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Sometimes It's Obvious
Sometimes, it's just obvious. I was rooting around at McThrifty's for second-hand shirts and potential playthings, when I noticed him in the men's shoes section: barely 21, maybe, red hair in that just-got-out- of-bed style, sweatshirt and jeans. Eye candy.
I am not without a certain amount of self-discipline. I went about my business, found a two-pocket flannel shirt I liked, and headed towards men's shoes myself. He was still there. He'd found a pair of Cherokee lineman's boots and was studying them in an angled mirror at the bottom of the shoe rack. They looked good, until he moved and I could tell they were at least two sizes too big. He studied the laces, but they were already as tight as possible, and he squatted down to take them off. The look on his face was ... well, guys at the bar look like that when they get turned down by the hottest trick in the place.
Now understand, this did not mean the kid was queer--other than queer for those boots, I mean. Still ... I waited until he got them off, then wandered over in my best casual style. "You getting those?" I asked, super-innocently.
"Naw. They don't fit."
"Mind if I try them on?"
"No prob." He handed them to me like delicate antiques, then lingered while I slipped them on.
I made a bit of a performance out of lacing them, then stood and turned. "Damn! They fit! What do you think?"
"Hot," he said. Now he looked like the guy whose bestie had just left him for another guy.
"Don't really need them," I said. "I'm just ... kind of into boots. And you don't find stuff like this every day."
"Damn sure. You going to buy them?"
I glanced at the price tag. "Should I?"
"Shit, yeah. Like you said, you don't find stuff like that--"
"You into boots, too?"
He blushed. What is it about boys who blush, anyway? "Yeah," he nodded.
"Into anything else?"
He looked at me, and the boots, and me. Still blushing.
"Because if you haven't got anything else to do for a while..."
"You wanna ...?"
"We could go to my place, get a little something to eat. I've got a lot of boots."
"All I got are these stupid Doc Marten's."
"They look pretty good, I have to say."
"They're not really ... they were cheap, and they fit, you know?"
"Come with me." That simple. Just a little Top-style edge in my voice.
"Yes, Sir."
Bingo!
Paid for the boots and the shirt, hopped in the car, off to my place, gave him a beer (we skipped lunch), moved to the bedroom. "Get your clothes off, boy."
"Yes, Sir." Nice, decently muscular body, a little tuft of hair on his chest, good calves and a dimpled ass. The gods were smiling today.
"You just kneel down right there while I change clothes."
"Don't ... I like the boots, Sir."
"Say please."
"Please wear the boots, Sir."
Of course, I had to take them off to get out of my pants. I moved behind him so he couldn't see me change into a vest and my chaps. "Bring the boots," I said, at last. His eyes were glued to them as I pulled them on. "Lace them, boy!" His fingers weren't cooperating, and he was actually panting by the time he'd finally gotten them laced: black, 16-inch Cherokees, nicely worn and in need of the polishing he would be doing, later.
"You like those boots, don't you, boy?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Do just about anything for them, huh, boy?"
"Yes, Sir. Anything, Sir."
"You want to lick them?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Not yet. Put your nose on my right boot. Right on the toe."
"Yes, S--"
"Shut up and do what you're told. Nose on the boot. Now!"
He scrambled into position.
"That's right. Now smell it. Just smell it. Sniff your way around the boot like a dog! And keep yourself down! Don't wave your ass at me, boy!" Of course, I really did want him to wave his ass at me, but not yet. I was enjoying the play of shoulder muscles on his upper back and the way his ass cheeks shifted as he worked his way around, sniffing and snuffling. "Don't you dare touch my left boot, boy!"
That presented him with a problem, since I wasn't about to spread my legs. He did his best to get his head between them, pressing his face tight against the leather. We both knew it was hopeless, though.
"Freeze! I told you not to touch my left boot! Now, I'm going to have to punish you!" He watched my boots walk away, then turn and come back, with a short flogger hanging against my right boot. "Face down, ass up!" I gave him five swats, not too hard, just enough to redden his cheeks. "Now get your nose back on my right boot, and do what I told you!" I gave him enough room, this time--just barely. Then I had him sniff out the left boot. He got five more swats for touching the right boot. At least, I think he maybe touched it.
"You got your snot all over my boots, boy! Lick them clean!" To be honest, much as I liked watching him down there, slobbering away, I was getting more and more eager to enjoy the rest of him. I told myself not to rush things. He hadn't mentioned any other obligations, and it was Saturday, after all. I began to wonder if I could make the fun last into the night. "Now let me see you lick them all the way up, boy! Start at the sole and let me see some nice, long licks all the way up!"
He had a bit of a struggle with the chaps, at first, but he managed it. I could tell he was getting dry, though. "Kneel up! Palms on the floor! Pant like a dog!" Fuck, he looked good like that. I walked around him; he turned to keep facing me. I was going to punish him for that, but shit! He was too goddamn cute. He was into it, all right.
"Stay!" I left him there and hurried to the kitchen to fetch a bowl of water (a-tisket, a-tasket). I came back and set it down. "Wait!" He looked back and forth at me, and the water, pleading. This was turning into a match made in whatever corner of heaven specializes in kink and fetishes! "Drink!" While he drank, I went to my toy box and retrieved a collar for him. "Kneel up!" I dangled it in front of his face: about an inch wide, black leather with round silver studs. "Look good?"
"Yes, Sir!"
"Kiss it!"
He did, and I slowly buckled it around his neck. "Lick the boots!" I snapped, and he dove back to work. I walked--slowly, so he could keep up--over to a chair. "Lie down on your back!" I set the chair across his body, straddling his chest so his arms were at his sides. Basically, everything from below his shoulders to his crotch was under the chair. I sat down.
"My boots are still dirty, boy. See?" I held my left boot above his face. "See the dirt?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Clean it!" I lowered the boot onto his face and he went to work. My cock was so damn hard it hurt! I moved the boot slowly as he worked, eventually switched it with my right boot. I pushed a little harder on his face, and got a nice low moan. After he'd licked enough, I shifted the right boot to the side of his head, added the left boot on the other side, and pressed, holding just a little of his hair to the floor. Beautiful: His eyes were wide, he was licking his lips, and his face was tightly framed by the Chippewas. I stood. I imagine my cock and balls were the biggest thing in his field of view. "I'm hard, boot boy."
"Me too, Sir."
"Don't touch your prick!"
"I'm not, Sir."
"You want to lick my nuts?"
"Yes, Sir. Please, Sir. Please let me lick your nuts, Sir."
"Kneel up!" I moved my boots so he could obey me. "Show me what you've got!"
He went after my balls like he was starving and they were the best candy ever. My cock slapped at his face as he slobbered away. I reached back and grabbed the chair to steady myself and teased his package with my boot toe. He said--or tried to say--"Oh, god," over and over. At least I think that's what it was.
"Lick the bottom of my cock!" I switched boots, got the toe back behind his nuts to that fine place just in front of the asshole, felt him almost humping it. "You better not shoot your cream on my boots, boy! Now suck!"
He was a pretty decent cocksucker, had his gag reflex pretty much under control. I let him do the work, so he could breathe okay. That made it easier for me to restrain my urge to cum, as well. I mean hell, it wasn't even sunset, yet.
I held out as long as I thought I could. "On your back!" Just in time, thank goodness. I stood over him, watching his chest heaving. "My boots still look like shit, boy! Wait right there!" I walked over to my closet, dragging my boots across his body as I did. I returned with a bootblack's box, and set it on that beautiful chest. "Time for you to get to work, boy. You know how to polish boots?"
"Yes, Sir."
"We'll see." I sat down. "Open the box, get the gear, and get over here. Put my boot on the footrest and get to work!"
He scrambled to obey, and as I expected, immediately opened the shoe polish. "Not yet, boy!" He froze. "First you lick the boot and wipe it off. Make sure there's no crap on it."
"Yes, Sir." It was almost hypnotic, the way his head moved as he washed the leather.
"Now put some polish on the rag, while you blow on the boot. Warm the leather. Get it nice and warm and spread the polish on the warm spot. Work it in, good. Add a little nice, warm spit." And so on. I just sat while he squirmed around to get to every bit of the leather, following my orders, then brushing and polishing until they looked like they were supposed to. He was kind of a mess, by the time he was done. Looked like one of those Dickens street urchins.
"Good," I said. "Now shoot all over those boots. I don't want to see a drop on my floor. Get your cream on my boots! NO hands, boy. Fuck my boots!!"
He obeyed. I can't describe it, but there he was, twisting his naked body all over the place, humping those Chippewas, whimpering and whining and groaning and, finally, squealing as his whole midsection spasmed. "Fuck!" he gasped. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!"
I let him lie there, exhausted, for a minute. Then, softly--but still in Top mode, of course--"Lick your goddamn cum off my boots, boot boy!"
He forced himself to function, got into position, and started licking. While he worked on one boot, I rested the other on his back. "Yeah," I said. "Lick my boots." It would have been a good painting, or something: the sunset-red light across his body making his muscles look heavier while it gleamed on my boot toe, the flashes of wet leather against his face, light catching one of the studs on his collar every few seconds. To my surprise, my own cock had gone down, a bit. Seems you can only hold an erection for so long before the blood needs to be replenished. I wasn't worried. It would be replenished soon.
"Enough! Turn around." I stuck out my left leg, rested my boot on its heel. "Get your pretty little asshole on that boot!"
He looked at the boot for a second or two, then scrambled to it and squatted.
I watched him spread his cheeks and settle. "Wrong, boy! Turn around and face me!" Granted, either way he faced would have been "wrong," but after all, I had been admiring his back for some time. "Work it, boot boy! Make your ass feel good!"
Bless his kinky little heart, he did his best. After a few minutes of squirming, his chest was thrust forward, his head was thrown back--nice neck muscles--and his hands were on the floor behind him. His cock was this fleshy pole just waving around desperately, ready to go again. I reached forward. "Bring your tits up here! And don't get off that boot!" It was not exactly a comfortable position for either of us, but he clearly responded to getting his tits pinched. (My fault for not grabbing tit clamps, earlier!)
I sat back. "Good boy! Now lick that boot clean!"
He whimpered as he peeled himself off of the toe, then turned to clean it, per orders.
I have a nice bed. The footboard is exactly the right height for ass-fucking. I let him indulge for a few minutes, then stood. He scurried along the floor, trying to follow the boot. "Turn around and stand up!" I steered him to the bed and bent him over. I tied his arms out toward the headboard, and spread his legs and tied his ankles apart. I slapped his ass a few times to make sure everything was good and tight.
"Don't go anywhere," I laughed, and went to my closet. I don't think he could see me grab a motorcycle boot from my collection. I walked back slowly, holding it in front of me and pulled his head back. "Open your mouth, boy. Wider!" It took a little time, but I got the toe firmly in place and tied the upper to his head. His world was nothing but that boot.
I massaged his hole.
I gave him a few strokes with the flogger. I pressed my lineman's boots against his legs. I licked his hole. A little more flogging, and repeat, all of it nice and slow and not too predictable. You can sort of sense when a bottom gets into subspace, or whatever they call it, when they've completely given up, surrendered to you, ready, willing and able to take anything you want to give them. The whipping got intense enough to mark him, but all he was doing was moaning.
I finger-fucked him first, and then, finally, shoved in my aching cock. In. Out. In, Out, in, out, the two of us becoming one thing somehow, energy flowing both ways. His ass pumped my cock, devouring it, pulling me in. My hands clawing at his back, grabbing his hair, my moans and his and the bed shaking and creaking until I exploded and his juice ran down the footboard, dripping, tapping onto the floor.
We showered. I insisted he put on his Doc Marten's while I put on my engineer boots, then we stomped around the kitchen and he made some supper under my instructions. "There's ice cream, if you want it," I smiled, when we'd finished our main course. "Then maybe we can play with some more of my boot collection--if you want to, that is." We decided to save the ice cream for later.