Booted

Corporate culture…

He is an addict and I am his drug of choice. It began innocently with an offhand “I’ll do anything ” comment about earning a salary increase and promotion. It lead to this and even though he was uncomfortable with that “anything” the first time and the second time it happened the discomfort went away because I now know he is here after hours out of a hidden desire. Discomfort is now fervour. I know what he wants and so does he. Always dressed in a sharp suit, always entering my office with his head strictly bowed he knows what his task is at the end of the day when he will reach out with respectful hands to begin the ritual of caring for my boots. He be may standing or kneeling but he will waiting for permission to touch them. The shined tassels loafers he polished early are visible to him as a sign and a reminder of his life with me and I love the contrast between his complete deference to the imposing sight of my tight white breeches and tall Dehner boots. He / we are cemented in this modern BDSM dominance of a powerful corporate culture. Outside of my office he is a take charge executive but here he is addicted to a primal, tactile sensation of fine leather, service and obedience and that is where true power over him resides and so he leaned over my desk and gently pressed his lips 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 and he did that by choice …

Know your place—the place you choose for yourself, not one imposed on you.

These are my thoughts as a man by birth, a man by age, and a gentleman by choice.

The end, a new beginning.

The visual symmetry in the dimly lit barracks locker room was absolute. There he was, an immaculate cadet who was fully clad in his own rigid uniform now stripped down to tight textile breeches, and tall riding boots, reduced by choice not force, into fervent submission at my feet. The heavy groan of my Dehner leather echoed as he gripped the my boot shaft, anchoring it to his shoulder with a desperate, frantic strength. He worked with an intense, unyielding passion, his tongue tracing the stiff ankle creases and his lips sealing his devotion against the high-gloss black calfskin. “My I do something I have dreamed of” he asked so and I sat back in the chair at my desk and watched the recruit remove his own tall boots and set them beside mine. "Show me what you have in mind," I murmured. With practiced care and absolute focus, he began to slowly, reverently remove my boots. The leather let out a deep, satisfying groan as he pulled, sliding the stiff calfskin smoothly down my legs. As each boot slipped free, a sudden wave of masculine warmth and rich, aged calfskin filled the narrow space between us.He held my empty boots cradled in his arms for a long moment before he carefully guided my feet into his own tall boots, sliding the stiff, polished calfskin up my calves until they fit perfectly. With my boots kept close to his bare chest, he sat on the floor right beneath my desk, completely consumed by the ritual.

Chapter 3

By Choice not Force

An Officer’s Story: Part 2 (Should it continue?)

The Standard of Discipline

The recruit kept his head bowed, his hands pausing over the dark leather of my custom Dehners. The heavy silence of the barracks locker room hung between us before he finally found the courage to speak.

"Sir, may I lift your boot up to my shoulder please, Sir?" he asked, his voice tight with a mixture of intense discipline and raw, anxious submission.

I nodded yes, my expression remaining completely unyielding, a statuesque figure of absolute military authority.

Without a moment of hesitation, the recruit reached out with both hands. He gripped the heavy, stiff ankle of my right boot and lifted it carefully, resting the high-gloss black shaft directly onto his shoulder. The position brought his face mere inches away from the premium calfskin, completely immersing him in the thick, masculine aroma of the leather and dark wax. He immediately began using his polishing cloth, working with a frantic, meticulous rhythm to shine the back of that boot shaft.

His breathing changed as I tapped the toe of my boot against his cheek.

An officers story: Should I continue with it?

The Lesson in the Locker Room

I looked down at the recruit kneeling down polishing my tall custom made Dehner boots. The recruit had offered to shine them for me after our day of training but I also knew that my recruit had been looking at my boots all week. I actually spied him hiding in the locker room with his face inside one of the tall, heavy shafts, inhaling the deep, masculine scent of the premium leather when he thought no one was watching.

Now, caught in the act of his own fixation, I watched my recruit working with a frantic, submissive energy. His hands trembled slightly as he rubbed the dark wax into the stiff calfskin, desperately trying to bring the black leather to a flawless mirror shine.

I stood perfectly rigid above him, my posture projecting the absolute, unquestionable authority of a seasoned instructor. I adjusted my uniform, letting the heavy silence of the room weigh down on his shoulders. He knew he had I had caught him in the locker room, and he knew that his compliance right now was the only thing keeping him in the program.

"You like the scent of authority, don't you, recruit?" I murmured, looking down at the top of his head.

Finding the right boot man is hard, especially one who can understand this and set aside his inhibitions.