“You are not going to the show wearing those boots are you?”
I teased.
“Why not? What’s wrong with them?” he looked down, turning his foot from side to side.
“They’re filthy and they look like hell. You should let me clean them up for you.”
He stared hard at me. “Look, I know you’re in to all that kinky submission stuff, but I am not. And I am not interested.”
“I offered to clean and shine your boots for you, I didn’t offer to be your slave or for you to spank me. Piss off!”
“Hey, I’m sorry. It’s just that I don’t understand all the stuff you’ve been getting in to. It’s…weird.”
“Weird? Have you ever seen me as happy and well adjusted as I have been in the past year? No? Well then, I guess I’m just weird.”
“Do my boots really look shitty?” Ahhh, appealing to his fashion sense is the way to his heart.
“Yes, you look like a perfectly disheveled crack addict, not the dashing punk you’re trying to look like.” I smirked at him. “Let me get myboot kit and work on them real quick. You like how shiny MY boots look, right?”
He glanced down at my feet. “You can make mine look like yours?”
“Well, yours won’t grow a high heel, but yes, I can make them look shiny and pretty.”
“Ok. But no kinky stuff”
“Oh, shut up and sit down and pour yourself some wine”
I hustled over to the cabinet and got out my boot kit. Crap, why did I push him so hard? I mean,
yeah, I’ve had a crush on him forever — he’s had a crush on me forever too, but… I swung by the kitchen to fill up a little bowl of water to go with the saddle soap.
He was sitting on the couch and was fidgeting with the cork screw.
I hiked up me skirt as I knelt down on the rug at his feet.
“What are you doing?” He asked, dropping the cork screw and backing up as far as the back of the couch would allow.
“I’m pulling up my skirt so it doesn’t get dirty — would you prefer that I take it off?” I asked wickedly, with a grin.
“N-n-no.” he replied.
“Good. Because I wasn’t intending on doing this nude.” He smiled back.
I picked up his boot. Well, I tried to pick it up. “Look, relax — I’m going to black your boots, not cut your foot off.”
“Sorry.” He let me pick up his boot this time.
I pulled his foot towards me and settled it on my thigh as I knelt. “Hmmm….”
“Hmm, What?”
“I was thinking ‘hmmm… what a mess’….”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
I picked up the lighter.
“What’s that for?” He started pulling away.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake! Sit still, drink your Shiraz and be quiet. Obviously you’re not interested in what I’m doing or your boots wouldn’t look like this.”
I looked over his boots and ah-ha! A loose thread. I lit that Zippo and melted it off.
“Oh!” He exclaimed.
“Yeah. Oh.” He grinned down sheepishly.
I checked out his other boot and burned off another 2 threads.
Back to the first boot… I opened my tin of saddle soap. “Want to smell?, I asked as I lifted the tin to his face.
“Mmmm, nice. Much nicer that I thought it would be.”
I picked up my little brush, dipped it in that little bowl of water and lathered up the saddle soap.
I spread it over his right boot, working it into all the crevices around the sole, the harness and up the shaft. I put down the brush and started rubbing the lather in with my moist hands. I looked up surreptitiously thru my bangs to see the expression on his face. Bingo! A lovely cross between ecstasy and bewilderment. What have we here? I laughed to myself — a Boot Top in the making?
