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Barry lay on his stomach, keeping his knees tucked beneath him as if trying to keep warm, and propping himself up against the floor. Karl approached with a frown, showing Barry his boots, which were covered in dirt from fighting and fleeing.
"Lick them."
Karl declared. Barry didn't want to do it, but the thought of testing Karl's courage seemed tastier than cake. He tentatively slipped his tongue between his lips, trying to reach the dirt and taste it without feeling disgusted. It was... revolting, as if he had tasted dry sand. The taste was earthy, while also mixing with the taste of the boot's very texture. Maybe his taste buds could withstand this.
After trying it, Barry began licking the boot greedily, even grabbing Karl by the ankle to keep him in place. It looked strange, but Karl waited patiently, watching as Barry cleaned the dirt off his boot.
After it was clean, Karl lifted the boot beneath Barry's chin, only to strike him hard with it. Barry reflexively grabbed his chin, the pain burning as he rolled onto his back like some kind of beetle, unable to get up.
He walked around Barry in slow but confident steps, and when he was near his hip, Karl pressed his boot against Barry's crotch. Oh, how painful it was. Barry whimpered.
"Ngh... Harder." he muttered.
"British pervert, ew..."
Karl deliberately removed his foot so he could take a few more steps. He lifted his leg and pressed his boot against Barry's face. Barry grew frightened, thinking his poor little face was about to get beaten, but Karl didn't apply any pressure. At that, he began licking the even more disgusting side of the boot, tasting the sand mixed with dirt and grass.
Karl enjoyed this, deliberately pressing it closer to his face, trying to provoke an adrenaline rush.