There probably wasn’t much of a reason for Tate to still be in the closet. After all, other guys on the police force had come out before, and after some mild ribbing from the other guys in the locker room, everything had settled out back to normal, but as far as Tate was concerned, it wasn’t any of their business. Besides, he kind of liked acting straight–it was fun shooting the shit about pussy with the guys, even if he’d managed to hang onto his gold star after all these years.

Unfortunately, he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time. A gay club Tate liked to frequent for anonymous hookups had just been placed under new management–and the new owners had decided to liven the place up a bit. the gas bombs went off unexpectedly, and they went off everywhere, including in the bathroom where Tate was having a piss, watching some twink look at his uniform–and his boots.

Needless to say, after getting a good lungful of the gas, he’d hightailed it out of there along with everyone else, but ever since then, well, things had been anything but normal. It started out small–with this obsessive need to shine his boots every morning before heading into work, but before long things had gotten out of control. Every space he could fit them, he’d stuck boots he’d found–some he’d bought online, others used, hell, some he’d stolen from other guys on the force, just so he could sniff their foot stink and shine their boots, because no one could get a good enough shine for his satisfaction.

The cigar smoking, hell, that had just been a way to calm himself down. When he got too crazy, a good cigar and a beer or two could keep him calm, help him resist, but soon they’d built up into their own obsession. And then the leather–he couldn’t wear cotton, hell, anything but leather these days. It fucking burnt his skin for some reason. And he had to jack off almost constantly, usually while licking his boots, and then he’d lick up his cum too, but really, that shouldn’t be his job…right?

A week after the gas attack, he was back at the club. He’d quit the force, he had more important things to worry about, like keeping his boots shiny. Yeah, these slaves, their spit got them so damn clean, and watching them squirm under his sole, fuck, nothing got him off like the sight of that. In fact, he didn’t even really need to leave the club, did he? No, there was nothing outside for him any longer, this was his life now, and he couldn’t be happier.

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