Why I like Wescos

My bootpig boy lay flat on his back, the heel of my Jobmaster placed firmly below his right nipple. Rolling the flat of my boot on the meaty part of his pec, I watched as he writhed in pain, his groans punctuated by the affirmative exclamations of my other boy standing shoulder to shoulder with me. Taking my foot away, I admired the red imprint of my Vibram soled boot on his flesh.

Jumping up, I grabbed the suspension rack above and hung over the piggy boy. My two boots now hovered over both of his thighs and I watched him tense up in anticipation of my full weight. Slowly at first, then more firmly, I eased myself down until I felt his quadriceps roll outward. Then I stood still and looked down at my bootpig boy's anxious face.

"Uh" was all that he could say, a signal that he was nearing the edge after one hour of bootplay. Reaching up to the rack again, I lifted myself off and paused momentarily before I dropped to the floor, barely missing the boy's torso with both boots. I nudged my boot right up to the boy's cheek. And, as if to give an architectural structure to the scene, he turned his head toward the boot and began licking it, just as he had done at the beginning of the scene. His tongue worked the instep and slowly worked around the hard toe to the lateral area. Then up the sides of the boot until he had drawn himself up to a fetal position around it. That was my cue to untie his hands from his thighs. I wanted to give him a moment to caress my boot with both hands before finishing the scene.

"Help me untie him," I commanded the boy who had been looking on. "Help me because this bootpig needs to get fucked!"

Moments later I stood in ecstacy, one boy by my side and the other, curled up around my right boot with a big smile on his face. Gently, he rubbed his cheek against the shank, almost rocking.

"I'm ready to be fucked, Sir," he said.

No other boot in the world like a Wesco!