Boot Slut In Chicago

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.

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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.

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