The Telemachus Story Archive

The Guy on the Stairs
By Hooder

The Guy on the Stairs

The first thing I noticed was his boots. This is not unusual, as boots are almost always the first things I notice. These were beautiful, thick, close-grained leather, as black as midnight, with two straps and buckles on the outside of the calf, at the top. The boots stopped about three inches below his knees. I really, really wanted to lick them.

He’d started to go up the stairs but then he’d stopped to talk to someone he knew, turning slightly to his left. One hand was on the handrail, his legs parted – the left foot on the next step.

Above the boots his black leather jeans were smooth to the knee, then broke into small, tongue-inviting creases. These gradually disappeared further upwards to become mirror-smooth, shiny hide stretched tightly over his thighs. From this angle his arse was round and tight, the shiny leather reflecting the dim coloured lighting of the club. Having started to climb the stairs he was slightly higher than I was, and between the very tops of his tight thighs I could see the back of what had to be a mouth-watering bulge. He was wearing a black, cut-sleeved tee shirt which clung to his slim waist, and he had leather bracelets on his wrists. I wanted this guy very, very badly.

I am ruled by gear. Boots and leather jeans are both overpowering fetishes of mine; my standards vary in inverse proportion to how horny a guy’s boots and jeans are: I’d go with a ninety-year-old goblin if his boots and leather jeans turned me on enough. But this guy was certainly no goblin – he was, as far as I could see, gorgeous. He had black hair, and even from this angle I could see that he was smiling a lot. I just had to lick those boots all the way from the soles to the tops, then the leather jeans from there to his bulge, and feel the whole lot against my bare skin. Failure to do so was not an option. My cock had sprung to full erection in the space of what seemed like two seconds at what was one of the horniest sights I’d seen for a very long time.

The club is labyrinthine, and I did not want to lose this guy. I stayed where I was, watching him like a hawk until he nodded at the guy he was speaking to and continued up the stairs. Then I left my position like a greyhound on the track when those little doors open. By the time he’d got to the top I was right behind him. It took great willpower, let me tell you, not to reach forward and run my fingers over that butt and the backs of those incredible black, shiny thighs and boots. And the boots were making delicious stomping sounds as he walked over the bare floorboards towards the maze.

The maze is a series of lots of short corridors with little rooms dotted about between them. The lighting is dim, and you can easily get lost for a while in it. All the rooms are open, and they’re just big enough for one person – or two if they know each other. My guy walked down to the end of the longest corridor, then turned around and leaned back against the wall. This took me by surprise – I’d expected him to go round the corner – and I was suddenly face to face with him.

He was, if anything, better-looking than I’d thought, but in a different way. From the little I’d been able to see of his face downstairs I’d thought he was cute – but he was not cute. He had a very masculine face, with deep, dark eyes. His mouth was an expressionless line as he looked at me looking at him.

What he saw was a boy in a white tee shirt, tight ripped Levis, and combat boots, whose eyes were darting from his leather jeans to his boots and back again, unable to decide which was more horny. I suspect my tongue was also hanging out, but I’m not sure.

A corner of his mouth lifted at what must have been obvious worship. His voice eventually penetrated my hormone-addled brain.

“I said ‘hello’”. He snapped his fingers in front of my face.

I looked up, startled.

“Earth calling boy,” he said. He was smiling properly now.

“Oh.” I had no idea what to say. My speech centres seemed to have been paralysed. “Erm… Hi.”

He placed his right foot flat against the wall behind him, and my eyes were instantly back on his jeans and boots. The slight shift of position had had the effect of tightening the black leather over his thigh even more, and made his huge round bulge stick out further. If I had been capable of movement I would have fallen to my knees and licked every square inch of him.

“For some strange reason I get the feeling that you’re into gear,” he said. “Is it the boots, or the jeans?”


He chuckled. “You’re cute. Do you wanna come back to my place?”

I nodded. A lot.

* * *

He threw his car keys onto the table by the door and led the way into the bedroom. “Strip,” he said.

It is very difficult to get your clothes off quickly when you’re not even through the doorway and your eyes are glued to an object of extreme desire, but I managed it somehow, even though the lace of my left combat boot had got itself tied into a knot which would take some time to sort out later. I stood before him, naked.

He looked me up and down. “Nice body. Kneel down.”

I fell to my knees, my hard cock sticking out in front of me.

“So, tell me, what turns you on about me the most?”

I swallowed. “Everything. You’re fucking sexy. You’re gorgeous. But those boots and those leather jeans...” I think I was salivating.

“What would you want to do with them?”

“Lick them. Run my fingers over them. All of them. Every bit of them. Cum on them...”

“You don’t want to wear leather yourself?”

“No! I need to feel those boots and those jeans against my skin… You have no idea what they’re doing to me.”

The corner of his mouth lifted again. “Ok. What is it about them that turns you on so much?”

This was more difficult. “I’ve got an intense fetish for boots, and for leather jeans. Tight, shiny black leather. And those are the tightest, shiniest black leather jeans I’ve ever seen. And those boots are… unbelievable.”

He got some handcuffs and fastened my wrists behind my back, then stood in front of me, closer than before, with his thumbs hooked in his belt. I ran my eyes over his boots and up the tight, muscular thighs to his bulging crotch, and back again.

“Put your tongue out.”

I did so.

“Now, I want you to touch the tip of your tongue to the toe of my left boot. Just touch it. Do not lick it.”

An electric jolt ran through me as it made contact.

“Good. Now the right.”

I transferred my tongue to the other boot.

“Excellent. You can put your tongue away now. Rub your face over my boots.”

He parted his feet more so that I could get my head between them. The feel of the leather against my skin almost made me cum right there and then. I slid my cheeks up the long leather calves, breathing in the heavenly scent of leather and polish. I nuzzled into the insteps, rubbed the tip of my nose along the shiny leather upper. I could have carried on doing that for a very, very long time. Just the smell of those boots was having more effect on me than poppers.

“Lie down, face up, feet apart.”

I dragged my face away from them and did as he said. The view from here, looking up at that leather god standing over me was amazing. He lifted a booted foot and slowly pressed the sole down onto my neck. He pushed more and more firmly – and I began to choke. He lifted the boot slightly until I’d recovered, then repeated the process.

He stood looking down at me. “How good is your self-control? If I let you run your hands over my boots and jeans, could you stop yourself from cumming?”

I thought about this. “I think so. It usually takes a bit of pumping to make me shoot. But with you, I’m not so sure.”

He stood astride me, and closed his feet together until my head was clamped between the boots. My eyes travelled up the insides of his thighs to the cock bulge hanging over me like the sword of Damocles. From this angle it looked enormous. He ran his fingers teasingly up and down his thighs. “You want to lick these jeans?”

“Oh fuck yes. Please.”

“But you haven’t licked my boots yet.” He put one foot on my chest, grinding it into a nipple. “Lick it.”

I strained my head forward to reach it. It took all of my strength just to touch the tip of my tongue again onto the black leather. But this time I licked it.

He laughed at my efforts, removed the foot and stood at my side. “Ok, lick them.”

I turned, pushing myself up onto my elbow, and licked those boots. There were thick creases at the sides and I got my tongue into every one. The leather smelled and felt wonderful. I pushed myself up a bit further and took the top buckles into my mouth – first one and then the other - licking the strap and the metal, then got my head to the backs and licked my way down the boots from the tops to the very bottoms. By the time he stopped me, every inch of the boots was wet.

He looked at them. “Not bad.” He went over to the bed and lay down on his back, one leg straight and the other bent at the knee. “Come and stand here.” He indicated the side of the bed.

“I want you to look at my jeans very carefully.” He was slowly running his fingers over his thighs. “Imagine what the leather would feel like. Imagine what it would smell like. Imagine this is your hand, your fingers feeling these tight, black leather jeans. Stroking up the tops of my thighs, the outsides, underneath. Imagine running them slowly up the insides to my bulge...” His fingertips mirrored his words exactly. “Imagine your face pushed into my crotch, licking this bulge...” His hard cock was clear under the shiny leather, laying along the top of his right thigh. “…Licking your tongue along the bulge of my cock, licking my leather balls through these jeans. Imagine not being able to breathe because I was pushing your face so hard into the black leather...”

I made a kind of whimpering noise, I think. I was desperate to touch those jeans.

“Turn round.”

He removed the handcuffs. “Now listen very closely. I do not want you to cum. Ok? Do you think you can manage that?”

I honestly didn’t know. This guy had got me more horny than I’d been for a very long time. “I think so.”

“You had better.”

I swallowed, and nodded.

“Ok. Good. Now, you can feel my jeans and boots.”

I knelt between his legs and let myself go. My hands were everywhere. I didn’t know whether I wanted to feel his thighs or his boots or his bulge most urgently and so I was trying for all of them at once.

“Stop! You’ll explode if you carry on like that. Ok. Just my boots. Do what you want. But don’t cum.”

I was close already but I thought I could control myself. One by one I took his booted feet in my hands, pressed my face into the leather and licked it. I worshipped those boots.

“Enough,” he said at last. “Jeans now. Not my bulge. Don’t touch it.”

I devoured his tight-jeaned legs. I lay down and rubbed my body against the shiny black leather, licked it, stroked it, pushed it into my face. I did this for a long time.

“Ok,” he said, “Work on my bulge now.”

I moved up the bed a little and began to worship his bulge. My tongue buried itself in the creases at its sides, licked over the round bulge of his balls below the more defined one of his cock, and finally got to the cock itself. I used my teeth gently as well now, scratching them lightly over the head. I could feel his boots and his jeans against my bare legs and my cock, and I had to stop several times when I felt myself getting dangerously close.

He was moaning quietly in pleasure.

Eventually he sat up. “Ok. Now decide: which do you want me to use to make you cum – my boots, my jeans, or my bulge?”

I stared at all three – totally unable to make that decision. “I – I – I -”

He shook his head. “Well, if you can’t decide, I will.” He turned around on the bed so that his head was by my feet, put a booted leg over me, flat against my stomach, pushed my hard cock into the back of the knee, and brought his foot up, squeezing my cock in the folds and creases of the leather behind his knee. Then he put the other boot over my face. “Fuck my jeans,” he said.

I didn’t need telling twice. I humped my pelvis and fucked those black leather jeans while I licked and worshipped the boot over my face with my hands and tongue.

I squeezed my eyes shut and yelled into the boot as I came and came and came.

When it was over I was gasping. “Oh fuck! Thank you,” I panted.

He ruffled my hair.

I lay on the bed exhausted for a while, and then he got up. “Beer?” He asked.

“Oh yes please.”

That had been amazing. I’d never cum in a guy’s knee before.

When he returned with the beer my cock started to get hard again as soon as I saw him.

He noticed, and smiled as he lay on the bed next to me and handed me a bottle. He put a booted foot over mine and I squeezed his leather-jeaned leg between my bare thighs. It felt wonderful.

After a while I said, “You haven’t cum.”

“Oh I know I haven’t cum. But I intend to.” He took a swig of beer. “Kneel down on the floor at the bottom of the bed.”

He got off as well, took some rope and tied my hands behind my back, then my ankles together, and finally my wrists to my ankles. A kind of hog-tie. Then he parted my knees further and attached a spreader bar between them.

Still taking the occasional swig from the bottle, he sat on the end of the bed looking at me.

He was beautiful. I mean, apart from his jeans and boots which were still driving me crazy (my cock was rock-hard again), he was gorgeous. I usually go for cute boys, but this guy was something else. Masculinity oozed out of him and he looked like he’d been poured into that leather gear. The sleeves of his black tee shirt were cut off and showed a single Celtic tattoo around his left biceps, and the tee was so tight I could even see the outline of a six-pack under it. The plain black leather belt enclosed a firm, slim waist. From here his eyes seemed as black as his tee shirt, and a constant half-smile played on his lips.

He lifted his right foot and placed it on my cock. Then he began to press. My cock and balls were being squashed under the sole of the boot, and the edge of the sole scraped my inner thighs. He took another pull from the bottle and pressed harder.

It was beginning to hurt like hell. I looked down. There was a black leather boot crushing my cock and balls and I couldn’t move to get away from it. But I realised that I didn’t want to get away from it. It felt wonderful. I desperately wanted to squeeze the heel of the boot between my thighs but the spreader bar stopped me from closing my legs together. I was just thinking that I wasn’t far from cumming again when he lifted the foot off.

He stretched his other foot forward and pushed it under my perineum, moving the toe from side to side, getting between my arse cheeks and massaging my hole. Then the first boot returned. Now my cock and balls were trapped between both boots. I could feel the cool leather on the bottom of my balls, and the mounting pressure from the one above. I moved my gaze up, along the insides of his legs, his thighs, to the bulge between them. It was far larger than before: the black leather was stretching and straining over the rigid cock under it.

And as my face registered more and more pain from the crushing, his bulge got bigger still.

I was on the edge of screaming – when I came again. Pearly white spunk shot out of my cock and ran down my abs.

At the same time he closed his eyes, put his head back, and I saw his leather bulge throbbing as he came in his jeans. His hands were nowhere near it.

He didn’t reduce the crushing pressure immediately, but sat there looking at me, smiling quietly, the beer bottle still in his hand.

The pain was getting more than I could stand now I’d cum, and I was again on the point of yelling for him to stop, when he took his boot off me.

I breathed in relief.

He unzipped his jeans, removed a full condom from his cock, and handed it to me.“A memento,” he said.

I’ve seen him many times since that night. He likes to use his leather jeans to tease me insane; he likes to fuck me; he likes to torture my nipples.

But most of all he likes to hurt me with his boots.

And I love it.