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Leather Boots: From Catwoman to Finding the Perfect Pair

When I was 15, I convinced my dad to buy me a whip—from Hot Topic. I borrowed thigh-high leather boots from my mom’s friend to complete my Domme Halloween costume. (I told my parents I was dressing up as Catwoman, naturally.)

Something about the archetype of thigh-high leather boots has always appealed to me. Arguably, they were one of my first real draws to the aesthetics of a D/s lifestyle.

By 19, I was training at an oldguard BDSM chateau in upstate New York every other weekend. Under the oldguard training style, I had to earn my leathers. The first of which were a pair of thigh-high leather boots that were passed down to me from the Mistress who trained me.

For me, thigh-high leather boots and dominance have always been inherently linked—not just because of Catwoman and other pop culture icons. Leather boots are a talisman. They are an embodiment of my power that allows me to literally and figuratively step into it.

While I continued to earn more leathers throughout my training, it was the leather boots that stuck with me and continued to have that effect on me (and many others). There’s something about the way thigh-high leather boots highlight and expose, yet conceal and obfuscate the desired flesh, isn’t there?

After I left the chateau upstate, my personal boot collection really started to expand as my connections with boot fetishists all over the world grew.

I recall one particular boot fetishist I met who had a Catwoman fetish, specifically. We talked about the specifics, the minor details of thigh-high leather boots for hours. His specificity and painstaking attention to detail gave me space to consider where my preferences overlapped and where they differed.

Around the same time, I had a submissive who was a sommelier. One of the services he offered me was bringing me a bottle of wine to each weekly session. I would use him as a human footstool, place my boots on his back and open whichever bottle he brought me that week. He helped teach me to develop my palate. I was learning to smell, then taste. Visualize, then isolate flavors. Evaluate texture and body.

I went through a very similar process with thigh-high leather boots. As I did, my collection grew to represent my particular desires and fetishes… the types of boots I deem worthy of worship.

My first boot submissive and I would spend hours talking about what we found desirable in leather boots. During a session, he gifted me with two pairs of boots: quintessential Catwoman thigh-high leather boots and Jimmy Choo knee-high leather boots with gold details. The latter gave me the same feeling my sommelier sub gave me when he selected the perfect bottle of wine. They were the first pair that truly felt like my style, that I would wear on a daily basis. I had found the boots that fit my own personal, refined fetish aesthetics.

When I purchased a pair of low heel thigh-high leather boots, my energy changed because they were actually wearable. It was not so much the height of the heel, but the suppleness of the leather. More than once, women followed me on the street to ask me where I got them. “No matter how much they cost, they were worth it,” they said. “I didn’t pay for them,” I laughed.

There’s power in being able to articulate your fetish in detail. Having someone to talk about your fetishes with creates the space you need to hone in on that power.

In my last session with my first boot submissive, he bought me two pairs of leather boots and showed me a side of himself that I hadn’t seen before. “If you’re my girlfriend, you can have both.” Naturally, I took one pair and bought the other myself. I never saw him again. I had outgrown my taste for him, but my taste for boots was just starting to flourish.

Today, I’m one of New York City’s top dominatrixes with over a decade of experience studying power dynamics in many modalities. I have a sizeable boot collection, including those thigh-high leather boots from the chateau all those years ago. And yet… I still struggle to put into words exactly what it is that I’m looking for in a pair of leather boots.

I know that I derive energy and power from them. I have pairs that are just for play, but love pairs I can wear daily, too. When it comes to everyday leather boots, I think thick heel, slight platform boots that play on 90s fetishwear styles are most worthy of worship.

Perhaps you’d like to help me continue to refine my palate for boots or share your boot fetish with me. Perhaps we can learn things from one another and expand what we thought was possible from where our fetish began. Want to beg for the opportunity to worship my boots? Say, “Please, Mistress.”

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Eight Meditations on Mistress Blunt’s Feet

Mistress Blunt’s feet are a gateway. As a submissive in the presence of Mistress Blunt, you are in one plane of reality while she is in another. Her power in this moment cannot be measured, any more than grains of sand on the beach can be counted. She bores into your deepest core and changes you from the inside out. This is something you want, and you want to find a way to make it as easy as possible for her.

Mistress Blunt’s feet are where you start. Even if you don’t consider yourself to have a “foot fetish,” where else could you start? Looking her directly in the eyes, like an equal? Salivating over her breasts, putting your own horniness first? No, be serious. You have to start at the bottom. You have to start with her feet because your service should start below her in every sense.

Mistress Blunt’s feet are a magnet. Mistress Blunt doesn’t have to walk anywhere and she doesn’t have to do anything… because you are there for her. You are serving her whims and her desires as her feet transport you to a realm of control and power unimaginable in your current position.

Mistress Blunt’s feet are a magnet. As she adjusted me into the proper position below her, my eyes gravitated towards her feet, clad in leather boots. It felt right to be below her, it felt comfortable, it felt like what I deserved. I took off her boots at her command, her toes wiggled with their newfound freedom. She smiled as she noticed how I seemed transfixed. She moved one of her feet from left to right, right to left, swaying it in front of me as she spoke softly. My eyes followed while my head remained locked in place. I imagined her toes wiggling in a lake, the water rippling outward. The ripples moved through my mind, disrupting my thoughts until there was nothing left but her red nail polish.

Mistress Blunt’s feet are coming towards me. Her foot suddenly dropped and so did my eyes, so did my head, so did my body. The next thing I knew, I was on all fours, my eyes covered with something smooth and silky. An old blues record started to play in the background, something timeless and worn-in. I started to feel the music, but not in the typical sense—I felt similarly timeless, similarly worn-in. Just as the music was coming from a physical object, a vinyl record, I felt myself becoming a physical object. Something sturdy and reliable for Mistress Blunt’s feet to enjoy. I heard Mistress Blunt gently walk across her floor and I knew I had to be as still as ever.

Mistress Blunt’s feet are on my back. Perched on their proper throne. Her heels rest on me, occasionally digging in, occasionally kicking, but I remain in my form. I remain a stool for her feet. I hear words, I hear voices, I hear her laugh. A conversation that she is having, but the words feel apart from me. They feel like they are in another plane. And Mistress Blunt’s feet allow me a connection to that plane. I am happy. Her feet move. The blindfold slips off. I see her all-encompassing eyes. I am asleep.

Mistress Blunt’s feet are right in front of me. I am aching to touch myself, but my arms are bound in rope. I am so close. Her feet are moving up and down, up and down. I can see her breasts bouncing slightly in the distance as she sits on a couch, barking commands. The immediate view of her feet and the distant view of her breasts are overwhelming. This is what I need: to touch myself because it’s the hottest fucking thing I have ever seen. Up and down, up and down. Her soles wrinkle, flex and take up my entire world. My arms strain, muscles pushing. She laughingly encourages me to go on, try harder, show her how much I need it. My fingertips touch my cock and I feel the heat, oh Christ I feel the heat. Suddenly the rope slackens and I am touching myself. I am stroking and stroking, and her feet wiggle and wiggle. I feel the fire, the rush. Up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down. It’s white hot and it’s her nail polish and she laughs and then I am asleep again.

Mistress Blunt’s feet are a gateway. I struggle to put my pants on over my raging erection, but I manage. Mistress Blunt smiles. She allows me to kiss her feet, slowly and with intention, before I leave. I kiss the dorsum up to the instep, all the way to the ankle. I am on the floor, I am practically humping the floor. I am humping the floor. But I breathe, in and out. I kiss slowly, a dear thank you with each kiss. Each kiss with intention, each movement with intention. It is a moment out of time. And then Mistress Blunt walks me to the door.

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Foot Worship Love Letter from a Submissive

Being dominated by you and your perfect feet in person was one of the most satisfying encounters of my adult life. I genuinely mean that. The way you skillfully and sensually used me, mentally and physically, for your pleasure was both a sexually and emotionally gratifying experience⁠—one that I will never forget. 

The scene highlight, if I had to choose one, was worshiping your precious, adorable, size seven feet. It was such a thrill to have the opportunity to kneel before you, naked at your feet. I vividly remember the way they looked, the way they tasted, they way they smelled. I remember the feeling of each toe in my mouth. I remember the curves of your arches. I remember the way your legs looked in nylon.

When I think about your high heel in my mouth… when I think about deep throating your big toe, gagging and choking on it as you slowly worked your entire foot into my wanting, eager mouth… I still get incredibly aroused. 

I love everything about your feet. They’re so deserving of worship. You have beautiful toes and your arches are just so sexy. Each toe deserves to be loved, kissed, nibbled and gently licked. Your feet are like lovely, delicate flowers. They deserve to be worshiped with not just enthusiasm, but respect and skill as well. Every movement should be intentional, every thought laser-focused. Next time, I need to pay even more attention to detail.

You taught me that it’s important to pay attention to your heels and the arches of your feet, not just the toes. I dream of the day when I can slowly, delicately lick and kiss all the way from your heel to your arch again. Ultimately working my way to the balls of your feet and then your toes. I crave worshiping each toe individually, carefully licking between them. 

In addition to oral worship, your feet deserve a quality massage and pampering. You also taught me that foot worship is about care. Now I find myself daydreaming at work about new, more effective ways to care for and pamper your legs and feet.

I could honestly worship your feet for days, exploring every minor detail of perfection. I consider it a great honor to have had the opportunity to worship your feet and leather boots. It’s therapeutic… relaxing… I feel most at home at your feet.

What makes worshiping your feet even more exciting for me, personally, is how much you clearly enjoy receiving foot worship. I have never met someone with a bigger foot fetish than myself, and it’s truly exciting. The thought of you getting wet because I am worshiping your feet? It’s ecstasy for me.  

Thank you, Mistress.