"No, please, I beg you - unnggh!" His plea for mercy went unheard. The leather-jacketed youth spun round and drove a devastating boot deep into the soft belly. The public schoolboy slumped forward, only for his attacker to tread down heavily on his neck. The biker beckoned me across. "All yours, mate. Go on, kid. Kick him to fuck!" I didn't need a second invitation. My toes were itching inside their steel and rubber cocoon, and I marched across and blasted 3,4,5 vicious kicks at that hated privileged face. The blood spurted over my foot and a glob of snot stuck in the groove right at the top of my boot. The snob wasn't moving now, and I got nervous about the damage I had done. �'As 'e 'ad enough, mate?" I asked, and the biker grinned. "Fuck him, mate. Stop when YOU've 'ad enough" He reached across and we exchanged a leather-clad high five before I fired in a couple more boots, feeling the steel do its worst. I paused for a breather and felt a gloved hand gently stroke my shaven head. At the same time the youth's turndown wellie rubbed against the side of my Argyll. "What's yer name, mate? I'm Terry. O yeah, nice boots, mate" "Yeah, steelies. Er, Paul" To say I was overawed would be nowhere near it. Lost for words as he drew my head towards his muscular chest. The worn leather jacket smell gave me such a buzz, and I looked down sheepishly, found myself pressing my boot against his. He took off a glove in front of my face, unzipped his jeans. I gazed in awe at the massive cock. Just the knob end was as big as any I had ever seen. Danny had a big one, or thought he had. Maybe I wasn't so far behind, I thought, and all the time I could feel myself rising, stiffening until I knew it had to come out, but even before I could move, Terry's fingers were inside my zip, bringing me out into the fresh night air. He let go to take off his helmet, shook his blond hair. Somehow I was relieved that it was only collar-length. He smiled, put his lid back on. There was no visor and his eyes darted down to the broken yuppies with a hardness that matched our cocks. We were doing the business, the master and his new recruit, and he turned to face me, his boots pressing either side of the school prefect's head, his cock jutting, solid. I stared at it, then at those perfect turndown wellies, feeling proud that the same snob blood was splashed on my own boots as well. I knew what to do and dropped down astride our victim. My knees pinned the arms and my gloved hand took charge of my throbbing cock. Instantly the cum spurted out on to that hated face, and Terry lifted his right foot, trod down hard and scraped his sole across the gob, spreading my juice over the bleeding lips. He clamped his boot back into position and I looked up at his cock, big and inviting. Not something I had ever done before, and we both knew it, but my mouth closed tight on his dick and my tongue got to work, sweating, slavering, bringing out the ultimate from my hero. I grabbed for his wellies, my thumbs hooking on to the tops of his boots, my fingers nestling underneath his turndowns. I held on tight as he thrust into my throat, sucking as hard as I could, finally finding the rhythm of his stroke. I felt him swelling, nearly cumming, wondered what to do then but he leant forward, pushed my head off him. I rocked back and watched his cum splatter out, shooting like bullets into the snob's face. Everything mixed in a heady aroma, cum, sweat, rubber, leather, mud & blood! "Fuckin' - green - wellie - wanker!" Each word was spat out along with a fresh burst of cum, then Terry sighed with satisfaction. He hauled me to my feet and we surveyed the scene. He jabbed a finger towards no. 2. "Oi!, Paul! Get the boots off that cunt!" Willingly I obeyed, went across and pulled the Hunters from the snob's feet, and I could see Terry doing the same with the other one. "Gonna keep 'em, mate?" I enquired. "Fuck off, mate. They're shit, just like the cunts wearing 'em" I watched as he picked up one of the boots, and suddenly a torrent of golden piss gushed out into it. Terry was laughing and it was infectious. So was the need for a waz, and I found myself pissing into a green Hunter. It felt great, like the ultimate humiliation for our enemies. By this time a couple of cars had gone past, and Terry called me back. I chucked the boot away casually, regretted it when I saw him carefully empty the contents on to the snob's body, but not before he'd bent down to pick the wallet from the coat pocket. "These rich cunts can buy us a few beers, eh mate!" I looked at my torn sleeve and sighed. "Yeah, but I need a new bomber now as well!" Terry grinned. "You wanna see the back of it, mate. Makes yer boots look clean!" With that he swivelled and drove a brutal kick into the ribs, then stomped down again on the head. A fresh eruption of blood ran across his turndown welly and he smiled, began to walk back to the bike. "Come on, mate. Let's get out of 'ere" My heart soared at the prospect of a ride on the bike. A Kawasaki 750, gleaming black. "But I ain't got a helmet" "Don't worry mate, I got a spare at my place" I got on behind him, nestling into my hero's back as we roared off to the farm where he worked. I got cleaned up a bit and he took me home, and that was the start of a special few years of sex, aggro, but the main thing was our common love of wellies, and what you can do in them! |
| Love Those Rubber Boots Man!! 15 |
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| The Skinhead in Rubber Boots the story continues.... |
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