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Brandon's Boots
Chapter 2
Most people believe bullies are cowards, and that the way to deal with them successfully is to stand up to them. Everyone knows if you stand up to a bully, he will immediately back down.
In truth, while some bullies are cowards, others are just plain mean, and bully people because they enjoy it.
Brandon was the second sort, as I came to find out.
After that night, Brandon's treatment of me changed, and not for the better. He began coming by multiple times a night, often bringing some of the paperwork he was required to complete. He hated doing it, so it became my job to do it for him. Other times, he would come by just to make my life miserable. He instituted a new rule: every time he stopped by, I had to drop to my knees and kiss his boots immediately. After the beating he'd given me, I decided compliance was the better part of valor, no matter how humiliating it might be.
One night, about a week after the first incident, Brandon showed up in the middle of my shift. He walked in the security office and I obediently got down on my knees and kissed his boots to keep him happy. When I went to stand up, he stopped me.
"Stay down there, bootboy. You've got some work to do," he sneered. He threw a small bag at me. Inside was a shoeshine kit and some black shoe polish.
Brandon sat down in the office chair next to where I knelt.
"Get busy on my boots, bitch. I want them shined to a high gloss." I opened the shoeshine kit and pulled out the brush to clean his boots off, but he stopped me. "No, I think you want to clean them off with your tongue first."
I groaned, but knew I had no choice. After all, I not only needed this job, but I was still sore and bruised from the beating he'd administered a week ago. It was either do what he ordered or risk both another ass beating or being fired, or both. So, I stuck out my tongue and started licking the tops of his boots. Because most of the security jobs were guarding some type of construction site, Brandon's boots were pretty much always covered with dirt, dust, or mud. Tonight, they were especially dirty, and I dreaded having to clean them with my mouth. My tongue quickly became coated in the dirt and grime from his boots. I don't think they'd been really cleaned since the previous time he'd made me lick them. When I had gotten most of the dirt off, I reached for the brush again, but Brandon stopped me.
"Do the bottoms. There's a lot of dirt there, too," he said.
"Sir...please. Don't make me lick the soles. There's no telling what's on there!" I whined.
"I said. Lick. My. Soles, bitch!" he growled menacingly. As he did, he brought his right foot up and stuck the sole of his boot right on my face, grinding it into my mouth and nose. Suddenly, I had a face full of filthy tactical tread, leaving me with no real choice except to lick it clean. Brandon seemed to be enjoying watching me, as he continued to grind his boot into my face. My tongue was getting sore from cleaning the treads of his boots, which had dirt and bits of grass ground into them. I had no choice but to swallow it all. When he was satisfied I'd cleaned the first boot sufficiently, he switched feet and repeated the procedure with his other foot.
"You sure don't learn real quick for someone who's supposed to be so smart," Brandon said. "You're gonna to do what I tell you to do without any backtalk, or I'll just make you. That's what being my bitch means."
Finally, he took his booted foot out of my face, and I was at last allowed to start polishing his boots. I polished and buffed them until they shined, then sat back on my heels once I was done.
"All finished, Sir," I sighed.
"Not yet you ain't," he corrected. "Put a final spit shine on them with your tongue so they really gleam."
I leaned forward and spit on his boots, then worked the spit into the leather with my tongue. I could taste the waxy boot polish which quickly coated my tongue.
At last satisfied that his boots looked good, and clearly having enjoyed my further degradation, Brandon got up and left the office without saying anything else, leaving me to ponder my condition while I once again tried to wash the taste of his boots out of my mouth.
The next night, things went from bad to worse.
The shift was mostly quiet until about midnight, when Brandon pulled up and came storming into the office with some papers in his hand. I could see he was furious, so I immediately sank to my knees to kiss his boots, in hopes of avoiding another physical expression of his anger. No such luck. Rather than having me kiss his boots like normal, he grabbed me by my hair and jerked my head up until I was looking right in his eyes. His face was red, and his eyes were burning with anger.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, you stupid bitch? Carl just chewed my ass, and it's all your fucking fault!" he yelled. He then slapped me across the face with his big, meaty hand. I reeled from the blow, which almost knocked me over. "You're supposed to be so smart, with your master's degree and shit, but you can't even fill out paperwork right! Carl just climbed up my ass cause the time sheets weren't done correctly. I thought I told you to complete them, you stupid fuck."
"Sir, I'm sorry Sir. I thought I did them correctly! I really did," I replied fearfully.
"Well, you didn't bitch. Are you deliberately trying to make me look bad? Trying to get me fired? Huh? Is that what you are doing, you little pussy?" he asked, getting right in my face while tightening his grip on my hair.
I stammered, "No...no Sir! I'd never do anything to make you look bad, I swear!"
"Well, you did, asshole! You made me look real bad to the boss, and now you gotta to pay for it!" He slapped me again, this time knocking me to the floor. As I started to get back up to my knees (I didn't dare get to my feet), I noticed Brandon was taking off his gun belt. I became scared of what might be about to happen. I figured I was in for a nasty, brutal beating and began to brace myself for his fists. Brandon dropped his gun belt to the floor, then pulled off his thick leather inner belt. He doubled it over in his fist and started advancing on me.
"Get your ass over that desk, bitch. Time you got what's coming to you!"
I was literally cowering in fear on the floor. "No, please Sir, don't..."
Brandon once again grabbed me by the hair and lifted me off the floor. He threw me over the desk like a sack of potatoes. I couldn't believe this was happening. I was a grown man, 42 years old, and about to be whipped with a leather belt by a 23-year-old bully. This couldn't be happening to me!
Once he had me over the desk, I felt Brandon grab the back of my pants and pull me towards the edge of the desk, so my ass was positioned perfectly for him to beat it. He landed two blows with the belt in quick succession. With all his muscles and fueled by his anger, they were powerful blows, and I was quickly screaming.
"No, I got a better idea," Brandon said. With that, he inserted his big hand inside the back of my pants and jerked my uniform trousers down to my knees, ripping my underwear in the process and exposing my bare white ass. "Yeah, bitch, now you're really gonna get it!" I heard him exclaim.
He began waling on my ass with the belt, using all his rage-fueled strength. It took about three blows before I was crying actual tears, and by the fourth blow I'd lost any semblance of dignity. I was slobbering and begging, pleading with him for mercy, swearing I'd be good and obey him.
It seemed to go on forever. He gave me about 20 lashes with the belt, and by the time he stopped my ass with on fire like I'd never felt before. I figured his anger had finally abated, but I couldn't have been more wrong.
"I guess you have to learn everything the hard way, bitch. Well, you're gonna learn tonight, that's for sure. I know just what its gonna take, too," Brandon muttered. I had no idea what he meant, until I felt his meaty paw on my ass. The spanking had left my ass raw, welted, and on fire. Brandon used his hand to spread my cheeks and I felt him spit on my asshole. OH FUCK! No, no, no, no! This wasn't happening. He couldn't do that to me! I began to struggle, to try and fight, but Brandon was a lot younger and stronger than me, and he simply held me down where he wanted me.
Brandon moved in between my legs, and I heard him unzip his pants. "Get ready for your next lesson, fucktard. This ones gonna HURT!" he sneered.
"No, Brandon, please! I'm straight! Please don't do this!" I pleaded.
"Shut the fuck up bitch, cause this is about to happen," he snarled.
Suddenly, I felt something large and blunt pressing against my asshole. I tried to keep it from entering me, but suddenly Brandon bucked his hips forward and speared me on his cock in one stroke.
The pain was intense, like nothing I'd ever felt before. While I hadn't seen it, apparently Brandon had a very big cock, not just long, but very wide. It split my asshole open, and I could feel it penetrate me all the way up into my second sphincter. As he held me down on the desk, he withdrew his cock until just the head remained inside the rim of my hole, leaving me with a sudden empty feeling. Then he rammed back into me balls deep, grunting as he did.
Brandon was like an animal as he fucked me, grunting as he rutted into my ass. There was no finesse, no style, just raw, primal domination of an alpha male over a weaker beta male. I could tell Brandon was enjoying the heat coming off my freshly spanked ass, because he kept rubbing his hands over my welted cheeks, occasionally smacking them with his hand. As if his violation of me wasn't enough, as he pounded into me it caused my dick to rub against the desk. I was shocked when I realized the friction from the desk, coupled with the feel of Brandon's enormous cock up my hole, was making my dick hard. Suddenly, the brutal fucking was beginning to feel good, despite the utter humiliation and emasculation of my anal rape. The friction of my dick against the desk, combined with Brandon's cock banging into my prostate each time he rammed it into me, took me to a place I'd never been before, and before I knew it, I was grunting and moaning like a bitch in heat. Then I felt Brandon tense up, and he rammed his huge, thick cock all the way into me, piercing me to the fullest, and let out an animal-like groan as he dumped his load of cum up my deflowered hole. I couldn't control myself then; I felt my dick spew all over the desk and my belly.
Brandon collapsed on top of me, pinning me to the desk. I was in shock. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I'd been raped by a former student. What was worse, apparently I liked it, because I'd just had one of the most mind-blowing orgasms of my life, and the pool of cum I was lying in was proof of my shame. Brandon slowly pulled his cock out of my hole, and I could feel his load of cum dribbling out of me and down my leg, making me feel like exactly what I was: his freshly fucked bitch. His cumdump.
Brandon zipped up his pants, and put his belt and gun belt back on, adjusting his uniform. He could see that I'd cum from him fucking me, and I could see a smug look on his face as a result.
"Clean this place up, fag," he said. "And clean yourself up. You reek of cock and cum. Better get used to it," he chuckled derisively. With that, he walked out without another glance at me.
As I lay there on the desk in a puddle of my own semen, my ass on fire inside and out, my boss's cum dripped out of my brutalized hole, I wondered what I had become, and what lay in store for me at the hands of this brutal bully.
I shuddered at the thought.
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