BLACK BOOT COVE 2
JON
by hiprubberboots@hotmail.com

Jon was very proud of himself.  At age 32 he was chief of one of the four Black Boot Cove fire 
stations.  He had sixteen guys working for him and he loved each one dearly.  Today he was 
beginning the interview process to bring a new dude into the firemen's fold.  A young stud 
named Pete.  Twenty years old, tall, built and handsome, he was a man who turned heads 
everywhere he went.  And Pete wanted to work for Jon.

Jon leaned back in his chair and propped his size 12 rubber hip boots up on the desk.  He 
crossed his legs at the ankles, and the rubber squeaked loudly.  He ran his hands lovingly up 
and down his wadered legs, and his blood made a quick journey to his groin, and his cock 
began to swell very pleasantly.  Even though he had been wearing rubber hip boots 
exclusively since he was 10, the reaction to them was always the same.  Intense and 
immediate, hard and horny every time he saw, felt, smelled, heard, or tasted them.  He hoped 
that never changed, for nothing was dearer to Jon than his rubber hip boots.  He stared 
hungrily at the yellow toed rubber boots that trapped his feet and kept them constantly hot 
and sweating and rubbed his prick gently so he could appreciate them all the more. Jon had 
been overjoyed when he had heard about the rubber boot laws and had in fact worked hard to 
help get them implemented.

Pete was the son and grandson of fishermen and he too wore the required rubber hip boots 
long before the rubber boot laws took effect.  He had been one of those boys who loved to 
hang around the firehouse and always seemed so thrilled with the trucks and the equipment. 
Jon had been a new recruit himself when Pete had started hanging around and he had grown 
quite fond of the enthusiastic kid who would come running in after school to help shine the 
trucks and clean the rubber boots of the firemen.  At that time some of the firemen left their 
boots sitting empty at the bottom of the pole although Jon and several others wore them all 
the time so as to be ready for emergencies.  Now, thankfully, the rubber boot laws made sure 
that all of the rubber hip boots were firmly secured onto the fire guys' feet and legs. Jon had 
continued to have a warm regard for Pete throughout the years and had been so happy to 
hear that he wanted to be a fireman too.  He would keep him waiting, though, for awhile yet.  
From this point on, nothing would be easy for the new guy.

Jon was always looking for ways to bond his men together.  The demographics for his 
workers was no different than that of the community as a whole.  Only 25% of the men were 
married or involved with a woman.  The remaining guys were single either by choice or by 
lack of females, but the results were the same.  They would find companionship and pleasure 
with each other.  Breaking in a new recruit was just the thing to bring the guys closer.  Several 
of them lived permanently at the firehouse as Jon himself had done since joining.  Even now, 
as chief, he still shared a room with three other guys.  And they all were quite happy and 
willing to keep their pals satisfied.  A typical evening at the firehouse saw much grinding and 
grunting and creaking of rubber waders.  More than once on hearing the fire alarm, the guys 
had run out while still stuffing dripping cocks under their rubber coats.  Jon grinned as he 
thought about it.  Well, he'd kept the boy waiting for a half hour.  Perhaps he should begin.
 
He clomped over to the door making sure, as he always did, that his waders made as much 
noise as possible.  "Come in Pete," he bellowed, and Pete grinned as he saw Jon's cock 
tenting out his jeans.  After a few preliminaries and some form filling while they sat side by 
side at the table, Jon had Pete position himself on the floor at his feet.  He informed him that 
he would begin a training period that would last a minimum of two years, but could go on 
much longer if no positions were open.  Only when a position actually opened up would Pete 
know if he was to be hired or not.  In the meantime, he would get room and board and be 
supplied with all that he needed, but he could not leave the firehouse.  He would serve and 
service all the regular guys and any others who visited from the other fire houses.  He would 
be on duty 24/7 and would share the beds of the other guys on a rotating basis-a week with 
each one.  He would be disciplined severely with strap and paddle and would take it all in 
good humor "like a man," for a fireman needed to be tough and able to bear pain.  When not 
doing other duties, he would remain at the hip rubber boots of the guy he was bedding down 
with, making sure his mouth was always on the rubber.

Jon would be his first bedmate, and so Pete was instructed to begin cleaning his boots.  He 
went at it with great enthusiasm and he worked his tongue into every crevice of those heavy 
gnarled soles, then worked up the shiny shafts and over the top of the foot and up to the strip 
of yellow at the tops, which rubbed against Jon's cock and balls.

When he had completed this task, Jon had him stand.  Now the thing Jon had most been 
waiting for.  He took a heavy rubber strap from his desk and had Pete hold out his hands.
  
"You're familiar with this I expect," Jon asked him.

"Oh yes, Sir," Pete replied.  "I got it all the time in school.  One thing I can do, Sir, is take the 
strap."

And take it he did.  Jon laid it on as hard as he could swing, and Pete's hands quickly turned 
red and began to swell.  Pete was a pro, and he took it without sound or flinch.  Jon knew it 
hurt fantastically-he was proud of the way he could strap-and he was very proud of the way 
his new boy bore the pain in silence.  In fact, it spurred him on to smack even harder and 
longer, taking Pete to the very edge of what he could bear, but bear it he did, for he knew that 
any sign of weakness would have him out on the street immediately.  Men in Black Boot Cove 
were tough; firemen in Black Boot Cove were especially tough.

When the strapping finally ended, Jon put Pete in a pair of sturdy steel handcuffs-hands in 
front of him so he could still use them-and Pete went back down to work on his boots.  With 
Pete licking and sucking on his big black waders, Jon proceeded to deal with the rest of his 
day's work, meeting with his men, strapping those who needed it-he made sure there were at 
least two or three everyday-and getting through the pile of paper on his desk.  Pete never 
ceased to lick and slurp on those waders.  Jon was impressed with this kid and figured it was 
time for him to put that mouth to use elsewhere.  He told Pete to open Jon's fly with his teeth 
and to extricate his hard prick from his pants.  Then he commanded him to make his prick 
happy for the next hour without letting him cum.

He found that Pete had some expertise in this area as well, and Jon leaned back and enjoyed 
Pete's ministrations.  Alas, he was five minutes short of the hour when Jon's spunk exploded 
all over his face, and so Pete would be punished once again.  After cleaning him carefully with 
his tongue and placing his dick back in his pants and closing his zipper again with his teeth, 
Pete was sent to the kitchen to help prepare dinner.  After the men had all eaten, Pete would 
be laid across the table, and all the guys would have a turn at applying the wooden paddle to 
his upturned ass.  Pete nodded solemnly as he heard his fate and hurried off to help the cook.
Less familiar with the wooden paddle, Pete was nonetheless quite prepared to take it in good 
form no matter how much it hurt.  He served the fire guys their supper and cleaned off the 
table while his stomach tied itself in knots and the sweat poured down his rubber boots and 
collected at his feet.  He nearly dropped things several times since he wasn't used to being 
handcuffed.  Finally, the table was clear, and his punishment would begin.
 
The guys were all standing around the table, and Pete had never seen such a beautiful sight.  
So many fit, muscular men, some without shirts, some in T-shirts, all in glistening shiny black 
rubber hip boots.  Pete could smell their rubber boots and noted how each pair smelled a bit 
different, taking on the scent of the man wearing them as well as giving off the rubber smell.  
As he approached the table, six guys grabbed him and laid him face down on the flat surface, 
hands pulled above his head and feet spread apart.  With one man holding each ankle very 
tightly and another holding his hands, Jon picked up the wooden paddle and announced that 
as Pete had failed to perform a service he had been assigned, he was to be paddled.  Jon 
himself would lay down the first ten, then each of the other eight guys would apply five more.  
Pete felt a wave of fear flow over him-he didn't know if he could take fifty swats.  And not only 
that, Jon was pulling Pete's jeans and jockeys down.  The paddle would be landing on his 
bare ass.  Another guy, Sean, put a blanket under his crotch, so that it wouldn't pound into the 
hard wood, and Brett jumped up on the table and stuck his big rubber booted foot at Pete's 
face.  "Suck this, boy," he said.  "It'll help you to keep control."  Pete gratefully stuffed that 
beautiful black and yellow booted foot in his mouth and sucked for all he was worth.
Brett was right: he was sucking very hard when the first swat landed, and it stopped Pete from 
yelling out loud.  Fuck, that hurt-BAD!  His ass was on fire and one swat was enough.  He 
couldn't take another forty-nine.  But take them, he must.  His feet and hands were held fast, 
and all the guys were watching and admiring his nice tight butt.

Down came the paddle again and again; the burst of pain made him want to cry out.  He kept 
that boot stuffed in his mouth and endured.  The fire guys were very appreciative of his great 
ass and applauded as it turned bright red.  Several of them hollered that they wanted a piece 
of that when he was finished.  On and on the paddling went as one after the other of the guys 
took their turn.  Brett's boot was removed and replaced with Al's.  Just as tasty, although 
slightly smaller.  Then Jack's and finally Jon's very own.  Different hands grabbed his ankles 
and hands, different hands wielded the paddle, but the pain was the same-sharp and 
relentless.  Pete hung on almost in a daze-the only reality was the searing, burning pain that 
seemed to course through his whole body and seemed to go on forever.

Finally the smacking stopped, although his ass could hardly tell-it kept throbbing and stinging 
and burning.  And then came the fucking.  One after another the men mounted the table and 
slid their hard pricks up Pete's brutalized ass.  What would, in normal circumstances, have 
been very pleasurable, now just added to his torment-internal pain to add to the external 
pain.  Load after load was deposited as those hard pricks kept thrusting and banging against 
his ass.  Finally it was over and he was helped up.  The cum was dripping down his legs, but 
the guys just pulled up his jeans and helped him over to the floor where he lay at Jon's feet 
and with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, he continued to lick the man's big rubber 
hip boots, until it was time for bed.

At bedtime Pete crawled into Jon's narrow cot and was positioned in the opposite direction so 
that his feet were in Jon's face and vice versa.  He slid his handcuffed arms up over Jon's feet 
and booted legs so that it would help him hang on and not fall out of bed.  He was to use 
Jon's rubber hip boots as his pillow, and Jon very eagerly did the same with Pete's, gently 
caressing the hot rubber until he drifted off to sleep.  Pete, on the other hand, lay awake much 
of the night, his ass still on fire and his cock perversely hard.  And of course he must not 
touch it or there'd be more hell to pay.

The alarm went off at 6 a.m., and Pete had to go immediately to the kitchen to cook breakfast, 
again making a mess with those eggs as he struggled against his handcuffs.  When the fire 
guys had finished eating, Pete was once again brought in, and Jon took the rubber strap to 
his hands again for being so clumsy.  This time, though, he allowed Chris, who was next in 
line to mentor Pete, to take Pete's cock in his mouth and provide some pleasure to go along 
with his pain.  Chris eagerly knelt on Pete's rubber booted feet and did a number on his cock 
that almost made him gasp.  Not quite, though, for at the same time Jon was pummeling that 
strap down across his hands, which were still sore from yesterday's strapping.  Chris was 
very good at what he was doing and kept Pete from cumming for quite awhile.  Pete was 
ready to scream from needing to cum and from the pain when he finally erupted down Chris' 
throat.  Relief for his cock, but not for his hands as the strap kept smacking, and now the pain 
was without any corresponding pleasure.  It was now absolute agony, but Pete drew on his 
inner manly strength and somehow kept still and quiet and dignified.  No matter what these 
guys threw at him, Pete was determined to become a fireman in Black Boot Cove.

When it was done and just before Pete once more fell at Jon's rubber booted feet, Chris put 
his arm around his shoulder and gave him a big grin.  "You're doing great dude.  You're 
gonna love being a fire guy.  And next week, it's my bed you'll be sharing and my boots you'll 
be licking.  Dude, we're gonna have a great time."  Pete, hurting but satisfied, dropped again 
to his knees and went to work on Jon's big smelly hip rubber boots.  He could see Chris' 
boots out of the corner of his eye, and as he was standing close to Jon, he could discern that 
Chris' feet were even bigger than Jon's.  He couldn't help grinning.  Yes, he was going to 
enjoy being a fire guy, and as he thought of all the hip boots he'd be licking and all the 
beatings he had yet to take, his cock began to harden once again.  He hoped it would take 
much longer than the two years for his training to be completed.