was gone, replaced by a giddy, satiated cruelty. “I get it now,” she said, her voice husky. “I really, really get it.”
Ethan nodded, unlocking Ava’s restraints. She collapsed to the floor, the machine finally slipping free of her with a wet, hollow sound. He didn’t look at her. “Stay the night,” he said to Jessica. “She’ll draw you a bath. You can use her mouth again in the morning. For hygiene.”
As Ethan led Jessica out, talking softly about protocols and morning routines, Ava lay on the cold concrete. The vibrations of the machine still echoed in her bones. She heard their retreating footsteps, their low, intimate laughter. She understood now that the empty vessel could always be filled with something worse. The next purpose was already forming in the sound of their joined voices, a new, collaborative cruelty that promised there was no bottom, only a deepening, and she was already falling.