Under the Boot

The usual disclaimers:

• My experiences flavor everything I write; sometimes a fleeting image, sometimes a distinctly remembered scene. This story, however, is fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

• If it is illegal for you to read this story because of your age, location or some other reason, don't read it.

• This work is copyright by the author. Commercial use is prohibited without permission. Please do not republish any parts of this story without consent of the author.

• This story depicts unprotected sex. In real-life, be safe!

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I am grateful to receive readers' comments and reactions. Thanks! Email: coltonaalto@gmail.com.

Author's note (and spoiler alert): This story is an alternative point-of-view retelling of chapter 8 of BBC on Campus,' a serial I wrote for Nifty (you can find it under the same categories as this story). While BBC on Campus' is written from the POV of Dillinger, the serial's main character, this story is written from the POV of Shane, who only appears in chapter 8 of `BBC on Campus'. I wrote this story at the suggestion of a reader who liked Shane's story. If you would rather not have the plot spoiled, wait until the end of the story before reading chapter 8. The fourth and final part of the story will be up soon). Either way, I hope you enjoy reading the story.

Caution: This part of the story includes a short scene of nonconsensual oral sex; if that bothers you, skip this part or move on to another story. I do not condone or in any way encourage nonconsensual conduct; it happens, but that's no excuse. As they say, do not try this at home (or anyplace else).

UNDER THE BOOT ... OR HEEL HELL

Part Three – Thursday night – Heel Hell

I breathed a sigh of relief when Dillinger returned from the rest room and reclaimed his chair at our high top table. Hopefully Dillinger's presence would deter any more unwelcome advances from Jeron or the other black leather dudes populating the Boot. Despite Dillinger being barely older than I was, he had a presence and a command that belied his age. That plus his dreadlocks, height, green eyes and chiseled body meant nobody dared to cross him.

I kept thinking that every guy in the joint was staring at me like they were mentally undressing me. Damn. I wondered if this was how women felt in a straight bar. I had a suspicion it probably was. It was shit and I didn't like it a bit.

A waiter appeared with two more beers and shots of something clear. He whisked away our old glasses, saying only, "On the house, boys. Stay as long as you want." He was a tatted white guy who looked every bit as tough as the black dudes in the Boot, but I noticed he kept his eyes glued on Dillinger. More of the same. The guy fascinated everybody.

I downed the shot and jumped on the second beer, guzzling it, maybe hoping the buzz would deaden the raw memories of Jeron hitting on me. Was it possible I was doing something that broadcasted to gay men that I wanted to have sex them? That I wanted another guy's dick? If I was doing something, I had no idea what it was. It made no sense.

The vision of Jeron snarling in my face faded and I began to relax as Dillinger talked about the summers he had spent in New York. I really enjoyed being around the dude. He was exotic and engaging, and once again I felt fortunate to spend time with him. My New York trip was all about my upcoming intern interviews, but being with Dillinger and experiencing the city with him was turning out to be the best part of the trip.

My night of drinking was beginning to catch up to me, and I realized my head was spinning. I never drank this much, but the entire scene – New York, Greenwich Village, the Boot, Dillinger – was beyond what I ever imagined. It was an adventure I'd never undertake again. Despite my brush with Jeron, as the shot and the beer hit bottom, I was having fun again.

All at once, I had to take a piss in the worst way. I excused myself and went looking for a rest room, following Dillinger's earlier path. Several hallways led from the Boot's main room, and I took the one that seemed the obvious route to the rest room. At the end of the hallway, however, I discovered nothing more than a narrow, steep set of stairs that disappeared into a basement. The basement was dark but I heard voices and, in my drunken state, I thought it was cool that the rest room must be down the steep stairway.

Upon closer inspection, what I thought was a stairway was merely a wooden ladder nailed to the floor. Heedless of the realm I was inadvertently entering, I started down, discovering that the only safe way to descend was backwards so I could grip the steep ladder with both hands.

I made it down, which was not easy given my drunken state. I could have sworn that someone touched my ass crack as I dropped the last couple of steps, but maybe I was imagining things. I was reeling from having guzzled so much booze, and beginning to regret it.

At the bottom of the ladder I turned around to see a hostile welcoming committee of three dangerous-looking black men. Each guy was dressed in some flavor of leather. "Um," I mumbled nervously, "is there a men's room down here?" In the back of my mind it occurred to me that I should simply excuse myself and climb back up the stairs. But I really needed to piss.

The guy closest to me frowned and gave a sideways look at his compatriots. "Men's room..." he said as if puzzled by the term. "Ain't no women down here. Every room belong to men." I puzzled over the guy apparently not knowing what a men's room was. Maybe black guys in New York used a different term.

Warning bells were sounding in the back of my brain, but I was too drunk to heed them. A second man interjected, "You mean a place where a man can piss? That what you want, white boy?"

"Uh, yeah," I replied, somewhat reassured that at least one guy knew what I was talking about.

"Right this way, sir," the man said sarcastically, taking my arm and guiding me through the darkness. The Boot was dimly lit, but the basement was so dark I could barely make out the shapes of men standing in the shadows. Had I been thinking, the grim stares of the men I passed should have alerted me, but not being familiar with New York bars, I had no frame of reference. On top of that, I was trashed.

My guide piloted me through a couple of rooms before we entered a place that smelled of piss and shit. Several men were hovering in the darkness, which was creepy in a rest room, but I had to piss so badly that I didn't care what might be going on. At the far end of the room, three urinals appeared in the gloom. I didn't see a sink or toilets, but they could have been hidden in the darkness. In my disoriented state, the scene was merely another novelty of New York.

I stepped up to a urinal only to stop short as I spotted a man on his knees between my urinal and the next one. He was a young Asian. His arms had been tied behind him and then chained to the two urinals. He was completely naked except for some sort of wire cage imprisoning his penis. The device looked devilishly uncomfortable. Worse yet, the cage was chained to a wire drain cover on the floor, so the kid couldn't even stand up.

If the Asian dude had any hair on his body other than on his head, it wasn't detectible. Asians generally aren't hairy, but this guy didn't even have pubic hair or hair under his arms. The kid looked at me with crazed eyes and opened his mouth, sticking out his tongue in a hungry way.

Now I had seen just about everything, I thought. I had no idea why the guy was there, but I desperately had to piss, so I pulled my cock out of my jeans and took a leak in the urinal. I couldn't help but glance at the Asian as I relieved myself. He was staring directly at me with a frown and a look of disappointment on his face.

Moments later, a black man in leather stepped in front of the Asian kid. In the darkness I didn't realize he already had his cock out of his leather pants, and before I knew what was happening, he let a stream of piss fly toward the young Asian. The dude opened his mouth, greedily swallowing the steamy spray. He gulped what he could, although much of it splashed on his face and ran down his bare chest, pooling above the small drain on the floor.

Holy shit! The kid liked it. He eagerly lapped up the stream and had a big, shit-eating grin on his face as the black dude pissed all over him. The pungent smell of raw urine filled the air, and as the leather man finished, the Asian kid bowed his head, letting the last of the piss drench his hair. When he lifted his head, urine dripped from his hair and ran down his face. He licked up what he could reach with his tongue. His eyes were bright, and his gaze fixed on the black man, he said, "Thank you sir, for blessing me with your piss and making me your piss slave."

It was definitely time to get out of here. My stomach was queasy at the sight of the kid drinking piss. But before I could shove my dick back into my jeans and zip up, two guys grabbed me, pinning my arms behind my back.

"Hey, what the fuck?" I protested, struggling but with little luck.

"Listen sweetie," a deep voice said. "You told us you wanted a place where a man could take a piss. The faggot chained between the urinals is what real men use when they gotta piss. So now we know you a bitch boy. And it yo lucky night, cuz we gonna bitch you out."

Before I could react, a big black man stepped in front of me and grabbed the neck of my T-shirt with his hands. He ripped it, giving me an evil grin.

"Dude, that's my shirt!" I protested. "You can't do that!"

The black man laughed. "What, white boy, you mean I can't do this?" He pulled a knife from a pocket and slipped it under my shirt. I watched helplessly as, moments later, the knife sliced my shirt all the way open, exposing my chest.

"Don't do that!" I protested, struggling with the guys holding me. One of them said, "Hey, bro, white boy don't wan you ta do dat."

The man with the knife laughed and methodically cut my T-shirt to shreds. "White boy don' get what he want," he spat at me. "`Cept one thing. Black cock rapin his holes." The last remnants of my T-shirt were consigned to a heap on the floor as the man finished with his knife work.

Okay, now I was scared. What had I wandered into?

The man who pissed all over the Asian dude stepped in front of me. "You can start being our bitch boy by sucking the last piss from my fuck stick, boy," he said. "You're lucky. I took a shower this morning. Some of the cocks you gonna suck tonight will have plenty of dick cheese. Perfect for a white trash bitch like you."

My feet were kicked out from under me and I found myself on my knees, staring at the man's cock. Fuck, this couldn't be happening. No way was I going to suck another guy's dick, let alone one that had been shooting a stream of piss moments ago.

Except, I was. I had no choice. The leather guys forced my mouth open and crammed a circular wire cage into it, securing the cage around the back of my head. The cage forced my mouth wide open. One guy held my head so I couldn't move, and the black dick waving in front of me was suddenly inside my mouth. "Yeah, suck it white boy," the man said. "We know you want it."

I couldn't believe I had a dick in my mouth. I thought I would gag, but it wasn't as awful as I feared. More like a finger than anything else, but with a salty, tangy taste. A really big, fat finger. I tried not to think about what filled my mouth. The only good thing was that nobody in Montana would ever know that I had had a dick in my mouth.

The man began to move his cock back and forth, and I could feel it growing. Shit! He was face fucking me. I was being forced to give a guy a blow job. Surely he wasn't going to dump a load of cum down my throat, but with the mouth gag and my arms pinned behind me, there was little I could do to resist.

Relax, I told myself. Gay guys like sucking dicks, so how bad could it be? The cock down my throat swelled until it completely filled my mouth and pressed against the sides of my throat. "Yeah, baby, suck that cock, white boy," one of the leather guys snarled. "Gettin what you always wanted, eh? Ready for some black ball juice?"

The man with his cock down my throat was going to fuck my mouth until he came. Resigned to my fate, I held out a distant hope that maybe he would pull out before shooting. I told myself that the sooner he came, the sooner I would be able to get out of the hell I was in.

As if he read my mind, the black dude quickened his pace, ramming his cock into my mouth and down my defenseless throat. He grunted, "Fuck, yeah, suck that cock, faggot. Fuck, yeah, here it comes. Swallow my jizz! Eat it, whore!" A moment later, the dude's cock swelled in size and lurched. I stifled a series of gags as a flood of thick spunk slithered down my throat. So much for my hope he would pull out.

God, I just wanted to get the dude's cock out of my mouth and find a tumbler of mouthwash. Actually, the man's cum didn't taste as bad as I feared. But it wasn't something I ever wanted to dine on again.

To my relief, the black dude pulled his cock from my mouth, but it was still spewing spunk and he aimed the last two jizz ropes at my face. I was startled as the warm cum splattered across my cheeks and forehead, barely missing my eyes. I couldn't believe I had another man's cum painting my face and swimming in my gut.

Sneering, the dude slapped his wet cock across my face a couple of times. He followed that by planting a thick mouthful of spit on my cheek, jeering at me and saying, "There's a name for you white boy. Cocksucker. Cocksucker to da black man. You like that?"

Shit. Cocksucker. I hadn't sucked his cock voluntarily, but that didn't change the fact that a dick had been in my mouth. I sucked another guy's cock. Not only that, I swallowed his cum. The stuff still coated my tongue.

When I didn't answer, the man shouted, "I fucking asked if you liked being a cocksucker, faggot!" With the gag in my mouth, I couldn't have done much more than nod or gurgle, but I guess the black dude wanted an answer. I absolutely didn't like being a cocksucker, so I shook my head.

Big mistake. I should have nodded. The man in front of me snarled, "Get the cracker out of here. Put him in one of the dungeons. We gonna teach the white boy to respect the black man."

One guy ripped the metal gag from my mouth, but he clamped his hand over my mouth so I couldn't spit out the cum slithering down my throat and covering my tongue. Another hand scooped up a big gob of jizz that was gracing my face and shoved it into my nose. Stunned, with my mouth clamped shut, I took a big breath and got a nose full of cum and an overpowering whiff of fresh cum musk. The dude smeared the rest of the spunk across my face and into my hair. "Get used to smelling man cum, slut," I heard a voice growl, "that's white bitch boy perfume." I felt filthy and the aroma of jizz was in every breath I took.

"Wait," the leader of the group snarled. "This pussy's a pretty little boy. With his looks, the stage is the place for him. He's gonna give us one helluva good show tonight." I heard several muffled laughs.

I was hustled from the rest room and past several openings that were as dark as the rest of the basement. I was certain I heard the sharp crack of a whip and an anguished groan from one of the side rooms. In another room, I thought I saw a dude strapped into a leather sling hanging from the ceiling, his bare ass exposed, and a black man about to shove something inside his hole. Shit, what was going to happen to me?

In the main room, I was dragged up a half dozen stairs onto a small stage. Once again I was forced to my knees. Two men held my arms behind me and bent me forward so I was staring at the ground. Two booted, leather-clad legs stepped in front of me. Following the leather pants up, my eyes were confronted by a big black dick hanging from an open fly.

Even soft, the thing was massive, swinging between the man's legs like a bull's dick. I was scared shitless. In my drunken state, it was beginning to dawn on me that the men in the basement intended to use me as a sex toy. I had already swallowed one load of cum, at least the part that wasn't crusting on my face and hair and lodged up my nose, but it wouldn't be the last. Hopefully oral sex would be all that would be forced on me, but that wasn't a sure bet.

Indeed, it was a losing bet. The anal sex question was answered moments later. The dude whose cock I was staring at walked behind me and said, "Let's see what the pretty white ho's ass looks like. It's gonna be hosting a lot of stiff cock." Within moments, the seat of my jeans and boxers were ripped open with a knife and I felt the basement's dank air on my freshly exposed asshole. I held my breath as the blade of the knife pressed between my crack and was slowly drawn up and down.

"Damn, lookkit this," the man exclaimed. "Hairless white hole jus beggin to be bred by big black cocks. This is some white slut hole we got here. Let's get the spots on."

The stage was flooded by bright lights, which made me blink as my eyes tried to adjust. It had been difficult enough to see before, but now I was blinded. That might not have been a bad thing, because I couldn't see the angry faces of the men gathered for the show.

Fuck, no, I thought for the umpteenth time. This can't be happening. It's a public bar! But apparently that didn't matter.

"Hook his slut ass," someone ordered. I heard a round of cheers and laughter from the crowd and within moments, a cold metal ball was jammed into my ass, sending a wave of pain shooting inside me. The contraption was pulled upward as someone clipped it onto a rope dangling from the ceiling. The taunt rope kept the gadget lodged in my hole, at the same time threatening to rip me to shreds if I moved.

I instinctively tried to push the metal hook out, pressing against it like I was trying to take a shit. Between the angle of the hook and the pressure from the rope, dislodging the hook wasn't happening, but I learned an important lesson. As I pushed against the damn thing, the pain gradually lessened.

"So, slut bitch," I heard a voice in my ear. "You keep dat pretty ass raised high and your back arched, and this anal hook will merely hurt like hell. I put a small one in you first, but you gonna work your way up to a nice big boy before long. If you don't keep your pert little ass raised so everybody can see it, this hook is gonna rip your tender boy hole to shreds. If you ain't a good slut pussy, then I pull this rope and you be danglin from the ceiling on nuttin but the hook and yo ass. Yo ain't gonna like that."

The man responsible for destroying my jeans and boxers returned to stand in front of me. His cock seemed to have grown, if that was possible, but maybe in the bright lights I was getting my first good look at it. The thing was massive. I couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be butt fucked by the big black cock swinging inches in front of my eyes.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend anyone," I gulped. Neither resisting nor staying quiet was helping my case, so maybe I should start apologizing to anyone that would listen.

"Shut up, cracker," the black guy in front of me snarled, slapping my face. "We gonna teach you a little respect. Your holes exist to service black cock. By the time we dun breeding you and raping your holes, you never disrespect da man again." He aimed his cock at my mouth, and rammed it inside. I gagged and groaned. This guy's dick was bigger than the last guy's, even though the new cock was only semi-hard. I wasn't going to be able to take the entire thing in my mouth once it got hard.

Suddenly, I heard Dillinger. With my ass impaled on the anal hook and my head clamped between two hands, I couldn't see anything other than the flat black stomach and a nest of black pubes belonging to the dude whose cock was shoved down my throat. But I recognized Dillinger's smooth, deep voice. "What the fuck did you do now, slut?" he asked tiredly.

Who was he talking to? Apparently me, because Dillinger bent down and slapped me, the sound echoing in the darkness. He grabbed my throat, dislodging the big black cock that had inhabited it, and he yelled, "I let you out of the fucking cell one night for good behavior and this is what happens? I give you clothes for the first time in a month and this is what you do to them? Even an idiot like you knows better than to insult real men. When I get you home, the collar and cuffs are going back on and you're gonna be chained in the dungeon for a fucking week. Maybe a month! Understand? And my cock is gonna be so far inside your faggot pussy that you'll be tasting head cheese for weeks."

I was in shock. Not only was the basement in an alternative universe far from the city I had been enjoying less than an hour ago, now Dillinger was talking crazy. Dillinger grabbed my throat and as he bent close to me, his long dreadlocks fell over my head. He yelled in my ear, "I want to hear an apology to these men. They're real men, not fucking faggots like you. Get your mouth on their boots and tell them how sorry you are to have caused them any problem, and how you will never, ever do it again."

Dillinger made no sense. I was stunned, wondering what the hell was going on. Then he whispered, "Play along."

A wave of relief crashed over me. Thank God! I hadn't gone completely crazy after all. I quickly understood Dillinger was trying to get me out of the predicament I had gotten myself into me. I began slobbering apologies, kissing any pair of black boots I saw.

"I apologize for this pathetic pair of holes," Dillinger said. "I thought he was ready for a night of freedom, but obviously the hoe proved me wrong. I own his whore holes, and he's not getting the pleasure of a load of cum in any of them until he's earned it. And from the looks of this, he has a long way to go. Fucking pussy boi is dumber than a box of rocks."

I hoped Dillinger knew what he was doing. I didn't like him calling me names, but if getting cussed out and kissing boots was what it took to get me out of the basement, then I wanted to be called every name in the book and kiss a hundred boots. After what had just been in my mouth, a boot wasn't that bad.

There was a long silence, broken when the man with the giant cock said solemnly, "Get your white trash hoe out of here, and don't bring him back until he has some manners."

"I apologize for him, again," Dillinger replied. "Get on our feet, slut."

The men holding my hands released me and I staggered to my feet, taking the opportunity to pull the anal hook from my hole as quickly as I could. I hoped like hell that Dillinger hadn't seen it.

Back on my feet and with the metal intruder out of my ass, I felt like sighing with relief, but before I could move the black man whose cock had been wedged in my throat said, "Wait. I want his faggot ass back here in three months. This time properly trained. Me and my bros will have a little party with him. You better teach him how to be a decent cocksucker by then and stretch his ass out. We gon' rip this cracker's fuck hole to shreds." The man aimed a mouthful of spit at me, catching me on my chin.

Dillinger nodded and roughly shoved me through the dimly lit room toward the ladder. I couldn't have found it myself. I climbed as quickly as I could, finding that I was a lot more sober than when I had I wandered down the stairs. A few shots of terror-induced adrenalin could do that. Dillinger was right behind me, and I worried that he could see my exposed asshole peeping through the rip in my jeans.

At the top of the stairs, Dillinger pointed to my crotch and said, "Uh, might want to put that away." My limp cock was still dangling from my fly; after pissing, I hadn't zipped up before my arms were grabbed, and since then I had been continuously immobilized. Embarrassed, I quickly stuffed my junk inside my jeans.

We got plenty of curious stares as Dillinger pushed me toward the entrance to the bar. Shirtless, I was reduced to a piece of meat that guys openly ogled. I hoped they wouldn't notice my bare ass and shredded jeans, although we didn't escape without a roomful of suggestive comments. Fortunately my leather jacket was still on the bar stool where I had been sitting before my misadventure, and I pulled it on as Dillinger hustled me into the street.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Shoot me a note with any thoughts, ideas, praise, criticism (I think I can handle it); I like hearing feedback on my writing. Coltonaalto@gmail.com