From: bear-cop@justdoit.demon.co.uk
Subject: BootFtsy: M/M, uniforms, bondage
Date: Sun, 29 Dec 1996 01:18:46 GMT

Boot Fantasy  by Morgan, February 1987

        Mike woke up to find himself unable to move his cock to a 
more comfortable position. Right in front of him, the first thing 
he saw was the tin of boot polish with the ripped remains of his denim 
shorts next to it. The mountain of boots he'd started cleaning were 
next to it, waiting to be polished off. That was his punishment for 
being caught cottaging by the soldiers, they'd knocked him out with 
a whiff of an aerosol of stun gas and taken him back to the barracks 
immobile in the scout car, and transferred him here to the drying 
room, held him spread-eagled on the floor whilst one of them controlled 
Mike by keeping his boot on Mike's balls between his outstretched 
legs. Mike gradually came to from a combination of the pain on his 
balls and the heat.

       The soldiers searched him, removed his wallet and the handcuffs 
he kept with him "just in case his luck changed" - usually he had 
to play the boss man, but he always hoped. They'd strung him up stretched 
spreadeagled against the drying room wall between rows of half dry 
combat jackets and the grubby whitewashed wall, arms and high-booted 
feet tied to the huge warm pipes that circled the room. They'd undone 
his chaps and removed the vestigial denim shorts that he wore to both 
protect his decency and to exaggerate, both to him and to his public, 
his basket. The cockring he always wore cruising glinted in the harsh 
light of the single bulb hanging on a flex in the middle of the drying 
room. Mike's T-shirt had not been removed with the same care, indeed 
the frayed collar of it was still ringing his neck, albeit now rather 
dirty. He had planned to use the rest of it to polish off the boots 
as ordered.

       He had, in fact, enjoyed the way the soldiers had used him, 
releasing him from the wall, but not allowing him to escape the unique 
atmosphere of the drying room, forcing him to kneel between the cammo 
gear sagging on lines of hangers and the soldiers who'd wear the uniforms 
again shortly. Mike applied the polish to the mud encrusted, dull 
boots at his feet. One of the soldiers had crouched next to Mike, 
forced his finger up Mike's arse and wanked Mike's cock with boot 
polish while Mike polished boot after boot, the soldier's finger insistently 
jabbing the pace on Mike's prostrate.

       They'd put his leather jacket back on him loosly and tied him 
stretched between the pipes on the wall again and asked him if he 
liked boots, "Yes, Sir" he'd replied, and a series of boots were tossed 
at him, mostly failing at the the cammo jackets between Mike and his 
captors, but quickly the soldiers pulled the jackets apart, asked 
Mike's permission, then attached a pair of boots to his balls, pulling 
the balls downwards as they'd been stretched many times before. Pelting 
him with boots was now more fun, Mike was unprotected save for the 
thick atmosphere and insistent smell of sweaty muddy combat uniform. 
Boots aimed at his body caused him to sway a little and try to duck 
his waist, to no avail and increasing pain as the bootlaces on his 
balls cut into his scrotum. To stop Mike anticipating they pulled 
a drab wool hat over his eyes. Now they aimed true and clapped the 
hisses of breath as boots winded him hitting him full toss in the 
stomach, jeering the stifled swearwords as a boot hit his hard cock 
and fell via the pair of boots dangling from Mike's balls.

       Mike was asked again "Do you like boots civvie?" "Yes, Sir!" 
came the reply smartly. He couldn't see, but felt the nearness of 
the muscled soldier in thin greens and T-shirt barely covering a well 
tattooed arm. Mike anticipated perfectly the boot placed at his mouth, 
he licked it expertly, chasing the boot polish around the welt and 
between the laces. The soldier standing astride Mike's immobile leg 
rutting his cock free inside his greens against the tender leather 
of Mike's chaps, the soldier's greens riding high up the crack of 
his arse and then helped further by one of the many hands urgently 
seeking to give and reward the sensual pleasures of comradeship.

       Another soldier ground the sole of a boot greased black with 
polish into Mike's chest leaving concentric crescents around his pectorals 
and abdominals. The soldiers got out their cocks, now bursting from 
being rigid for so long, spat on their hands and wanked off in Mike's 
direction, tattooed forearms straining, then white cum flowing over 
clenched fists containing now spent cock, the soldiers wiped this 
too on Mike's chest and in his short cropped hair, secret eyes darted 
around the room: confidences confirmed, pleasures compared.

       Mike still unclimaxed, still making no attempt to resist the 
fulfillment of what would have been a very good dream and many times 
better in the flesh, whatever the embarrassment after, allowed himself 
to be secured hand and foot, face down on the wide wooden slats of 
the drying racks a polishing on brush loosely in his arse, boots re-hung 
from his balls but through the gaps between the slats, another pair 
slung round his neck and similarly through the slats, dragging, not 
irrevocably but draining of resistance, his head to the small pile 
of boots he had for a pillow. The soldiers tossed a few more boots 
onto the back and legs of their captive leaving the majority on the 
floor directly in front of him.

       He felt another whiff of the stun gas and did not feel the 
hat removed from his head. When he came to, the room was empty and 
he was left staring at the boots he would have to finish cleaning 
when the soldiers came back to untie him.


Regards
Bear-Cop ------------------------------------- b2 f+ t m g k+ ---------
  Bear-Cop@justdoit.demon.co.uk |        Newcastle Upon Tyne, N E UK.  
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