Big Gals In Boots

I love big women. Big butts own my nuts.

Shapely is the only sexy.

And full figured women in high heeled boots make me weak.

If I am flipping through channels and stop on Oprah and see she is wearing boots, I get a hard on right away.

(Frankly, the only reason I stop on Oprah when channel surfing is to see if she is wearing boots. Some times I will stop and won't go on until I can declare one way or the other.)

I have seen pictures of Oprah in the morning, before her crew of professionals turns that rather scary morning visage into the smooth and lush face that adorns magazines in the check-out line. And even with that in mind, I go hard at the sight of her in boots.

With that in mind, you can imagine my reaction today as I stepped out of the office to grab some lunch and I saw not one, but three rubenesque women in boots walking down the street together. There was a pale skinned, big redhead with her tight jeans tucked into a pair of nice brown leather boots and a darker toned brunette in a long brown patterned skirt that was slit up high enough to reveal a pair or black, knee high riding boots as she walked.

But between them, leading the procession, leading their conversation, and leading in my heart, as a full figured ebony goddess that could make me cry with the wink of an eye. She strode along, ever half a step ahead of her two friends, with that air of confidence that seems to come naturally to black women. That air that allows them to make a completely unreasonable demand and make it sound not only like something you had better do right now, but that there must be something wrong with you if you have not yet snapped to it.

She wore a black leather coat over a tight skirt that flared at the hem just above he knees, below which she was wearing a pair of very well maintained black, high heeled leather boots.

They were going the opposite direction from my planned lunch stop, but I forgot all about lunch. I followed them from across the street, observing them, knowing that nothing would ever come of it, but unable to stop myself or my thoughts.

Of course, I could picture myself, naked and on the floor before that trio, at their beck and call, eager to please and subject to their scorn and derision. I would endure pain and humiliation to please them, to get the chance to kiss and lick their boots. I would dream of earning enough regard from them to be allowed to attempt to satisfy them by serving as their throne, my face nestled between thick thighs and under a magnificent butt as I strained to both pleasure them and gasp for breath underneath them.

When it comes to women in boots with full butts, I am the ass-kisser extrodinaire.