Boot Service and More – Chapter 3
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Tuesday arrived with a confirmation, and this time I had a really shitty day at the job site. I started a beer before Boot Boy even arrived and I was feeling onery from the get go.
Boot Boy arrive and l was sitting back with my boot wide spread – full man spread. I motioned for him to lay down between my feet which were about two feet apart. This put his head in the middle and his hands on the outside my boots.
I just sat still looking him with his forehead laying on the deck and his nice white shit and suit pants soaking up the deck dirt. I had done some yard work over the weekend so new dirt and grass cuttings covered the deck. I just let him alone for about 10 minutes – not touching him and especially not letting him touch me.
Then all of the issues of the day flooded into the back of my head, and I just spun my boots on the heals so that my right boot was over the back of this left hand and the opposite on the other side. I just slowly pressed down until I could feel his bones under my soles. I heard a slight moan coming from Boot Boy, and I just kept grinding my boots into his hands for another 10 minutes.
This evening, I decided to wear my lace-up work boots. They were not the cleanest pair and pretty worn out as well. The leather had cuts in it and some spots were so worn that the original smooth leather looked more like suede. Boot Boy was either going to love working on these boots or crawl off the deck and not return.
I kept up the boot grinding on the back of his hands and then slide my boots off of his hands without really letting up on the pressure. With my boots free, I slide them over to the sides of his face and pressed in to his cheeks. I was looking forward to seeing how he would clean up around the laces. I looked down on him and just commanded, "Clean `em."
Boot Boy took off with his normal cleaning routine around the top of the soles then over the toe and then the uppers. I had some worn out shorts on so he didn't need to ask permission to lift up my wranglers. The first surprising thing of the evening was when he licked to the top of the boots where my socks were sticking out. He paused and looked at the bunched up socks and leaned in and just took a big sniff of them. The socks were certainly sweaty inside the boots and I'm sure the cotton had wicked up some of the sweat from my feets up my ankles. It's likely that my leg sweat had rolled down to my socks as well. He was sniffing so hard that I thought he might just inhale the socks out of my boots.
After he worked over the sides of the uppers and inhaled all he could from my socks, he was left with the lacing down the front of my boots. He started out just licking over the surface of the laces from the bridge of my foot to the knot at the top. After several passes, he started to tongue each individual lace and even was able to get his tongue under the lace to a point which made for a nice massage of sorts. I can't imagine what he must be tasting on the laces – dirt dust, saw dust, sweat drips, and whatever else that I had dropped or spilled on my boots. After he completed my left boot, he started the same process on my right boot – from the soles to the uppers and then the laces.
While that was going on, I was feeling a pretty strong buzz. I liked watching his responses for the beer splashes and beer spit the other night so I thought why not try more. This time I wanted to see how he felt about beer on his fancy clothes. I took a swig of beer and spit out a bit short stream on to his white shirt. Boot Boy just kept licking on my boots, but his body squirmed some. I don't know if it was from the surprise or from the coldness of the beer. The next time I spit beer onto his fancy suit pants, and his butt raised of the deck. I was able to spit a stream done one of his legs and then just randomly spit beer on him.
Boot Boy was just doubling up his intensity on licking my boots so I spit some beer on my boot toe. He moved immediately to lick up the beer on my boot toe. I gave it a break for a bit and saw that he was working on the uppers of my right boot. This time I spit beer down my own leg so that the beer would travel over my shin, then sock, and then down the worn-out leather of the upper. Boot Boy just went to town licking up the beer spit before it hit the sole of the boot.
I repeated that another time and got the same response. Now I was really feeling good and more than a bit horny watching him lick up my beer spit and massage my feet through my boots. Boot Boy was nearly done with my right boot and I decided that I should mess up all of his efforts. So, I did (at the time) what I thought would turn him off the most, I hoked up a wad of spit in my mouth and spit it onto the toe of the right boot, right in front of his face. I couldn't see the surprise on his face, but he stopped immediately and looked at it. What surprised me was he just had a deep throated moan and leaned down to gently lick up my foamy spit. He licked it up with small touches and I don't think he did it because he was afraid of the spit more that the cigar-smoke and beer-backwash flavored spit was the most precious thing for him to eat.
WTF! I never thought I would be drinking a beer and smoking a cigar and having a man eating my spit off my boot. Who would have ever guessed!
Boot Boy finished up the cleaning job and returned to his position between my boots with his forehead resting on the deck boards and arms/hands framing the outside edges of my boots. I let him just rest (stew) in that position while the baseball game that I was watching finished up.
I turned off the game and sat quietly for a couple of minutes and then made a big noisy effort of hoking up another wad of spit. I held it in my mouth for about 20-30 seconds before I let loose and spit it on the back of Boot Boy's head. The spit made a splat when it hit and surprised him. He just slumped down onto the deck. This was the first time Boot Boy hadn't humped the deck during my boot cleaning.
After a couple of minutes, I announced that he should go. He kept his face on the deck boards and thanked me for the privilege of servicing my boots and the honor of receiving my spit. That didn't really surprise me, but I guess I still haven't found the limit to what I can do to him.
Once again, he crawled to the deck stairs, stood up, and walked to his imported car. As he drove off, I realized that I hadn't mentioned a return date, but perhaps that isn't a bad thing. Maybe I should let him stew some and see if I can get a couple more bucks out of him or more beer too.