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Warning: This story contains sexual acts between young adult males and/or females. If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relations to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.
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Brandon's Boots
Chapter 3
After Brandon walked out of the security office, I lay there across the desk, trying to catch my breath and come to terms with what had just happened to me. Sure, I was traumatized by having Brandon's huge cock forced inside my virgin ass. But, on another level, I was equally disturbed by my own response to it. I was lying there with my uniform pants around my ankles, my underwear ripped, in a pool of my own cum. There was no denying the powerful orgasm which had ripped through me as Brandon filled me with his load. What did it mean? I was straight. I'd been married for years. I had two kids, for God's sake, and I'd never done anything like this with a man. Was Brandon turning me into a fag as well as a boot licker?
I slowly got up and tried to put myself back together while surveying the damage. My underwear was in tatters from where he'd ripped them; my uniform pants, fortunately, were still intact. My shirt was another matter: it was soaked with my own cum. My ass felt destroyed, both outside from the vicious belting which raised welts all over both cheeks and the back of my thighs; and inside, from the merciless pounded Brandon had given me. My hole felt like he'd turned it inside out, and it throbbed in sync with my heartbeat. His cum was still leaking out of me and running down my legs. I'd never felt more completed used and debased in my entire life.
Fortunately, there was no one else on the job site, so I was able to limp to the nearest bathroom and try to clean myself up a bit. When I inspected myself in the mirror, I could see my ass was bright, deep red, covered with both welts and the imprint from the basketweave pattern of Brandon's belt, almost as if he had branded it into my skin. I doubted I'd be able to sit comfortably for a while. I cleaned as much of my cum as possible off my uniform, but my shirt was still clearly stained. Hopefully, the water removed most of the traces of my shame and my shirt would dry relatively clean, as I had to finish out my shift.
Somehow, I made it through the rest of the night. At this point, all I wanted was to go home and forget about everything that happened. The daytime guard, Ben, was a country boy from Alabama. He'd dropped out of school and ended up working security part time when he wasn't working in a garage fixing cars. When he finally showed up to relieve me, he took one look at me and I could see on his face that he knew something had happened.
"Damn, boy, you look like you done been rode hard and put up wet! What happened to you," he asked, looking me over curiously.
"It was a long night," I replied evasively. "I really don't want to talk about it. I just need to get home." I limped over to the desk where I'd recently been grudge fucked and picked up my keys.
"What's that all over your shirt," he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Damn, son, you reek of sex. You been getting laid in here last night?"
I looked down and noticed the front of my shirt looked like one big cum stain. My attempts to wash it out had just made it spread more, and there was no way to mistake it for anything else. I felt myself begin to blush with shame. Between my cum and the load Brandon left inside me, I must smell like a cheap whore, and both the stain on my shirt and my bowlegged, limping walk probably painted a pretty clear picture for Ben that someone had fucked me and used me as a cumdump last night. I muttered some excuse about spilling a milkshake on my shirt to explain the stain, and left the office as quickly as I could, while Ben stared at me with a look of disgust on his face. I didn't know if I'd ever be able to look him in the eye again.
At least I was able to recuperate at home for a bit since I had that night off. My apartment, as crappy as it was, had become my oasis of safety, far from Brandon, his bullying, and the nightly humiliation of my job.
When I returned to work two days later, I prayed I wouldn't have to deal with Brandon. I was in terror he would want to fuck my ass again. No, I decided in my mind. That was NOT going to happen ever again. I'd stand up to him if I had to, even if I got beat in the process. I had to reclaim some of my dignity.
As usual, Brandon showed up around midnight, wearing his usual uniform of black BDUs, tactical vest, and gun belt. And his boots - those boots which I'd gotten to know a lot better than I wanted to.
I'd made up my mind to stand up to him this time, both literally and figuratively. I wasn't going to be his boot licking bitch. I was a man, and he would treat me with respect, damn it!
When he walked in the office, rather than sinking to my knees as I'd done previously, I remained standing and looked Brandon in the eye with all the courage I could muster. He stared right back at me, and I could see the anger rising in his eyes. He started to clinch his jaw, then his fists, and I knew he was about to hit me.
I'm ashamed to admit that I broke, and I broke quickly. My plan of standing up to Brandon sounded great when he wasn't in the room. But here he was, and his commanding, alpha male presence, combined with his quick temper and his clear joy at inflicting pain to enforce his will dissolved my courage instantly. I could feel my knees going weak with fear, which just made it that much easier for me to sink down, kneel at his feet, and kiss his boots like I was supposed to. Just like a good, obedient bitch.
I think this visit was Brandon's test for me. He came in not knowing what to expect after he'd beaten and raped me. Would I resist? Fight back? Refuse to obey him anymore? Hell, I hadn't even quit, but instead came back and worked my next scheduled shift, despite his abuse. Now, here I was, still bruised and welted from his belt, and once again I was obediently groveling at his feet and kissing his dirty boots. Brandon wasn't very bright, but he didn't have to be to figure out he obviously had me right where he wanted me. I heard him chuckle softly as he watched me kissing his boots.
"Lick, bitch," he ordered.
I stopped kissing his boots and started licking the dirt and grime from them. I hoped at this point if I obeyed quickly, and seemed respectful and compliant, he wouldn't abuse me any further. It seemed his anger was always simmering just below the surface, and triggering it was what brought out his mean, violent side.
Brandon pulled his boots out from under my tongue and walked over to the desk. He took off his gun belt and set it on the desk, then made himself comfortable in the chair. He pointed to his feet, and I dutifully crawled over and continued to lick his boots.
Suddenly, I felt his big hand smack into my still-welted ass. "How's that ass feel, bitch? Bet it's still sore, huh?" he laughed. The blow had taken my breath away momentarily, since my ass was still very sensitive. His belt and the force of his blows had done a number on it, that was for sure. The last thing I wanted was him slapping my ass with his hands.
"Yes, Sir, still very tender and sore, Sir. Please don't beat me anymore, Sir. I'll be respectful, I promise."
"Heh heh. Yeah, I'll bet you will be fag. You're gonna be a lot more than just respectful. You're going to be fucking obedient, aren't you, faggot?" he sneered.
"Yes, Sir, I'll be obedient. But I'm not a fag, Sir. I'm straight."
"HA!" he laughed. "Right, fag. That's why you left a bucket of cum on the desk when I had my big dick up your ass. Cause you're so straight. You're nothing but a bitch, and we both know it."
Brandon stood up, removed his tactical vest, then unbuttoned his uniform shirt and took it off. He peeled off his undershirt, and I could clearly see his chest for the first time. His chest and arms were well developed and stacked with muscles. He was mostly hairless, except for a little hair on his abs running down into his pants in a happy trail. His pecs and arms were covered in tattoos, and he had a line of flames tattooed across his lower belly between his belt line and belly button. He had the washboard abs of a man that spent a lot of time doing crunches, and his low body fat really made his muscles stand out.
Brandon moved forward so his crotch was right against my face. He grabbed a handful of my hair in his strong hands and began grinding my face into his crotch. I could feel his cock starting to get hard inside his BDUs as it rubbed against my lips and nose. My nostrils were filled with the powerful scent of his sweat, and I was frightened by the growing pipe in his pants. Just how big was he?
Brandon reached down with his other hand and began undoing the buttons on his BDUs. Once his pants were down, I could see the outline of his massive cock in his red boxer briefs. It was huge! You hear guys make jokes about having a dick running down their leg, but this one did exactly that. Brandon's cock stood out in high relief against his tight boxer briefs, reaching all the way over to the middle of his thigh. He forced my head against his cock, and I could feel the heat coming off of it. The smell was stronger now: a mixture of Brandon's ball sweat, old piss, and some precum. It had obviously been a while since he showered, and his uniform was hot, so his scent was pungent, yet very manly. I was disgusted by having the smell fill my nose, but also strangely intoxicated by it.
"Lick it, fag. Go on, bitch, we both know you want to. And even if you don't want to, you're gonna do it anyway," Brandon said condescendingly.
He was right. I knew I didn't have much choice but to obey him. But I was strangely mesmerized by his massive cock, and slowly stuck my tongue out and started licking it through his briefs, breathing on it with my mouth. I heard Brandon give a small chuckle of triumph, then he pulled my mouth tight on to his cock, and began moving my head along the entire length of it, making sure I got a good feel for just how big it really was. It had to be about nine inches, and very wide.
Brandon, finally tired of rubbing my head on his cock, reached down and lowered his briefs. His rock-hard cock sprung to attention as soon as it was released, and I got my first view of his massive manhood. It reached all the way up past the line of flames on his lower belly and almost touched his belly button. He was circumcised, and the head of his cock was like a large knob slightly bigger than a golf ball. When Brandon reached down to squeeze his dick, I could see that he'd be able to fit two hands around the shaft and still not cover the whole thing. I couldn't believe I'd had this monster up my ass, and sincerely hoped I'd never have it there again.
As Brandon squeezed his dick, I saw a pearl of precum appear at the end of it. He bent his cock down and rubbed it against my upper lip, painting it with his precum like he was marking his territory. The look on his face made it clear he knew he owned me and intended to use me for his pleasure, whatever that may involve.
Brandon sat down in the chair and pulled my head into his crotch. "Been a long day, bitch. I think it's time for you to do what my wife doesn't do anymore. Start with my balls, fag. They're pretty sweaty. I think you need to clean them," he commanded, shoving my face in his scrotum.
Just like his cock, Brandon had big balls. I recoiled at the smell of stale sweat coming off of them, but obediently stuck out my tongue to lick them. The heat from his nuts filled my mouth, and the taste of his ball sweat quickly sent me into sensory overload. I lapped at his balls one at a time, then gently sucked each one, cleaning them both thoroughly. Suddenly, it was important to me to please this man, not just obey him. It was as if his male scent had made me desperate for his cock. I even tried to get both of his balls in my mouth at the same time, but it was impossible. They were too big, and I didn't want to risk making Brandon angry by accidently hurting him.
Brandon no doubt saw the change in my attitude, because I looked up and saw he had a smug smile on his face, like he'd won an argument or something. I felt ashamed of myself, licking sweat from the balls of my younger bully boss, but I couldn't help myself. Something deep inside me needed to obey, needed to be degraded and used, and if this is what he wanted, so be it. Somehow, in the great scheme of things, I felt like I not only deserved to be treated this way, but that it was absolutely right to be groveling in front of this younger, stronger, hung alpha male, serving as his cocksucker.
Brandon pulled my head back from his balls, and rubbed his huge erection on my face, first laying it over my eyes, then rubbing the head of it on my nostrils so his precum was right in my nose, and finally tapping it against my lips. My mouth opened automatically, and my tongue came out like it had a mind of its own. Brandon was looking down at me with a combination of disgust and self-satisfaction. Suddenly, he slapped me in the face with his big, meaty cock, increasing my humiliation and shame. What type of a man allows another man to slap him in the face with his cock? But I not only took it, I kept my tongue out, in the hopes of tasting more of his cock sweat. He dick-slapped my face again, and then a third time.
"What a pathetic bitch," he sneered. "Yeah, take a good look at it faggot. This is what a real man's cock looks like. And you're about to swallow the whole thing. You ever sucked dick before, loser?"
"No, never. Er...no, Sir," I quickly corrected myself. Brandon continued to rub his cock all over my face, teasing my tongue with it. I could feel the heat coming off of it. It was like red-hot steel, and it scared me to think he was going to put it down my throat.
"Open your mouth, bitch. You're gonna suck me off, and I better not feel any teeth either. I feel any teeth, I'm gonna knock `em out of your head, understand me, queerboy?" Brandon said threateningly. I knew it wasn't an idle threat, either. He'd probably enjoy knocking out a few of my teeth.
The next thing I knew, the huge knob on the end of Brandon's cock was stretching my mouth open. With his grip on my hair, he pulled me on to his member, the head of his dick quickly filling the back of my throat and making breathing nearly impossible. The head of his cock was enough of a challenge to swallow, but his cock wasn't just thick, it was wide, and got wider towards the base where it joined his body. As he relentlessly pushed it into my mouth, my jaw was stretched as widely as possible, both to accommodate this invader and to avoid touching it with my teeth, which I hoped would survive this ordeal intact.
I have no idea how I swallowed it all; probably due to the fact I didn't have any choice. Brandon just held my head in his huge hands and kept slowly shoving his cock down my throat until my nose was buried in his pubic hair. Once there, he held me on it, with my throat impaled on his cock like he owned me and I belonged there. I struggled to breathe, and what air I did get was permeated by the smell of his sweaty crotch, which was almost overpowering with my nose in his pubes.
Finally, Brandon released my head, and I pulled off his cock to get some air. I was gasping, since his dick had cut off my air supply. As soon as I took his cock out of my mouth, he grabbed my hair and slapped me with his hand, hard.
"Bitch, I didn't say you could stop sucking. You better get my cock back in your faggot mouth and keep it there if you know what's good for you," he said sternly.
My face stinging from his hand, I stretched my mouth back over Brandon's dick, and began sucking it for all I was worth, making sure to keep my teeth off it. I couldn't imagine how he had managed to shove this massive log inside my ass, nor how I had managed to take it all. No wonder it had felt like he was turning me inside out when he fucked me. Somehow, though, this was worse. When he'd fucked my ass, he had forced himself inside me. I'd had no choice. I had been truly violated, a victim. Now, though, I was bobbing my head up and down on my abuser's cock, worshipping it with my mouth, voluntarily stretching my jaw and throat to take its full length and give him maximum pleasure.
Brandon had, once again, succeeded in degrading me further, taking me to a new low. From a once-respected educator, father of two, and husband, he had reduced me to a boot licking cocksucker and cumdump. I was well and truly his bitch in every sense of the word. This realization broke something in me, something that Brandon had been breaking step by step since he first made me kneel down and kiss his cop boots. I don't know what it was, but each step was taking me to a deeper level of degradation, and with it, a deeper level of submission to him.
I began to truly suck on his massive cock, allowing it to change my being as it stretched my jaw and throat. From time to time, Brandon would reach down and grab my head in his strong hands and force it all the way in me, completely plugging my airway with the big knob-like head, sealing my throat and holding me like that as I struggled for air and began to choke. As my survival instinct kicked in, I began to thrash and push against Brandon to try and free myself in a vain attempt to stop him from suffocating me. I could see my vision turning black around the edges as I depleted all my oxygen. His cock was so big, my jaw stretched to its limit, I wasn't even able to bite down on it, even if I'd dared. Seconds before I passed out, Brandon would release my head, and I was able to remove enough of his cock from my mouth I could breathe again. I knew better than to take my mouth completely off of his dick, lest he start hitting me again. I glanced up at Brandon, and he had an evil grin on his face. He knew exactly what he was doing, choking me on his cock like that, taking me to the point of passing out, and he was getting off on the abuse he was inflicting and the power it exhibited. He did it over and over, and each time I wondered if this was how I was going to die: on my knees in front of a young bully, choking to death on his huge cock. What a pathetic end that would be! At this point, though, nothing would surprise me.
Fortunately, Brandon didn't kill me with his cock, though he probably could have. He seemed to enjoy abusing his toy, though, and repeatedly fucked my throat and gagged me on his dick while I struggled in vain to breathe. He pistoned his cock down my throat, holding my head in place while he fucked my mouth like it was a pussy. After what seemed like an eternity of brutal throat rape, I heard Brandon's breathing change. He shoved his cock all the way down my throat one last time. Just as I was desperate for air, and caught between passing out and throwing up, he pulled out of my mouth in one swift motion and shot his load on my tongue and all over my face. Rope after rope of his semen covered my face and tongue. I was utterly humiliated at the way my boss and tormenter used me as his personal cumrag.
As soon as Brandon caught his breath, he started rubbing his cock all over my face, coating it in his cum, and then shoved it back into my mouth. "Clean me off, cocksucker," he demanded. "Every single drop." When he finally pulled his softening cock out of my mouth, he ordered me to open my mouth and stick out my tongue, inspecting it to make sure I'd swallowed his load. I couldn't look him in the eye as I showed him my empty mouth; I was too ashamed. I'd sucked him off, allowing him to fuck my mouth like he'd fucked my asshole, and then swallowed every bit of his cum like a dutiful cocksucker. I was mortified at what I'd done, even more so when I realized one undeniable fact: I'd swallowed his cum voluntarily.
When I finally got the courage to look at Brandon directly, he looked very pleased and satisfied; not with me, but with himself. Like he had accomplished a personal goal by fucking my face, and proven that he was far more man than me in every way. The smug, arrogant look on his face was almost as hard to bear as him choking me on his cock had been.
Brandon got up and put his clothes and tactical vest back on. As he was getting ready to walk out the door, he stopped next to where I still sat on the floor, trying to recover and process what had just happened. He reached out with his right foot, and placed his boot right on my crotch. He started pressing down on my dick and balls with his foot.
"Well, bitch? What do you say to me, fag?" he demanded.
I looked down at his boot, poised to easily crush my nuts if he didn't get the answer he wanted.
"Thank you, Sir," I managed to croak from my sore, battered throat. With that, Brandon started to laugh and walked out, leaving me on the floor.
Once I was sure he was gone, I got up and made my way to the nearest bathroom. I was shocked when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My lips looked swollen from the battering of Brandon's dick, and my eyes were deeply bloodshot from being repeatedly choked on his cock. I had a red handprint on one side of my face from where Brandon had slapped me. I could see his partially dried cum still coating my face and hair. I looked like exactly what he'd turned me into: a used, abused cumdump.
I cleaned myself up the best I could, and tried to recover before the end of my shift. When morning came, I tried to act nonchalant when Ben came in to relieve me, but he eyed me suspiciously when he saw how red my eyes were. I prayed that Brandon's handprint had faded from my cheek. As I was giving Ben my end of shift report, I noticed him sniffing, and realized he was taking whiffs of me. Apparently, I still smelled of Brandon's ball sweat and cum, because I could see from the look in Ben's eyes he suspected what I'd been up to. Then, I noticed Ben staring down at my crotch. I followed his eyes, and discovered, to my complete horror, that there was a large, dirty boot print from Brandon's boot completely covering my crotch. It was unmistakable, the tread marks clearly visible, and stood out in high relief against my blue uniform trousers. Ben's lip curled up in disgust, and he turned away to start his paperwork to avoid dealing with me further. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
As soon as I made it home, I took a long shower, trying to wash the smell of Brandon off of me. I even spent about five minutes brushing my teeth in an effort to cleanse my mouth of the taste of his cock. My throat was very sore, and I knew it was going to hurt to talk or swallow the next day. As I tumbled into bed, I realized as I drifted off to sleep, that, despite my shower, the only thing I could smell was the scent of Brandon's cum.
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