NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
IF YOU'RE READING THIS BUT NEVER (OR DON'T OFTEN) COMMENT, PLEASE CONSIDER TAKING
A FEW SECONDS OF YOUR TIME TO DROP ME A QUICK NOTE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER.
A FEW SECONDS OF YOUR TIME TO DROP ME A QUICK NOTE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER.
CHAPTER 298 - BOOT SERVICE
Monday, May 25 (6:30 PM)
"Down. On your knees, boi." Nick ordered, dropping his heavy police boots to the floor and motioning for me to kneel down in front of the large living room couch.
I did as I was told, and then watched as the overly plush leather couch creaked under the sudden weight of my 248-pound Master's tremendous body. A length of leather was pulled out of his right pocket, and dextrous gloved fingers began attaching what I now recognised as being a leash to the D-ring at the front of my collar.
"Come here. I want you where I can see you." the brute growled, pulling me in closer towards him before twirling the leash around his powerful right hand. Only when my face was mere inches from his crotch and my kneeling form positioned squarely between his giant legs did the man appear even mildly satisfied.
"Alright, boi. You know why you're here, right?" he spoke, the fearsome expression on his remarkably handsome face and the intensity of his piercing blue gaze leading me to believe I was being punished for something.
I gulped, searching my lover's eyes for any hint of mercy or compassion.
"N-no, Sir." I nervously stammered, fearing whatever it was he had in store for me but still not knowing what this was all about.
Nick's stern expression didn't falter even for a second.
"See those boots, boi?" he asked, keeping his eyes on me but pointing down towards the muddied pair of police boots his dad had worn during most of his career. "When you pulled them out of the closet on Saturday I warned you that my wearing them would come with a few strings attached. You're gonna wash them, boi. As of tonight, I'll be putting you hard at work in getting those boots back to tip-top condition. I'll be wearing them when I visit my parents in a few weeks, and I expect them to look like they did when my dad first started wearing them twenty-five years ago." he continued, holding my chin with one hand and pointing his other hand's rebuking finger straight at my face.
A feeling of great relief washed over me as the verbal commands flowed out of my strict no-nonsense boyfriend's mouth.
Here I was, getting all worked up and anxious about some supposed punishment...when in fact, all he wanted me to do was get his dad's big police boots cleaned up.
"Any questions?" the brute asked, causing me to shake my head 'no' and answer with a simple "No, Master."
"Good! Now get to work." he growled, providing my leash with just enough slack so that I could tend to the boots sitting next to me.
A brief moment of awkward silence ensued, during which I attempted to remind my man of the state I was in.
"Umm, Sir?" I asked, causing him to tear his eyes off the 65-inch TV screen and frown at me. "My hands are still cuffed." I reminded him, turning around ever so slightly so that he could remove the steel security restraints keeping my wrists in check.
"You don't need your hands, boi." the blond overlord spoke, apparently not appreciating me distracting him from the game he was trying to watch. "Use your tongue." he grumpily ordered, returning his fierce gaze to the TV screen while still keeping the end of my leash in his firmly clenched hand.
An expression of incomprehension, horror and disgust spread across my face as I eyed the positively massive police boots. Not only was the stench spilling out of them stinging my eyes and making my stomach churn, but both of them were currently sullied in dirt, mud, bits of grass and various scuff marks.
This was a soap-and-sponge job, not a job for my tongue!
"But...but, Sir!" I cried out, looking down at his father's big boots with both incredulity and disdain. "They're all muddy and gross!" I somewhat pleadingly complained.
Nick let out an exasperated sigh before scooching forward in his seat and cupping a hand behind the back of my collared neck.
"Alright, babe. Here's how it's gonna work. You're gonna lie down on your stomach, you're gonna stay fuckin' quiet, and you're gonna clean my dad's boots up 'till I order you to stop." he not-so-patiently instructed, forcing me to lie down on the floor and then placing his giant left foot down on the centre of my back.
I watched as he grabbed the pair of mighty police boots and watched as he put them down in front of my face.
With my hands cuffed behind me and my subdued frame now lying securely at his feet, the authoritarian warrior-king glared at me and waited for my tongue to start wetting the tip of his boots before finally giving my leash a bit of slack and returning his attention to the football game.
I spent what seemed like an eternity cleaning and worshipping my brutish muscleman's colossal police boots. The overpowering odour of cheese and leather that spilt out of them was really getting to me, and so was all the dirt, sand and dried blades of grass tarnishing their once lustrous exterior.
I worked tirelessly for the first hour, using both my lips and tongue to try and bring Mr Hoffmann's enormous boots back to their former glory.
Nick had one foot planted on the floor, right behind his dad's boots, but kept his other one on my upper back as if to remind me of just how insanely low my rank and station was.
"Get back to work, boi. I never said you could stop." the goliath-brute growled, frowning down at me from his leathery throne and forcing me to redouble my efforts even though my mouth felt dry and my tongue was getting tired.
Still in utter disbelief at the fact that this fiercely dominant, triple A-grade muscle-Alpha had chosen me as his spouse and personal houseboy, I licked, licked and licked some more; worshipping his boots as though my very life depended on it.
I wanted to please him.
I wanted to make him proud.
By any standards, the Hoffmann's police boots were friggin' HUGE compared to my face. And not only that, but from the way I was lying on the floor and looking up at them, they looked like friggin' highrise towers!
I thought I'd done a fairly good job of cleaning them up at one point, but then Nick scooched forward on the couch and placed one of the boots down on its side; exposing all the dried dirt and gunk filling the nooks and crannies that lined its rubbery sole.
"Clean that up, boi. All of it." the authoritarian power-hunk commanded, cupping the back of my head with one hand and forcibly pushing me forward 'till my lips were smudged against the underside of his boot.
No sign of compassion was given and no hints of mercy came my way either. The iron-fisted brute watched with a furrowed brow as I used my tongue to dislodge all the dirt and crap from under his law enforcement father's unreasonably large police boot.
Allowing myself to fall into the most submissive of mindsets, I continued following my husbandly Master's orders and worked myself to the point of exhaustion in order to get that one boot sufficiently cleaned up. Nick had me repeat that same process with the other one before finally shutting the TV off and pulling me up into a kneeling position.
A stern expression of both judgement and contempt lined his handsome features as he picked the left boot up off the floor and carefully inspected the fruits of my labour. This was it, I knew. Judgement hour.
"Not bad. I'm not completely satisfied, but since this was your first session I think we can overlook the spots you missed." he spoke, picking up his right boot and giving that one an in-depth inspection as well.
The fact that my man had just given me a green pass was high praise indeed.
When it came to my performance in bed he was unusually lax and patient, but for other things - such as his boots - he was usually quite demanding and fierce in his expectations. Nick demanded the best of the best and he wasn't known to settle for anything less.
My cheeks tingled in delight at having seemingly won over his approbation. The task of actually cleaning his boots with my tongue was both humiliating and unsavoury. But strangely enough, part of me enjoyed it...to the point of secretly looking forward to a repeat of the experience. It was degrading, it was intimate, and for reasons as yet unknown to me, it felt bizarrely gratifying. I'd proven useful to the man I loved, and the fact that I'd pleased him by doing so gave me a sense of inner peace and accomplishment.
Nick brought my two-hour-long tongue-lapping ordeal to an end by grabbing the back of my head with one hand and pressing the gaping mouth of his boot to my face.
"Here, boi. Get your little face in there and take a whiff." he ordered, causing the near-entirety of my head to disappear inside the leathery monster's oversized maw.
A sea of pitch-black darkness overcame my vision as the monstrous police boot swallowed my face whole.
I did as I was told, of course, and didn't hesitate even for a second.
My nostrils flared open, and with that, a sudden rush of horrifyingly pungent stench came rushing in to greet me.
I coughed and gagged on the smell, picking up not only Nick's revolting foot odour but also that of his father's.
In the seconds following its removal from my face, I silently vowed to get Joshua acquainted with those boots should I ever find him mummified, gagged and helpless one day. After all, such an encounter would only be fair considering he'd gagged me with a pair of his roommate's dirty boxers and forced me to endure the reek of both his and Kyle's shoes.
As soon as the boot was pulled away from my disgruntled face, Nick stood up from the couch, pulled me up from my kneeling position and escorted me to the privacy of our bedroom after placing his newly-cleaned boots back in the entryway closet where they belonged.
My leash was removed, my hands were uncuffed, my wrists were briefly massaged, and then the order to go brush my teeth and get ready for bed came.
I fought the urge to voice a complaint upon noticing that it wasn't even 8:30 yet, but wisely bit my tongue back and did as I was told.
A solid ten minutes or so ended up passing during the time it took me to do my business, wash my face and get rid of the gross taste of dirt that permeated my mouth.
Nick was browsing on his laptop and still wearing his gloves, trackies and socks by the time I walked into our chilly bedroom.
The freakishly buff and downright colossal muscle-king stood up from his chair and dimmed the lights down as I began stripping to my undies. Our insanely thick, heavy-duty down comforter was partially yanked off the bed, revealing the diminutive darlex envelope that would soon serve as my curfew-enforcing prison.
I was about to climb up on the lofty queen-size mattress when the towering blond brute ordered the stripping of my underwear. I did as I was told, though begrudgingly, and then climbed onto the very squishy memory foam mattress before slipping my arms and legs into the stretchy cocoon and lying obediently on my stomach.
A very large and leathery hand took hold of the zipper pressing up against my lower back and slowly began pulling it up along the length of my spine.
The body-hugging safety sack grew tighter and tighter; constricting around my arms and legs and even pressing my pert little buttcheeks real close together. The zipper's slow ascent continued past the centre of my shoulder blades until finally, it reached the back of my neck. As soon as it did, Master's gloved fingers instantly tamper-proofed it via the small velcro flap that would prevent its accidental descent, and then my captivity was complete.
Few doubts remained as to what fate would soon befall me when I pulled my face up out of my lover's smothering pillow and saw his gargantuan frame fish a small bottle of lube out from the top drawer of his nightstand.
I was his for the taking, and there was nothing I could do to escape from his irrepressible clutches.
I was his prisoner.
I was his thrall.
* AUTHOR'S NOTE *
HERE'S TO HOPING SOME NEW AND/OR QUIET READERS WILL TAKE HEED OF MY PLEA.
IF YOU'RE PART OF THE MANY SHY READERS SILENTLY FOLLOWING THIS ADVENTURE, THEN CONSIDER
EXPRESSING YOUR FEELINGS ABOUT THE BOOT-CLEANING SERVICE STEVEN WAS MADE TO PROVIDE.
WOULD YOU HAVE ACQUIESCED? SHOULD STEVEN BE GAGGED FOR THE NIGHT? IF SO, WITH WHAT?
IF YOU'VE MADE IT UP TO THIS CHAPTER AND ARE LOOKING FORWARD TO THE CONTINUATION OF THIS TALE,
THEN PLEASE TAKE THOSE EXTRA SECONDS AND SAY SO. YOUR SUPPORT IS BOTH NEEDED & APPRECIATED.
IF YOU'RE PART OF THE MANY SHY READERS SILENTLY FOLLOWING THIS ADVENTURE, THEN CONSIDER
EXPRESSING YOUR FEELINGS ABOUT THE BOOT-CLEANING SERVICE STEVEN WAS MADE TO PROVIDE.
WOULD YOU HAVE ACQUIESCED? SHOULD STEVEN BE GAGGED FOR THE NIGHT? IF SO, WITH WHAT?
IF YOU'VE MADE IT UP TO THIS CHAPTER AND ARE LOOKING FORWARD TO THE CONTINUATION OF THIS TALE,
THEN PLEASE TAKE THOSE EXTRA SECONDS AND SAY SO. YOUR SUPPORT IS BOTH NEEDED & APPRECIATED.
