Date: Tue, 30 Jun 2009 17:52:19 -0700 (PDT)
From: John Brant <wellington1962now@yahoo.com>
Subject: Boot Slut in Chicago (Relationship/Authoritarian/Adult Friends)

    Keith was an accountant with an auditing company in Chicago.  Although
he was only 34, he had made fast progress in his career and was in charge
of his own team of auditors. To them he was the boss who knew the answers
and with whom they had to clear whatever they wanted to do. But when Keith
left the office at 4:00 each afternoon his colleagues did not know that he
went into a complete role reversal.

   You see, Keith is a boot slut. From his high school days on he had a
deep seated lust for boots. He loved engineer boots and the dominant
leather men who wore them. He was in complete awe in the presence of
soldiers in their spit shined combat boots. A couple of years before he had
joined Recon on line in order to read the profiles of men who were into
boots.  One day as he was looking at some new postings he read this one:
"Need a boot slave who can serve me and my boots the way they deserve.
Looking for long term relationship."  Keith noted that Bob said he lived in
the Chicago area and then looked at the pictures on his profile and in his
private gallery. What he saw made his cock jump. Here was a guy only four
years younger than he was. He was wearing a police uniform and lustrous
Chippewa high shine engineer boots. The pictures did not show anything
really erotic, but just different poses of a self-assured police officer in
commanding stances. Keith noted that Bob was 100% active, while his profile
said he was 100% passive, so this might be worth investigating.

   The upshot of that chance meeting on the internet was that Bob
interviewed Keith and they decided to go for a one year trial relationship.
It was a perfect match, because Bob actually was a motorcycle cop for the
City of Evanston, and the pictures were of him in his uniform. Keith
willingly made himself Bob's boot slave, not only because he loved being
under his boots, but after a day of having to make decisions and carrying
the weight of responsibility, he liked taking orders and being bossed
around.

   Six months have gone by and things are settling into a pretty good
routine. For example, here's what happens on a typical Tuesday when Keith
comes home from work. He always gets to the house first and rushes into
their bedroom. He quickly changes out of his business suit and into a tank
top, black leather shorts and his own pair of spit shined combat boots. He
then goes to the kitchen to check his weekly menu that he cleared with Bob
the weekend before and gets out the food for tonight which includes a
T-bone steak, baked potato, veggies and pie for dessert.  He puts the
potato into the oven, because Bob doesn't like them micro-waved.

   Bob drives home from work in his uniform. He enjoys driving his red
Mustang after a day of straddling the throbbing engine of his police
motorcycle. He parks his car and goes to the front door where he rings the
door bell. He then turns the handle and lets himself in. When the doorbell
rings, it is like an electric shock for Keith, who quickly opens the fridge
and pulls out a frosty Bud Light. As Phil enters the living room, Bob is
dropping himself into his black leather recliner. Keith says: "Good
afternoon, sergeant!" (Bob is a sergeant in the Reserves, but he hasn't
even made corporal on the police force.)  Bob mumbles something as Keith
respectfully hands him the cold beer.  Bob takes a swig and puts the bottle
down on the side table as he lifts his right leg slightly.  Keith turns
away from Bob and straddles his leg close to the instep of his boot.  With
a sudden thrust Bob slams his boot into his crotch and says: "I missed,
didn't I?" To which Keith replies: "Yes, sir." As Keith puts his left hand
under the heel of the boot and his right hand on the toe, Bob raises his
left boot and firmly applies it to Keith's ass and begins to push. As he
does this, the sweaty 18" engineer boot slides off his leg. Keith
reverently raises it to his nose and inhales the rich aroma of 100% leather
cowhide which has been working for the last 8 hours. He carefully puts it
down and then stands over the left boot. Again Bob kicks his boot upward
and this time he connects solidly with Bob's balls, causing him to double
over and let out a gasp. Bob laughs and says: "Got you this time, boot
slut," and with that he uses his right foot to push Phil's ass away from
him.  Keith picks up some Crocs and puts them on Bob's feet as he reclines
his chair and hits the remote to turn on the cable sports news channel.

   Keith rushes to the kitchen to put the T-bone under the grill and
prepares the vegetables.  He also puts the pie in the oven to warm.  When
the steak is a perfect medium-rare, he puts it on the plate with the other
food and carries it to the dining room table. He then goes to the next room
and says: "Sir, your dinner is served." To which Bob replies: "Just hold it
a minute I've got to hear the end of this report."  Keith swears silently
and goes back to grab the plate so as to keep it warm on the stove. He puts
the steak back under the grill which is still hot, but no longer on. He
goes back to wait and when he sees Bob switch off the TV, he quickly goes
to get the overcooked steak.  While Bob digs in, Keith goes to the fridge
and gets a bottle of red wine and pours it.  He then stands respectfully to
the side of his master who reads Sports Illustrated as he eats his food.
As he finishes his food, Keith gets his dessert: pie and ice cream and
coffee, and then says: "It's Tuesday night, sir.  Are you going to Reserves
tonight?" Bob swore and began eating his pie more quickly. He pushed back
from the table and headed for the bedroom with Keith in close pursuit.

   While he unbuttoned his police shirt, Keith laid out his army BDU's.  He
threw his shirt on the floor and let his pants drop there, too. As he put
on his shirt and pants, Keith picked up his police uniform and hung it up
carefully. Next he grabbed Bob's spit shined combat boots. Bob's reserve
unit was an MP battalion and they always had to be dressed for close
inspection. Keith knelt in front of Bob and held his boot as he pushed his
foot into it. Keith laced up both boots and then ran his tongue over the
boots to give them one last polish. Bob loved looking down at the man in
tank top and leather shorts bent over his boots licking them for all he was
worth. Keith would keep licking until Bob began to move, so he pulled his
boot away and started for his car.

   As soon as Bob was out the door, Keith cleaned up in the kitchen and
then went to the bedroom to begin polishing Bob's police boots for the next
day. This was the part of the day he loved, being able to spit shine the
size 12 engineer boots of a real police officer. He carefully rubbed the
Kiwi wax into the supple leather and watched the shine begin to brighten as
he ran his finger around in close circles. When the toe of the boot was
glowing, he ran his tongue over the surface to make sure it was perfectly
smooth. Then he went to work on the tall shafts. It took him about a half
an hour for each boot.  He knew he still had some time left, so he applied
a coat of polish to Bob's back-up patrol boots.  When he was almost done he
heard the door bell again and leapt up from the floor.

   He grabbed another Bud Light from the refrigerator and went to the
living room.  Bob fell into his recliner while Keith placed the beer in his
hand.  Now came the most important moment of the evening.  Depending on
what boots Bob ordered him to get, he would know what would happen next. If
he asked for his 10" wheat Timberlands or his black Frye harness boots,
they would enjoy a relaxed evening either watching TV or talking about the
day's events, which was always fun if Bob had an exciting take-down to
relate. Unfortunately, he asked for the third option: "Get me my Wesco's."

   When Keith heard those words, he knew he was in deep shit.  He walked to
the bedroom and got Bob's thigh high Wesco engineer boots, his black jock
strap and his black leather vest.  When he returned, Bob had his combat
boots up on the leg rest of his recliner. Keith knelt by them and began to
gently unlace them. Once again, he inhaled the strong aroma of boot leather
as he removed each boot.  Bob got up and took off his army shirt and
dropped it on the floor. His pants and boxers fell to his ankles as he
stepped out of them. Keith handed him his black jock strap and then held
the right thigh high engineer boot at just the right level for Bob to
thrust his foot into it. After getting on the left boot he put on his vest
and then said: "What the fuck are you waiting for. Get your ass into the
playroom." The second bedroom in the house was their playroom where Bob
enjoyed using Keith for anything he wanted.

   "You really fucked up tonight, didn't you, ass hole?"

   Although Keith was not sure what he did, he had a good idea, but meekly
replied: "Yes, sir and I am really sorry."

   "Like hell, you are! You know I like my steak medium-rare. That piece of
tough leather you fed me didn't have any pink in it. It was well done. I
need to discipline you so that you won't keep fucking up like that. Do you
understand?"

   Once again Phil meekly said: "Yes, sir," but as he said those words he
was thinking: "If you had come when I put your plate on the table, the
steak would have been perfect, but you insisted on watching the end of your
sports report."  However, he knew better than to ever make an excuse for
bad service.

   "Strip!"  Phil quickly removed his tank top and dropped his leather
shorts, so he was only standing in his combat boots.  "Now get me the
flogger." Phil quickly went over to the board where there were several wide
belts and two floggers. He knew Bob liked the leather handled one, so
brought it over quickly and handed it to him. As Bob took it, he snapped
his fingers and pointed at the floor right in front of his boots. Phil knew
the drill and dropped to all fours, crawling forward until his neck was
between Bob's powerful legs.  He felt the heavy duty leather of the thigh
high boots lock his head so he could no longer move forward or
backward. Phil then lifted his hands and put them around the ankles of the
boots and gripped them firmly. Almost immediately he felt the leather
lashes hit his right ass cheek, Bob then expertly swirled the flogger so
that the lashes hit his left ass cheek next.  Bob always started his
flogging lightly for which Phil was grateful, because at the end it was
fairly painful. By the twentieth blow Phil's cheeks were beginning to feel
warm and the blows were falling a bit harder.

   When he got to forty, Bob stopped as usual and said: "If you're really
sorry for your fuck up, I want to see your tongue all over my boots."  With
that he spread his legs so that Phil could withdraw his head. He
immediately began kissing and licking Bob's boots.  He loved licking the
powerful toe and then working his way up the very long shafts of those
thigh high engineers.. After four minutes of intense licking he moved to
the left boot and gave the same loving attention to that boot.  When he got
to the top of the left boot, he carefully pulled down the black jock strap.
Bob's nine inch cock was already pretty hard, as he really got a kick out
of whipping his boot slave's ass.  He watch with a satisfied smile as Phil
carefully licked his balls and then the shaft of his cock.  Bob then
grabbed the back of his head and forced his cock into Phil's mouth. He
moved Phil's head back and forth on his shaft. Both men really enjoyed
this: Bob in total control and Phil completely at his mercy.  When Bob felt
he was getting pretty hard he pulled Phil off his engorged member and said:
"Back on the floor, bitch, so you can receive the rest of your punishment."

   Immediately Phil hit the deck and pushed his head between Bob's huge
engineer boots. He felt the leather tighten around his neck and then Bob
began the second round of whipping his ass.  This time the blows began to
sting more and soon his ass was beet red..  Finally the whipping stopped
and he felt Bob's cool hand rubbing each ass cheek.  Then he said:
"Perfect! Your ass is nice and warm, just the way I like to fuck my bitch.
Get up and assume your position."  There was a low platform in the room,
about eighteen inches tall. Bob liked to fuck him doggie style after he had
been disciplined. As Phil scrambled on to the low platform, Bob anointed
his rock hard cock with lube.  He then thrust a probing finger up Phil's
waiting hole before thrusting his cock into him. Because they were faithful
partners, Bob didn't use a condom, besides he liked to fuck bareback. Soon
Bob was plowing his ass with deep, heavy thrusts. As the tempo increased
Phil began to moan. This caused Bob to slap his ass, which really hurt
because of the flogging. Phil tried to keep his mouth closed.  After a hard
day riding his police motorcycle and then having an active night at Drill,
Bob's balls were loaded with fuck. Finally the moment came and with a
mighty thrust and a cry he shot his load deep into Phil's belly.  Phil
could feel the warm cum entering his waiting loins. It was a wonderful
sensation that made his total servitude to Bob worthwhile.

   Bob slumped into a nearby chair while Phil got off the platform. Bob
said: "It's shower time. Let's go to bed."  Phil got went over and gently
pulled off the right Wesco boot and then the left. He then headed to the
bedroom with them, where he unlaced his own combat boots.  He went into the
bathroom and started the shower. When Bob appeared he opened the shower
door for him and followed him in. He soaped down his master and then Bob
took the bar of soap and gently rubbed down his ass.  Phil liked showering
with Bob after he had been disciplined because Bob was pretty gentle with
him.  After toweling each other dry, they climbed into bed.  Bob said:
"Good night, Phil.  You're a good boy."

   Phil replied: "Thank you, sir, and I'm sorry I fucked up. It won't
happen again." But he knew it would happen again, because Bob liked having
his boots licked and fucking a hot ass, while he liked servicing Bob's
boots and being fucked by a really hot guy.. But enough of those thoughts.
Tomorrow would soon be on them in no time and he'd have to get up like a
shot to lay out Bob's uniform and line up his boots for another day of work
and all that would follow.

The End