1 comments/ 4831 views/ 3 favorites The BootBlack By: penbeatsword This story was inspired and requested by a gender-fluid friend, who happens to be a talented bootblack. The bootblack character is based in great deal upon her/him, and her/his requests for what would be in a story. Certain specific language used ("cunt", sissy, faggot, for example), is by her/his request, to more closely mirror how s/he likes to be treated. No disrespect is meant by the use of such terms. Both my friend and I are also bisexual and while we recognize that some might be offended by some of the more derogatory terms, we embrace their use in certain contexts by those who are fellow members of the LGTBQ community. Please be open-minded when reading this story. Gender is explored and interchanged between one of the characters in particular, and the way it is written is intentional. Some may find this confusing. Also, all characters are age 18 or above. ------------------------- Charlie was one of the finest bootblacks in the city. At 18, Charlie excelled in the art of bootblacking. He had been practicing for about 5 years, but had already amassed incredible skill and a regular group of clients: successful attorneys and entrepreneurs who viewed the hand care of their footwear as a barometer of affluence, to afford to have a "like new" pair of shoes or boots every day for work. Charlie viewed his craft as a calling. In this day and age of disposability, of consumerism, his was a lost art. He worked hard to become proficient and master the skill, much harder than anyone realized. His trade was traditionally male, almost exclusively a "boy's club." Like barbers and tailors, the masters of bootblacking were virtually all old enough to collect social security. Charlie was truly unique in this inner, elite circle, being so young and so...different. The "elders" had mixed feelings about him. Theirs was a dying art, and there were few who were young enough to keep it alive. They welcomed him for his passion, his dedication, and for taking it so seriously. Charlie adhered to the traditions and was strictly "old school", in that he modeled his technique as such. No electric buffers, new lacquers, or synthetic fibers. In fact, he even mixed and created his own polishes. However, his talent meant competition, and Charlie certainly gave the elders a run for their money, no pun intended. As such, Charlie was polite and respectful to them, and vica versa, but generally kept to himself. His workspace was not in the most ideal location for "foot traffic", but his reputation ensured his customers were regulars, and would take a slightly longer route to the office in order to benefit from his service. His space was located inside one of the larger, older office buildings in downtown Brooklyn. Most of the tenants were attorneys, but there were a few entrepreneurs who occupied spaces that were vacated by firms who moved into the new, state of the art skyscraper next door. He literally took on the persona of a 19th century bootblack. Pristine brown leather lace up boots. Black wool trousers, held up by suspenders. A white button-down, long sleeved shirt, buttoned almost to the top. His skills meant that the white shirt generally remained spotless, not an easy feat. A driving cap hid his long ginger hair. For a boy, he was both beautiful and handsome. Short and slender in build. Piercing blue eyes and fair skinned, which would turn red when he blushed, which came frequently, especially when complimentary comments were bestowed on him or his work. He had somewhat of an androgynous quality to him, which lent itself to his mysteriousness. Both men and women, especially straight men and women, were drawn to him, for reasons they couldn't explain. Foster ran a consulting firm in the building in which Charlie worked. He sought out the space for a number of reasons. The rent was cheap, he had few neighbors on his floor, and he could remain fairly anonymous. His clients were primarily governments who sought discretion for covert activities that bordered on questionable legality. From the hallway, his office appeared to be just another private law practice, handling contracts, wills and estates. That cover worked well. Foster had done well for himself. A 22 year career in the military in Special Operations gave him the contacts he needed to jumpstart his business, both domestically and internationally. While his tours of duty took him around the world, since being injured on a covert mission he finished his time out as a "behind the scenes" guy. He knew how to get certain things done. He had a knack for innovation and thinking "outside the box". He had made connections the world over, so it made facilitating the sensitive needs of his clients easy. It also made him extremely wealthy, in part because of how he managed his affairs. He did not live ostentatiously. While he dressed and lived well, he did not wear his wealth on his sleeve, and overtly advertise his economic status. While he didn't have the physique he once had at the height of his deployments, he did his best with his disability to be relatively in decent shape. At six feet, with dark hair and blue-grey eyes, he wasn't a giant but his quiet strength made him tower over others. With his career and current job, a family was impractical, so he had a few "friends with benefits". He didn't choose his partners by their plumbing, so he would sleep with women...men...with whomever there seemed to be a mutual attraction. Foster discovered Charlie by accident. As was his way, Foster had done a recon on the building prior to signing the lease. He made sure he knew all of the access and egress points, storage rooms, utility controls, stairwells, and roof access. He learned a long time ago it's important to know not only how to get in, but how to get out of a place, and to have multiple backup options. During his survey, he found Charlie at his spot, doing what he does best. There were several gentlemen waiting in line for their turn, a sign that whatever the bootblack was doing, it was worth the wait. He was immediately taken by Charlie. He could have sworn by his quick, professional technique and attention to detail that Charlie had done time in the service, but he appeared far too young. There was something else about the boy that Foster was drawn to. It wasn't just that Charlie was attractive. There was something about his energy he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was enough that he stopped to watch for a short while. He asked one of the men waiting about Charlie. "Yeah, he's the best," said an older one. "In all my years, I've never had my shoes done so well. And he's not bad on the eyes either. Very pretty, for a little fella. Hell, if I was gay, I'd marry him!" His last comment drew chuckles from the other men assembled, and the blush that was Charlie's cheeks became bright red, as he tried to ignore the comments and focus on his task at hand. Foster eventually continued on his way, but his mind over the next several weeks kept coming back to Charlie. He finally decided to get his shoes shined. He stopped by Charlie's stand, just as his last customer was getting up. He took his place and sat down on a padded chair. Charlie took his place at Foster's feet, kneeling down in front of him. "Good morning, Sir," Charlie said in a quiet voice. "Good morning. I'm guessing your name's Charlie?" Foster asked, gesturing to the sign on the stand behind him that said "Boot Black Charlie" "That's right, Sir," Charlie replied, as he began lathering Foster's shoes with a soapy paste, lathered on a brush. "You're quite young. How long have you been a bootblack?" "I started when I was ten. But I've been professional for five." "Wow. You ARE young. Shouldn't you be in school?" Foster asked. "I prefer to be here, Sir." Charlie wiped the foam from Foster's shoes with a clean white cloth. They already looked better. "Don't your parents, or the school know?" "I don't have any parents anymore. They're both in jail and I don't like my foster family. So I'm on my own." He placed one of Foster's feet on his thigh and began applying black polish from a silver tin, applying small amounts in circles with his fingertips. He held Foster's calf to steady his leg with a gentle grip in his other small hand. His hand felt soft, but it was almost as if a small amount of electricity was flowing between them. "Are you old enough to be on your own?" Charlie blushed. "I think so" "So where do you stay?" Satisfied with work on Foster's right foot, he switched and placed his left foot on his other thigh, this time a little higher up and towards his crotch. He began polishing Foster's other shoe. "I have a small room behind that wall," he gestured behind Foster, eyes quickly glancing at Foster, then darting away. Foster could have sworn he felt Charlie start to massage his left calf. He said nothing, hoping Charlie would continue. Charlie lifted Foster's leg, so he could inspect his shoe more closely. He could have sworn he saw Charlie glancing at his crotch several times. He was definitely working his fingers over Foster's calf, stroking ever so gently. Foster was tingling, and he felt himself growing hard. He tried shifting in his chair, but Charlie held onto his leg, and he knew that only served to pull his trousers tighter against his crotch, a fact not unnoticed by Charlie. Charlie placed Foster's foot down on the floor and turned around, still on his knees. He reached over to take another tin of polish down from a shelf next to them. In doing so, he was on his hands and knees, his dark trousers pulled tight against his ass, outlining it and the crevice between. Foster could not avoid looking, nor did he want to. Lustful feelings arose in him. This boy had curves and hips like a girl. Despite being young enough to be his son, Foster desired Charlie. Charlie turned back, catching Foster staring and blushed. He shuffled closer to Foster, placing his foot even higher up on his thigh, practically pressing into his crotch, which also caused Foster's legs and thighs to spread apart a little. He began applying the next layer of polish, a sealant which would keep moisture out and the color in. The scent wafted up into Foster's nose and was intoxicating. Charlie was also aroused, his face flushed. He had always had an attraction for older men, balancing his desire for women closer to his age. He sensed that Foster felt something for him, that he wasn't just another heterosexual male. Maybe Foster wanted more than just his services as a bootblack. Rarely did Charlie pursue anything with a customer. One time he had, and regretted it. He thought the gentleman would be okay with it. At first, he seemed to enjoy how Charlie serviced him, taking him deep into his mouth. But then he abruptly stopped him, almost in a panic and fled. Charlie never saw him again. He lost a regular customer that day. But Foster was different. As Charlie took a brush to his shoes, he could feel Foster's eyes burning into him. He tried to concentrate on buffing the shoes, but he fumbled and dropped the brush. He picked it up and realized that he had placed his hand on Foster's knee to steady himself. Looking up, Foster's eyes locked with his and Charlie was paralyzed for a moment. He managed to break his gaze away, and as his eyes traveled down to focus on his shoes, he saw the clear outline of Foster's hard cock in his pants. He tried to stifle a gasp and quickly returned to his work, buffing the other shoe while his own epicenter of pleasure between his legs throbbed. Finished with the brush, he got up on his knees and tried to reach across Foster to grab another folded towel from a rack behind to the chair. He lost his balance and fell forward. He unsuccessfully tried to brace his fall with a hand on Foster's upper leg. The rest of him landed between Foster's thighs, his face coming to rest in his crotch. He felt the hard shaft against his cheek and forehead, separated only by a few thin layers of cloth. They were only in that position for microseconds, but felt like an eternity. Foster felt Charlie's soft face and warm breath on him and he groaned. Charlie could feel Foster throb. He tried to pull back, but Foster's hand had gone to the back of his head and held him firmly and commandingly in place. His other hand pinned Charlie's hand against his leg, gripping his wrist tightly. Charlie moaned, the feeling of not being in control awakened the nymph in him. They remained like that for several moments, both breathing heavy. Foster was the first to speak. "Take me to your little room, boy." He released the hold on Charlie, who slowly rose to his feet, as did Foster. He looked up, Foster towering over him by a good foot. The look in Foster's eyes was all business. Charlie knew what he wanted, and he was going to provide it, willingly. He took Foster by the hand, his somewhat dwarfed in Foster's, and led him back behind the sign. He opened a small door in wall and led Foster inside. The room was small, dimly lit. Foster could just barely make out a small bed and dresser. A clothes rack held a selection of button down shirts and trousers, all neatly pressed. He couldn't quite see, but he thought he also saw a number of...dresses? Charlie closed the door and locked it. He turned to look up at Foster, just able to see the outline of his face as he took Foster's hands in his tiny ones. They stood there for a moment. Without a word, Charlie lowered himself down to his knees, releasing Foster's hands so he could unbuckle his belt and lower the zipper on his trousers. He slid Foster's pants down to his ankles. Reaching into the waistband of his boxers, Charlie slid them down as well, releasing Foster's cock. He slid his hands up his thighs, causing Foster to tremble. They finally came to rest on his cock, which jumped slightly at the touch. Charlie wrapped both hands around it, gently squeezing it once, feeling the heat and strength, then with a light touch stroking it. Foster moaned, marveling at how soft the boy's hands were, as if they belonged to a young woman. He lowered his mouth, extending his tongue and licking the tip of his cock. He swirled his tongue around the cap before engulfing it in his mouth. He slid his mouth down as far as he could, the end pressing against the back of his throat. Withdrawing with a slight amount of suction, he then plunged down again, this time trying to take it deeper while fighting his gag reflex. Foster's eyes had rolled back in his head, shivering at the sensations Charlie was creating. Not only was he a skilled bootblack, he was phenomenal at sucking cock. Charlie began stroking Foster as he sucked, creating a long tunnel to mimic another tight, warm part of Charlie's anatomy. Again, Foster's hands went to Charlie's head, gripping it through the driving cap, guiding Charlie's actions. Charlie gurgled, enjoying the feeling of being used as he was facefucked. Occasionally, Foster would stop and hold Charlie in place, deep in his mouth, pressing further, trying to enter his throat. Charlie would gag, squirming, but did not try to pull away. He'd then resume thrusting in and out of Charlie's mouth. Charlie's right hand slid down lower, between Foster's legs. His thumb massaged the spot between his balls and his ass. Foster gritted his teeth and groaned loudly, his cock throbbing harder. How did Charlie know how sensitive he was in that area? "Fuck, you're a naughty boy, aren't you? Goddamn, that feels good!" The intensity grew, and Charlie rightly knew Foster was close to cumming. He slowed his efforts, not wanting him to cum...not quite yet...and not quite there. "Dammit, I was this close!" said Foster, panting. He felt the hand between his legs leave him and heard Charlie fumbling around, then reaching into a box that was on the table next to his bed. His mouth left Foster's cock but Charlie kept his hand on it. He moved onto his hand and knees on the bed, turning away from Foster, hand still gripping his cock. Foster could see that Charlie had pulled down his trousers and pulled up his shirt. Just enough that he was exposed and naked from his lower back to just below his ass. Just enough to reveal his tiny pink hole, glistening with lubricant, masking anything else from view. The curves Foster noticed when Charlie bent down earlier, when he was blacking his shoes, were even more pronounced now and perfectly framed by his trousers and shirt. Foster had never seen an ass more perfect. If he didn't know better, he would have thought it belonged to a girl, which only lent to Charlie's androgynous beauty for a boy. And to the lust Foster felt for him. Charlie directed the head of Foster's cock to his asshole and held it there a moment before pressing back against it. The tiny hole relaxed and the head slipped in. Charlie gasped and paused a moment. Foster's hands went to his narrow waist, just above where his hips flared out to the side. Charlie relinquished control and released Foster's cock, placing both hands on the bed, ready for what would come next. Foster pulled Charlie back, and slowly his cock slid inside Charlie's tight ass. Charlie whined, dropping his head down. Foster groaned, marveling at how easily he entered the boy. He looked down, and in the dim light his lust grew. While Foster was of average size, compared to Charlie's small frame, his cock made Charlie's ass looked tiny. Foster bottomed out in the boy. "Oh fuck!" Charlie gasped. "Please fuck me, Sir." "Yessssss" Foster growled. He gripped Charlie hard and held him in place. He started slowly fucking Charlie's ass, like it was a pussy. It had been a long time since Foster felt anything this good. He was going to enjoy using him. Charlie's breathing deepened in time with Foster's thrusts. He began sighing, the pitch of his voice increasing. Foster's more aggressive nature came out. "You like getting fucked in the ass, don't you boy?" "Yes...Sir..." Charlie panted. "You've got a pretty little ass, for a boy. You look just like a girl, bent over like this." "I...I do...Sir?" Charlie managed to squeak out. Foster noticed a tinge of what might have been panic. But that did not deter him from owning this boy's ass. Instead of holding Charlie still, he started pulling him back and forth onto his cock. "Yes. And I'm going to treat your sissy ass like a cunt" "Oh...Sir...yes...please!" Charlie cried. Charlie started to fuck Foster back, which only helped to turn both of them on even more. His little ass cheeks quivered as Foster's pelvis mashed up against them each time he bottomed out in the boy. He wasn't going to last long at this rate. "Oh...god...Sir...I'm gonna....." Charlie panted. "Going to what, boy?" Foster yelled. "C-c-cum...Sir...oh god...cumming Sir!!" Charlie wailed Charlie's body bucked, Foster gripped on tighter, so close himself. He rammed Charlie back against him several more times, then exploded with a roar. Charlie could feel the ropes of Foster's cum squirt against the walls of his bowels and he shuddered, his orgasm extended. Foster held Charlie tight against him for awhile, occasionally drawing back and pulling Charlie hard and tight against him again. They both struggled to catch their breath and stayed in that position for awhile. Eventually, Charlie felt Foster start to soften and shrink. He reached over and grabbed what Foster recognized as a small silver butt plug from a drawer in a nightstand next to the bed. He slowly pulled off of Foster and quickly turned around to face him, his hand reaching behind him for a moment to insert the plug. He took a washcloth, applied some sort of lotion from the drawer and cleaned Foster off. It felt slightly cool on his cock, but not uncomfortable. When Charlie was done, he leaned forward and sucked Foster into his mouth once more, bobbing his head up and down a few more times before reluctantly pulling his mouth off of it. He kneeled down before Foster and slid his boxers and trousers back up, zipping up the pants and fixing his belt. Foster stroked the side of Charlie's face as he worked. When he was done, he looked up into Foster's eyes, who was staring down at him fondly. He slapped Charlie's face several times, then caressed the cheek with his hand. The energy between them filled the room, and all seemed right in the world, for the first time in a long time for both. The BootBlack "Good job, boy. VERY good job. I think I've found my boot black. Actually, maybe more." Charlie leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Foster's waist, leaning his warm, flushed cheek against Charlie. He could feel Foster's semi-hard cock against his face and he nuzzled it. Charlie spoke quietly. "Thank you, Sir. I would very much like to be yours." "I see you enjoy blacking, and I don't want to deny you that pleasure. You may keep your business, and any earnings you make from it. But you will become my personal assistant. You will move in with me and travel with me. I will not have many tasks for you. You will service my shoes and boots, and you will service me. Beyond that, your time and your life will be yours. Your needs will be taken care of in every way. You will be provided a generous stipend, of which you may spend or save as you choose. Is this a satisfactory arrangement for you?" Charlie blushed hard, and his whole body was warm and tingling, his face as red as an apple. The last thing he expected to ever hear was something like this. He looked down, his voice wavering. "Yes, Sir. I would very much like to be in service to you." "Good. When you are done today, meet me in room 1138 upstairs. Bring your kit. I have several other pairs up in my office that require your skills." Foster unlocked the door and walked out, leaving Charlie in a daze, imagining what might lie in store for him. The plug kept Foster's cum in his ass, where he wanted it to be. He would keep it there until the next time Foster could fill it for him. ------------------------------------ The day dragged on insufferably long. For both Foster and Charlie. Charlie usually had three "rush hour" periods: morning, lunchtime, and around the end of business hours. The morning slot, as people were arriving for work, generated most of the clientele. A quick touch up was what most sought around lunch or when departing for the day, usually because there was a lunch meeting or happy hour to attend. Some clients dropped off their shoes and boots, and if they lived in the building Charlie would deliver to some of them. Although he had waves of customers throughout the day, it still seemed to drag on. He couldn't wait to finish up, so he could head up to meet Foster. He was excited and yet nervous, unsure exactly what his new life would involve. He loved the way Foster had taken control. While he issued orders, it was almost as if he didn't need to. Charlie willingly desired to please him. There was a magnetism. Perhaps too early to be called "love at first sight", but he had never felt this way before. He was also concerned. He was more than what Foster saw, much more. And different. He was not just a "shoeshine boy". Nor was he just a boy. Not all the time. When Foster said he looked like a girl, Charlie had reason to worry. He worked hard to present himself as a boy. She may have initially been raised as Charlotte, but she was only Charlotte sometimes. At work, and much of the time, he was Charlie. Sometimes he was somewhere in between. Bootblacking reinforced the "Charlie" in him, an identity and gender that felt right. Not that the others didn't. He was ultimately gender "fluid", and his identity would morph to match situations, moods, company. Hence the dresses, and other things, for those times when she was Charlotte. When he was with Foster, he very much felt the older gentleman/younger man bond. He was worried that Foster would not understand the duality of Charlie's gender, that he would be upset, and not want him anymore. Or maybe Foster was only attracted to men, and wouldn't want to be with someone missing male anatomy. If Foster wanted Charlie all the time, he could be Charlie for him. Most of all, he just wanted to please and serve, and to be used. He wasn't sure how he should dress, or prepare himself to meet Foster. Should she go up there as Charlotte, just to get the truth out there in the open? That way, she'd know right away whether this relationship with Foster would work. No, he thought. I'm a bootblack, and he wants me to work his other shoes, so that's how I'll go. I'll have to explain later. Or maybe I don't have to explain at all.... ------------------------------------ Foster's day progressed no faster. He did not yet have an administrative assistant, so the more mundane tasks were his. Most of his meetings were held via video conference. He had established a secure dedicated satellite link for all of his communications, including internet and cell phone. He was pretty much "off the grid", which made it possible to work on certain projects for certain clients. He could offer them direct links to him and his resources, without the possibility of being hacked. He could direct remote operations, both with human and unmanned assets, whether for surveillance or more direct intervention missions. Counterespionage, target neutralization, there was little he couldn't do from his office. For those other meetings and missions that required his personal presence, he had private aircraft, ships, and other global methods of transportation at his disposal. He was also able to do research on Charlie. For all his access and talent, he was surprised to find little on the boy. No mention of his business registered anywhere, just a few emails some businessmen and attorney's had sent back and forth, looking for recommendations for shoe shining. Facial recognition software matched him to someone named "Charlotte Stewart", in some Child Protective Services records, but he knew sometimes those databases were inaccurate. His gut, which he trusted a lot, didn't get a bad or uneasy feeling from Charlie. Quite the opposite; he felt a strong bond with him, and certainly an attraction for him. Foster remembered watching him work. He kept quiet while working and didn't discuss other customers, despite his clients discussing what was obviously confidential information, which meant to Foster that Charlie knew how to keep his mouth shut. And with Foster's line of work, that was critical. It meant that he would hopefully not have to take certain steps around him to protect his business and clients. Still, there was something about Charlie that Foster couldn't put his finger on. Like there was something in his past he was covering up. It was more of a mystery, rather than feeling like a warning. Well, he would find out for sure when Charlie came up later. Which reminded him, he had to cancel a date scheduled for later in the afternoon. There was a Marine, a Warrant Officer and an aide to a certain high ranking Pentagon official who was in town for a meeting at the U.N. She liked Foster to do certain things to her, things that her girlfriend either wouldn't or couldn't do. It involved hypnosis, which Foster had learned from a foreign asset. It helped, because Foster could induce hypnosis after he did a scene with her and manipulate her mind into believing she hadn't done some of the things they did, some of which certainly would have caused her to fail a polygraph if certain questions about sexual "deviancy" were asked. A few hours later and the doorbell rang. Foster saw from the surveillance camera he had placed and the thumbprint scanner which was disguised as a doorbell button that it was Charlie. He buzzed him into the outer office waiting area. It was a fairly simple and plain office. Basic furniture, a few non-descript framed images. Charlie was dressed in clothes similar to what he had worn earlier, and carried a simple wooden case. Foster spoke over the intercom. "Welcome Charlie. Proceed through the door on the right." Foster pushed a button on his smartphone, an app he had custom designed to control all of the security apparatus in his office, and a door on the right opened. Charlie walked through the door into a longer, narrow hallway. The door closed behind him, and Foster's voice spoke. "Walk down the hall." A little nervous, Charlie followed the instructions. What he didn't realize was that he was passing through scanners that could reveal not only what was under his clothing and inside the box, but could also take air samples to reveal what chemical elements were in the ingredients in his supplies. Foster poured through the data that appeared on his terminal. The chemical scan revealed only components to make polishes and waterproofing. There were no weapons. But it was what was under Charlie's garments that peaked Foster's interest. And likely answered the nagging questions he had. A bra. Pert little breasts, constrained and flattened inside. And a bare, shaved pussy, with no sign of a penis. The butt plug Charlie had inserted earlier was still in place. So Charlie was transgendered. So much made sense now. Why Charlotte appeared instead of Charlie on the background search. "Wait there a moment, Charlie, I'll be right with you" said Foster. Charlie stopped, the nerves building in him. What was going on? Had Foster changed his mind? Had he found out she was Charlotte? Was he in danger? Foster quickly punched the info into a search engine and confirmed that Charlie was indeed Charlotte Stewart. The story Charlie told checked out. She was placed into foster care at age 10 when both parents were arrested for a number of charges, including multiple types of fraud, drug trafficking, endangering a minor, the list went on. Charlotte was bounced around multiple foster families, and then just disappeared one day, when she turned 12. She essentially disappeared. Foster figured she went underground, changed her identity, and must have been pretty intelligent and resourceful to not only stay off the grid for 6 years but to create and operate a business without attracting attention. He had a few questions for her, but overall, Foster thought she'd be a perfect fit for his needs. Someone to service his physical desires, to handle some of his personal chores. And perhaps, if she demonstrated the right potential, some professional tasks. She was reminding Foster of Natalie Portman's character Mathilda in the movie "The Professional." Of legal age, of course. But she had that independent, driven spirit to have made something of herself. Foster spoke over the intercom again. "Come in, boy." He remotely opened the door to the lounge area where he kept a second office, when he wanted to relax but still have access to work. There was a large brown leather sofa that doubled for a bed when he needed a nap. Another desk with a laptop on it. A large TV, refrigerator, microwave oven, sink, and a door that led to a full bathroom. Should Foster need to spend the night, or a few days, he could do so comfortably. He moved from the desk to recline on the sofa. He had changed shoes to a pair of boots. Black 6 inch tactical boots that had sustained a few scuffs. Enough to provide Charlie some work, and a chance for Foster to observe him. Without saying a word, Charlie went straight to Foster and knelt before him, opening his wooden box. He removed his supplies and set them out in an orderly fashion on a cloth, to protect the lush oriental carpet that covered the hardwood floor. He began, as before, soaping the boots clean. Foster began asking a series of casual questions. "So, Charlie, the terms of my offer are still acceptable?" "Yes Sir," Charlie replied quietly. "Very much so." "Do you have any questions for me?" "Not really," he said, focusing on his work. "Not really? That implies you DO have questions." Foster pressed his boot into Charlie's thigh to emphasize the word 'do'. Charlie tried to stifle a gasp. The pressure of the boot on his thigh made him feel warm, and surprisingly aroused. "DO you have questions, boy?" Foster asked again, looking intently at Charlie and his reaction, as he again pressed down in emphasis. Charlie's eyes fluttered and he gripped onto the boot to avoid swooning. "N-n-no...I mean...yes, Sir. I-I have a few." "Good. Because I have a few of my own as well." Charlie mustered strength to control himself, took a deep breath, and finished wiping the soap off. He reached for the polish and began applying it. Foster decided to put a little pressure on the boy, to see how he handled it. "I do not take kindly to lies or deception. In fact, they are the worst sin you can commit in my eyes. And there are repercussions for doing so. So I will ask you one more time: what questions do you have?" Charlie focused intently on his work and spoke, not looking up. "What...umm...how...how will I be servicing you, Sir?" "In whatever way I choose, whenever I choose. I will ensure you will not be injured. I have some rather...unconventional preferences, sexually and otherwise. You will learn them in due time. Have you heard of BDSM, boy?" "Yes...yes, I have, Sir." "So you are familiar with the wide range of activities and fetishes that exist?" "Yes, Sir..." "Good. If you are in service to me, then you are submitting to me. You will obey my orders without question. We will have protocols, instructions you are to follow without me having to tell you each time. For example, when you greet me behind closed doors, you are to be kneeling as you do now. I will stand in front of you and you will rest your face on my cock, as a reminder of your place." "While initially I will give you a safeword, if you are to remain in my service eventually that safeword will disappear. It will do so after you have experienced each of the fetishes or examples of service I have for you." "I may eventually have other tasks for you, tasks not related to your submission or your bootblacking. You might assist me with activities related to my business. That is, if your service in all other areas proves satisfactory. Does that answer your question?" "Yes, Sir," Charlie quietly responded. His eyes, although focused on his work, went wide at the mention of BDSM. It was the one area he felt made sense to him. He felt like it was his place to serve and submit, and BDSM provided a framework for it. He had craved being controlled and of experiencing challenging situations, and when he first learned of BDSM several years ago, he felt like he found the solution to healing from the emotional and sometimes physical trauma he had experienced growing up. He had experimented with a few partners, other boys and girls, but hadn't found anyone who could provide even a fraction of what he sought. Now, Foster was offering a chance to experience at least some of what he craved, of what he needed. There were still a great many unknowns, but Charlie's gut told him that Foster was the right place to start. "What other questions do you have?" "What...what if you don't like me? What happens then?" "Well, I prefer to think of it as if we were not a good match for each other. I would end our arrangement. However, I would provide you with enough resources that you would not have to worry about work or a place to live for a long time." "Oh. Okay, Sir." Charlie finished applying the polish and began buffing the boots with a soft brush. Foster decided to up the pressure, and to test Charlie, mentally and physically. "Now, I have a few questions of my own. As I discussed, honesty and integrity are of upmost importance to me. My life, my work depends on it. So I am going to ask you a series of questions, and put you to a series of tests. If I am satisfied with your responses, consider our arrangement formalized, legally and otherwise. I am as good as my word. I have a security system installed here that is programmed to call 911 and trigger a rapid response if anyone yells the word "help". If the word 'red' is said three times in a row, a red light on the ceiling will turn on and start recording what is occurring in here for the police to use if necessary. Now, I want you to trigger the recording, so you can see that I am telling the truth. Say 'red' three times." Charlie said, "Red, red, red." A red light on the ceiling illuminated. "Just as I said," said Foster. "Do you believe me, with everything I've said?" "Yes, Sir." "Good, now, what is your name?" Charlie tried to act normal, when inside the questions he was dreading seemed to be coming his way. "Charlie, Sir." Foster sat up and slapped Charlie across the face. Not hard, but enough to catch Charlie off guard. He was surprised, a little turned on by the impact that stung his cheek, but also started to become a little concerned. "Bullshit!" said Foster. "Your name, the one you were born with." "It's...it's Charlie, Sir! Charlie Stewart!" Foster slapped Charlie again, twice this time and a little harder. He lifted his boot and placed it against Charlie's chest, pushing him to the floor. He followed Charlie down, mashing his boot against Charlie's stomach, then ground it against his crotch before dropping to a knee next to Charlie's side, with the other knee across Charlie's pelvis, pinning him down. His hands went to the front of Charlie's button down shirt and tore it open, the buttons breaking loose, exposing a simple white bra. He closed one hand around Charlie's neck, squeezing lightly, just enough to hold him in place. His other hand went to the front of the bra and pulled it up, exposing small, barely handful sized breasts capped with pink nipples. "Your...REAL...Name." Foster's hand struck his cheeks on each word, for emphasis. "Sir...I..." Charlie blabbered. Foster reached down and gripped a tit, then firmly pinched and slightly twisted a nipple. "Charlotte!" she squealed, "Charlotte Stewart, Sir!" In an instant, she transformed from Charlie to Charlotte. Foster had been able to do that to her, to direct her sense of herself. "Why did you lie to me, Charlotte?" Foster said, looking directly and intensely into her eyes. She found she could not tear herself away from them. "I didn't, Sir...I...I...unnhhnnnn!!!" Foster slapped the other tit, then squeezed it cruelly at the same moment he tightly gripped her throat. "Explain yourself, young lady!" Foster then released her tit and neck. He tore the cap from her head, releasing Charlotte's long thick red hair. She gasped and then groaned as he grabbed her by the hair and stood up, pulling Charlotte to her knees. He sat back down on the sofa, pulling her over to him, making her knee walk over. He still towered over her as he sat there, legs spread, Charlotte kneeling in between them. He yanked on her hair, pulling her head back so she had to face him. Charlotte's story came tumbling out. "I'm both, Sir! I'm Charlotte and...and Charlie! It's...it's complicated...." Charlotte's eyes began watering. "I've always been this way. A boy and a girl. I mean, I'm a girl, but sometimes I feel like a boy. My parents didn't understand. They hated it when I wanted to be a boy. They said I was confused, and they punished me. They locked me in my room, sometimes for days, until I apologized. So I had to hide him, hide Charlie. And when they went to jail, I had to go live with other families. They didn't understand either. One of them, a preacher and his wife, tried to do an exorcism on me, saying I was possessed by the devil. That's when I ran away." A tear rolled down Charlotte's face, as she continued to tell her story, her voice wavering and a little higher in pitch. Foster's grip relaxed, and he began stroking her hair. "When I got away from them, I was finally free. I could be Charlie when I wanted. I used to hide out in the library. I found storage rooms and little places I could hide when the library was closed, so that's where I stayed. I learned how not to get caught. I got to read lots of books, and learned about how some people have different genders, both male and female. And that seemed like me. I'm not always Charlie. Sometimes I'm Charlotte. And sometimes I'm somewhere in between. It's hard to explain. Most people don't understand, so I keep to myself." The BootBlack Foster was pleased with the response he was getting, and felt like his intuitions about the young one in front of him were correct. He pushed further. "Don't you have a boyfriend? Or is it you have a girlfriend?" "Not now," Charlotte replied. "I mean, I've had boyfriends and girlfriends before. But they usually break up with me when they find out about Charlie...or Charlotte. The only one I had that liked me, all of me, she moved. She was born a boy but wanted to be a girl. Her parents, when they found out about us, they moved to another state and put Sienna into a institution. I tried to find out where, so I could go rescue her. But I couldn't find her." "So you have no one now?" "No, Sir." Another tear rolled down her face and she looked away. Foster slid his thumb across the cheek he had turned red with his palm and wiped it away, gently caressing her face. "Is there anything else you have to tell me, young lady?" "No...Sir...it's just...I mean...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to screw up...it's just...I thought you'd only want me if I was Charlie...only Charlie...." Foster smiled. She...he...was the one. "You'll find that I too, have a gender that is somewhat...fluid. The man you see, or think you see, does have other tendencies. They don't come out often, but in the right circumstance, with the right person, they do. "You are...they do?" Charlotte asked, looking up at him. But let's talk about your concern. Charlotte...Charlie...the offer still stands." "It does?" "Yes, it does. However, I cannot let the fact that you were not initially forthcoming with me go unaddressed. There are punishments and consequences that must be meted out." "Yes...Sir..." Charlotte looked down, ashamed but accepting. Foster stood up, gripping her hair once again, pulling her up against the sofa and bending her over it. He decided to play out the punishment against both of them, Charlotte and Charlie. "Are you willing to accept what's coming to you, young man? Charlie took over from Charlotte. "Yes, Sir." Foster placed his hand on Charlie's back, between his shoulder blades, holding him down. His other hand reached under Charlie and unbuckled his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, then pulled them down to his knees. Charlie had a lace thong on that accentuated his curves. The butt plug remained in place. He took Charlie's belt off, grabbed his wrists and brought them behind his back. Holding them together, he looped the belt around them and cinched them tight. "Well, look at this," said Foster. "You're quite the sissy, aren't you?" "Yes Sir," Charlie meekly replied. "A boy who wants to be a girl. A faggoty little girl." Foster spanked him, making Charlie jump. Not just from the stinging impact, but because part of Foster's hand made contact with the butt plug, pressing it into him. Foster did that intentionally. "Yes, Sir." Whack. "Say it, boy. 'I'm a sissy'." Another handprint marked Charlie's ass. "Uhhnnn...I'm a sissy, Sir!" Charlie whined. "'I like cocks in my ass.' Say it!" "I...like...OOOOH...YOUR cock in my ass, Sir!" Foster smiled, remembering how good it felt to sodomize the young man. He landed a few more blows, massaging his cheeks after each one, before peeling the thong down. Foster could smell Charlotte's scent and see her moisture in the crotch of the thong. He grasped the butt plug and played with it. "Why do you have this plug in your ass, boy?" "To [whack]...remind me [whack] ... of you [whack] ... Sir [whack] ...to keep your cum inside, Sir." Foster released his hand from Charlie's back and with both hands spread his reddened, warmed ass cheeks, pulling them apart and up, revealing Charlotte's bare and wet pussy, the lips just barely parting. "And what do we have here? A cunt!" Foster left one hand spreading Charlotte's cheeks and with the other spread apart her lips, revealing a small wet pink hole and further up, a hard nub of a clit. He played Charlie back into Charlotte. "A cunt. And why is it so wet, young lady?" "Be-because...you make me wet, Sir!" Foster fingered her cunt, sliding one, then two fingers inside to stroke her G-spot, then up to rub her clit, and alternated back and forth, causing moans and gasps as Charlotte writhed bent over the sofa. "And do you know what happens to wet cunts?" "Wh-what, Sir?" she panted. "They get hard cocks inside them, filling them with cum." He pulled his fingers abruptly out of Charlotte, causing a protesting whine. He yanked her up by her hair so she was leaning on her palms, causing her ass to jut out. He reached around and forced his soaking wet fingers into her mouth. Charlotte willingly took them in, moaning as she sucked on them, tonguing her juices off of his fingers. "You like the taste of pussy, don't you, cunt?" Charlotte moaned around his fingers. He withdrew them to slap her face, leaving traces of her secretions on her cheek. "I couldn't understand you!" "God...yes Sir...I do," she moaned. "Excellent," said Foster. "I'll be able to put that to use later." He pushed her back onto the floor and sat back onto the sofa, his boots extended in front of him. "Now, seeing as how you love boots, I am going to watch you polish mine. With your cunt. Rub your cunt on my boots!" Charlotte struggled to get to her knees, wrists still bound behind her back. She shuffled over to his feet, looking at his boots, trying to figure out how to accomplish the task. She spread her knees wider and hobbled forward, straddling one boot. She then spread her knees wider so she lowered down, until her pussy made contact with the toe that she had just recently finished polishing. "Rub." Foster ordered. Charlotte began rotating her hips, keeping her cunt in contact with the toe. She sighed and moaned, the cool leather massaging her lips and clit. Her juices lubricated it well, and she thrust herself on it, riding it, masturbating herself on his boot. She was surprised at how much it turned her on, and little mewing sounds emanated from her. She looked up at Foster and he was wide eyed, obviously turned on by her actions. She closed her eyes and continued to ride, trying hard to keep her balance as her hands and arms were restrained. "Enough," Foster barked, breaking her concentration. "Switch!" Reluctantly, she stopped, raised herself up and shuffled off of it over onto the other boot. She lowered herself down and continued riding, getting wetter. Foster shifted his foot around, increasing the pressure and sensation on her cunt. She gasped and moaned, feeling herself get wetter, her clit harder. It was humiliating, but that served to arouse her even more. She wanted to cum this way and focused on it. To her disappointment, Foster stopped her. "Very good. But you are not permitted to cum yet, young lady. Clean up my boots." Charlotte once again pulled off of him and sat back on her heels, arms and wrists still useless. She tried to figure out how she was going to accomplish this next challenge. "Lick them clean, cunt." Charlotte bent over, shuffling slightly, and began lapping quickly at his boots, just barely dabbing them with her tongue. "Slower. I want to watch," Foster ordered. He wanted to enjoy the visual. Charlotte tossed her head to the side, so he could see her face. She leaned back down again and slowly ran her tongue over the curves of the newly polished boots. She made a show of it for him. The taste was of her pussy, which she did not mind, and the scent of polish made for a heady, almost swooning experience. A new one for her, but she decided she liked it. As she did when she blacked them, she made meticulous work of the task in front of her, cleaning every spot she had soaked with her cunt. When she was finished, she sat back on her heels and looked at Foster. "Are you satisfied with my work, Sir?" Foster said nothing, but pulled her up onto the sofa by her hair and laid her prone. He marveled at what lay before him. With the men's shirt on, even with the curvy ass and long tresses of red hair, the slender body before him could have belonged to a boy. But the scent and pussy lips peeking from between her legs turned that ass into one of a young woman. Either way, he wanted her...and him. He released Charlotte's wrists from the bondage of the belt and flipped her over. He pulled the shirt from her body, and ran his eyes up and down the young woman's frame, salivating at her curves. He straddled her hips and cupped her breasts in his hands. His fingers and thumbs expertly manipulated her nipples, gently rubbing/flicking them back and forth with his fingers and thumbs. She sighed and moaned at his efforts. "Your nipples are sensitive. I like that. Mine are too. And you will service them for me, exactly how I am doing it to you. Treat them like one of your baby dyke girlfriends." Foster then leaned down and took a breast and nipple into his mouth, his tongue and fingers mirroring each others' efforts, then switched back and forth between each breast. Charlotte's back arched slightly at his efforts. He knew how to stimulate them effectively. He stopped and stood up in front of the sofa, in front of her. She got up onto her knees in front of him. She unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off his shoulders and arms, placing it carefully over the back of the sofa. She then leaned forward and did her best to mimic his efforts on her tits, her mouth and hands and fingers at work. Foster groaned and gripped her by the hair, holding her to him, looking down at her. "Yessssss....fuck, you're a natural, you little slut. I'll bet you turned on all your little dyke girlfriends, didn't you, whore?" Charlotte whimpered at his verbal humiliation. Foster moved her head to his other nipple, which she greedily took in her mouth to pleasure him. She loved how it made her feel, to take care of him, to give him pleasure. She felt the energy in him change somewhat. He was still in charge, but the feminine side of him was a little more apparent. He abruptly stopped her and pushed her down to sit on her knees. She looked up at him. "Take off my pants and boots, young lady." She bent over and reached down to unzip his boots. With her ass upturned, he took the opportunity to take a four foot section of quarter inch bamboo rod from the shelf above the sofa and lay some streaks across her ass. She yelped at each stripe, then unbuckled his belt and unzipped and dropped his pants. He dropped the cane and reached down to grip an ass cheek in each hand, firmly. She gasped and moaned. He then grabbed her hair and pulled her up to push her down onto her back. He grasped her upper legs and yanked her to the edge of the bed. His cock stood upright and was rock hard. He pushed her legs back until her thighs touched her tits. It also served to completely expose her pussy and butt plug. He held her legs back with one hand and with the other grabbed his cock. He directed the head at her pussy and then began to rub the head up and down, from her clit through the lips to the bottom of it, and the opening into her vagina. She moaned at his efforts. He then slapped her pussy several times with his cock. "What's this called, nymph?" he demanded. "M-my...cunt," she replied. "Yes, your cunt. And what did I say goes in there?" "Cocks, Sir. And cum. Cocks and cum." "And what is going in there, right now?" "Your cock, Sir. In my cunt." He directed the head to the opening, making circles around it, lubricating it with her juices. He then pressed forward, drawing sighs and moans from her. Her cunt was tight; it had been awhile since anyone (or anything) had filled it. Foster liked a snug fit, and she did not disappoint. He slid into her relatively easy, her slick hot tunnel welcoming his shaft. "Mmmmmmmm...," she moaned. "Fuck, that's good. You're so wet, and tight." He could feel the butt plug through the thin membrane separating her pussy from her ass. He pressed his pelvis up against her, until he bottomed out. He could also just barely sense her cervix, the head brushing up against it. He held her tight against him for a few moments, savoring the pleasure, before beginning a thrusting motion, in and out. She lay there, taking it, letting him use her body. "Rub your clit, young lady," he ordered. She reached down with both hands and placed them on the top of her cunt, one hand spreading the lips the other began rubbing her clit. She began moaning and panting as he fucked her. It had been awhile, and she reveled in the sensations. He knew that their efforts would bring her to orgasm soon. "You are not allowed to cum without permission, understand?" She nodded fervently as her body was rocked back and forth on the sofa. "When you are close and ready to cum, you will say the following: "Permission to cum, Sir?" If I am feeling generous and you have performed satisfactorily, I will grant your request. When you start cumming, you will tell me, out loud, over and over, "I'm cumming, Sir." "Yes...Sir." "When I take you as Charlie, your ass will become your boy "cunt", so if you are Charlie and I refer to your "cunt," know that I am talking about your asshole. Understand?" "Sir...yes...Sir..." Charlotte moaned. He continued fucking Charlotte, leaning over her, his frame outsizing hers. He constantly alternated techniques on her, reaching down and tugging on the butt plug...reaching between them and playing with her tits...occasionally tweaking a nipple to generate a squeak out of her...choking her...slapping her face...gripping her by the hair...all designed to maximize sensations. "Sir...Sir...permission to cum, please!" Charlotte gasped. Foster continued his assault on her body. "Not yet, cunt. I'm not ready for you to." Charlotte whined and moaned, as Foster increased the severity of his efforts. "Please, Sir, PLEASE!" Charlotte begged. Foster loved it when his partners begged, when the desperation set in. "Please, Sir, WHAT, young lady?" "Oh god, PLEASE! Permission to CUM!!!!" she wailed in desperation. Foster felt her pussy swelling, getting wetter, like a damn ready to break, and the warmth of her glove increased. "NOW!!!!" Foster growled. Charlotte exploded. "CUMMING, SIR!!!!" she cried, as she thrashed about underneath him. Foster's own orgasm was approaching, and he kept pounding away. "Fuck, YES!" Foster bellowed, and he came, hard, his cum filling her pussy, mixing with her slickness. He thrust over and over as she convulsed under him, both of them breathing heavily. He lowered himself down on top of her, supporting himself on his elbows, and her head and face were against his chest, her arms wrapping around his torso and legs around his hips. She clung to him tightly, refusing to let go. He let his face rest into her red mane, strewn around above her head. Eventually, he lifted himself up and pulled up off and out of her to sit back on the sofa, next to her. She nestled up against him, both sweating, their breathing starting to return to normal. "Clean me up, young lady." Foster said. Charlotte sat up and slid down onto the floor between his legs. She reached for one of the towels from her wooden box, but Foster stopped her. "No, use your mouth and tongue." She knelt down between his legs and took his cock into her mouth. She sucked on it, like a pacifier, letting her head slide down until his semi-hard cock bottomed out in the back of her throat. She alternated, sucking on him and then pulling her mouth off so she could run her tongue down the shaft, licking his inner thighs, his balls, anywhere a sign of their juices had intermingled on his skin. She was thorough, and ensured no spot was left untouched, until she was certain she got every glistening drop. She then leaned her head against his thigh, eyes closed, wrapping her hands around his other leg to hold him tightly. "Are you sure you're done?" Foster asked. "Yes, Sir," Charlotte replied, "I got every drop," confident and satisfied with her work. Foster smiled and stroked her head, sharing her sentiment. They lay like that for awhile, Sir and his servant. Charlotte was the first to speak. "Thank you, Sir," she said quietly. "For what, Charlotte?" "For trusting me, Sir. For forgiving me. For not getting rid of me." Foster smiled. "You're welcome. But you're not done yet. I am not satisfied that Charlie has learned his lesson." "Yes, Sir," said Charlie. "Assume the position when I fingered Charlotte's cunt, boy." Foster ordered. Charlie knelt again against the sofa, leaning onto it with his elbows, which caused his back to arch slightly, thrusting his feminine ass out. Foster loved his ass, and considered his good fortune that it was his now to own. He reached once again for the bamboo rod. He stood behind Charlie. Holding the end of the cane in one hand, he brought it down right next to Charlie's ass. His other hand took the tip and pulled back slightly, enough to put some tension on it. "Count, boy." Foster ordered, and released the tip, the bamboo thwacking lightly against Charlie's left cheek. Charlie jumped slightly and yelped. "One, Sir." Foster repositioned the cane slightly lower and parallel to the red streak he just left, and repeated what he had just done. "Two, Sir!" said Charlie. Again. "Three, Sir," Charlie moaned. Whack. Whack. "Four, Sir. Five, Sir!" Charlie gasped. Foster switched to the other side and repeated the impacts, making a matching ladder down his ass cheeks. "Six, Sir! Seven, Sir! Eight, Sir! NINE, Sir, TEN SIR!!!!" Charlie gasped. Foster paused, then positioned the cane so it would leave vertical marks, creating a crisscross pattern on each cheek. Charlie struggled not to move, shuddering with each strike and voice beginning to waver as Foster finished. "How many, boy?" Foster asked. "I...I don't know, Sir." Foster's hand came down hard, one time on each cheek, cupping it to make full impact. "TWENTY, SIR!" Charlie yelped. "And how many strikes with the cane?" "Eighteen, Sir!" "That's correct. Eighteen, for the number of years you have been alive. And two spankings, one for being Charlie and one for being Charlotte." Foster massaged Charlie's warm ass, complete with beautiful red welts. "Now, how many more do you deserve, boy?" Charlie's voice wavered. "As...as many as you think I do, Sir." "Good boy. But I have another use for your ass right now," Foster said as he slowly pulled the plug from Charlie's ass. Charlie groaned, disappointed that the full feeling was gone, but realizing that Foster was going to fill it again, hopefully with his cock, he did not complain more than that. "Onto the sofa, boy. Lay prone, legs together." Charlie followed Foster's orders and positioned himself on the sofa, awaiting him. Foster reached into a cabinet next to the sofa and pulled out a small bottle of lubricant, a towel, and several cleaning wipes. He joined Charlie on the sofa, straddling his thighs. He laid the towel and wipes out next to them, opened the bottle of lube and applied it to his cock. He closed the bottle and set it aside. He still had lube on his fingers, so he reached down and stroked them up and down the crack of Charlie's ass. Charlie moaned in response, unconsciously moving his hips slightly up and down. Foster's fingers found Charlie's asshole, and began massaging it. It opened easily to his fingers, relaxed by the plug that had occupied that space. He slid one, then two inside, fingerfucking his ass, causing Charlie to try to thrust back against Foster's hand. Foster removed his fingers, causing a sigh of disappointment, and wiped his hand dry. "Hands on your clit, boy," Foster ordered. Charlie slid his hands underneath him, fingers on his cunt lips and clit, which were both wet. The BootBlack Foster lay over Charlie, straddling him, on his elbows so he wouldn't crush him, but Charlie would feel his weight holding him in place. He reached between them and guided his cock to Charlie's ass. He left the tip pressed slightly against the crinkled hole and then settled back on top of him. One hand went around Charlie's neck, the other gripped him by the hair. "Where's my cock, young man?" Foster asked. "It's on my assho-...on my cunt, Sir," Charlie replied, catching himself to use the correct terminology for his Sir's new hole. "Good, you remembered. And what is your Master going to do now?" "He's going to fuck my cunt, Sir-ohhhhhh." Foster began pressing forward before Charlie could complete his reply. Charlie's ass opened up to receive his cock. It was so ready for him, it almost didn't need any lube. Foster slid all the way inside in one slow, smooth motion. He sighed, remembering how good it felt the first time to embed his cock fully in the boy, and it was even better laying on top of him. Charlie's tiny ass and hips seem to nestle perfectly against Foster's pelvis and inner thighs. Charlie flexed his ass muscles, increasing the sensation, and drawing groans from Foster. "So damn good," Foster exclaimed. Foster began thrusting into Charlie, grinding his pelvis down. Charlie grunted in pleasure with each thrust, rubbing his clit with his fingers. Foster rode him, his much larger body almost totally covering Charlie. Foster's hand closed a little tighter on Charlie's throat, compressing the arteries in his neck. Charlie became ever so slightly dizzy, the warmth washing over his body. Foster's other hand came down to cover Charlie's mouth and nose, seemingly blocking the air from entering or leaving. Charlie's head spun as he struggled to maintain consciousness despite the enhanced pleasure he felt with the air and blood restriction. He tried to breath, and Foster relaxed his fingers a touch, to allow a little air to pass through between. Not enough to take a full breath in or out, but enough that Charlie knew Foster was mindful of his status. Foster increased his thrusting, using the boy's ass for his own pleasure, but also aware that Charlie was getting close to cumming. Charlie's fingers stroked his clit furiously. "Pmmhnnnhmmmm..." "What's that, boy?" "Pmmhnn...mmnnhhnnhhmm!" Foster relaxed his hand on Charlie's face, keeping it there but allowing Charlie to breath and speak. "Permission to cum, Sir!!!!!" said Charlie, gasping. Foster did not make him wait this time. "You may cum, Charlie." Charlie began bucking back against Foster. "Oh Sir...cumming Sir!!!!" Charlie cried. Foster held onto him, keeping him pinned down as the boy convulsed and wailed underneath him. He began thrusting harder, determined to cum himself. He held Charlie tightly and used all of his weight to drive his cock in and out of the boy's ass, finally exploding for the third time, groaning and cursing. The boy continued writhing beneath him, and sucked Foster's fingers into his mouth, caressing them with his tongue as the throes of Foster's orgasm began dissipating. Charlie hummed in contentment. Foster's grinding slowed, as did his breathing, and this time he remained holding the boy, in place, until his cock softened and slid out. After a few moments, he rolled off of Charlie, taking him with him onto their sides so they could spoon. He kept his arms wrapped around Charlie, holding him close. Charlie's hands sought out Fosters, and pinned Foster's hands to his tits, cupping them. Foster smiled as they lay there for a long time. Eventually, Foster released Charlie. The warmth of the strokes on his ass reminded him of his place. Without a word, Charlie slid off the sofa to the floor. He turned to take the sanitary wipes that lay nearby to clean off Foster's cock, then dried it with the towel. After loving Foster's cock with his mouth for a few moments, he stopped to look up at Foster, who gazed down upon the boy. "Are you satisfied with me, Sir?" Charlie asked. "I am, indeed," replied Foster. "Both you and Charlotte," he smiled. Charlie...and Charlotte, turned red, blushing. "Let's get dressed and go," said Foster. "We'll pick up dinner on the way home." Home. For the first time that he could remember, Charlie was looking forward to going to a place called home. ---------------------------------