Kyle's Place
"Boots"
by Kyle Stone
(from the novel The Hidden Slave)
First published in the magazine Canadian Male, December '96.
Now available at your favorite gay bookstore, or on-line bookstore.
When Lonny walked up the long flight of stairs to the Black
Eagle a few hours later, he felt surprisingly anxious. For one
thing, he was embarrassed by the obvious padlocks on the chastity
belt Frank had made him wear. For another, he had never done a
public boot scene before.
"You're the boy who's going to try his hand at the boot boy
position, right? My name's Damien, by the way."
They shook hands.
"You want to get out of the shorts and t-shirt?" Damien went
on.
Lonny swallowed. No one else was nearly naked in the room.
"I guess," he said, uncertainly. and Lonny followed the broad-
shouldered bartender down the hall to the coat check. "Take off
your clothes in there. When you're ready, come back to the bar
and I'll give you a beer and your kit, okay?"
"Thanks."
Alone in the small room, Lonny took off his boots and socks,
pealed off the shorts and put them, along with his t-shirt, in a
basket on one of the shelves. Although Frank had introduced
Lonny to the possibilities of the scene, the boy had rarely been
able to give himself over to the sheer erotic joy of boot
service. Frank was always too intrusive, too much a reminder of
that other man whose boots he had licked with such mindless joy.
Now, however, in a room full of hot men, some of whom were in
uniform, Lonny would finally be able to let go and sink into the
experience, lose himself in submission to a stranger.
A couple of men in camouflage gear sat on high stools at the
bar, watching some kind of pseudo Nazi interrogation video.
Lonny felt small and vulnerable as he stood barefoot and nearly
naked between them, waiting for the bartender to hand him his
promised beer. The men paid no attention to him but he could
feel other eyes on him, sense appraising looks and lascivious
glances from the dim smoky room. The atmosphere was quite
different from the last time he had been here. It was quieter,
for one thing. Although heavy music pounded along the ceiling,
he noticed little laughter or conversation. There was an
intensity about the place, an almost dangerous tension that gave
him the feeling almost anything could happen. Nervously he took
the bottle of beer and the wooden box of equipment and moved
along the wall towards the St. Andrew's cross. SAFE, SANE,
CONSENSUAL the sign said. Not like Frank. Not like Arlo, a
voice suddenly whispered in his mind. He shivered and felt very
much alone. What the fuck am I doing here, he wondered. A brief
glance down at the high boots of the tall slim man who had just
come in, answered that question. Lonny gulped a mouthful of beer
and felt himself blush as the stranger's eyes raked over him.
The narrow bits of leather encircling his waist and encasing his
cock made him feel even more exposed, somehow. He dropped his
eyes, not sure what he was supposed to do. Alonzo Rivers, who
was always in control, felt those eyes and shivered in their
unexpected intimacy.
"Have another beer. Looks like you've sucked about all
there is out of that one."
Lonny let the man take his empty bottle and replace it with
a full one. He felt like a child, almost afraid to look up into
the weathered face, those eyes he could feel licking his erect
nipples, raising the hair at the back of his neck in a frisson of
sex. He blinked. How long had they been standing there?
Lonny cleared his throat. "Thanks." He raised his eyes and
gazed at the man.
He was dressed all in black: black shirt, black leather tie,
plain black leather vest. His long legs were encased in tight
zippered leather chaps, showing black denim underneath at his
bulging crotch. The worn black 20 hole Docs looked as if he
lived in them, as did the leather cap, perched on the back of his
head. He had a full moustache, salt and pepper, like his short
clipped hair. His eyes were grey, but a warm grey, and they
were gazing back at Lonny with amusement.
The boy blushed. "Sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about, boy. Haven't seen you in here
before." His voice was surprisingly light, and warm like fresh
honey.
"I was here once before with my...." He couldn't briung
himself to call Frank his 'master'.
"But you're here alone now."
"Yeah."
The man touched the padlock at Lonny's waist, giggling it up
and down in his long fingers as if testing its strength. Lonny
felt strangely weak, as if he had no will of his own. If this
man broke the padlock, he wouldn't protest. He'd welcome it! He
leaned closer, though he didn't move his feet. He felt as if the
energy from the man's body was holding him up, moving over his
own nakedness, sampling his skin. They were in a private
capsule, totally separate from the men who prowled restlessly
around them, shifting patterns as they sought what would satisfy
them for a while, at least. Lonny breathed in their private air,
the scent of the man clear and filling. He felt the ache in his
imprisoned cock as it tried to swell. He shifted his weight,
feeling the dildo move in his ass. A small moan of frustration
escaped him.
They weren't touching now, and still the electricity sparked
between them, crackling against Lonny's scarred flesh. He wasn't
aware of how long they had been standing there, silent, every
muscle taut. It was something that moved in the air that
released him, a brush of the man's hand against his hip, the
bottle of beer rising. Lonny watched the brown glass sucked
between the sensuous lips, the moustache ticking the neck of the
bottle. Lonny stepped closer to the wall and ran a hand through
his dark hair, raking it back. He cleared his throat.
"Shine, sir?"
The man nodded gravely, his economical gesture showing how
important he considered the transaction. He moved against the
brick wall, forcing Lonny to kneel in the open, his ass exposed
to the idle gaze of the men coming in the door at the top of the
stairs. Lonny was too nervous to suggest they move. He had the
feeling the man wanted him there, on the floor, in the open like
that. It made the performance even more public.
Lonny knelt, opened the drawer in the wooden box Damien had
prepared for him. He checked over the brushes and cloths, the
chamois and saddle soap and polish and wooden matches.
"May I start, Sir?"
The man nodded, planted his left boot on the top of the box
and folded his arms across his chest.
Lonny untied the bootlace, carefully unthreading it from the
eyelets until if came free. He laid his hand on the tongue of
the boot, feeling the pliant leather, warm from the man's skin,
and loosened it. He knew if he was going to make any money a
this he would have to learn to be faster, but tonight he didn't
care. He just wanted to immerse himself in the experience. He
was going to take his time.
Next he dipped the appropriate brush into the warm water
Damien had provided in a jar that fitted into the drawer of the
box. Lonny moistened the boot quickly and applied the saddle
soap, watching the dirt and grime slide away under his hand.
When booth boots were clean, Lonny sat back on his heels and
looked up at the man expectantly, checking to see if he was
pleased.
The man nodded.
It was then that Lonny became aware that he was surrounded
by black boots. He noticed heavy motorcycle snoot boots, a pair
of elaborately tooled cowboy boots with silver tips, high laced
Frye boots, two pairs of round-toed policeman's boots, even a
pair of riding boots. He felt his breath quicken. He was at the
point in the ceremony that he had had trouble with at first.
With all these men looking on, he prayed it would go smoothly
this time.
He opened the tin of polish and held it in one hand. With
the other, he lit the match with his thumb nail and touched it to
the polish. A bright burst of flame warmed his face, then died
as he extinguished it with the metal cap. His hand was hot but
he had been expecting this and he merely gritted his teeth. As
the liquid cooled, he thanked the man for letting him shine his
boots, just as he been taught. Apparently the man was pleased.
For a moment, the boot on the box moved closer, grinding against
Lonny's leather-clad crotch.
Lonny dipped his fingers into the cooling wax polish and
slapped them into the boot. Working fast, before it cooled too
much, he kneaded the polish into the worn leather, digging his
fingers into the crevices of the tongue. Briefly he paused,
checking to make sure no polish got onto the yellow threads of
the Docs. When booth boots were done, he hesitated. He could
feel the heat start in his groin as he thought about the next
stage of the ceremony.
The man took his boot off the box and stood with both feet
planted far apart. He smiled, looking down at the kneeling near-
naked boy from his great height.
"Do it," he said.
"Yes, Sir."
Lonny licked his lips, let his mouth fill with saliva and
bent down to lick Sir's left boot. He could sense the men around
him shift slightly, gathering closer to watch. He could feel the
air caress his ass cheeks, feel the grit of the rubber floor
against his knees, smell the polish and warm leather and sweat.
His tongue pressed into the creases across the toe, feeling the
sensitive foot underneath the wool sock move, resilient and
strong. His tongue reached under the tongue of the shoe, seeking
out the secret places, unseen when the laces were in, where he
could be closest to the man's skin. He could taste a hint of the
soap, a tinge of the polish and wax. His wet tongue left a gloss
of saliva in its wake. He crawled around to the side, bending so
low his forehead almost touched the floor as he endeavoured to
reach every inch of the fragrant leather. He had forgotten about
the audience, as he crawled over the black rubber floor, caring
only about covering every inch of the boots of the man who
towered about him. It felt wonderful! Intimate, yet submissive
in a way he hadn't experienced before.
When he finally raised his head, he was red from the rush of
blood under his bare skin. He felt as if his groin would
explode. As he chose a clean cloth for the final buffing, his
hands shook. But he was all control as the cloth snapped and
sang over the gleaming boots one last time.
"Is Sir satisfied with the shine?" he asked, pausing before
switching to the second boot.
For answer the man growled low in his throat and nudged his
foot between Lonny's bare thighs.
The boy blushed an even brighter red. He dropped his eyes
and his dark hair fell over his forehead. A man behind him
laughed. Lonny laced up the boot and moved to the other one.
When he was finished, he felt exhausted. It was a moment before
he realized the man had slipped a twenty dollar bill under the
leather triangle covering his crotch. Lonny packed up his
equipment and went back to the bar.
"Not bad," Damien said, taking the box and putting it away.
He handed Lonny another beer. "Think you'll want to try it
again?"
Lonny wiped the sweat off his forehead and laughed. "Ask me
tomorrow," he said.
