Work Boots

I’m sitting at the bar, facing out, nursing my beer. My heels are hooked below me on the stool, my knees apart. One knee is bouncing slightly, in time with the music and in anticipation of your arrival. As I glance for the hundredth time at the door, looking for you, I realize there are a couple of pretty girls at that end of the bar and they’re looking at me with approval on their faces. I acknowledge them with a polite but uninterested nod. I wonder what about me caught their attention. I glance down at myself. Dark blue t-shirt under a gray work shirt with ‘Kyle’ patched above my heart. Clean, but well worn blue jeans stretched enticingly over my bulge and, finally, my black, oil finished work boots. So what got their attention, my face, my bulge? Or… it must be the work boots.

I glance at my watch and at the door again. The girls have turned their attention toward another butch, one who is very happy to be noticed. I’m happy for him, go brother, I’m waiting for my woman. I think about you, the way your hips roll when you walk toward me, across the room, with the look of a carnivore on your face. My clit twitches, pulsing against my cock. Mmmm, that feels nice. I adjust myself on the stool and move my hips slightly in time with the song now playing. I’m masturbating myself ever so subtly, and I know you’ll approve.

I’m nearly at the end of my pint, watching the TV screen across the room, when I hear the door open and I know it’s you. My eyes swing around and it’s all I can do not to fall off the stool. You look phenomenal in a sweet looking dress that clings to your every curve. The neckline sweeps up from your delicious cleavage, to a wide stance that exposes your sexy collar bones. My clit swells up and threatens to push my dick out of my pants. You made me wait, longer than we’d agreed on, and watching you as you glide over to me, I have no complaints. I know you put time into your hair and face, but right now, all I can see is your eyes. Those intense blue eyes that look through me, all the way to my soul. You pause now, drinking me in with an appreciative lift of your eyebrow. I hop down from my stool and take you by the hand, bringing you over to my place at the bar.

I kiss you, lightly, respectful of your lipstick. I know you put it on to look good, but you also wear it as a challenge to me. How long will I let you wear it before kissing it off those delectable lips? It’s one of our unspoken little jokes, one of those things that makes me feel closer to you, because as I look at your lips, before kissing them, I know we’re thinking the same thought. I smile slightly, look in your eyes and kiss you again, harder this time. As I draw you close to my body, your hip presses against my cock and your eyes widen. You lean harder against me and sigh your pleasure into my ear.

You take your spot on the stool next to me, after I move it closer. I order you a drink and me another pint, and put my work boots on the bottom of your stool, putting you between my legs and clearly marking my territory. Sometimes it’s fun to watch other people hit on you, see you react to it, flattered but uninterested, but not tonight. Tonight is about us, you and me. We may be in public, but no one else here matters, except maybe the bartender and who ever is responsible for playing all this great music tonight.

We flirt and talk and touch for a couple more hours, and my bar stool keeps getting closer to yours until you’re practically in my lap. You delight in teasing me by brushing against my dick whenever you can and I take every opportunity to run my fingers on your thigh, under your skirt. Is it getting hot in here? It’s time to move things along… time to move beyond foreplay.

I lean in again, putting my mouth against your ear. You shudder and grip my forearm like a lifeboat. Before I say anything to you, you already know it’s time and I know you got a sudden rush of wetness between your legs.

“Time to go.”

I settle our tab and stand in front of your stool.  My hands around your waist, I lift you down to the floor, and take your hand, placing it on my arm. I lead you out slowly, parading you, celebrating you, showing you off. We continue out the door and head in the direction of my truck. Before we reach it, though, I pull you off the sidewalk, into an alley.

It’s dark, not terribly late but late enough this time of year. The helpful streetlight at the entrance to this passage gives way to shadow as I draw you forward. You stumble a little, confidence giving way as your heart pounds and your mind races. I brace you and we continue, my arm firmly around your shoulders, your head resting lightly against me. You’ve given me permission, told me with your body that you’re up to whatever I have in mind. I grin in the dark and reach one hand down to squeeze my cock.

Careful not to make you stumble again, I suddenly stop our forward progress and pull you into a doorway. I hold you against the door, pressing myself against you, thrusting my tongue into your mouth until you’re gasping for breath. Your hips start moving, straddling my thigh, trying to grind into my cock as it presses against my zipper. I let you, for a few moments, enjoying the smell of your neck, the feeling of your skin between my teeth, the frantic energy of your movements as you get closer to your climax.

But now is not the time for that.

I push back, away from you, and you gasp “No,” a hurt look on your face. I lean forward to kiss you, once, to reassure you, to remind you to trust me.

I step out of the doorway and hop up to a sitting position on a wooden box covering some garbage cans. My right foot is swinging lazily, as if I were sitting on a dock somewhere with nothing to do. “Come here.”

You step forward, the look on your face hungry but uncertain. You glance at my crotch, trying to anticipate what I have in mind.

“Not that, my sweet, not yet.” I say, reading your mind as if your thoughts were printed on a billboard.

“Come here.” I say it firmly this time, almost sternly, in my ‘don’t give me shit’ voice.

You start coming forward until I say “Stop. There.”

You’re about two feet from where I’m sitting. I reach a toe up and run it along your inner thigh until it’s just under your skirt.

You sigh heavily and look as though your knees are growing weak. You reach out and grab my calf, holding my booted toe against your thigh. You look up at me, a mixture of lust, fear and love in your eyes.

“Yes, my darling, you know what to do”, I say with a smile on my lips and in my voice. “Get on it, babe.”

You pull yourself toward me until my boot is between your legs. I reach a little farther, straightening out my leg, and hook your ass, pulling you even closer. You’re right up against my leg, my leg braced against the box. My hands on your face, I kiss you deeply. You still haven’t done anything, but I can tell you’re barely holding your hips still. I brush your cheek with my lips, until I’m breathing into your ear. You can barely contain yourself, you’re quivering and breathing heavily and I can feel your pulse racing in your throat.

“Ask for it.” I breath this into your ear, almost inaudibly. “Tell me what you want.”

You moan out loud now, “Oh, god… baby.”

“You know I’ll give you what you need. Ask for it…” My voice is firmer this time, I know you need that, you need my authority to override the small amount of embarrassment you still feel.

There is a momentary pause, and then you say it, “Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Baby, please, your boot.”

“My boot, what?” Our bodies are tense against each other, each one feeling the anticipation building up. I’m leaning forward and very conscious of my cock pressing against my clit.

“Please, may I fuck your boot.” You say this through gritted teeth, and my clit twitches hard in response.

“Yes, baby, fuck my boot. Now.”

You grab my leg, just under the knee and push yourself against my boot. It’s a 3/4 high boot, with a rolled top, and you ride it from the toe to just above the top, catching that roll against your clit. You’re frantic, I’ve almost waited too long, I don’t want you to cum too soon, but you’re past being controlled by me and all I can do is hold on to you. Kissing your neck, your ears, chewing, sucking, growling in your ear. I know the wetness between your legs as if my fingers were touching it. I know by your gasping breath that you’re very close now. Your eyes are closed, your head pushing into my chest.

I raise my eyes for a moment and see a silhouetted form at the end of the alley. It pauses and continues on, quickly.

“oh god, oh god, ohgodohgod… ” it comes from you in a steady stream, more moan than speech.

“Yes, baby, get it. I want you to cum. Now.” with that word I grab you tightly against me and pull my boot up hard against your pussy.

You cry out and your hips slow down, drawing out the orgasm, dragging yourself across my boot in that delicious rhythm I’ve come to love. Watching you climax, hearing you cry out my name, feeling your weight as you collapse against me, I know I’ve given you what you need.

And, I also know, the night is young.

This content is published under the Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported license.

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11 Responses to Work Boots

  1. Kyle says:

    Oh, wooopsie.. do you need help up? 😉

  2. Natt Nightly says:

    Oh this made me grin in a wicked way. Brava! Very nice!

  3. Yeah, I always loved boots on a butch but wow, I’ll never look at them the same again. drool.

  4. muse says:

    I was casually lusting after (a butch in) a pair of motorcycle boots last night. may I just say that this post kicked my fantasies up a notch?

    wow. hot.

  5. leo says:

    this was so sexy. glad you’re up & running!

  6. roxy says:

    Oh, my…this is even sexier than the first time i read it almost 4 weeks ago…

    Thank you.

  7. Wow… I swear I was watching you two from a place just out of your sight. I love your writing.

  8. Pingback: Butchtastic » Blog Archive » Butchtastic is Two Years Old… thanks to all of you

  9. Neighbor Femme says:

    Holy. Shit. Um. Yes.

    *reminder to step it up.*

    Thank you, Neighbor Femme, that’s precisely the reaction I was hoping you’d have. Not sure what you mean by ‘step it up’… hmmmm… — K

  10. Lyn says:

    (agrees with Tina-cious.com.)

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