Jack’s Army Feet

My parents, though really my dad, made me join the army a few months ago to try and give some direction in my life, and, as my dad put it, “make a man out of me.” The life drained out of my face when they first told me they submitted an application and went through the process all on their own. What the fuck did they mean I was going to join the fucking army? I was a skinny guy who mostly just liked playing video games and jerking off to porn occasionally. Over the past few years I’d come to terms with likely being gay; though honestly, I often didn’t picture any guys when I got off. More so what attracted me than looks was dependability, maturity, and strength. And while women could have all these traits, there was something about envisioning them in a guy that made me feel more warm inside. I felt more secure. I would often jerk off more to the idea of living a life with a man who made me feel secure and a life where we could both rely on each other than necessarily thinking about his cock or ass… so that was still to be explored.

But now with this new development, it felt like really coming to understand myself better would be halted. I practically had a meltdown that night and the only thing that calmed me down was when they told me it could be a few months before they had me physically live on the base. Though that reassurance was cheap, it was enough to stop me from continuing to have a nervous break down. I spent the rest of those months trying to enjoy my freedom as much as I could and researching what the fuck they’d gotten me into.

The time between joining and moving in here passed in the blink of an eye and having been here for a few months now, I was pleasantly surprised to find my research proved correct. It seemed nowadays joining the army was much less like the movies with all that ridiculous living in a shed with 40 people and constantly doing insane training montages. They still had us working out, and they still tried to break us down and mold us into these obedient machines. But, we at least got our own rooms… mostly. Instead of living in a giant shed with 40 people, we basically lived in studio apartments with a roommate. Unfortunately, my roommate, Jack, was a little bit of an ass. But another bonus was we did have a lot more freedom than I expected. Although I couldn’t spend my free time in my room because I tried avoid Jack, I at least kept my laptop on the base with me and would take it to a local library where I’d play my computer games in my downtime.

That was what I planned to do this evening; however, my base had other plans. They enacted a curfew after a few of the guys got a little too drunk and up to no good. The person enforcing that regulation made it clear they were planning to keep it that way for at least a few weeks.

“Fuck.” I muttered under my breath as I walked back to my room. I was dreading having to actually exist in the same space as Jack for any longer than necessary. He was basically the exact opposite of the type of guy’s I fantasized about. He was immature, unserious, unreliable, and unpredictable. There was basically a line across our room where you saw whose space was where. And my space was constantly gradually decreasing because Jack persisted in leaving his clothes unwashed. They occasionally did room checks and while Jack always failed and would get yelled at, they would rope me into it for some reason. They’d say that I should be more supportive and help him as if he was a fucking child. Wasn’t the whole reason I was thrown into this because my parents believed I needed to be whipped into shape? Why was it now my job to either whip someone else into shape or baby them?

In spite of myself, every month we had a room check, and for the three months I’d been here now, every single time I cleaned up the entire room. And every single time, without fail, Jack would make some snide remark about being a “good little bitch” or how he was “so glad I realized my duty here.” It infuriated me to no end.

Despite his horrible organization, Jack was fit and strong. He was readily at the top of the class in terms of training, and so it really seemed like they favored him and overlooked his faults for that reason. Whereas I was left to pick up after him because I was the inverse: maintaining everything orderly, but struggling to do any physical labor.

I sighed as I entered the room and already saw Jack lying on his bed, picking between his toes as he scrolled on his phone. “‘Sup Quent. This fucking sucks, right? I could be out hooking up with a chick in a bar and instead I have to be stuck here doing fuck all.”

I rolled my eyes as I sat down at my desk and opened my computer, getting ready to pull up a game. “Yeah, terrible.” I feigned sympathetically. I scrolled through my library trying to zone Jack out when I felt his hands grab my shoulders and spin me around.

“Cooooooooome oooooooon. We have to do something together. You can’t let me just rot here alone.” Jack whined, which I was gathering he was real good at and probably did often back at home. However, he wasn’t fooling me. He was an asshole. He constantly left work for me to do, he’d be degrading when I was forced to do it, and I’ve seen the way he’s talked about the women he dates like they’re objects and dispensable. Jack was, for better or worse, undeniably an attractive guy. Again, not really one to care about looks, it didn’t affect me much. But he had women drooling to be with him, and he was constantly making them do shit for him. Needless to stay, I did not want to be the continued victim of being used for his needs any more than this place forced.

“I’d really rather just play a game.” I asserted as forcefully as I could.

“Then let’s play something together,” Jack pleaded. “You know I’ve told you I have a PS5 back home. I’m just waiting to buy a TV so I can use it.”

“They make us work. We’ve gotten paid for that. It may not be much since we have free housing and food, but it’s been at least enough for a TV,” I argued, trying to turn my chair back around.

Jack gripped the arm rest and held it down, though, spitting, “We’re gonna fucking do something. I don’t give a shit if it’s a game. I tried to be nice, but I’m not a fucking pansy. I’ll take what I want if I have to.” Suddenly his arm was around my neck and he threw me to the ground.

“Ow!” I shouted on my knees, crawling away from him a little before turning around. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Having some fun!” Jack exclaimed as if that clarified anything. His arms were outstretched and as I maneuvered around on the ground trying to get back to my laptop, he mimicked the direction I went and cut me off from it. Suddenly he was on the ground on top of me. I tried to crawl backwards to get away, but Jack was faster and grabbed my arms, pinning me down.

“Jack, stop!” I whisper-yelled, trying not to make too much noise as I struggled to break free. It was clear, however, that his dominant strength was winning out. I was simply too much smaller and weaker than he was.

“What? Come on, just think of this as more training! You gotta be able to get out from underneath me. What happens if you get into a fight and are pinned down? You just gonna let them fuckin’ beat the shit out of you and kill you?”

“What are you talking about?” I bit back, growing increasingly frustrated the longer I was underneath him. “I’m not gonna get into a fight with anyone! I’m not an asshole like you!”

“Really?! ‘Cause your nice ‘ol roommate just tried to play a game with you and you certainly seemed like an asshole then!” “Nice!?” I preposterously shouted, “you’re the furthest fucking thing from nice! Now get off… of… me!” My body wriggled and I could feel it start to loosen from underneath his grip. I didn’t give a shit if I’d get yelled at, I was leaving this damn room!

“Fine, you want mean Jack? You want me to be a bully? I’ll show you what that looks like pansy!” Just as I was beginning to slip from underneath him, Jack readjusted. His feet went between my legs, stretching over them so his knees were just below my waist, weighing down my own legs. Then, he unexpectedly let go of one of my arms. However, it was for a split second, and I was too caught off guard by the change to take advantage of it. Within a second, he descended on me, his sleeve riding up his arm until his pit was exposed. Before I could tell what was happening my face was in his armpit. “Come on, faggot, take a big ‘ol whiff!”

“Mmmmueeghh” I groaned beneath Jack. I could feel the sweat that had built up smearing against my face and dripping into my mouth as I cried out. I fought back vigorously. However, the edge I had earlier had been lost, and I was struggling to budge an inch. Worn out and tired, and with my mouth firmly pressed inside of his put, I had no choice but to take sharp inhales of stench.

“Thaaaaaat’s it. Stop trying to fight it, bitch boy. How does it fucking smell in there?”

With my mouth unable to open, the best I could muster in response was a muffled, “Shmmmminnn.” My response inadvertently forced me to fully exhale. Between the lightheadedness from exerting myself and from the scent of his disgusting pits, I was feeling weak and helpless. All I could do was keep breathing in the acidic scent.

My head spun in circles as I desperately clung to consciousness. My breathing had hiked before sharply slowing down as my vision tunneled. Finally, I felt the pressure from Jack’s body pinning me down lighten as he rose up.

“Come on, man, I’m giving you a chance now.” Jack laughed to himself, rising from the ground. “You can get up and try to take me down now.” He partially squatted and patted his thighs, taunting me. “Come on, you gotta get me, otherwise it’ll be tooooo easy for me to keep winning, and there’s noooo way I’d want that.” His shit eating grin gave away his true feelings, he had something more planned, especially if I couldn’t get up.

I groaned in pain from my spinning head and tried to move my body but couldn’t. All I could do was tightly shut my eyes.

“Oh boy, you’re running out of time,” Jack continued as I heard his foot steps re-approach me.

“Jack…” I tried to muffle out, feeling a disconnect between my brain and the rest of my body.

“Ah, ah, ah, you gotta get up and take me down.” I could hear additional movement as Jack continued to move around. “Come on, just gotta put up a little bit of a fight, man. You can do that, right?” I willed my body to move, to at least maneuver my head, but still nothing happened. Finally I opened my eyes and as the world slowly kaleidoscoped into focus, I saw a tall pink mountain slowly descend upon my face.

“Since you loved my pits so much, I have another treat for you,” Jack could barely stifle his own laughter. “But only if you can’t find it in yourself to move. Otherwise, you must want me to pin that little face of yours under my feet, riiiight?”

With my world now focused I began to catch that rancid scent of his bare foot. Compared to his pit it was lot more cheesy and foul than a burning acidic scent. That’s right… training earlier had involved a lot of running. Fuck… I… I needed to move. I willed my head to move, to the left, to the right. Anywhere, I needed to do anything to avoid this. I felt the atmosphere of his foot, as if the sweat from it somehow hung in the space around his foot, engulf my face. My eyes rolled to the back and somewhere deep inside me I knew movement had become impossible by that point, even as my mind desperately screamed to move.

As the slick sweat finally pressed into my face, I no longer wanted to fight against my consciousness. I wanted that darkness to take over and relieve me from this… But pray as I might now for unconsciousness to take me, somehow it was now escaping. Powerless and weak, I lied on the floor as Jack smeared his disgusting, wet, dank foot across my face. “Haha, that’s right, faggot.” Jack taunted, “That’s what a real man smells like. I know your pansy ass wouldn’t know shit about that, but take it fucking in. Enjoy it. This is as close to being a man as you’ll ever fucking be, just breathing in my ripe ass feet.”

His words swam in my head as it pounded against the raw, cheesy stink. What the fuck was he talking about? His foot sweat was a sign he was a real man? There’s no way that was true… I don’t know why but him saying that tugged at something in my brain.

In trying to understand my sexuality, I always found myself drawn to composed, strong men. Dependable, reliable. Hardworking. This is what I envisioned “true men” being, I suppose. And Jack was strong and maybe hardworking at the gym, but he was so vastly different than what I ever imagined a “true man” to be. But… if they were hardworking, I suppose they might get a little sweaty, would that mean their feet stink… like this? Why did that even matter? That’s the part I couldn’t understand or shake. Even if there was some logic that could make that make sense, why the hell was it so stuck in my head. This is what a real man smells like, that phrase just bounced around endlessly. 

At some point, Jack lifted his dank foot from my face, and grinned down at me. “So what is gonna happen next is that I’m gonna play some shit on your computer and you’re gonna be a good, quiet little fag and let me, got it?” Still overwhelmed by everything that happened, I couldn’t bring myself to answer. This only seemed to please Jack, however, perhaps content with his ability to break me down. “I’ll take your silence as obedience,” he said standing up, “That’s a good faggot. See how easy it is when you just do what I say?” He tapped my face one last time with his bare foot before turning around and sitting at my desk.

I could hear him messing around with the computer before I heard the familiar sound of one of the games starting up. As he got comfortable, I slowly brought my mind back into focus and finally found the strength to move. Groaning, I crawled to my knees before wobbling on my feet and walked out of the room. I ambled to a bathroom and sat down in one of the stalls, cupping my face in my hands as I tried to process what the fuck just happened. As I sat there, I could still pick up faint traces of his foot stink clinging to my face, lightly spinning my head. Exhausted I went back to my room and crawled into bed, covering my head with a blanket until I fell asleep. The entire time, continuing to breath in the foot stench that clung to my face as his words replayed in my head.

-

The next few days I did everything I could to avoid Jack. I just let him have free rein of my computer because I did not want to fight him again. I was constantly on edge, expecting him to do something similar despite my obedience. He’d be sitting at my desk, angrily tapping his feet as he struggled in one of the games, and with every tap a vivid image of him forcing me underneath the desk and instead tapping his foot against my face would flash across my mind. It made me deeply uncomfortable on the surface level simply because it was a disgusting and mean thing to do, but also because his words felt burned into my mind. That was the smell of a real man. For some reason that thought wouldn’t get out of my head. 

It didn’t help either as the days passed and we continued to engage in rigorous training, one night I felt this gnawing curiosity that I tried to resist as much as I could. But after Jack left to take a shower, I couldn’t resist it any longer. I grabbed my own shoes and tried to smell them. Whatever I was thinking was clearly flawed, but I think I was figuring that if my feet smelled like his then it would disprove whatever he tried to assert— that I was as much a man as him. I’d never paid much attention to the smell of my own feet, I suppose because it was simply something I never thought would be relevant, but now it seemed that perhaps there was another reason. After trying to taking a light whiff I found that there was very little scent at all. Despite us doing the same training, the same workouts, there was something about his feet that made them reek like that. Because he’s a real man. That thought forced its way into my psyche and suddenly I felt another scratching urge.

I glanced over at the door. It had only been a few minutes… I quietly snuck over to his bed, as if I was trying to hide from someone not even here. Letting go of all inhibition I pulled the trigger, quickly grabbing a boot of his and raising it to my face. Immediately I was met by the same pungent stench that had engulfed me just a few days prior. Shaking, I continued to hold the boot at my face as I took deeper and deeper inhales. This is a real man’s smell? Jack is a real man? I… I don’t know what I want, but I thought I might want a real man… That would mean I want Jack? That’s not possible… Is it?

I heard some footsteps outside and quickly dropped the boot and ran back to my bed. After a minute, Jack walked into the room. Right as he did, I noticed the straining sensation in my pants and quickly threw my blanket over my hard on, praying he didn’t notice. As I looked back up, I saw Jack staring at his phone as he sauntered over to his bed. As soon as he walked past me, I got up and grabbed my own toiletries and clothes and went to take a cold shower myself. My face was burning red as I went out the door.

-

As more and more days passed until about two weeks since the incident with Jack, I still couldn’t take my mind off the experience. I noticed that I started paying attention to the feet of other guys in our unit, especially those who seemed more mature, and wondering whether their feet reeked like Jack’s. They must, I absentmindedly thought that day, I mean, there’s no way Keith and Darius aren’t real men being as dependable as they are, so their feet must reek too after all this training. As these thoughts sifted through my mind, I felt more and more out of place. I really did feel like a boy amongst men. Jack had so easily overpowered me that day, and there was no doubt in my mind that any of these other guys could do the same. At the same time, it felt easier and easier to see Jack as what I had thought a “real man” was. 

Once we were back in our rooms, I tried to busy myself on my phone and reading a book for most of the day. At some point Jack left the room, and perhaps it was due to these salient thoughts that after a while I made my way to my laptop. Jack hadn’t been as interested in it today, so I booted it up and found myself typing out the thoughts that have been eating away at my mind for the last two weeks. “Do real men’s feet stink?” It felt a little silly googling this question, but nevertheless I hit enter and was met by some unexpected search results.

The first few were about what I expected without really answering the question: a reddit page on someone asking why their feet stink so much and how to solve that, a quora thread on someone asking for help with their husband’s smelly feet. It wasn’t until I scrolled down that I got different results. On what appeared to be a gay porn website it had the title “Twink worships alpha males feet,” then below that was another link to a different gay porn site with the video title of “time to serve a real man faggot.”

Gradually, my heart started to speed up as I read through these titles. I felt a lump in my throat as I click the link to the second website. I turned down the volume and played the video. After a few seconds it cut to a POV from on the ground as a guy stretched his feet toward the camera. He started talking very confidently with a strong, deep voice praising the viewer for being a good “fag” for knowing their place. This man stretched and flexed his toes in the frame as he continued on about how real men deserve to have weak, pretty little boys on the ground beneath them. He said how faggots were inherently weaker and needed a strong man to take control, to assert their power; and how naturally a fag found solace in giving himself up to a real man.

I knew he was talking to the camera and not anybody in specific, but it felt like he was talking to me. Something about the tone of his voice and his words felt like he saying them specifically to me. And his words sounded just like Jack’s.

Suddenly I heard footsteps at the door and I swiftly closed my laptop, cutting the sound. Jack then walked in, hair dampened and sweat glistening on his arms and face. He walked over to his bed and grabbed a towel to wipe off his face before lying on his bed. I could hear him groan, seemingly out of exhaustion as he left the towel lying over his face.

As Jack lied there, my eyes slid down until they rested on his boots. Inside were the sure-to-be-sweaty assailants from the previous week. Taking quiet but deep breaths, I could faintly smell some of his stench from here. I quickly turned around and buried my face in a hand. What the hell do I care about his feet for? How does that make him a man? Despite these questions, the words of the faceless man in the video echoed in my head, telling me that I was a faggot, that Jack was a real man, and that I was meant to serve a real man like him. Abruptly, I stood up and walked out of the room to take a shower and cool off.

While I was in the shower, I tried let the cool water calm me down and I tried to think through things rationally. I hated that something was going on with me, but clearly something was. The words I’d heard from Jack did something that day, and being forced to breathe in his ripe body odor had some sort of effect on me. I suppose… that was undeniable. I just had to play it cool, pretend like nothing happened, and maybe I could explore whatever this was with someone more safe. Jack… it was terrifying to think about what he’d do if he found out. That scene from the video flashed across my mind, only this time the feet in frame were Jack’s. If he found out that’d likely be my reality. Put down beneath his feet… Hearing those words, every day… That I was just his faggot and I lived to serve a real man like him…

I shook my head trying to break out of my stupor. There certainly was something about Jack and his feet. Maybe because he started all this. Maybe I could take quick whiffs of his boots while he was out or something, maybe see if that second time was just a fluke. But no matter how much that scene that just flashed through my eyes made my dick flood with blood, I couldn’t give in to that. I had to listen to reason. Who knows where that would lead me…

After washing off and finally wrapping up, I stepped out of the shower, dried off, and dressed myself before walking back to my room. As I stepped inside, Jack was still on his bed, although he was now sitting upright with a bare foot crossed over one of his legs. As I put my dirty clothes away, Jack spoke up, “Oof, perfect time, Quent. I’ve been having a problem, and need your help.” Although none of his words were necessarily scary, Jack had his usual confident grin on his face. A grin of control. A grin of power. The kind of grin a real man would have when he knows he can get what he wants.

I gulped and nodded along, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I was working out earlier with some of the guys. You know, Vince, Keith, and Corey. Anyway, I think there must have been something in my shoe, I got like a stabbing sensation in my foot,” he grimaced as he wiggled some of his toes, my eyes instantly dropping to watch his toes slide against one another. “Thing is, I don’t see anything there, but I don’t know, I still feel the pain here. You think you can take a look?”

I’d sat on my bed while he spoke and felt a lump in my throat as he made the inquiry. Holy fucking shit, Jack was asking me to take a look at his foot… There was no fucking way that he knew what had been going through my head, was there? In an instant, I tried to process what the fuck I should do. On the one hand, it was fucking crazy to just do what he said and willingly go close to his feet like this. But on the other, he was stronger than me and could force me to do whatever he wanted. I could feel reason slipping from my hands though. This was the perfect opportunity in a way; I could get close to the source of my curiosity and really see whether being by his bare foot again caused the same effect. I had always been a bit of a nerd and in trying to process this I suppose I was trying to break it down scientifically. If I approached his foot and felt the same dizzying effect, felt the same haze as the first time and like when I watched that video, then it meant… well I’m not sure what it meant, but I could figure that out.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I let go of my earlier reasoning and decided this opportunity was too good to pass up, “Yeah, uh, sure. I can take a look.”

“Hah, nice. Knew you’d do it. Now c’mere.”

I got up and slowly ambled toward him before looking down at his right foot and deciding that I had to get down, it only made sense. After gently lowering myself to the ground, Jack then turned his foot to face me, “So do you see anything?”

Sitting so close to Jack’s big, wide foot, I suddenly felt the pressure of the situation start to sink in. It was hard to focus, and I tried my best to keep bullsitting my way through this interaction. “It’s, uh, hard to tell.” I tried to appear like I was looking at his foot from various angles. It really was hard to see anything as my eyes tried to take it all in. The huge vastness of his soles. The cheesy aroma emanating from them was stronger, but still less intense from this distance. It was different than last time. To… to get a better idea, I had to get closer. “Here… let me get a better look.”

My hands slowly reached up and grabbed Jack’s large foot, my hands slightly sliding against the still slick surface. Surprisingly, he let me just take his foot into my hands as I lifted it and stretched it out, drawing it closer to my face. There, I thought, that’s much closer, that’s juuuust about… it. All at once, I was struck over the head by the intense stench. It was just like before. It was almost… commanding. Demanding to be noticed. My eyes had started to kaleidoscope once again before I used all my willpower to bring them back in to gaze over the sole stretching before me. I tried my best to take quiet, deep breaths as that familiar scent enveloped me. It was warm and suffocating. Intoxicating in its own way.

I looked back over his foot, scanning the whole surface from heel to toes. There were a few rough spots, a testament to how much he worked out, how strong he was… a real man, but overall it was still relatively smooth and pink. I looked for anywhere there might be something pressing into his foot, causing him pain. As I held the foot close to my face, one of my thumbs naturally drifted onto the arch and pressed into the sweaty, meaty surface, kneading it. I didn’t realize I was even doing it until Jack let out a light groan.

“Oh, s-sorry, did that hurt?”

Jack had a strange expression on his face initially, not confusion like I’d expect, but an intense look in his eye that felt like he was staring through me. Then he knit his brow while listening to my apology, and grunted, “Yeah… A little. That’s why I told you to look at my foot… Did you forget that I said it hurt?”

“Oh, uh…” I quickly tried to save face and come up with the best lie that I could. “No, I was, uh, trying to see where your foot might hurt…”

“Oh, heh, well then keep that up, I’ll tell you if it hurts anywhere too bad. Otherwise just keep rubbing around like that, ‘kay?”

I let out a sigh of relief that it seemed I’d managed to get off the hook, “Yeah, of course…” This time intentionally, I let my thumbs wander back onto the surface of his sole. I thumbed around the arches, noticing tension built up from the days exertion since we joined. I firmly pressed in and guided the knots outs.

After working along his arches for a minute, I drifted up toward the ball of his foot and under his toes. There were a few roughs spots here, though the accumulation of sweat helped me to more easily knead out the pressure. I then gently massaged each of his toes before coming down to his heel.

All while I did this, I held his foot less than a few inches from my face. My head pounded from the raunchy odor, but I couldn’t stop myself from breathing it in. It was like an oxymoron. It stank so I kept breathing it in. I couldn’t stop breathing in his feet, the smell of a real man. It was repulsive, but I couldn’t help from wanting more. This is my place… right? Just like that man said— underneath his feet. Even as my face slightly contorted unconsciously from the odor, I couldn’t stop myself.

“What about the other one?” I asked almost zombielike and thoughtlessly.

“What about the other one?” Jack questioned, moving his foot from my view and managing to pull me from the atmosphere of his foot. He looked down with a mixture of confusion and disgust.

“I thought I might do the other one.” I continued, still slightly entranced.

Jack paused for a moment, then continued his interrogation. “Why the fuck would I want that? I said this was the foot that hurt, weren’t you trying to figure out where it hurt?” His voice had changed slightly. It became more assertive, almost arrogant. Like he was testing me. It helped to snap me out of the spell.

“I, uh, yeah, I was…” I mumbled, now clearly embarrassed at my thoughtlessness.

“Didn’t seem like you were really paying attention to whether it hurt or not either,” Jack scoffed. My face burned bright red at being caught in that lie. I had no idea how to save this other than by saying the very things that could bury my hole deeper. But they were all I had.

“Oh, I— I was… yeah, it seemed to really hurt around the arch. It felt like there was a knot there. That’s why I really focused there at the start.”

“Huh, I mean, I didn’t ask you to rub my nasty foot, I just wanted you to see if there was something in it, like a splinter or something. Honestly, rubbing it could have just made it worse.”

With every word he spoke I felt my heart sink further and further into my stomach. “S-sorry… I… I just wanted to help…”

“Oho,” Jack grunted contempt, “so you wanted to rub my sweaty feet then?” I don’t think my face could turn any redder than it possibly already was. I had no idea what to say anymore, so I just stayed quiet. “Ugh, jesus, you don’t need to pout. I get that you’re a fag, but it’s not like you like my feet or something, right?” Jack raised his right foot back to my face and wiggled his toes as he spoke. My heart which initially felt like it stopped hearing those words now went into overdrive being re-engulfed in that heady, sweaty scent. “Fine, you can keep rubbing,” he relented, lifting his other foot and prying off his other boot and sock. As he slowly stretched his other leg out and his second foot increased the intensity of his foot stink, something truly snapped back into place.

Without hesitation, I raised my hands again and worked on his left foot now as he dropped the right foot to rest on my shoulder. I continued to massage his left foot for quite a while, making sure I rubbed every inch, before he then pried it from my hands. Before I could react, Jack then pushed his right foot back into my face. Instinctively, I got back to work on that foot like I thought he wanted.

I’m not sure how much time passed, but after a while Jack sighed, “All right, faggot, you can kiss my feet goodbye or whatever because I’m fucking starving.” If he hadn’t pulled his foot from my hands when he did I might have actually kissed his foot. Instead, he slipped on some slides and jumped up as I crawled back over to my bed, coming down from the high of his feet. Without saying another word, he sauntered out of the room and left me alone.

I waited a few seconds but after that I practically lost control. I grabbed his still wet, sweaty socks and rushed over to my computer. I opened it back up and realized I must have closed the tab after before he came in, probably some fast thinking on my part to make sure he didn’t see anything, and I re-opened my browser looking for the same video. After a few seconds I’d found it and clicked play once again. As I listened to that voice tell me what a good faggot I was lying beneath his feet, feet that looked close enough to Jack’s, I held Jack’s damp socks to my face and took a deep inhale. Within seconds of pulling out and stroking my cock, I shot load after load onto my stomach.

As I pulled the sock away, a clear grimace on my face, I shuddered at what I’d just done. After cleaning my cock, I quickly rose up and tried to put his socks back where they’d been. I felt almost frozen with dread before all the regret and disgust came crashing back down. I ran out to the bathroom and dropped to the floor in front of a toilet, dry heaving. What the fuck did I just do? That question spun around in my head as images of Jack’s sweaty feet flashed before my eyes. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing to prevent myself from throwing up, but all I could see where the expansive soles of Jack’s feet. So close… so ripe.

I stayed on the ground for about 10 minutes before my stomach settled and I wobbled my way back to my room. I quietly crawled back into my bed and pulled the covers over my head like I’d done so many times recently. I squeezed my eyes shut for as long as it took until sleep finally took me. While I did, my hands rested close to my face and I continued to breathe in the stink that clung to them. Too tired to get back up, I eventually fell asleep feeling as though I was still surrounded by Jack’s feet.

-

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Hope you all enjoyed! A fellow footsub @footsockboy wanted me to write an army foot worship story, and I did my best to do so! This is definitely another story where I could see myself adding to it in the future, so let me know if you all enjoyed it!

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I woke up the next morning both incredibly anxious and the most satisfied I’d ever been. It was a strange mixture of emotions that felt antithetical to one another. But I suppose looking back, the situation was dialectical. It was both hot as fuck and completely embarrassing and pathetic. Yet even thinking back on it feeling it was “pathetic,” that only served to get that same rise out of me. And not the angry kind, the horny and desperate kind. I hung on that word pathetic and felt my still slightly aching dick strain, and in a similarly pathetic act I reached down and started stroking it again as I recounted the previous night.

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I had been throwing a house party for a bunch of friends. It was my idea after a recent break up to try and cheer myself up. Although initially hesistant, I had invited some of my ex’s friends over. Apparently he was being very quiet about the whole matter and isolating himself, and while they still wanted to be his friend, they did not appreciate being shut out. I felt concern for him, and I knew I needed to focus on me moving forward. So when some of his friends checked on me and I told them about the party, they quickly spread the word amongst themselves and invited themselves in. Again, I felt bad… but having them want to support me like that did feel nice, I can’t lie. So we hung out, drank some beer, wine, and cocktails, and we listened to music and gamed. It was actually a real fun time, and I was glad I’d followed through with the idea.

As the party died down, most everyone left. One by one heading out my door as the minutes ticked by, until around 11 PM it was just Ben and me. We had been drinking casually throughout the night and now had another glass of wine we were slowly chipping away at as we sat on my couch. Ben was a nice guy if not a little oblivious at times. He could be pretty direct, though I could always tell that he meant well. This was perfectly captured by the direction the conversation went once we were alone.

“I still can’t believe you and Pat broke up, dude. You guys seemed like the perfect couple.” Ben sighed before taking a swig of his wine.

“Y-yeah. I guess.” I mumbled out these words still feeling awkward speaking about the split and quickly joined Ben in taking a sip. Thank fucking god for the alcohol. It at least helped to numb my feelings some as the sting from the recent break up stirred in my chest.

“He always seemed sweet on you, which y’know seemed pretty out there since he’s normally such a dick!” Ben laughed, “It always seemed like he was gloating about how perfect you guys were, like he wanted to rub it in. Guess things weren’t so perfect, huh.” I knew Ben and Patrick had this playful back and forth dynamic, often going at each other. I never really noticed how much it may have gotten to him though.

“I mean, it was a complicated situation,” I tried to reason. “He wasn’t bad—“

“Wasn’t that good either, I guess.” Ben had an edge to his voice that took me off guard for a moment before he changed his tune in the opposite direction. “I mean, I can’t really see you being the problem. You’ve always been so considerate and thoughtful.” A sweet smile crept across his face as he stretched his arms behind the couch and kicked his feet up on the coffee table.

“Oh,” I blushed, smiling myself and glancing down at his feet covered in dirty white socks. “I— I mean I try. I did try to do a lot for him.”

“Yeah, I bet. You seem like the type of guy to go above and beyond for your man.” Although I didn’t enjoy his slick jabs at Patrick, I couldn’t help but let my guard down a little as he continued to compliment me.

“Yeah. I guess I did try to do what I could to make his life easier, make him feel good, you know.” The drinks of the night were really starting to hit me, and disinhibited I admitted, “It’s just what I enjoy, but I like being of service to a guy. So I tried my best.”

“Oh yeah?” Ben leaned in intrigued. “How do you like being of service to a guy?”

“I dunno, I liked making him dinner. I’d often take care of things around the apartment. If he needed anything then I’d often try to get it for him.” I tried to stick with pretty bland and inconspicuous actions, but evidently either Ben was more keen than I’d given him credit for, or he simply wanted there to be more.

“Come ooooon, dude. That can’t be all!” Ben giggled playfully, “You said you liked taking care of your man, so there’s gotta be more than that!” He poked and prodded my arm as he spoke.

“Well…” I paused, trying to think of any other action I could describe, but coming up short, I just blurt it out. “…I’d often give him a foot massage after work.” I blushed after so directly saying that. I get that I hadn’t really admitted anything. But it came close, and I was normally way too shy to ever talk freely about my… interest like this.

“Damn!” Ben laughed, “He had you rubbing his feet after work? I get that you’re saying you’re inclined to do something like that… but shit, he was really whipping you into shape!”

Still feeling defensive and protective of Patrick, I didn’t want Ben to get the wrong idea and followed-up, “Oh, I actually offered most of the time. I would ask if he’d let— if he wanted a foot massage.” I realized I threw myself under the bus with that for the sake of my ex, but, I don’t know. I couldn’t bring myself to bad mouth Pat.

“What!?” He spat out exasperated. “You were asking to rub his feet for him? Shit, dude, no wonder he was gloating about you guys. He was getting fucking treated like a king. I can barely get a chick I’m seeing to give me a shoulder rub let alone massage my fucking feet after work.”

I could feel my face burning as he spoke. It was all still kind words though. I think that’s what lead me to be so loose lipped. “Although he didn’t really care for it too much. I guess that’s one thing that led to us having problems.”

“Hold on.” Ben raised his hands in a pausing motion. “He had you asking to rub his feet and he didn’t enjoy it? Shit man, you could fucking rub mine right now if you want! Wait, so was it just an issue of you feeling unappreciated… or…” His voice trailed off and he looked at me with a funny grin.

“I… um…” My voice felt as though it was escaping me and even if it wasn’t, I couldn’t find the words to say.

“Come on,” Ben smirked as he put an arm on my shoulder. “You can say it.”

I felt both unnerved and completely at ease upon feeling his large, warm hand against my arm. “I… um…” I started to speak, trying to force the words out that felt glued inside me. Then, all at once I realized what he’d said just a minute before. That he’d let me rub his feet. I looked down at those dirty white nike socks, and it was strange. I’d never really thought about Ben that way, and I don’t know if that was really appropriate. But something about him encouraging it… validated me. His response was so casual it made me feel… normal. “Yeah, I have a— a thing for feet. Someone else’s. I don’t know, it’s just always been kinda hot to me.”

“Sure, dude! That’s like I’ve always been a tit man myself. But tons of guys are ass dudes. You’re just like that except you like a guy’s feet!” I listened to him so easily parse through reasoning on why my fetish made sense and felt so much tension release with a simple exhale.

“You… uh, you don’t think it’s weird?” My chest and face burned with yearning. Yearning to feel understood.

“Nah man. Like what I was getting at before, I like tits because they accentuate a woman’s chest. Even when men get big and work out their pecs, they don’t get like that. A nice pair of tits is like a symbol of a chick’s womanliness. Like I see ‘em and I’m like, ’now THAT’s a woman!’ I’m sure you think something like that for a dude’s feet.”

“Y-yeah— yeah, there’s something about a guy’s feet. When they’re big and strong. It’s like that screams, ‘That’s a MAN’ to me.” Everything Ben said made so much sense. Even if I don’t like women like that, I can get what he means. It felt so much easier to open up to him. Patrick wasn’t a dick to me or anything, but he almost never really entertained my interest. I’d ask him if I could rub his feet— kiss them, lick them— but he never really initiated things, and it was like he couldn’t understand why I was into it. But Ben somehow… it was like he got it.

“Damn, dude. That’s what you get from a guy’s feet, huh? Sooo…” Ben emphasized his pause for effect before reaching down to his ankles. “What do you think about my feet?” He stripped the dirty fabric off and turned a foot to face me, flexing and wiggling his meaty toes.

Immediately I felt my face turn flush again as I stumbled over my words. “I— I, uh, I mean, maybe this isn’t right… right?”

“Whatcha mean?” Ben teased as he waved the foot up and down.

“W-well, u-using your own analogy, how would you feel if a chick just asked you to check out her breasts?”

“Hah! I’d fuckin’ love it, dude!” Ben snorted laughing. “Man, I’d fucking be like ‘Sure, lemme check ‘em out. I can feel ‘em for you too.’ Start playing with her nipples, groping ‘em. Bro, if she’s asking me to check out her tits then I bet she fuckin’ wants me playing with ‘em! Don’t lie, I bet you fuckin’ love me asking you to check out my feet.”

I couldn’t deny what Ben said, but now a question burned in my mind and it wouldn’t go away without me asking. “S-so do you want me checking out your feet? Um, p-playing with them?”

“Dude, I don’t give a shit if you look at my feet.” Ben snorted, then smirking added, “You just gotta tell me what you like about feet while you do it… And what you like about mine! I think that’s a fair trade off.” He nodded his head as if to agree with himself. He then shifted around to the other end of the couch and maneuvered his legs over so the soles of his feet were facing me. “Come on, I want you to take a look. I bet they’re fucking sexy, aren’t they? Sounds like you like manly looking feet. There’s no way mine aren’t.”

I can’t deny that I had been eyeing Ben’s feet in his socks while we’d been talking and even more so after he took his socks off, and they were very manly. They were pretty big and strong looking. It wasn’t just the toes that were meaty. His soles looked thick and powerful. I was worried about the direction this was going but as his feet plopped down into my lap, I couldn’t help but give in to my indulgence and fetish. I slowly reached over and grabbed Ben’s right foot which was crossed over the left. It was warm, and slightly sweaty. I felt my hands turn to mush from my nerves and how turned on I was. My mouth felt dry as I inspected the objects of my interest before me now. After a minute, Ben cleared his throat, “Come on, gotta hold your end of the deal.” Even without looking at him, I could feel the smirk on his face and could tell he was enjoying this.

“H-how big are they?” I asked, almost begging to know.

“Hah, so you like how big they are, huh?” He teased, flexing his toes.

“Y-yeah. They’re really, really big.”

“Makes sense, they’re size 14’s. So pretty fucking huge, yeah.”

“Oh… yeah, they are really huge. I never noticed that before. I usually tried to avoid looking at other guys’ feet.”

“Why’s that?” Ben inquired, trying to dig himself deeper and deeper into my psyche.

“I don’t want to get turned on so easily,” I admitted. “Plus, I wasn’t single before, it felt like a betrayal if I was gawking at another man’s feet.”

“Well, now you can look alllll you want, bud. Now, what else do you like about feet?” Somehow I felt that smirk bore even deeper into my mind.

“I like the way a guy’s feet can look.” I stared deep into Ben’s fleshy soles. They weren’t too rough, but they weren’t super soft either. Evidence pointing toward the time he’d spend on his feet. “You have some wide soles, but with a visible arch,” I maneuvered his feet and palmed the soles in response to where I was talking about. “You also have nice toes. They’re not fat, but still plump; and not short and stubby, but also not too long. They’re…” My voice trailed off, but Ben was quick to finish that thought.

“Perfect?” Ben grinned to himself as I continued to stare deep into the bottom of his feet. I nodded slowly in response to his assertion. “Hah! Nice. Figured I’d have some pretty sexy feet after thinking about it some… but ‘perfect,’ huh? That’s pretty hot to hear.” Not missing a beat, he kept prodding me, “So, what else? Can’t just be the looks that gets you going. I know it’s not that way for me when it comes to a nice pair of tits.”

“Oh… Um, no, I, uh, yeah I do like some other things.” I was losing nerve for sure, but also just looking into Ben’s feet made it harder to think straight.

“Sooooo,” he emphasized dramatically, “What else?” He wiggled and scrunched his toes as he spoke and pushed them slightly closer. It’s strange the difference what little distance made, but now I could pick up on the slightly cheesy, heady scent practically radiating from his feet.

“Th-their smell… I like their smell.” I confessed disinhibited, almost trancelike watching Ben’s feet.

“What? Really?” Ben laughed in disbelief. “Dude, my feet fucking reek though. You like that?”

“Y-y-yeah…” I nodded still entranced by the movement of Ben’s toes.

“Shit, I mean I’m kinda curious now. I kinda wanna see you take a hit of my feet and tell me what you think. Jesus, that’s fucking crazy to say out loud. I can see why you were hush-hush about it, but damn it’s kinda funny to think about.”

I was so fucking close to grinding my face into the bottom of Ben’s soles, but my better judgment— what little remained of it— kept me cognizant of what is appropriate. “I… I don’t know, Ben. Wouldn’t that be going too far…?”

“You think?” Ben wondered aloud. “Yeah, I guess if we think about that tits analogy. You checking them out is one thing, you feeling them and massaging them would be like groping ‘em, and boy I’d already be itching to get inside a chick at that point, so I can’t imagine how horny I must be making you feel right now.” I did my best to keep my eyes off of his as my face burned in embarrassment the more he spoke. I was absolutely horny out of my mind. “I guess sniffing my nasty feet would be like… kissing and licking the tits… Although, wait… Shit, that’d be more like if you kissed and licked my fucking feet and toes. Wait, do you like that too?”

I was petrified listening to Ben speak like this. Not because it made me feel disgusting or weird, but because he was so direct in the way he spoke about me playing with his feet. Despite myself, I swallowed hard and nodded, “Oh, uh, yeah… I really like that.” I  internally kicked myself for that— did I really have to say I “really” liked it?!

“Hah! Fuuuuck, dude. So you’re saying you’d lick my feet?” In the swirl of embarrassment within me, the one saving grace was how earnest Ben seemed. It made me let down my guard despite the otherwise uncomfortable situation. “Would you do it even if they were dirty and sweaty like right now?” I immediately nodded, blushing hard. “Jesus Chriiiiiist.” Ben let out a long sigh, “Shit man, that is crazy… You know, I meant it before. I would kill to have a nice foot rub.” Ben lifted his feet close to my face and flexed his toes, fanning them and the sharp rancid, yet hypnotic stench.

I sat staring down at Ben’s big feet, caught between responding and not giving in to my urges. The urges that make me feel weak. The urges that make me lose control of myself. “Come on, you can rub ‘em for me a little, right?” He smiled, slyly.

“I… I don’t know, Ben.” I muttered back. Fighting back as much as I could. Nervous about what it would mean and what would happen if I gave in to him.

“No one will find out. You’re just doing a small favor for your buddy.” Ben grinned feigning innocence.

“Just a small favor?” I mumbled out, watching Ben’s second toe flick against the big toe. That heavy odor slowly wafting up toward me.

Seeing the opportunity, Ben pounced. “Yeah, they hurt, y’know. You’re just helping me so they hurt less. You’re a good pal. You don’t want me to be hurting do you?”

“Well, no, of course I don’t—“

“So you’ll rub ‘em for me! You’re such a sweet friend.” Ben beamed, tapping his heel against my leg.

I really didn’t think this was appropriate… but I didn’t want Ben to be in pain. Reluctantly, I placed my hands back on to the warm, moist soles and began sliding my thumbs over his right arch.

“Shiiiiiiit, dude.” Ben sighed, “Fuck yeah, keep that up.” He leaned back and settled down further, stretching his legs out more. Backed up against the end of the couch, I awkwardly continued pampering his first foot as it nearly pressed into me.

Thumbs up the arches, then over the balls. Slide down the arches then over the heels, I continued to massage Ben’s feet. As I did, that foul, cheesy scent invaded my mind. I guess they were pretty sweaty… so sweaty in my hands. My hands were covered in Ben’s foot sweat. I wondered how they might smell directly at the source.

I slowly raised a hand to my face before catching myself and pulling it back down and resumed massaging. I couldn’t sniff Ben’s foot funk… not… not in front of him! What would he think? I mean, he knew I had a foot fetish, but still… that would be taking it too far, right?

I tried to focus on taking care of Ben’s feet, but it was like every few seconds he batted those long, meaty toes and a dusting of rank odor would fill my lungs and I’d have to stop myself from breathing so deeply.

I looked up to Ben and noticed he was on his phone. I felt so grateful that he was, it at least sheltered some embarrassment. I turned my attention back to his feet as I slid my fingers between his toes, stretching them. He released a deep sigh feeling his toes stretch out and as my fingers pulled back out it was easy to feel how coated in his toe sweat they’d become. My fingers had run through perhaps the most potent area of stink. I could already smell the dank odor, but… but it wasn’t enough. Once again, my hand crept up to my face until it was just under my nose. I took a deep, soft inhale. Though it wasn’t directly from the source, the scent was more powerful than what I’d gotten up until this point. My head spun from the intensity of the smell.

“Take another whiff.” I heard. I obeyed. I took another whiff of my fingers and once again felt my head roll back as that stinging stink filled my lungs. It wasn’t until Ben raised his foot up to my face that I realized what had happened. “Why don’t you take a hit right from my feet?”

I held up Ben’s foot as he prodded me into action. I tried to resist, to hold back as much as I could as his foot hung inches from my face, its pounding smell already suffocating me. “Oh, I, um, I…” I stuttered.

“That cool air would feel so good on my feet. I bet that’d make ‘em feel so much better. You wanna be a good friend and help me feel better, right?” Still gazing into the meaty flesh I gently nodded to his assertion. “Then,” He ordered, moving the foot forward until it pressed against my cheek and lips and forehead. “Take a deep breath in.” I inhaled sharply, my chest drumming faster and faster, and my face burning in intoxication. “Fuuuuuck… aaand exhaaaale.” I complied and breathed out. After the first inhale, my resistance shattered and I was giving in. I took another hit, and hit after hit. Deep, long inhales as I let go and began massaging the other foot. Ben ground his huge sole against my face and I caressed it in turn. Gingerly symbolizing and admitting my submission, forfeiting any sense of self-respect.

“Shit, dude, you’re really getting in there, huh? Oof, man, and that shit has to fucking reek. I walked to get here… That was a mile and a half or so. You sure you wanna be smelling my dirty, nasty feet?”

I was struck dumb by the very ripe feet Ben was taunting me with. In this state, to me, his words sounded sincere, and I played right into his hand. “P-please…” I begged, burying my face beneath the sole on my face, my lips dragging against the moist arch. “Please don’t make me stop…”

“Hah, come on, you can do better than that.” Ben sneered, removing his foot from my face and hanging it over the side of the couch, like a dangling carrot. I gullibly took the bait, sliding off the couch as he maneuvered around to get more comfortable. “Come on, why should  I let you sniff my disgusting feet?”

“B-because I need it,” I threw my face back into both of Ben’s soles now, the combined stench sending me into overdrive. “Please, Ben, please, I’ll do whatever you want, I need your feet. Please let me sniff and kiss and worship your feet.”

“Whoa, worship, huh? Heh, fuck, I should be worshipped, shouldn’t I?” “Yes!” I agreed gently kissing Ben’s feet. The very faint flavor of his sweat was salty and slightly sour. It drove me crazy. “Please, please let me worship you. Whatever you want!”

“Heh, whatever I want, huh? Tell me, who has sexier feet, Pat or me?” The question almost snapped me out of my stupor. Almost.

“You!” I shouted placing firmer kisses against Ben’s feet. With every kiss, I descended further and further under his grasp.

“Who’s fucking hotter, Pat or me?”

“You! You are. You’re so fucking hot, he never drove me this crazy. I can’t even… fucking…” I began panting beneath his hot soles as I spoke, overcome with lust.

“Can’t even fucking control yourself, huh? So who fucking owns you with their fucking feet? And you can answer that with your tongue.”Immediately my tongue shot out and dove, pressing against Ben’s damp skin, absorbing the sweat and foot gunk, sliding up and weaving between his toes. I felt my eyes roll to the back of my head as I tasted and savored his toe jam. My legs, which were kneeling, and back suddenly gave out and within seconds I was on the ground. Ben didn’t miss a beat, his feet never relenting in swallowing my face as they pinned it to the floor. “You’re not fucking going anywhere,” he snarled, grinding them against my face. “Pat always wanted to rub your perfect little relationship in my face, well now I’m rubbing my filthy feet in your face! Hah! Fuck yeah, get in between every fucking toe!”

I was barely registering the words Ben was saying, though I felt the raw dominance they were dripping in. It only served to make me weaker. Drool trailing from my lips along the bottom of his soles, I looked up at him, eyes soft and glassy. Smirking, he lowered a foot until a big toe pressed against my lips which parted easily for the salty invader. Adding his second big toe, he stretched my lips apart into a smile. “Awww,” he mused, “look how happy you are with my big toes in your mouth.” My tongue, still free, continued to wipe itself against his dirty soles collecting sock lint and other foot jam. My eyes naturally fell down to his feet, then after a second, he prodded me, “Now why don’t you say, ‘I love Ben’s big feet.’”

Unhesitatingly, I muffled out. “I lumfff Benshhh biihggg shtinky feeethhh.”

Ben laughed at my obedience, and cocked a brow. “My big stinky feet, eh? Ha! Well, while I didn’t tell you to say that part, that’s fucking pathetic… and hot as shit. You’re a pathetic little foot fag, aren’t you?” Despite the harsh words, Ben’s voice and tone were more pleasantly teasing and playful.

I nodded, zombielike with drool dripping out of my mouth and down Ben’s long toes. My tongue dropped out and licked it back up. A big big was plastered on his face as he removed one of his toes from my mouth and tapped my face with the sole of his foot.

“That’s a good foot licker.” Ben chuckled to himself. “Suck on my big toe while you rub the other foot.” Closing my eyes I complied. Letting my world go dark as I only focused on the stinging stink that hypnotized me and the salty sweat that captivated me and the warm, moist flesh that controlled me.

After some time, we switched toes that I suckled on and which foot I massaged. Ben slapped my face around and enjoyed shoving his toes in my mouth and making me take long laps along his arches. While I was sucking on his heel, Bensuddenly removed his soles from my face and in a swift motion, stood above me and revealed his hard, thick cock. Before I could make sense of anything, spurt after spurt of cum shot onto my face. It went over my lips and into my eyes. All I could do was lie there as he continued to coat me in an additional layer of his domination over his foot funk.

After a moment, Ben’s breathing slowed and he sighed contentedly as he kneeled down and pressed his large cock head against my lips. Once again, without resistance, they opened and my tongue naturally swirled around the delicious cream cleaning his tool of domination for him. 

“Anything you wanna say for getting to suck out my toe jam, foot boy?” Ben could barely stifle his own laughter as my lips stretched to their limit by his hung cock.

“Th-Thhfaangg yheuuuugh!” I cried out, every drop of Ben’s cum further crushing my psyche and awareness.

“Yoooouuuu’reeee welcome. You know you can always fag out on my stinky feet. ‘Cause I’m just suuuuch a good friend.”

I nodded as I continued to suck on the juicy meat. Once it was sufficiently clean, Ben rose up, dressing himself before tapping my face once with a foot, now closed within a shoe.

“You did a great job. You’re suuuuch a good friend, Ollie. My feet feel so much better now!” Sighing, Ben started walking away, “Anyway, see ya later! We should do this again!” He cried out before exiting my apartment.

I sat there coated in Ben’s toe jam and cum for a long time unable to move or think. Gradually reality settled in and I grew embarrassed and guilty for how depraved I acted. Despite that, I couldn’t bring myself to wash off my face. I reached down and within seconds of touching my cock shot my own load. Exhausted I got up, wiping my dick on a nearby towel before crawling into bed and letting sleep easily take over.

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Losing Everything Beneath Ted’s Feet

“Ugh, today was just so exhausting, I think I need a break, man.” I sighed, walking next to the couch.

My sincere declaration was met with the deep, boisterous laughter of my roommate, Ted. “Naw man, you’re just pussin’ out ‘cause you know you’re about to get fucking tanked dude!”

Scoffing, I shrugged off his accusation. “I win like nine times out of ten! I don’t even think you believe that!”

“There’s something in the air, dude. I was feeling it at work today. It was like I could lift anything I needed to without any struggle. I just know I’m gonna do the same to you… if you don’t puss out that is.” His voice was stern and strong. Defiant to all resistance.

“We game like all the time,” I tried to reason, “why does it have to be tonight? We can just do this tomorrow, right?”

“Naw, man,” he shook his head. “I wanna run on this high. How ‘bout we make this interesting. I know you didn’t hang out with the guys in college, but we have a lot of ways of making games more interesting. We’ll change it up, make it more fun. Something worthwhile for you.”

“Ignoring whatever that jab was…” I rolled my eyes, “What are some of these ideas?”

“We could bet money, though that’s always the most boring option.”

“Dude, we barely make enough to have any sort of fun money. What else is there.” “Good, I didn’t want to do that shit either,” he agreed. “We’d also make bets where the loser had to do whatever the winner said.” He started howling to himself. “There was one time where a friend of ours, Eli, kept fucking losing! Hahaha, eventually Stan just got sick of it, and made a bet that if Eli lost he had to be his slave for a week. Fuck, dude! Eli’s face when he fucking lost, and lost hard. It was fucking hilarious.” He paused for a moment and then made a face like he had an epiphany before chuckling to himself.

“Dude, what?” I inquired, quizzically staring at him losing it all on his own.

“I forgot, Eli came out a few years after we all graduated. Fuck… you know… he probably fucking lost that shit on purpose! I heard some of the sick shit Stan made him do that week… it makes sense he ended up being a fag—“ He stopped himself before he finished, looking at me sheepishly. “Heh, sorry man, I almost forgot myself for a minute. I know you don’t like hearing that word, ‘specially out of a straight man like me.”

I was taken aback by how Ted was just talking and could only slowly nod. Seeing that he wasn’t really reprimanded, he concluded, “You just should have seen it, man. If you were there, it would have made sense. If there was ever a time to use that word, looking back now, it was then!”

Nervously laughing, I just tried to move the conversation along. “Aaaanyway, let’s rule that out for now, any others?”

“Well, we also used to have the losers take shots. That was always funny since they’d just get worse and worse and end up wasted by the end. But you don’t drink, so that just leaves the last option.” He paused before a wicked grin spread across his face.

“What is it, man?” I leaned in expectantly.

He leaned forward in turn and I could feel his hot breath, thick with the scent of his beer spread across my face. “Strip betting. Loser takes off a piece of clothing. Keep going ‘till they’re naked… or more.” He had a shit eating grin with the last addition, a statement and a grin I didn’t understand in this moment.

“I don’t really know what you mean by more, but how does this entice me?”

“C’mon, bro. You don’t have to play coy. I know you’d probably love to see me strip off my clothes. ‘Specially after a long day, see the sweat glisten on this skin. Just try and tell me you’re not down for this shit.”

Now Ted was definitely a handsome guy. Really the embodiment of being a MAN, at least in the traditional sense. He had big everything. Big legs, big feet, big arms, a big belly. Yet you could tell underneath it all was this dense muscle. People would sometimes laugh seeing us as roommates considering the difference between us. I did try to workout, but mainly so I could have a big butt and eat a little treat every now and then. Compared to him, I was practically twink-ish despite not looking as thin or malnourished as many twinks do. But that’s just what happens when you have a hulking man standing beside you. And Ted’s features were all highlighted by a rugged, but clean and even, in some ways, cute face. He had a baby face that finally adultified and just became handsome and strong.

So, honestly, I couldn’t lie, thinking about seeing him naked wasn’t an unattractive proposition. But also, Ted was straight as a door nail. What would I really gain from getting this man to strip? An amplified undying lust for a man I could never have? Pass. I was getting ready to turn down the idea when he spoke back up.

“Spending an awfully long time thinking about it, huh, dude? It’s all right, I bet you’re just having to think about a good excuse for why you could turn me down when you know you wanna see this all exposed.”

I turned beet red and started stuttering trying to deny the accusation.

“Ah ah ah,” he tutted, “It’s all right, why don’t we just play a few games and you can see how much fun you’re having. After two or three rounds, if you still wanna call it quits, we can. Sound fair?”

Honestly, at this point I felt exhausted. Going along with what he wants just felt like the easier option.

“Sure,” I reasoned, “we can play a few rounds, see how it goes.”

With that shit eating grin returning to his face, he exclaimed in victory, “Atta boy! Hope you’re ready to taste defeat again and again!”

-

After putting my work things away, I came back into the living room and sat on the couch beside Ted. He had also recently come home and was still in his work clothes. As a construction worker, this meant he had on some thick jeans, heavy boots, and two layers of shirts, one long-sleeve undershirt and a thick zip up coat. I glanced over his attire and exclaimed, “Hey! That’s not fair. You have on more than me. You even still have on your boots! That’s gotta be cheating.”

“Heh, that’s just the way the game works, Lev, my boy. It’s whatever you’re wearing at the time. So don’t even think about going to put on more shit. ‘Sides, I had these boots on because as much as it’d feel better to have ‘em off, we were working hard today and it was a warm one for us. I was trying not to stink up the place too much.”

I looked down at his boots and shuddered. Ted and I moved in together toward the end of Fall and it was now starting to get to be late Spring and warming up. For the most part, he’d always commented how nice it was that we’d had such cold weather since it kept him cooled. But today had been pretty hot in comparison. The first day in the 60’s after months of anything barely above 40’s. Maybe he was doing us a favor…

But as I heard the upbeat music of the first game kick in, I turned my attention to the game and locked in. We played three different games: a kart racer, a fighting game, and a free-for-all game where you tried to survive being knocked out in mini games. As much as it’d be a little tedious switching between, we loved the change of pace and it helped us to never get bored.

I was better than Ted at almost all of them. The first two were easy to master through playing often, but the last involved too many unknowns with online players. That’s what made it almost more fun, but also the hardest to rely on. I felt confident though that I could make it out the winner even if he consistently won in the third game.

The discrepancy in our skill levels was only made more apparent once we actually started. As exhausted as I was, I was still able to maintain first for all of the races, while he sat comfortably in second, never really coming near me.

“See, Ted, I don’t really see how you think this is going to work in your favor.” I tried to reason with him once more.

Grunting, he just untied his laces and pried off a heavy boot. “There’s plenty of time left to come in from behind. Hehe, I’m often coming from behind if you know what I mean.” He snickered to himself as we switched to the fighting game.

I rolled my eyes as my nose twitched slightly. He wasn’t lying about keeping those boots on. That’s when I noticed he still had one of them on!

“Hey, don’t you need to take that other boot off!”

“Ahhh, see, it’s just one article of clothing, Lev. I took one off, didn’t I?”

Exasperated, I once again felt it would just be easier to let Ted have his way. Shaking my head, I turned back to the new game on the screen and selected my character.

“See, it’s all just easier, when you let ‘ol Ted lead and you follow. Now, I’m about to beat your pansy ass.” He laughed to himself.

Ted did not, in fact, beat my pansy ass. But… He came a lot closer than he has before.

“Damn! I really am better at this game today!” He exclaimed to himself as he began unlacing the second boot. With a loud thud, he dropped the other boot just like the first and kicked his socked feet up onto the ottoman.

We prepared to move on to the third game and as the game loaded us into the first round I noticed my nose felt like it was on fire. It took a second or two before I realized it was as if it was being pounded with a sweaty, stinky sledge hammer. I tried to hold my breath through my nose, but somehow that made it worse. It felt like I needed to breathe more, air it out more… except airing it out really only sucked in more of the dank air.

It wasn’t for a few second that I realized we’d started.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, as I rushed to try and catch up as many of the other players characters bounded across the screen ahead of me.

It was tough, but with much effort, I made it through the round and on to the next. Beside me, I heard Ted chuckling to himself about how far ahead he was and how it was time for me to be knocked down a peg.

I was determined to make it through, this would teach him a lesson and hopefully show him how dumb this was turning out to be. He was just going to end up naked in front of me!

As the round started and we had to stay alive to progress, that thought circled in my head. Ted was going to get naked in front of me. Would he really undress all the way? There was no way… right? Flashes of a thick, bushy cock at the base of his crotch flashed before my eyes and I had to squeeze them shut and open again to refocus.

I managed to just barely dodge something that threatened to knock me out, but as I jumped out of the way, I ran into a small group of other players and just as another object came flying past, someone grabbed me and together we were hit and sent off the edge, knocking us out.

“Dammit!” I yelled, excitedly. “Ugh,” I sighed as the realization of the loss hit me as Ted’s character progressed on, “I lost, fair and square.” I fessed up.

“Hell yeah you did. Now take off your shirt, bro. Loser strips.” 

I complied with his order and threw my shirt down before turning to him in confusion. “Wait, how come you get to tell me what to take off!”

Bellowing in laughter so hard, his character ended up getting knocked out and eliminated, he wiped away a tear before admitting, “I was just seeing if you’d do it. Besides… normaaaally we do let the winners decide what the losers will remove.”

Exasperated, I called him out, “You didn’t tell me that before!”

“HAH! So I bet you would have wanted to have me strip more than just my boots, huh? What, would you have told me to take my pants off? I knew you’d wanna see me naked! See pretty enticing game, huh?”

I fumbled my words trying to find some way to resist what he was saying. It wasn’t really that he was right per se. Sure, seeing Ted take his pants off would have been hot, but that wouldn’t have even been my first choice. I’d have probably said his jacket and then maybe his shirt.

“Whatever, man.” I pouted, unable to form the words properly to retort his argument. “Let’s just get back to the kart racer so I can beat your ass again.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ted taunted.

But I was locked in. After restarting the first game, I didn’t do amazingly, but I made sure to beat him every time, even if only just barely. Shit… was he getting better at this?

“So, I guess you want me to take off my pants now?” Ted sighed, but with a cocky grin on his face.

I took a second to speak before quietly demanding, “…Sock.”

“Huh? I didn’t quite catch that?” He snickered.

“Take off a sock. I’m not just gonna tell you to take your pants off!”

Giggling to himself like he’d won something, he followed through and removed his left sock, the foot closer to me. I was busy setting up the fighting game when he sneered and announced “Here’s your prize!” as he tossed the sock onto my face.

I felt the damp warm surface fall across my nose and mouth before I had time to react. Taken aback, I sharply inhaled through my nose and was assaulted by Ted’s dank foot sweat nearly from the source. Instantly I felt light-headed and slowly reached up to swipe it off my face. For a moment though, that burning sensation had stopped. Perhaps overwritten by all the other intense dysregulating scents defiling my nose. It was relief… but… but not in a good way, that couldn’t be good relief.

With the game now set up, my nose resumed twitching, itching and burning, almost more intensely now. Probably from his sock being removed. Fuck. What the hell did Ted do today?

It was a slight blur, but I selected my character and we started and I was trying to fight back, but it was much harder this time. Ted was getting so much better. We were basically even this time.

My only saving grace is that his attacks seemed sporadic and isolated. I tried my hardest to focus in just enough to plan a combo and with both of us on our last lives and close to being taken out, I sent him flying off the map.

Despite, this I felt unable to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Whooo! That was a close one, bud. You were putting up a good fight there, but I’ll for sure, have you next time.” He smirked, and playfully ran a finger across my exposed nipple sending electricity shooting through my cock.

With that it felt like I could finally take that deep inhale again as I shuddered from the sensation. Ted then crossed his right leg to face me and chuckled, “Other sock this time I take it?”

Despite my defiance and not wanting to seem like a horny perv, after all the teasing and the struggle to make it through these matches, I desperately wanted him to take off his pants. I readied to open my mouth as Ted slid a finger into the sock and prepared to peel it off.

“C’mon, bud, it’s not that hard to just tell me to peel off the other stinker.” He grunted humorously.

“Oh… yeah. Take off the other sock then, please.” I mumbled. It would just be easier to go along with what Ted wanted. Besides, he said he’d wanted to get more comfortable. Considering I’m gonna keep coming out on top, the least I could do was let him be comfortable as he lost.

“Hah, ‘Please?’ Well at least you’re learning some manners.” Ted said amused. As we went back to the third game, he stretched out his legs and crossed his feet.

I was determined to keep winning. Even as it felt like my capabilities were diminishing for some reason… maybe the exhaustion. Still, as our little characters were sent into the first mini game, I stayed laser focused on the screen. It was hard fought, but this time I made it to the final round with Ted.

This was a survival round, and per our rules, the winner doesn’t have to win the whole thing, just survive longer than the other person. Our characters stood on platforms that would disappear after a few moments and we had to keep running and jumping around to stay alive as we used up our flooring. Tier after tier of flooring disappeared until we were nearing the bottom. Both Ted and I still in it. He was one tier below me, giving me the upper hand. As I sat frozen and focused, Ted remained calm and assured of himself.

“Now don’t think you got this in the bag just because I’m closer to fallin’ out.” He crossed his right leg and leaned his head forward, bringing in his focus as well.

My nose started to twitch and burn again, inadvertently drawing my eyes down to the source. His right foot looked as though it was facing me, staring at me. The toes wiggled playfully despite Ted’s clear focus, as if demonstrating that he was still relaxed and in control beneath that facade of focus. He stretched and scrunched his foot and I had to scratch my nose to stop the burning. A half second after I did, I heard the sound of one of us being eliminated. I looked up excitedly as I saw my screen now mirroring his own, an indication that I had been the one eliminated.

“Fuck yeah!” He shouted, as excited as I had been mere moments ago. “I don’t know what the fuck got into you, but you were barely fuckin’ moving, dude!” Chuckling he taunted me further. “Finally realize you can’t win against me? I told you there was something in the air, and I’m about to dominate you, just watch and see!”

Almost as if not caring to even try anymore, Ted was eliminated himself shortly after as I sat in disbelief. I tried to shake his arrogance, but it was hard to let go of when I knew he had been getting closer and closer to winning each game, not just this one.

I was so much better than him. What the fuck was going on?!

As he started up the third round of our games, he demanded, “Pants off, now.”

Still stunned, I stood up and slowly took my pants off before dropping them next to my shirt. It wasn’t until I felt a huge, meaty hand slap my bare ass that I was brought back to reality.

“Fuck, dude! You’re fucking kinky as hell wearing a jockstrap to work! Haha, that cozy ass desk job really lets you get away with anything, huh?!”

My face now bright red, I quickly sat back down, still able to feel the sensation of Ted’s sweaty hand against my cheek. At a loss for words, I reached for a blanket to try and cover up when Ted maneuvered around and kicked my hand with a foot.

“Hey! No covering up! We’re stripping as a part of the bets, that’d defeat the purpose!”

Ted didn’t take his eyes off the screen as I tried to protest and continue pulling a blanket toward me. “Ted, come on, this is embarr—“ He moved his foot to kick away my hand again before missing and I felt a warm and sweaty, dirty sole push into my face. Once again, as the wet musk forced its way into my olfactory senses, the strange sensation with my nose died down and inadvertently released tension in my shoulders and relaxed my face.

“Hah! Whoops, didn’t mean to do that,” he feigned apologetically despite keeping his foot up against my face. “But this works too. Shut you up good, hah! Now, like I said, no covering up. If you win and get me to take off my pants, then I’ll sit right next to you just the same. I won’t have my hairy cheeks out like your smooth ass is out,” he chuckled to himself, “but I’d do it all the same.” After a pausing a second and wiggling his big, meaty toes across my face, he asked, “Do you understand? You gonna sit there bare cheeks exposed like a good boy?”

Despite feeling embarrassed and shaken, I gently nodded, almost caressing my face into his feet.

“Good. Now let’s get back into this shit so I can kick your ass some more!” He cheered, removing the huge sole from my face. I turned my attention back to the game and tried to set up a different build to try and help, but as I did, I couldn’t help but notice that discomfort return to my nose.

Switching up my build from balanced to speedy, I chose one of the thinner female racers which elicited a response from Ted.

“Heh, really leaning into them fag roots now with that pick. But we both know that’s not gonna help you. My man’s huge, like me. He’s gonna run right through and dominate you.” Ted taunted.

I was so focused on trying to win, I barely registered the individual words he said, just that he was saying he’d crush me.

“You’ve been getting destroyed at this,” I pushed back, trying to hold on to my confidence. “There’s no way you’re gonna fucking win. I can guarantee it.”

“Heh,” he grinned devilishly as our racers lined the starting point. “Fine, let’s make this interesting. Shake things up. You win, and you can have me take off two pieces of clothing.”

“You’re on! I’ll do it!—” I agreed proudly.

“Ah,” he cut me off as our racers took off down the course. “If I win, you don’t have to take off anything though, since you’re already soooo close to losing the whole damn thing.” He teased, before revealing my loss condition. “Instead, you’ll be bargaining a service. I’ll get to have you do whatever I want… for five minutes! So thanks for already agreeing!” He snickered.

To his credit, playing these games with these conditions had gotten me more invested… and as I was more invested, I was more intent to win. In a final act of defiance, I asserted, “Fine! But it’s not going to happen. I know it! So it doesn’t matter, we could bet that I do whatever you want five, ten… even, fifteen minutes, but it’s not happening!”

“HAH! You just dug your grave, little man. I know exactly what I’ll have a cocky little shit like you do for fifteen minutes, maybe it’ll teach you some humility.”

Our racers finished the first and second laps as we concluded our banter. I had been ahead of Ted for most of the race, a huge boon thanks to that speed he tried to discredit; but as we approached the halfway point of the final lap he finally pulled ahead of me.

“Heh, victory is within grasp, I can already feel your hands working my tired arches and soles.”

“What?” I questioned, distracted.

“Yeah, that’s right, when I win you’re gonna really get to experience being beneath me. Literally. Hope you enjoy getting up close and personal with my big dogs. Gonna shut that trap of yours and have you treat me like a king.”

He gloated as if his victory was assured. But I had one last chance. As we approached the end point, I was trailing behind him with a speed item. He was close to the edge of the course on his left and after taking a sharp turn, I was closer and could use my speed item to cut past him. Going to the right was safer, but I knew I could do it.

I clicked to use the item while there was still time left and shouted, “I’m not rubbing your big stinky—“ 

Then just as I got ready to pass him, his heavy-class male character rammed their kart into the kart of the light-class female character I’d chosen and sent it flying off the edge.

Not a second later, he passed the finish line in first.

“Whoo!” Ted erupted joyously, practically jumping in his seat. “What’d I tell you about playing a faggy character, dude! A man always comes out on top!” I was too stunned to speak and while I tried to find the words, I felt his big sweaty paw on the back of my neck shove me to the ground. Turning around he moved his feet on top of me, pressing my back against the ground. “Now, what was that about my feet? You said you wouldn’t rub my stinky feet? Is that anyway to talk about the man who owns you for the next fifteen minutes?” His arrogance grew ten times what it’d ever been. He was enjoying this. “I think a little bitch in your place should learn to enjoy their job. And since your job is rubbing my stinky,” he emphasized the word again, “feet, you’re not just gonna rub ‘em. Start with the right,” he demanded, shaking the foot in my face as I lifted my hands, still too stunned to do anything else but what he was telling me. “And, while you rub that one. You’re gonna be taking deeeeep whiffs of the other.” He extended his left foot into my face until it engulfed me. My head spun underneath the dank cheesy captor.

I opened up my mouth to speak, and perhaps feeling my lips brush against his feet due being pressed against them, he pushed harder, shutting me up just like he said he would. “No talking. Don’t even try to weasel out of this. You agreed. Heh, you fucking pushed it. Tripling the damn time. Bet you wish you didn’t put your damn foot in your mouth now.” He laughed as he spoke before pausing at the end. “Heh… HA! No… not yet at least. That just gave me a realllll good idea… Hahaha, I’m sure you’ll learn it soon enough, but for now, rub, bitch! I’ll tell you when to switch.”

I was unnerved by whatever his new idea was, but with my face pinned down by his foot and my senses dizzied from swimming in his musk that could only be defined as the epitome of manliness… the only thoughts that could make it through were those telling me to just go along with what Ted wanted. It was easier to just do what Ted wanted.

And so I did, exactly as he said, I took a deep, deep inhale of his foot sweat, right between the dirty toes speckled with toe jam. Above me, Ted closed his eyes and relaxed, seeming to enjoy the sensation of me inhaling his foot funk as I massaged the other foot.

Overwhelmed by the essence of Ted, my brain just… shut down. I massaged and inhaled, exhaled and massaged. My hands moving as if they had a mind of their own, which they must have because I wasn’t really thinking about what I was doing, but in the fuzzy understanding that I had, I could just barely make out them pausing and focusing on certain areas after he’d groan in pleasure from those focal points being attended to.

Eventually, he swapped feet, and this time, his right foot truly covered my entire face. Instead of placing my nose between his first two toes, it founds itself beneath his long, wide arch. Unable to see anything, I closed my eyes and continued the deep inhales while massaging his feet.

During this period, my nose, while assaulted by his scent, felt completely at ease. It made it easier to lean into this. A thought appeared, but completely subjugated beneath his feet, it never fully registered: All my discomfort and pain stops when I listen to Ted and inhale his ripe feet. That unregistered thought tickled my brain and I took deeper, fuller breaths.

After switching feet, I could just barely make out Ted moving around above me. His foot would slightly shift its weight and I’d hear the couch groan as he adjusted his position. Despite this, I just kept my eyes closed and inhaled as I massaged his feet. That was, after all, what he told me to do.

However, after another minute, he sighed, sounding slightly disappointed and removed his foot from my face. My eyes fluttered open and saw his phone angled down toward me as his foot roughly slapped the side of my face.

“Any words you have to say now, foot sniffer?”

“Huh…?” I said slowly, trying to understand what was going on, my head still spinning and subdued from his stink.

“How about a ‘Thank you, Ted?’” He jeered, pushing his big toe into my cheek.

“Th… Thank you… Ted—“ I started to say, still going along with whatever he told me. But as I spoke, I finally felt grounded again and realized what he was doing and opened my mouth to tell him to delete the recording, “Ted—“

“You’re welcome!” He shouted above my voice, “Thanking me for letting you rub my stinky, dirty feet, hah! This is too good!” He grinned to himself and ended the recording, putting his phone into his pocket.

“Ted! Delete that!” I yelled, what the fuck was he doing, he never said anything about that!

“That’s not anyway to talk to your roomie after you agreed to rub his feet.” He taunted me, riling me up. “Maybe if you say please, I’ll consider it.”

I did NOT want to listen to him any longer… but I wanted that recording deleted. Reluctantly, I grumbled out, “Please…”

“What?” Ted teased.

“Please, Ted. Please delete that recording.” I spoke up.

“Kiss my foot and maybe I’ll do it.”

“No way! I’m not kissing your dirty foot. Your time is up!” I rose from the ground.

“Fine, if you want me to delete it then beat me in another game.” He was goading me, but unable to think of another way to get him to do it, given he was much bigger and stronger than me, I acquiesced.

“Fine! You delete it and you take off two pieces of clothing.” I bargained.

“I’ll delete it if you win— nothing else— but if I win, you either take off two pieces of clothing, or you have to be my slave again. 45 minutes this time!”

“Fine!” I acquiesced, still a little tipsy on his foot stink.

I wouldn’t lose again. He was even more shit at this next game. There was no way I would lose.

After picking our characters, I went for another faster paced character whose skill centered around dodging attacks. Seeing me switch up who I selected again to a lithe androgynous male, Ted grunted a laugh once more.

“Another faggy pick.” He said, as he selected a beefy, muscular man with slight pudge, just like him. “We both know what happens when you have a real man and a fag up against one another.”

“What fucking happens, Ted?” I bit back defiantly as the game started. He immediately ran at me and predicting that I moved to dodge. But my timing was off and his character grabbed mine and threw him to the ground before stomping on him.

“The fags always end up beneath our feet!” He roared victoriously.

Frustrated and desperate I tried to avoid and dodge and get in hits where I could, but after several minutes, I was down to my last life and on the verge of being taken again while he’d only lost one and was still plenty healthy. I was dodging a lot, but wasn’t able to get many hits in. And more often than not, when I’d try he’d counter, often doing that same move of throwing me to the ground and crushing my character beneath his feet.

It was so irritating. He kept doing it. Over and over. It was like I couldn’t figure out how to see that coming. Just like I didn’t see his hand coming when he pulled me to the ground and pushed his actual feet into my face… Sweating, I nervously glanced at his feet. I… He was going to make me rub his feet again wasn’t he… or do more… I was going to lose again. No! I wouldn’t lose! I wouldn’t be under his feet!

With desperation, I launched a heavy offensive that landed and combo’d him until he was weak. My breathing picked up as I grew excited and hopeful for victory.

“Urgh, no, you don’t!” He grumbled, finally breaking free of the combo. I was caught up in it as his character recovered. I had to dodge right before he got me. I had to dodge! I moved to press the button to dodge and slick with sweat, my finger slipped and pressed the button for a light attack. “Get back under these feet!” He cried out as his character performed the heavy attack, taking priority over mine, “Where you belong!” His character did one final stop onto my character’s face before they flew out of bounds, losing me the game.

“HAH! I fucking knew today was my day! Another goddamn victory for alpha men everywhere!” He gloated in glee. “Now what am I gonna have you do…”

Freaking out and seeing flashes of his dirty feet engulfing my face again, I pleaded, “Wait— I get to choose… I… I get to choose… I’ll… I’ll…” I paused realizing what my choices were. Either let him order me which two of my remaining three clothes to take off, two socks and my jock, or let him order me to do whatever he wanted for 45 minutes.

“Yeah, what are you gonna choose,” he wondered with a shit-eating grin spread across his face. Turning toward me, he flicked my nipple again and pressed me. “Time is running out. I’ll decide if you can’t.” He counted down from ten, each second, flicking my nipple again. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five… Four… Three… Two… One…” I couldn’t decide. His huge feet were staring at me as they rested on the ottoman, I could practically see myself sitting there, face pressed between his soles. With every flick of my nipple, he’d press further and harder—

“Well, I guess I’ll—“

“Wait— Clothes, please… Clothes, I choose clothes.” I pleaded.

“You ran outta time, boy. Why should I let you decide now?”

His words sank into my brain like a knife cutting through butter. I needed to give him something, make him want to let me follow through on this! “Because… because…” I looked down and saw my remaining, skimp attire. “Because I have three pieces of clothes left. There’ll be one more… you… you can make me do something if you win. I’ll take off the last piece of clothing and you can make me do something.”

“For how long?” He continued to apply pressure.

“An hour! You get to win and have me strip down completely and I’ll be your slave for an hour!”

“Heh, fine. And if you win, I’ll take off my coat. How about that?”

“Deal!” I agreed immediately, not wanting him to back out and completely forgetting about the recording.

“Good, now strip the jock and one sock, I don’t care which.”

“Th… The jock?” I mumbled out in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he cooed, amused with himself. “The jock. Take it off. Remember you asked for this.” His words unfroze me. I… I had asked for this. I begged him to let me choose this option. He was just getting his right to pick what I had to remove.

I slowly slipped down the jock and as it fell to the floor, I was met with snide amusement. “Hoo boy. You must have really been enjoying the thought of being down at my feet again, huh? Although, it’s really only that big hard, eh?”

I blushed looking down and seeing my dick standing at attention 3.5 inches hard. I started to move my hands when I caught myself and pulled them back. “S-sorry… I know… No covering.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Be proud of that dicklet. It suits you.” I was surprised he was being so kind, despite his certain choice wording.

“Really?” I asked naively.

“Yeahhhh, signifies to everyone else you’re a fag. Lets real men know what you are and how to treat ya! Hahaha!” His raucous laughter overshadowed any emotions I had at that response, instead only allowing me to hang on to his earlier words of being proud and how this dick suits me. I guess… I guess I’m glad it suits me. Maybe I should be glad to have a little dick.

I leaned forward to take a sock off and after pulling it off, felt his huge paw slap my ass for the second time, sending jiggles across it. “Fuck, you do have a bubble butt if I’ve ever seen one. How have I never noticed that?”

“Heh, I work it out as much as I can.” I grinned, leaning into that same pride he’d told me to feel about my small dick.

“Damn,” he mused, now pawing at it. “If you were a girl, I’d have your clit wrapped around my dick whenever I wanted. And it ain’t a tiny thing like yours. Fuck, it’d break you in two, yeah.”

“R-really?” I once again asked naively, my earlier reservations about appearing horny for my hot roommate now all disinhibited.

“Ha, yeah, 8 inches and thick,” Ted declared as he gripped it through his jeans. He… wasn’t lying. It was fucking huge. “That’s all you get for now, if you wanna see it, you have to win, understood?”

“Y-yeah… it’s still a ways off though… First it has to be your coat, like we agreed… Then it should be your shirt. Then…” I looked him over more closely as he set up the third game again. “Oh. You have a watch… does that count?”

“Hell yeah. So you’re saying it’d be my coat, then shirt, and then watch?”

“Y-yeah… oh and then you have a belt… so I guess that. Then your pants… and after all that… Then… Then I guess it would be your underwear.”

“Boxers, specifically. I don’t wear fag shit like you.” He laughed, “But all right, if that’s the order you want to go in, I’ll hold you to it then. If you can even win that many times.”

“It is so far off, huh…”

“Heh, yup. It might just be easier to lose now. Let me take my win and have you strip that last sock and own you as my slave for an hour.”

My head and thoughts had felt like they were stuck in syrup, slowed and dumbed down. But hearing him talk about the games again, I finally felt like the gears were turning again and getting unstuck.

“N-no… No. I’m gonna win. I have to keep going. I will keep going!” I proclaimed.

“Good for you little dude. You have a long ways to go and everything to lose, but it’s more fun when you have fight, am I right?” He sneered cockily.

“I’ll win this one, just watch!”

“Okay, bud, sure.” He chuckled not taking me seriously.

The game consisted of a lot of obstacle courses, thankfully the mini game mode I was better at. Fifteen minutes later we were on the second to last round. We had to climb up a set of obstacles to avoid being taken out. Ted was awful at these and after making it all the way, the entire time focusing on how I needed to win, I watched as Ted, doing his best progressed, slowly but surely, until the elimination zone caught up with him and took him out.

“YES!” I cheered excitedly. Finally feeling back in the game and recentered, I remembered the video he took. “Delete it! Delete that video! I won!”

“Heh, now yer just forgetting on purpose.” He shook his head, sliding off his coat. “Remember, we agreed, if you won then I’d take off my coat. Then you said that for the next five wins, I’d gradually strip. Little dude, you gotta win at least six more games if you want me to delete that video.”

Memories of me saying what he’d have to do if I won, and that he’d hold me to it came bubbling up. Shit!

“But like I said earlier, Lev, we can keep going as long as you want. Even if I win the strip bets, there are other things we can bet.” He smirked, clearly wanting this to go on.

“I… you have to delete that. I’ll keep going. I’ll keep fucking going. What do we bet then, huh?”

“Well, it’s what we’ve already been doing, we’d bet servitude. If you lose another round, we could keep going, but you’d have to do even more for me. And since it’s the only condition for you, it’d be much steeper at that point.” He claimed, appearing sincere.

I felt at a loss. I… I couldn’t let him keep that video. “Fine, we’ll keep going. Whatever takes to get you to delete it!”

“Hah, that’s the spirit. Now, onto round 4!”

We played the racing game yet again, and I went for the same character; however, this time I planned to play much safer.

“Oh boy, we saw what happened last time you played as the girl.” He recalled amused as the race started. “We already know I’ll break any girl and the fags who play as them. I’m ready to get that hour of service from a good little fag.” He continued to taunt.

I stayed silent, focusing in on the race and not letting his words get to me. Just don’t think about him, not in any way, shape, or form. You can do this, you can do this!

As we approached the end of the race, he was dangerously close behind me. So close that I knew he was going to get a draft and pass me. Picking the lesser of two evils in playing it safe, I swerved and watched as he threatened to pass me right at the finish line. By the time we crossed, neither of us knew who had won until a moment later when it showed that I had gotten first.

“Fuck YES!” I cheered once again. “You’re not breaking this fag!” I taunted, oblivious to the derogatory term I’d used to describe myself.

“Heh, nice job, nice job.” He admitted. “It’s not so bad losing, your character is pretty hot. It’s easy to let a woman win when she’s hot, that’s how you get them all excited before you go in for the kill and get them begging to be bouncing on your balls. Not that you’d understand that… Though, the same strategy would probably work on you, I’d assume. I don’t think you could fool anyone into thinking you’re the one doing the fucking with that tiny dicklet.” He laughed, pinching my nipple before standing up and taking off his shirt.

He sat back down and stretched his arms behind his head as the fighting game reloaded. Sitting so close to him, the vinegary stench of his pits quickly wafted into my nostrils and suddenly I became keenly aware of my surroundings again. My eyes darted to his pits, densely coated with thick fur, and trailed down his similarly hairy pecs and belly until it reached his feet. The cheesy musk suddenly burst into my sense of smell.

I felt light-headed once again as my nose twitched from the assault. I quickly chose my same twinkish character as Ted chose his same bear-like man. Shit, this would be an uphill battle.

As we dropped into the arena, I recalled the last match. Ted liked to use that one attack. He would get me under his feet and… and… he would get me under his feet and make me massage them and smell them, I thought to myself, bringing up the image of his warm, dirty soles on my face.

I tried to dodge once again when he did a ranged attack and landed right in front of him. It was too late. Locking me into that same combo, Ted laughed as his character shoved mine to the ground before stomping on him. “Came right to Daddy to get his feet in your face, eh, boy?” I groaned, bothered by his taunt, and how I really had jumped right to him.

I was playing in the palm of Ted’s hand and he was gonna use that hand to smear his sweaty feet across my face again! I needed to win! I needed to win so many times… It felt like every game Ted was winning. He’d stripped me down and put me beneath his feet so quickly. Was this really going to end any different?

As I battled these thoughts, my playing suffered and Ted easily grappled my character, and did huge amounts of damage. Before I knew it, I lost my first life. Shit… I could practically already smell his dank feet again. At least then it’d get my nose to stop burning. Fuck, it was twitching so much. I tried to dodge him but had to rub my nose which put me in a precarious position. He knocked me away and started running toward me. Fuck! He was gonna put me under his feet again! I glanced down at his toes, lightly dusted with reddish-blond hair and instinctively dodged back. It wasn’t until I looked up again that I realized, I’d dodged off the edge of the map. I tried to do a special jump to climb back up, but it was too late. SHIT!

“Heh, now you’re just throwing to get me to dominate you, huh? Heard me say how I’d throw for a hot chick and decided you wanted to do the same for me? Shucks, it’s almost cute how much you want to be back under these feet.” He arrogantly teased me, frustrating me further.

“I- I’m not throwing!” I insisted, losing all control of any technical skill. “You’re just better. I can’t beat you!”

“That’s right, fag, you can’t win.” Ted agreed.

“No matter what I do, it’s like my character just isn’t strong enough. I just end up back underneath your feet.”

“That’s because that’s where fags belong. Underneath an alpha males feet.” I tried not to listen, but it was as if the game revealed what he said to be true, my character was just too slow, too weak, and every time Ted would stomp his feet onto my face.

Ted flexed his meaty toes and that odor wafted clear and strong into my nose, finally abating the discomfort. I relaxed a little and dodged Ted’s range attack, once again moving toward him.

“Too fucking easy. Come right to Daddy, Faggot.” He gloated as his character smashed mine into the ground and he went flying. I was stunned and put my controller down in defeat, but after a second we both realized he hadn’t knocked my character out. Despite this, slowly they fell off the map and took my final life.

“There was no use anyway. You would have just continued to dominate me. You’re too good. I can’t beat you at this.” I conceded, defeated. I stripped off my last sock and knelt down, ready to massage his feet again.

“That’s right, fag, you can get back to massaging. Remember, it’s for one hour this time. Oh, and instead of just sniffin’ my sweaty feet, this time you’ll be kissin’ and lickin’ ‘em, understood? Good bitch boy.” He asserted without even letting me answer. One foot suddenly shoved into my face and I felt that same resignation wash over me. Ted was just too fucking good. He was too strong. It was easier to just go along with what he said. Let him take control. Besides, I’d made this bet.

My tongue slid out and coated itself in his dirty foot jam sending shivers down my spine. “Fuuuuck, yeah, that’s a good fag. These fuckin’ dogs were killing me. Clean ‘em up nice, and make me feel good” He moaned above me as I tongue-bathed his sweaty feet.

In spite of myself… I found it now, strangely, easy to be beneath Ted’s feet. Something I would have never thought before now. The ripe odor now felt easy to breathe, I naturally took deep inhales which soothed my nose and help my mind to forget anything else. The scent was overpowering, overwhelming. So I could forget about everything else. I could just lick and kiss his tough feet. Rub out all their tension and make him feel good, just like he wanted. I spent a long time cleaning both his feet, yet even when he switched, they weren’t even halfway licked spotless. Eventually he had me stop massaging and placed both over my face. There was so much to do. Obscuring my vision and the entirety of his dirty soles only helped me focus in and forget my worries… forget about winning… and forget about that damn recording—

SHIT! The recording! Suddenly, it all came back to me, I needed to win. I needed to get him to get rid of the recording. I felt overwhelmed, he’d won so much. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus back on what mattered… He won… five games and we’d played… eleven…? Wait so I won SIX? How could I have forgotten that. It had felt like I’d lost every game… I clearly could win… So how could I win this time? I needed a way to try something else… I sat stewing for a while with my eyes closed as Ted naturally moved his soles and toes to where he wanted me to lick. Finally I thought of a strategy to intentionally make him fail at the next game.

Ted had his meaty big toe swirling around in my mouth when he once again spoke disappointedly. “All right, it’s been an hour, I supposed I should let ya stop.” I finished licking between his toes, cleaning out the last of the toe jam in between as he sighed contentedly, chuckling “‘Least I got some good new footage.”

My eyes slowly opened to see him recording his toe being tongue washed. His toe withdrew from my mouth with a soft ‘pop’ as I sat there frustrated once again. “TED! Seriously?!” I whined.

“Ha, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, bud. Just keep winning and after you get me to delete the first, you could have me delete this one too. If you didn’t keep losing, I wouldn’t keep getting new recordings.” Ted reasoned. 

“Ugh, fine.” I acquiesced. “I just gotta get a comeback, then I’ll have you delete them, no matter how many you take.” His toe jam still coating my lips and tongue, I hazily went along with his schemes, only able to concentrate enough to know I needed to win, and how I could try to win.

“That’s right, bud. You just gotta keep hoping to win. In the meantime, we’ll keep coming up with more and more for you as you lose.” He grinned, confidently as I stood up. “Speaking of, that raging hard on of your little cock reminds me. You’ve lost the strip bet. So what should we have you do now.”

“I… I have to win to have you delete those recordings. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Heh, good. Well, since we have to be much harsher about these bets now, how about this: one week. For one week, you’ll be my little fag slave, doing whatever I want.” He flexed his arms behind his head, showing off his strong muscles and bushy pits.

My nose twitching and itching in response to the sour musk, I hastily agreed. “Okay, yeah, one week! I won’t lose this next one though, I know it!”

“We’ll just have to see about that now won’t we?”

We locked in for this twelfth game, the night having worn on and closing in on 11 PM now. Yet, fueled by desperation, I stayed energized.

Just like I planned, we started the knockout game and after a few easy rounds, we got to an elimination mini game. I trailed behind him waiting for the perfect opportunity. Then, as the elimination zone approached, I grabbed his character to try and throw them off.

“You little…!” He grumbled. As both our characters came dangerously close to the knockout zone. Letting go of him I made a mad dash for the safe area as he was left behind. Struggling to maneuver his character effectively in time, he eventually got taken out.

“Phew,” I sighed, relieved that I’d won again. I was one step closer to getting those recordings deleted.

“What a tricky little fag you are,” He grunted out, both annoyed but also impressed. “Fine, a win’s a win.” He admitted, removing his watch.

“But after that trickery, if you want to keep going, you’ll be betting two weeks of being my faggot slave, got that?”

My confidence was shaking as the larger threat loomed over me, but I remained convicted toward my goal. “Yeah, two weeks. And, sorry, I know that was underhanded.” I said apologetically.

“Heh, it just goes to show the means you have to go to so you can beat me. But sitting on the couch is for real men who don’t need such tricks; park your ass on the ground from now on, got it?”

“Yeah... yeah of course,” I agreed, feeling admonished and genuinely sorry for my sly tactics. But I did what I had to do to win. I needed to keep winning.

So once again we started up our racing game. Locking in our same characters. No snide remarks this time. At least, whatever bothered my nose abated for this time.

As the race set up to start, part of my vision of the screen was obscured by his huge feet. I tried to focus as much as I could, but was unable to come anywhere near him as we finished the first lap.

“Ugh, you’re too good.” I complained, my mind hazing over. I forgot about the rest of this night, and was only aware of this one moment. Of him dominating me.

“You gotta try better than that, otherwise I’m gonna have your faggot ass worshipping me for two weeks.” He successfully goaded me.

“Come onnnn! Your feet are too distracting!” I pleaded. “They’re so big and beefy, I can’t focus with them in front of the screen.”

He condescendingly laughed at me, prodding, “Oh yeahhh? What’s so distracting about them?”

I let out a pathetic whimper as I continued to fall further and further behind him. “All I can think about when I see them is that you’re gonna have me back under them. I can’t stop thinking about kissing and licking your arches, and sucking on your toes. And I feel like I missed some toe jam when I was cleaning them earlier and it gets in the way of me focusing…”

“Ahhhh, I gotcha,” he chuckled as he entered the final stretch of the last lap. “Here, I’ll help ya out.” He offered as he shifted his left leg over moving it from in front of the TV and bent his right knee so his foot was facing me. “Any toe jam left?” He snickered.

My eyes naturally wandered off the screen and over to his foot. The smell intensifying. It felt so warm… so suffocating. It felt so good to be buried beneath it. My eyes scanned across his whole, big, wide foot, taking in all the dirt that still remained.

“Y-yeah…” I whimpered out. “I still have more I need to clean.” I leaned closer and closer. Feeling myself be dug further and further beneath his foot and forgetting about the game as Ted’s character crossed the finish line.

“Fuck yeah!” He shouted, and grabbed my head shoving it the rest of the way against his foot. Instinctively, my tongue lunged out and swiped up the missed lint.

“That’s it! Worship your fucking master, fag boy, because I fucking own you for the next two weeks! And fucking smile for the camera!” I looked up to see him snapping several pictures as my tongue was plunged between his toes.

“Teeeed…” I whined.

“Ah, ah, ah, faggot. You’re my slave, so you do what I say. Now kiss my foot for another photo!”

I obediently leaned in and placed my nose between his toes and softly kissed the balls of his feet as he took a photo and a short video.

“Come on, there has to be more…” I begged between laps at his long soles.

“What else you wanna bet,” he snickered, already knowing he’d won.

“A month… two months. I’ll— I’ll be your slave for two months, let’s just keep going!”

“Ha, fine. But you’re still my slave now, so you gotta play this next game with my toes in your mouth, got it, faggot?” “Y-yes…” I mumbled out. That made sense… I was Ted’s faggot. If he wanted me sucking on his toes while we played, then I had to do it. 

“Yes, what?” He demanded.

I thought for a second as I leaned forward and with my lips brushing against his meaty toes whimpered out, “Yesh, shir,” as his toes filled my mouth.

“That’s it faggot.” He sneered.

As the next game started, I slowly moved my character and tried to get him in position when Ted reminded me, “I think there was still some gunk between my toes. Don’t you wanna get that, fag?”

“Ohh… fhank yhu,” I answered gratefully. I put down the controller as I grabbed and massaged his feet licking between each toe. Easily, he stomped my character until they were all out of lives.

“Heh, weeeelp, you ought to get used to this, bitch boy, because it’s two months now.” Ted stretched his back, pawing and scratching at his strong, hairy pecs.

“Ugh…” I moaned out, reluctantly prying my mouth off his toes, “come on… there has to be something more… we can’t stop now…” I cried out, turning to face him.

“You’re already my little faggot for quite a while, what can you do to make this more enticing?”

I sat there lowering my eyes from his face back down to his feet. “You can own me longer…” I started to say, “Four months… No, six months… that’s still too short…” As I grappled with coming up with something worthwhile, Ted sat above me basking in victory, in his domination. “A… a— a year! Just one more game, I’ll be your slave for a year!”

“That’s getting better, but don’t you think I deserve a little bit more? What happens if you win? How’s that gonna be enticing for me?”

“I’m not gonna win though…” I started to pout, before regaining a little composure. “You— You’re right… A year is too short… How about… How about two years and… and you can decide to extend it whenever you want!”

“Hah!” He roared, pleased. “Now you’re making this worthwhile for Daddy.”

I smiled, happy he was finally open to the bet. “And— and if I somehow win, you get to decide what I win… does that seem fair?” I had maneuvered to the other end of the ottoman and started lapping at the still dirty parts of his soles. “Heh, that sounds plenty fair to me. It’s a deal!” He agreed, before stipulating, “And let’s just already establish, if you won— which you won’t— you’d still be my faggot slave for two years, with me being able to extend it whenever!”

Some small part of me was confused by my rewards, and with that small subtle confusion expressed on my face, Ted fanned his toes, blowing that heavy, heady musk to sedate me. My eyes went glassy and after noticing this, Ted stretched his feet out, pushing them into my face.

“All right, last game. As my little slave, you gotta kiss and lick my nasty dogs the whole time, no touching the controller.” After setting up his phone to record the whole thing, he barked, “Got that, faggot?!”

“Yes… sir…!” I answered, voice muffled as I worshipped his stinky feet.

“Oh, and what are you again?” Ted jeered.

“A faggot!” I cried out from beneath his soles.

“And whose faggot are you?”

“Yours, an alpha males, sir!”

He slapped my face with his huge feet in response, pleased with my answer. A minute later, we heard the elimination noise as I was taken out without ever playing.

Ted feigned disappointment, “Awww, would you look at that... You’re my slave for the next two years now… only, I can extend it whenever I fucking want! You’re my fucking faggot for life. Understand?!” “Yesh, shir! Thanmfk yhu, shir!” “That’s a good faggot...” Ted mused, “Too fuckin’ easy… Stan had the right idea with you faggots. You just gotta do is make ‘em bet away their lives.” He laughed turning of the games and sitting back as I worshipped his feet.

-

-

-

I hope you all enjoyed this story! I was planning to release the second part to Subjugated Under Master Christian next, but then life got very hectic with the holiday season, work, and my personal life. It was only after speaking briefly with fellow foot lover @footsockboy that I found motivation to pick up and write another story. This picture definitely helped as well as it’s super fucking hot.

One thing that I’ve been tossing around in my head that could help with motivation is having an option for people to offer tips for the stories. I love writing and providing stories for fellow foot subs and masters, and that certainly is motivating all on it’s own, and this would offer another way to motivate me, especially to be more consistent. I also love my longer stories, but they do take time… and so I can plan to write shorter pieces with more parts, and that would help me push them out more consistently!

With regard to tipping, it wouldn’t need to be anything crazy; it can be one-time or however many times you want, and could just be a single dollar or any other amount you want. If people are going to support me this way, I want it to be because they want to and for it to be in a way they are comfortable with.

Either way, I’ll put the link out there in case anyone is feeling generous and wants to support their fellow foot lover in his writing endeavors.

Ever since that day, everything changed. I realized the only thing I cared about was serving my Master. I loved every moment spent tending to his needs, they were the only times I felt whole.

Master loved my devotion just as much. With every sneer, every smack of his foot against my lips, or hacked up spit flung onto my face, I felt how much he loved my worship. See because these actions were not violent, they were not loud or painful or impulsive, they were done calculatedly, intentionally, they were reminders of his control. They were small demonstrations of his power for his amusement.

Since the moment everything clicked back when he allowed me to lick his filthy soles everything made sense. I could see with such clarity now how much he had despised my mother. And she had hated him. She didn’t want to do all the things I now did for him, the things he deserved. She failed him. Of course he would despise someone he felt forced to be with. It was so obvious now how disappointing she was. She failed him, she abandoned me. But now the joke was on her, my Master has opened my eyes to my calling and true potential. I would have been all the lesser never coming into my own like this. And if she’d never left, he’d always go with his true desires of control, domination, and comfort being unmet. Truly, we were both so much happier now that she’d left.

It’d been months now since my Master became as such. I had finished school, which became bearable once I stopped caring about how others viewed me. All that mattered was what my Master thought. He also taught me a lot in my servitude to him. My confidence and communication capabilities skyrocketed as he refused to have his bitch stuttering and mumbling to him. Not one to disappoint my Master, I actually saw an unbelievable change in my demeanor that generalized to my wider behavior patterns.

Funnily enough, I got the impression now that more people wanted to be my friend since the change came to be, but I didn’t give a shit. Janet and I slowly began speaking less as less and while I wish it didn’t hurt her, I knew the more I cared about other people, the less my attention would be focused on my Master, and he was all I wanted to care about.

Vaguely I could once recall dreams of going out of state for college, but I couldn’t for the life of me remember why. I was super happy to get into somewhere in state that offered many online courses as it meant I could stay at home and keep everything in tip top shape for my Master.

I still remember the faintest smile on his face as I beamed beneath his dirty feet about my acceptance and how it meant I could continue serving him while working my way toward a career. I was interested in tech and IT work. Which naturally meant much time at home, and it also was relatively well paying. Master and I had discussed at length how my funds would be transferred to him. It was easy to agree to— what better way for the money I earned to be spent than on him!

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I still had to get through college. I knew I could do it though! I would not disappoint the man I served!

Until then, however, I spent much of my summer days working and tending to the house. I’d taken up some hobbies that spruced up the place. Master was generous enough to allow it so long as served him in some way, and after expressing interest in gardening he deemed it a worthy affair.

There was only so much to do in the house, after all, and with him gone during the day, and the local library I worked at only needing me for three to four days during the week, I was interested in having something more to do when home alone.

It was a quiet and gentle endeavor, but after managing to maintain healthy sprouts of colorful tulips, he actually praised how it brightened the house. After that comment… well let’s just say I was more eager than ever to show him my subservience in gratitude for his praise.

The last major change that happened over the months was Master eventually got me a special gift for my birthday in April. Tears actually welled in my eyes as I opened the small box and withdrew the silver chastity cage. Feeling it, it was made of high quality metal and as I slid it on and locked my little distraction, I felt a new level of devotion erupt within me. Immediately I began taking care of my Master’s own package; quite symbolic as mine became locked and his became worshipped.

After he throat fucked me, I beamed proudly with cum still dripping from my puffy lips and told him how I’d never felt closer and more controlled by him. He responded only with one of his sexy grunt but I knew he felt the same as he slapped my face a few times and pushed me down to his feet.

Since then I’d only cum once, it was recently, actually. He had been down with a severe fever and I took care of him for a whole week, calling out of work. I never left his side. Once he was feeing better, he returned to dominating me as usual, though unlike him, he removed his clothes and the chastity device and told me to worship him freely until I climaxed.

Now my little fag brain could barely handle this after months of not cumming— even before the chastity cage. But I did what I could to make the most of it. I thoroughly cleaned his pits and his feet, hungrily licked along his massive biceps and thighs. Serviced his beautiful cock and balls. It took me a while to finish, though he generously waited patiently. I think he figured why. After so long unattended, my little dicklet had since shrunk from 4 to 3 inches hard and it wasn’t used to being attended to.

Master knew just what to do though. He ordered me to lie on the ground— of which, his deep voice commanding me was enough to see those three inches rise to attention. Then he rested those ripe and sour sexy feet onto my face. He pressed down, hard, into my face as he cockilly teased me:

“Every moment of the rest of your life will be controlled by me. You’re addicted to worshipping me. To serving me. You can’t help but yearn to be useful to me. Why? Because I manipulated you into being that way. Your dumb little brain broke under my disgusting fucking feet— the very ones you can’t help but kiss and lick right now— and I brainwashed that empty little head. You will always be my bitch. Nothing can change that.”

As he finished his speech, all I could mumble out was a quiet “Thank you,” as tiny little spurts poured out of what was basically a glorified clit at this point.

He sneered, laughing at my gratitude to his proclamation, “Thanking me for brainwashing you… yeah, that’s about right, dumb fucking faggot.” He continued to rub his dirty feet into my face in amusement.

I only felt elation at his jabs. If I was idiotic it was in service to him. I would do anything for my Master. I never wanted to lose him.

-

About midway through the summer, I was sitting outside on a day I had off, tending to the garden. I was gently watering the plants and mindlessly speaking to them about my previous day at the library— as I’d read talking with plants can be good for them. It was starting to get later and I was winding down when I heard someone speak behind me, making me jump.

“They are beautiful flowers.” Despite the jump scare, the voice was soft and raspy. Turning around I saw an older woman looking on at them. I had never seen her before, but she looked familiar. I figured she must just be someone around the neighborhood who I’ve seen but never really noticed.

“Thank you.” I replied quietly. She smiled at me in response and looked over the house.

“This place looks better than I thought it might,” she commented.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh nothing, I’d just heard your mother had left and expected this place to be in shambles.”

“Oh,” I paused, not really sure what that meant considering my mom had never really put much effort into the appearance of the house. “Well, I like taking care of it. It can be fun, even.”

She continued looking over the house, not responding to my assertion, before turning back to me and asking me questions about myself.

I didn’t have much to say in response, they were strange questions, like whether I was happy, or what I did around the house. Questions you wouldn’t expect a stranger to ask.

I started to get uncomfortable and began to rise to head inside.

“Thank you for the kind words about my garden. I really should be heading inside now.” I wanted to be away from this woman. But as I turned away, she said possibly the only thing that could get me to stop.

“Sorry for the deception, I wanted to see what you were like for myself. You see, I’m your grandmother. Your mother’s mother.”

“What…?” I slowly turned toward her.

“Yes, yes. I know. We’ve never met. We can talk about all that another time. Right now, I need to head back out, before that man gets back. Tomorrow’s Saturday, try to get him to leave and I’ll come by. If you pack your things then I can take them and we can leave. Your mother is very sorry she couldn’t bring you with her, but now she’s finally in a better place and wants you to join her.”

My confusion didn’t end. My mom was saying she wanted me? Now? What the hell was going on?

Before I could even think of asking questions the woman added a final: “Don’t tell that man I stopped by, keep it our secret. I’ll be back tomorrow at 2.” Then she scurried off.

I stood there dumbfounded for a minute before going inside. Entering my house was like a wake up call. It was 4 PM. There were still some chores to do then I had to make dinner. Nothing else mattered in the moment. I let those concerns fall away as I focused on my duties.

-

Several hours later, I was dutifully tending to my Master’s feet as he watched the nightly news. Thoughts of earlier came to mind.

Though on the one hand, I had curiosity about that woman and her proposal to stay silent, that ultimately went against my duties to my Master. Good Faggots don’t keep secrets from their Masters.

“Sir,” I spoke up during a commercial, my hands continuing to work his strong feet, “May I have permission to speak.”

He grunted out an affirmation and I dutifully kissed his slightly dirty soles, transferring wet lint and toe jam to my lips which I promptly licked off and savored.

“Thank you, Master,” I started. “I wanted to let you know of something confusing and…” I paused briefly, “concerning, that occurred today.”

Clearly capturing my Master’s attention, he cocked his head and looked down at me. The power and dominance that exuded simply from his gaze was incredible. I made a mental ‘thank you’ again in my head for being allowed to serve such a man.

“I was approached by an older woman outside as I was tending to the garden. She… she said she was my grandmother. On my mother’s side.” I briefly described her appearance, and commented that she had looked familiar and now I knew why.

His gaze almost imperceptibly sharpened. But I noticed, and I knew I’d made the right decision to tell him. Regardless of the decision to go with her or not, this was not something to handle on my own. It required someone smarter, more decisive and controlled to be in charge.

I continued as my Master stayed silent, likely able to tell that wasn’t the whole story. “She asked me not to tell you,” I confessed. “She said that she wanted me to have you leave tomorrow so you’d be gone around 2 PM and asked that I pack up what I could to be ready to leave.”

“Hmph,” he grunted out. “I can guess what the old cunt was doing. I’m sure she told you your mother wanted you now, after alllll this time. Right?”

I sat marveling at his deduction. He truly was just so intelligent.

“Yes, Master,” I nodded, keeping my eyes fixed to his while my hands continued their dutiful service.

“Hah, of course the bitch wants you back. She hasn’t heard a word from you, she’s probably getting skeptical that you wanted to come with her. She needs you to go to her, so she can get back at me.”

“Why would that be getting back at you, Sir?” Compared to him, I wasn’t as smart or clever to figure out people’s intent.

“She probably knows I broke you in. Made you mine. She may not know the full extent of it, but you were always a soft little fag boy, even she could see that.”

“So naturally, I’d find my place beneath you. Serve you…” I began to connect the dots. “Now she wants to take that away?”

He grunted out an affirmation. “I once thought she’d make an obedient bitch, but we see how well that turned out. Even men as great as me make mistakes sometimes. Now she likely knows you’re taking her place and she wants to take that away from me.” He wiggled his toes in my face and the intense aroma helped ease my tension.

“Keep huffing on Master’s sweaty feet like a good little sissy,” he ordered. “I got this all figured out. You don’t worry about a thing.”

I let my body relax and his feet descend upon my face. Master had this all figured out. Everything would be okay. As long as I continue to sniff his stinky, musky manfeet, everything would turn out as it should.

For the first time in a while, perhaps due to my anxiety related to everything that happened today, I experienced that detachment that originally comforted me when worshipping him. It was like the whole world went dark other than my Master, with a spotlight on his feet, and all of my senses were consumed by them. As the night went on, it would switch between his feet, his pits, his chest, and his crotch, but I remained subdued and controlled. Free from having to worry about anything. Master would take care of everything.

-

The next morning went as usual. After my morning duties of breakfast and worship, I tended to the garden until about 1 PM, making lunch for Master in between. At that time, however, I saw Master walk out.

I glanced at him perplexed. He had not told me anything. However, my confusion went unanswered as he didn’t even look over at me. He simply got in his car and drove off.

I shook my head, trying not to let my anxieties once again rise. After about 20 more minutes, the garden was properly tended to and I went back inside. I looked around to see if he left me a note or anything, but there was nothing of the sort.

I became a little worried since he knew this woman was coming back, but I trusted him with every fiber of my being. I took a deep breath in and exhaled, refocusing. I did not know what would happen if that woman came, but that did not matter. I was still the caretaker, the obedient caretaker, of this house, and my concerns were what my Master would want me to do in the meantime. I went upstairs and grabbed his laundry, taking a few more deep breaths of his boxers at his crotch to further sedate me before I went to the basement to wash them.

After coming back up, I saw that it was 1:50 and I started to walk to grab a vacuum when the doorbell rang. Cautiously, I walked over to the door and looked through the peephole.

Sure enough, the person on the other side was the same woman from yesterday. I wasn’t sure if she would just go away, so I steeled myself and opened the door.

“Are you ready?” She immediately pressed me, pushing her way in. “We need to make this quick, let’s go to your room and grab your things.”

She forced her way upstairs, likely knowing where my room was due to my mom. I ran after her and tried to think of what I could say, but it didn’t matter as my room void of any packing said all I could.

“What is this? I told you to pack up!” She yelled angrily, before trying to rationalize, “Or do you feel you don’t need anything? Why didn’t you say so sooner. Let’s go!”

“Wait!” I finally shouted. “What the hell is going on?! You come here, telling me you’re my grandmother and you expect that one day later I can just pack up my things and leave my life behind?”

“We don’t have time for this!” She screamed back before seeing the clear exasperation in my expression. “Listen, listen… I know this is all confusing, but I— WE— have your best intentions in mind. We just want what is best for you.”

“What do you mean? How do you know what is best for me?”

“That… man… is very bad.” She ground her teeth. “My daughter— your mom— has told me all about the way he’d treat her, and you…” Her voice trailed off as she looked around at the place. I stood there dumbfounded, just completely at a loss of what to say. In my silence, she seemed to find the words she wanted to say and picked right back up, “I was told he worked my daughter to the bone and was never satisfied with what she did. Looking at this place, I can only assume he’s done the same to you, making you maintain all her hard work. I want to take you away from all this. So you can live your life with your mother. Free of him.”

“I… I did all this.” The words just sort of spilled out, at least that’s how it felt, but even in the absent-minded manner with which they came, I could tell there was an unconscious venom beneath them.

“What?” She paused, looking at me as if I’d lost my mind. “What does it matter? You’re not his son anyway. Not legally at least.” She puffed. 

What? I mean, I’d long since stopped referring to him as my stepdad, but what did she mean? What the fuck was with these bombshells one after another?

Looking at the confused expression on my face, she rolled her eyes and quickly elaborated. “He and your mother never married. She’d told me she raised you to refer to him as your stepdad since he had come in to your life before you’d know better. But he never really was. You have no reason to be attached to him.”

My mind was unfurling at this revelation, that he wasn’t related to me, he wasn’t my father. Impatiently, my grandmother snatched my arm and barked, “We’re leaving, that’s all that matters.”

Though I was still reeling from everything I’d been told, I at least felt a degree of certainty when it came to what I wanted to do now. Uncharacteristically, and a bit surprisingly, I slammed my foot down and stopped the old woman in her tracks.

“Let go of me! I’m not going anywhere!” I wrenched my arm from her grip and stepped back.

“You’re a child and he’s not your parent, your mother wants you, so I can take you where I well please.” She started to reach for me again.

I rose up, my small frame appearing taller than it was, and spoke calmly, slowly, but with knives in every word, “I’m an adult. It doesn’t matter. If you try to take me I’ll run away and go to the police. Tell them you’re abducting me. I don’t have to go anywhere!”

Stunned, she backed up until she ran into something. It was at this point that both of us realized it wasn’t something. It was someone. HE— the person who I had thought was my stepdad— had come in. He put an arm on her shoulder and said decisively, “You should leave.” Adding, “I’ll report it too. The boy says he wants to stay here, so he’s staying. It’s simple as that.”

“Y-you…” she fumbled out, seething, “Why are you here?!” Before turning to me in realization. “You told him?! Why?!” However after a moment it was like she forgot all about me and stumbling back she directed herself at him. “You take everything from my daughter, her dignity, her self-worth, and now her child?! You’re shameless! You’re vile and selfish and…”

“Her child?!” I ran at her screaming. “She abandoned me! Left without a word. He’s the only reason I have a home. He’s the reason I have any self-worth. I was miserable here with… with that bitch!” Tears were running down my face at this point. In a strange turn of events, whatever tiny, insignificant parts of me remained that weren’t totally devoted to my Master came bubbling up. But they were met by these newly forged parts of me and… embraced. I hated that I was abandoned by my mother. I buried that hate so deep. But my devotion to my Master, it told me that was okay. He was the reason I was happy now and he was here. He wouldn’t abandon me.

I had never been happy before. Which meant it was okay to hate her. This woman I’d been raised to expect love from never really loved me. Instead, in this broken state, the person who was there for me, who walked forward and put a large, warm hand on my shoulder, was my Master.

Standing beside me, he glared daggers at my grandmother until she left. After the door closed, I continued to sob, turning to the big chest of my Master. He stroked my head and his low, gravelly voice soothed me.

“You did the right thing. I knew you would.” He gently cupped my face his hand as I wiped tears away. “You wouldn’t have been happy out there, out from under my control. You need me”

I slowly nodded my head, “I know… I wouldn’t be happy without you…” I spoke softly, “I couldn’t be happy without…” I trailed off.

“Without serving me.” He finished for me.

“Yes, Sir.” I nodded more decisively this time, my shaking voice beginning to steady.

“I’ve said it before, but you were born to be controlled and owned by me. It’s never been clearer.” There was warmth in his voice as he spoke this truth.

I laughed a little, and weakly smiled, “What would I do without my morning routine of making you breakfast and worshipping your feet?”

He grunted out in agreement, “Or the freedom you get from only having to obey.”

I let out a breathy sigh, before getting on to my knees and bowing my head down to my Master’s shoes. As if reading my mind, he slid his huge, warm, feet out, already permeating the air with their sour musk, and allowed me to gently kiss the tops of his feet.

“Thank you for keeping me, Master.” I gushed in gratitude. “Thank you for seeing worth in me, Master.”

He put one of his stinky soles onto my face, marking me with his manscent and ordained, “You always had worth, you just needed to learn that it lied in serving me. And you did.” He praised, his deep voice holding the smallest bit of gentleness, of affection. “You did. You learned your purpose was to be Master’s good little faggot and from that second forward that’s all you’ve ever strived— and succeeded— to be.”

He walked out of my room and into his as I followed like a dog. Walking over to his bed, he lifting his feet, once more entrancing me until my face was glued to the warm emblem of his godliness.

“You always make meals on time. Always run my errands in a timely manner. Always keep the house clean and shining. Always eager to take care of your Master; clean his filthy feet and pits, and now his cock and balls. You never argue. Always just an obedient little faggot.”

My heart swelled listening to him recount my efforts to serve him. I never would have thought he was paying that much attention. I do this not for the praise but in knowing he doesn’t have to worry about them. I had thought him not noticing was a sign of my success. But not only was I succeeding, he noticed my success too. My Master’s generosity truly knew no bounds.

“Master, you’re too kind.” I professed. “Far too kind for me. But… thank you. I will do everything I can to continue serving you to the degree you deserve.”

“I know you will, faggot. I know.” Clearing his throat, he then transitioned, starting to unbutton his pants. “Now, dealing with that cunt got me pissed off… which made my cock hard. Take care of it.”

“Yes, Sir!” I complied, diving head first into his hung meat and thick bush.

With every inhale, my head rushed from the intoxication of his sweaty pubes. This combined with the sudden realization that I didn’t need to feel as worried about the taboo nature of our dynamic— he is not my stepdad, and never was; he was just a man who is now my Master— helped me to really let loose. After only a few times wetting the meat, I slid it fully down my throat.

“Fuck, faggot,” I heard above me as his strong arms held me down, “Fucking choke on it. Gag on my fucking cock.” Time passed and suddenly I could feel my heartbeat in my neck as he continued to hold my head down. I was unrelenting; however, and remained steadfast. I would die serving my Master if it made him happy. As my vision began to blur with this thought in mind, it was as if he’d heard it and the power and domination he saw in that brought him to a climax. Releasing my head, I finally inhaled again as jet after jet of his cum coated the inside of my throat. He let out several primal grunts before cooing, “That’s a good little bitch. You’d choke on this dick till you died if I told you to, isn’t that right?” Dizzy— in part from the breathlessness and his hypnotizing cum and crotch smell— I could only look up and slowly nod. He smirked seeing the tears and adoration in my eyes before leaning back, hands behind his head.

“Finish cleaning up my cock, and then stand up. You’ve earned a reward for staying exactly where you ought to be: right in the palm of my hands.”

After licking up the intoxicating semen, I slowly stood up as he reached into the bed side table and pulled out the key to the chastity cage. After unlocking me, he ordered, “Spend a few hours servicing my whole body. Once it’s time for you to make dinner, you can cum. But until then you have to hold it in. I expect this to be some of your best service yet.”

I looked up at him, hands behind his head, and gleefully assented, “Yes, Master!”

I had about two and half hours to service him as he read and watched shows in bed. I must have spent over an hour and a half of it just on his feet. I couldn’t get enough. Every huff of his foot funk would send my eyes rolling back.

While I was worshipping he told me how he’d gone running while he was away. He was certain I’d choose to stay and he wanted to reward me. He wanted to get his feet sweating, his sour stink building. And he didn’t lie. It was possibly the most powerful it had ever been, likely due to hum running sockless. The ripe odor made my head spin and was almost too much. And yet… it being too much… it only sent me tumbling further and further into the depths of submission. As I lied there, my tongue weaving between his soles, relishing in his “disgusting” toe jam— the most delicious treat I’d ever had. Clarity finally came.

I realized how far I’d fallen under his control. I realized that despite knowing this, there was no way out. He was right when he said he broke me, manipulated me into loving his domination, loving his feet and serving him. And as I realized this, I fully lost myself in service to him. Nothing could ever repay my gratitude for being forever reshaped by him. For being molded into his perfect faggot. I had truly descended beneath my Master, something I could have never expected or controlled, but he forced me into it, and I would forever serve him for it.

So I polished his dirty feet with my tongue, worshipped his hairy and sweaty pits with my mouth, and serviced his musky cock with my throat. All in service to him. My Master. My Owner… My God.

With that thought, with his heavy balls in my mouth and his hung cock draped across my cheek and eye, inhaling his scent, I descended further and further. As deep as I could into his grasp. I would never be out from underneath him. I stared up into his eyes and know I’d reach the depths, and finally my tiny dick came.

“Thank you, God.”

-

-

-

Thank you all for reading this next part, I hope you enjoyed it! I know a lot of people didn’t want me to end the story after this part, and what I can say is I have two main ideas left (both of which could be integrated, it’s not one or the other, and could result in more than one part each), and they would involve adding new characters to the dynamic. I’m not opposed to continuing it, but I think it would be a little bit of time before then, and the title of the story might change slightly (though be recognizable) to demonstrate the change in the dynamic.

Boys, Bodies & Vibes

A little visual therapy never hurt anyone.

Here’s a dose of charm, heat, and everything in between.

Foreword: Yet again, I just want to say this is a story that’s a bit more extreme in dynamics. A mixture of my usual work and the taboo. For people who don’t enjoy that, totally understandable. It’s all just fantasy, of course. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy. (:

-

-

-

My dreams were vivid, clear. I saw myself underneath him. My stepdad. I… served him. His feet, and his every need. I saw years pass by. I grew older as I continued to wait on him. He remained this powerful, daunting, handsome man.

Though of course I was far younger than him, a little less than half his age, being 18 myself and him being 45, it was as if I spent my whole life under him. I was filled with such satisfaction.

As my dream came to an end, it was as though my life was coming to an end. I was beneath his feet— feet which years for had only been washed and cleaned by my tongue— and as I gently kissed them, I saw him smile down at me and tell me how I’d been such a good boy for him. That I served my purpose in life. He continued to praise me when suddenly everything went dark and my eyes flashed open.

-

I awoke, suddenly, feeling my lips softly kissing his big soles just as they had in my dream. It took me a moment to get my bearings, but I soon realized I was still on my knees on the ground before his bed. Light had begun to filter through the window blinds and I swiveled my head to check the time: 7:38 AM.

I breathed a sigh of relief and unconsciously went back to gently kissing his soles, which were now slightly smellier after a night of cooking slightly beneath his sheets. After a few minutes I grew aware of my growing erection and similar to last night began to lightly tap it to make it go down. However, with the hypnotic stink of my stepdad’s soles still directly feeding my brain the intoxication, I made the reluctant decision to rise from the bed and go downstairs to begin making him breakfast.

Over time, the erection naturally ended, and as I looked through the refrigerator, I decided I’d make him a breakfast sandwich with some sausage on the side, yet another morning meal I knew he enjoyed. I also prepared his morning coffee as usual.

I worked slow, having ample time, and used it to cook his food perfectly. While doing so, flashes of my dream and the events of last night played in my head. All I could think about was him.

As the meal approached completion, I heard a faint, “Boy,” from upstairs and quietly made my way up there, making sure the food would be okay if left alone for a few minutes.

Stepping into his room, I saw he was awake, hands behind his head. He had his glasses on and was looking over his phone before turning to me.

“What was your reason for leaving the side of my bed?”

“T-to make you breakfast… Sir.” I was worried he was going to yell at me. I realized I’d made a mistake acting on my own without his permission. However, his response was almost the opposite.

“Good fag. You’re allowed to do that.” I breathed a sigh of relief hearing his praise… Just like in my dream, I thought, butterflies forming in my stomach. After pausing and stretching, he asked, “I take it it’s almost done?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Put on my slippers and finish it up. I will be down momentarily.”

“Of course, Sir.” I spoke as I picked up his slippers and moved to put them on his beautiful feet.

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Kiss them and thank them before you put the slippers on.”

Smiling, I knelt once again beneath his feet and placed loving kisses on both of them, quietly but confidently thanking them as I slid the footwear on. Grunting in satisfaction, he dismissed me as I went back downstairs and finished up his breakfast. Thankfully, taking the food off heat helped it to finish cooking without burning and it was ready for him.

I plated the food and poured his coffee, making my way into the living room where I placed it down and waited for him to arrive.

He came in and had me get to work massaging his feet while he ate his breakfast. We did so in silence as he watched the morning news. This went on for about an hour after he finished eating and watched the segments he was interested in. After cleaning up from breakfast, he gave me more errands to run for him.

-

This became my routine. During school days, I would wake up and make him breakfast and also prepare his lunch, though I would do so an hour ealier in the morning as we both had to get up earlier for school and work, respectively. Typically he would wake up on his own, though on occasion I would wake him up, often by gently kissing his warm smelly feet. He would then eat and I would service his manly feet until it was time for both of us to leave.

I’d attend school and come back, doing homework and studying as well as taking care of chores around the house. Then once it was about an hour out from his arrival, I would start his dinner, ensuring it was done promptly at 6 PM.

I would quickly eat before serving his feet again, now ripened from a day of working. Whereas in the morning I would just be massaging his feet, in the evening he began enjoying other things in addition to that. I would massage his feet, but I’d also serve as his footrest; getting on my hands and knees, moving the ottoman and allowing him to place his huge size 14, as I now know, feet on my back. Initially it was quite hard to maintain the position. But as the days passed, I grew used to it. He also enjoyed having me lie on my back and using my face as his footrest. Though his orders were always the same: smell and kiss. He never gave the order to lick them, something that had been consuming my mind since the first day that I served him.

After I served his feet, he’d often take a shower while I tidied up the house after dinner. Then he either dismissed me for some time, where I’d anxiously wait around and faff around the house, or on occasion he’d have me do other things.

A few weeks ago, I had to give him a back massage as he had hurt it lifting a heavy package at work. It was the first time I’d seen him shirtless in a while and it was hard to keep my jaw from the floor. My eyes soaked in his firm body with the forest of hair across his chest.

After I’d finished, he gave a satisfied grunt and told me to stay next to his bed as he flipped around. I naturally obeyed, though was curious as to what my next orders would be. He gave a very genuine compliment on my work before telling me I’d earned a reward. Before I could really process anything, he grabbed me by the back of my neck and forcefully pulled my face into one of his pits.

The smell… instantly my knees fell to the ground. He gave a self-satisfied grunt seeing how weak he made me. His pits were damp, the air around them moist and heavy. Like his feet, the stench was sour and burned my nose. But in doing so, it made it so hard to do anything else. I was consumed by that smell. It was so bad it was good.

I didn’t mean to, my mouth just happened to be agape… but as I lied there collapsed in his pits, I could feel his sweat drip into my mouth and spread across my taste buds. My head spun rapidly and I felt the world darken around me. Just as I felt my consciousness begin to close out entirely, he pulled me out and slapped my face a few times before dismissing me until bedtime.

After that, I would routinely worship his feet as he fell asleep, again only ever massaging, sniffing, and kissing. I grew used to sleeping on my knees before him.

Weekends were similar, though I would often run errands for him during the day or do other longer household chores, such as laundry or washing his car.

-

This went on for several weeks and I grew used to the position I now had serving him. My needs became entirely centered around my stepdad.

Today was Friday and I was sitting at school, whiling away the time as I usually did, day dreaming about coming home when my friend Janet leaned over and whispered to me.

“Hey, Ian, some of us were thinking of going to the mall this weekend. Would you want to come with?”

“O-oh, that sounds like a lot of fun.” I replied. Through the haze of feet and pits and stink, I recalled dreams of wanting to fit in and be closer with those few people I did call friends.

“Yeah,” she continued, “It’ll be Connor, Sarah, and me. You should come with us!”

I smiled at the invitation. Especially thinking of Connor. I had been pretty confused about my sexuality before; though now, strangely without much resistance, I felt pretty sure I was gay. But even before then, there was something about Connor that always drew me to him. Even if I was uncertain before, I think deep down, I knew I was likely at least bi given my feelings for him.

Giving in to the moment, I initially agreed, “Sure...” Before pausing, the smile dropping from my face, remembering my stepdad, “I-I just need to get the okay from my stepdad.”

“You’re such a good guy, Ian. I’m sure he’ll say yes! So we were planning to go around 2 tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you there!” Though I was nervous thinking about my stepdad, Janet was absolutely beaming. As we got back to focusing on class, my heart sank into my stomach as I was worried about what I would do when considering broaching this subject to the man I had become so used to devoting myself to.

-

After coming home, I fell into the routine of getting what I needed to done for school before attending to household chores. It wasn’t the day to do laundry yet, but I found myself starting to work on it without thinking. As I sorted through the dirty laundry, I began to realize why I’d done what I’d done.

Slowly, I lifted a dirty sock to my face and inhaled deeply. It was weaker than from the source, but it still smelled of his dank dominance. I squeezed it tightly before lowering it and my hand absentmindedly traced itself along his other dirty clothes until it came across his underwear. The same pair he’d worn yesterday.

I had never done anything like this before… It felt wrong. I know we weren’t related by blood, but still…

Despite these doubts, my hands, as if they had a mind of their own, began to raise themselves to my face with the boxers in hand.

I opened them to where his crotch rested and all at once stopped resisting. My face dove into the heavy musk and inhaled his cock and ball sweat. It was a fuller spicier scent than his feet. It drove my mind wild. Like an addict I couldn’t stop breathing it.

My phone suddenly vibrated and my eyes shot down. It was just some random email. But more importantly I saw the time: 5:02 PM. I must have been huffing his dirty clothes for thirty minutes now. It was getting late. The only thing I cared about more than intoxicating myself on his scent was not letting him down. So reluctantly I put the boxers back down, put his dirty clothes in the hamper and went downstairs to start preparing dinner.

-

Although I was ultimately side-tracked by my stepdad’s manscent, it did help to take my mind off of my anxiety. So much so that it wasn’t until we had finished dinner and I was engaging in my nightly foot worship ritual that I remembered I was supposed to ask.

However, I had remembered that he had come in exhausted and complaining about his day. I had dutifully listened while we ate and as I massaged his sore soles. He had since finished venting and was enamored watching the nightly news. Kneading out the tight knots and stress, I knew now was not the time to ask. He was tired. He didn’t need me bothering him with something as unimportant as this.

With this conclusion drawn, I felt some of my own tension release. Now was not a time to pester him. Like all nights, this was a time to worship him and help him relax. In a way, doing so also relaxed me.

I lowered my face to his stinky soles and began kissing them as I had so many nights now. I embraced my subservience to him and took solace in the fact that if I was meant to ask then the right time to do so would make itself apparent to me. And that time wasn’t now.

So I continued to worship his manly soles until he ordered me to follow him upstairs. I once again gave him another back massage until he fell asleep this time. After which, I gently removed myself from his bed and crawled to the end of it where his feet rested. I placed my face down against them like fleshy pillows and made love to them until I fell asleep.

-

The next morning I woke up refreshed and energized with the funk of his feet naturally heightening over night. I gave a few soft kisses before going downstairs to make his dinner.

Once it was ready, I woke him up with his usual short foot worship session before coming back down into the living room with him to eat and begin our days.

-

I took my seat before him just as I normally did once I was done eating and dutifully massaged his soles while he watched the morning news. The decision to ask him had begun weighing on my mind while making our breakfast given I didn’t have any manscent to distract me. I tried to focus on my fingers as they took care of him, but eventually my anxiety was getting the best of me. I need to just ask him so I can resume focusing on him and serving him as best as I can. Because that’s the level of worship he deserves, I thought finally pushing myself into action.

“U-um… Sir?” I finally spoke, voice shaking from nerves.

“What?” He lowered the newspaper and glared at me, clearly annoyed by the disruption.

I swallowed hard, breaking my gaze away from his to stare at the beautiful soles in my hands while I spoke.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask my question, he pulled a foot out of my hand and smacked me hard in the face with it.

“Look at me when you speak, faggot. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to disrespect you.” The words rushing out of my mouth in shame. As I brought my eyes back up to him he simply grunted in acknowledgement and as a sign for me to resume speaking.

“A f-friend asked if I wanted t-to hang out today… I was wondering… if it would be okay with you… and not too much trouble… if I could possibly… go?” Staring deep into the brown eyes, I found it hard to keep my confidence, though I knew he hated when I stumbled and fumbled over my words.

Sure enough, the first thing he addressed was in reprimand of my insecurity.

“We spoke about communicating with confidence, did we not? Say what you mean and mean what you say, especially when talking to me.”

“O-of… of course, Sir.” I caught myself stuttering again and took a breath to calm down before speaking again to assert my assent in obedience.

He sighed and paused, thinking for a moment before speaking again.

“I was going to have you assist me in constructing a new work desk… but you’ve been an obedient little faggot these past few weeks.” He wiggled his toes hypnotically in my face and my eyes fluttered in intoxication as he spoke. “You have permission to go.”

My shoulders dropped as I heard those words.

Despite him saying I could go… all I really heard was that he’d wanted my assistance today. Sir never asks me to help him with anything… I’ve never gotten to support him on any of his projects. As the thought passed through my mind, I began to feel guilt and shame about letting him down.

I thought about seeing him in his element. Watching his strong arms hammer nails and twist screws. I thought about being able to hold the pieces he was working with together for him and hearing him grunt in approval and praise for the ways I helped him once he looked at the final product.

He certainly didn’t need my support. He may not have even necessarily wanted it… but he had been going to have it before… Who was I to take that away from him?

I sat with my head aching in distress when he brought me back to the real world.

“You ought to be thanking me, boy.”

“I…” The word was barely a whisper as my mind spun so fast to process itself that it ran itself into the ground. In doing so, it pushed forward the most base and core beliefs I had, and in this moment it felt like a lifeboat in the middle of the water to save me.

I cleared my throat to speak with decisiveness and clarified my thoughts as I spoke them aloud. “I am very thankful, Sir. You are so, so generous. More generous than I deserve.” He would have let me prioritize myself over him, but… that felt wrong. I knew in my heart of hearts, deep within me, I wouldn’t be happy if I left him knowing I could have been useful to him, that I could have served him.

“I am not worthy of that generosity. It pains me to turn it down, but I shouldn’t be out there neglecting my duties with you. I want to assist you, serve you. I need to be here to do that.” I could go out and spend time with my friends whenever. I could only be useful to my stepdad in these moments as they came up. What I needed, what I wanted, was to be here to serve him for every moment that I could.

I brought my face down to his soles, placing my lips on them and kissing apologetically, “Please, Sir,” I spoke between kisses, “I’m sorry. Please let me stay here and be of use to you.”

As my stepdad looked down at me, I could not tell what lay behind the expression on his face. What I feared, however, was frustration and anger for wasting his generosity.

“Hmph,” he grunted out and kicked a foot against my forehead. “Know you won’t get this kindness again so easily.” Relief washed over me as I realized he was not angry. He forgave my indiscretion.

“Your real kindness is in letting me work with you after I had asked to abandon you.”

“As long as you understand that.” He huffed, pushing the ball of his foot against my forehead and knocking me backward.

“Go into the garage and get together the materials you purchased two weekends ago. Some of it’s been modified, but I know you’ll figure it out.”

“Yes, Sir!” I beamed, elated from his praise and rushing out of the room.

-

As the boy left the room, what he didn’t see was the man smirking in amusement and satisfaction. Pleased over how nicely and easily he’d been able to further sink his fangs into the obliviously innocent boy.

The man knew that when the boy was out from under him, his grasp would weaken some. However, he ensured the boy made the willing decision to prioritize the man— his Master— over himself. Making that first step was nothing to scoff at. Many people will put themselves first when under high stress.

But the boy had made the choice to prioritize his Master. This meant he viewed his Master’s needs as central to his own. His Master’s needs were his needs.

The man flexed his relaxed toes, the sensation of the boys pathetic kisses begging for forgiveness still lingering on them, and he laughed. Laughing at the power and control and domination he exerted over the boy. And as he prepared to rise from his seat, he sighed in satisfaction as he continued to observe himself finally gain the obedient bitch he’d always sought.

In the slightest way, he felt proud of the faggot for the display he’d just seen. A faggot like that ought to break under a strong man like him. The faggot was fulfilling his purpose, how could he not be just the tiniest bit proud to see that.

-

As soon as I got in the garage, I quickly wrote out a response to Janet. I apologized and explained that I needed to help my stepdad with something so I wouldn’t be able to make it. I hit send and put my phone on do not disturb, shoving it in my pocket. Out of sight out of mind, I thought.

I quickly got together the planks, nails, screws, and other items I’d grabbed for him, as well as Sir’s toolbox which was sure to have items we’d need. True to his word, all of the planks had been smoothed and painted, as well as some altered in shape. I laid out similar shaped planks together and organized all the other tools when he stepped into the garage.

“Hmph,” he grunted out a slight chuckle, “you faggots are all always the same. So detailed in your organization.” As he approached me, he put one of his big, strong hands on my head and firmly patted down. “It’s a good trait to have.”

“Thank you!” I grinned looking up at him. He looked so handsome and powerful standing above me. All at once it felt so obvious how I’d made the right decision to stay with him.

“All right. You’re gonna do exactly as I say, got it, boy?”

“Yes, Sir!” I grinned, and we began working.

-

Hours ticked by in the blink of an eye as I lifted planks and held them together for my stepdad and helped hold nails as he hammered them.

Halfway through, he had me go make a simple lunch, some ham and cheese sandwiches, while he planned out the next steps. After eating though it was right back to work.

It was nice though, throughout the process he spoke aloud his thought process, why he was doing the things he was doing. Even walking me through the plan while we ate. I had never felt closer to him. Additionally, assisting him with something he enjoyed so much, I had never felt more useful to him.

He never used to ask mom to help him, likely felt he couldn’t depend on her. But here he was— making use of me! As we worked together his deep baritone voice enraptured me and felt like a warming melody throughout our work.

Listening to him emphasized yet another reason for why I obeyed him. Within every word he spoke was raw dominance. He controlled a room, controlled minds, simply with his words. It was so soothing to listen to and then obey him.

I think I feared giving up control before, it was part of what made me scared of him. But now, I only felt relief complying to his every word. There was security in doing so. Security that I was doing what I could to please him; that my existence was meaningful.

So as we fell into this intimate rhythm of order and submission, I felt as though my entire demeanor relaxed.

Soon enough we were approaching the end and he sent me out again to make dinner. I hummed along a low tune as I cooked, feeling my head clouded and eyes glassy. My body almost going through the motions on its own. It was reminiscent of the thoughtless, empty sensation I got when I was deep into serving his feet.

Only now, I achieved that state in a detached act of servitude. I no longer needed to be directly underneath him, in contact. As dinner wrapped up, just on time as it always did— as it now always did— I practically glided along the floor as I made my way back to the garage.

“Dinner is ready, Sir.” I sang out upon opening the door.

“Perfect,” he grunted out in satisfaction, “just to add the final touch. Come here, boy, hold this last bit for me.”

Wordlessly, I went as directed and held on to a piece of the shelf for the second level on the desk. Swiftly, he worked in the screws to hold it in place. After everything was solidly in place, he backed away and wiped some sweat from his brow.

“It looks incredible, Sir.” I marveled at his handiwork.

“‘Course it is. I planned everything out perfectly.” He smirked at his genius, “Including how to best use you, and you didn’t disappoint.”

I smiled gently and thanked him for his praise as we made our way back in the house. As he made his way to the living room, I got our food together and brought it in.

Walking into the living, we fell into the routine we’d developed over these weeks. After eating, I knelt before his feet, gently removing his slippers to be met with a powerful flood to my nostrils of his sour, sweaty foot funk.

Immediately I felt light-headed. After a day of working hard sockless in his slippers, his feet had developed a sharp, intense stink. It was that sour, heavy toxic odor that I’d grown to love. As it burned my nostrils I couldn’t help but intoxicatingly flutter my eyes.

I heard my stepdad grunt in laughter at the sight before him. He obviously knew how disgustingly sweaty and stinky his feet had become, and here I was, butterflies in my stomach and batting my eyes like a girl in love.

But I was in love. I grasped his right foot gently and used his delicious sweat as natural lubricant as I slid my hands along his soles. My hands now expertly targeting where I knew his tension lied.

As my hands got to work on his right foot, my face slowly approached his left. Deeply inhaling that heady stinging musk. I felt my eyes roll to the back of my head and my lips softly placed themselves against his soles.

Without thinking, just once again allowing myself to become one with the moment, I softly yet confidently spoke between kisses.

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you for letting me work alongside you. Thank you for letting me be of use to you. Thank you for giving my life meaning.”

The words practically fell from my mouth. Pouring from the deepest recesses of my psyche. They were, in essence, the truest manifestations of my soul. One that felt indebted to this man for allowing me to serve him.

-

The boy couldn’t see it yet, but his Master’s trap was now beginning to tightly snap its jaws around his neck. It wouldn’t take much longer now before it became inescapable.

These thoughts the boy had, they were both from his deepest self and yet… still manipulated by the man he called his stepdad. The boy wanted to be useful, he wanted to be loved. It’s true. But this could have been met in so many ways. He had wanted the gentlest, softest love before.

However, with each inhale of his Master’s ripe feet and his reeking pits, cracks began to form in that psyche. Like muscles, the cracks would heal, but slightly altered. The boy wanted to be useful— then a crack, and it reshaped: to be useful to a man. Which then cracked open again and reshaped to become the boy wanting to be useful to his stepdad, specifically. More cracks appeared; he wanted to be loved… no he wanted to serve. He wanted to be used. To be loved is to be used. The highest form of love is when someone uses you for their needs. Yes, that’s right, his Master used him, so his Master loved him. That must be it. The boy’s mind shakily attempted to create connection, to fill in the blanks left by the cracks.

The man before him, who thought of himself as the Master of the boy, could see this, and he sowed the seeds to reform the fissures left by the cracks. When the boy served him, he praised him, showed the slightest and almost indiscernible sense of affection. But the boy noticed, subconsciously, at least. So the fissures healed the way the man planned. The boy needed— wanted— to serve him. Hungered for his approval, to wait on his every order. Because when he did, it felt so good to hear that praise, to feel that affection— that… love. The recent display of the boy discarding his own wants and needs showed that.

The boy’s psyche was becoming entirely destroyed and slowly reshaped by his stepdad, a title the boy felt less and less fitting by the day. But that’s what he called him… was there something else to call him other than “Sir”? The boy wondered. This man deserves more respect, more worship. He was so close to seeing it, the word almost on the tip of his tongue. The tongue which so desperately craved to run itself depravedly along the dirty flesh of the man’s soles.

The final cracks were forming, the man perceived. It was time to enter the second phase of his domination.

The boy had become brainwashed into experiencing his joy from submission, so now it was time to take it a step further. The destruction of the boy’s will, and the cementing of the unbreakable control the man would have over him.

-

As I slavishly kissed his damp, ripe soles, I felt on the cusp of becoming overwhelmed by his power and dominance. My head was spinning, intoxicated by him. Try as I might to be obedient, to be devoted only to him, my small dick was straining in my pants. It had been weeks since I last came. It was all becoming too much. Which made his next words practically stop my heart.

“Lick my sweaty feet, faggot.”

Shivers ran down my spine hearing that. It was all I had wanted for weeks. I had been dreaming of his sweat coating my tongue, furthering my submission to him. But… it would all be too much. No matter what, I knew I would not be able to stop my little dick if I did it.

So as hard as it was, I resisted and admitted such weakness.

“Sir… I-I can’t. My disgusting little dick… I won’t be able to control myself if I do. You haven’t given me permission.”

My expression showed the war waging in my mind between my desire to submit and obey his orders now and my desire to submit and obey to his overall control. Though I couldn’t tell, he was of course aware of this. A devious, wicked smirk crept across his face as he stared down at me weakly squirming beneath his disgusting feet.

“Hmph, of course a faggot like you wouldn’t be able to control itself. Figures.” His words were harsh, but his tone betrayed his amusement. “I know how pathetic you are. Which means I know what will happen giving that order.”

Clearing his throat, he wiggled his toes mesmerizingly in my face. “Now, I said lick my feet, fag boy. And don’t stop until they’re clean, until all the smell is off of them and on your face and your tongue.”

My heart felt ready to explode hearing his command, his permission. The honor to lick his feet, him knowing that I would pathetically cum as I did so.

Without hesitation, my tongue stuck out and slid along the wet bottoms of his feet. Instantly the full salty flavor exploded along my taste buds. I felt every sense go into overdrive. I lost control of myself, just as I expected. It was almost as though I was detached from my body, watching it all happen to me.

My tongue traced the crevices of his soles as my voice cried out, “Thank you Master. Thank you Master. Thank… you… Master… Master… Master…” The word simply finding itself in my throat, just as his sweat and sock lint now found themselves coating my throat. It wasn’t something I had to even think about. It just became apparent. He was my Master.

And as I pathetically whimpered out gratitude and his new title, I felt pleasure and warmth culminate and climax inside my pants. It happened uncontrollably. As if simply occurring in response to the act of furthering my submission and revealing who he now was to me. He wasn’t my stepdad. He stopped being that weeks ago. He was my Master.

“That’s right, faggot.” He mused, pleased. “I’m your Master now. Now and forever.”

My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I came. My tongue continuing to hungrily wipe itself across the bottoms of his feet. In a few swift motions, he pushed the ottoman out of the way, leaned forward to pull me closer and then used his feet to pin my head against the ground. There was no escaping now.

As my climax finished, I remained hypnotized by the funk that swallowed my senses. All I could see were his feet, all I could smell were his feet, all I could taste were his feet, and all I could feel were his feet.

Even as my mind, finally freed from the period of controlled arousal, tried to return to its natural state, he carefully and assuredly blocked it. My brain tried to tell me that I wasn’t horny anymore. I could stop licking. But his strong toes pressing against my temple held the cracks in my mind open as they filled with the sensation of his warm, massive arches perfectly lining across my cheekbones and sour, heady musk poisoning my nostrils and lungs with every inhale.

I couldn’t stop. I’d come down, but his feet were still so sweaty. They needed to be cleaned.

My head tried to clear itself, but as it cleared all else, his stinky and dirty feet only filled in the space it cleared.

It was such a devious trap. To align the natural deescalation following sexual climax with the highest need to continue serving his feet. With every breath, every lick, every second his feet pressed into my face, it cemented my place beneath them.

I was still here because I was meant to be here. I’m not horny, but I keep licking, I keep huffing because I’m meant to be beneath his feet. I want to serve him. No matter what.

And the final piece of the trap, the thing he couldn’t control, but was sure he could rely on, was my own role.

I could stop at any time. I could have flailed beneath his feet and attempted to struggle free. Even if he’d forced me to stay down, only my resistance would have been engraved in my mind and everything he’d done would have fallen apart.

But I didn’t flail. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t resist.

With every breath, I told myself I wanted to be here. This is who I am. I am his faggot, his bitch. He is my Master.

With every lick, I told myself I needed to be subservient to him. It wasn’t something he forced me to do. I needed it. Because I am his faggot. I am his bitch. He is my Master.

And as I continued to inhale and feverishly lick, it got a little easier each time. That small little flame that embodied my old wishes and dreams grew a little dimmer.

It was all but gone, until, “Thank you, Master. Please let me worship you forever, Master.” I blew it out myself. I let go. It was gone.

He removed his soles from my feet and could see it. His sexy brown eyes looked into mine and he saw the absence of any will of my own. He only saw the face of a small, weak little boy staring at him with a cute look of adoration and devotion.

He smirked back before hacking up some spit which he spat onto my face. Lovingly, I licked what I could from my lips as he brought one foot back down to smear it so I could lick it from his sole.

Then he sighed, contentedly and announced to me, “Come on, boy. We’re going upstairs.” I instinctively put his slippers on and followed behind him. My head was empty of all thoughts but elation to continue serving and worshipping him.

As we entered his room, he pat the bed beside him.

“Crawl up here, boy.”

I followed his orders and like a dog, hopped onto the bed, my small frame taking up a quarter of the space his hulking, powerful body did. He lifted a pit and I knew what he wanted.

I dove into it and began drunkenly sniffing and licking the sweat from the forest of hair my face was submerged in. I lost time buried in there, his big biceps framing themselves along my head. Always present in their touch, as if a gently reminder that while he did not hold me in there, I was trapped… but then again, was I really trapped if I would have chosen to stay here forever?

I could slightly feel his body shake, but it wasn’t until he roughly grabbed my head and held it down by his waist that I had any idea what was going on.

Suddenly a white torrent erupted and shot across my face. Stream after stream coated my lips and chin and cheek, and even some across my eyes. I was too slow on the uptake to open my mouth, but I naturally began licking as much as I could as he similarly pushed me down to his feet and just like with his spit began smearing the manifestation of his solidified control over my face.

I basked in it. In the representation of total satisfaction my Master had marked me with. And as I resumed worshipping his feet, cleaning now his hot spunk in addition to his sweat, slowly my Mastered relaxed until he fell asleep.

I continued to lick and kiss and worship. It was all I could think about. All I had been reprogrammed to think about in a moment like this.

It wasn’t until about an hour later that I finally succumbed to exhaustion, still serving him and his feet to the very last moment of consciousness. That’s what I was made to do after all.

-

-

-

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this second part to this story. It was a fun one to write and fantasize about. I have an idea for a third part, which could possibly be the last one. As is evident from this part, while I want the outside world to play a role in our main character’s life and influence challenges, I want it to be a small role and for the main focus to be on the dynamic between our main character and his Master. However, if you have thoughts about that and/ or want a story where there’s more moving parts in the world, feel free to let me know. I know some people, including myself, enjoy that in some of the erotica they read. It wouldn’t be for this story, but could be something to keep in mind for a future story.

"Good, good," he said, the bass in his deep voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket. “Closer,” Jake commanded, his voice a low vibration that bypassed thought and went straight to your spine. You moved in obediently.

"Now sniff."

You hesitated for a fraction of a second, the last vestige of your smart-ass exterior putting up a fight. You shook your head, your hair rustling against the comforter. The word “no” was stuck in your throat.

“Breathe it in,” Jake said sternly. "NOW!"

Your body reacted immediately, taking a huge inhale. The air hit your nostrils, a complex mix of salt, clean sweat, and the faint, expensive scent of his leather shoes. It wasn't what you’d expected. It was… masculine. Real. Your cheeks burned, but a different heat was pooling low in your belly. Your eyes drooped as your face settled into a contented smile.

"There's my boy. Look at that smile," he said, his voice dropping to that intimate, commanding register that made your thoughts go fuzzy. “You like the smell of a real man after a long day, don't you boy?”

The scent was overwhelming- the pure, musky essence of him. It should have been repulsive. A week ago, the thought would have made you scoff. But now, it was... delicious.

“Breathe me in, pretty boy. Get used to it.”

You did again. The act felt more intimate than anything you’d ever done.

His hand, large and warm, settled on the back of your neck, not forcing, just… owning. His thumb stroked absently against your hairline. Your eyes fluttered shut for a second. This was so much more than you’d bargained for when you’d flirted with him at the library, all sharp wit and challenging smiles. You thought you were leading the dance. You were wrong.

You still didn't know how this all happened. You'd met at a dance bar. He'd took you home. It was a common occurrence for you, finding a nice hot jock, charming them with your twink looks, saying whatever you needed, getting dicked down, then leaving. Usually these late 20s, older dudes were easy. They loved the attention from a twink like you.

You’d followed him up to his apartment, the banter still flying, your usual armor of sarcasm firmly in place. “Nice place,” you’d said, glancing around the dark-wood furniture and the massive bed. “A little predictable, but nice.”

You’d moved to sit on the edge of the couch, ready to start the usual dance, but he’d stopped you with a single word. “Aht-.”

You stared at him, confused, but his back was to you until he sat in the large armchair in the corner. He didn't address telling you not to sit, instead stretching his long legs out in front of him on the coffee table. The casual dominance of the gesture, the rudeness, threw you, but damn, those legs were long....

“Ah. Good to sit after a long day,” he’d murmured, almost to himself.

"Can I-"

"Quiet boy," he said. It wasn't even aggressive, but your mouth clamped shut. He didn't even look at you when he said it. Moving his arms overhead, he stretched out in the chair, closing his eyes, smiling as he let out a long exhale. He was.. so tall... but still so solid... so... built... so... manly....

Your irritation faded as you stared at him. A nagging feeling. grew in you as he continued to lay there with his eyes shut. You weren't used to being ignored like this. You were used to being fawned over, being told you were gorgeous, being told you were everything some guys wanted- and here this man was, acting like you weren't even there. And it was making you desperate for it. For his attention. For his acknowledgement. For him to make you feel sexy and wanted. 

He shifted his weight, the muscles in his calf tightening briefly. "Tell me what you're here for."

You swallowed, your throat dry. "I... I thought we were going to hook up."

"That's not an answer." His tone was flat, uncompromising. "What are you here for, right now?"

 "I- I don't know-"

"Then I'm going to tell you," he said, smirking. "You have a smart mouth," he said, still not looking at you. "I like it. But tonight, it's for listening, not talking. Understood?"

You nodded, unable to speak.

"Use your words."

"Yes," you whispered.

"Yes who?"

The correction was instant, heat flushing your cheeks. "Yes, Sir."

The smirk stretched into a slow, genuine smile across his face. "That's better." He  gestured downward, snapping. "On your knees, boy. Now,"

You didn't know why, but you obeyed, and it felt good. Your knees crashed into the ground across the room from him and your cock stiffened. Obeying him just felt ... right.

The floor was cold and hard against your knees. You stayed there, the position foreign and yet feeling unnervingly correct. Your heart hammered against your ribs. You watched him, waiting for his next move, your usual clever retorts dying in your throat.

He finally looked at you, his gaze a physical weight. It traveled from your face, down your slender frame, to your knees pressed into the floorboards. He assessed you, and you felt utterly transparent.

“Come here,” he said, his voice low. It wasn’t a request.

You crawled forward. The journey across the few feet of floor felt endless, humiliating, and incredibly arousing. Your cock strained against your jeans, a traitorous pulse of need. You stopped when you were at his feet, your eyes level with his worn sneakers.

“Look at me.”

You dragged your gaze upward, past the strong lines of his thighs, the defined bulge in his jeans, the broad chest, until you met his eyes. They were dark and focused, completely sure of themselves.

“You like this,” he observed, no judgment in his tone, just a simple statement of fact.

You couldn’t lie. A shaky breath was your only answer at first. Then, a whisper. “Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” He shifted, planting one foot firmly on the floor. He gestured to the other, still resting on the coffee table. “These have been in my shoes all day. They’re tired. Why don't you let them out to breathe?"

Your fingers trembled as you reached for the laces of his sneakers, the worn fabric rough under your touch. The scent of leather and the faint, musky smell of his sweat filled the air, making your head spin. "Go on," he murmured, his voice a low thrum that vibrated through you. You tugged the first shoe off, your heart pounding as his sock-clad foot rested heavy in your hands. This was different, and you were already lost in it.

This was different, and you were already lost in it. Your fingers found the knot of his first lace, working it loose with a slow, deliberate pull you didn’t know you possessed. The heavy leather sneaker came off with a soft thud onto the rug. His foot, still encased in a thick white athletic sock, was a solid, warm weight in your hand. You could feel the distinct, plump shape of his heel, the strong arch, the five knobs of his toes.

You repeated the process with the other foot, your movements reverent. He let out a low, gratified hum as his second foot was freed, flexing his toes under his sock. "Pause, boy. Just stare. Stare at these socks."

The command was absurd, yet you obeyed without hesitation. Your gaze fixed on the thick white cotton, stretched taut over the arch of his foot. You saw the subtle impression of each toe, the damp patch darkening the fabric over his sole. The room smelled of his cologne, yes, but now, this close, it was undercut by something earthier, something fundamentally him. Your mouth went dry. Your vision narrowed and focused, honing in on them as your eyes crossed a bit.

He noticed the change in you, smiling again. He nodded slowly, wiggling his socked toes right in front of your face.

"You're a good boy for me now," he said. A statement, not a question.

"I'm a... good boy... for you... now..."

Jake watched you, his expression unreadable. He slowly, deliberately, brought his socked foot to your chest and pressed. It wasn't a kick, just a firm, steady pressure, pinning you in place. The weight of him, even through the cotton, was immense.

"You feel that?" he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

You nodded, your breath hitching.

"Good. That's my weight. My authority. It's on you now." He lifted his sock-clad foot, pressing the warm, padded sole gently against your lips. The fabric was soft, but the firm pressure behind it was undeniable. "Get these off me. Use your teeth."

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a wild, frantic rhythm. You leaned in, the intimate, musky scent of his skin filling your senses as you carefully gripped the cuff of his sock with your teeth. You tugged, the cotton sliding down, revealing the smooth, powerful line of his arch and his long, elegant toes. The second sock followed, your movements clumsy but eager.

He wiggled his bare toes inches from your face. "Look at you. Already so eager to please." His deep voice was a low rumble that vibrated through the floor into your knees. You stared, captivated by the simple, profound authority in the gesture. This wasn't what you’d expected, but it was what you needed. "Now," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Show me what a good boy you are."

A flicker of your old self sparked. A defense mechanism. “You want me to… what, give you a foot rub?” you said, the cheeky tone a brittle shield.

He didn’t react with anger. He just smiled, a slow, knowing curl of his lips that made your insides liquefy. “No, pretty boy. I don’t want a foot rub.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a intimate rumble. “I want you to worship them.”

The word hung in the air between you, sacrilegious and electric. Worship.

“Go on,” he prompted, his voice gentle but firm. “You know how to be good, don’t you? Show me.”

Tentatively, you bowed your head. You pressed your lips to the top of his foot. The skin was smooth over the bone. You inhaled his scent, a mix of leather, clean sweat, and him. It should have been off-putting. It was anything but. It was intoxicating. A low, guttural sound escaped you, part shame, part pure, unadulterated need.

“Use your tongue.”

The command shattered your last remaining defenses. You did, tracing the line of his arch, kissing the ball of his foot, losing yourself in the act of service. It was the most submissive thing you had ever done, and it felt more honest than any kiss you’d ever shared. You were nowhere near his cock, and you’d never been more turned on in your life.

He watched you, his breathing deep and even, his hand occasionally coming down to rest on your head, not in a rough grip, but in a possessive, approving caress. “Good boy,” he murmured. “Such a good boy for me. You came here for a hookup. You thought you were the one doing the choosing. You weren't. I was. And you're mine now. This pretty body is mine to use. Isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," you said, sniffing his feet top to bottom.

The scent was overwhelming, a primal mix of salt, leather, and pure, unadulterated man. It filled your head, short-circuiting every thought that wasn't about obedience. Your tongue darted out, a tentative, nervous flick against the warm skin of his arch. It tasted of the faint, clean bitterness of soap and something else, something uniquely Jake.

A low, approving rumble came from above. "That's it. No one's watching. No one's judging. It's just you, and my feet, and doing exactly what you were made for."

Your cheeks burned, but the embarrassment was a distant thing. Here, on your knees, with the solid weight of his foot in your hands, was the only reality. You opened your mouth wider, letting your tongue lay flat against his sole, licking a slow, wet stripe from his heel to the base of his toes.

He let out a soft sigh, flexing his toes against your lips. "Good. So good for me." His hand settled on your head again, not forcing, just guiding. "Now, between the toes. Get them clean."

You obeyed without hesitation, your nose buried in the space between his first and second toe. The skin was softer there, the scent more concentrated. You worked diligently, your tongue probing, cleaning, worshipping.

""You had this whole script in your head, didn't you? The clever banter, the predictable moves. But this… this is real. This is you, isn't it? This desperate, needy boy."

A whimper escaped you. He was right. He was seeing right through the facade you showed everyone, the sharp-witted, carelessly sexual university student, and finding the raw nerve underneath. You nodded against his foot, your lips brushing his skin.

"Use your words."

"Yes, Sir," you breathed, the admission leaving you feeling hollowed out and remade. "This is me."

"What is?"

"A desperate, needy boy."

He shifted, lifting his other foot and pressing it gently against your face. "Then show me more."

You moved from one foot to the other, your worship becoming more fervent, more desperate. You sucked his big toe into your mouth, running your tongue around the nail, tasting the faint metallic tang of the day. You nuzzled the high arch, kissing it with a reverence that shocked you.

Time lost all meaning. There was only the rhythm of your service and the sound of his quiet, satisfied breathing. The dim lamp cast his shadow over you, a giant, encompassing presence. You were small beneath him, and you had never felt more secure.

Finally, he let out a long, deep sigh and slowly drew his feet back, placing them flat on the floor. You remained on your knees, staring up at him, your lips swollen and wet, your mind hazy with submission.

He looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he reached out, his thumb gently wiping a stray strand of saliva from your chin. The gesture was unexpectedly tender, and it made your chest ache.

"Stand up."

Your legs were weak, trembling as you pushed yourself to your feet. The room seemed to tilt. You stood before him, waiting, your entire being focused on his next command.

He didn't speak. He just looked at you, his gaze traveling over your flushed face, your heaving chest, the obvious bulge straining against your jeans. A slow, predatory smile touched his lips.

"Take your clothes off," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow more commanding than a shout. "I want to see what's mine."

His command hung in the air, a final key turning in a lock deep inside you. “I want to see what’s mine.”

Your fingers, clumsy and shaking, went to the button of your jeans. Across from you, Jake stood and began his own undressing with a calm, efficient grace that stole the air from your lungs. He pulled his tight black t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion, and the world narrowed.

Your own clothes forgotten, your hands stilled at your waistband. You were transfixed.

His chest was a broad, sculpted plane of muscle, dusted with dark hair that narrowed into a trail leading down into his jeans. The dim light carved shadows between his pecs, highlighting the sheer power of him. But your eyes were dragged upward, to his armpits.

As his arm had raised, a dense, dark thicket of hair was revealed. It was raw, intensely masculine, a hidden part of him now on blatant display. The scent of him, that intoxicating mix of cologne and clean, musky sweat, seemed to emanate from there, amplified and primal. You stared, your mouth slightly agape, at this utterly ordinary yet devastatingly intimate sight. It was more vulnerable, more commanding, than any overt display of dominance could ever be.

He caught you looking. A slow, knowing smirk played on his lips as he deliberately lowered his arm, letting the dense hair vanish, then raised it again, watching your eyes follow the movement with helpless fixation.

“See something you like, pretty boy?” he rumbled, his voice laced with amusement.

You could only manage a weak, strangled noise in response, your entire body humming with a submission so complete it felt like gravity had doubled.

The smirk on his lips deepened. He let his arm fall to his side, the intimate view vanishing, but the scent of him—that clean, musky aroma—still hung thick in the air around you, a ghost against your face.

“Eyes down, boy,” he said, his voice low but absolute. “You got distracted. I didn’t say you could look.”

A hot flush of shame washed over you, so warm it was almost pleasant. Your gaze dropped instantly to the floor, to the worn boards where you’d been kneeling. You focused on the grain of the wood, your heart hammering.

“You have a job to do. It’s not finished.” He didn’t move, but you felt the command like a physical push. “Back on your knees. Get back to work on my feet.”

The order was a relief. A directive. Something concrete to obey in the swirling disorientation of your own surrender. You dropped down, the impact jarring up your thighs. The hard floor was a familiar pressure now, a grounding pain.

He shifted his weight and placed his right foot back onto your face, the sole warm and slightly damp from your earlier attention. The proximity, the sheer physical reality of it, made your head spin. You looked at the long, elegant lines of his foot, the dusting of dark hair across the toes, the faint lines etched into the skin of his heel.

Leaning forward, you pressed your face into the arch of his foot. You inhaled deeply, the scent now a direct line to whatever part of your brain was responsible for this unraveling. You opened your mouth and let your tongue drag slowly, purposefully, from his heel to the ball of his foot.

A soft, gratified sigh came from above you. “That’s better. Slower this time. Like you mean it.”

You obeyed, losing yourself in the rhythm of it. The taste of his skin, the solid weight of his foot on your leg, the sound of his breathing—it all coalesced into a single, overwhelming point of focus. Your world had shrunk to the space between his ankle and his toes. Everything else—the university, your sarcasm, the person you were supposed to be—was just noise fading into a distant hum.

The world had shrunk to the taste of salt and skin, the weight of his foot resting on your thigh, the sound of your own ragged breathing. Your tongue moved in slow, worshipful strokes, mapping the landscape of his arch, the subtle ridges and planes. You were so lost in the rhythm that his voice, when it came, seemed to come from another room.

"Look at you."

You didn't stop. You couldn't. Your eyelids fluttered open, your gaze unfocused. You were looking at his foot, at the sheen your saliva left on his skin.

"Good," he murmured, and the word felt like a reward that went straight to your core. "Now get up."

Your legs were unsteady as you rose, the blood rushing from your head. You stood before him, swaying slightly, feeling more naked now than you ever had with your clothes off. He hadn't even touched you properly, and you were already coming undone.

He reached out, his fingers not grabbing, but gently tracing the line of your jaw. The calloused pad of his thumb brushed over your lower lip, smearing the wetness there. "You're a mess."

You nodded, a shiver wracking your frame.

His hand slid down, palming the rigid bulge in your jeans. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily into the pressure. "And you're desperate for it. Aren't you?"

"Yes," you choked out. "Yes, Sir."

He pushed your jeans and boxers down in one rough, decisive motion. The cool air hit your heated skin, and you shuddered. You were fully exposed, achingly hard, and completely at his mercy.

He didn't touch you there. Instead, he guided you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. "Lie down. On your back."

You fell more than lay, the plush black sheets swallowing you. The ceiling above was a dark blur. You heard the soft rustle of his own jeans being discarded, the shift of his weight on the floor. Then he was over you, kneeling on the bed, straddling your hips. He wasn't touching you, just looking down, his powerful frame blocking the light.

"Hands above your head," he said. "Grab the headboard."

You reached up, your fingers curling around the cool, smooth wood of the slats. The position arched your back, baring your throat, your chest, your straining cock. It was the most vulnerable you had ever been.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands on either side of your head, caging you in. His scent enveloped you, that mix of cologne and pure, clean male sweat. His eyes, dark and unblinking, held yours.

"This is what you wanted," he stated, his voice a low rumble so close to your ear. "You just didn't have the words for it. You thought you were playing a game. You weren't. This is real."

You believed him. With every fiber of your being, you believed him.

He lowered his head, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. "You're mine to use tonight. My good, pretty boy. And I'm going to use you until you forget your own name."

A broken sound, half-sob, half-sigh, escaped you. Your grip on the headboard tightened.

"Tell me you understand."

"I understand," you whispered.

"Louder."

"I understand!" The words were torn from you, raw and honest.

He finally, finally lowered his hips, his hard length pressing against yours. The contact was electric, a jolt that made you cry out. He didn't move, just held there, letting you feel the full, crushing weight of his body, the promise of what was to come.

"Good," he breathed against your neck. "Now keep your hands right there, boy."

The weight of him was immense, a solid heat pressing you into the mattress. You felt the slick slide of his cock against your own, a teasing promise that made your hips twitch upwards, seeking more. "Please," you breathed, the word sounding foreign and desperate.

He chuckled, a low, dark sound that vibrated through his chest into yours. "Please what?" His hand slid down your side, calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire on your skin. "You have to use your words, pretty boy."

"Please... fuck me," you managed, your voice cracking. The admission felt like the final surrender, the last vestige of your cheeky persona dissolving into the dark sheets.

"Since you asked so nicely." He shifted, reaching over to the bedside table. The click of a cap was obscenely loud in the quiet room. You watched, mesmerized, as he slicked his length with lube, his fist moving in slow, deliberate strokes. The sight was brutally intimate, a preview of what was to come that made your stomach clench with anticipation.

He positioned himself between your legs, pushing your knees back towards your shoulders. The stretch was immediate, exposing you completely. "Look at you," he murmured, his gaze heavy and approving. "So open for me."

You turned your head, pressing your face into the pillow to muffle a whimper. His thumb pressed against your entrance, circling slowly, making you shudder. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. You dragged your eyes back to his, held captive by his intense focus.

He pushed in slowly, just the thick head, and the burn was exquisite. You gasped, your fingers turning white on the headboard. "Fuck," you hissed, the stretch overwhelming.

"Breathe through it," he instructed, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the invasion. You sucked in a ragged breath, and he pushed forward again, sinking deeper. The feeling of being filled, stretched, claimed, was all-consuming.

Then he began to move. The initial slow, deliberate pace was a torture in itself, each drag of his cock against your inner walls sending jolts of lightning through your system. "You take me so well," he grunted, his composure beginning to fray. "Such a tight, perfect hole."

His thrusts became harder, faster, losing any pretense of gentleness. The bedframe started a rhythmic thud against the wall, his hips pounding into you with a force that stole your breath.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough with effort. "Take it. Take all of it." You could only moan, a continuous, broken sound as he pistoned into you. The world narrowed to the slap of skin, his guttural breaths, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly used.

Your orgasm built, a coil tightening deep in your gut, fed by every brutal, perfect thrust. "I'm... I'm gonna..." you choked out, your body trembling on the edge.

"Cum for me, boy," he commanded, his pace becoming frantic, animalistic. "Cum for your Master. Now."

It was the permission you didn't know you needed. Your cum erupted from you, stripes of white painting your stomach and chest as your body convulsed around his driving cock. Feeling you clench around him, he let out a final, guttural roar. He buried himself to the hilt, his body stiffening as he pumped his load deep inside you. The hot, pulsing flood filled you. He filled you. He filled with with...him.

As the last waves of your climax subsided, a single, clear thought crystallized in the hazy aftermath. Master. The word wasn't spoken aloud, but it echoed through every fiber of your being, a truth as undeniable as the man still nestled inside you.

"M-Master-" you murmured desperately, sitting up, drawn towards him, covered in and full of cum.

The word hung in the air, a raw, unscripted truth that shocked you more than the physical act itself. Jake went still above you, his breathing heavy. His dark eyes searched your face, seeing the naked vulnerability you had no hope of hiding.

A slow, possessive smile curved his lips. "Say that again."

"Master," you whispered, the title feeling more natural this time, a key sliding into a lock deep in your soul.

He leaned down, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was nothing like before. It wasn't gentle or exploring; it was a claiming. His tongue pushed past your lips, tasting you, dominating the space as thoroughly as his body had moments before. You melted into it, your hands finally releasing the headboard to clutch at his sweaty shoulders.

When he broke the kiss, he looked down at the mess on your stomach and chest. "Look at you. Covered in cum. Full of mine." His voice was thick with satisfaction. He dipped two fingers into the spend on your abdomen, gathering it up.

He brought his fingers to your mouth. "Clean it."

Without hesitation, you opened your mouth, your tongue darting out to lick his fingers clean. The taste was bitter, salty, and profoundly his. You sucked his fingers deep, your eyes locked on his, worshipping the evidence of your submission.

"Fuck, you're perfect," he groaned, pulling his fingers from your mouth with a soft pop. He shifted off you, the loss of his weight and warmth leaving you feeling hollow and exposed on the rumpled sheets.

"I want to be perfect. Perfect for you, Master," you said robotically. 

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing mingling with his. He slowly pulled out, and you felt the warm trickle of his cum down your thigh. He collapsed beside you, his arm draping heavily over your waist, pulling you back against his chest.