A guy’s feet, boots and ball-busting. They’ve been a natural combination that have turned
me on ever since I was a kid. I was lucky enough to grow up in a rural area where a lot of
the boys in my school wore cowboy boots, or ocassionally harness boots. I remember that
a lot of these guys also took perverse pleasure in “using” them. I would feel an
unexplained tingling in my adolescent groin whenever I would hear one of them regailing
their friends with fight stories that would include “…and then I nailed him right in the
NUTS with my BOOTS.” There would often be a wicked smile on their face as they
emphasized the words “nuts” and “boots”, and if I was lucky, they would lift their boot up
and rock it at the ankle and maybe flex their toes, to display their weapon of choice. The
story would continue with something like “…and he was on the ground screamin’, and I
was laughing.” I can’t explain it, as someone who is a peacenik at heart, but that kind of
sadistic, male-on-male cruelty, when you UNDERSTAND the pain you are inflicting, is a
One buddy of mine, Brian, was particularly well known for this kind of behavior. I thought
Brian was hot before I was even really old enough to understand the concept. Even though
his family had plenty of money, he almost always wore harness boots that were hand-me-
downs from his older brother. They were always well-worn and totally hot by the time he
was wearing them. He confided in me when we were twelve or thirteen that he loved to
kick guys in the balls. Brian’s favorite addition to busting a guy would be to get his
opponent on the ground, and grab him by the feet and start mercilessly gas-pedalling
him. He called this the “wiggle and scream” technique. He would start by placing the toe of
his boot-sole over the victims bulge. As he pushed his foot down, it would usually get a
moan, and he would prod a few times like he was pumping the brakes. Then he’d stop
pumping, and push down on the ball of his foot with all his weight, saying gleefully
“Torture time!”, and he’d start wiggling his toes in his boot, varying the pressure on the
guy’s balls as he crushed them. The guy would almost always start screaming, which really
seemed to do it for Brian. I was incredibly turned on by the power (and Brian knew it.) I
saved money from my first job to buy my own pair of boots (which now belong to MY little
All through junior high, Brian and a few buds would come over to my house, and we’d
have video game overnighters which would invariably include a nutting session. All the guys
would end up sporting hardons, and the night would end just the way you’d expect it to.
Not too different from most guys that age, I assume. As we got into high school, we all
started dating girls, but Bri was often in the back of my mind. He moved away when we
were juniors, and we lost touch. I figured that ball busting was now part of my past.
Imagine my surprise a few years later when he ended up at the same college as me! I was
in the first day of my freshman writing class. I had just taken a seat, when this tall dude
with a buzz-cut walked in and sat down in the row to my right and one seat in front of me.
He was carrying a motorcycle helmet, and was wearing a tight black motorcycle jacket. He
had his jeans tucked into the hottest biker boots I had ever seen. They were simple black
jackboot-style motorcycle boots that were about mid-calf-high. They were well shined,
but broken in hard, wrinkled at the ankles and with soft toes that were totally creased and
wrinkled so that you could see the outline of his foot. The lack of a steel toe was
compensated for by a wicked looking metal toe-guard that plated the sole at the toe. They
looked lethal! I was completely transfixed by his boots when he glanced over at me and
I snapped out of it and realized that I was face to face with Brian! We embraced, and spent
a few minutes before the class started, filling each other in on the last two years. He had
grown six inches, and looked like he was chiseled from granite. He still had the hotty
farm-boy face I remembered, but his now-square jaw and buzzed black hair turned him
into a god. He had both ears pierced, a small soul-patch and the crazy-huge brown eyes
that made girls (and a lot of guys) swoon.
My brain tried to bring me back to the present, as I realized I was probably standing there
with my jaw swinging in the wind. I finally said “So what are you up to these days?” He
replied “Oh, you know, I’m mostly here because my old man is footing the bill. It’s all
good, though. It’ll be cool to check out some new things.” He then grinned that slow, evil
grin I remembered so well, and said “And it’s great to meet an old bro. Maybe we’ll get
caught up on old times.” As he said this , he lightly kicked the toe of my harness boot
(which looked a lot like the ones he used to wear.) He looked down at my feet, cocked an
eyebrow, and lightly ground the toe of his boot down on mine. As if he had read my mind,
he said, “Hey, those look like my old boots! You remember those, don’t you? You should!”
My mouth went totally dry, and all the blood rushed to the center of my gut. Was he still a
buster? He laughed as he took his boot off mine, and said “Nah, man, I’m just giving you
shit. That’s kid’s stuff… Right???” The way he said “Right?” sounded like a challenge! I just
sort of chuckled, and took my seat. This was going to be a great start to college!
The first month or so of that class, I barely heard a word the professor said. When Brian
rode his Ducati to class, he always wore his black jackboots with the jeans tucked in. On
some guys it would have looked posing, but on Bri it looked totally natural, and waay hot.
On days when he walked to class, he wore a brown pair of pull-on roper style cowboy
boots that were just as broken in as his biker boots. Either way, it was completely
distracting. He always sat in front of me and to one side, so I always had a clear view. He
was one of those guys who never kept his feet still, so I had a full 75 minutes three times
a week to watch the leather dance and wrinkle as he wiggled and flexed his toes, and
generally kept his feet in motion. I thought back to how he used to punish guys with those
feet, and wondered (hoped) he was still into it. I didn’t have the guts to ask him, though.
A few times during class, he caught me staring at his boots, and decided to give me a
show. He would either stick his feet out into the aisle and cross his ankles, rubbing his
boots together to lightly squeak the leather, or he would pivot one foot up on the heel,
flex his toes a few times, bring his foot down with a thud, and then raise his heel off the
ground and bring that down with an arrogant thump. He always had that knowing grin
when he did it, even though he wasn’t looking at me. I would imagine myself or some
other guy under those boots, at their mercy, and could barely breathe I was so aroused.
We never talked about it that first few weeks, but he totally knew what he was doing! I
always had to leave class with my pack in front of me to hide my… enthusiasm.
I started going to the gym nights after classes, and would often run into Bri, and his motorcycle buddies, Chris and Luis. We started hanging out, and every time in the locker room was a boot feast for me. The other guys never said anything, but I figured they must have known through Bri. They would be telling stories about wrestling, football, and soccer in high school, and the stories were rife with balls getting busted. True or not, they
clearly enjoyed the idea of inflicting pain on other guys. They also would make sure to make an elaborate show out of putting their boots back on after working out. Chris usually wore cowboy boots, and Luis wore an old pair of black Frye campus boots. They would hold their leg high in the air to haul the boot on, and then stomp down on the floor to ram it on. It was too much! They HAD to know what they were doing!
About a month and a half after we had started hanging out, we were in the locker room getting dressed down. Up to this point, I wasn’t sure how to handle things, but I just knew I looked forward to each time I got to see these guys with their boots. Although the topic of old ball busting in sports came up a lot, we never discussed busting each other. I dropped a hint one time by telling a story about how Brian had busted this one bully in high school. I casually said that it was kind of cool when the guy actually started begging Bri to stop gas pedalling him. Chris an Luis exchanged a quick glance. I had thrown them a bone. Would they bite?
Sure enough, a few evenings later, I was facing my locker taking my shirt off, and Brian was sitting on a bench behind me, leaning against his locker. It was only the four of us in the locker room, as it was a Friday evening. “Whoo! Check out that package!” he said in a taunting voice. “Get bent!” I said cheerfully. Suddenly, his jackboot snaked up between my legs from behind. My balls were cradled on top of his instep. He said in a dictatorial tone “Dude, help me take off my boots.” He had lifted my nuts when he raised his boot, so it caught me by surprise, but didn’t floor me. I immediately popped a tent. My voice was kind of shaky when I said “C’mon you freak! Knock it off” He rocked his foot back and forth a little as he lifted it further into my groin, and curled his toes back and up into my sac. “You want to. You know you do.” he mocked. I could smell warm leather and just a hint of sweat wafting up from his boot. Chris and Luis were giggling. I started chickening out, and said “Dude, this is kid’s stuff. You said so yourself” He lifted harder, driving the rounded point of his boot toe into my nuts. More strongly, he said “I said, take them off.” He ground the toe in a bit. I gasped, and said “Cut it out, asshole!”
Suddenly, he dropped his foot so that my nuts were cradled on his instep again, and then he yanked his foot backwards, raking me hard with the passing toe of his boot. I yelped and went down. I heard the guys laughing, and one of them let out an exstatic “Wooo-hoo-hoo!” As I was rolling around, Chris planted the toe of his cowboy boot right into my crotch. He did it hard enough to get me to yell “AWWWWF!” Luis giggled like a little kid as I rolled onto my gut and then onto my back. Brian whooped “OH yeah! HELL yeah! I’ve missed this! Remember when I’d make some little geeks polish my boots? Well, you can either do that, or take a kick from each one of us. Chris already nailed you, so if you refuse, Luis is next. He can choose how he wants to do it, too. And you KNOW what I’ll do. So… you gonna polish ’em?” He held his toe right in front of my face and lightly flicked my nose, clearly expecting a tongue. The smell of warm leather was maddening, but my pride got in the way of following through. I let out a string of profanity. “Wrong answer!” Luis said, and rammed the 2-inch heel of his campus boot into my exposed bulge. I let out a
scream, which seemed to excite the guys even more. To tell you the truth, it was like a dream come true for me. I would do whatever it took to get the punishment Brian had been saving up.
“You ready to start polishing?” Brian asked with a cruel grin. He was standing between my legs with his right foot on my thigh. I told him to go to hell. He nodded his head like it had been the answer he was expecting, and suddenly I felt my ankles being hauled in the air. There was no disguising my giant bulge, so he knew that despite the pain, I was aroused. I freaked, though, when I saw him lift his foot up for the stomp, and said “Dude, don’t!” just in time to feel his boot slam down. I let out a choked scream and tried to roll away, but Brian held fast, running the sole of his boot up and down over my crotch, ramming my nuts with each pass of his boot heel. I was in agony. He stopped and pushed his toe down on my bulge, and said “Remember ‘torture time’?” He pressed down on my nuts and started grinding his toe in, wiggling his toes in his boot as he pressed down. I screamed and almost blacked out. The guys were cracking up, and Chris let out another excited “WOOO-HOOO!”. After thirty seconds or so, Brian let me go. I rolled over and cradled my wounded nads.
I heard them laughing, and Brian said “He always was a pansy. You should have seen him
in junior high. I always used to kick his ass, and he’d end up cryin’ like a girl!” I was so
pissed off that I managed to stand up and drive my harness boot up between his legs from
behind with all my force. He let out gasping shriek. We traded punches and kicks for a few
minutes, but considering that we had both taken a blow to the nuts (and since we were
both clearly aroused), the fight was half-assed and didn’t go too far. Chris and Luis
seemed content to sit back and watch. After a few minutes, we wordlessly agreed on a
draw, and limped to opposite corners of the locker room. We barely looked at each other
for several days after.
A couple weeks later, Brian called and apologized for letting things get out of hand. Even
though I was still pissed about what he said about me, I was excited to hear from him. He
asked if we could hook up at the corner coffee shop. Trying not to show too much
enthusiasm, I said “Yeah. Why not?” He knew I was excited, so I could practically hear him
grin. “Wear your Vans!” he said. I chuckled and asked “Why? You scared of MY boots now?”
He sounded serious when he said “No, really. You’ll see why.” I jumped on my skateboard
and crossed campus to meet him.
He was at a booth-table when I arrived. We shook, and talked about stuff like everything
was cool. We didn’t talk about the locker room for a while. When we got comfortable being
around each other again, he got that wicked grin and said “Man… The other night in the
locker room. You were seriously IN to that shit, weren’t you? I forgot what a freak you are!”
With our history, there was no need to deny it, so I just said “ME!? Yeah, well you were
sporting a serious bulge yourself. What about those other dudes. Are they “in to it” too?”
Brian tossed his head back and chuckled and said “Oh yeah. Hardcore.” He added “We’re
renting a house off campus. We need a new roommate. You interested in moving out of
the dorms? You totally should. The food sucks, and your roommate is a tool. Plus, there
are certain… benefits to living at our place.” The blood started racing in my ears, and I
popped a sweat. Real cool like, I said, “Yeah, let me think about it.”
As if he just thought of it, he goes “Oh yeah, man! Talking about kickin’ boots, check out these babies!” He shot his foot out from under the table. It was clad in a brand new Wesco
harness boot. “I’ve been waiting for these bad boys for months. Which reminds me…” He reached down under the table and pulled out a wrinkled brown bag, and tossed it across the table. It landed on the bench next to me. It smelled like oiled leather. I looked in the bag, and there were Brian’s black jackboots that he had used on me. There was an index card in one of them that said “You earned ’em.” I knew how much he liked them, so I was kind of touched, not to mention incredibly turned on. “They’re called knobelbechers.” he said. “I got ’em at a second-hand store in Germany when I was there before my senior year in high school.” He looked silly and said “Try ’em on.” I pulled them out of the bag, toed off my Vans, and slid my feet into the boots. Perfect fit. Brian must have been just wearing them before I arrived, because they were still warm. I wiggled my toes around, feeling where Brian’s toes had pressed into the insole over the last year and a half. My vision started swimming.
Brian continued like I had been arguing with him about taking them “Yeah, so don’t act like
you don’t want them. I know how much you dig them.” “Thanks, bro!” I said. He paused for
a second, and said “Well, if you move in, maybe I can borrow them back now and again.
For old time’s sake.” He got that grin again, and suddenly, I felt a boot toe digging into my
crotch under the table. I sat up straight and tried to act like nothing was happening, since
the barista dude had just arrived to take our order. After the barista left, Brian started
flexing his toes into me and said “You should move in, bro. I gotta break these new
kickers in.” Thinking ahead to living with these guys for the rest of my time in school, I
said “Well, maybe over the next four years, they’ll start to get more comfy.” He dug his toe
in harder and grinned “Yeah, I bet they will.”