A Leather Boot Kick Out of That Rut Read online

  A Leather Boot Kick Out of That Rut

  By

  Debbie Sizemore

  Copyright Debbie Sizemore

  Smashwords Edition

  CHAPTER ONE

  Damn That Brad Pitt

  What I’m about to say might make me come across as a Republican, so I want to assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. It is purely a minor rhetorical coincidence.

  Charlie Saxton was stuck in a rut, too dependent on welfare to make efforts to better his life. I harbored no illusions that there was a chance he would ever get a job — I know it is a credo of my profession that everyone can find meaningful labor, but let’s face it, that’s only true in the same sense that everyone can win the lotto. The fact is, not everyone will, and Charlie Saxton was always going to be near the back of the line.

  It was frustrating to me, to see him get worse when he first moved into housing. It didn’t last forever, but in the beginning he retreated to his new room. He came out only when I told him he had to as a condition of his placement, to talk to me and to attend scheduled house meetings. The Josephine Foundation was very strict about that sort of thing.

  I’d been doing this job for so long nothing Charlie did phased me. When he came out of his room at my insistence and complained that Brad Pitt was implanting thoughts in his mind, I “reflected the emotional content” of his words like a champ. But also like a robot.

  I was stuck in a rut too, just like Charlie. My rut was a comfortable job I didn’t mind and was copacetic with. It had some opportunity for advancement, but it was still merely a community mental health agency — not exactly a career track kind of place. It paid just enough for me to live a reasonable lifestyle.

  In the beginning, I loved it. It was my first real job, one that paid enough for me pay all of my bills every single month and not have my parents give me money. I was proud and independent.

  I did not, however, have a man in my life, nor even any good prospects. My last boyfriend had been disappointing in every way, from our first date to our breakup, and he even made love like a dead goldfish. The staff at the Josephine Foundation was almost entirely female, and the men were more than half gay, so my pickings were slim. But one of the straight ones was Calvert Howard.

  Calvert was ungodly hot. He was kind. He was macho but outgoing and respectful. He was sexy but straight. He seemed to have every quality I could ever want in a man, except that he was much too hot to ever be interested in me. Also, he made me so nervous I could barely say hello to him without stumbling over my words.

  He only worked part-time because he had another job as well. He was an escort, or so I heard. I wanted to ask him about it, but since I could barely greet him, I knew I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to ask something so personal.

  But one day we worked together. I didn’t know until that morning, but he was asked to start picking up shifts on my team after Lacey left to have her baby. So he spent a Tuesday with me, meeting Charlie Saxton and the team’s other clients.

  Calvert turned out to be just as charming as he seemed to be when I had seen him around. He was engaging and flirtatious with me, and friendly but professional with the clients. I knew he would be a good fit on the team right away.

  I felt comfortable enough with him after a few hours to pop the question. “So…” I said, “Is it true? You’re an escort?”

  He nodded. He had a fantastic grin, deep and honest, showing off his handsome dimples. “That’s right.” He was black, with deep, chesnut skin with a few elegant tattoos peeking out from under his shirt.

  “So… people pay you to like, go out with them?” I asked.

  He nodded again.

  “Men or women?”

  “Both,” he said.

  “Is it… like prostitution?”

  “I don’t get paid for sex,” he said, “That would be illegal.”

  “But you do have sex with them? Both the men and the women?”

  “I don’t have sex with the men,” he said. The silence afterward was pregnant. He grinned at me as I waited for him to continue.

  “The women?”

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” he said.

  “So why do you work here?”

  “For fun, and to meet women like you,” he said. “Plus there’s not really that much work for male escorts. I have to do side jobs to live the lifestyle I am accustomed to.”

  “Oh, so you have that kind of lifestyle?” I said.

  “I like nice things,” he said, “And I like nice girls. It’s a pity girls like you never hire me.”

  “How much do you cost?”

  “If you work for the Josephine Foundation, I cost more than you can afford. But I love to give out freebies too. Sort of a ‘tell your richer friends about my services’ kind-of deal,” he said.

  “Your services?”

  He reached into his mouth and fiddled with his tongue piercing, followed by the pieces in his upper and lower lips. They immediately began shaking like a vibrator. It took me a moment to realize what he was showing me, and then I blushed.

  “Oh my god!” I said, “So you… like, eat women… I mean… perform oral sex-“

  “You can say ‘eat pussy’,” he said. He flicked the vibrating percings off.

  “Ew, that makes it sound gross.”

  “‘Perform oral sex’ makes it sound like a medical procedure,” he said.

  “Well, I’m sure it’s very nice,” I said.

  “Damn right it is,” he said.

  I pulled back into the Josephine Foundation, where we were to go in and meet some clients at a medication outreach group. We were early though.

  “You wanna freebie?” he said. He pointed to his tongue.

  “Oh, stop,” I said.

  “I’m serious,” he said, “I won’t tell anyone. We can pretend it didn’t happen. It’s not even really sex. You’re just sneaking off in the middle of the day to masturbate… using my tongue as a vibrator.”

  I was about to laugh and refuse again, not even wanting to believe he was serious. But then I remembered Charlie Saxton and the rut we were both in. I knew I had to do something to break it up, something drastic, something important, something vital and vibrant.

  I agreed. I blushed, sure that everyone knew what we were doing. We made our way to a little-used ladies room on the third floor, which was always empty in the afternoons.

  He worked my jeans down to my ankles, and I was momentarily embarrassed by my plain white panties. But he attacked them with his mouth, his vibrating tongue working even through the soft cotton fabric.

  My orgasm began almost right away. My toes curled and my chest blushed. I forgot to be embarrassed about the panties, which he pushed to the side so he could get into me.

  His tongue was like a small, but strong and flexible cock, hitting just the sensitive bits of my insides. His upper lip quivered right on my clitoris. I felt its vibrations through every inch of my body.

  I leaned back against the sink and let out a low moan. He deftly shifted underneath me so my legs were over his shoulders, and his face pressed right into my pussy. His tongue filled me up, his spit like liquid orgasm spilling through my veins

  Shaking and bucking around the head, I grabbed onto his scalp. My climax lasted for a few minutes. I held my breath the whole time and dug my nails into the cornrows that lined his head.

  I leaned even further back, against the mirror. Eyes closed, I gathered my calm, letting the returning echoes of my orgasm finish rocking me.

  “So…” he said, “That’s what I do when I’m not working here.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Like a Nigga

  Calvert called
me out of the blue a few weeks later on a rainy Sunday afternoon. “Hey,” he said, “Can I come over?” His voice was so deep and husky on the phone I had to say yes without even thinking about it.

  When I opened the door, he was there, soaking wet and shirtless, his chest bruised, one eye blackened and swollen, with dried blood on his face.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s okay,” he said, “I got in a fight. But I won. It’s not a big deal.”

  “You look hurt,” I said. I ushered him in and onto the couch then grabbed my first aid kit.

  “I’m really fine.”

  I rather enjoyed playing nurse to him, but I quickly discovered he was right. His eye was swollen and I gave him some ice to put on that, but otherwise he had only a few cuts that I dutifully cleaned and bandaged. His knuckles were bloody and bruised too.

  I asked him what happened and he told me a convoluted story wherein he was targeted by the husband of one of his clients. “She got a little touchier than he thought when he said he was okay with her hiring a stripper. So he took it out on me.”

  “So you strip too? I thought you were just an escort,” I said.

  “I do it all,” he said.

  “So she got ‘touchy’ with you? Is that stripper-code for ‘sex’?” I asked.

  “Nah, she was a prude. She just gave me a handjob and let me eat her out,” he said, wiggling his tongue at me. “But she told me she wanted to be tied up.”

  “Tied up?”

  ‘Yeah,” he said, “Like tied to a bedpost so I could just bend her over and have my way with her. She ain’t hot like you, so I wasn’t pushing for it. I woulda been happy with a shitty blowjob from someone like her.”

  His wounds covered, Calvert settled back on the couch. I caressed his bare chest, not really realizing I was doing it until his muscles rippled beneath my fingertips. I blushed and wanted to pull away, but didn’t.

  “Is that… fun? Being tied up?” I asked. I had heard of people who were into things like that, but it never occurred to me that someone I knew would do it.

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “It’s fucking amazing. You can’t move and you got someone else fucking every inch of you. It really shakes things up, y’know, it’s like a whole new kind of sex.”

  “I’ll do it,” I said. “I wanna try it. Will you? Tie me up?”

  He was plainly surprised by my blurting. “I wasn’t trying to talk you into it,” he said, “But hell yeah.”

  He led me into my bedroom and tied my arms to the bedpost with some pantyhose I had in a drawer. I felt very comfortable with him, especially since I could tell the pantyhose weren’t tied tightly and were so smooth they’d loosen with just a little effort. He dropped his pants, his magnificent cock rising, already half-hard, from his boxers.

  He rested his dick on my forehead and said. “Whatcha want me to do with this? Huh?” His cock was longer than my head, and his balls dangled beneath my chin. He smelled so manly and so powerful I instantly got hard. A part of me wished I could finger myself, but another part was glad to prolong the pleasure.

  “I… uh,” I said, wishing I could sound committed and strong like Calvert. “I want you to fuck me.” I felt like a bad actress reciting her lines for the first time.

  “You want me to fuck you gentle, like some pussy-ass whiteboi, or you want me to fuck you like a nigga?”

  I blushed. “The, uh… the second one.”

  “Which was that? Huh, bitch? Which was it?” My heart burst into overdrive, adrenaline shooting through me. He knelt beside me and whispered into my ears “Go on then, say it. You want me to fuck you, you gotta beg me for it. Tell me how you want it,” he said. “But you better say you want it hard like a nigga, cuz that’s how I fuck.”

  “I want it… hard… like a nigga,” I said, embarrassed at using the n-word.

  He nodded sagely. “A’ight then, girl. You gonna get it.”

  He lifted my legs up so my feet rested on his shoulder. He spat in his hand, rubbing his cock to lube it up. He pushed his dick in slowly at first. He knelt down so I could hear murmuring in my ear, describing how hard he was gonna fuck me. Every word sent shivers down my spine.

  “Beg me for it, you little slut,” he said.

  “Please, fuck me,” I said. This time I didn’t think about it first, and it felt a little more natural, a little more like normal words just coming out of my mouth. I really did want him, no, need him to fuck me hard — just the tip of his dick was inside me, and he held it there, grinning, demanding that I work for it. “Please, baby,” I said, “Fuck me hard.”

  “You want me to destroy this?” he said. He pushed a few more inches in, and I squealed, unable to respond to his question from the pain. It didn’t feel good at all at first. I didn’t know how I would be able to fit the rest of his dick in.

  But then the pleasure kicked in all of a sudden, like he had flipped an onswitch on my clit. I shook against the pantyhose tying me to the bedposts.

  The last few inches of his dick slipped inside all at once, like something had burst open. But I no longer felt any pain. I was writhing against the bonds and biting at his tender flesh. The orgasm was so intense I felt tears dripping down my cheeks, which he roughly kissed, slathering his tongue across my face.

  His strength and his aura overwhelmed me. He was taller than me by quite a bit, so I buried my face in his upper chest and neck. My legs were no longer up, resting on his shoulders, but had splayed apart, wrapped around his great meaty thighs as though trying to hold onto him.

  I don’t know when he came. I was so intensely focusd on my own orgasm, I didn’t even realize he had pulled out until he was sitting there, grinning at me like a fool. I must have been screaming for some time, I thought. I leaned up on my elbows and opened my mouth to say something, but he interrupted me with a finger on my clit.

  His touch was electrifyingly sensitive, a little ticklish and awkward, but also incredibly pleasurable. It reawakened the orgasm that had just demolished my mind.

  This time when it was done I just fell asleep. I didn’t even wake up when he untied my arms, or when he spooned me gently for an hour or two. I woke up only much later to find that he had gone, and left only a note attached to my door. “See ya later, XOXOXO” was all it said.

  CHAPTER THREE

  White Lady

  I thought Calvert was done with me after that. He didn’t seem like the type to keep coming around to the same woman, unless she was paying him.

  But he called me again awhile later and again, asked to drop by. He said it casually, as though coming over to borrow a cup of sugar. But his voice had a menacing quality behind it as well. It made me too nervous to do anything else while I waited for him.

  He rang my door in tight black leather pants and vest, barely darker than his skin so he almost looked naked. “You want this, right, bitch?” His arms were bare, his bulging biceps beaded with sweat.

  “Oh god yes,” I said breathlessly.

  He held up a small black whip and smiled. It wasn’t a really long bullwhip, a short one, all coiled up and sexy in his big meaty hand. He snapped it into the air beside him, and the crack filled the room.

  He roughly shoved me into the living room and kissed me. He shoved his tongue into my throat. I sat down on the couch, pulling him on top of me.

  “Tie me up again,” I said.

  “Of course,” he said. “You gonna be my personal slut tonight.”

  This time he had handcuffs, and he attached me to the legs of my recliner, but he did it in such a way I was bent over the side of the chair. My ass stuck up in the air, at a perfect height for him to fuck my pussy.

  He worked his dick in, breaking me open again. It hurt less than last time, but my position was a little more awkward, so that made me sore. The pain turned into pleasure though, and I moaned loudly, no longer embarrassed by the sound.

  “Beg me for it again,” he said. He took his dick out, then knelt down to blow on my pussy. It was so agonizi
ngly sensitive my knees buckled and I fell onto the chair I was draped over. He didn’t blow softly either, he blew as though trying to kickstart a campfire. I moaned again, my whole body twisting with pleasure.

  “Fu…” I began, my voice trailing off. It was too intense to say anything.

  He cracked the whip near my head. Everything about it was sexy — the smooth black leather, the way his muscules undulated as he whipped it, the satisfying sound it made.

  He jammed one finger in my pussy with each snap, just for a second, then took it back out. Each time he did, he sent a fleeting, grasping orgasm through me; it was there, then it was gone but moments later came another delicious snap and another finger tickling my clit.

  The whip hit my back. The pain was biting and gone in moments, but the lingering sexual pleasure it left hehind lasted like a rosy glow. I arched my back as he cracked the whip again, near my head, so close I could smell the leather.

  He wrapped the whip around my face, inserting the soft leather into my mouth. “I’ma fuck you hard now, white lady,” he said. “It’s gonna be rough. You want that?”

  “God yes,” I said.

  “You want me to destroy you?” He rubbed two fingers on my clit, sending my body into spasms of pleasure again. “Wreck this fucking pussy as though you deserved it?”

  “Oh yes,” I said, no longer feeling as silly as I did when I first dirty talked with Calvert weeks ago.

  He grabbed ahold of my hair and pulled, hard enough to hurt but not be agonizing. He simultaneously pushed down on the small of my back.

  His entire cock slid in despite my pussy’s straining. Last time he had worked up to the whole thing, but this was an unceremonious, bestial ramming. It hurt a lot but it also re-awakened my clitoris.

  I screamed in agonizing bliss, the sound jagged from his relentless fucking. He bent over me, his muscles rippling against my back. His hot breath condensed on my neck.

  He wrapped one of his huge hands around my throat and squeezed just a bit, murmuring incomprehensible syllables into my ear. My body tingled from head to toe. His free arm roughly tweaked my nipples.