Bootboi 01

A light rain fell out of the raw night sky, a mist really, that formed halos around the overhead lighting. David walked out of the booking hall and turned right towards the club under the railway tracks down the street. Ancient brick walls glistened with wet, and water pooled here and there on the worn sidewalk. A late commuter train thundered and screeched overhead. Almost there.

It had been a twenty-five minute journey from home, but he'd reached his destination at last. The trip involved two Tube changes, and he'd been thrilled to hear the echoing thud of his THICK BLACK WESCO Engineers with heavy Vibram lug soles in the tiled tunnels as he moved between lines. In his mind, it sounded nothing like the constant clacking of the thousand shoes around him. His steps were thick and heavy, and carried a special weight.

Knowing that under his long Matrix-style leather coat he wore only a black rubber neck entry catsuit, long leather gauntlets and tall black leather biker boots both excited and scared him. What if any of the commuters surrounding him in the tunnels or on the Tube knew what he was wearing under this coat? What if they knew what he hoped to get up to tonight? It was both thrilling and frightening at the same time, but it felt good.

A drizzle of pre-cum squished inside his catsuit as he walked.

ENCASED IN RUBBER and COATED IN LEATHER, he'd sweated buckets standing in the overheated car as it rushed through the underground, and now that he was outside again he felt the sheen of sweat on his forehead and around his neck instantly turn cold in the chill air. Nice.

He scanned the scattering of motorbikes outside The Hoist, and several leather-jacketed men who stood between them and the doorway, taking last drags on their cigarettes before going in. No familiar faces here, so he made his way into the club.

Music that had been muffled outside became almost physical in the dim interior, assaulting his senses until he grew accustomed to it. He paid his cover charge and checked his leather coat, storing the token and a few bills in small pocket on the inside of the leather band he wore on his wrist. He made his way through the press of LEATHER AND RUBBER COVERED FLESH for a quick scan around the club to look for familiar faces – and one face in particular – but when that drew a blank he made his way back to the front bar and ordered a pint.

He stood against the bar, then looked around for HOODER, the man he'd arranged to meet here last week.


There he was, in a dimly-lit corner leaning against a wall. He nodded towards David, acknowledging his presence, but nothing more. He wore a black Muir cap with silver trim and chain. A brass winged eagle was pinned to the centre of the peak. The bill was pulled down far over his nose which was why it had been so hard to recognize him earlier. He wore Hi-Shine Chippewas, skin-tight leather breeches and a leather police shirt just visible under his PADDED LANGLITZ COP JACKET. He wore a thick Sam Browne belt over the jacket. A LACE-UP LEATHER HOOD hung from a clip on the left side of the belt. The laces ran up both sides of the hood and were tied at the neck. Six snaps held a mouthpiece in place, but nothing covered the eyeholes, even though there were snap fittings to take one. A LEATHER DOG COLLAR also hung from the belt, and a 3 foot length of metal chain looped down the side of his Langlitz breeches. He looked incredible in his gear, and David was very impressed.

He'd worn much the same gear last weekend – including the hood and dog collar hanging from the left side of the belt. David had followed him around the bar like a puppy before eventually working up enough courage to approach him and start up a conversation, saying that he was fascinated by HOODER's big boots and the hood hanging from his belt and wondered what it would take to wear that hood padlocked onto his own head and kneel before his heavy leather boots.

HOODER asked David if he wanted to put it on and go do something with it, but David was nervous about getting together for locked play without a little confidence that the guy was OK.

"OK then," HOODER replied. "I understand not wanting to do anything heavy with a stranger. Tell you what, look me up on some of the sites, check out some of my play buddies and the comments they've posted. If you still want to wear the hood, and worship my boots, let's meet back here next Saturday." So having performed due diligence over the week, David now found himself facing HOODER again, more confident that this was what he really wanted to do.

"On your knees," HOODER growled, and David immediately dropped to the floor. HOODER unclipped the BLACK LEATHER HOOD from his belt and worked it over David's head. He pulled a SMALL BRASS PADLOCK from a zippered panel on his LANGLITZ COP JACKET and snapped it shut on the buckle of the hood.



"From now on you are BOOTBOI, and I will address you only as BOOTBOI for the duration of our time together," he told the hooded victim at his feet. "The padlock's key is back at the Cellblock. You can destroy the hood taking it off on your own, you can wear it home on the trains if you've got the balls for it, or you can come to the Cellblock with me and I can take off the hood there after we've gotten to know each other better and come to an understanding."

BOOTBOI went weak in the knees at these words, fearful of what he had gotten himself into.

"Please Sir, take me to the Cellblock with you," BOOTBOI begged through the TIGHT LEATHER HOOD LOCKED TO HIS HEAD. The snap-on mouthpiece had no interior gag, so his voice was only slightly muffled by the leather and in no other way restricted. The restraint was more psychological than physical – although the brass padlock did limit what he could do in the 'real' world. He could speak through the hood, but knew better than to say more than necessary.

"You asked for this," HOODER chuckled. "Remember you asked for it."

HOODER roughly pulled his hooded boi across the bar and out into the chilly night. The earlier mist had turned into a heavier rain, but that didn't make much of a difference to HOODER in his THICK BLACK LANGLITZ GEAR, or to the rubber encased boi. BOOTBOI hardly gave a thought for the leather coat he'd checked – hopefully he could come back and pick it up again another day. Hopefully.

HOODER walked down the row of muscle bikes and took a spare black helmet from one of the big Harleys lined up there and helped BOOTBOI work it into place over the padlocked leather hood. It fit fine, as HOODER knew it would. This was not the first time somebody'd worn it with a leather hood underneath.

He snapped the visor down over the face opening, and now BOOTBOI was a totally anonymous thing. As you might guess from his name, HOODER got off on faceless, anonymous subs and enjoyed the look of his handiwork standing submissive in front of him. Might be a fun night, he thought.

He mounted the bike then waited while the hooded and helmeted boi clad only in a black rubber catsuit, leather gauntlets and tall WESCOs worked his way onto the pillion. After he was sure BOOTBOI was in place behind him and felt his arms around his waist, he started up the dark Harley. The bike growled into gear and HOODER pulled out onto the road.

It was a fantastic feeling riding through the midnight streets of the city wearing only a black rubber catsuit, WESCO boots, leather hood and helmet, holding firmly to the leather-jacketed figure in front of him. He felt exposed – almost naked - as though everyone around him could see him literally wearing his fetish on his sleeve. This was not at all like the covert train trip down here, covered in a long coat and attempting to 'pass'. This was in-your-face fierce:

Rain spotted the helmet's plastic visor and splashed against his BODY-HUGGING BLACK LATEX CATSUIT. Headlights and streetlights shone off his TOTALLY ENCASED BODY. The roar of the engine filled his ears and the vibration of the machine between his legs rippled through his body as they roared together across the city towards The Cellblock.

BOOTBOI clung firmly to HOODER's waist and watched the thinning traffic around them as they left the congested core and its glass and metal towers behind and raced through mile after mile of rain slick streets. As near as he could tell, nobody gave his black rubber gear even a second look, mistaking it for racing gear or maybe a leather suit. Even when they stopped at traffic lights from time to time, the faces in the cars around him gave him no more than a passing glance. What looks there were seemed to be reserved for HOODER's OVERSIZED LANGLITZ GEAR.

No part of HOODER's flesh was exposed either. From the neck of his black helmet to the soles of his Hi-Shine Chippewas, he was completely encased in THICK BLACK LEATHER. He'd rolled up the collar of his TIGHT-FITTING LANGLITZ PATROL JACKET, and zipped it right up to the top to keep out the wind. His FLARED BLACK LEATHER RANGERS fitted snugly into the top of his 17" Chippewas, and he gripped the powerful bike's handlebars with hands encased in LARGE BLACK-LEATHER GAUNTLETS. A BLACK LEATHER KNIGHT. MASULINE. AUTHORITATIVE. IN CONTROL.

He weaved through the night-time streets with confidence, and BOOTBOI relaxed into his SUBMISSIVE ROLE. HOODER seemed to be a man he could trust to take charge.

This was almost as exciting as riding the Tube in his gear – maybe even more so, because now his head was LOCKED IN AN ALL-ENCASING LEATHER HOOD under the dark-visored helmet – something he'd never have gotten away with on the trains – and he was clinging to the hard body of a big man wearing a COP-STYLE ZIPPERED LANGLITZ JACKET AND BREECHES and HIGH DOMINEERING BOOTS.

He felt the bike suddenly gear down as HOODER turned onto a side street. The Harley's roar dropped to a low growl as it crept halfway down another lane and turned into a yard surrounded by a very high wooden fence. Still seated, HOODER walked the bike up to a small outbuilding – maybe a tool shed or small garage - where three bikes were already parked. He maneuvered the heavy machine into line with the others, kicked the stand into position and shut off the engine. The silence was almost deafening after the 40-minute bike ride and BOOTBOI's ears throbbed with the engine's echo, filling the void left by the cooling motor.

"Welcome to The Cellblock," HOODER said as he stepped off the bike and pointed towards the house before them. He helped his passenger from the bike and lifted the helmet's visor so BOOTBOI could see where he was.

CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Bootboi 02

BOOTBOI looked over the three-storey red brick duplex and wondered if HOODER was serious. This was the infamous Cellblock? It looked like a thousand other upper-middle class houses, and just like every other house on the block.

"Don't let appearances fool you," HOODER said, almost as though he was reading BOOTBOI's mind. "You can't tell anything about this place by the outside. What better way to be invisible than to hide in plain view?" He was right – if you wanted to escape detection, blend in. Don't stand out from the crowd. Just like LEATHERCOPS passed as citizens when they weren't in gear, weren't in control of a boi or sub.

BOOTBOI wondered what HOODER had in mind for him now that they were actually here, but this was not the time for sober second thoughts. He had to go on now that a LEATHER HOOD was PADLOCKED OVER HIS HEAD and he was standing NAKED IN RUBBER in an unfamiliar neighbourhood. He had to do his best to live up to HOODER's expectations, He had a strong need to impress HOODER, to please him.

"Come," HOODER commanded, tugging on the chain attached to BOOTBOI's collar and pulling him roughly up the back stairs and inside.

The Duty Officer looked up from his paperwork at the new arrivals, a beefy young bull in a short sleeved leather cop shirt with a brass name tag embossed with the name SARGE.

He wasn't surprised by the presence of HOODER and BOOTBOI at his desk: CCTV cameras in the parking lot had recorded their arrival. SARGE worked the Duty Desk most evenings, and enjoyed watching the discomfort of 'recruits' as they were admitted and processed. Sometimes he even wished he was one of them, but not tonight. The sub was hooded and in rubber – SARGE preferred to play in leather cop gear.

"Hi HOODER. Upstairs or down?" he asked, ignoring BOOTBOI as though he wasn't even there. Upstairs meant that he'd be using one of the private playrooms upstairs, downstairs that HOODER planned to take the boi to the well-equipped play space downstairs lined on one wall with cells.

"Up. Gimme 202," HOODER replied. Given what he knew about this new hooded rubber boi, he thought it would be best to break the boi in privately, start things off light, and 202, like the three other second floor 'suites', had no gear at all, just a simple bed, big leather chair and mirrored walls and a small attached private bath. Like all Cellblock rooms, however, 202 was also amply furnished with multiple discrete cameras that would record all the night's activities for later broadcast – and perhaps sale – on the 'Block's website. Other third-floor rooms had assorted bondage equipment – frames, crosses, slings – but this one required the LEATHERCOP to provide the all required stimulation.

SARGE typed the information into a terminal at the Duty Desk and told HOODER the amount due for room rental and his boi's drop in fee. A lifetime 'Block member, HOODER was never charged for his own use of the site, but somebody had to pay BOOTBOI's drop in fee and use of the upstairs private suite. HOODER fumbled inside his multi-zippered LANGLITZ COP JACKET and pulled out BOOTBOI's wallet. The boi who worked the bar's coat check window had slipped the wallet to him earlier in the evening 'for safekeeping'. He dropped a ten and a twenty on the Duty Desk for SARGE and returned the boi's billfold to his own pocket.

"What name goes on the file?" SARGE asked HOODER. "BOOTBOI," he replied. SARGE typed the name into the terminal and pressed the PRINT key. He stapled the freshly printed three-page form together and finally turned his attention to BOOTBOI. "This form outlines the house rules every cellmate must adhere to. SARGE handed over the form to BOOTBOI along with a pen. "Please review this form and initial each page after you've read it, and sign the three places marked with X's on the last page," he said.

BOOTBOI nervously read over each rule and condition, hoping that much of what he was agreeing to was mere formality. He initialed each page and 'signed on the dotted line', as the saying goes.

"By your signature you have indicated that you are of legal age, and that you are here of your own free will. You also indicated that you agree to abide by all Cellblock rules and conditions, and that you will not hold the Cellblock, its agents, officers or staff legally liable for any injury or damage caused to you or your property while you are here, and you agree not to record images of yourself, others or the Cellblock or its furnishings while you are in the Cellblock. You further agree that the Cellblock, its agents, officers and staff are authorized to record, copy and distribute images captured on the Cellblock premises with Cellblock equipment in any way they see fit. Every effort will be made to preserve your anonymity unless you waive your right to privacy. Do you agree to these conditions?" SARGE asked as he placed the signed form in an in tray.

"Yes, Sir," BOOTBOI replied respectfully. HOODER patted him on the shoulder approvingly.

"Thank you, boi. Now hold this in front of you and stand in front of that white screen," SAGE requested. He held out a black plastic bar with white plastic letters that spelt out the name 'BOOTBOI'. This mug shot wasn't going to be much use for identification purposes given that the boi was anonymous in a black rubber catsuit and leather hood, but what the hell – they'd get a laugh out of it later in the Officer's Mess.

"No smiling," he warned and snapped a full frontal shot with a digital camera. He glanced aside at HOODER to see if he thought the request was funny. Like anybody was ever going to know if the boi was smiling inside his padlocked hood. Yah, HOODER was grinning too. "We'll attach this image to your form and keep it on file for reference purposes," he said by way of explanation to the hooded boi.

"You can go upstairs now," SARGE said to HOODER and buzzed open a door to the right of the Duty Desk.

HOODER took up the rubbered boi's chain in his gloved fist and led him through the brightly lit locker room where Cellblock officers and inmates typically stored their street gear and prepared for a night on the 'Block. HOODER didn't stop to change, though, and as far as HOODER was concerned, BOOTBOI had nothing to change into (or out of, for that matter). He looked fine just the way he was. A rubber encased sub in tall black boots and padlocked hood and nothing else. He did, however, pull out a worn duffle bag from one of the lockers they passed and tossed it to BOOTBOI.

HOODER led his rubber toy through a doorway at the other end of the locker room and up a flight of stairs to red-lit hallway on the second floor and opened the door to 202. BOOTBOI followed eagerly. It was a simple room, similar to a thousand bathhouse playrooms around the world. A small bed was pressed against one wall and near it was a simple shelf with fuck towels and lube. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors on two walls and a heavy black leather chair marked it as above average for a play space, but generally speaking it was just a functional fuck room, with a doorway leading off to a small bathroom with toilet and sink. Nothing to be scared of at all, HOODER thought.

"Leave it over there," he growled, pointing to the bed, and the rubber coated sub dutifully laid the duffle bag down and stepped back. HOODER admired the SUB-HUMAN FIGURE standing anxiously before him, eager to please but not knowing what to do. Nice.

HOODER smiled to himself, but kept his face neutral. No point letting the boi know that he liked what he saw. Instead, he wrapped his arms around BOOTBOI and squeezed him hard, pressing his arms against his sides and holding him immobile for a moment, indicating in his own way that he approved of what the boi offered him. HOODER released his bear hug and stroked the crown of the boi's padlocked leather hood, feeling the individual strands of thong through the tips of his leather gloves. He breathed deeply and stepped back from the boi.

"Now GET ON YOUR KNEES!" he commanded, and pushed BOOTBOI to the ground. The boi immediately dropped to his knees and looked up expectantly into HOODER's face, which earned him a quick cuff on the side of his head.

"Not in the eyes," HOODER barked. "NEVER look me in the eyes, boi. Eye contact is for equals, and in this house you are NOT my equal. Unless I tell you otherwise, you will ONLY LOOK AT MY BOOTS, Watch these babies like you're a starving man and they're the only food for miles, boi," HOODER commanded. He grasped the boi's hood in both hands and forced his encased head within inches of the HIGHLY-POLISHED TOES of his THICH HI-SHINE CHIPPEWAS to emphasize his point.

"YOU'RE GONNA WORSHIP MY BOOTS. YOU GOT THAT, BOI?"

"YES SIR," BOOTBOI replied earnestly and respectfully touched his lips to the top of his master's CRUEL BLACK BOOTS. Looking down on the respectful sub, HOODER practically felt the TRANSFER OF POWER AND AUTHORITY from the boi's lips into his boots.



He let the boi kiss and stroke the tip of his SHINY BLACK CHIPPEWAS for another minute, heard his quivering breath, watched his wet lips and tongue slide on the SLICK LEATHER SURFACE, felt the blood pulse urgently in his loins, and savoured the slow swell of anticipation.

HOODER was pretty sure he'd established the BASIC POWER RELATIONSHIP between himself and this eager young pup at his feet, and decided it was time to take things to the next level.

"OK – let's get down to business," he said and walked to the leather chair and sat down. He stretched out his legs comfortably and crossed his boots in front of him so that the PATTERNED VIBRAM SOLES faced BOOTBOI.

He reached into an inside pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a fresh Casablanca, unwrapped it and shove it in his mouth. He found a lighter in another pocket and sucked on the fresh 'gar several times until it glowed amber in the dim room. He leisurely exhaled a cloud of blue smoke and exhaled. He learned back deep into the leather chair and admired his reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall. He saw a DOMINANT LEATHER MASTER seated in a leather chair looking back at him, 'gar glowing in the dark and hiding his face. DAMN, he was hot! From this angle he could only see BOOTBOI's SHINY RUBBER ASS and WESCO BOOTS in the mirror, but looking away from the mirror to the booted boi he could see his elbows on the ground and his HOODED HEAD ALMOST TOUCHING THE FLOOR. Either way, it made the tableau more exciting. Whether he looked at the reflection in the mirror of the boi's ass in the air and himself SEATED IN A POSITION OF POWER before him, or at the bowed figure at his feet, it was all good and damn exciting.

"CRAWL, BOI!" HOODER ordered, and BOOTBOI immediately SCURRIED FORWARD ON ALL FOURS until his face was pressed against the sole of his master's boot. "GIVE ME YOUR WORSHIP!" he commanded, and pressed his MASTER BOOT into BOOTBOI's face. He watched appreciatively as BOOTBOI got down to business with his tongue and lips, his pink tongue snaking out from the black hood and into the crevices of his thick Vibram soles.

"WORSHIP ME." HOODER commanded and shoved BOOTBOI's face into the SHINY BLACK TOE CAP of his right boot. From this angle, all he saw was the top of the sub's head, which moved over the surface of the tall Chippewas. HOODER couldn't feel the tongue, of course, even though he knew it was licking and stroking each boot, but he felt power course up through his loins as he watched the boi VENERATE AND HONOUR HIM.

HOODER let the scene continue for 10 minutes or so. He took a long drag on his cigar and watched the POWER EXCHANGE unfold in the mirror on the far side of the room. A seated LEATHER GOD accepting adulation from a SUBMISSIVE BOOTLOVING BOTTOM at his feet. He hoped the boi's SUBJUGATION AND HUMILIATION was being caught on tape. Cameras around the room recorded everything that happened here, and, once edited, would be posted on the Cellblock website. There was a long running competition among the Cellblock LEATHERCOPS for the most web hits, and HOODER thought this latex-suited boi might up his numbers among the rubber fetishists out there. It wasn't a market much covered by their cop-oriented web site and this had figured into his decision to take on this boi when they'd talked last week about getting together.

HOODER was a DOMINATION FREAK. He got off on TOTAL SURRENDER TO HIS LEATHER MANHOOD, TOTAL CONTROL AND SUBJUGATION of his collaborator into a creature to be used and dominated. Tonight's partner happened to be into rubber, but it could just as easily have been leather or any other form of covering – anything that made him less human and more compliant. With a hood over his head, each boi was identical to the last. Anonymous in his bondage, he was a continuation of a long series of bois made one by the sweat-soaked leather hood padlocked to his head, The same boi bound over and over again in different positions in different locations, SERVING HIS BOOTED LEATHER MASTER and EAGERLY GIVING UP AUTONOMY AND CONTROL.

He always played in gear, and insisted his partners stay in gear too. In a way it really didn't matter what happened here tonight, if he same boi came back again or not. There'd be another boi in exactly the same hood again the next time, maybe in different bindings in a different playroom, but in his mind HOODER could easily imagine that it was always the SAME HOODED CREATURE he saw BOWED AT HIS FEET, BENT BY HIS WILL AND HIS DESIRE. It was as though he DOMINATED AND CONTROLLED a single bondage bottom that was reincarnated anew each night – one spirit occupying different bodies.

HOODER laid aside his half-smoked cigar and gently nudged BOOTBOI's face away with a saliva-shiny boot. The boi knelt immobile on the floor and stared at the toe of his boot as he'd been ordered to do. HOODER took a three-inch metal eye bolt from a zippered pocket and screwed it into the wooden floor just in front of BOOTBOI's face. He then took a small padlock from another pocket and fixed BOOTBOI's metal chain to the bolt, locking him to the floor, He then got up and went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, leaving the boi alone in the silence to think about his situation.

He was in a strange building, he'd GIVEN OVER AUTHORITY to a man he barely knew, his head was PADLOCKED IN A FULL-FACE LEATHER HOOD, and that was PADLOCKED TO A BOLT IN THE FLOOR. And now he was left TOTALLY ALONE AND VULNERABLE to anyone who walked in the door. Was this really what he'd wanted? He was HUMILIATED. POWERLESS, and DOMINATED – and he'd accepted it all with almost no resistance at all, as though this were his NATUAL STATE, a PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF SOMETHING THAT WAS ALREADY TRUE IN HIS MIND. Now that he was living it, did he really want this strange leather cop to 'do whatever he wanted to' with him? Part of him said no, but another part of him said yes. He waited eagerly in total silence for HOODER to return.

CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.

Bootboi 03

HOODER flicked off the bathroom light switch behind him and saw that BOOTBOI knelt in exactly the same position he'd left him in a minute ago. Good. The boi hadn't tried to move or leave or whined useless pleas of "let me out of this" or "I've had enough, please stop now."

He'd deliberately left the room to break the scene and see if BOOTBOI would step out of character. The fact that he hadn't stepped out of his submissive role told HOODER that he'd completed another step in breaking the boi. The first step had been to place him in a submissive position; the second to ensure that position was held even in his absence. If there was going to be a problem, it was likely to show up now. Lots of guys thought they were into this, but when confronted with the reality of the chain and hood and padlock started to freak out. If the chained rubber boi started whining about the situation, or broke character after just a few minutes alone, he'd have to 'persuade' him with more convincing evidence that he really was physically and psychologically subservient to this BOOTED LEATHER COP. The boi seemed to accept that he really WAS locked down, not in fantasy bondage with metal clips and easy outs after a few hot minutes and a shot load, but for real, HOODER thought. HE'S MINE TO CONTROL NOW.

On a whim he decided to get down to the 'BIG BOOTS' before continuing with the scene. He unlocked the boi's chain from the eye bolt and patted him on the hood to indicate approval for staying in place without supervision. He then sat down in the deep leather chair, splayed his feet in front of BOOTBOI and instructed him to carefully pull his MASTER's boots off, which took a little bit of work since the fit was so snug, but eventually they came off, leaving his feet exposed in their red-trimmed grey wool socks. BOOTBOI respectfully lined up the boots together out of the way at the side of the bed.

HOODER leaned over the bed to reach the duffle bag and dragged it closer to his side. He unzipped it and pulled out an awkward bundle of boot, leather and laces which he dropped on the floor in front of BOOTBOI's face.



"Straighten them out," HOODER ordered roughly. He watched with interest as BOOTBOI scrambled to comply. He sorted first one, then another, twisted pile of leather and thongs into some semblance of order. To an outsider they might appear to be nothing, but HOODER knew they were beautiful black THIGH HIGH LACE UP BOOTS from WESCO. He loved these boots, and their rumpled, distressed state showed he'd worn this pair often and well. Sure, they'd been expensive, but indulgences like this add spice to life and makes things more interesting. Putting these boots on, however, was a real pain, given the almost endless back and forth lacing required to do them up, and it was a LOT hotter to have a willing sub do the honours for him while he sat and watched with his legs spread.

In his own way BOOTBOI was turned on by these boots too. To a boot fetishist, these extreme puppies 'might seem almost normal, but to a novice like BOOTBOI, they were practically other worldly. He'd only seen them in digital images before, never up close and personal like this. He felt his rubber-trapped manhood swell inside the catsuit as he CARESSED and WORSHIPPED the HEAVY WESCO LEATHER. Soon these EXTREME LEATHER BOOTS would caress HOODER's calves and thighs, and the hooded boi eagerly looked forward to honouring the man who would wear them. HOODER interrupted his thoughts. "Are these the boots you wanted to see?" he asked, and BOOTBOI nodded vigorously.

From his position on the floor he could see every detail of the boots. The VIBRAM SOLES WERE HEAVY AND RIDGED, the TOE CAPS ROUND AND HARD. Extremely, long laces, crisscrossed through four regular eyelets in each boot, wound haphazardly across the floor. Unscrambled, they were probably 10 or 20 feet long, BOOTBOI guessed, maybe even longer, for all he knew. The tall front panels of each boot were lace-free, but lined with about 20 small metal 'hooks' on each side designed to take the leather laces and hold them in place, tightening each boot so that it would CLING INTIMATELY TO EACH CONTOUR AND SWELLING OF THE WEARER'S CALVES AND THIGHS, applying pressure to every square inch of skin and limiting mobility.

"Let's see you get them on me, boi," HOODER encouraged. "NOW!"

BOOTBOI struggled to work HOODER's right foot into the appropriate boot and tightened the laces to the ankle, then did the same with the left. HOODER found that he had to help BOOTBOI a little to ensure a tight fit, but he didn't mind if that's what it took to get it right. He made sure there were no wrinkles in his leather pants or the wide leather tongue on each boot that could irritate his calf or thigh, then let the boi continue his ministrations.

BOOTBOI began crisscrossing the laces through the lower ten metal hooks, cinched them up as tight as he could, and knotted the laces at the knee when HOODER instructed him to, ensuring the fit would stay tight up to that point. BOOTBOI repeated the process on the left. After he'd tied the second knot, HOODER temporarily took over to make the fit at the knee loose enough to allow some flexibility when he tried to bend. If he let BOOTBOI continue all the way up with an even consistent pressure, he wouldn't be able to bend his knees at all, preventing him from even rising from the chair, let alone do anything else. This wasn't something he wanted to leave to a novice boot bottom. HOODER knotted each lace just above the knee and let BOOTBOI continue the crisscross lacing up his leather covered thighs. The growing pressure from the tight leather rising up his thighs felt extremely good, and in response to this pressure, blood rushed to his LEATHER-SHEATHED COCK.

At last BOOTBOI reached the top hook and did the best he could to pull the laces tight, fitting the thigh high boots to every contour and detail of HOODER's gym-swollen thighs. HOODER slapped BOOTBOI's hands away and took over the job himself now that the hard part was over. HOODER was pleased to see that BOOTBOI stared at HOODER's toe cap, as he'd been instructed to do earlier.

He stood up and temporarily knotted the laces at the top of the boots, then used his gloved fingers to make minor adjustments to make the fit tighter here, looser there until he was satisfied with the pressure all along his thigh and calf. He then did a double knot at the top of each boot and wrapped the excess lace two or three times around each thigh and knotted them again.

Now that the boots were on, HOODER stopped for a moment to admire himself in the mirror. What he saw reflected back at him from the floor to ceiling mirror was a BUFF LEATHER-COVERED GOD with TALL, TALL BOOTS that SHAPED PERFECTLY TO HIS THIGHS AND CALVES and ended in thick soles that gave him an extra inch or so of height. He turned to the side to admire the boots from that angle, and was rewarded with a nice angle on his butt, just above the top of his BEAUTIFUL WESCO BOSSES. HOT FRAKING BASTARD, he thought and smiled to himself, as he unzipped his leather breeches and pulled out his THROBBING MANMEAT, already rigid at attention. A LEATHER GOD WORTHY OF WORSHIP.

"TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE BOI," he commanded, and grabbed a fistful of his BLOOD ENGOURGED NIGHTSTICK, squeezing it hard.

BOOTBOI looked up from the floor at the tall booted man before him. What he saw was a fantasy in the flesh. A LEATHER BULLCOP stood over him, ARROGANT and POWERFUL. His eyes were shadowed by a MUIR cap sitting low on his forehead, and his gloved hands stroking his POTENT TOOL. His feet were planted wide apart in front of his face, and the WESCO BOSS BOOTS dominated his vision.

"A God, Sir. A booted leather god," BOOTBOI replied with respect.

"YER GODDAM RIGHT I AM!" HOODER exclaimed, and pressed the sole of a boot into BOOTBOI's shoulder, pushing him roughly back down to the floor.

"SHOW ME HOW YOU WORSHIP YOUR GOD!" he commanded, and BOOTBOI eagerly crawled forward to comply. He knelt at the feet of his BOOTED LEATHERCOP MASTER, his eyes for a moment straying from the boots up to the FAT RIGID COCK above him, and into his master's eyes.

HOODER cuffed him smartly on the side of the head, hard enough to make him see stars. "NEVER LOOK ME IN THE EYES! NEVER!" A hard kick in the ribs reinforced his message, and BOOTBOI almost doubled over in pain.

"DON"T LOOK AT ME, BOI – WORSHIP ME!" he commanded again, and this time BOOTBOI confined his attention entirely to HOODER's boots, keeping his eyes fixed on the TALL LEATHER BOOTS in front of him. He stroked and rubbed his hands along the WESCO leather, pressed his lips to the polished toe to kiss them, and ran his tongue over the polished surface, tasting the tang of the polish and the hint of leather beneath it. He ran his hands respectfully along the crisscrossed laces, and stroked the back of HOODER's calves and thighs. It felt good. Very good.

HOODER watched the boi with growing excitement and felt his SWOLLEN BULLCOCK throb in his leather-gloved hand. "YA, BOI, SHOW ME HOW MUCH YOU LOVE IT," he moaned, thrusting his thighs back and forth, anticipating what would come next. He pressed a boot into the side of BOOTBOI's face, forcing him to the floor, and increased the pressure until he heard the boi moan in pleasure/pain.

The tightly-laced thigh high boots pressed everywhere along his thighs and calves, gently squeezing his muscles like the touch of a lover. HOODER's erection grew harder still in his TIGHT CUSTOM-FITTED LEATHER BREECHES. He reveled in the WESCO's UNFORGIVING CARESS, the restriction at his knees, the weight of the heavy sole. He loved the feel of the boots on his body, and he loved watching the DOMINATED BOI AT HIS FET, stroking his calves and grunting like a pig while he lathered his master's boots in saliva.

He's mine now, HOODER thought, pleased with the way the evening was progressing, and stroked his LEATHERCOP's COCK more vigorously. A thick line of precum drizzled from the tip of his cockhead and splattered on top of BOOTBOI's leather hood.

Oh yah, BOOTBOI was in for a very rough night, HOODER reflected, and considered several options for the next phase of his vic's training.

CELLBLOCK DUTY DESK.