Male Feet Worship World

Bootlicker of the Day

Bootlicker of the Day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the day

Bootlicker of the w

Bootlicker of the day

He crawled closer, closed his eyes for a brief moment, inhaling the sharp, heavy aroma of premium calfskin. Reverently his lips pressed against the polished, stiff leather near the ankle of the right Dehner boot, leaving a faint, warm mark of condensation on the high-gloss shine. With a combination of reverence, obedience and desire he reached out and began to polish those boots starting at the very top right where the tight breeches met the dark, heavy rim of the boot shafts. And with practiced care he gently massaged the leather bring out a rich shine. It was a act of surrender that he had performed often, sometimes daily before he left the office. It was a practiced ritual looking from a distance, crawling close and finally touching those tall boots. The scent and touch were hypnotic, sensual. Knowing he was being ignored and objectified increased his complete surrender. For him those boots spoke to him, he believed that with every stroke of his hand, every touch of his tongue they let out a deep, satisfying groan. When he kissed the toe of a boot he felt as though it was kissing him back. He fed his addiction with the drug of his choice .. my boots. Crumpled suit, trod on loafers and worn socks were the stage where he performed his supplication, his penance for having revealed his fetish and every time he did that he swore to himself never again … but like a true addict he was lying to himself knowing that he biggest fear was it would not happen again. Task completed he crawled away. I never told him too, he chose that final act himself.