Untitled

“Why don’t you start shooting here, dude?” suggested Braeden. “I haven’t seen anybody pass for a while. Get low to the ground and focus on my feet,”

“Got it. You gonna tell me when to stop, or should I film all the way to the bench?”

“All the way to the bench, then we can stop. I need to put my little microphone on for the verbal part,”

“Sounds good. I’ll count you down when you’re ready,”

“Thanks again for doing this, dude. I don’t know how I would have filmed this on my own. Ready to go when you are,”

“No problem! Okay – five, four, three, two,” said Ethan as he sank into a squat. He whispered one and Braeden slowed his gait so his cameraman could keep up. He tapped the feet on the center of Braeden’s iPhone 14 to focus the camera and hit record.

Finally, Ethan thought, Braeden was telling him to look at his feet. He’d made a nasty habit lately out of coveting them secretly. It wasn’t just the feet themselves that drove him crazy, though they were certainly beautiful – size 13, long toes, smooth soles, and well-defined arches. No, what mesmerized Ethan was the way Braeden endlessly moved his feet. If his feet were out in front of him, he would curl and spread his toes. When he was sitting with his feet beneath him, he would use his hands to stretch his toes and crack his knuckles; he liked to use his big toe to pop his second when his hands weren’t within reach. The motion of and attention to his own feet was near constant, and Ethan had a tough time not fixating on it.

Now that he was behind a camera, his job was to document those very toe fidgets and sole scrunches. Just watching him walk was so hot, how to film them came naturally.  Every few steps, Braeden would slow to just before a stop. Sometimes, he’d leave one foot in mid-step to show the camera his progressively grimier soles. Each time he stopped, Ethan inched toward them until the bare foot was front and center. He held on to every detail until Braeden walked again. With each fresh start, Ethan found a new angle to feature. Once, he focused on his legs and ass walking. Another time, he moved slightly in front of him to show the tops of his feet. It felt like a dance: Ethan’s partner was the air between Braeden’s soles and the ground and the beat was feet slapping against concrete.

As Braeden turned toward the destination bench and off the pavement, he measured his steps even more precisely. Ethan made a point of getting a close shot of his soles walking across actual earth. Rocks were sticking to his sweaty soles. They looked even more pillowy with pebbles sinking into them. Ethan circled around to film in front of Braeden as he approached the bench. He sat and crossed one foot over the other, which Ethan zoomed in close on. He pulled the camera outward until just before his head was in frame and hit the record button once more.

“And, cut!” said Ethan, “You wanna see it?”

“Yeah, actually. If it didn’t turn out, we can try again on the walk back,” Braeden took his phone back from Ethan.

“I hope it did, my legs are fucking tired from that squat shit,”

Braeden laughed and sat down on the bench, flexing his foot. “I appreciate it so much, man. Imagine trying to film this by yourself with a selfie stick! I would look insane if I got caught. At least this way, you could back me up and tell them I’m doing it for money,”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t know what to say if I got caught like that,” Ethan said. It would be a dream to catch you filming your own feet in the park and I don’t know how I’m going to stop myself from licking them, he thought.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soon after he met Braeden in college, Ethan noticed how nice his feet were. He always noticed how nice people’s feet were. Generally, he tried to avoid taking too keen an interest in his friends’ feet. Foot fetishists have a creepy reputation already, and Ethan didn’t want to be thought of like that. Besides that, Ethan had gotten close with Braeden. He wasn’t about to ruin a good friendship because he wanted to suck toes. There were plenty of other toes to suck.

However, one afternoon at Braeden’s apartment, he got a little too nosy. Ethan had always wondered how he afforded so many shoes and video games. The few times he asked about it, Braeden was dodgy. Never close to a satisfactory answer. He’d always had more money than Ethan and their other friends in college, and Braeden claimed for years that all he did was wait tables.

“Okay, seriously, how did you afford a new PC? Didn’t you get a PS5 like six months ago?”

“Working at the restaurant, dude! People like to tip young, strapping men like yours truly,”

“Of course,” Ethan laughed, “but it’s not just the games, or even the shoes and the games. I mean, this apartment is nice as hell! And we hang out too much for you to work much more than like 25 or 30 hours a week. I don’t want to pry, but I’ve always wondered. I’ll only judge if it sounds exceptionally dangerous,”

Braeden looked at Ethan for a few seconds. “Okay, fine. But this stays between us,”

“Of course! I’m not looking for gossip. Maybe some finance tips,”

“So, um. Have you ever heard of BraxTheeAlpha on Onlyfans?”

Ethan roared, “No way! I haven’t heard of him, but he sounds hot,”

“He’s sort of a hunk, yeah,”

“Is it safe to assume you are Brax?”

“In the flesh,” said Braeden, cartoonishly flexing, “Is it really that surprising?”

“Well, yes and no. I mean, like LMFAO said, you’re sexy and you know it. I just didn’t take you for the type, I guess. I don’t know what the type is, exactly,”

“Young, hot and sort of broke?”

“I’d throw vein in there,” he said, and laughed as Braeden started flexing again, “So, I have two follow up questions,”

“Yes, you can subscribe. It’s ten bucks a month,”

“Wow, affordable!” Ethan took out his phone and pretended to start looking it up, “How do you spell that?”

“B-r-a-x and ‘Thee Alpha’ like ‘Thee Stallion’. No spaces,”

“Got it. I’ll need that for my research,” he said. Lying is easier when you just tell the truth as a joke, thought Ethan.

“Looking to invest in a local, humble sex worker?”

“No, just trying to figure out how much money my friend makes from selling access to what type of pornography,”

“Okay, I’ll start with the less embarrassing part. I make about six thousand a month from posting: fourty-five hundred or so from monthly subscriptions and around two thousand from tips, used socks, custom videos, other fetishy content. Give or take a couple hundred,”

“Damn, that is definitely not embarrassing,”

“Nah, it’s tight. But I make… foot fetish videos,”

Ethan’s eyes got wide. “Damn, no way! I knew people liked feet, but I didn’t realize you could cash in like that without showing hole,” he lied. “I don’t think that’s embarrassing,”

Braeden laughed, “Well, I guess I don’t think of it like that as much anymore. I mean, the feet are where the money’s at. There’s just that connotation, you know? I got a couple foot people in my Instagram comments and DM’s freshman year of college. I thought it was super weird and just hid the comments at first. Then, some of them started offering money. I got talking to this one dude who bought pictures and he told me I should start a foot page or OnlyFans or something. Eventually, I did. It started as something to do for a little extra spending money, but the shit took off after a couple years of doing it. Now, I have this whole separate online foot master persona. When I graduated college, I just told my boss I was gonna take an extra two years for a graduate program and needed to stay part time. I do like 20 hours a week at the restaurant, but most of my money comes from the same amount of time doing stuff for the OnlyFans. If it keeps going well, I might just do it full time,”

“Damn, I don’t blame you if you’re making that much. Still, 20 hours a week? What takes so long?”

“Well, I’m counting going to the gym. I always wanted to go more during college anyway, and these foot dudes will pay for your used socks, sweaty underwear, videos of my feet in the gym mirror – they love that jock alpha shit. The more in shape I am, the more money I make. Filming and editing the videos takes some time, posting on Twitter, Instagram and OnlyFans regularly, responding to DM’s, video calls. I’ve had to coordinate a couple meetups with people to film videos. It’s all pretty fun, to be honest. I’ve gotten into it more than I ever thought I would. Plus, it’s way easier than finding a ‘real job’.”

“Honestly, dude, that’s sweet. If you like doing it and you can make that much with it, why not,” Ethan thought he was holding it together pretty well.

Relieved, Braeden reached over to slap Ethan’s hand and said, “Thanks, man! I’m honestly glad you asked. It feels good to tell somebody in real life,”

“Yeah, dude, glad you told me! I can’t believe I’ve been hanging out with a foot celebrity for all these years,”

“Y’know, since you reacted so cool, do you think you’d ever be willing to help me film some things? I can get most of it done on my own, but I’ve had to decline a few offers because I couldn’t film something right. I’d give you a quarter of the profit from whatever videos you help with,”

“Oh, sure, dude, whatever you need!” That felt too eager. “Well, maybe not anything,” he turned red and added, “but I can help you film for a little money,”

“Nothing too crazy, I just need somebody to film while I’m walking or moving or whatever. Or while somebody is licking my feet. You don’t have to get your tongue dirty if you don’t want to,” Braeden winked, his last sentence delivered with a bit of BraxTheeAlpha arrogance.

“I can help with the camera, I would need a bigger cut of the money to go that far,” Ethan laughed, his cheeks ripening still.

“Nah, I have plenty of people willing to do that part for free,”

“Clearly! They pay you just to look at them,”

“Exactly. You’ll have to do a lot more than lick my feet and help me film here and there to get a chunk of the BraxTheeAlpha empire,” Braeden’s joking condescension felt more genuine with each sentence.

Ethan felt compelled to follow this dominant streak to see where it might lead, but he couldn’t bring himself to submit to his friend like that. “Alrighty, if the all-powerful BraxTheeAlpha needs any help taking videos of his feet for horny men on the internet, he can let me know,” Ethan chided.

Braeden laughed hard at that and said, “For sure, man, I will,”

Ethan waited three days to subscribe to BraxTheeAlpha on OnlyFans after that. His username was EthanLovesToes, but his profile picture was of an anonymous man’s feet and his page contained no identifying information. The topic never came up between them, so Ethan assumed Braeden didn’t make the connection. The thought of telling Braeden about his foot fetish crossed Ethan’s mind pretty often once he knew about his profession. On one hand, he loved Braeden as a friend. They were both single, open-minded people, but they’d never had a sexual relationship at all. On top of that, Ethan wasn’t sure how much, if any, of Braeden’s motivation for running the page was sexual. At the same time, Ethan couldn’t help but think about the potential of getting more intimate with Braeden’s feet.

The first time Braeden asked for help was about two weeks after Ethan found out about BraxTheeAlpha. They were hanging out at Braeden’s apartment and about an hour in, Braeden told him that he either needed to leave within ten minutes or record somebody worshipping his feet. Ethan agreed to stay. The man was only there for about half an hour and Ethan, the only person there not wearing an elastic mask, was introduced as ‘Master’s friend and cameraman’. Although there was a dream scenario unfolding in front of him, Ethan’s focus was strictly on filming a good video; as much as he could, he tuned out the verbal admonishment Braeden’s sub was receiving. He knew he’d be able to watch the video later on, he figured, why risk popping a hardon? What if he got too horny and outed his fetish? When the man left the guys joked around about it for a bit, but Ethan changed the subject as soon as he could. Just keep saying yes, Ethan reasoned, even if you never do anything but help him film here and there, maybe an opportunity will present itself. Braeden asked him to help record a video of him walking barefoot in Carson Park the next week.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Speaking of not knowing what to say, try not to get weirded out by the dirty feet talk you’re about to hear. The dude who bought this video said don’t hold back on the humiliation,” said Braeden as he handed his phone back to Ethan, “That looks great, by the way. That would have been impossible for me to get alone,”

“All in a day’s work,” Ethan said with a coy smile.

“I’m impressed you know how these foot freaks like their videos. It took a lot of trial and error, and comments and DMs from horny foot dudes, for me to figure it out,”

“Heh, I guess I just have an artist’s eye,” Braeden laughed at that, and Ethan hoped that meant he played it off well.

“I’ll say,” he replied. “Okay, frame it so my feet are about center, and make sure it cuts off somewhere between my shoulders and neck,” Braeden dug around in his canvas tote until he found his microphone. “Oh, and feel free to move the camera around a little bit, but make sure stick around for a while on each angle. I need to get screenshots for the socials,”

“What a marketing king. Tell me when you’re ready,”

“Ready!”

“Okay – five, four, three, two,” he pointed at Braeden and hit record. Though he’d been scrunching his toes absentmindedly since he sat down, Braeden started exaggerating the stretches and wiggles for the camera.

He began, “I hope you knew what you were in for when you asked to clean my dirty feet, boy. These fuckers need a lot of TLC. You’re not finished until every inch is spotless,”

With that, Ethan brought the camera in close and swept the view across Braeden’s soles to show all the dirt some internet sub paid to imagine he was cleaning.

After a robust silence filled with a medley of teasing foot wiggles, Braeden continued, “It’s probably killing you that you can’t do anything about it. Helplessly masturbating behind a screen, knowing that a washcloth in my shower is going to receive the honor of revealing the smooth soles beneath this dirt instead of your tongue,”

He wasn’t kidding when he said he had gotten into this, Ethan thought. The first time he filmed, having to focus on shooting Braeden’s feet around some dude’s head helped keep him from getting into the content. Today, it was just him and the dirty soles of BraxTheeAlpha. Ethan pulled the camera back a bit. Taking his body with the phone, he lowered the camera below Braeden’s crossed soles. He made sure the shot was focused, then looked up at Braeden for the first time since the video began. The self-assured smile on his face made Ethan’s dick twitch. His eyes shot back at the phone.

“How sad. I’m sure you’re fucking leaking just imagining this dirt,” he rubbed his feet together, “sprinkling onto your pathetic face,” Braeden spat at the ground. The loogie landed less than a foot from Ethan’s face. “Loser,” Ethan looked for Braeden’s eyes after that line and found them staring back at him. Braeden maintained that cocky expression and resumed, “I mean, seriously. Aren’t you like 50 and married? And you’re paying some 23-year-old on OnlyFans $50 for two three-minute videos of his filthy feet? You could take that money and go spend a nice date night with your wife, or maybe save it up for a gift for her. Instead, you want to give it to me, so you can pound your piggy little cock looking at my fuckin’ feet,” Braeden laughed at the idea, “That’s incredible, truly. At this rate, I can’t imagine what you would pay me to come treat you like the dog you are in real life. You’d probably even let me fuck that wife of yours if I wanted to! For now, I’m happy just fucking your wallet,”

Despite the specificities, Ethan was just as hypnotized by the degradation as he imagined the cuck buying the video would be. He was fully hard by the end of the monologue and had to get creative to make his final camera angle shift without showing it. He backed the camera up as he moved into a squat, dick secure against his waistband, and panned the camera upward.

“Come back down here, bitch, I need you up close and personal. You have to kiss the soles gracing your screen before I finish up,” Albeit he was making eye contact before, this statement felt more like it was directed at the customer and the cameraman. He looked up to see Braeden smile and wink, then motion his head downward, eyebrows raised. Ethan did as he was instructed and sank back into his previous position.

“There you go. C’mon, even closer,” Ethan scooted forward, his hand now an inch from the evaporating loogie, “Now plant a big wet kiss on that screen, pig. Mhm, good boy,” Braeden raised his feet in the air, “Now wave goodbye! Oh, I forgot to mention, you owe me $25 if you came the first time through,”

Braeden set his feet down, but Ethan kept filming. He barely noticed Braeden was trying to wrap it up he was so fixated on the iPhone screen.

“Cut, buddy! That was over three minutes, right?”

Ethan scrambled to end the recording and check. He stammered, “Uh, yeah, it was 3:23,” and hopped to his feet. His brain was having trouble breaking out of BraxTheeAlpha’s enchantment.

“Sweet! I hope it wasn’t too weird that I was looking at you. It helped me get into the verbal, so thanks,” Braeden’s expression had softened some, but with his ankles crossed and soles facing him, he still carried a superior glow.

“Oh yeah, man, it was, uh, I mean, I sorta figured that,”

“Let me see the video, dude!”

Ethan handed him the phone and Braeden started skimming through. He brushed the dirt off his shirt. “I tried to get a couple different angles,”

“You did!” he said, scrubbing through, “I like it. And this last one will be great for the screenshots. Okay, great, let’s get out of here,” Braeden unclipped his microphone and returned it to the bag. After he pulled out his slides, he brushed the dirt off his soles and placed each foot in a sandal. “You good, dude? You’re kind of staring,”

“Yeah, um, I was just waiting for you,”

“Look man. If you’re not gonna say it, I need to ask – are you into feet?”

“How – what?”

“So yes, then,” Braeden paused for a response and continued when he didn’t get one, “It’s not a big deal! I love dudes with foot fetishes. I mean, I’ve made a career off the guys, for god’s sake,”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you; I didn’t want you to think me being into your feet was part of why we were friends or anything like that, but when you told me about this and asked for help, I couldn’t say no,”

“Oh, I could tell! I had absolutely no idea you were into feet before you were excited to help me film so quickly. I’d assume if you were perving on my feet before that, you would have done something creepy already,”

“You knew that long ago?”

“Well, no, but that was the first little clue. Then, I thought it was a funny coincidence that somebody called EthanLovesToes subscribed to me just a few days after I told you about the page,”

“I figured that Ethan’s a common name…”

“Right, so did I. I didn’t even think much of it when that worship video turned out so good, because I figured the idea of filming the feet and not the head was pretty easy. It was when the video of my soles walking was so perfect. It took forever for me to get how I should film for the OnlyFans. After that, it all sort of came together in my brain. So, during the video, I made sure to pay attention to how you were reacting. When I say visibly horny, I need you to know just how much I mean that,”

Ethan’s face burned through his shy smile. “I was trying so hard to hide it!” he said, and Braeden laughed.

“Well,” Braeden stood up and walked over to Ethan, “there’s not a ton of great ways to hide that,” he said, pointing to the vertical lump in Ethan’s shorts.

“Listen,”

“Let’s walk back to the car. I have way too many ideas, and as much as you love my feet, I don’t know if you want the world to see those ideas,”

“Okay…” of course, Ethan was going to follow. He just couldn’t find any words. He would pay good money to watch the porno flick that he was living and breathing. The two started back toward the parking lot, toward a situation too good to be true.

“Do you have any other plans today, bud?”

“Um, not really. I was just gonna go play some games when we were done hanging,”

“Perfect! What game are you playing right now?”

“Oh, nothing new, just Dota,”

Braeden kept the small talk going as Ethan tried to make sure this was all still real. He wasn’t dumb; he knew Braeden finding out was a possibility. What he couldn’t believe was how perceptive he had been. The boner was a bit of a giveaway, but it sounded like Braeden knew before that. Regardless, judging by his reaction, Ethan should have drooled over them from the start.

As the driver’s side door closed, Ethan opened his door. By the time he was sitting, Braeden’s dirtied feet were hovering above the seat. He waited to get in and looked at his friend behind the wheel.

“Go on and sit down, Ethan! If at any point I go too far, say ‘banana’, and we can split,”

“Very clever safe word,” he said, sliding underneath his feet. There wasn’t much loose dirt left sticking to them, but his soles were still stained brown. “I never thought I’d say something like that to you,” Ethan chuckled.

“Same here, but sexy times call for sexy measures! Here’s the deal, Ethan: BraxTheeAlpha has been growing, but I haven’t been able to find the extra time to spend on it. I’m gaining followers, but I know if I were posting more often, and added new types of content, I could grow even faster and net more money from that growth. That’s where I see you coming in. Start massaging my feet if you’re intrigued,”

Ethan let hardly a second pass before he grabbed Braeden’s left foot and began to rub.

“Great! So, it’s been a struggle to find anyone because, while I make good money, I don’t make enough to lop off a living wage to pay somebody to help me out,” Ethan switched to Braeden’s right foot, “The only subs I talk to online who I think would do it for, let’s say alternative compensation, live too far away for that to be possible. Pop my right big toe in your mouth and start sucking if you see where I’m going and want to hear what I have in mind,”

This time, Ethan hesitated. Braeden just raised his eyebrows and waited, pointing the toe toward him. Timidly, Ethan leaned forward. He let his lips rest on the top of Braeden’s toe for a moment before he welcomed it into his mouth.

“I want you to record and edit all my pictures and videos,” Braeden began, maintaining eye contact as Ethan listened to his potential duties and swirled his tongue around the big toe. “We can schedule one or two times a week to record. I’ll still come up with some ideas for content, but I definitely want your input. You’ll manage my Instagram, Twitter and OnlyFans as well. Still interested, Ethan?”

He nearly spat Braeden’s toe out before he realized he wasn’t given a new command. Ethan nodded.

“Good – you had the right idea, left big toe now,”

Ethan’s right hand kept a grip on Braeden’s sole as he pulled the cleaned toe from his mouth. He used his other hand to bring his left toe to his mouth for the same treatment.

“Each new video, unless it’s a custom, needs to have a preview posted. I’ll leave editing them down to your discretion, just make sure it’s hard to cum without the full video,” Ethan laughed through the toe at that requirement. Braeden smiled and reasoned, “It’s good business!”

He took the toe out of his mouth but left his lips brushing against the bottom. “Hey, you’re the expert, I believe you,” said Ethan. When he finished speaking, he put it back in to signal Braeden to continue.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he snickered, “Sometimes I’ll just do a photoshoot – I like those to be between 15 and 20 pictures. Post one to four on Twitter and Instagram. For either video or photo previews, use the OnlyFans caption for the post and link the OnlyFans in the replies on Twitter and on Instagram Stories. I’d imagine you’re still in – start giving my other toes some love if I’m right,”

With a smack, Ethan removed the big toe and eyed up the second. First, he darted his tongue in the space between the toes. Satisfied it was clean, he engulfed the second toe and looked back toward Braeden.

“Ethan, I think you may be the man for this job,” Ethan smiled and started cleaning between Braeden’s second and third toe. “A couple more things, though. Like I said, I’ll still come up with ideas for videos, but I want you to compile any ideas or custom requests you find in my replies or my DM’s. Bring them to our recording sessions, as well as any messages or comments you think I might want to respond to personally. I’ll start signing the posts and replies that come directly from me,” he paused and waited for Ethan to look up from sucking the life out of his middle-left toe. “I hope you’re listening,” Ethan nodded, “and I hope you remember I have two more toes on this foot alone,” Braeden teased.

“The thought of it is making it a bit harder to focus,” Ethan admitted.

“You should have plenty of quality time with them to come,” Braeden said, and Ethan slipped his tongue in between the third and fourth toe, “but we have an interview to finish before I offer you this gig,”

“Fair enough, fire away,” Ethan said as he dove onto the fourth toe. He felt Braeden’s pinkie toe wiggling against his cheek.

“I also want you to respond to some of the spammy DM’s and comments. You’re a foot guy, I’m sure you’ll figure that out quickly. I think that’s it for the job description, let’s talk compensation,”

Ethan finished scrubbing between Braeden’s final two toes and said, “I hope I’m getting a preview of the employee benefits right now,” he said, finally taking the pinkie toe in and sucking.

“You read my mind! Specifically, if you don’t feel comfortable being on camera, I’m willing to offer an hour a week after a recording session for you to have your way with them as payment,”

With a sloppy, deliberate slurp, Ethan pulled all five of the toes on Braeden’s left foot out of his mouth and asked, “Can I start sucking the toes on your other foot to find out what I get if I am willing to be on video?” Braeden grinned and nodded, and Ethan dove in.

“I knew I sensed something special in you! Not every video will be a worship video, but a hell of a lot of them will be. If you want to wear a mask, you’re more than welcome. Of course, let me know if a video brushes up on a limit. On top of the private foot worship, I’ll throw in a cut of the profits. If I can make $7k a month, I can quit the restaurant and not lose any money. Anything I make beyond that is yours until we get to a 50/50 split. If you agree to that, I want both of my big toes in your mouth,”

Although he wasn’t even done with the third toe, Ethan couldn’t comply with Braeden’s demand faster. He started sucking both toes and Braeden pinched his cheeks with his big toes and second toes and pulled Ethan in towards him.

“This is going to be a very fun situation for the both of us,” he sneered and pulled his toes out of Ethan’s mouth. Braeden tapped his cheek firmly with the sole of his foot. “I’ll write up an official contract for us to sign next time we meet up,” he said. Ethan started to respond, but Braeden shushed him and placed both soles over his face. He continued, “I’ve been pretty cordial with this so far, but there’s one aspect I haven’t touched. You’re going to have to get comfortable with submitting to me on a regular basis. Nod if you understand,”

After Ethan nodded, Braeden extended his legs and pushed his head back until it was against the window.

“Start licking my soles,” Ethan opened his mouth wide and wiped his tongue against every square inch he could reach in his compromised position. Braeden continued, “We can still be friends, but this arrangement will be more intense than just friends with benefits. Outside of filming sessions, I’ll still call you Ethan and you can call me Braeden. We can hang out and play games! I also want our correspondence during the week about posting to remain professional. However, during filming sessions, from the second you walk in my door until we’re done filming, I will expect a total shift in the power dynamic. You will address me as either Sir or Master, and I will call you whatever demeaning name I see fit. I’ll establish an itinerary before the session, which will begin with your list of custom requests and video suggestions, and we will remain in our Dom and sub roles until the itinerary is complete. Between filming actual videos, I will expect you to remain subservient. You will be instructed to complete tasks outside of what will be posted online. For at least eight hours a week – no mandatory overtime, but there will probably be requests – you will be mine. Since you have tonight free, that begins right now. If you understand, hold my legs up and start licking the rest of my soles clean, boy,”

“Yes, sir,” said Ethan. He took Braeden’s calves in his hands and pulled them from his face, but before he could continue cleaning, his Master delivered a swift slap to his right cheek with his sole. The kick came with far more force than the tap he had just received.

“Remember the safe word, boy, and make sure you thank me when I give you a command,”

“Yes, Sir, thank you, Master,” if it weren’t for his stinging face, Ethan would have pinched himself. With a new fervor from the hit, he dove back in to continue sucking the dirt off Braeden’s soles.

“Good piggy. You’re even more of a duck to water than I’d have thought,” he lifted his foot slightly and bent his toes toward him. Instantly, Ethan started sucking his heel and Braeden laughed. “A duck to water,” he repeated, still chuckling, “I can’t believe I missed out on this for five years,”

Once the heel he’d been offered was clean, Ethan moved Braeden’s feet to the side and said, “Thank you, Sir, I’m so excited to get started.

Braeden giggled and raised his feet back up, “That’s how I know this is going to work out,” he said, then pointed the other heel toward Ethan, who promptly took it upon himself to begin cleaning, “you learned from that slap. Plus, you’re already picking up on those nonverbal cues,” Braeden paused for a moment and Ethan kept licking. Dissatisfied, he took his other foot and slapped Ethan’s left cheek.

“Sorry, Sir. Thank you for the compliment, Master,” Ethan rushed in response before returning to his task. It wasn’t as hard as the first, but still plenty strong enough to relay the message.

“I might have spoken too soon! Try to learn from the slap this time. Now that I’ve got your verbal agreement, we can move onto some foot sub training. It might be a little painful, but I’ll try to avoid visible bruises,”

“Respectfully, Sir, that would be a banana,” Ethan said softly between licks.

“Fair enough, boy, I figured as much. Glad you said it. Though, it’s not gonna be smooth sailing,” he said. To make his point, he took his foot out of Ethan’s mouth and twisted his nipple with his toes through his shirt, causing him to yelp. “Work on cleaning the other foot if you understand,”

Ethan thanked his Master and pulled Braeden’s right foot to his face. Once the toes Ethan hadn’t gotten to clean already were in his mouth, Braeden let go of his nipple.

“Fantastic,” Braeden pulled out his phone and scrolled for a minute while Ethan worked on getting his spotless. The heels and toes were looking clean, so Ethan moved on to the side of Braeden’s right foot. He lowered his phone and gazed out the window, then said, “Sun’s gonna set in about 20 minutes, which means the park’s gonna close. My feet should be clean enough to put back in my sandals by then. If they’re not, you’ll drive me home, get in your car and leave to go edit and send the videos we just made. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so unless you have plans you absolutely can’t get out of, I’ll expect you at seven A.M. sharp to start filming. Well, we’ll start filming time – I’ll have a list of chores and a key under the mat. That should keep you busy until you wake me up at nine to start your, oh, I guess we can call it an orientation,”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Ethan, speaking between licks more fervent than before, “but what if I do have them clean before the park closes?”

“Well, you’d avoid your first real punishment, and playing Dota tonight would turn into some of the more fun parts of that orientation I talked about. I have another custom request to film and a video idea of my own,”

“Perfect, Master, I’ll try to get these cleaned to your liking as hard as I can,”

“That’s the spirit, Feethan!”

Ethan laughed and said, “That’s cute, Sir,”

“Get licking; be a foot scrubber now so you don’t have to be a toilet scrubber later,” Braeden demanded. He turned a playlist on and closed his eyes.

Get licking he did. He wasn’t really worried about the time limit – Braeden’s feet were so close to cleaned. It would be a labor of love to get them across the finish line. Ethan began with the right foot. He gathered as much spit as he could and slobbered it from top to bottom.

Compared to some of the feet Ethan had cleaned, Braeden’s feet weren’t even all that dirty. They were so smooth, and he normally kept them clean, so most of the dirt came away with a few licks. The guy would need to be barefoot a lot longer to challenge Ethan’s veteran tongue. He had the dirtiest spots excavated by the time his Master finished breaking down his new sub role. Now, he just needed to lap up what he missed, which meant he got to explore every inch of Braeden’s sole over and over again. He scrubbed some spots with his tongue. Each problem area would meet Ethan’s circling tongue while his lips sucked at the skin. When he figured he had it clean, he would release the sole and make sure he left only flesh remaining with a final lap. Meticulously, he went about spot checking the right foot for about five minutes in this way. Taking a minute or two to ensure the tops sparkled as the soles did, he then wiped the excess moisture onto his cheek, figuring he wouldn’t be allowed to use his shirt. He finished Braeden’s left foot even faster and used the same cheek method to dry it. Ethan gave them both a final once-over. He glanced out the windshield to check where the sun was at, then back to the feet. Reasoning that his tongue was probably dirtier than the soles at this point, he lowered Braeden’s feet to his chest with the sun inches from the horizon.

“I believe they’re clean, Master, would you like to check?”

“Obviously, boy,” Braeden turned the music down and flipped the overhead light on. His left leg supported by the foot on Ethan’s chest, he grabbed his right foot and crossed it over his knee. Flexing his ankle in every direction, Braeden made a show of inspecting for dirt. He spread his toes and peered between them. Finally, he said, “One down, one to go,” When he switched feet, instead of placing his right foot on Ethan’s chest, he opted for his face. Smothered sideways against the window, Ethan had to listen for the cue that would mean the difference between continuing an unimaginable night at his friend and Master’s feet and a night of homework into an early morning of chores.

“Thank you, Sir,” Ethan managed to say through squished lips. He figured a little gratitude wouldn’t hurt his chances.

“Don’t get used to this, but thank you, pig. You managed to snarf that dirt up so well, I don’t need to shower tonight. Which means you don’t have to do my chores until you screw something else up!”

“Oh, good, Master, thank you! I’m so glad I did well,” he said, still moving his mouth from between foot and glass. Mercifully, Braeden released him. He slipped on his sandals and opened his door.

“Okay, loser, when we’re on filming time, I don’t drive. If I’d known this was gonna happen today, I would have made you drive me in your car. You didn’t know either, so you don’t need to pay for my gas this time. But from here on out, filming time equals your gas,”

“Understood, Sir, thank you for allowing me to drive you,”

“Goddamn, dude, I love that you’re this much of a pig. Thanking me for letting you drive me? That’s dope,” He grabbed his crotch and said, “Y’know, if it’s in bounds, you’re being such a good boy that feet might not be the only thing you suck tonight,”

“Thank you, Master, that is well within bounds. I would be lucky to get to pleasure you like that,”

“You sure would be! But I’m getting ahead of myself. Hop in the driver’s seat and let’s get going. We have a great night ahead of us,”

“Yes, Sir, my pleasure!”

“Why don’t you start shooting here, dude?” suggested Braeden. “I haven’t seen anybody pass for a while. Get low to the ground and focus on my feet,”

“Got it. You gonna tell me when to stop, or should I film all the way to the bench?”

“All the way to the bench, then we can stop. I need to put my little microphone on for the verbal part,”

“Sounds good. I’ll count you down when you’re ready,”

“Thanks again for doing this, dude. I don’t know how I would have filmed this on my own. Ready to go when you are,”

“No problem! Okay – five, four, three, two,” said Ethan as he sank into a squat. He whispered one and Braeden slowed his gait so his cameraman could keep up. He tapped the feet on the center of Braeden’s iPhone 14 to focus the camera and hit record.

Finally, Ethan thought, Braeden was telling him to look at his feet. He’d made a nasty habit lately out of coveting them secretly. It wasn’t just the feet themselves that drove him crazy, though they were certainly beautiful – size 13, long toes, smooth soles, and well-defined arches. No, what mesmerized Ethan was the way Braeden endlessly moved his feet. If his feet were out in front of him, he would curl and spread his toes. When he was sitting with his feet beneath him, he would use his hands to stretch his toes and crack his knuckles; he liked to use his big toe to pop his second when his hands weren’t within reach. The motion of and attention to his own feet was near constant, and Ethan had a tough time not fixating on it.

Now that he was behind a camera, his job was to document those very toe fidgets and sole scrunches. Just watching him walk was so hot, how to film them came naturally.  Every few steps, Braeden would slow to just before a stop. Sometimes, he’d leave one foot in mid-step to show the camera his progressively grimier soles. Each time he stopped, Ethan inched toward them until the bare foot was front and center. He held on to every detail until Braeden walked again. With each fresh start, Ethan found a new angle to feature. Once, he focused on his legs and ass walking. Another time, he moved slightly in front of him to show the tops of his feet. It felt like a dance: Ethan’s partner was the air between Braeden’s soles and the ground and the beat was feet slapping against concrete.

As Braeden turned toward the destination bench and off the pavement, he measured his steps even more precisely. Ethan made a point of getting a close shot of his soles walking across actual earth. Rocks were sticking to his sweaty soles. They looked even more pillowy with pebbles sinking into them. Ethan circled around to film in front of Braeden as he approached the bench. He sat and crossed one foot over the other, which Ethan zoomed in close on. He pulled the camera outward until just before his head was in frame and hit the record button once more.

“And, cut!” said Ethan, “You wanna see it?”

“Yeah, actually. If it didn’t turn out, we can try again on the walk back,” Braeden took his phone back from Ethan.

“I hope it did, my legs are fucking tired from that squat shit,”

Braeden laughed and sat down on the bench, flexing his foot. “I appreciate it so much, man. Imagine trying to film this by yourself with a selfie stick! I would look insane if I got caught. At least this way, you could back me up and tell them I’m doing it for money,”

He chuckled. “I wouldn’t know what to say if I got caught like that,” Ethan said. It would be a dream to catch you filming your own feet in the park and I don’t know how I’m going to stop myself from licking them, he thought.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soon after he met Braeden in college, Ethan noticed how nice his feet were. He always noticed how nice people’s feet were. Generally, he tried to avoid taking too keen an interest in his friends’ feet. Foot fetishists have a creepy reputation already, and Ethan didn’t want to be thought of like that. Besides that, Ethan had gotten close with Braeden. He wasn’t about to ruin a good friendship because he wanted to suck toes. There were plenty of other toes to suck.

However, one afternoon at Braeden’s apartment, he got a little too nosy. Ethan had always wondered how he afforded so many shoes and video games. The few times he asked about it, Braeden was dodgy. Never close to a satisfactory answer. He’d always had more money than Ethan and their other friends in college, and Braeden claimed for years that all he did was wait tables.

“Okay, seriously, how did you afford a new PC? Didn’t you get a PS5 like six months ago?”

“Working at the restaurant, dude! People like to tip young, strapping men like yours truly,”

“Of course,” Ethan laughed, “but it’s not just the games, or even the shoes and the games. I mean, this apartment is nice as hell! And we hang out too much for you to work much more than like 25 or 30 hours a week. I don’t want to pry, but I’ve always wondered. I’ll only judge if it sounds exceptionally dangerous,”

Braeden looked at Ethan for a few seconds. “Okay, fine. But this stays between us,”

“Of course! I’m not looking for gossip. Maybe some finance tips,”

“So, um. Have you ever heard of BraxTheeAlpha on Onlyfans?”

Ethan roared, “No way! I haven’t heard of him, but he sounds hot,”

“He’s sort of a hunk, yeah,”

“Is it safe to assume you are Brax?”

“In the flesh,” said Braeden, cartoonishly flexing, “Is it really that surprising?”

“Well, yes and no. I mean, like LMFAO said, you’re sexy and you know it. I just didn’t take you for the type, I guess. I don’t know what the type is, exactly,”

“Young, hot and sort of broke?”

“I’d throw vein in there,” he said, and laughed as Braeden started flexing again, “So, I have two follow up questions,”

“Yes, you can subscribe. It’s ten bucks a month,”

“Wow, affordable!” Ethan took out his phone and pretended to start looking it up, “How do you spell that?”

“B-r-a-x and ‘Thee Alpha’ like ‘Thee Stallion’. No spaces,”

“Got it. I’ll need that for my research,” he said. Lying is easier when you just tell the truth as a joke, thought Ethan.

“Looking to invest in a local, humble sex worker?”

“No, just trying to figure out how much money my friend makes from selling access to what type of pornography,”

“Okay, I’ll start with the less embarrassing part. I make about six thousand a month from posting: fourty-five hundred or so from monthly subscriptions and around two thousand from tips, used socks, custom videos, other fetishy content. Give or take a couple hundred,”

“Damn, that is definitely not embarrassing,”

“Nah, it’s tight. But I make… foot fetish videos,”

Ethan’s eyes got wide. “Damn, no way! I knew people liked feet, but I didn’t realize you could cash in like that without showing hole,” he lied. “I don’t think that’s embarrassing,”

Braeden laughed, “Well, I guess I don’t think of it like that as much anymore. I mean, the feet are where the money’s at. There’s just that connotation, you know? I got a couple foot people in my Instagram comments and DM’s freshman year of college. I thought it was super weird and just hid the comments at first. Then, some of them started offering money. I got talking to this one dude who bought pictures and he told me I should start a foot page or OnlyFans or something. Eventually, I did. It started as something to do for a little extra spending money, but the shit took off after a couple years of doing it. Now, I have this whole separate online foot master persona. When I graduated college, I just told my boss I was gonna take an extra two years for a graduate program and needed to stay part time. I do like 20 hours a week at the restaurant, but most of my money comes from the same amount of time doing stuff for the OnlyFans. If it keeps going well, I might just do it full time,”

“Damn, I don’t blame you if you’re making that much. Still, 20 hours a week? What takes so long?”

“Well, I’m counting going to the gym. I always wanted to go more during college anyway, and these foot dudes will pay for your used socks, sweaty underwear, videos of my feet in the gym mirror – they love that jock alpha shit. The more in shape I am, the more money I make. Filming and editing the videos takes some time, posting on Twitter, Instagram and OnlyFans regularly, responding to DM’s, video calls. I’ve had to coordinate a couple meetups with people to film videos. It’s all pretty fun, to be honest. I’ve gotten into it more than I ever thought I would. Plus, it’s way easier than finding a ‘real job’.”

“Honestly, dude, that’s sweet. If you like doing it and you can make that much with it, why not,” Ethan thought he was holding it together pretty well.

Relieved, Braeden reached over to slap Ethan’s hand and said, “Thanks, man! I’m honestly glad you asked. It feels good to tell somebody in real life,”

“Yeah, dude, glad you told me! I can’t believe I’ve been hanging out with a foot celebrity for all these years,”

“Y’know, since you reacted so cool, do you think you’d ever be willing to help me film some things? I can get most of it done on my own, but I’ve had to decline a few offers because I couldn’t film something right. I’d give you a quarter of the profit from whatever videos you help with,”

“Oh, sure, dude, whatever you need!” That felt too eager. “Well, maybe not anything,” he turned red and added, “but I can help you film for a little money,”

“Nothing too crazy, I just need somebody to film while I’m walking or moving or whatever. Or while somebody is licking my feet. You don’t have to get your tongue dirty if you don’t want to,” Braeden winked, his last sentence delivered with a bit of BraxTheeAlpha arrogance.

“I can help with the camera, I would need a bigger cut of the money to go that far,” Ethan laughed, his cheeks ripening still.

“Nah, I have plenty of people willing to do that part for free,”

“Clearly! They pay you just to look at them,”

“Exactly. You’ll have to do a lot more than lick my feet and help me film here and there to get a chunk of the BraxTheeAlpha empire,” Braeden’s joking condescension felt more genuine with each sentence.

Ethan felt compelled to follow this dominant streak to see where it might lead, but he couldn’t bring himself to submit to his friend like that. “Alrighty, if the all-powerful BraxTheeAlpha needs any help taking videos of his feet for horny men on the internet, he can let me know,” Ethan chided.

Braeden laughed hard at that and said, “For sure, man, I will,”

Ethan waited three days to subscribe to BraxTheeAlpha on OnlyFans after that. His username was EthanLovesToes, but his profile picture was of an anonymous man’s feet and his page contained no identifying information. The topic never came up between them, so Ethan assumed Braeden didn’t make the connection. The thought of telling Braeden about his foot fetish crossed Ethan’s mind pretty often once he knew about his profession. On one hand, he loved Braeden as a friend. They were both single, open-minded people, but they’d never had a sexual relationship at all. On top of that, Ethan wasn’t sure how much, if any, of Braeden’s motivation for running the page was sexual. At the same time, Ethan couldn’t help but think about the potential of getting more intimate with Braeden’s feet.

The first time Braeden asked for help was about two weeks after Ethan found out about BraxTheeAlpha. They were hanging out at Braeden’s apartment and about an hour in, Braeden told him that he either needed to leave within ten minutes or record somebody worshipping his feet. Ethan agreed to stay. The man was only there for about half an hour and Ethan, the only person there not wearing an elastic mask, was introduced as ‘Master’s friend and cameraman’. Although there was a dream scenario unfolding in front of him, Ethan’s focus was strictly on filming a good video; as much as he could, he tuned out the verbal admonishment Braeden’s sub was receiving. He knew he’d be able to watch the video later on, he figured, why risk popping a hardon? What if he got too horny and outed his fetish? When the man left the guys joked around about it for a bit, but Ethan changed the subject as soon as he could. Just keep saying yes, Ethan reasoned, even if you never do anything but help him film here and there, maybe an opportunity will present itself. Braeden asked him to help record a video of him walking barefoot in Carson Park the next week.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Speaking of not knowing what to say, try not to get weirded out by the dirty feet talk you’re about to hear. The dude who bought this video said don’t hold back on the humiliation,” said Braeden as he handed his phone back to Ethan, “That looks great, by the way. That would have been impossible for me to get alone,”

“All in a day’s work,” Ethan said with a coy smile.

“I’m impressed you know how these foot freaks like their videos. It took a lot of trial and error, and comments and DMs from horny foot dudes, for me to figure it out,”

“Heh, I guess I just have an artist’s eye,” Braeden laughed at that, and Ethan hoped that meant he played it off well.

“I’ll say,” he replied. “Okay, frame it so my feet are about center, and make sure it cuts off somewhere between my shoulders and neck,” Braeden dug around in his canvas tote until he found his microphone. “Oh, and feel free to move the camera around a little bit, but make sure stick around for a while on each angle. I need to get screenshots for the socials,”

“What a marketing king. Tell me when you’re ready,”

“Ready!”

“Okay – five, four, three, two,” he pointed at Braeden and hit record. Though he’d been scrunching his toes absentmindedly since he sat down, Braeden started exaggerating the stretches and wiggles for the camera.

He began, “I hope you knew what you were in for when you asked to clean my dirty feet, boy. These fuckers need a lot of TLC. You’re not finished until every inch is spotless,”

With that, Ethan brought the camera in close and swept the view across Braeden’s soles to show all the dirt some internet sub paid to imagine he was cleaning.

After a robust silence filled with a medley of teasing foot wiggles, Braeden continued, “It’s probably killing you that you can’t do anything about it. Helplessly masturbating behind a screen, knowing that a washcloth in my shower is going to receive the honor of revealing the smooth soles beneath this dirt instead of your tongue,”

He wasn’t kidding when he said he had gotten into this, Ethan thought. The first time he filmed, having to focus on shooting Braeden’s feet around some dude’s head helped keep him from getting into the content. Today, it was just him and the dirty soles of BraxTheeAlpha. Ethan pulled the camera back a bit. Taking his body with the phone, he lowered the camera below Braeden’s crossed soles. He made sure the shot was focused, then looked up at Braeden for the first time since the video began. The self-assured smile on his face made Ethan’s dick twitch. His eyes shot back at the phone.

“How sad. I’m sure you’re fucking leaking just imagining this dirt,” he rubbed his feet together, “sprinkling onto your pathetic face,” Braeden spat at the ground. The loogie landed less than a foot from Ethan’s face. “Loser,” Ethan looked for Braeden’s eyes after that line and found them staring back at him. Braeden maintained that cocky expression and resumed, “I mean, seriously. Aren’t you like 50 and married? And you’re paying some 23-year-old on OnlyFans $50 for two three-minute videos of his filthy feet? You could take that money and go spend a nice date night with your wife, or maybe save it up for a gift for her. Instead, you want to give it to me, so you can pound your piggy little cock looking at my fuckin’ feet,” Braeden laughed at the idea, “That’s incredible, truly. At this rate, I can’t imagine what you would pay me to come treat you like the dog you are in real life. You’d probably even let me fuck that wife of yours if I wanted to! For now, I’m happy just fucking your wallet,”

Despite the specificities, Ethan was just as hypnotized by the degradation as he imagined the cuck buying the video would be. He was fully hard by the end of the monologue and had to get creative to make his final camera angle shift without showing it. He backed the camera up as he moved into a squat, dick secure against his waistband, and panned the camera upward.

“Come back down here, bitch, I need you up close and personal. You have to kiss the soles gracing your screen before I finish up,” Albeit he was making eye contact before, this statement felt more like it was directed at the customer and the cameraman. He looked up to see Braeden smile and wink, then motion his head downward, eyebrows raised. Ethan did as he was instructed and sank back into his previous position.

“There you go. C’mon, even closer,” Ethan scooted forward, his hand now an inch from the evaporating loogie, “Now plant a big wet kiss on that screen, pig. Mhm, good boy,” Braeden raised his feet in the air, “Now wave goodbye! Oh, I forgot to mention, you owe me $25 if you came the first time through,”

Braeden set his feet down, but Ethan kept filming. He barely noticed Braeden was trying to wrap it up he was so fixated on the iPhone screen.

“Cut, buddy! That was over three minutes, right?”

Ethan scrambled to end the recording and check. He stammered, “Uh, yeah, it was 3:23,” and hopped to his feet. His brain was having trouble breaking out of BraxTheeAlpha’s enchantment.

“Sweet! I hope it wasn’t too weird that I was looking at you. It helped me get into the verbal, so thanks,” Braeden’s expression had softened some, but with his ankles crossed and soles facing him, he still carried a superior glow.

“Oh yeah, man, it was, uh, I mean, I sorta figured that,”

“Let me see the video, dude!”

Ethan handed him the phone and Braeden started skimming through. He brushed the dirt off his shirt. “I tried to get a couple different angles,”

“You did!” he said, scrubbing through, “I like it. And this last one will be great for the screenshots. Okay, great, let’s get out of here,” Braeden unclipped his microphone and returned it to the bag. After he pulled out his slides, he brushed the dirt off his soles and placed each foot in a sandal. “You good, dude? You’re kind of staring,”

“Yeah, um, I was just waiting for you,”

“Look man. If you’re not gonna say it, I need to ask – are you into feet?”

“How – what?”

“So yes, then,” Braeden paused for a response and continued when he didn’t get one, “It’s not a big deal! I love dudes with foot fetishes. I mean, I’ve made a career off the guys, for god’s sake,”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you; I didn’t want you to think me being into your feet was part of why we were friends or anything like that, but when you told me about this and asked for help, I couldn’t say no,”

“Oh, I could tell! I had absolutely no idea you were into feet before you were excited to help me film so quickly. I’d assume if you were perving on my feet before that, you would have done something creepy already,”

“You knew that long ago?”

“Well, no, but that was the first little clue. Then, I thought it was a funny coincidence that somebody called EthanLovesToes subscribed to me just a few days after I told you about the page,”

“I figured that Ethan’s a common name…”

“Right, so did I. I didn’t even think much of it when that worship video turned out so good, because I figured the idea of filming the feet and not the head was pretty easy. It was when the video of my soles walking was so perfect. It took forever for me to get how I should film for the OnlyFans. After that, it all sort of came together in my brain. So, during the video, I made sure to pay attention to how you were reacting. When I say visibly horny, I need you to know just how much I mean that,”

Ethan’s face burned through his shy smile. “I was trying so hard to hide it!” he said, and Braeden laughed.

“Well,” Braeden stood up and walked over to Ethan, “there’s not a ton of great ways to hide that,” he said, pointing to the vertical lump in Ethan’s shorts.

“Listen,”

“Let’s walk back to the car. I have way too many ideas, and as much as you love my feet, I don’t know if you want the world to see those ideas,”

“Okay…” of course, Ethan was going to follow. He just couldn’t find any words. He would pay good money to watch the porno flick that he was living and breathing. The two started back toward the parking lot, toward a situation too good to be true.

“Do you have any other plans today, bud?”

“Um, not really. I was just gonna go play some games when we were done hanging,”

“Perfect! What game are you playing right now?”

“Oh, nothing new, just Dota,”

Braeden kept the small talk going as Ethan tried to make sure this was all still real. He wasn’t dumb; he knew Braeden finding out was a possibility. What he couldn’t believe was how perceptive he had been. The boner was a bit of a giveaway, but it sounded like Braeden knew before that. Regardless, judging by his reaction, Ethan should have drooled over them from the start.

As the driver’s side door closed, Ethan opened his door. By the time he was sitting, Braeden’s dirtied feet were hovering above the seat. He waited to get in and looked at his friend behind the wheel.

“Go on and sit down, Ethan! If at any point I go too far, say ‘banana’, and we can split,”

“Very clever safe word,” he said, sliding underneath his feet. There wasn’t much loose dirt left sticking to them, but his soles were still stained brown. “I never thought I’d say something like that to you,” Ethan chuckled.

“Same here, but sexy times call for sexy measures! Here’s the deal, Ethan: BraxTheeAlpha has been growing, but I haven’t been able to find the extra time to spend on it. I’m gaining followers, but I know if I were posting more often, and added new types of content, I could grow even faster and net more money from that growth. That’s where I see you coming in. Start massaging my feet if you’re intrigued,”

Ethan let hardly a second pass before he grabbed Braeden’s left foot and began to rub.

“Great! So, it’s been a struggle to find anyone because, while I make good money, I don’t make enough to lop off a living wage to pay somebody to help me out,” Ethan switched to Braeden’s right foot, “The only subs I talk to online who I think would do it for, let’s say alternative compensation, live too far away for that to be possible. Pop my right big toe in your mouth and start sucking if you see where I’m going and want to hear what I have in mind,”

This time, Ethan hesitated. Braeden just raised his eyebrows and waited, pointing the toe toward him. Timidly, Ethan leaned forward. He let his lips rest on the top of Braeden’s toe for a moment before he welcomed it into his mouth.

“I want you to record and edit all my pictures and videos,” Braeden began, maintaining eye contact as Ethan listened to his potential duties and swirled his tongue around the big toe. “We can schedule one or two times a week to record. I’ll still come up with some ideas for content, but I definitely want your input. You’ll manage my Instagram, Twitter and OnlyFans as well. Still interested, Ethan?”

He nearly spat Braeden’s toe out before he realized he wasn’t given a new command. Ethan nodded.

“Good – you had the right idea, left big toe now,”

Ethan’s right hand kept a grip on Braeden’s sole as he pulled the cleaned toe from his mouth. He used his other hand to bring his left toe to his mouth for the same treatment.

“Each new video, unless it’s a custom, needs to have a preview posted. I’ll leave editing them down to your discretion, just make sure it’s hard to cum without the full video,” Ethan laughed through the toe at that requirement. Braeden smiled and reasoned, “It’s good business!”

He took the toe out of his mouth but left his lips brushing against the bottom. “Hey, you’re the expert, I believe you,” said Ethan. When he finished speaking, he put it back in to signal Braeden to continue.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he snickered, “Sometimes I’ll just do a photoshoot – I like those to be between 15 and 20 pictures. Post one to four on Twitter and Instagram. For either video or photo previews, use the OnlyFans caption for the post and link the OnlyFans in the replies on Twitter and on Instagram Stories. I’d imagine you’re still in – start giving my other toes some love if I’m right,”

With a smack, Ethan removed the big toe and eyed up the second. First, he darted his tongue in the space between the toes. Satisfied it was clean, he engulfed the second toe and looked back toward Braeden.

“Ethan, I think you may be the man for this job,” Ethan smiled and started cleaning between Braeden’s second and third toe. “A couple more things, though. Like I said, I’ll still come up with ideas for videos, but I want you to compile any ideas or custom requests you find in my replies or my DM’s. Bring them to our recording sessions, as well as any messages or comments you think I might want to respond to personally. I’ll start signing the posts and replies that come directly from me,” he paused and waited for Ethan to look up from sucking the life out of his middle-left toe. “I hope you’re listening,” Ethan nodded, “and I hope you remember I have two more toes on this foot alone,” Braeden teased.

“The thought of it is making it a bit harder to focus,” Ethan admitted.

“You should have plenty of quality time with them to come,” Braeden said, and Ethan slipped his tongue in between the third and fourth toe, “but we have an interview to finish before I offer you this gig,”

“Fair enough, fire away,” Ethan said as he dove onto the fourth toe. He felt Braeden’s pinkie toe wiggling against his cheek.

“I also want you to respond to some of the spammy DM’s and comments. You’re a foot guy, I’m sure you’ll figure that out quickly. I think that’s it for the job description, let’s talk compensation,”

Ethan finished scrubbing between Braeden’s final two toes and said, “I hope I’m getting a preview of the employee benefits right now,” he said, finally taking the pinkie toe in and sucking.

“You read my mind! Specifically, if you don’t feel comfortable being on camera, I’m willing to offer an hour a week after a recording session for you to have your way with them as payment,”

With a sloppy, deliberate slurp, Ethan pulled all five of the toes on Braeden’s left foot out of his mouth and asked, “Can I start sucking the toes on your other foot to find out what I get if I am willing to be on video?” Braeden grinned and nodded, and Ethan dove in.

“I knew I sensed something special in you! Not every video will be a worship video, but a hell of a lot of them will be. If you want to wear a mask, you’re more than welcome. Of course, let me know if a video brushes up on a limit. On top of the private foot worship, I’ll throw in a cut of the profits. If I can make $7k a month, I can quit the restaurant and not lose any money. Anything I make beyond that is yours until we get to a 50/50 split. If you agree to that, I want both of my big toes in your mouth,”

Although he wasn’t even done with the third toe, Ethan couldn’t comply with Braeden’s demand faster. He started sucking both toes and Braeden pinched his cheeks with his big toes and second toes and pulled Ethan in towards him.

“This is going to be a very fun situation for the both of us,” he sneered and pulled his toes out of Ethan’s mouth. Braeden tapped his cheek firmly with the sole of his foot. “I’ll write up an official contract for us to sign next time we meet up,” he said. Ethan started to respond, but Braeden shushed him and placed both soles over his face. He continued, “I’ve been pretty cordial with this so far, but there’s one aspect I haven’t touched. You’re going to have to get comfortable with submitting to me on a regular basis. Nod if you understand,”

After Ethan nodded, Braeden extended his legs and pushed his head back until it was against the window.

“Start licking my soles,” Ethan opened his mouth wide and wiped his tongue against every square inch he could reach in his compromised position. Braeden continued, “We can still be friends, but this arrangement will be more intense than just friends with benefits. Outside of filming sessions, I’ll still call you Ethan and you can call me Braeden. We can hang out and play games! I also want our correspondence during the week about posting to remain professional. However, during filming sessions, from the second you walk in my door until we’re done filming, I will expect a total shift in the power dynamic. You will address me as either Sir or Master, and I will call you whatever demeaning name I see fit. I’ll establish an itinerary before the session, which will begin with your list of custom requests and video suggestions, and we will remain in our Dom and sub roles until the itinerary is complete. Between filming actual videos, I will expect you to remain subservient. You will be instructed to complete tasks outside of what will be posted online. For at least eight hours a week – no mandatory overtime, but there will probably be requests – you will be mine. Since you have tonight free, that begins right now. If you understand, hold my legs up and start licking the rest of my soles clean, boy,”

“Yes, sir,” said Ethan. He took Braeden’s calves in his hands and pulled them from his face, but before he could continue cleaning, his Master delivered a swift slap to his right cheek with his sole. The kick came with far more force than the tap he had just received.

“Remember the safe word, boy, and make sure you thank me when I give you a command,”

“Yes, Sir, thank you, Master,” if it weren’t for his stinging face, Ethan would have pinched himself. With a new fervor from the hit, he dove back in to continue sucking the dirt off Braeden’s soles.

“Good piggy. You’re even more of a duck to water than I’d have thought,” he lifted his foot slightly and bent his toes toward him. Instantly, Ethan started sucking his heel and Braeden laughed. “A duck to water,” he repeated, still chuckling, “I can’t believe I missed out on this for five years,”

Once the heel he’d been offered was clean, Ethan moved Braeden’s feet to the side and said, “Thank you, Sir, I’m so excited to get started.

Braeden giggled and raised his feet back up, “That’s how I know this is going to work out,” he said, then pointed the other heel toward Ethan, who promptly took it upon himself to begin cleaning, “you learned from that slap. Plus, you’re already picking up on those nonverbal cues,” Braeden paused for a moment and Ethan kept licking. Dissatisfied, he took his other foot and slapped Ethan’s left cheek.

“Sorry, Sir. Thank you for the compliment, Master,” Ethan rushed in response before returning to his task. It wasn’t as hard as the first, but still plenty strong enough to relay the message.

“I might have spoken too soon! Try to learn from the slap this time. Now that I’ve got your verbal agreement, we can move onto some foot sub training. It might be a little painful, but I’ll try to avoid visible bruises,”

“Respectfully, Sir, that would be a banana,” Ethan said softly between licks.

“Fair enough, boy, I figured as much. Glad you said it. Though, it’s not gonna be smooth sailing,” he said. To make his point, he took his foot out of Ethan’s mouth and twisted his nipple with his toes through his shirt, causing him to yelp. “Work on cleaning the other foot if you understand,”

Ethan thanked his Master and pulled Braeden’s right foot to his face. Once the toes Ethan hadn’t gotten to clean already were in his mouth, Braeden let go of his nipple.

“Fantastic,” Braeden pulled out his phone and scrolled for a minute while Ethan worked on getting his spotless. The heels and toes were looking clean, so Ethan moved on to the side of Braeden’s right foot. He lowered his phone and gazed out the window, then said, “Sun’s gonna set in about 20 minutes, which means the park’s gonna close. My feet should be clean enough to put back in my sandals by then. If they’re not, you’ll drive me home, get in your car and leave to go edit and send the videos we just made. Tomorrow’s Saturday, so unless you have plans you absolutely can’t get out of, I’ll expect you at seven A.M. sharp to start filming. Well, we’ll start filming time – I’ll have a list of chores and a key under the mat. That should keep you busy until you wake me up at nine to start your, oh, I guess we can call it an orientation,”

“Thank you, Sir,” said Ethan, speaking between licks more fervent than before, “but what if I do have them clean before the park closes?”

“Well, you’d avoid your first real punishment, and playing Dota tonight would turn into some of the more fun parts of that orientation I talked about. I have another custom request to film and a video idea of my own,”

“Perfect, Master, I’ll try to get these cleaned to your liking as hard as I can,”

“That’s the spirit, Feethan!”

Ethan laughed and said, “That’s cute, Sir,”

“Get licking; be a foot scrubber now so you don’t have to be a toilet scrubber later,” Braeden demanded. He turned a playlist on and closed his eyes.

Get licking he did. He wasn’t really worried about the time limit – Braeden’s feet were so close to cleaned. It would be a labor of love to get them across the finish line. Ethan began with the right foot. He gathered as much spit as he could and slobbered it from top to bottom.

Compared to some of the feet Ethan had cleaned, Braeden’s feet weren’t even all that dirty. They were so smooth, and he normally kept them clean, so most of the dirt came away with a few licks. The guy would need to be barefoot a lot longer to challenge Ethan’s veteran tongue. He had the dirtiest spots excavated by the time his Master finished breaking down his new sub role. Now, he just needed to lap up what he missed, which meant he got to explore every inch of Braeden’s sole over and over again. He scrubbed some spots with his tongue. Each problem area would meet Ethan’s circling tongue while his lips sucked at the skin. When he figured he had it clean, he would release the sole and make sure he left only flesh remaining with a final lap. Meticulously, he went about spot checking the right foot for about five minutes in this way. Taking a minute or two to ensure the tops sparkled as the soles did, he then wiped the excess moisture onto his cheek, figuring he wouldn’t be allowed to use his shirt. He finished Braeden’s left foot even faster and used the same cheek method to dry it. Ethan gave them both a final once-over. He glanced out the windshield to check where the sun was at, then back to the feet. Reasoning that his tongue was probably dirtier than the soles at this point, he lowered Braeden’s feet to his chest with the sun inches from the horizon.

“I believe they’re clean, Master, would you like to check?”

“Obviously, boy,” Braeden turned the music down and flipped the overhead light on. His left leg supported by the foot on Ethan’s chest, he grabbed his right foot and crossed it over his knee. Flexing his ankle in every direction, Braeden made a show of inspecting for dirt. He spread his toes and peered between them. Finally, he said, “One down, one to go,” When he switched feet, instead of placing his right foot on Ethan’s chest, he opted for his face. Smothered sideways against the window, Ethan had to listen for the cue that would mean the difference between continuing an unimaginable night at his friend and Master’s feet and a night of homework into an early morning of chores.

“Thank you, Sir,” Ethan managed to say through squished lips. He figured a little gratitude wouldn’t hurt his chances.

“Don’t get used to this, but thank you, pig. You managed to snarf that dirt up so well, I don’t need to shower tonight. Which means you don’t have to do my chores until you screw something else up!”

“Oh, good, Master, thank you! I’m so glad I did well,” he said, still moving his mouth from between foot and glass. Mercifully, Braeden released him. He slipped on his sandals and opened his door.

“Okay, loser, when we’re on filming time, I don’t drive. If I’d known this was gonna happen today, I would have made you drive me in your car. You didn’t know either, so you don’t need to pay for my gas this time. But from here on out, filming time equals your gas,”

“Understood, Sir, thank you for allowing me to drive you,”

“Goddamn, dude, I love that you’re this much of a pig. Thanking me for letting you drive me? That’s dope,” He grabbed his crotch and said, “Y’know, if it’s in bounds, you’re being such a good boy that feet might not be the only thing you suck tonight,”

“Thank you, Master, that is well within bounds. I would be lucky to get to pleasure you like that,”

“You sure would be! But I’m getting ahead of myself. Hop in the driver’s seat and let’s get going. We have a great night ahead of us,”

“Yes, Sir, my pleasure!”

“Damn dude, it must have been, you’ve never reeked like this. You gotta put those things away or take a shower, you’re gonna kill me otherwise.”

Chuckling, he admitted, “We wouldn’t want that. You’re a great roommie, you don’t complain when I work out in the dorm like my last roommate did, and since you love to cook, you’re always making dinner for us. There’s no way I’d land another perfect roommie like you.” With that he picked up his sweat-soaked socks, got up, and walking backwards toward the bathroom flung his socks toward the hamper we both kept toward the back of the dorm room. He overshot and instead of getting it in the hamper, it landed on the pillows on my bed before sliding off onto the bed.

“Okay, seriously, dude?” I WAS annoyed, but a smile still crept across my face.

“Hey, man, we all have off days, what’s one wrong shot in the midst of a thousand right ones?”

“Okay Mr. Jr Philosophy, but can you get your sock off my bed?” I quipped back, rolling my eyes.

“That’s Mr. Philophosy to you. And sure, bro, if you want me to rub all my sweat on your pillows while I’m at it. Grind my pits all up on ‘em! May not even need a shower after using your pillows to get up all this shit!” He started flexing while talking and could barely finish what he was saying, he was laughing so hard at his idea of a joke.

“Yeah, uh, never mind then, I’m good.” I tried to sound irritated, but while it wasn’t all that funny, his sense of humor did always get a smile on my face.

“Anyway, bro, after my shower lets hit the diner, I’m fucking starving man!” Before I could even respond, he had entered the bathroom and closed the door. I still had a bit of work to do, but I was, admittedly, pretty hungry, so I quickly turned back toward my laptop and got back to work trying to quickly finish up my homework before leaving.

-

Thirty minutes later and we had ourselves a table at the diner and some of their food. It wasn’t much, but I wasn’t going shopping for groceries until tomorrow, so this was what we had to get for tonight.

“Bro, I know I mentioned earlier how you’re perfect and all because you make me dinner, but like, I’m always reminded of just how perfect you are when I have to eat this shit.” This is what he said, but his actions, specifically the fact that he was scarfing down his food like it was the best damn meal in the world might tell outsiders otherwise.

But I knew Riley. Scarfing down food to others might symbolizing enjoying the food, but Riley’s appetite was, unfortunately for him, matched by his refined taste for food. If he didn’t like it, he would scarf it down as quickly as possible to avoid having to actually taste the food. I learned this the first time I made dinner for us both. It wasn’t anything special and there were a few hiccups due to that being my first time operating in a new kitchen, but when I saw how slow he was eating, I was afraid he didn’t like it and was just trying to be polite. But thirty minutes later, after trying to focus on something else to distract me from being embarrassed, he came asking me for seconds, and potentially thirds. I happily obliged, but asked him why he ate so slow, to which he revealed to me how much he loves a good meal. I never felt I was anything special, but Riley always new how to compliment me in just the right spots, picking up on things I was sure nobody would notice or telling me how my food is practically gourmet. It didn’t provide an ego boost so much as it simply made me want to cook for him even more. But groceries being what they are, are not something I’m able to afford for every day of the week.

“I’m glad you like my food,” I chuckled, “I’ll be sure to make something extra good for tomorrow.”

“Dude, everything you make is at least extra good, if not better. We just need a way to get you making food every night. I know we’ve talked about the costs before, but there’s gotta be a way.” He pleaded, making puppy dog eyes. “My stomach would be eternally grateful to you.”

It would be pretty hard, but if I planned my meals almost entirely around sale items, I might manage to scrounge up enough for the entire week. Damn, there was just something about him that made it so hard to say no, but he never abused that so it hasn’t ever been a problem. “I’ll try, but then you run the risk of the food not being as good or—“

Before I could even finish he cut me off, “Anything you make will be amazing, dude, you’re a fucking genius in the kitchen. You have no idea how glad I am that I’ll finally be able to eat real food again everyday.” He was really just working me dry here with the expectations, but again it was hard to say no to him. “Anyway, bro, I got some homework that needs finishing, but there are some parts that I’m struggling with. Do you mind helping me out?” Finishing the last of my food I nodded and got ready to leave. Like I said, there was just something about him and I couldn’t say no.

-

By the time I finished helping him with his homework it was already well past 11pm, and since I had some early classes and some grocery shopping to do I immediately showered after making sure he didn’t need my help anymore. Today had been such a long day, thankfully I avoided most of the heat since my classes ended before it reached its peak, but I was still worn out. After brushing my teeth, I practically collapsed on to my bed. And unlike any other time before, I immediately fell asleep.

-

That night I had some pretty strange dreams. I was really stressed over perfecting a meal and when I finished it, I went through a whole process of plating it to look as perfect as possible. When I finished, I brought it over to Riley, for some reason on my hands and knees. When I got to him, he looked it over scrutinizingly before taking it and praising me, “Good job, boy(?)” I couldn’t tell if he said bro or boy, I don’t know why he would say the latter although that’s what it sounded more like. “While I take care of this, why don’t you chew on this for me?” And before I could react his socked foot was shoved in my mouth. After that, the dream devolved into the sensation of chewing, chewing on his socks. They were salty, warm, and moist. I know normally I’d be disgusted but in this dreamscape it was meant to be praise from Riley and so I felt... proud? Then the chewing was accompanied by stifled laughter and slowly, it became more solid and more real until I opened my eyes and saw my roommate watching me from his bed laughing his ass off.

“Whmnf?” I tried speaking only to finally realize I had something in my mouth. Pulling it out, I realized, to my horror, why my dream had been so weird. It was revealed that I actually had been chewing on his socks, the ones he had thrown onto my bed that I had forgotten, until now that is.

“Dude, that is so fucking sick!” My own realization of the situation only seemed to prompt increased laughter from Riley.

“What the hell dude? How long was that shit in my mouth? Why didn’t you do something?!” I was angry, but more than that I was embarrassed, I could feel my face flush and felt light-headed.

“Calm down, bro. It’s not that big of a deal. I got up an hour ago to work out, and after getting dressed, I saw you had that shit by your face and then all of a sudden you just stuck it in your mouth and started sucking the hell out of it.”

“Wh-“ I couldn’t even find the words to respond. “Why didn’t you do anything?”

“I thought you would have woken yourself up, dude. I mean, you saw how fuckin’ sweaty I was yesterday. I was sure you were gonna spit that shit out and start dry-heaving. But nope, you honestly looked like you were enjoying it. May have even heard a few moans.” I knew he was joking, but the humiliation was getting to a point that I couldn’t bear.

“Anyway, I’m going to go make some breakfast.” I huffed, shutting the conversation down.

“C’mon dude, you know me, and you know I’m joking. We both know I’m not the kind of guy to take shit like that seriously. Just calm down, dude, it’s really no biggie.” His words felt very sincere, and while he could have a crass sense of humor, I DID know that he wasn’t the type of guy to take anything like that beyond a joke. Regardless, I could still feel the sting of humiliation, something I think he could sense. “Let’s just make things even then, how about that? It was awkward for you to wake up like that, so I’ll say something awkward about me and then we’ll be even!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works—“ I interjected, but my cut-off was subsequently cut-off by him.

“All that may have happened by chance, but I did find it kind of hot. I mean let’s just take you out of the picture and pretend there’s just a blank slate where you are. The idea of someone sucking on my sweaty socks? That’s fuckin’ sick, but like, kinda hot too. Like I know a lot of guys won’t admit it, but foot rubs fuckin’ turn me on and that’s like taking it a step further. Y’know? I mean I’m sick for thinking that. But like I said, this is all about a blank slate and about how I’m pretty sick too.” This is about a blank slate, he said, but I was the one who put that idea in his head, even if by chance. I got what he was doing, but it just made me feel more humiliated. Like he somehow he knew the dream I had. “Anyway, bro, I’ll have whatever you’re making. I had just sat down to see how long you were gonna last on that thing, still got my morning run to finish.” With that, he headed out the door.

-

I started making breakfast, nothing too extravagant, but it was something I had been saving for more of a special occasion. They were breakfast griddles, which happened to be one of my favorite breakfast foods, they also happened to be one of Riley’s favorites as well. He always nagged me on when I would make them, and since I used the same ingedients for other meals, it wasn’t a matter of making them before they went bad, just a matter of making them when I needed more of a pick-me up, and boy did I need that today.

As I was cooking the griddle, I couldn’t help but think back to my dream last night. It was so surreal, I know dreams typically are, but they are always grounded in a way that separates them from reality. Like even when you can’t necessarily tell that you’re dreaming, everything still feels hazy in them. But not last night, as bizarre as it was, it felt grounded in reality, it felt like it was really happening. Riley naturally has a pretty lean build, he’s not overly muscular, so when he wears long-sleeved shirts and jeans, he doesn’t necessarily look as fit as he is. But from experience watching him workout and seeing him shirtless quite a bit, I knew just how much muscle his lean build hid. Unlike him, I didn’t have practically any muscle. Thankfully my metabolism never really slowed, and so it’s helped me maintain a good weight, but I’ve never been much of an athlete or a gym junkie, so while I haven’t been chubby, I also haven’t been very toned. This dream played off of that notion, I remember feeling so small and weak compared to him, like if I failed to please him, he could have easily stepped on and crushed me instead. And then there was the focal point of the dream: his feet. I knew for a fact that his feet weren’t massive, but still pretty big at size 13 compared to my size 9. But in that dream, I remember that although he shoved all five of his socked toes in my mouth, they had to stretch it beyond what it’s realistically capable of. One foot of his had easily been as wide as my head, not to mention longer. Meaning he easily could have covered my entire face with just one foot. With two... well, if he had done that, I think I would have been in a position where I never could have gotten out. But then I remember feeling so proud when he rewarded me by letting me suck and chew on his sweaty socked feet. Would I have even wanted to get out from beneath his feet?

I suddenly felt so disgusted by myself for thinking these thoughts that I was instantly knocked back into reality to find I had been so distracted I had burned the first set of griddles. “Shit,” I muttered. I had just enough before for both of us, but I cooked them in two batches that had enough for each person per batch. Which meant now I only had enough for us to each get half the normal amount. I sighed, dumping the burned batch into the trash bin and started the next batch. This time I wasn’t going to take my eyes off of them or let my mind wander anywhere. If I had to keep a laser focus to make sure they got done, then I would and I’d make sure they were damn near pearfect while I was at it.

-

And perfect they were. I felt pretty good with how well they turned out and could honestly feel my mouth water just looking at them. I moved them on to a single plate, and grabbed the now unused plate, tucking it under my arm and made my way back to our room.

When I got back, Riley was already back, but seeing as he was still taking off his shoes, I would have guessed he’d only just got back.

“Holy shit dude, that looks fucking amazing!” I could already see him drooling. “You’ve really outdone yourself this time, I swear you could get famous off of your cooking. But if that happened, I wouldn’t have you all to myself anymore. So on second thought, let’s keep you my little secret.” He had a big ass grin across his face as I placed the plate down on his dresser. Finally noticing only one plate of food instead of two, he asked, “what happened, man? Did we only have enough stuff for one batch of these? Or did you decide you weren’t hungry? I mean I’m not complaining, you know I could eat these all day.” He started peeling off his socks, and out came a big waft of his foot funk, and I suddenly felt extremely light-headed, not in a sick-way but just, like I needed to sit down. Before I even responded he already started digging in to the first one. “You are a fucking mad man!” He brought his foot up to my shoulder and lightly shoved me, it was meant to be a gesture of praise but with how fatigued I suddenly felt, it was enough to knock me back quite a ways. Thankfully I regained my balance and promptly sat on my bed to prevent actually falling over. “Sorry man, I didn’t think I did it that hard. It was just that these are so fucking good, I need you to write down the steps or something because this is how I’d like ‘em all the time. But I didn’t mean to actually shove you.”

“No, no, you’re good. I actually am feeling a little under the weather. Once I got to the kitchen, I wasn’t sure I really wanted anything anymore, but you mentioned wanting something and I know how much you love these, so I decided to make them.” It was a half-lie. I wasn’t hungry anymore, but either way it didn’t matter. At least that solved the matter of only making one batch.

“Don’t think you feeling bad is side effect of this morning, eh? Or maybe that’s why these turned out so good?” My face flushed red again as he burst with laughter, “If that is the reason these are so good, you better watch out because I may try to sneak a few more socks into your mouth, or do you think if I do it with my bare feet these might taste even better?”

This was still embarrassing, but I was somehow getting used to it, and without thinking I quipped back “I guess we’ll have to find out.” I could not believe I just said that. Again, my mouth seemed completely disconnected from my brain, running on auto-pilot because I followed up with: “And did you mean doing that before cooking or now?” I almost slapped myself I sounded so fucking stupid! Not only did I basically just tell him to now purposefully repeat this morning but with his bare feet, I insinuated the potential to fucking do that right now!

“I never knew you were this sick, dude. I mean come on, my feet are really fucking sweaty and dirty, and I know you can smell that rank shit. Did my sock sweat jumble up some of your brain cells? You’ve never acted like this before.”

His quizzical stare seemed to bore straight into my soul, and like a complete fucking idiot I replied: “I mean, again, there’s only one way to find out.” As soon as those words left my lips I got up and left. I could not believe I just told him to stuff his sweaty socks in my mouth to see if it would affect how I acted. What made that even more embarrassing was the fact that the answer was pretty clear: it did.

-

I went to my classes for the day, thankfully none of the lectures were very note-heavy because I hadn’t brought anything since I left so abruptly. I got something to eat from the diner before heading to the grocery story. I scanned the aisles for sale items and noticed a few things. But I wasn’t really feeling them. Then I noticed that they were having a sale on ground beef, buy two get one free. One of Riley’s favorite dinners was meatloaf covered in a sauce made from ketchup, dijon, and mayo, served with mashed potatoes and stuffing. I grabbed three of the ground beef and headed around the store collecting the other ingredients, this would be enough for three days of the week. Then I grabbed some sale items along with a couple eggs for omelettes, another dish ranked highly on Riley’s favorite food list. I went to check out and felt my eyes widen when I saw the price. I got so many sale items but it was still way more than what I normally pay for groceries, and Riley wasn’t here to split the bill. Getting all of this would really crack into the money I’ve been saving, but I decided to go on and get it, remembering how excited he looked last night. The events from earlier today slipped to the back of my mind and all I was focused on was how happy Riley was going to be when I brought out his dinner.

-

After I got back to our dorm room, I noticed he was still out. He didn’t have any evening classes, so he must be working out, only so much he can do with the equipment that can fit in our room. As I brought the ingredients for the food into the kitchen a thought slipped into my mind about how hot it was again today. I don’t know why I thought of that, but it slipped back out as discretely as it slipped in as I got laser focused for the dinner I was about to make. I wanted it to be sheer perfection.

Fifty minutes later, and while I was never an ego maniac, I daresay sheer perfection was what I had achieved. God, maybe his socks did do something to improve my cooking, I thought. Laughing to myself, I followed that thought with another: only one way to find out.

Walking back to the dorm room, my heart was thumping. I don’t know why but I felt suddenly very nervous about what I made, it was incredible... but I was still worried about whether it was enough. As I entered the room, I could tell that he was back, again seemingly just so, as he was about to unlace his shoes, but stopped when I came in.

“I know it’s your favorite, and so when I saw it at the store I knew I had to get it.” I explained as I presented dinner to him. I don’t know why, but my auto-pilot mouth left out the part about it being on sale, perhaps to try and not diminish the idea of the thought that went into picking out the meal.

He was silent for a couple seconds, but he was smiling, so I assumed it wasn’t because something was wrong. “Honestly, I have never seen anything more perfect. I mean, jokes aside, your food has always been incredible but today your cooking has been on another level. And to top it off, you’ve made both of my favorite things for breakfast and dinner. I mean this as sincerely as possible, but like whatever lead to you doing this, it needs to keep up.” I felt a swell of pride with each word he said. I never knew just how good it felt to be praised by him.

“Honestly, while today had a really weird start... and well other weird parts that followed, I agree that I’ve never cooked like this before and it makes me really happy to see you enjoying it so much. Whatever it is, I would say that I hope it continues as well.” While on the surface, it was me simply agreeing with him, there was a certain admission beneath the surface to myself. Admitting that there was something that had changed within me these past twenty-four hours, and admitting that I... liked these changes, and I wanted them to continue.

Riley moved to get more comfortable and then remembered he still had his shoes on. He moved to put the plate down, but quick on my feet, I interjected and offered to take his shoes off for him. “You would not believe the workout I had. I was about to let these bad boys get some fresh air when you came in with that food and that was all I could think about, but now it’s time to relax with this incredible food and I can’t do that with these shoes on.”

I slipped off his first shoe, and the sudden assault on my nose sent a shock through my senses. “I can imagine, I noticed it was a really hot day again, might’ve even been worse than yesterday.” I slipped off his other shoe and with the second wave of foot funk, felt my brain turn to mush. “Might as well take these socks off too, then these bad boys will really get to relax and air out.”

I began peeling off his first sock and suddenly felt the wave of sweat and musk somehow grow even stronger. He then finally pointed out something I don’t think I was even aware of. “Did you not make anything for yourself?”

I peeled of his second sock as I answered, “I wanted to make sure everything turned out perfectly for you and I guess I forgot to make something for myself at some point.” There was no longer any filter for what I said. I spoke the brutally honest and humiliating truth. With both socks off, I chucked them behind me, not aiming for the hamper, but just beyond that, and with the soft pat that accompanied their landing I knew they hit their target, my pillow.

I rested my hands mindlessly on his feet. They felt so big and warm and sweaty. They felt so powerful. I began lightly rubbing his soles. “Come on, I’m fine with you putting me before yourself, but if you don’t eat, how do you expect to keep this up?” He chided me, “But I suppose this does work out in a way. After eating some of my dinner, I can say that it’s almost perfect, but it is missing something. And y’know, earlier you mentioned that the food might taste better if I ate it with you sucking on my toes and licking my soles, you also said that we’d find out... So let’s find out.”

He wiggled his meaty, sweaty toes and without a doubt I could say that what I made may look like the most delicious thing to many people, but his sweaty feet, dusted in dirt were the only things I was craving. “I do appreciate you working so hard on this dinner for me,” he said, inching his feet closer to my face, “I hope you also appreciate the work I put into your dinner.” With that, I began sliding my tongue between his toes, I planned to show him how much I appreciated him and his feet. “Oof, it seems you were on to something,” he sighed smashing his feet into my face as he slid down and relaxed more. “Now THIS is fucking perfect. Don’t worry, we’ll test to determine if you sleeping with my toes in your mouth helps you as well, but you were on to something with suggesting this... foot worship, while I eat. We’ll have to make this an everyday thing. Now then, keep cleaning my feet, and once they’re clean you can take care of my pits.”

“Thank you!” I exclaimed. He looked so relaxed and so happy. With his dirty, sweaty bare feet now covering my face as I licked them clean, I thought back on how this all came to be. It seems like it should have been an impossibility. For this day to come to this result after how it started required so many specific choices, it just shouldn’t have been possible. Maybe I always had this desire in me and I never knew it, but the chances of his socks landing on my pillow and me forgetting? And not only me sucking on those socks, but him noticing? It all just seems too impossible. But as I see his smiling, relaxed face between his toes, it doesn’t matter. He’s happy and loves me worshipping him, and I’m happy and love worshipping him. So even if it should have been impossible, I am immeasurably happy that it wasn’t.

In high school, I was known for being the “gay” of our school— or as some of the other students phrased it, the “fag.” It wasn’t that there weren’t other gay students, or even gay students who were more flamboyant. I think I more so gained the title due to being one of the first “out” kids at my school, and my response to any acts of homophobia. I was always a docile kid and aware of my responsibilities as a student to not aid in the ignition of a fight. But I also had enough self-respect to not just let myself get walked over.

As bullies at my school soon found out, put a kid like me in a scenario like that with really no one else to turn to and you either get someone like me, or a doormat. Meanwhile, during my senior year, a lot of freshman came in, and with them came a shift in the system. Suddenly, there were not only a lot more “out” kids, there were a lot more “proud” kids. And with how many there were, the bullies swiftly found that even if there was a weak chain in the link, another gay would have no problem quickly coming to step in and clap back. So what that lead to was a dilemma, there were the newer “fags” who were catty and fought back, making poor targets. And while you’d think some of the older “fags” who were too scared to do anything might make the perfect targets, they were the ones who formed the quickest bonds with the catty gays, trying to get by their last year without fear of harassment.

Then there was me, the quiet gay, who, yeah, had a lot of girl friends who would try and step up for me, but I was never the type to clap back myself. And at the same time, while I didn’t clap back, I also didn’t run at first sight or quickly try and befriend the more aggressive gays. In other words, I was the perfect target. So I somehow became notorious among the more aggressive, needing-to-prove-their-masculinity straight guys. Yet still, it was a strange relationship. Especially toward the end of the semester, I started to get the hint some of the guys were sad I wouldn’t be in their lives anymore. Don’t get me wrong, it was because they would miss picking on me and tossing slurs like “faggot” at me. But still it was strange because they started to get just the tiniest bit nicer.

After graduating, I didn’t really give a shit about the people I was leaving behind. My friends and I would stay in contact, we texted each other the entire summer, but everyone else? They could get on with their fucking lives on their own time, not like I’d see any of them anymore anyway.

-

After starting Uni, everything felt great. I had been lucky and managed to get a dorm room without a roommate, so I’d be able to just relax in my room without concerning myself with what someone else was doing. And while I had to say goodbye to all my old friends, since I was the only one going to this university, and wasn’t too keen on becoming friends with people to only be friends for a semester, my first semester was starting off great.

I was walking back to my dorm from my last class on a Monday when I had my headphones ripped out of my ears and was then greeted by a “Did a you miss me, Fag?”

Turning around I was greeted by the surprisingly close face of Peter. He was one of the guys who used to harass me in high school. Unlike many of the other guys, Peter was the only one I ever actually had classes with— in fact I had at least one class with him every year. Of course, why would I lose him now then? Peter was somewhat handsome and if he were more mature and maybe didn’t try so hard to smell like he was just at the gym… then he wouldn’t be so bad to be around. But as of now, even with a face like his, it didn’t make me want to be around him any more than necessary.

“Hello, Peter.” I said curtly.

“Hello, Faggot.” He repeated in a mocking tone. “Come on, I know you’re happy to see me, you’re life must have been so boring without me there to remind you of your place.” I continued to walk as he spoke and like a lost puppy, he followed me, with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face the entire time.

“And where might this place you are reminding me of be, pray tell?” I was taking a short cut to my dorm between some buildings that didn’t acquire any foot traffic and seeming to notice this, Peter gladly answered:

“Why don’t I show you!” With that said, before I could react, he grabbed my neck with one of his arms and threw me to the ground before putting one of his feet on my face and flexing.

Swiping his leg away, I quickly got up and began walking again, thankful nobody saw that occur and wiped the shit from his shoe off my face. “Fuck off, Peter, can’t you grow up or something?”

“Oh, I’m a fuckin’ grower, bitch. A shower and a fuckin’ grower. Wouldn’t you like to know.” He continued, just as childish as I remember.

“Not with an attitude like that, not really.” I replied, showing the first small amount of resistance to this treatment since it started over four years ago.

“Oh, I’m sorry, let me be nice, we can hold hands, and feed each other. I’ll do all the house work and you’ll clean the dishes and rub my fuckin’ feet. Is that what you want bitch?” I wasn’t going to reply, tired of his idiocy, and perhaps he realized that or… something was going on in that brain of his because instead of waiting for a reply, he followed it up, laughing, “That doesn’t sound too bad actually, might be a good deal for you, eh?” I paused as he started, not hopeful for any potential homosexual ideologies hidden within him, but because I’d never had any of the bullies even dare make a joke like that until now. Perhaps with him out of the sight of those other guys, he was being more free with his sense of “humor.” Unamused myself, I promptly resumed walking, approaching my dorm.

Seeing me keep walking, he once again made a strange comment that made me pause once more before I entered the building. “Come on, I’m so- eugh” he pretended to vomit, “sor- eughg, sorRY-uregh… sorry.” I didn’t know if it was fake, although suspected it was, but this was the first time any of those guys had ever apologized, even a potential fake one. “I missed having someone to tease,” he confessed, “so come on, I’m out here putting my, admittedly shriveled and cold, heart on my sleeve. Can’t you just entertain me, take me up to your room, we can reconnect, talk about our classes— I could even meet your roommate, and while I picked on you in front of other people in high school, I don’t know your roommate, he could be some liberal freak and go apeshit on me.”

Regardless of his apology’s sincerity, he seemed genuine here, and so I relented. “Fine, but I don’t have a roommate, so I guess you don’t have to worry about that.” I laughed a little, which he also seemed pleased about, although perhaps a little too pleased.

As we rode the elevator up to my room, it was a bit awkward. He started complaining about some of his professors, and how he has to drive to uni which is a bitch, especially with morning traffic. It was all too… normal. After unlocking my door, I went to place something in my bathroom trash as he rushed ahead through the small hallway. As I closed the bathroom door, I heard his ruck hit the floor and the springs of my bed creak. “Holy shit, this is pretty nice.” He announced as he was sprawled on the bed with his arms behind his head. “You sure you don’t want a roommate? Because I would kill to be able to live here. You think just walking from here to classes might be brutal? I had to drive a half hour to get here and walk from the parking lot to the other side of the school!” He began kicking off his shoes, which he’d kept on up to this point. “My feet have been fucking killing me!” As his shoes began coming off, I saw the first peak of skin and within second of his shoes hitting the ground, the room smelled like his feet.

“Oh shit, sorry!” He laughed, “I forgot I went sockless today.”

“HOW DO YOU JUST FORGET?” I said, actually surprised by how loud I got.

“Dude, chill, chill.” He said coolly, making hand motions to bring my volume down. “I just forgot to clean my socks. I had worn all of them, like… 3 or 4 days,” he continued after a pause, “and so they needed to be washed, but I also needed to leave this morning, so I just put some shoes on.”

“That’s disgusting, holy shit.” I said covering my face with my shirt.

“Come on, dude, aren’t fags supposed to like that smell? I don’t doubt you somehow manage to smell like perfume when you sweat, so come on,” he said laughing his ass off as he turned to have his soles face me and wiggled his toes , “take a whiff or ten, it might be the only time you get to smell a real man.”

“Fuck off.” I shortly replied.

“Come on, how are you supposed to know if you like it or not if you don’t place your fag face right up in my big ol’ feet and take a few dozen hits!”

“Because I know I don’t like it! How do you know you don’t like having a guy choke on your dick instead of a girl, same difference!”

“Jokes on you fag, a mouth’s a mouth, I don’t know what the fuck gave you that impression. Just because you haven’t taken a spin on this disco stick,” he grabbed his junk as he asserted, “doesn’t mean it’s not ever gonna happen.”

I had no retort to that, it took me completely by surprise, which he used to further torment me, teasing “I know, I’m sure I just made you realize all your dreams of getting fucking skull fucked by me are possible. No need to thank me, fag.” The most I could do was roll my eyes at his claim, I was still stunned into silence. “Anyway, fuck my feet are killing me! Come on, dude, can’t you rub my feet or something! I promise I’ll chill out with all the fag talk if you do. They are just fucking killing me.”

I really did not want to be anywhere near his feet, and as much as I wanted the fag talk to stop, I didn’t need him in my life. I told him no and that he either needed to put on his shoes or leave and was already getting ready to show him the door when he got up off the bed and threw me on the floor again.

Shoving his feet into my face, he commanded, “I told you to rub them, bitch. So what the fuck are you about to do?”

I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but again he must have been reading my mind because the second he saw my mouth open, he shoved his disgusting and sweaty foot in my face.

“I didn’t need a verbal answer, FAG. Now rub my fucking feet with your hands, or would you rather I use your fag face to massage my feet?” Quickly, I began rubbing his feet with my hands. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing but I figured doing anything with my hands would be better than doing nothing and his alternative…

Potentially I could have resisted more or screamed for help, but it just seemed like it would be more trouble than it was worth. His feet were fucking disgusting, and yes I was going to have to take a shower after this, but as long as I dealt with it now and was able to get rid of him afterward, I might never see him again and not have to deal with this shit. It was the same thing I’d told myself all four years in high school.

After about five minutes of rubbing his feet, I spoke up. “Okay, come on, I’ve rubbed your feet for five minutes, can I please stop?” I didn’t need to ask, but it was better than him taking offense to it and going to his plan B.

“Dude, you are so fucking good at it though. Come on, just rub ‘em for me for another five— ten— minutes tops.” I groaned and willfully resumed massaging his feet. But I was a little surprised: I was doing a good job? I had never done anything like this so I expected to be bad, but, hey, maybe with another more mature guy who wouldn’t just force me to rub his feet when they were disgusting and sweaty, I might do something like this for them if it’d make them happy.

Without necessarily meaning to, I tried a little harder to give a better foot rub, I mean IF I were to do this for my future man, I may as well get just that little bit better at it now.

I wasn’t keeping track of time as closely, but after what should have been at most another fifteen minutes, five over his ten minute “top,” I finally pulled away, “Okay, okay, I know it’s been over ten minutes now. I’m not touching your disgusting feet again.”

He had looked relaxed while I had been rubbing his feet, but as soon as I stopped, that shit-eating grin came back on his face and he harped, “Aww, with treatment like that my feet were practically falling in love with ya. Come on, seal the deal with a kiss,” he once again pointed his still sweaty soles at me, “and trust me, I would go from teasing you to doing nothing but praising you— as long as you kept doing it the way you did it now. Otherwise I might need to whip ya into shape.” He laughed.

“As tempting as that sounds, I have to decline the offer.” The smell was getting to me at this point even with my shirt over my nose and I had to open a window.

“Your loss,” he sighed, “chicks never relent when it comes to treating me like a king and rubbing my feet. Figured a fag would be the best way to go. Typically you skull fuck them once and they’ll do anything for ya, thought maybe we could skip all that since we were old pals, but I guess not.” Was he implying he was going to skull fuck me? “Anyway,” he said as he finally rose out of my bed, putting on his shoes, “I gotta go. Good job with the foot rub, fag. Catch ya later,” and left as suddenly as he came in him.

-

After leaving the window open the rest of the day and even using some scented sprays, my room still reeked by the time I was trying to sleep. Why did he have to go to this university and why did he have to run into me? I was ready to move on and be free from all of those guys. I guess it was time to just try and avoid him, what I couldn’t be bothered to do in high school would be mandatory here. Since it was just him, an avoidance tactic would be more plausible.

-

Throughout Tuesday and Wednesday I did my best to stay on the lookout for Peter. Thankfully, I never even saw him and so while I was on edge, nothing ever came of it. Thursday morning I was sitting in my last class when I received a text from an unknown number that said:

“Hey FAG 😈 guess who it is! although I’m sure you’d know who it was from the bottom of my 🦶🏼🦶🏼 haha i’m just fucking with ya”

My heart started racing. How the fuck did he get my number? Before I could even think of a reply a second text came through that read:

“But seriously my 🦶🏼🦶🏼 have missed you 😭 when you gonna rub them for me again, i swear i’m wearing 🧦 today, so come onnn, i need that shit dude” followed very shortly by, “I could even help a fag out if you need some motivation 🍆💦💦 😂😂😂” With my face growing red, I very quickly put my phone on do not disturb and put it away so I wouldn’t have to see any more message from him.

-

After my class ended, I unconsciously checked my phone before I remembered Peter’s texts, but was surprised to see no additional messages. With my last class of the day done, I started walking back to my dorm before deciding to go into the dining hall to get a snack.

After leaving the dining hall it was a short two minute walk before getting to my dorm. As I was walking I took my phone out to change the song that was playing when a new text immediately came up that stopped my heart. “You look like you’d look even better under my 🦶🏼🦶🏼 today, making my 🍆💦💦” As soon as I saw that message, I turned around and could see Peter approaching me. Perhaps I could make a run for it, but at this point… what was the point.

“There’s my fag boy!” He said as he approached me, “just as I promised,” he said pointing to his socks “they’re all ready for you!”

“Please leave me alone, Peter…” I sighed, “look, you’re definitely different and more bearable than in high school, but I’m not interested in what you want from me.”

After pausing a few seconds, he relented, “fine, fine, but come on, I walked all the way here. The least you can do is show yer old pal Peter back up to your room to hang out for a bit again.”

Groaning, I once again walked into my dorm with him trailing behind me. The elevator ride consisted of more of the same. He told me how he met a bunch of new bros and was thinking of joining a fraternity. He said it sucked that aside from me, he was the only other person he knew that got into this school and that he had to leave his old bros behind. I was thankful for this tidbit since it assured me that there would be no other surprises like Peter that I should expect. As we came into my room, he once again pushed past me and sat on my bed after kicking off his shoes.

“Ahh, that’s so much better.” He announced to me, wiggling his toes. “So fag, how’ve you been? I feel like you never actually talk. Any fairy make his way into your life yet? Or maybe you do like the more straight-passing guys… yeah you definitely seem like a bottom to me.”

I turned red at his insinuation… even if it was correct it was still embarrassing to hear. “No, there’s no guy I’m talking to. But I could be a top you know!”

He immediately laughed at my assertion, “not with how good you looked with my feet in your hands the other day. Even for a fag, a top wouldn’t look so natural in that kind of state, not like how you did.”

My face growing redder by the minute, I grumbled, “will you quit bringing that up, why do you have such an obsession with your feet?”

I expected this to potentially throw him off, but like always he responded coolly, claiming, “what’s wrong with a guy liking his feet rubbed? My feet have been fucking killing me and the rubdown you gave them felt fucking great.” He gave an actual normal response for once, one that logically made sense; however, he followed it with also claiming, “plus it also just feels good to have someone down there. Honestly might not have felt as good with a girl doing it. Nothing like having a fag at yer feet! Not that you would know, YOU were the FAG at MY feet!” He started bursting out laughing as I once again grew red in the face.

I was about to kick him out when he abruptly changed the subject back to what he had initially started it as, “Anyway, that’s kinda sad though, thinking about it. I’m the only man in your life…” he laughed at this statement but followed it up by asking me about my classes and college life, living on my own, and this time he was at least being genuine enough to let me answer.

It was strange talking to someone who had unrelentingly harassed me, and I mean, he kind of still did. Even if his responses were fake and he didn’t really give a shit, talking like this with him was humanizing. And yeah, I had to admit, the few times I made him laugh, he did look really attractive. I had settled on the ground and with him still laying on my bed, I had to look up at him and it was not a bad angle for him. He was laying horizontally with his elbow on one of my pillows propping up his head. It was nice seeing him in a different light, even if only temporary.

After talking for thirty minutes, Peter sat up and started standing up but immediately recoiled and sat back on the bed. “Fuck, my feet are still tired as shit…” He paused for a moment before turning to me, and with a puppy dog expression and pointing his socked soles at me. I wanted to tell him no, but today was really nice, surprisingly …So I relented and scooted forward.

As soon as soon as Peter saw me give in, he had a huge, goofy grin on his face. As I got to where I sat the other day, he motioned for me to go to the other end of the couch— it was in a corner so I had been facing the longer end previously. As I got to the foot of the bed, he grabbed one of my pillows and placed it down under his feet and moved the rest so he could keep his feet at the edge of the bed while resting on them. Seeing him grab my pillow like that I wanted to say something, but just figured there was no point; he would come up with some excuse to keep his feet there, I would just need to remember to wash the pillow case.

Once again, I placed my hands on Peter’s, now socked, feet and began running through similar motions as the previous day. It was admittedly tougher to do this with his socks on. As revile as his feet were, his sweat functioned as a… natural lubricant. I noticed he would slightly inhale when running my hands over his arches, so I figured that must be a sensitive spot. I worked my hands over the area pushing the tension down and out, using enough force to add pressure without making it painful. It was strange the level of thought I put into doing this for him. Whatever, he had certainly been more bearable today than when he was previously in my room. I just hoped that if he were to continue to force his way into my life, he would act more like he did today.

After massaging his feet for a while, I looked over at the clock I had on my dresser and saw the it read 5:37 PM. We had gotten back to my room at around 4:30, so I must have started around 5… jesus, this was getting out of hand. I looked up at Peter to say something and saw his left hand down his shorts playing with his dick.

I immediately shot up, “Peter, what the fuck are you doing?”

“The fuck does it look like I’m doing, Fag? You ought to be grateful I’m fucking jerking off to your foot rub. You,” he kicked me lightly with his foot, “should be proud of yourself. Now I’m feeling nice, I was thinking of gagging your faggot throat with my dick since you were doing such a good job, but since you caught some fucking attitude if you get back down on your knees and resume what you were doing, I’ll still let you fucking watch me cum and MAYBE let you lick it off if you take my socks off while you continue rubbing.”

“Peter, you need to get the fuck out.” I demanded.

“No,” he retaliated, taking his hand out of his shorts and standing up, “you need to learn your place.” He quickly grabbed me and started wrestling me to the ground. “I treat you well, relent on the fag talk, and all I ask is that you be a good bitch and fucking rub my feet and even think of letting you swallow my fucking jizz. You,” he pinned me to the ground and spat on my face, “You should be fucking grateful, faggot. Now it’s time for some obedience training.” With that he ripped off his socks, and as much as I tried to resist and get out from under his grip, he held me there and forced his disgusting sweaty socks into my face.

He held my jaw up, forcing me to breathe in through my nose, and try as I might to fight it, I was already out of breath. As the first wave of his socks sweaty fumes made their way into my system, I felt my body grow limp and heavy. It was too much, how long had he been fucking wearing them? Reading my mind, he proudly proclaimed, “that’s three fucking days of sweat for you, fag. I had been saving these fuckers for you since Monday. Surprised you didn’t pass out just being near them. Heh, but I can see that won’t hold true for very long.” True to his claim, my vision was blurring and I couldn’t move my body. Noticing and taking advantage of this, the last thing I saw was him kick off his socks only to replace them with his sweaty feet. I had one last look up at him from under his feet before I blacked out.

-

-

When I woke up, I had a splitting head ache and couldn’t remember a thing of what had happened… I had come up with Peter, we talked… he talked me into giving him another foot massage… but then, just blanks. Every time I tried to think about it, my head just throbbed more. I was tired, though I had just woken up. Did I pass out or something? That seemed vaguely familiar… But, ugh, I just couldn’t remember.

I got up off the floor and went to shower. I didn’t bother looking myself in the mirror, but after finally feeling slightly more awake I realized there was a weird smell. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but as I washed my face, it felt like I was rubbing something off. I tried to look at my hand as I rubbed my face, but if I saw anything it must have been clear. I had no idea what that could have been. It was like instances of rubbing drool off of my face but it was sort of over my lips, under my nose, and on my cheek, far too spread out to have been anything like drool or anything like that. I was too tired to even bother trying to figure it out, so I just finished washing myself before getting out, drying off, and getting back in bed.

Again, I felt like there was something I was missing from my memory, but my pillow felt so nice and I was so tired. I took a deep breath and sighed, and felt my body grow heavy for the seemingly second time that day as I drifted off into sleep.

-

-

I woke up the next morning feeling much better. As I got out of bed, I checked the time and realized it was already 8 AM, my first class was at 9, and while that was an hour away, I would have preferred to wake up a half hour earlier to give myself time to not rush. Walking to class alone was twenty minutes, so quickly I put on some clothes grabbed my stuff and headed out the door.

Once I got to the dining hall, I decided to text Peter to see if he could, or would, tell me what happened yesterday: “Hey, Peter” I started, but then decided I would try to be more friendly, especially if I was trying to get information out of him.

“Good morning, Peter. Um, this is kind of a weird question, but what happened yesterday? I don’t know if I passed out or what, but I woke up sometime last night on the ground and can’t remember anything after I…” this was going to be embarrassing to type, “…gave you that foot rub. Thanks for the help.” It was getting late so I just sent it immediately, scarfed down my food, and rushed to class.

I had forgotten two of my three classes had big quizzes today and with all of my classes back to back, I was pretty busy up until my last class. As I settled in to my seat, I checked my phone and saw a text from Peter that read: “Damn, dude, you really don’t remember? haha that’s wild. yeah you gave me another killer rub down 🦶🏼🦶🏼” …okay?? I asked what happened after that. I saw he only texted me recently, so I didn’t feel too bad about my delayed ability to check my phone.

Typing back, I wrote, “yeah, but what happened after that? That’s what I’m confused about.”

A minute or two after sending that message he replied, “Ohh, bro you should have explained that,” …except I did… ignoring that, however, the message continued, “i dunno, you seemed tired or something, i had noticed you stopped rubbing my feet so i tried to wake you up, i put my socks on your face thinking that might do something but no dice. i took my socks off and same thing. i coulda swore i heard moaning though dude. i mean i know youre a fag but still 😂😂😂”

My face immediately grew bright red, and typed back, “Ha ha, very funny. What actually happened?”

He didn’t respond for a while. My leg was constantly shaking, he had to be fucking with me right? It was hard to concentrate during class but I managed to slowly regain my focus. During the last five minutes of class, he finally responded with:

“Okay bro, but would you believe anything I told you? what if I said you sucked my big fucking cock and passed out in fag heaven after i nutted. would you believe that any more?” NO, BECAUSE THAT ISN’T PLAUSIBLE EITHER! I had no idea what game he was playing at and was glad when class ended so his toying with me wouldn’t interfere with my focus any further. Almost immediately after I left the building, he followed up with another text, “anyway, nothing really happened if you want the truth. i just left after the rubdown you gave me. i have no idea what you did after I left… although perhaps I have an idea 🍆💦💦” Immediately, another text came through that read, “haha jkjk but you ready for some more today? 🦶🏼🦶🏼 i’m already thinking of how incredible it’ll be”

I rolled my eyes at his last message. Whatever, it was just more of his teasing. Though it was different now, I was slowly getting used to it. I was glad to be done with classes at only 12:30, and now that the ordeal with yesterday was resolved, thinking back on my performance on the quizzes, which I did well on, made me feel pretty great. So as revolting as it could be, Peter was slowly becoming something of a friend of sorts, he was at least in my life as much as a friend, so I responded:

“Sure, why not. I’m already out of my classes. What about you?”

“same, only have one class today, and it’s at 11, makes it great for getting here early to get my 💪🏼💪🏼 on and workout at the gym. i’ll meet you at your dorm” he replied, then quickly followed it up with, “wait you have passes to let people in the dining hall with you right? cuz i’m fucking starving”

I did have passes to let non-students and non-dorm residing students have dining hall access, although not too many, but I also didn’t know when else I’d use them, so I said we could meet at the dining hall across from dorm and eat.

Upon meeting there, Peter wrapped his arm around my neck rubbing my hair, which felt like a very strange act to receive from someone who had harassed me in the past. As we walked into the dining hall, he started telling me about it session at the gym this morning, and as soon as we were into the main portion of the dining hall, there was a ridiculous change in temperature. On one of the walls, it had a sign that said the air conditioning was temporarily out of service and that the building should be expected to be hot due to all of the equipment used to heat up, cook, and just generally keep the food warm. It wasn’t as big a deal to me, it was still September and I was already wearing hoodies, due to typically running on the cold side. After we sat down with out food, me just a small salad, and Peter with a mound of chicken, fries, mashed potatoes and other food, I commented on how he wasn’t hot since he was in similarly heat trapping clothes.

“I wear this to work out in,” he explained, “the more you break out a sweat the better it’ll be for fat loss. I’m just used to it at this point.” He continued to talk to me about his work out and what he was trying to aim for. He said he didn’t care for big muscles because they just looked stupid to him, he wanted to be lean cut, but built. He was saying the fact that he focuses on losing fat as opposed to building muscle is the reason he’s as quick on his feet as he his.

As we were talking, I realized that this entire time was the first interaction we ever had without him calling me a fag, joke or not. After he finished eating, I took both of our plates to the drop off station since he wouldn’t know where it was and we headed back to my dorm.

-

After entering my room, I immediately went into the bathroom to piss and could hear him flop onto my bed once more and instantly kick off his shoes. After washing and drying my hands, I opened the door and was immediately greeted by that awful smell. As I walked into the main part of the room, I was greeted by his bare feet, resting on one of my pillows, explaining the smell.

“Ugh,” I groaned, “seriously Peter, you didn’t say you went sockless again…”

“I also didn’t make any promises about wearing socks. Come onnn, they’re aching after the workout this morning and really need this. Plus you already said you would!”

He… wasn’t wrong there. But I didn’t want to be down there any longer than necessary, so I already wanted to set a boundary, “Okay, but I’m not doing this one any longer than any of the previous ones.”

“Works for me,” he said laughing, “ I think you were down there like… an hour yesterday.”

“What?” I blurted out, “There’s no way I gave you an hour long foot rub!”

“Didn’t you say you don’t remember though?” He cornered me, tactically.

With nothing to counter that, he pushed his sweaty feet closer to my face, wiggling his toes, and taunted me “Come on, faggy, the hour doesn’t start ‘till you start rubbing.”

Defeated, I grabbed his warm, sweaty feet and began massaging them as I was becoming all too familiar with doing. He leaned back on to my bed, closing his eyes, and relaxed with him arms behind his head.

Compared to last time, I noticed this massage felt significantly more muscle-memory related. I no longer felt as though I actively had to focus on where I would massage or how much pressure I should apply.

With my mind free to wander, I looked up at Peter as he rested on my bed. I remember thinking yesterday that he honestly was really attractive, and the more I got to know him the stronger that feeling grew. He was also really devoted to what he cared about. He seemed so invested as he was describing his work out routine. Although he could be immature, it more so seemed now like he acted like that not because he couldn’t be mature, but rather he preferred not feeling so bogged down by caring so much about how he appeared to others. Maybe it was because he was the only person I really talked to, but I did really start to enjoy the time I spent with him… even the time’s where I gave him foot rubs. Because of them, I had sort of subconsciously, and now consciously, noticed he took really good care of his feet. His toe nails were all well-trimmed, despite the vigorous workouts he described, his feet were still pretty soft. It was strange to think but he had pretty nice feet; the kind that perhaps I didn’t mind giving foot rubs to.

I had settled down at this point, sitting with my legs crossed and couldn’t see any part of him aside from his feet. I was still lost in thought, until I heard Peter groan and order, “get between the toes, fag.” I moved my fingers between his toes, noticing when I pulled my index finger out the first time that there was quite a bit of lint and toe jam. It was a bit gross, but I continued after hearing his moan of pleasure. After going through all ten toes, he told me to sniff my finger. Without thinking, I instinctively brought my finger to my nose and inhaled loud enough that he would have heard. The scent was intense, it was like I had shoved my nose between his toes, and it made me want to vomit. My mind was flooded by thoughts questioning why I did what he said without question when he ordered me to come over to the other side of the bed. I crawled over and once I got there he lifted himself up to sit, with his legs hanging off the bed, revealing his dick had been pulled out and was rock fucking solid. My jaw had dropped, he had not been kidding about being hung; he was well over 8 inches.

In my stupor, he shoved one of his sweaty toes into my open mouth and instinctively I sucked. As soon as I did, he pulled it out before I could take it out, leaned forward, and shot all over my face, moaning, “Fuuuuck, that’s a good fucking foot faggggg, that’s it, take my fuckingg loAD.” As he came all over me, my mind was racing, I had no idea what had just happened. I had been rubbing his feet for him one moment, the next he had his sweaty toe in my mouth, and the next he was cumming all over my face. I continued to just sit there, on my knees, frozen as he let out a sigh. “THAT’S what I’m fucking talking about, faggy boy.” He announced, as he leaned forward and wiped the additional cum that had leaked out on my mouth. “Fuck, that felt so fucking good.”

He stood up, putting on his pants, and walked toward a pillow he had left at the other end of the bed where they were normally kept. “I had forgotten I left these from yesterday,” he insincerely confessed as he pulled his socks out of the pillow case, dumping the pillow onto the floor “surprised you didn’t notice ‘em. Guess that was why you didn’t do any of your usual bitching about their smell today, they managed to adjust ya.” He shoved them into his bag and stood over me, grinning from ear to ear. “I gotta go now, but thanks again for the foot rub, faggy. You just keep getting better and better, my feet really do love ya,” then lifting his right foot he insisted again, “let’s seal it with a deal.” And placed his foot on my face. I felt him smear his cum as he moved his foot up and down my face. My mind felt like mush and I felt like I couldn’t move, so I don’t know what happened, but suddenly he burst in tears laughing, “There it is!! I know I felt a kiss in there!”

Taking his foot off my face, he wiped the rest of his cum on my chest and started putting on his shoes. “Anyway, I seriously gotta go. See ya Monday, foot fag!” Before walking out the door.

•

•

•

It felt like hours after Peter left before I finally rose from where I had been kneeling. When I finally did I slowly made my way into the bathroom to take a hot shower and try to process what had just happened.

I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but after entering the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror, and plastered on my face was his cum in the shape of his right foot. It covered my entire face, even going into my hair, demonstrating the size of his feet. Breathing in, I was met by the heavy odor of his cum and felt my head begin pounding. I recoiled and leaned against the wall. This smell, I recognized it somehow. I think… it was the same smell from the previous night. My blood went cold and my mouth felt dry. Stupidly, I wetted my lips with my tongue, tasting his cum. Immediately, I rushed in the shower to wash the rest off of my face.

I was trying not to think of what I just did or more generally what just happened, but try as I might, my mind was flooded with scenes of me rubbing his big, sweaty feet, of his hard dick as she shoved his toes into my mouth, of his cum spurting all over my face. The biggest imprint left on my brain, the image that played over and over in my head more than any other, was of his giant foot covering my face as he smeared his cum and his condescending laugh of dominance as he proclaimed: “There it is!! I know I felt a kiss in there!” Had I really kissed his foot? My body and mind were so numb at the time I genuinely couldn’t recall. And what made me so nervous was that unlike the prior night, it’s not that it was all just blank, I could remember what was happening, but that one fact, the biggest, most meaningful fact of whether or not I did actually kiss his foot, evaded me.

As I exited the shower, I was exhausted. All I was thinking of continued to be his massive foot on my face, his assertion that I just sealed the deal to continue… worshipping his feet by kissing them. I slowly moved all the pillows. From the middle of the bed, back to where they belonged and moved the pillow at the foot of the bed on top. As I slowly slid into bed, I grabbed the pillow that was on the floor, holding it close for warmth. I closed my eyes, trying to process or forget or… anything, anything that would help me move on from what just happened. I took a deep breath through my nose to calm down and felt an overwhelming sensation overcome me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I remembered he had his feet on the pillow my face was on and his socks on the pillow I was cuddling close to my face. But the part of my brain my consciousness used… was too tired. So as I took those deep breaths, I fell into a blissful, exhaustive sleep breathing in his foot sweat.

-

The next morning I woke up feeling like shit. Throughout the night I kept tossing and turning, but whenever I fell asleep, it felt like I never really dreamed. Despite this, I didn’t really wake up at all throughout the night, I could just tell that I was restless in that dreamless sleep. I checked the time and saw it was a reasonable hour to get up despite how early I went to sleep, but to be fair I remembered the exhaustion I felt the previous night and so it wasn’t that surprising.

Throughout the day, I mulled about. I had no motivation to do anything, and I was bored out of my mind. Thankfully I didn’t have that many assignment given it was still early in the semester, but even for work so light, I felt too willful to work on it.

I decided to maybe play some mobile games on my phone, since they were low effort and spent most of that Saturday just lounging in bed. At around 4 pm I received a text from Peter that read: “What’s up faggy boy, my 🦶🏼🦶🏼 miss you, wish i had you here rubbing my feet, just got done with the most killer workout, you would not believe how fucking sweaty I am. i love nothing more than to choke the chicken after a workout… except maybe getting my feet fuckin worshiped by you 😈😈🤤”

Seeing this text made my heart skip a beat. I had manage to at least somewhat push those thoughts to the recesses of my consciousness and now the images of his big, sweaty feet over my face, his rock hard dick, and his geyser of a cumshot were back in my mind. I opened the message forgetting I had read receipts on and paused, scared of what I should do as those images once more burned in the forefront of my thoughts. In my hesitation, he followed-up asserting, “You’re thinking about yesterday aren’t you? my big ass sweaty feet in your face, my huge fuckin cock, the way my hot fuckin cum felt on your face. you tasted my cum didn’t you? you had to get at least one fuckin lick in? don’t lie to me, i know you couldn‘t help it faggy boy, it’s not your fault.”

I paused, knowing that I did lick up the cum he had spurted over my face and rubbed in with his sweaty foot. I didn’t want to admit it… but I didn’t want to— couldn’t lie to him. Once more, in my hesitation, he sent one final message, and above it, a picture of his foot, absolutely drenched in sweat, as he promised, “you couldn’t help but lick up my cum as you thought about my big fuckin feet smearing it all over your face, isn’t that right, fag?”

Seemingly, without me typing, a response from me was sent that had one single word: “yes.” And I felt my leg become drenched in my own cum.

-

I woke up sweating. What the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck. I immediately snatched my phone from directly in front of me on the bed and immediately went to my texts with Peter. The last message in the conversation was me telling him I would use one of my dining hall passes so he could eat there and agreeing to meet outside of the building. I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing the ordeal was nothing but a dream. Throwing myself back against my pillows I felt sleep once again come for me, and without much will to fight it, felt it over take me.

-

-

Sunday I woke up feeling much better, but starving. I don’t think I ate much if anything the day prior, so that was the first thing I set out to do.

After eating a larger meal than usual, I went back up to my room and decided I’d finally wash my sheets. As I was taking off the pillow cases, it came to my attention that I never had washed the sheets after Peter rubbed his feet all over them… multiple times… or after he apparently kept his socks in the pillow case. Doing my best to ignore that realization, I quickly walked out of my room to the laundry room and started the wash.

Upon returning, I set out to finish the work I had to do for school and by the time my phone’s timer went off indicating the wash was done, I had finished. As the sheets dried, I had decided to just peruse youtube on my laptop, trying to find something interesting to watch. Every so often I would check my phone, waiting to see if Peter had texted me, worried about the events of that dream. But with every check came a negative result. I don’t know why I was so fixated on it, especially when I had turned on the ringer and would know if he, or anyone, had texted me.

I had mostly been still aimlessly scrolling through youtube, starting and stopping videos, when the dryer was done. I got my sheets and upon returning to my room, promptly set my bed back up. After I finished, I had started walking to the bathroom when my phone pinged. I rushed back over to check it only to see that it was an email of no import. Sighing, I put back down the phone and went back to what I was doing before.

-

The rest of my evening progressed as painfully slow, by the time I was getting ready to sleep, I felt as though I was dying of boredom. Getting into bed, it felt weird remembering Peter’s sweaty feet had been all over my pillows before. Thinking about it, I had fallen asleep much easier the previous nights. I shifted around trying to get comfortable, but something would just not get right, whether it was my leg, my arm, a pillow, the blanket, something just felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t until about an hour later that I finally began to drift off again.

-

-

Monday, morning flew by. After waking up, eating and getting to class, my actual classes were extremely note-heavy that day, and it felt like as soon as I finally put my pencil down it was time to move to the next class. By the end of it all, my hand was aching, and I had a headache. I reached into my ruck for some Tylenol I keep on hand for these very situations.

As I was walking back to my dorm, I was taking a similar path to the one I took the Monday prior, and within a few minutes, I got to the very spot I first ran into Peter. I half expected him to run up behind me again, throwing his arm around my neck and calling me his fag boy. But as I kept walking, my pace was never interrupted.

As I approached the dining hall by my dorm, I decided to take out my phone and pulled up my messages with Peter. After pulling it up, I stopped in my tracks, hesitating. Thinking back on the past events still left me with complicated feelings… but this weekend had felt so… lonely. Even with how our last interaction had gone, I had gotten used to having him around and I admittedly kind of— really missed him. With a bit more resolve, I started typing, “Hey, Peter. Did you want to potentially get something to eat again at the dining hall?” Then, pausing, I decided to at least add some justification to rationalize my text and added, “I remember you saying you get hungry around this time, and it’d be better than spending your money for food. I still have quite a few passes, and I could always get more.” After typing out the message, I quickly hit send before I started over thinking the text.

I decided to go on and enter the dining hall, but before I walked into the main portion of the building that requires student ID, I got text and saw it was from Peter.

“Fuck yeah, i’m fucking starving! i’ll be there in like 30 mins, k? thanks” After reading the message, I decided to sit down at one of the chairs they had in that entrance area, and got on my phone to pass the time while waiting for him.

By the time thirty minutes passed, my stomach was growling, and I was starting to get a headache again due to the pain. I considered going in and getting something for myself while I waited for him, but decided it would be better if I just waited to eat until he got here, it just felt wrong to go in there beforehand.

Quickly that thirty minutes became forty, then fifty, and then an hour. I considered messaging him, but figured he must have just gotten caught up in something. It wasn’t his fault that he was later than he said he’d be.

I continued to distract myself for another half hour, when I felt my hair get ruffled up and was greeted with a “what’s up fag!?” Thankfully, nobody happened to be there, and as I turned around, I was greeted by the sight of Peter in a sleeveless top practically soaked in sweat. “Hope I didn’t keep ya long!” He teased, knowing I had waited three times as long as he originally said.

“N-no, I just kept myself busy, didn’t even realize to be honest.” I lied, as we entered the main dining area, followed shortly by my stomach growling giving away how hungry I was.

“Aww, did ya wait all that time before eating to wait for me? That’s pretty sweet, faggy boy! I wanted to get a work out in, and I got a little to into it,” he said, subtly flexing, “you know how I get.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, remembering how invested he showed himself to be last week, “I really didn’t mind.” I confessed.

“Good, now I’m exhausted. You know what I like don’t you? Would be a good faggy bud and get me my food?” He made puppy dog eyes trying to persuade me.

“S-sure,” I offered. As I went to go get his food, I tried to grab the same stuff he had last week, but with the food different, I decided to go for similar things that I thought he might like.

Upon my return, he had his feet in the chair across from him and he was on his phone doing something. As I placed down the tray, he added, “oh, and get me a coke too.” Quickly working my way to the soda machine, I filled up his cup and quickly brought it back. He had looked over the food and commented, “this looks great, but could you go get me some ketchup?” Making my way back to where the food had been, where they keep condiments, I grabbed some packets of ketchup and made my way back over to Peter once again.

“Anything else?” I asked, genuinely.

Thinking for a moment, he replied, “nothing I can think of.” And went back on his phone.

I went to go get my food, grabbing mostly anything I could find that was relatively healthy before making my way back to Peter with a salad, some soup, and a burger.

As we sat down, the conversation mostly remained devoid of life, as he continued to do things on his phone. However, after ten minutes of me picking at my food, waiting for him to start eating, he finally put it down and sighed. “Jesus christ, chicks can be so fucking annoying.”

“What do you mean?” I inquired.

“Just that, they never shut the fuck up and they never want to talk about the thing you wanna talk about. Like this bitch keeps complaining about how her friend has been making moves on a guy she had previously shown interest in and she wants my opinion! Like she was practically throwing herself at me this morning and now she’s talking about how she wanted to suck some other guy like a fuckin’ whore. Just suck my fuckin’ dick and get over it, you know what I mean?” He asked, before pausing, and laughing to himself, “oh wait, you wouldn’t since you’re a fag. But you have chick friends, are they always this fuckin’ stupid?” He asked.

“I wouldn’t call them s-stupid.” I defended them, but relented, “but yeah… they do want to talk about guys pretty often. Maybe she just wants you to comfort her?”

“Why the fuck would I comfort her when she’s talking about another fuckin’ dude?” Sighing, he paused and started eating, making feel as though I could also start eating. When he began again, he insisted, “that’s why I like hanging around you, fag. Like you never talk to me about boys or shit and when I talk about my work outs you actually listen. I swear if I had told a girl to get me shit because I was tired, she would have looked at me like I slapped her.”

I felt a bit better hearing that he actually liked hanging around me and agreed that since he was tired after working out, it made sense for me to get his food for him. Shortly after we had both finished scarfing down our food, we got up and I took his plate for him again like last time and offered to take his ruck for him since he was tired.

Stepping out of the dining hall, I asked if he wanted to come up to my room again to relax. “I dunno, kinda just wanna get home.” He said. I admit, it kind of hurt to hear him say that, and I must have wore it on my sleeve because he, followed up saying, “fine, but you owe me a foot rub, because my feet are fucking killing me”

“Deal,” I agreed quickly, glad he was going to hang out with me, as we made our way over to my dorm and up to my room.

-

“Fuuuck,” he groaned as he kicked off his shoes, after laying on my bed, revealing his sweaty bare soles.

“Told ya it’d feel better!” I said, as I grabbed the pillows for him to rest, keeping one and putting it under his feet.

“It’ll feel even fuckin’ better when you start rubbin’ ‘em, fag” he asserted as he wiggled his toes.

“Yes, sir, yes, sir,” I teased, beginning to work my hands on his drenched soles “don’t worry, I can see how tired you are. Just lay back and I’ll take care of your feet. I’ll let you decide when to stop.”

“Ahh,” he sighed, as he put his arms behind his head and, chuckling, informed me, “get comfortable then, fag, and I’ll see ya in the morning.”

-

Once again, I found my hands were able to work purely off of muscle memory, and thought back to one of the first comments he made about how I was a natural at rubbing his feet and how true that clearly was. I made sure to run a finger through his toes as he made clear he liked previously, and slowly brought my finger to my nose inhaling. The scent was somehow different from before. It still had that pungent kick to it, but I no longer found myself repulsed as I used to be.

I thought I had heard him chuckling as I took a whiff of his toe jam from my hand, but figured I must be mistaken, as almost immediately, he spoke up, with no sort of change in tone indicative of previously laughing, “fuck you are one great fucking fag, you know that? I was exhausted after that workout and this was just what me and my feet needed.”

“Happy to help!” I replied, sincerely, putting a bit more focused effort into the massage. His sigh in response to my effort made me all the more motivated to continue putting in the extra effort.

With my attention centered on his feet, I began more thoroughly observing his feet. I remembered when he had place one over my face and noticed just how big they were. His workouts were described as being so intense as well, and yet to the touch his feet were very soft and fleshy. He must take very good care of them, and well… I should feel proud of myself for the contributions I make toward the care of his feet as well, then. I moved my hand up to his foot, placing it flat against the sole, with my palm against his heel and saw that my fingers were no where near reaching the top of his feet.

He must have caught on to what I was doing because he proudly announced, “Big aren’t they?”

“Y-yes…” I answered, mumbling, “they are so big…”

Chuckling, he moved his feet out of my hands and instructed me, “let’s play a game, guess how big my feet are. Every time you get the answer wrong, I’ll move my feet a bit closer to your face to help you get a better look.” He had a shit-eating grin as he went over the last part of the game.

“O-okay,” I consented. “U-um,” I thought, his feet were bigger than mine, clearly, but I didn’t know how much bigger, so since mine were size 9, I guessed, “are they size 10?”

“BZZT!” He recreated a buzzer going off, “come on, that’s like barely entering real-man’s-feet territory.” Scooting, his feet forward, they were now a few inches away, he advised me, “take a closer look, fag, come on, I know you got this, you’ll figure it out with how much you’ve been down there!”

Thinking, I remembered my hand didn’t nearly reach the top of his foot. If I had to guess my hand it about 6 or 7 inches… but I don’t know, I’ve never had to think about this before. If his feet were around or just under the length of both of my hands… “Are they, um, size 12’s?”

“BZZT!” He sounded off again. Scooting closer so his feet were now about an inch from my face, he admitted, “you’re getting warmer, faggy! And I don’t just mean your face as it gets closer to being swallowed by these dogs! You’re very, very close to the answer. You got one more chance before your face becomes my foot massager!”

With how close he was saying I got, that should mean his feet are either size 11 or size 13. He could be lying, but I knew Peter wouldn’t do that… Thinking back, to when he had his feet on my face, they truly covered my whole face, his feet were huge. So the most likely answer was…

I took a deep breath, breathing in his foot sweat, and felt the same release of tension I felt all those nights after he had his sweaty feet on my pillow and his sweaty socks in the pillow case. His feet were really big, and he was right, they truly did seem to swallow my face… But how could I be sure I was right? Even if I got the size right, that would’t be the same as knowing his feet could completely engulf me… I wanted to know…

Looking up at Peter as he wiggled his toes, I answered, “My final guess is… size 11.” I felt something in my chest begin to tighten, but then relax as I slowly watched Peter’s face disappear as his feet obscured my vision totally.

“Ding! Ding! Ding! You got the absolute WRONG final answer, BUT you got the correct final result by getting all three attempts wrong!” He laughed as he grinded his feet into my face. The sensation of finally giving in to him was… freeing. I took a deep breath of his foot funk, straight from the source and felt any tension just melt away. “That’s it, faggy,” he sighed. “You know,” he wondered, “you spent all that time at my feet, and had your face covered on multiple occasions— although I guess you don’t remember one of ‘em. Y’know… I’m beginning to suspect you wanted this,” he chuckled.

I… did want this. I remember now. I remember Peter enjoying my foot service that one time and how upset I got with how he showed his enjoyment… why did I get upset? A man like him deserved to have his feet rubbed and I was lucky to be the one able to service him in that way. He was showing his enjoyment by jerking off and I got upset. That’s when he put me in my place with his socked and bare feet. And he still showed me how much he enjoyed my foot worship before he left, I should have been grateful. And then the time after I didn’t resist, but I didn’t properly thank him either… by letting me worship his feet, he was doing ME the favor.

Slowly, I placed my lips against his feet, placing kisses on them. This time there would be no confusion. “Oh?” Peter inquired, “what are ya doing there, faggy?”

“Sealing the deal.” I proclaimed.

Laughing he assured me, “That was sealed the moment I saw you were here, but I’m glad you’re finally caught up to speed and have accepted things. I’m proud of you, faggot, you’ve come a long way.”

Continuing to kiss his sweaty, rancid feet, I thanked him. “It took me too long to realize this is where I belong… I’m sorry.”

Chuckling, he reassured me, “I knew you wouldn’t want to give in, but that just made it more fun. But if you wanna apologize, apologize to my feet for the years of worshiping they could have had if you’d just realized your place in high school.”

“Y-yes… s-sir.” I stuttered nervously, worried about sounding stupid.

As I slowly took his big toe into my mouth, swirling it and licking between his toes, he sighed, “fuck, that’s good. And you can just stick with Peter, faggot. Never really been into all that sir and master shit.” Then laughing he added, “but good on you for trying to show you recognize your place in another way.”

After licking his feet for thirty minutes, he told me to move to the other side of the bed. “And hand me your laptop while you’re at it,” he added. After unlocking it with the password I told him, he instructed me to face away on my hands and knees, after which he placed his huge feet on my back, using me as a foot rest. “Okay faggy, I’m gonna watch some shit, so stay niiice and still and think about how great I am for letting you be my foot rest, ‘kay? Good faggot.” And before I could say anything, he began playing whatever he was watching and I knew I should stay silent.

After about ten minutes, he paused whatever he was watching and informed me, “oh, by the way, I had already told my parents I’d be spending the night at a friend’s. So don’t worry about me leaving, they were more than happy to have me hang out with someone here. Little do they know it’s with my own personal faggot, but hey, that’s none of their concern. And I know, you’ll be sure to thank me later in more ways than one for my consideration in making sure you get to worship me as much as possible.”