tagFetishVictorian Boots

Victorian Boots


He called me on my land line and said "I'm coming over to get my boots. Tonight at 8 PM. And I want my costume cleaned and pressed and laid out on a chair." And then he hung up. My heart was pounding. But I did not know what to do - I hadn't spoken to G in a month and the last time we had spoken it was a bitter argument. He had the nerve to try to scold me - he felt that I had done an unsatisfactory job as a producer. I just couldn't believe it. He was an actor - the leading man yes, but still, an actor and my employee. How dare he?

And the scolding was completely unexpected. He was normally a sweet person, cooperative, even easy-going. Was it his role that turned him into such a bossy bastard? The play we were doing was a period piece - set in early Victorian England - based on a story by Jane Austen. The role called for him to be haughty, arrogant, the lord of the manor, the cock of the rock. He drove me wild with desire when he was in character, strutting around on stage in those wonderful Victorian clothes - tight pants, form-fitting red jacket, white shirt with ruffles. And those black knee-high riding boots. I used to be filled with sexual tension every night watching him own the stage.

During the run of the show I couldn't reveal my attraction to him for fear I could be accused of sexual harrassment. But he had some inkling of my desires. At one point during the rehearsal period he offered to go on stage wearing nothing but his boots.

He was a bit of a diva. I've heard you're supposed to say "divo" for a man, but that doesn't sound right. It makes me think too much of "Are we not men? We are DEVO" as in that punk band from the early 1980s. So I will call him a diva. Everything had to be just perfect in his dressing room - his hair products and makeup laid out neatly, his costume hung up, just so, in the same spot every night. The trash cans had to be emptied out at the end of the night and God forbid if he found a stray empty water bottle when he came in before the evening's performance. I finally got wind of his complaints by the last evening of the production. According to the stage crew he would go on every night about my supposed "carelessness." I was furious that he was talking trash about me behind my back when I thought we were such good friends.

Things came to a head at the cast party. And the fact that he was flirting with one of the actresses in the cast when I entered the restaurant did not help. I asked the actress if we could have a moment, and I confronted him. Not only did he not deny he had been complaining, he stood there, arms folded and began listing everything he thought I had done wrong. I wasn't going to stand there and take that. I told him to fuck himself and then I stormed out of the restaurant. He followed me yelling "what about my boots?"

His precious boots. In my infatuation with him, I saw to it that no expense was spared for his costume, and I had bought him the fanciest black leather riding boots available, for perfect historical accuracy. He loved his boots - he had a special place of honor for them in his dressing room. And I had hinted that I would give him those boots at the end of the production. But at the moment he asked "what about my boots?" I was livid. I said "Your boots? You mean MY boots, don't you? The production company paid for them. You want them, you can pay the production company."

"You know I can't afford that!" he yelled.

Like most New York actors, he lived hand to mouth and couldn't afford luxuries. I knew that. "Too fucking bad" I said. "You fucking diva!" And that was the last time we spoke. Until the phone call.

What was he up to? Did he think he could just come to my house and command me to hand over his boots? What would I do when I saw him? I had been fantasizing about him in the past month. There was something about the way he stood there, arms folded, reprimanding me like he was my lord and master that really aroused me, to my shame and chagrin. To see him in person would be almost too much. Was he interested in me, sexually? Why else would he come to see me himself?

I shivered with excitement as I showered, shaved my legs, armpits, pussy; as I dressed in my most cleavage-revealing top and tightest skirt and my high-heeled boots. At 8:05 my doorbell rang. There he was. My heart fluttered to see him again, and when I opened the door, he broke into a grin in spite of trying to look stern. But in a moment the smile was gone.

"Are you gonna let me in?"

"Come in" I said, unable to say anything else at the moment, I was so thrilled to be in his presence.

We entered the living room and I had his costume laid out on a wooden chair. Next to the chair stood his boots.

"Do you have anything to drink?"

I had bought his favorite red wine that very day for him. I fetched him a glass of wine.

He took a sip and said: "turn around."


"Do as I tell you."

I thrilled at his commanding tone. He was in cock-of-the-rock mode. I turned around. I heard him changing into his costume and when he allowed me to turn back, voila there he stood in all his glory in early-Victorian period costume, jacket, boots and everything.

"Be still my heart." I said, pressing my hands to my heart.

He sat down on the chair with his legs spread, and I could see a bulge in his tight white breeches.

"Julia, kneel down, right there" he said, pointing to a spot three feet from the front of the chair.



I kneeled.

He sat there staring at me for a long moment, until I became flustered and looked away. What was he doing? Was he crazy?

"Look at my boots."

I looked at his boots.

"Look how scuffed they are."

There were definite scuff marks on the boots.

"They were like this the entire last week of the show. What do you a have to say about that?"

"If it bothered you, why didn't you say anything?"

"It was YOUR JOB as the producer to notice such things. Don't you have any pride?"

"I... but.." for once I didn't know what to say. Maybe he was right. Maybe I should have been looking out for such things. My face flushed.

"You had me going out on stage every night in scuffed boots. How do you think that made me feel?


"You're damn right bad. Embarrassed. Humiliated. And it was all your fault. What kind of producer are you?"

That hurt. I liked to think I took pride in my work.

"And what about the grape juice on the stage?"

"What grape juice?"

"What grape juice. Why am I not surprised you're asking me that?"

We used grape juice in place of wine during the dinner scene.

"Every night there was a little grape juice spilled on the stage."

"But why didn't you say -"

"Again, Julia, it should have been your job to notice such things. If you couldn't hire people to make sure the stage was cleaned, you should have been there yourself, on your hands and knees every night, scrubbing the stage."

This was humiliating, kneeling in front of this actor being scolded. And yet I was wet and I was accutely aware of my hard nipples pressed against the inside of my bra.

And he was getting to me. Maybe I should have been more careful. He could see that I was unsure now, doubting myself. He then proceeded to give me a litany of everything I did wrong. One night the trash cans in the dressing room were half full. Another night he couldn't find his hand lotion. Another night there as a big wrinkle in his breeches. He went on and on and I whimpered "sorry, I'm so sorry" and he said "you should - you are a disgrace as a producer" and the tears welled in my eyes.

But he still went on. He went back to his boots. How important they were to his character, and how hard it was for him to act like a wealthy upperclass man with scuffed up boots. When he was done I was sobbing in shame and regret, my face in my hands. He let me kneel there sobbing for several minutes. When I looked up, he was holding a handerchief out to me, a smirk on his face, and the bulge in his pants more prominent than before. I blew my nose and sniffled.

"Come on, turn off the waterworks" he said with a crooked smile, feeling kindlier now that he had made his point and I had conceded his point by crying in shame. He stood up with his arms opened wide.

"Come here" he said.

Gratefully, I stood up and fell into his arms, my face pressed into his shoulder.

"There there, that's enough crying for now. I know you're sorry. You'll do a better job for our next production, won't you?"

I nodded fervently.

He really seemed to enjoy playing the benevolent daddy. I was in heaven, being held in his arms. I remembered his wonderful scent, a mixture of sweet fabric softener and masculinity. And at that moment I felt safe and warm and loved and forgiven and clean and pure. We were friends again. But not so fast.

He pushed me away and sat down on the wooden chair again. From this angle I could clearly see his erection straining against the front of his breeches. I had seen hints of his member before, just tantalizing hints, but here was full blown proof of his lustful maleness. I was almost paralyzed with desire.

"Apologize to my boots."


"Kneel down, kiss each boot on the toe, and tell it you're sorry."

It was the weirdest thing anybody had ever asked me to do, but I did it without argument. It was such a random, submissive thing to do that it excited me unbearably. I kissed each boot tip tenderly, and whispered sincerely "I'm so sorry." When I was done, I looked up at him in adoration.

He smiled down at me. He has one of the sweetest smiles in the world.

"Here's what we're going to do. The next time you produce this play, and of course I will play the lead role again, you are going to be my personal boot girl. One half hour before every performance, you will come to my dressing room - my perfectly clean, trash-free dressing room - right?"


"And I will be wearing the boots. I will put my feet up on a stool and you will polish my boots for me. I'll teach you exactly how you should do it - it's a four-step process, but once you get the hang of it, it shouldn't take you more than fifteen minutes."

Being told I would be his boot girl made me dripping wet. Everybody involved in the production would see me, the producer, humble myself before an actor. Would they still respect me? Would I care? Nothing in the world would make me happier than being G's boot girl. I would belong to him completely, without question.

He stood up, held me in his arms again. I could feel his hardness against me. He took me by the chin and made me look him in the eyes.

"You would like that, wouldn't you? To be my boot girl."

That bastard, he was flaunting his mastery over me.

"Yes." I said, drawing my breath in sharply .

He kissed me, long and slow, and when his tongue entered my mouth I almost climaxed. He led me into my bedroom. I sat on the bed and watched, enthralled, as he stripped for me. First taking off the red jacket, and then pulling down the suspenders holding up his breeches. Off came the white ruffly shirt and I finally saw his chest. I had been teased with the sight of his chest hair a few times during rehearsal, peeking from the top of his t-shirt and now here was his entire chest exposed for me. I had never been especially interested in chest hair before, but because it was his chest hair it was the most erotic sight I had ever seen. I was panting with lust by now as he carefully laid his shirt over a chair and slowly pulled his breeches down to mid-thigh. And there was his magnificent stiff member bobbing slightly as it was released from the tight pants.

I was so focused on his disrobing that I had forgotten to take my clothing off, and I was too excited for that now. He crawled towards me on the bed and I spread my legs for him. I was wearing stockings and a garter belt without panties. In a half second he was on me and with a flick of his hips he was in me.

"Oh my darling!" I cried.

"Julia! He said in his husky baritone. He moaned softly as he thrust into me. I was so excited I was almost numb. The dream I had for six months was finally coming true. As he unloaded the contents of his precious testicles into my pussy, I cried in happiness, and he moaned loudly in bliss. He collapsed onto me and lay there. The feeling of being pinned down by the man I most desired, his cock still firmly lodged in my vagina, finally caused me to have an orgasm, which seemed to go on forever. When I was done, and sighed, I heard him chuckle softly. Then he kissed me, rolled off me. We took all our clothing off and lie together naked.

We fell asleep holding each other, his boots standing at attention by the bed.

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