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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 1
Soccer. That sport that no one in America cares about except in a lot of high schools. I am a junior at one of those high schools. But I care about soccer in a very unique way. You see, I am gay. I am so far on the homo end of the Kinsey scale that I am teetering on the verge of falling right off. I also have a huge, a monumentally huge foot fetish. And soccer? Well, soccer is the sport of the foot. When I think about young, virile men heroically using their sweaty, smelly cleat-covered feet to score goal after goal, I simply melt. I get hard just hearing the words "boys' varsity soccer". So that's my DNA, and that DNA, so built into me that it overrides my brain over and over and over again, explains how I have become, and will remain until the end of my high school career, an insatiable servant to a soccer stud.
Unsurprisingly, the boys' varsity soccer team is filled with good-looking jocks. But even within that elevated pool of fine specimens, Kyle Peterson is a stand-out. He is 5'11" of lean muscle, light brown hair, blue eyes, and a face that can only be described as gorgeous. Cute and masculine wrapped up into a ball of desire. And boy did I desire him. But I kept my secret well, or so I thought. Although my DNA screams "gay", my outward appearance and demeanor do not give me away. I am 5'10", run track (it's not soccer, but I am by no means a geek), and certainly not unattractive. True, my intimate experiences with girls are quite limited given my orientation, but I "go out" with enough of them that no one would suspect otherwise. Of course, it's 2018, so does it really matter if I came out? Maybe not, but there was enough ease to keep doing what I was doing that I intended to save the whole coming out thing to maybe college or later when my maturity level could better handle the event. Plus, the kids in school who have come out have not really interested me.
But as I said, DNA being what it is, it doesn't always work out as the brain plans. It didn't help that I am popular enough to be somewhat in Kyle's circle of friends. Exactly two weeks ago today, shortly after the school year and soccer season started, a group of us were at the local diner on a Friday night. As usual, when Kyle was present, my focus inevitably drifted onto him alone. I suspect that over the years, Kyle had probably sensed my attention, and while that should have worried me somewhat, my pounding heart told me to ignore my reason-based concerns. So my slightly longer stares at him, my unconditional laughter at his jokes, my near-instant agreement with virtually everything he said -- those were things that I knew I should have dialed back but didn't, and Kyle had apparently noticed.
"Hey buddy," Kyle said to me as we were leaving the diner. "Let me hitch a ride with you."
"OK," I said. The request for a ride home was hardly unusual, as it was a five-minute walk between our houses.
The car ride was uneventful. In hindsight, I now know Kyle had a grander plan in mind, and didn't want to dive into any heavy conversation until we were in the privacy of his less-escapable bedroom. When we got to his house, Kyle said, "Hey, wanna come in for a sec? I wanna show you something."
It was a Friday night, my curfew was still 2 hours away, and an invitation to hang out one-on-one with my number one crush was obviously irresistible.
"Sure," I replied. I parked the call and we both got out.
The house was empty and we went upstairs to his room. Nonetheless, he closed the door. For a teenager's bedroom, Kyle's room was definitely larger than average. He kept it basically neat, but the room smelled deliciously of him. My heart started pounding again.
"Sit," he said, pointing to the floor. There was a desk chair that he could've offered, but he didn't, and I obediently sat on the floor.
For his part, Kyle kicked off his size 11 shoes (I tried to breathe in hard) and sat back on his queen-size bed, lounging against his pillow. He crossed his socked feet, and like clockwork, my eyes wandered to stare at those socks.
Kyle's sexy-as-hell, masculine-as-hell voice snapped me out of my trance. "So listen, you and I are friends, right?"
I looked up at his hot face. "Of course, Kyle. Why?"
"Well," he paused for a moment. "You haven't been honest with me."
"Honest about what?"
"About yourself."
Long silence. Deep down, I knew what he was talking about, and all of a sudden, I was desperate to come out to him. All of a sudden, I felt I was in a zone of complete safety. What a charming, charismatic, unbelievably handsome guy talks to you, even with the very perceptible risk of things going terribly wrong hanging over my head, you feel, however irrationally, like everything's going to be all right. Plus, I thought about our friendship. All of a sudden, this flood of trust filled me, and I internally elevated the status of my friendship with Kyle to a degree where it obviously was not. And finally, there was the fact that it was 2018, same-sex marriage is the law of the land, gay celebrities are indeed celebrated, we both knew and were even friendly with other guy dudes in school, etc., so what could go wrong?
So I cut to the chase. "Yes, Kyle, I'm gay."
Kyle's response, though, surprised me. "Ha! I fuckin' knew it." Instead of supporting me, much less comforting me, he focused on himself being right and his happiness at being right. He proceeded to immediately turn it back around on me as if to blame me. "Why didn't you tell me?"
I was puzzled; he was making this all about him. "I haven't told anyone, not even my parents, Kyle."
Kyle ignored my answer and continued self-assuredly, "So you have the hots for me or what?" In hindsight, given Kyle's experiences with how the rest of the world viewed him (and the degree to which he already knew about my inclinations), his question was not all that strange.
This is when you say "no." But again, fixed on my path of not deviating one bit from the truth in exposing myself to my perceived "confidant", I replied, "Well yeah, you are very hot." I don't know why I answered it quite that way, though. At the last second, I must have thought saying he was very hot was somehow less of an admission than I had the "hots" for him. But of course it was worse. I was basically repeating the universal truth that Kyle Peterson was an extremely attractive, desirable bundle of sex, which merely accelerated my dis-inhibition right before his eyes.
Kyle did not miss a beat. "Oh yeah? How so?"
My torrent of unabashed admission continued. "Um, you are extremely good looking, like, you're the most good looking guy I've ever been in the presence of. I think you know that."
"Yeah, I do. What else?"
I gulped. It only wet my dry throat but a little. "You're very talented at soccer. I really like your hairy legs when you're in your soccer shorts."
"My legs? Anything else?"
"Well, sometimes I stare at your feet, too."
"My feet?" Kyle wiggled his toes, his feet still crossed right over left. "That's kind of ridiculous, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I guess so." At last I pivoted, "Look, we're friends and you asked me some stuff, and I was honest with you. Sorry I wasn't honest with you before, but now you know. I think I should head home now." For whatever reason, even though I said those words, I did not move. Whether it was because deep down inside I didn't want to leave, or because somehow I needed permission from him to leave, or most likely both, I remained frozen on the floor.
Kyle chuckled. "C'mon, man. It's not a school night and I had a feeling you had a huge crush on me the way you stare at me all the goddamn time. If you could hang out with your crush some more, why wouldn't you?"
"OK," I replied. "Anyway, you said you wanted to show me something?"
"Maybe later. At this point I just want to relax. I've had a long day and practice was a bitch. Since you like my feet so much, why don't you give them a massage?"
My brain took one last stab at getting out of this rapidly worsening situation. After all, lots of people at school looked up to me. Sure, I really wanted to spend quality time with Kyle's feet, but no way I was actually going to do it. "Uh, no, man. I'm not going near your smelly feet. You and I are classmates. I'm not actually going to turn into some sort of servant for you."
Kyle's gaze hardened and he looked straight into my eyes. "No, actually a servant is exactly what you're going to become for me. You see, I've been giving you and me a lot of thought lately. And 'gay' doesn't begin to describe you. You want me, you want me bad, and you want my feet real bad. I have no problem with you being gay, but the sooner you succumb to what you really want, the happier we'll both be. You say 'no" to me now, and you'll never, ever have the chance to experience all the things you want so bad that are only on ... me. But letting you get access to me comes with a price. What I say goes. I'm no faggot. The only way I'm going to enjoy this is you doing what I want, whenever I want it. I figure, when again might I have the opportunity again to totally control another human being, who wants me so damn much that he will gladly wait on me hand and foot."
He was right. I could still say "no", but I didn't want to. My DNA was taking over again. If this arrangement meant I got to spend tons more one-on-one time with Kyle, I simply didn't care what he made me do. In any event, this was just one night, and no doubt I had never been hornier my entire life. I could still get out of it any time I wanted to later on, or so I thought.
"OK, Kyle," and I started to reach for his socked feet. He kicked my hand away.
"Oh no, you don't. You didn't jump at the chance of massaging my feet like a good little bitch. Now you're gonna have to beg for it. Beg me to let you massage my feet."
"Kyle, please let me massage your feet," I said blankly.
"No, dumbass," Kyle chided. "I want you to really beg. You want my feet more than anything, right? Then beg like you mean it."
With much more enthusiasm, I mustered, "Kyle, Master Kyle I mean, I've been dreaming about your amazing feet since the day I met you. I think especially about how they smell. I also think about how I can make them feel good. To be able to worship your feet now would be my dream come true. So please, Master Kyle, please let me massage your feet."
"Better," Kyle said. "But you better be this eager every time you beg me, and you better beg a lot, with lots of variation and creativity. I'm gonna want you to think of more and more ways of pleasing me and maximizing my pleasure, on top of all the ways I am going to instruct you. Now go for it, faggot."
A pause on the word "faggot". Kyle would never call some random gay person by that word. But it's a word that perfectly describes my new relationship to him, and Kyle knew it. Not that it mattered even if I objected. Kyle was going to start calling me whatever he wanted. And at this point I was as hard as a rock and being called a "faggot" was only getting me harder.
So I got on my knees and wrapped my thumb and fingers around his socked right foot. I had never gotten to touch Kyle before, and certainly not his treasured feet, plus the smell wafting into my nose was making me all of a sudden very, very glad I was agreeing to do this. Kyle sighed, not only at the sensation of the foot massage, but at his very sure knowledge that a foot massage was only the beginning of all the pleasurable things he would experience from his new servant. Even this night was only beginning, and the power trip Kyle was feeling now was only a small fraction of what was to come.
After about ten minutes, Kyle commanded, "Take my socks off now, fag."
"Yes, Master," I replied. For good measure, I added per his earlier instruction, "Thank you, Master Kyle, for giving my worthless hands permission to touch your beautiful feet."
"Shut the fuck up, fag."
TO BE CONTINUED...