Most people believe bullies are cowards, and that the way to deal with them successfully is to stand up to them. Everyone knows if you stand up to a bully, he will immediately back down.
In truth, while some bullies are cowards, others are just plain mean, and bully people because they enjoy it.
Brandon was the second sort, as I came to find out.
After that night, Brandon's treatment of me changed, and not for the better. He began coming by multiple times a night, often bringing some of the paperwork he was required to complete. He hated doing it, so it became my job to do it for him.
Other times, he would come by just to make my life miserable. He instituted a new rule: every time he stopped by, I had to drop to my knees and kiss his boots immediately. After the beating he'd given me, I decided compliance was the better part of valor, no matter how humiliating it might be.
One night, about a week after the first incident, Brandon showed up in the middle of my shift. He walked in the security office and I obediently got down on my knees and kissed his boots to keep him happy. When I went to stand up, he stopped me.
"Stay down there, bootboy. You've got some work to do," he sneered. He threw a small bag at me. Inside was a shoeshine kit and some black shoe polish. Brandon sat down in the office chair next to where I knelt.
"Get busy on my boots, bitch. I want them shined to a high gloss." I opened the shoeshine kit and pulled out the brush to clean his boots off, but he stopped me. "No, I think you want to clean them off with your tongue first."
I groaned, but knew I had no choice. After all, I not only needed this job, but I was still sore and bruised from the beating he'd administered a week ago. It was either do what he ordered or risk another ass beating or being fired, or both. So, I stuck out my tongue and started licking the tops of his boots. Because most of the security jobs were guarding some type of construction site, Brandon's boots were pretty much always covered with dirt, dust, or mud. Tonight, they were especially dirty, and I dreaded having to clean them with my mouth. My tongue quickly became coated in the dirt and grime from his boots. I don't think they'd been really cleaned since the previous time he'd made me lick them. When I had gotten most of the dirt off, I reached for the brush again, but Brandon stopped me.
"Do the bottoms. There's a lot of dirt there, too," he said.
"Sir...please. Don't make me lick the soles. There's no telling what's on there!" I whined.
"I said. Lick. My. Soles, bitch!" he growled menacingly. As he did, he brought his right foot up and stuck the sole of his boot right on my face, grinding it into my mouth and nose. Suddenly, I had a face full of filthy tactical tread, leaving me with no real choice except to lick it clean. Brandon seemed to be enjoying watching me, as he continued to grind his boot into my face. My tongue was getting sore from cleaning the treads of his boots, which had dirt and bits of grass ground into them. There was nothing to do but to swallow it all. When he was satisfied I'd cleaned the first boot sufficiently, he switched feet and repeated the procedure with his other foot.
"You sure don't learn real quick for someone who's supposed to be so smart," Brandon said. "You're gonna to do what I tell you to do without any backtalk, or I'll just make you. That's what being my bitch means."
Finally, he took his booted foot out of my face, and I was at last allowed to start polishing his boots. I polished and buffed them until they shined, then sat back on my heels once I was done.
"All finished, Sir," I sighed.
