– A Horny Short –

Trevor stood nervously in the lobby of the Clarity Carpet Cleaning company.  It was his first job ever, and the first job opportunity that had crossed his path that didn’t involve a greasy grill or tearing ticket stubs.  

“You’re going to have to pull your weight if you plan on fall sports this year, Trevor,” his mom had snapped during another one of her tirades about money.  “We can barely keep the fridge stocked.  I’m certainly not going to be able to swing activity fees and equipment.  Get off your ass and do something.”

He didn’t blame her for talking to him this way.  Ever since his dad and up and left, finances had stretched incredibly thin overnight.  She herself was working two jobs plus house cleaning occasionally on weekends just to be able to keep the house.

He fiddled with his stiff new polo, the Clarity logo embroidered on the breast.  The middle aged woman behind the counter smiled up at him over her reading glasses.  

“He’ll be right out, sweetie.  No need to be nervous.  You’ll love working with Rob.  He’s been here a long time and knows what he’s doing.”  

Trevor flashed her a tentative smile.  He wasn’t exactly a people person, and he had been assured that he wouldn’t be trained on house calls for a while.

The door to the back swung open and a guy in his 30s strode out.  He was tall and lean, bearded, and a thick head of hair neatly pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck.  Trevor had never understood the man bun craze, but this guy seemed to be pulling it off.

“Is this Trevor?” he said, smiled and extending his hand. 

“This is Trevor.  The new guy!”  The middle aged woman beamed from behind her computer monitor.  

“I’m Rob.  It’s great to have you, Trevor.”  

“Hey,” Trevor uttered in the standard teenaged greeting.  He took Rob’s very broad, smooth hand.  Rob was wearing the same shirt that Trevor now had on, but somehow it looked way better on Rob.  

“Come on in the back, I’m just about to get started on my next job,” Rob urged, pushing back through the door.

The smell of carpet cleaning chemicals hit Trevor’s face as he followed Rob into a tall warehouse-type room in the back.  Rob hopped up onto a raised platform on which a faded oriental rug had been unfurled.  

“This is our next project,” Rob said, smiling as he slowly walked the perimeter of the rug.  The thick treads of his Nike boots left small indentations in the soiled pile.  “You know how to use a vacuum, Trev?”

Trevor nodded.  He hated being called “Trev,” but Rob seemed cool and he wasn’t going to contradict him.  Maybe he would just go with Trev from now on. 

Rob pushed a heavy stainless steel upright vacuum with a hanging canvas bag onto the platform.  He patted the handle lovingly.  “I call her ‘The Beast.’  She’s pretty old, so be gentle with her, but she’ll do the job better than anything else they’re putting out these days.”  He motioned for Trevor to join him on the platform.  “Come on up.  Show us what you got,” he said smiling with incredibly white, straight teeth.

Trevor stepped up onto the platform and took the handle.  Rob showed him the release lever and the power toggle, which when flicked, brought the vacuum roaring to life in a shrill whir that reverberated in the tall room and off the expanse of polished concrete.  Trevor was surprised at how heavy the thing was as he pushed and pulled on the handle.  After a few moments, Rob was shaking his hand in front of him for attention.

“Not like that!” he shouted over the Beast’s perpetual shriek.  “Triangles!  Watch!”

Trevor surrendered the handle.  Rob snapped the cord around behind him, pressed the release with his foot, and began to make a series of overlapping swaths with the machine, the beater bar slowly agitating a series of neat triangles in the rug’s pile.  Trevor nodded at Rob and took over, doing his best to imitate the pattern.  The design wasn’t quite like Rob’s, but it was passable.

“Great!” Rob announced when The Beast had been silenced, the relief in the air palpable.  “We never assume that the owners have vacuumed all of the loose debris from a rug,” he said, crouching in the center of the triangles and splaying his hand over the fibers as he talked.  “And even if they did vacuum, they wouldn’t have had…?” he paused, looking at Trevor in an obvious prompt.

“The…Beast?” Trevor mumbled.  Rob grinned.  

“That’s right.  I’m going to explain these next few parts for today and just have you watch.  But I think it’s pretty safe to say that you can be The Beast’s handler from now on.”  Rob whipped the cord around the wrap brackets on the vacuum’s handle with astonishing speed, then wheeled it over to the supply area off to the side of the rug dais.  He sat on an overturned bucket and—to Trevor’s surprise—started to methodically untie his boot laces.  “Tell me, Trevor,” he said, pulling loose arcs of laces through the eyelets, “what made you apply here?”

Trevor was caught off guard by this unexpected turn of events.  “Um,” he said, nervously licking his lips, “I need to save for athletic fees for fall sports.”  Rob looked at him and nodded attentively as he carefully removed one boot and then the other, his white sock clad feet resting patiently on the concrete floor.  “And, uh…” he continued distractedly, “I didn’t want to flip burgers.”

Rob flashed another brilliant white smile.  “Kudos to you for working to get something worthwhile,” he said genuinely.  “That’s pretty cool.”  He twisted behind him and grabbed a pair of tall black rubber boots, which he placed on the floor in front of him.  “Building up a good work ethic now will get you far,” he was saying, but Trevor was transfixed by the sight of the rubber boots.  He wasn’t sure he had ever actually seen a pair in real life before.  Or at least not this close.  The tall shafts had shuddered oddly as the boot had hit the floor.  As Rob gathered the bottom of his gray cargo pants with one hand, he tugged the the top of the boot over his socked foot with the other.  The dull rubber rippled, and Trevor could follow the path of Rob’s ankle as it descended the boot shaft, then watched the forefoot subtly inflate as his foot came to rest in the bottom.  “…and that’s why I started working here ten years ago, myself,” Rob was saying.  Trevor found himself tuning out again as he watched the scene play out with the other foot.  He couldn’t get over how soft and supple the boots looked.  He wasn’t sure he had ever thought much of anything about rubber boots before, but he certainly hadn’t thought that they were like that.  As Rob stood, Trevor studied the way they flexed around his feet.  Rob caught his gaze and looked down.  “Ah, yeah—it gets pretty wet on the cleaning floor.  Nothing worse than having to walk around in wet shoes all day.  We’ll find you a pair when it’s time for you to get started.”

For the next hour, Trevor stood by the platform and watched Rob take him through the rug cleaning process.  From hosing the rug down, to adding detergent with a watering can, to squeegeeing off the excess water with a scraper, Rob explained all the steps thoroughly as Trevor looked on.  Trevor found himself tracking the movements of Rob’s boots more than he watched Rob’s technique.  Two steps in the cleaning were of particular fascination to him.  The first was when Rob used the rotary scrubber.  As the pads scratched through the pile, they whipped up a soapy froth in their wake.  Trevor was satisfied to observe the shiny black rubber over Rob’s feet sink into the foam and disappear momentarily, only to re-emerge with a beard of suds slipping from them.  The second was during the rinsing stage.  Rob had placed the mouth of the water hose under the rug, saturating the carpet with cool clean water from underneath as he ran the scraper through the pile, sloughing off sheets of liquid tinged with brown soil.  Trevor’s eyes followed the boots as they crossed the rug, the water beneath it causing it to billow and undulate around Rob’s tread, the water gurgling in rings around his feet.  

As Trevor stood in the shower that night, pumping his fist over his cock toward the finish line as most teens do, he found the usually mindless act to be this time centered on those boots, and of kind Rob, smilingly explaining the difference between wool and synthetic fibers as the rubber creased around his ankles.  He was just picturing the way Rob’s feet had plowed through the suds behind the rotary scrubber when he came.

---

For the next several weeks, Trevor vacuumed rugs, filled buckets with detergent, answered Rob’s impromptu quiz questions, and groomed fringes.  But must importantly, he observed.  And Trevor’s obsession with Rob’s boots did not ease.  In fact, Trevor found himself scanning the rug cleaning room for their presence almost as soon as he entered at the beginning of his shift, since Rob did not always place them in the exact same spot.  

Once, when he was alone with only the drone of the overhead fluorescent lights to keep him company, he bent down and pinched the rim of one of them, marveling at the supple feel of the vulcanized rubber under his fingertips.  Did Rob ever notice this? He wondered.  Was he the only one in the world that was bothered so much by a pair of boots?

On another occasion, Rob had been flushing the rug with water when he stepped on the rug over the end of the hose, pinching off the water at its source.  A loud slurping sound had issued from under his boot.  This incident is what summoned Trevor’s orgasm in the shower that particular evening.

But it was a dentist appointment and road construction that was the unexpected architect of one of Trevor’s most powerful orgasms in his young adult life, and probably the one that wrought him as a boot man.  Rob and Trevor were in the middle of a particularly soiled shag rug on the fateful afternoon.  Bev—the cheerful middle-aged woman who resided next to the phone in the front—was out for the afternoon to have a crown fixed.  When a house call crew called Rob to explain that they were stuck in construction traffic and unable to perform a scheduled rug pick-up before the end of the day, Rob dropped everything and left, leaving Trevor alone in the store.

“Just finish scraping the rug real good like I’ve shown you,” Rob said, hastily shaking a boot from his foot, “roll it up and put it in the centrifuge.  You know to tighten the bolt really secure.”  Trevor nodded as Rob freed himself of the other boot, which flopped lifelessly to the floor.  “Okay, I’ll be back in twenty minutes or so,” he continued as he jammed his feet into his Nikes.  “If you aren’t sure about anything, just wait until I get back, okay?  But I think you’ve got this.”

“Yeah, I got it,” Trevor agreed.  He watched as Rob pushed through the front door and pull away in a Clarity van.  Trevor couldn’t believe his fortune.  He had twenty minutes alone with the boots.  And Rob had just had them on.

Trevor’s heart thudded as he kicked off his own battered chucks.  “They’re just rubber boots,” he muttered to himself.  “If anyone walks in, I’m just wearing them to finish rinsing the rug.  Makes perfect sense.”  He picked up the boots and stood them side by side in front of him.  It was the first time he really had a chance to examine them without the risk of being noticed.  They were still dark and shiny from the ankles down with wet soapy water.  But the calves of the boots were dull with a fine white powder.  Trevor shook as he pushed his foot inside the right boot first, mimicking Rob’s action of gathering the pant leg that he had seen so many times.  The boot was slightly larger than his foot—Rob apparently had bigger feet—and he immediately noticed how warm they were inside.  By the time he had thrust his other foot into the left, he was surprised to find himself hard.  “What the fuck?” he exhaled.  He had never seen Rob get hard putting on the boots, but his jeans were visibly bunching over his crotch.  He stood and walked around the room, feeling his feet sliding inside the smooth, roomy boots.  In just a minute or two, he could feel his feet growing hot.  He was willing to bet that Rob sweat plenty in these boots while he worked, and the thought should have grossed him out, but oddly enough it didn’t.  Instead, it seemed to add to his cock’s firm resolve.  

Trevor watched in satisfaction as the boots sank into the soggy shag of the partially rinsed rug on the platform.  He picked up the scraper and pushed it along the rug as he had seen Rob do countess times.  A sheet of water arched from the blade and splatted into the drain trough.  Trevor smiled, thinking that he just might look like Rob as he performed the task.  Maybe he should start growing his hair out and tying it back, too.  He looked down as he backed up to make another pass, the shiny boots creasing and squeaking on his feet. 

Satisfied that he had scraped as much water from the rug as he could, he squatted by the side to begin rolling it up.  He paused, running his hands over the folds of the rubber boots, letting one stray just a moment to rub the aching bulge between his legs.  Trevor closed his eyes.  “Damn,” he whispered.  He hadn’t expected that to feel quite so good.  He watched his rubber clad toes push off of the cleaning floor as he coiled up the soggy rug, his fingers digging into the moist pile.  Then, lining the end of the weighty mass up with the centrifuge, he began the laborious process of lugging the partially saturated textile into the long metal drum.  He looked between his legs as the wet backing of the rug slid and rubbed along his rubber sheathed legs.  That was when Trevor felt the first drop of precum slide from the head of his penis into his stretched underwear.  Though he was slightly alarmed to think that he was slowly beginning to wet his pants, it was not enough to deter him from his continued enjoyment of wearing Rob’s boots.

When he finally had shoved the last stubborn inches of the rug into the centrifuge, he slammed the hatch shut and spun the wheel to fasten the bolt as he had seen Rob do countless times.  His boots squealed loudly when they momentarily brushed against one another as he stepped around the end of the centrifuge.  He reached up the the wall and pressed the start button.

The centrifuge hummed to life, spinning the soggy rug at nearly 1200RPM.  The force of the spin wrung the last of the stubborn water from the fibers where it filtered through the drain hose that fed from the end of the machine into the floor.  Trevor heard the soft cry of one of Rob’s boots as the vibrating machine pulsed against his leg.  Trevor squatted down, once again enjoying the sight of the flexing boots, but also placing his arms over the metal tube of centrifuge and feeling the machine’s thrumming through his entire abdomen.  It was an amazing sensation.  Trevor leaned in further, unintentionally bringing his cock, extending out a little further than usual, along the outside of the machine.  Instantly the vibrations coursed through his pelvis in a maddening stimulation.  An involuntary “ho!” flew from Trevor’s lips as the wringer’s work suddenly translated into intense pleasure, blossoming between his legs.  

Then, no sooner had the experience started, the machine’s automatic shutoff activated and the drum clunked to a halt.  Trevor backed away, the drying boots squawking on the rug cleaning platform.  He looked down to see that a wet spot the size of a silver dollar had appeared on his jeans.  He lifted a boot and—feeling it wobble around his leg—Trevor decided that he wanted—no, he NEEDED—more.  He slapped his palm against the start button, and the centrifuge obediently spun back up for another three minutes.

This time, Trevor mounted the tube like a great steel horse, Rob’s rubber boots on his legs dangling over the sides.  He leaned forward and looked back at them, the mechanical rhythm clunking through his legs, his cock, his balls, and his anus.  Trevor dragged the right boot up the side of the centrifuge in one long squeal just before an orgasm more powerful than he knew was possible practically tore him in two, ripping between his legs from front to back.  He stared, slack-jawed and silent as the gloriously intense ache filled his pants in an almost searing heat.  He practically rolled off the centrifuge, stunned that his body was capable of that sensation, shocked that it had been induced by Rob’s rubber boots, and horrified at the huge seeping patch on his jeans.  

He was just about to scramble to his feet and figure out a game plan to recover from what had just happened when Rob’s voice came from the double doors behind him: “what are you doing on the floor?”