I’ve started taking suggestions for short stories again, over on my new Sponsus page! Here’s one I wrote this month, for someone who requested some boot worship and army men. If you enjoy it, there’s more to be found over there, and I’ll be taking suggestions for October starting tomorrow!
Jameson Army Base wasn’t where you wanted to get shipped off for base camp, but there was a reason it received a fair share of recruits. It was in the middle of nowhere, flyover country, attached to a small town whose fortunes were pretty much tied to the base and everyone on it. It wasn’t glamorous, but there were also no real distractions. When this latest batch of fresh recruits were given their first permission to go off base for a weekend, none of the young men were particularly thrilled. The bar on base was generally well regarded. The man reason to go off was to head for the strip club and hopefully get laid with a dancer after parting with a chunk of paycheck, or go to one of the rundown bars in town and look for a cute girl who wanted out of town, and was willing to marry an army man to do it.
Eddie Westfield didn’t have either of those ambitions in mind. He was a little older than some of the other recruits there, had grown up in a small town not too different from this one, fell in with the wrong crowd for a few years after dropping out of high school, and part of trying to turn himself around was taking one of the few exits that existed these days for fuckups like him: the army. When the weekend was announced by Drill Sergeant Rugger, he had made it clear to the young cadets that they were to keep their noses clean and stay out of trouble–and that meant staying clear of one bar in particular, known around there as Gully’s Tavern. It catered to some rougher clientele that didn’t take kindly to the men off the base, generally–biker gangs mostly. Eddie hadn’t thought much of the warning at the time, he hadn’t even planned on leaving base for the weekend, but as Friday finished up, and the rest of the guys were talking excitedly about their plans, he couldn’t help but get a bit swept up in it too.
He started the evening with a couple of buds at one of the friendlier bars in town. They were both looking for women they night woo, and Eddie took an early leave. The night was still young, and he wasn’t quite ready to go back to base. He decided to walk around town a bit, and see what there was around. Not much, especially not that late, but there was a building half a mile down the highway all lit up in the night. Eddie headed for it, enjoying the walk, and found himself standing outside Gully’s Tavern.
There on the porch were a couple of bikers, smoking cigars and drinking. They hadn’t noticed him walk up in the dark, as they leaned over and kissed, sharing their smoke together. So that’s why Rugger had urged them away from here. Some army kids probably tried to start something with the biker fags, and shit had gone down once, so it was easier to just urge everyone away. Rugger wasn’t perturbed, though. He’d been with guys before, and girls, and anyone really. He went up the steps, inside, turned to the bar, and froze when he saw one of the men in full leathers there, chatting and groping up a trucker-ish fellow. It was Sergeant Rugger. A bit embarrassed, Eddie turned to leave, only for the two bikers who had been out of the porch to appear behind him, blocking his exit and pushing him deeper into the bar, everyone turning to stare at the clear trespasser in their midst.
“Hey guys, I’m just here for a brew, I’m not looking for trouble,” Eddie said.
The men all looked towards Rugger, who pushed a couple jets of smoke out of his nose in clear annoyance at being found out. “Boy, I told you all to stay away from this bar, didn’t I say that? That was a fucking order, if you didn’t realize, not a damn suggestion.”
“Sergeant, I don’t care, really I don’t! I won’t tell anyone,” Eddie said, but the sergeant was already walking over, and as he did, Eddie noticed a sizable talisman hanging from the sergeant’s neck, swinging against his hairy chest. It was…captivating, and Eddie couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away.
“Sure as hell won’t tell anyone, boy. Westfield, you’re gonna be straight with me. You’ll only be able to answer truthfully.”
Eddie nodded, eyes still locked on the talisman.
“Ya gay, Eddie?”
“Bi, Sir.”
“Think I’m hot, boy?”
“I…I mean, yeah…”
“You think I’m hot, boy. You think I’m so hot, that you’d be willing to do just about anything I tell you to do tonight, got it? Now–do you think I’m hot?”
“Fuck Sir, I think you’re the hottest fucker I’ve ever seen…” Eddie muttered.
“That’s more like it. Do you like boots, boy?”
“E-Excuse me?”
“You love boots, don’t you boy? Men in leather boots. Clean ones, dirty ones, biker boots, combat boots, can’t tear your eyes off boots. Why don’t you get on your knees boy, give mine a closer look.”
Eddie did as his sergeant ordered, the rest of the bar sniggering and hooting at the show. No one knew where the sergeant had picked up that talisman on his last tour, but the bar sure had been a lot more fun ever since. The recruit had never seen something as beautiful as the leather biker boots in front of him in his whole life, his whole being quivering at the thought of servicing them, licking them, being under them. Rugger had Eddie begging him permission to lick his boots clean, and after just a few licks of the leather surface, Eddie moaned, his cock unloading in the front of his underwear. That sent the crowd into the flurry, and they tore all of his clothes off, aside for the soiled briefs, and once Rugger’s boots were shining with spit, he was ordered to crawl around, begging men permission to lick and service their boots. When the bartenders announced last call, Rugger hauled Eddie up to his feet, bent him over the pool table, and gave the boy a good rough fuck while the bar closed up.
Rugger held the talisman in front of Eddie’s face, told him he would forget the events of that evening, think he went home with the rest of the young men, though he would have a lingering fetish for boot play all the same. To his surprise though, he felt the boy pushing back against his command–the first time he had, actually. It seemed like he wanted to remember…so Rugger altered his suggestion. He made it a dream, a vivid one, but certainly a dream, one he enjoyed, one he wanted, and one he’d think about when he next jacked off, for sure.
Rugger wasn’t sure what might happen next, and Saturday evening, it wasn’t even ten before Eddie burst through the doors of the bar, looked around for the Sergeant, and headed right for him. “You–what happened last night?”
“Excuse me?” Rugger said, with a little smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Westfield.”
“No…I had a dream, and…and I…” Without saying more, Eddie dropped to his knees, and bent his head down. “Sir…it wasn’t a dream, was it? I loved it. I…please Sir, can I service your boots, Sir?”
Rugger smiled, “If that’s what would please you boy, by all means, have at it.”
It was rather unheard of for a recruit to remain at Jameson Army Base once basic training was done–the recruits were usually scattered to bases across the country for more specialized training. Eddie, though, stuck around, taking a low level office job on the recommendation of Sergeant Rugger. Their relationship was an open secret, though few knew the whole story. Eddie had no problem with that. As long as he could remain Sir’s bootboy, he’d be more than happy anywhere at all.
Bracken's Corner 