BDSM Library - Story: Beauty and the Boots, Chapter: Part 1

BEAUTY AND THE BOOTS

Welcome to the Country, City Girl

Tiffany pulled her car up beside Buford, who was crossing the dusty drive towards his farmhouse. Buford grinned down at her. "Well, this is a surprise," he said, "I certainly wasn't expecting to see you today."

Tiffany smiled back. "I wanted to thank you for seeing to it that I got fed this past year." She had gotten into some financial difficulties; and Buford had been willing to help her out, for a price.

Buford grinned again. "My pleasure."

Tiffany laughed. "Yes, I'm sure you enjoyed it a bit more than I did." She reached for the gift-wrapped package on the passenger's seat. "I brought you this."

Surprised, Buford took the package. "Well, I certainly wasn't expecting this either."

"Now that I have some spare cash, I wanted to show you how much I appreciate what you've done for me." She hesitated, then asked, "May I come in? I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure." Buford headed towards the porch, then stopped to remove his well-worn boots before he entered the house. Tiffany also removed her shoes before she entered the house. Buford liked to keep things clean.

Buford opened his present. It was a pair of fine leather boots. He looked up at Tiffany and grinned. Again, Tiffany smiled back. She was relieved that he seemed to like his present. Buford was rumored to have a good deal of money stashed away, but Tiffany knew from experience that he didn't like to spend it. His old boots looked a lot older than Tiffany, who was twenty, and a student at the local college. Buford looked a lot older than Tiffany too; but then, he was a lot older.

He pulled on his new boots and paced up and down the room a few times. They felt good and comfortable. He nodded his approval. "So, what's your question?"

Tiffany took a deep breath. She had been wanting to ask Buford for a while, but had always been too embarrassed to ask. She shifted uncomfortably, then said, "It's about your old boots."

Buford grinned again. Tiffany could feel her face getting hot. It was too late to turn back now. She took another breath. "I wanted to ask you," she said, "what you were thinking when you were using me to clean the soles of your boots. At least, I think you were using me to clean them." She paused. Buford didn't say anything, so she continued: "I have my own ideas about what you were thinking, but I don't really know, since you never said anything while you were cleaning them." She paused again. "Anyway, I just wanted to know for sure whether I was right." Tiffany looked down, unable to meet Buford's gaze.

"Why don't you tell me what you were thinking, and then I'll tell you if you were right," said Buford quietly.

Tiffany nodded. "Okay." She paused again to collect her thoughts, then began: "The first time you did it, you caught me completely by surprise. Usually, you ask me whether I'll do something, and then when I hesitate, you give me an alternative that doesn't seem much better; but this time you didn't say anything before you stuck the toe of your boot in my pussy." Tiffany could hardly believe she had just said that, but she could hardly believe the events of the past year either. It had been an unbelievable year. There was never a dull day at Buford's chicken farm.

"I didn't know what to think at the time," she went on, "but after I got home the ideas just started coming to me. I knew you took good care of your boots, and had seen you clean them with a soft brush and cloth and saddle soap, but I don't think I had ever seen you clean the soles or the bottom of the heels.

"Anyway, I wondered why you hadn't asked me how I felt about your wiping the soles off on my pussy, but then it occurred to me that you already knew the answer, or at least thought you did. Actually, it occurred to me that you might have thought about asking me whether I would clean your boots with my mouth, since my lips are soft and supple and would be gentle on your boots, which always look old and almost fragile to me. I thought you knew I would hesitate, and then, as you always do, you would give me an alternative, one that doesn't seem much better. In this case, you would have pointed out that if I didn't want to use my mouth to clean your boots, I had another mouth and another pair of soft, supple lips available for use.

"Given the alternatives, I felt you had decided you knew which one I would choose, and so you just went ahead and used my pussy lips since you felt you already knew that would be my choice.

"The only thing I couldn't figure out that first night was what I was getting in return. When you had given me chores to do before, I knew what I was getting in return, but this time I wasn't sure at all. Then I had my physical, and the doctor said that I must have a thriving, healthy microbiome down there, as I had no trace of a yeast infection; and I realized that everything you had stepped in was probably crawling with micro-organisms and that they would be transferred to my pussy lips along with the dirt and the grime from your boots. After my first 'inoculation', I was getting a 'booster shot' every time you cleaned your boots!

"That made sense, because I know how much you love the environment and hate to waste anything, especially if it's just going to end up in a landfill somewhere. I thought you probably liked the idea of using my pussy lips instead of a rag to clean the gunk off your boots because the rag would have just ended up in a landfill after you had disposed of it, and then you would have had to use yet another rag every time you cleaned your boots; my pussy lips on the other hand, after I clean the dirt and grit and crud off of them, have the advantage that they can be used to clean your boots again and again and again, and that is definitely better for the environment.

"The only thing that bothered me was that my pussy lips were often sore after the cleanings, as they were on the day I had my physical since it had taken some hard work to rub the gum you had stepped in a few days before off of your boot. The doctor said my labia minora looked a bit chafed, but she just smiled and told me to tell my boyfriend to ease up a bit."

Tiffany looked down and smiled. "I wonder what she would have thought if I had told her that my boyfriend, or maybe I should say 'my boyfriends', was a pair of old boots." She laughed and shook her head. "No, I didn't tell her that you were using my pussy to clean your boots because the lips are so soft and silky and protect your boots from damage even when you have to apply enough pressure to remove any grit and stuck-on gunk from the soles."

Boots weren't made for stepping softly, thought Tiffany; and the idea that Buford could tread gently on anything with his boots on struck her as absurd: He wasn't clumsy, exactly; but she would never call him graceful either. Moreover, the thought that her doctor might conceivably tell her not to let Buford use his boots on her labia irritated her, since to her mind he wasn't guilty of doing that; instead, she thought Buford was doing just the opposite: She thought he was using her labia on his boots. "It's my pussy lips' responsibility to protect the soles of your boots from getting chafed!" she exclaimed. "Not the other way around!"

Surprised by her outburst, Buford and Tiffany stared at each other, wide-eyed. Tiffany laughed, a little embarrassed. "Well, am I right?"

Buford smiled. "Yes, you're right," he mused. He certainly wasn't going to tell her otherwise. "The only thing I might add is how it came about that I started cleaning the soles on your twat in the first place."

He looked out through the window at the barn as he thought back to the time he had first used her nether lips to clean his boots. He began: "I had stepped in something really nasty that day, and at feeding time I was still in a bad mood thinking about having to clean that crap off, maybe with a stick. Anyway, when I got to the barn with my spittoon, you weren't ready yet, which didn't exactly help my mood any, especially since I knew you had already finished cleaning the fresh droppings out of the chicken house and had had plenty of time to get ready. I dumped the contents of the spittoon into the bucket of droppings and picked up a thick rubber hose while I waited until you were in position, head down, ass up. You didn't seem to be in any hurry to get fed, so I smacked your ass with the hose to let you know that I was getting pretty damned impatient.

"That seemed to get your attention, and you quickly reached back and spread your cheeks. By that time I was in no mood for your pussyfooting around, so I just thrust one end of the hose into that tight bottom of yours, as far as it would go; but as I was shoving it farther and farther in, I caught sight of your pink pussy lips peeking out at me. The sight of those lovely lips had a soothing effect on me, and I worked the rest of the hose in more slowly, until only an inch or two remained in sight."

Tiffany winced. Buford's words had reminded her of the Bufords' little family reunion: His twin sons normally stayed with their unwed mother, who had retained sole custody; but they had gotten to stay with their father for Take-Your-Sons-to-Work Day. Dad had taken advantage of the opportunity to show them a good time. For their part, the future C.I.A. interrogators were only too happy to get out of doing legitimate work and still get credit for it.

Buford and Sons had been waiting for Tiffany when she had gotten back to the barn with her bucket of slops. Junior and Junior obviously weren't going anywhere, so Tiffany had disrobed and knelt at the feet of the unholy trinity. She had assumed her usual position, on her knees and facing away from them with her ass high in the air, and placed her hands on her rear cheeks, awaiting the command "Open sesame!" Upon hearing the boys recite the magic words, Tiffany had parted her cheeks to reveal her hidden rear entrance.

Buford had left her in that position while he explained the coming procedure. Tiffany remembered that he had told the twins that no more than an inch or so of exposed rubber hose was needed to attach the funnel, so it simply made sense to stow the unneeded length of hose in Tiffany's behind to get it out of the way. Buford had droned on and on until he saw her relax and let her guard down. This was what he had been waiting for: Like a shot, he had nailed the bull's-eye at the center of the target Tiffany had just set up for him, causing her to gasp and rock forward as the hard rubber forced its way into her secret entrance.

The Peanut Gallery, when it saw and heard the explosive effects of Buford's direct hit on his unprotected target, burst into cheers. Better than jeers, thought Tiffany. She realized that, by waiting until he could catch her off her guard, Buford had eased the entry of the rude Buttinsky into her back passage; for neither she nor her bottom hole was still tensed up in when he had driven his vulcanized point home. Tiffany looked incredibly cute with both her front and her rear entrances forming a perfect circle, like the two sides of a holed coin. The opening in her backside, aided by her Godfather wielding his rubber magic wand, was a good deal larger than the one in the front though; since Buford's conjuring had made the pucker disappear from her bunghole and, magically, reappear on her lips: "oh!" Given the choice of heads or tails, the twins chose to record both on their cell phones, as they found both her face and her bottom great fun to watch.

As Buford relentlessly plied her backside with more and more hard rubber, Tiffany had found herself sorely wishing she could release her cheeks so she could rub her belly; but she had to continue holding her cheeks open like a book, waiting until she was released from her duty by hearing her taskmasters chortle the command "Shut sesame!" She had therefore tried to keep her moans and groans as soft and low as she could to make sure she could hear the arcane mystic words. Hypnotism really does work, thought Tiffany.

The stiff hose had burrowed deeper and deeper, eliciting delighted cries of "Wow!" and "Yeah!" and "Awesome!" from the boys, and cries of "Oh!" and "Ah!" from Tiffany as well. Finally, after watching their father stow almost the entire length of unwieldy hose away, the boys had agreed that stowing it away was indeed "a good idea!"

Tiffany closed her eyes and shuddered. Those boys had had some good ideas of their own. It had been her responsibility to reach back and hold the funnel upright so Buford could ladle in the tobacco spit and chicken droppings. In order not to spill any, she had to remain still and keep her head down and her bottom up. Watching her struggle to hold still, the twins had resolved to help her.

Buford's boys had soon found a pair of beat-up old rat snap traps, after which Tiffany's teats had soon found themselves carefully rigged with spanking if not new booby traps. Mindful of their fingers, the boys had carefully pulled back and released the hammers a number of times until the traps had latched on to Tiffany's nipples correctly and to the boys' satisfaction. Although Tiffany had done practically nothing but moan and groan the whole time the boys were doing all of the work of fitting her out with her new gear; her whining seemed not to annoy the good-natured twins, who had just laughed at her complaints.

Once Tiffany had been satisfactorily fitted out, Junior and Junior had drawn the traps down and out until the traps had lain flat on the floor. Next, the boys had anchored the traps in place with a foot and stood up. Having secured Tiffany by her nipples, the twins had managed to restrict her movements appreciably, although her bottom was still describing a small circle. Gratified by the results, the thoughtful boys had then turned their attention to finding more sources of nourishment for the cute "Bottom Feeder", their pet name for her.

Buford snapped his fingers to wake her from her reverie. Tiffany jumped, her tit tips atingle.

Buford smirked at the sight of her pokies, then went on with his story: "Before I reached for the funnel, I took another look at those enchanting lips. They obviously wanted to play, peeking out at me like that, suggesting to me that they would be a helluva lot more fun to use than any old stick to clean off my boots. I couldn't argue with that, so I tried to stick the toe of my boot between them, to part them a little so I could get a better view. When I did that, you squirmed and spread your legs enough for me to get the toe in between them and then press down on them and spread them apart until they lay flat. They had blossomed beautifully, opening up like the petals of a flower. They looked so open and inviting, splayed out like that, and were just begging me to use them."

Buford smiled at the memory. "I couldn't resist them; and I figured that, if you weren't in any hurry to get fed, then I wasn't in any hurry either: That rubber hose certainly wasn't going anywhere."

No, it certainly wasn't going anywhere, thought Tiffany, not after that trickster Buford's sleight of hand had made at least a good three feet of that stiff rubber hose disappear somehow into her backside. Tiffany knew from experience that, no matter how much she squirmed, it would remain cozily ensconced there, snug in its burrow. She would have to serve as shelter for the stern intruder lurking in her backside until Buford decided to coax it out of hiding, but until then it wasn't going anywhere any more than she was going anywhere in that condition. The hard rubber sealed her back door tightly shut while at the same time holding it achingly wide open, open enough for Buford to feed her her largely liquid diet via the dark tunnel that ran the length of the hose; but for the time being the feeding, and Tiffany, would just have to wait: Buford had found better things to do.

"As you may recall," said Buford, "I took an old champagne cork and plugged the stem into the hose and gave the cap a few good whacks with a mallet to seat the cork firmly in place. You didn't need anything crawling up your ass in the meantime." Tiffany blushed as she recalled how, despite her best efforts to suppress the unladylike sounds, he had made her grunt and snort like a pig each time he had whacked the cork. He had stopped only when the thick mushroom cap was nestled snugly between her rear cheeks. He had paused then to admire his handiwork, for the mushroom cap and Tiffany's cheeks had dovetailed so nicely that they hid the ungainly hose from view.

"You looked so beautiful wearing nothing but a tight-fitting cork," said Buford, a faraway look in his eyes. His obvious sincerity testified to the truth of his statement.

Flattered, Tiffany smiled. She decided to buy a bottle of champagne when she turned 21. "Now I know how to celebrate my birthday!" she thought out loud.

Buford laughed. "Going to get corked, are you? Sounds like fun."

"Does that mean 'hammered'?" asked Tiffany.

"It certainly does," said Buford. "But, to get back to the story: I flipped you over onto your back then, and pressed on your pussy again with my boot. You spread your legs wide in response, and I could see that your pussy lips were still splayed apart, like your legs. I pulled my stool up and sat down." Buford licked his lips in anticipation of what came next, savoring the memory. "I placed a boot on each lip and pressed down and slowly started working them around, in circles, up and down, side to side, in different directions."

He looked at Tiffany. "I was bewitched by those lovely lips. It was enchanting to see them kiss my dirty old boots, and watching them greedily lick and lap the dirt and filth away was wickedly fascinating. They really worked their charms on me."

Buford paused for a moment. "Fortunately, I managed to break their spell. They had suggested that they would be a lot of fun to use; so I made sure to give them their money's worth, and thoroughly used them." An impish grin spread across Buford's face. "Okay, I admit I may have abused them just a little, just to show them I was still in charge in spite of their charms. Of course, they liked the rough treatment, and wet themselves in anticipation of more.

"So I decided to up the ante on them, to really make them pay to play. I wanted to see how they would respond to the higher stakes." Buford licked his lips again. He continued: "I was pleased by their response. No matter how high I raised the stakes, they never flinched away from the punishing treatment, and remained gamely spread-eagled.

"They made excellent targets, splayed out like that, and let me pummel them, first with one boot heel, then the other, making good contact; but they were obviously just getting their kicks from getting kicked, since they kept on playfully taunting me, inviting further abuse, by putting themselves on display like that. They did look a bit sore after I had put them through the wringer a few times though." Buford laughed in appreciation of the pleasant memory.

Tiffany looked confused. Despite her painful familiarity with Buford's games, she wasn't sure what the "Ringer" was.

Buford intuitively sensed what she was thinking, as he so often did. "The 'Wringer'," he said, "now that was a fun game, with one lip caught tightly between the soles of both boots, pulling on the lip, seeing how far it would stretch, before it somehow managed to pull free. I really liked that game."

Tiffany's tender nether lips began to ache in empathetic response to Buford's story. Tiffany began to wonder whether they really did have a mind of their own.

"Anyway," said Buford, "I really enjoyed playing with your pretty pussy lips, and I definitely got the better of them, which put me in a much better mood by the time I finally got around to feeding you your meal."

Tiffany looked pensive. Buford wasn't a bad guy, she thought; he just had some odd ideas. She had placed an ad offering to work for food, and Buford had been the only person who had bothered to respond. She had been very hungry when she had first gone out to his farm to meet him, and he had offered to feed her in exchange for cleaning the chicken house. He had pointed out to the city girl that chicken droppings were quite nutritious and thus could be used for fertilizer; and when she had hesitated, he had pointed out to her that, if she couldn't stomach the idea of taking them orally, there was always another way for her to take them, since they were already predigested and her stomach was not needed to digest them. She had opted for the second method: She really had been hungry. She wondered whether Buford had been serious when he had given her the choice, or whether he had just been taunting her. He hadn't seemed surprised when she had accepted. Not that it mattered now.

She looked up at Buford. He always drove a hard bargain with city folk, who he felt looked down on him; and looking back on it now, perhaps she had looked down on him too when she had first met him. She certainly didn't look down on him now. After a year of helping out on his chicken farm in return for chicken "feed", as he liked to put it, the city girl felt practically in awe of him.

Further, she had always been impressed by the way this backwoods farmer communed with Nature, as if he understood what the hills and lakes were saying to him, and the plants and animals too; and he had just confessed to her that her nether lips spoke to him as well; and she had to admit, a bit ruefully, that when they were so utterly exposed as they were in Buford's depiction of them, especially in front of a man like Buford, well, they really were just begging for abuse, and even deserved it, since she couldn't really fault him for giving in to their entreaties.

Tiffany had come to a decision. She spoke earnestly to the knowing old codger: "Mr. Buford, as you know, I'm no longer so strapped for cash as I was when we first met. I can afford to buy food now, now that I have my own apartment and don't have to pay the rent on a big house for my three friends who skipped out on me and left me holding the bag like last year; but would it be alright with you if we extended our agreement, and you continued to feed me, in exchange for my continuing to help out with some cleaning?"

Buford took his time in replying, leaving Tiffany in suspense. He realized he could obtain better terms from her now that she had committed herself, making it difficult for her to back out now. He pondered what demands he should make. She was a dance major, so he knew how lithe she was. He thought about this, and then he knew what he wanted. The agreeable thoughts that came to his mind made him smile, much to Tiffany's relief.

Buford had decided to add two codicils to their agreement: "Yes," he said, "on two conditions: First, after a boot cleaning, you are to lick your pussy lips clean." Buford really did like to keep things clean.

"And second," he continued, "after a feeding, you are to lick your bottom hole clean." He really did hate to waste anything.

Tiffany groaned. Buford really did like to drive a hard bargain. Still, his requests sounded eminently reasonable, and Tiffany could not think of a good reason to turn them down. She nodded her assent.

THE END