I carried the groceries up and let myself in. I've had the code to this place since he moved in, and the key to the one before it. Sunday is when I come.

I put everything away where it belongs. Washed the fruit and veg, wiped down the counter, made a note of what was running low for next week.

He was still asleep.

We were roommates in college. He was on the rugby team. The room was always a mess and at some point it became mine to deal with. The dorm, the shared kitchen, the errands. Ten years ago.

I started on the cooking first as I had a full week worth of meals to prepare. I had the stove going before I touched anything else.

Started cleaning the living room while the first pot came to a boil. Surfaces, the shelf above the TV, the windows. Floor. Back to the kitchen, I checked the heat, stirred, started chopping the veggies. Seasoned, adjusted, set a timer.

He came out of the bedroom around ten. I heard his footsteps going to the bathroom.

He showered for around thirty minutes. When he came out he had a towel around his waist and didn't look at me. Opened the fridge, stood there for a moment, closed it. Pulled on a shirt in the doorway of his bedroom. He'd always been big. Chest, shoulders, arms. I kept my eyes on the counter.

He picked up his keys and left. The door closed and the flat went quiet.

I went to the bedroom. Stripped the bed, fresh sheets on, straightened, floor, surfaces. The bathroom after. Toilet bowl, the rim, the tank. Sink, taps, mirror. The tiles. His products wiped down and put back in order. His towels in the wash, fresh ones folded on the rail.

The laundry ran while I cooked. I went back and forth, checking temperatures, adjusting heat, portioning into containers, stacking them by the day. Hoovered the bedroom, the hallway, the living room again once it was fully dry. Mopped after. Went back to the kitchen to start the next batch.

He'd figured it out in college. Third or fourth month in. He came back from training, dropped on the couch, feet up on the table like he always did. I was folding the laundry while eyeing his feet. He clocked it. Things got different after.

It started with the dorm. The cleaning, the errands. After graduation we lived together for another year. Then he moved for work. Different city, different flat. I thought that would be it. He texted me two weeks later with his new address. Sundays became standard.

The food was done by early evening. Boxed by meal, stacked in the fridge, labeled by day. I scrubbed the hob, the oven, inside the microwave. Cleaned the sink, dried every surface. Dishes washed and put away. Bin out, new bag in. I went through the flat once more. Checked the bathroom, straightened the bedroom doorway.

I was wiping down the kitchen counter when I heard his key in the door.

He came in and dropped his jacket on the hook. Went to the fridge, opened it, looked at the containers stacked by day. Stood there for a moment. Closed it. He moved to the living room without saying anything.

I finished the counter. Rinsed the cloth, wrung it out, folded it over the tap. Took a breath.

Then I went to him.

He was in the armchair, arms crossed, one leg resting over the other. He didn't look up.

I lowered myself to my knees.

"Done, Master."

He didn't move for a moment.

Then he shifted his leg and extended his foot toward me. Sole forward. His feet were huge. Wide at the ball, dry at the heel, the arch deep. Long toes, the second stretching just past the first.

I put out my tongue.

Heel to toe. One slow lick. The skin was warm and dry. He didn't move, didn't make a sound. His leg stayed exactly where it was.

Then he pulled back.

He reached for his phone. I stayed on my knees for a moment, then stood. Picked up my bag from the hallway. Let myself out.

"I'm Online today"

When he sends that text to his buddies, that means they're playing video games together. When he sends it to me, that mean's I should head over and clean his apartment.

It's silent clockwork these days. When his text pops up, I drop what I'm doing and scurry over to his apartment. I have my own key and let myself in, no special clothes or instructions at all besides "clean."

This isn't a kink for him. He doesn't care who I am or what I actually do when I'm there. He's just an Alpha enjoying the service of his neighborhood fag. I begged him to let me do it, on my knees BEGGED him to let me clean for him. All he did was shrug and let me in the first time. Eventually he gave me my own key so he didn't have to bother getting up to let me in.

He sits there and games for hours on end while I work around him. Pick up his clothes he haphazardly threw around the room and put them in the washer. Find all the wrappers, beer cans, and other trash lying around and take it all to the dumpster. I scrub his toilet of piss stains and wash the beard trimming from the sink. I wash all the dishes and prep his meals for the week. I keep working until his place is nice and tidy to my own standards, since his are few.

Then I just leave. I lock the door behind me and leave him to his games. No words are spoken, no acknowledgment from him, just a silent service from the fag next door.

It's beautiful really, an Alpha like him shouldn't have to worry about menial chores, and even less about giving instruction. Similarly, a service sub should know exactly what it takes to keep a house in order. We both fulfill our roles without the need of validation from each other.

Mark smirks, his eyes narrowing slightly, sizing you up. “Yeah, man,” he replies, almost too casually. “I can work something out. Tell you what—you clean the gym every day, make sure everything’s spotless, and I’ll let you use the equipment. Maybe I’ll even throw in some training.”

You agree, eager for the opportunity, figuring it’s a small price to pay for access to his equipment. The next day, you arrive at his place, expecting a simple arrangement. But when Mark opens the door, gym clothes already on, the smirk on his face tells you there’s more to it than you’d anticipated.

“Alright, first things first,” Mark says, handing you a rag and a bucket. “The gym needs to be cleaned before you do anything. Every machine, every weight. Got it?” You nod and get to work, scrubbing the equipment while Mark lifts and casually watches, offering a smug comment here and there.

When you’re finally done, exhausted from the unexpected task, you think it’s your turn to exercise. But Mark isn’t done. “Gym’s clean, but I need the backyard taken care of too. We’ve got a party tomorrow, and it’s a mess out there. Then, you can help me finish my sets.”

Confused but too intimidated to refuse, you find yourself cleaning the backyard, hauling trash, and scrubbing the patio while Mark takes a break, scrolling through his phone. Hours pass, and when you’re finally finished, you head back to the gym where Mark is waiting, towel draped around his neck.

“Alright, time to help me train,” he says, barely looking at you. He doesn’t mean by offering advice. Instead, he uses you as a spotter, makes you load the weights, fetch him water, and adjust his equipment—all while barely acknowledging your presence.

When he’s finally done, drenched in sweat, he wipes his face with a towel and tosses it your way. “Alright, I’m done for the day. You can go home now.”

You blink, confused, still hoping for your chance to use the gym. “What about my workout?” you ask hesitantly.

I had just started my monthly deep clean when he woke up and wandered into the living room.

"Morning, baby."

Nico dropped onto the sofa and propped his foot on the table I'd just wiped down.

"I just..."

He wiggled his toes. I didn't have to finish. How was I supposed to argue with that.

He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, tucking his arms behind his head with a long exhale.

I went back to the kitchen, wiped down the counters, scrubbed the stovetop, cleared the grease around the back burners. Cleaned the sink, dried it.

"Did you do the microwave?"

"Yes Nico."

"Just asking."

When I got the vacuum out he reached for the remote and turned the volume all the way up. I vacuumed the whole apartment over the noise of whatever he was watching, running it along the baseboards, into the corners, under the dining chairs.

Then I filled the bucket and started on the floors.

The kitchen went fast. The hallway too. By the time I got to the living room he still hadn't moved, foot propped exactly where it had been all morning. I crouched down to get under the sofa. He shifted just enough to make me think he was going to lift his leg; then didn't. I had to work around him. His foot hovered near my face while I mopped the stretch between the sofa and the table and he said nothing, just watched the TV like I wasn't there.

"You're such a good boyfriend. What did you prepare for lunch?"

"Seriously Nico? I've been cleaning"

"Fine, I'll order something. Bathroom could use a proper scrub while you're at it."

I took the bucket to the bathroom. Scrubbed the toilet and got the tiles on my knees. Wiped the mirror down, the taps.

"Don't forget under the mat."

"I know."

"I know you know. I'm just saying."

As I was finishing the bathroom the doorbell rang.

"That's the food, baby. Already paid, just let them in."

I opened the door still in my cleaning gloves, took the bags from the delivery guy and brought them over to the coffee table. Nico glanced at me and reached up, wiping something off my face.

"You had dirt right there."

He patted my head and went back to unpacking the food, and settling into the couch.

"Bathroom done, baby?"

"Done. Finally."

"Yeah?"

He glanced around the apartment slowly, the way he does when he's looking for something to say.

"You get the trash? Kitchen and bathroom both?"

I didn't answer. Just pulled the bags, tied them, took them out, came back in.

"Now you're done. Come here then."

He wiggled his toes.

I got on my knees in front of him. He didn't look away from the TV.

His foot was warm from being propped up all morning. I brought it to my face and held it there, taking in the faint salt-musk smell. I pressed my mouth to his sole, dragging my lips slow along the arch.

I worked my way up to his toes. Took the first one into my mouth and sucked slow, then the next until I had all five in. I ran my tongue along them, between them, tasting sweat and skin. I cleaned every one.

He tapped my cheek with his other foot.

I did the same on his other foot, making sure I don't miss a spot.

He glanced down and pressed one foot against my face, resting the other on top of my head. Then went back to watch TV.

After a while he muted the TV.

He reached down and pulled me up by the wrist onto the couch and into his lap. He kissed me once, slow, with his hand at the back of my neck. Then he flipped me over.

He got my shorts down and fucked me slowly, his hand pressed flat between my shoulder blades, keeping me down.

"There you go."

He gripped my hip with his free hand, steadying me, controlling the pace. When I moved he pushed me back down.

"I've got it."

He kept that pace the whole time. Slow and steady.

"Good boy. Cleaned the whole place and still ended up on your knees."

When he finished he stayed there for a moment. Then he patted my head.

We showered together. He washed my hair without being asked, fingers slow at my scalp, both of us quiet. Afterward we lay in bed, his arm across my chest, my face turned into his shoulder.

The doorbell rang.

He didn't move.

"That'll be the pizza, baby."

I lifted my head and looked at him.

Part 3 of 3

Your master had left his job to focus on gaming and using you. His income from renting you to other guys can easily cover his expenses. You've been rented to worship feet, clean houses, and be used sexualy. Sometimes you see him only once a week and as much as you like to serve other alphas, you crave to be used personally by him.

Today he decided to keep you for himself. You woke up and prepared his breakfast before serving it to him. He didn't want to go to the gym but he still needed practice so he taped you to a pole and started using you like punching bag. Your whole body was beaten and you get some kicks too.

After he finished he let you taped for some time before freeing you and ordering you to bow before him.

"You ready to worship master's feet fag? Been a while since you worthless piece of shit licked my foot."

"I'd love nothing more master. I beg for your permission master."

"First you have to thank me for using you earlier today. Then I want you to sit and watch my godly feet as I play. I want you to appreciate the feet you owe everything to, the feet that gave you a purpose fag."

You did as he said and watched his feet. His wide meaty soles and sexy toes resting on the coffee table showing more masculinity than you. Your dick was straining against it's cage and leaking.

After an hour of watching him wiggling his toes he ordered you to start sniffing his feet. You did as he completely ignored you. That was followed with an order to worship his feet. You started licking his feet passionately while you rubbed your face against his soles. You moved on to suck his toes and after some time he started stomping your face signaling you to stop.

"That's all you get for now. Go get ready my guy is on his way to take you for a couple of days. You better serve him well he'll pay me good."

Part 2 of 3

It's been three months with the new arrangement. Three months of getting beaten up, three months of worshipping feet, three months of humiliation, three months of being locked. You've never been happier or more satisfied and you feel like you serve a higher purpose.

"Listen fag. Since you are now well trained to serving me I thought I should find new ways to use you. I was thinking to rent you out. As much as like getting my feet worshipped and using you as my punching bag I can rent you for a couple of days every now and then. My friends will rent you first until I reach new people. You'll be used by the person renting you in any way he desires and you'll address them by lords. Clear?"

"Yes master."

"That's my fag. I see I've successfully fried that brain of yours. You'll be abused in ways you never thought of. You'll probably be fucked too... but a faggot wouldn't have a problem with that. I guess I'll make some extra money to spend on games and chicks while you get degraded. Sounds perfect to me."

"Yes master."

"Anything else?"

"Thank you master."

Part 1 of 3

You found a place to rent near your college so you met the owner and thought he was lovely. He was a fresh graduate working in the area. However, you've been getting bullied by him ever since you moved in.

Every day he'll find time to abuse you and beat the crap out of you. Since day one, he tasked you with all the house chores which you definitely didn't have enough time for, and by the end of the day he'll punish you for each chore you failed to complete.

Secretly you enjoyed it. You actually loved it. Everyday he'll have his friends or some chicks to fuck over, and even then you have to serve them and act like a butler. One day as he was beating you up you couldn't handle it anymore, you dropped on your knees and started kissing his feet begging for forgiveness.

You've never explored your foot fetish before and ever since you moved in you've been in love with his manly feet.

"I've had countless faggots serve me in my life and I got to give ut to you, you're the most pathetic one of them all. You like my feet faggot? Wanna kiss them and serve them?"

"Yes master I like your feet."

"You'll get them as a reward every day if you finish your chores. All of them."

"But master I barely have time, please show me some mercy master."

"You have to get your priorities right faggot. Is it to serve and worship me? Or is it your school?"

"You master... but..."

"No buts faggot. You know what to do."

He was right. If you drop out, you will be able to focus on serving him. You'll be able to complete all the house chores and have time at his feet. And you'll always be ready to serve his friends when they come, and to be humiliated in front of them and the chicks he brings home.

With the start of classes I decided to take advantage of the university gym. I'd never trained before but I hadn't expected to feel so out of place. I could barely lift anything and I noticed people glancing at me every now and then. I tried to stay in my corner and figure things out quietly.

There was one guy who was always there when I went. Tall, built, looked like he'd been athletic his whole life. He'd look at me for a few minutes at a time without dropping it. Not glancing, just watching. I started going less because of it. I couldn't explain why it bothered me as much as it did. It just did.

On one of my visits I walked up to a machine and he was already heading toward it. I stepped back and told him to go ahead. He stopped, looked at me, and shook his head.

"You were here first."

I sat down and started. He stayed standing behind me the whole time, looking down at me while I worked through the set. I kept losing count. When I finished I stood up and he'd already moved on like nothing happened.

I didn't go back for a few days after that.

I went back the following week. He was there. He glanced over once and then went back to his sets. That was it. It went on like that for a while with nothing said between us.

That was until a Friday morning. Right before I left, Luke approached me, towering over me.

"You. Come by my place Saturday. I'll text you the address."

"For what-"

He slipped a piece of paper into my hand with a number on it and walked out without another word.

I spent the rest of the day turning it over in my head. That night I texted the number. A few minutes later I received an address and a 10:00 AM. Nothing else.

I barely slept. The next morning I got ready and was at his door at exactly ten.

Luke opened the door in a tank top and shorts. He didn't say a word. He just looked at me, then looked to his right, then went back to the couch.

At the wall to his right was a collection of cleaning supplies. Broom, mop, sprays, a bucket. Just sitting there waiting.

I stood in the doorway for a moment.

"I really don't know what to do right now."

No reply. He was already on his phone, legs stretched out, feet propped on the armrest.

The apartment was bigger than anything I'd seen a student live in. Comfortable, lived-in, clearly his. Also clearly a mess. Dishes in the sink, dust on the shelves, trash that had been sitting too long. His rugby kit was thrown over the back of a chair in the corner. I stood there another minute until I understood what he wanted.

I swept first, working around his furniture while he didn't acknowledge me once. Then the floors, the counters, the dishes. I took the trash out and came back and did the surfaces again properly. A few hours of moving quietly through someone else's space while they lay there like I was part of the background.

When I was done I came back to the living room.

"I'm done. Is there anything else?"

He wiggled his toes.

I stared at him.

He wiggled them again.

It took me a minute. Then I walked over to the couch, got on my knees, and wrapped both hands around his foot.

They were big. long soles, long toes. I pressed my thumbs into his arch and started massaging, he exhaled through his nose and kept scrolling.

After a while he pulled his feet back, got up without a word, and went to his room. The door closed behind him. I stood there for about ten minutes and then let myself out.

He texted me the next morning. I was there by eleven.

The apartment was mostly clean from yesterday so I was done in under an hour. Surfaces, a few dishes, nothing major. I worked quietly and he lay on the couch exactly as he did yesterday.

When I finished I came back to the living room. He wiggled his toes without looking up. I got on the floor and started on his feet.

After a while he pulled them back and sat up straight. He put his phone down on the cushion beside him, looked at me for a moment, then reached into his shorts and pulled them off.

His cock was right in front of me, semi hard. He didn't look at me. Didn't say anything. Just waited.

I stayed on my knees and moved forward.

He picked his phone back up before I even started. I held his massive cock in my hand first and then started. I gagged a bit but kept going. After around fifteen minutes he pulled out and got his shorts back on.

He stood up, adjusted himself, and went to his room. I stayed on the floor for a moment and then got up and let myself out.

I didn't go back to the gym that week.

Thursday night at half past midnight my phone lit up. 1:00 AM. Nothing else.

I got up, got dressed, and drove over.

He opened the door and walked back inside without a word. I followed and closed it behind me. He went to the bedroom and I understood that was where I was supposed to go too.

He pointed at the edge of the bed. I didn't understand so I just sat there. He then calmly flipped me over so my stomach was on the mattress and my legs on the floor.

He slid my pants down. I understood what was coming.

He was calm about it. Held my waist and went in raw. No warning, no adjustment. I was crying quietly by the time he found his rhythm but I didn't move away.

After fucking me for a while, he pulled out and came on the floor. Then he was on the bed beside me, shorts back up, phone in hand. Like I was already gone.

I lay there for a minute and then got up.

I found a cloth in the bathroom, came back, and cleaned the floor. He didn't look up.

Then I let myself out.

Then it was on with doing the cleaning, tidying up, sorting out the laundry and changing the bedding. From previous bitter experience you knew there was at least one camera somewhere in the room, meaning He was keeping track of you and making sure you weren’t slacking off or being distracted with things like sniffing His worn clothes.

Once the work was done you had to leave 50 in cash on the desk to thank Him for letting you be of service, then get in the cupboard and slide the door shut. Then you had to wait for Him to return and check your work. Sometimes he was back quickly, other times you were left sitting in the cupboard for two hours. He never said much when He did return and you never saw him, just His voice from outside the cupboard.

A few months ago He said you’d done a decent job and you could take one of His used boxers that he left out for you, as long as you left another 50. Those used boxers were now a treasured possession and you often sniffed them or put them over your head to try to inhale his scent, although that was now waning.