The relief and the affection in Liam's eyes touched something in Carrick, as he realised that perhaps the boy was more sensitive than he had thought. Evidently he had wanted to please his master and the fierceness with which he had fought had not come from devotion to swordplay alone.
When Liam's mouth nuzzled at his boot, he felt his cock give a jump. It was one of his favourite pleasures to watch a slave crawl to him and run his tongue over the shining leather of his riding boots. It was a symbol of utter devotion and submission, of surrendering completely. The power of it was heady and intoxicating. He thought for a moment of how Liam would look if they were in his bedroom and Liam was naked but for his slave collar. Carrick thought of the boy kneeling then prostrating himself before him, kissing and licking the boot leather and begging to be taken and used utterly.
"Kiss it," he said, his voice coming somewhat thickly. "Kiss my boot. Show me whose slave you are..."