Brandon's Boots

I didn't get a lot of sleep. I was due to be back at work that afternoon for a few hours. When I woke up, the first thing I noticed was just how sore my throat was. It hurt to swallow or even talk. The head of Brandon's cock had done a real number on my throat. Fortunately, the handprint on my face had disappeared, and my eyes weren't as bloodshot as they had been.

When I arrived at the security office, I was relieving Ben. Previously, he'd been very friendly to me, joking and cutting up while we changed shifts. Since Brandon had started using me, though, Ben had grown increasingly cold and standoffish, as the signs of my use as Brandon's cum dump became more and more obvious each time he relieved me. When I walked in, I saw the smile on his face immediately disappear, only to be replaced by a sneer, like he smelled something disgusting. I saw him glance down at the crotch of my pants, obviously looking to see if there was another boot print there. Thank God I was wearing clean trousers. He made short work of the shift change, interacting with me as little as possible.

I was tired. Brandon's sexual use of me, combined with the hours I'd worked and the short turnaround between shifts, had worn me out. I was glad this was only a short shift, then I had a couple of days off. I was looking forward to relaxing at home and forgetting about Brandon.

I was due to get off at nine. Around eight, Brandon showed up. His mood seemed a lot worse than normal. I immediately dropped to my knees and kissed his boots to try and keep him happy. He didn't say a word, just grabbed me by the hair and pulled me up to his crotch and started grinding my face into his dick. He unbuttoned his BDU pants, pulled his huge cock out of his pants, and unceremoniously shoved it into my already-ravaged throat. The pain was more intense than the first time, since I was still sore from his previous throat fucking, but at least I was prepared for what was about to happen. Brandon started fucking in and out of my mouth, then holding his cock all the way down my throat so I'd choke on it. And choke I did, gagging and almost puking several times from having his fat cockhead buried so far inside me.

Brandon pulled his cock out of my mouth, and I could see it was covered in thick mucus from my throat. He grabbed me by the collar and threw me over the desk.

"Get those fucking pants down or I'm gonna rip them off you, faggot," he demanded.

"Please, Sir, please don't fuck me! Please, I'm begging you, I'm not gay, and my ass is still torn up from last time," I pleaded with him.

Brandon ignored me and grabbed the back of my trousers and yanked hard. I heard fabric rip, and was afraid he had shredded my pants. I quickly pushed them the rest of the way down, along with my underwear to prevent any more damage.

I felt Brandon's hands spreading my ass cheeks, and just for a second felt the huge knob of his cock against my asshole before he speared me with the entire length of it. The pain was like electricity shooting through every nerve of my body, and I temporarily lost the ability to breathe, let alone scream. It felt worse this time than the first time he fucked me, probably because I was now very familiar with the exact size and shape of the gigantic log wedged up my hole and splitting me open. Brandon didn't give me any time to adjust, just started pounding my ass. The mucus my throat left on his cock at least provide some lube so he didn't tear me apart with his aggressive abuse of my hole. My ass cheeks had finally stopped hurting from the spanking with his belt he'd given me previously, but Brandon corrected that by repeatedly slapping my ass with his big hands. Not just smacks, but full force with all his muscle behind it. Combined with the ramming from his cock, the pain was intense. Apparently, each slap made me tense my ass and squeeze his cock, because Brandon was timing his slaps to coincide with each time he was buried to the hilt inside me. As my ass tightened, I could feel the knob of his cockhead inside my second sphincter, stretching me deep inside, reforming my insides to fit his huge invader.

The movements of his fucking once again made my dick rub against the desk, and the more aroused I became from Brandon pounding my prostate, the closer I got to shooting all over the desk again. Brandon was already primed from fucking my face, though, and he must have been pretty horny, because I felt him shooting his load inside me, breeding me like a stud dog breeds a bitch. I certainly felt like I was his bitch.

Brandon slowly pulled his cock out of my ass. When the head finally popped out, I expected to feel relief that the ass invasion was over, but instead suddenly felt empty, like an intrinsic part of me had been removed. What the hell was happening to me? Was I starting to like getting a cock rammed up my ass?

After he pulled out of me, Brandon walked to the other side of the desk, grabbed my hair, and pulled my head up to his cock.

"Clean it, fucker," he demanded.

I could smell my asshole all over his cock, which was none too clean, covered as it was in my ass slime and his cum. I clamped my mouth shut and wrinkled up my nose at the smell. No way would I do something so nasty!

Brandon shook my head by my hair. "I said open your faggot mouth and clean off my cock, bitch. Don't make me tell you again," he said. I kept my mouth tightly shut. A man must have his limits. "Open your stupid fucking mouth and get my cock clean right now, or I'm gonna start knocking out your teeth, fucktard," Brandon said menacingly. He balled up his fist and punched me in my jaw, hard. I opened my mouth to scream, and he jammed his cock in my mouth while holding his fist ready for another blow if I didn't obey. The foul mess coating his cock almost made me vomit, but I obediently started licking my ass slime and the remnants of cum off his dick.

Once he was satisfied his cock was clean, Brandon stuffed it back into his BDUs and buttoned back up. "I got two people that called in sick, including Bob that was supposed to relieve you tonight. You're working his shift, fag. So, you'll be here until morning," he stated flatly.

"But that's not fair!", I protested, trying to stand up and pull up my pants. "I'm supposed to get off in an hour. I'm exhausted, Sir."

"I don't give a fuck," he replied. "I don't have anyone to cover the shift so you are doing it whether you like it or not, asshole." Suddenly, he reached out, quick as lightening, and slapped me hard across the face. "And don't you dare ever argue with me again if you wanna keep those teeth, cocksucker." I could see the anger in his eyes at being challenged. When would I learn?

"And just to make sure you don't try to leave anyway, you stupid fag..." he said, as he reached over and picked up my keyring from the desk beside me, "I'm taking these. You'll get them back at the end of your shift." He turned and walked out the door, taking my keys with him. Great. Now I was really stuck here until morning.

I tried to pull my pants up and fasten them, but Brandon had been true to his word: when I didn't remove them fast enough for his liking, he ripped them. I secured them as best as I could, but without even a safety pin, it was all I could do to keep them on. They were obviously ripped. Once again, I looked and smelled exactly like a whore that had been freshly fucked. I was beginning to think that was a good description of me at this point. Even stranger: Brandon came inside me before his battering of my prostate gave me an orgasm of my own, so I was fucked, filled with cum, degraded, abused...and had a case of blue balls. I didn't know what to make of the fact that his rape of my ass left me so horny. It was humiliating that it seemed I was beginning to enjoy being fucked like a pussy.

I cleaned myself up the best I could in the bathroom, and then watched the clock as the night crept by. Near the end of my shift, Brandon returned. I prayed he wasn't horny again. I wasn't sure my mouth or ass could handle him twice in one night. I kissed his boots when he walked in, and he threw my keys down on the desk.

"What do you say to me fag?" he asked.

"Um, thank you for returning my keys, Sir?"

He grabbed my hair and forced me back, then placed his foot on my crotch. He started really grinding his boot into my dick and balls, leaning his weight on them to display his power over me.

"No fucker, what do you say for earlier?" he demanded.

"Thank you for fucking me, Sir," I mumbled, embarrassed those words had come out of my mouth.

"Again. Louder, fag!" Brandon said.

"Thank you for fucking me, Sir!" I practically shouted.

"And what else?"

I thought for a moment. "Thank you for fucking my mouth, Sir!"

"And what else, bitch?" Brandon asked.

"Thank you...I don't know, Sir." I stammered.

"You better thank me for my cum, faggot. That's prime stuff. I make kids with that, and instead I wasted it in your sorry hole. So, you better appreciate it, bitch,"

Brandon growled, grinding his booted foot into my already sore balls even harder.

"Yes Sir, sorry Sir. Thank you for your cum, Sir," I replied quickly, hoping for mercy on my nuts.

"That's better, cocksucker. Don't make me tell you again," he said, at last removing his foot. He finally left, and I got up off the floor. I looked down, and sure enough, there was another boot print right on my crotch, plain as day. I groaned out loud.

Just what I needed.

As much as I was looking forward to the end of my shift and a few days of peace and quiet, I was dreading Ben's arrival. Each time he saw me, he seemed to look down on me more. Even though he didn't say anything, I could see it clearly in his eyes and demeanor. What would he think when he saw my ripped pants and more combat boot tread prints all over my crotch?

When Ben arrived, he immediately looked me up and down, and I could see he'd noticed not only the dirty boot print on my groin, but also that my pants were ripped. He wore an expression of disgust when he looked at me, like I was a trashy whore. I guess it was appropriate; Brandon had made me into a boot licking faggot cum dump, and I suppose that's the way a decent straight man looks at one. My shame made me blush deep red under his disapproving stare. I quickly gave him my shift report and picked up my keys to head out.

"Disgusting fag," I heard Ben mutter as I was leaving. That's all I was now in the eyes of this former friend and coworker. His words echoed in my ears all the way home.

When I arrived home, and opened the door to my apartment, I could tell immediately something was wrong. There was a large duffel bag laying in the living room floor I'd never seen before. Oh shit, I thought, someone's broken into my apartment! Wait...no, burglars take things, they don't leave stuff. Cautiously, I began to check for anyone in the place or anything missing. I walked into my bedroom and got a tremendous shock. My heart sank.

Brandon was asleep in my bed.