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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hope you're enjoying the story. So many more directions to take it, so the story will go on for some time. Love it whenever readers tell me they are jerking off and shooting loads to this series. Maybe that's standard practice for nifty stories, but because of the subject matter of this series, it's even hotter to me to know that there are plenty of people out there who get off on the Kyle-Connor or Brad-Tommy dynamic. Speaking of Tommy, I am no longer going to write out the stuttering indications, as it is too much work. Tommy is a stutterer when in the presence of jock studs, and readers should simply assume that whenever he speaks to Brad or Kyle, he will stutter every few words.
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 12
Spring 2018. Soccer season was long over, which meant Brad was on campus more and had more free time. This in turn translated to more time to torture Tommy and expand the poor kid's servitude. Brad was also letting his facial hair grow out one last time before it got really warm again; Tommy often wondered what it was like to kiss Brad's face, but of course, only Brad's girls ever got to do that. It made Tommy so jealous. Brad's ability to grow facial hair quickly like that at 19 just made him seem even more masculine, virile, and turbocharged with testosterone. And yes, Brad was indeed all of those things.
It was the day after Tommy's 19th birthday, when Brad had gone out of his way to make Tommy's day miserable. Doubling down, Brad summoned Tommy back to his room the very next day.
Tommy was mid-lick on Brad's right bare sole when Brad said, "So Tommy, sorry I was so rough with you yesterday."
Master apologizing was a big, big deal, almost never happens, and Tommy quickly interjected, "No, no, Master Brad. Everything you taught me yesterday was so correct. I thank you for the lesson. I am a faggot, an abomination, there was nothing to celebrate on my birthday. The exact opposite, in fact. I need to be punished on my birthday in order to make up for being born at all. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, you amazing, godly stud."
Brad sneered, "Yeah, I know that, faggot, but I'd still like to give you a reward, you know?"
Tommy made his voice go higher and croaked, "Really, Master? For me? I am so excited to receive any reward from you, which I know I don't deserve. Oh thank you, Master!"
"Yeah, so you're gonna get to spend the whole summer with me, at my house in Virginia. You're gonna get a summer job in or near my town. You're gonna give all your earnings to me so I can spend the whole summer lounging around, working out, hanging out with my old soccer buddies, fucking girls, and getting endless blowjobs and rimjobs from your faggot mouth. How does that sound?"
Tommy's brain was screaming no, but his dick was raging yes. Just like Brad to make the satisfaction of his selfish needs sound like some great reward for Tommy. Tommy was from Ohio. Where they went to school (Pennsylvania) was kind of in between. What was he gonna tell his single mom about finding some random job in Virginia? Tommy couldn't work out all the details in his head now; he had to quickly and enthusiastically reply to Brad, or else get whipped by Brad's belt. (Tommy had already French kissed and thanked Brad's belt profusely numerous times after Brad used it to punish Tommy.)
"Oh wow, Master Brad. You really know how to make a faggot's heart swell with pride. You're letting me spend so much time with you, your cock, and your feet. I will do exactly what you say, obey your every command. I am so fortunate to have you guiding me, teaching me, using me, and disciplining me."
"Ok, good. I feel a fart coming on. Get the fuck over here." Brad turned his lithe body to the side (his underwear was already off), and when he felt Tommy's nose snuggle itself into the ass crevice, he let loose. A heavy puff of loud gas. Tommy let loose, too, breathing it in deep and hard, long and drawn out, then thanked Brad's fart enthusiastically for the next 5 minutes.
"Shut the fuck up, fag." Only then did Tommy allow himself to stop talking.
. . .
Late May, freshman year was over, sophomore year's "housing situation" was nailed down, and Tommy continued to up his game with respect to his servant's routine: the laundry weekends, Saturday breakfast, Sunday dinner, Friday night fucks, and everything in between. Feet kissing, sock chewing, cock sucking, ballsac caressing, jock strap and underwear licking, ass eating, cum swallowing, fart sniffing, all topped off with endless verbal humiliation from Brad and prostrating self-debasement from Tommy. Never above the waist (except Brad's abs that one time).
Tommy was now chauffeuring Brad in Brad's car off campus to Virginia for the summer. Tommy had told his mom he got this great internship there and was lucky enough to live rent-free with a friend who lives in the area. Tommy was an only child, and his mom was all by herself, but Tommy's servitude to Brad was more important than his relationship with his own mother, the only real family Tommy had. In reality, Tommy's "internship" consisted of shifts at the mall. The direct deposits went into Brad's bank account. Brad didn't let Tommy get a 9-5 job because that would have kept Tommy out of the house too much, and Brad obviously wanted Tommy's mouth around to do more important jobs. Brad had enough spending money, so he didn't need Tommy to make more money, he just wanted to get off on taking whatever little that Tommy earned.
After getting a rest stop blowjob somewhere in West Virginia, Brad dozed off while Tommy continued to drive.
When they got home, Tommy dutifully unpacked the car, while Brad simply went upstairs to his room to get comfortable. Kyle wasn't home. No one else was, either. When Tommy was done carrying all the bags into Brad's room, he fell to his knees in front of Brad who had already stripped down to his bright blue boxer briefs, and Brad said, "You can put your stuff in the guest bedroom. At night, you'll close the door so my parents think you're sleeping in there, but you'll actually be sleeping in here, on the floor, at my feet. Every night, you kiss my feet to sleep. Every morning, you kiss them good morning. Got it, cunt?"
"Yes, Master Brad."
"Now start massaging my feet, you dumb faggot. I had a long drive." What a joke. Tommy had done all the driving, and Brad just sat there (and even got a blow job along the way), but still it was Brad's feet that needed to be pampered.
About 10 minutes into the massage interspersed with tongue bathing and lip kissing, Brad and Tommy could hear someone coming into the house. Brad made no motion to close his bedroom door, and Tommy dared not move. They could hear footsteps bounding up the stairs and before they knew it, in walked Brad's 16-year-old brother, Kyle.
Kyle, of course, had heard all about, and even seen photos and short videos, of this faggot Tommy worshipping his brother. So Kyle nonchalantly walked right by Brad's footstool, and high-fived his brother.
"Hi Brad, I guess you didn't waste any time getting started, huh?"
"There is no getting started. This piece of shit waits on me hand and foot 24/7."
Kyle took a seat on the desk chair. Tommy knew Brad had a high school brother, expected to be "shown off" to him this summer, and had been forced to prostrate himself before Brad countless times in the presence of Brad's harem of girls, but still to be performing his slave duties in the presence of a teenage boy (who also happened to be at least an inch shorter) was a bit jarring. Nonetheless, Tommy's eagerness to please (and fear of) Brad overrode his awkwardness performing in front of this new audience. Plus, this boy jock was very, very hot, a spitting image of Brad, more youthful and innocent looking, but still brimming with masculinity and cockiness.
Brad's sexy, deep voice boomed, "Now listen up, faggot. My brother Kyle is a straight jock, smart, popular, and related to me. You show respect toward me by showing equal respect toward him. He may be younger than you, but he is superior to you ... by a lot. And if you ever displease him, not only does he get to punish you as he sees fit, I'll punish you a second time just so the lesson sticks. How does that all sound, fag?"
"Wonderful, exactly what I want, Master Brad, because it is what you want." Tommy then turned to Kyle whose jaw sort of dropped. "Greetings, Master Kyle." Tommy then bowed down to kiss the tops of Kyle's sexy mesh fabric Nikes. Kyle got those shoes after soccer season and wore them all the time now. "I am so honored to have the chance to serve you all summer the way I have been serving your stud brother."
Kyle laughed nervously. "Um, ok. Haha. Don't my shoes stink, man?"
Before Tommy could answer, Brad jumped in, "Whoa! What did I tell you, Kyle? This shitface loves it. He loves my stink. He loves everything about me. You're my brother, you look like me, so he is going to love everything about you. And don't call him 'man'. He is no man. He is a faggot, a bitch, a dumbass, a cocksucker, a cunt. Those are his names. You got that, Kyle?" Tommy, for his part, had moved off of Kyle's shoes back to Brad's size 13 bare feet. Tommy exerted extra effort to make it clear to both Brad and Kyle that he was not going to diminish his worship one iota. In fact, so as not to embarrass Brad, Tommy increased the fervor of his worship of Brad's feet for Kyle's eyes.
"I guess. But I still don't know about letting him suck my cock. I mean, he's not even feminine or nerdy looking. He looks like he plays sports. He could be on the soccer team even. If he sucks my cock, it's like he's my boyfriend or something. That's just weird."
"It's all for the better, dude. Who wants a fugly sucking our cocks? This decent looking guy debasing himself in front of me gets me off even more. But look, we can work our way up to that. You can start with his mouth on your feet which you've never experienced before. Your feet are gonna love it. Probably improve your soccer, too!"
"Ha, bro, you really do get your way on everything, don't you?"
"Yes, and you need to play your part by showing Tommy what to do, where everything is, around the house ... and strategically time things for when Mom and Dad aren't home. What Tommy did for me at school on the weekends, he now gets to do every weekday, when Mom and Dad aren't here. So that includes breakfast in bed, morning worship, then he runs errands for us including getting us lunch, then he goes to work at the mall, and eats lunch and dinner by himself there. I don't want him eating dinner with our family; he's useless there, and I have to pretend he's a human being in front of Mom and Dad. I'll just tell Mom and Dad Tommy has the late shifts. Anyway, only after our family dinner is Tommy allowed to come back, then for the rest of the evening do whatever the fuck I order him to do. And then the next morning, it starts all over again. So you show him where everything is. If he fucks up, I'll fuck him up, and then maybe I'll mess you up, too."
"Brad!" Kyle whined. "You're embarrassing me in front of the faggot!"
"Nah, whatever. He knows that how I treat you has nothing to do with how he had better treat you. I'm not gonna worry about anyone's feelings, even yours. I say and do whatever I feel like. You're lucky I don't make you do more while the fag's at the mall; on second thought, I just might ...."
Kyle rolled his eyes. "Fine, Brad, whatever."
"All right, you two, get the fuck out. I'm going to the gym."
Kyle got up, so did Tommy, and then went into Kyle's room. Tommy thought Kyle was very hot, for sure, but he was a minor after all, 3 years younger, over an inch shorter, and Tommy didn't feel "sub" to Kyle the way he felt to Brad. So even though Brad had commanded him to treat Kyle exactly how he treated Brad, he was still unsure.
"So, Kyle, you play soccer, too? I used to play tennis. I mean, I still play tennis, but I'm not on a team anymore."
"Yeah?" Kyle replied. "Cool. So my brother can be a real asshole, huh?"
"Huh? Oh, um, yeah, for sure. But he's such a stud and gets whatever he wants, so...I just sort of go with it."
Kyle kicked off his sneakers and hopped on his bed. Tommy's gaze shifted to those really cool looking gray mesh fabric Nikes. A really delicious smell was starting to waft toward his nose. Somehow, since Kyle already knew his secret, Tommy didn't conceal his queer efforts to breathe the air in hard. Kyle raised an eyebrow at this development. It's as if something clicked for both of them. What was to come imminently was inevitable, and both knew it. There was no time for Kyle and Tommy to be "friends". One was a straight soccer jock stud; the other was a desperate cocksucking foot-fetish faggot. There was only one dynamic that could exist between them, and it sure as hell wasn't going to be as friends.
Kyle broke Tommy out of his trance: "You wanna smell those sneakers, Tommy? I'll let you. Go ahead."
As usual, Tommy's DNA took over, and he sat down on the floor and lifted one shoe to his face and breathed in the warm, wet aroma that could only come out of a jock's shoe. Tommy got hard again instantly.
"You like that ... faggot?" The words were starting to come to Kyle. Remember, Kyle always did his own homework (he never had me do any of it), not like Brad who delegated schoolwork to Tommy. So Kyle was smarter than Brad. His brain works faster. Whereas Brad was one-dimensional mean, Kyle was a more sophisticated tease and torturer.
"Yeah, I do."
"You can do better than that, fag."
"I really like the smell of your sneakers, Kyle."
"That how you address my brother, bitch?"
"No, no, MASTER Kyle."
"Why don't you put that shoe down and get more of the real thing, huh, homo?"
"Absolutely, sir!" Tommy threw the shoe down and scurried to bury his face in Kyle's warm socked feet. A variant of the smell of Brad's feet, less pungent, more youthful. A strong musk versus a dominating stench. (Post-soccer, Kyle's feet would have reeked far worse.) Tommy's mind and heart was already shifting from distancing himself to falling in love with this 16-year-old jock. All it took was getting up close and personal with Kyle's feet. The inhibitions fell away faster than even Tommy could have anticipated. Tommy was getting the chance to explore another Peterson stud from square one. It was a dream come true.
Kyle, for his part, was also becoming comfortable with Tommy as his foot servant. Maybe it was because Brad told him to, or because he had seen Brad's video footage (with sound so he could hear all the nasty things Brad was barking at Tommy), or because Kyle as Brad's brother had a similar personality and mindset as Brad -- except Kyle would end up using it in even more twisted ways. With all those realities in place, Kyle was ready to unleash his inner Brad, and then some, on this faggot.
Tommy felt a soft kick to his forehead. "I said the real thing, you fuckin' dumbass. How are you gonna get the real thing with a sock in the way? God, you really are as stupid as Brad said. You fuckin' stupid faggot bitch cunt."
Tommy was stunned how quickly Kyle was twisting his mind. When Tommy was servicing Brad's feet, he never took the socks off until Brad gave him permission. He was pretty sure the rules were the same with Kyle (they were). But even though there was no way Tommy dared peel those socks off without permission, Kyle now used the fact that he didn't against him. A classic Catch-22 that this 16-year-old was clever enough to implement. A preview of just how smart and torturing Kyle had it in him to be.
For now, Tommy simply ripped Kyle's socks off and starting kissing the bare soles all over. These size 11s were smaller than Brad's size 13s, but structurally looked identical. Long toes, high arches, pointy toe joints, tufts of hair in exactly the right places. Beautiful. Tommy went to town deep smelling, licking, caressing and biting. Kyle was definitely enjoying it; as usual, Brad was right.
"What do you say to my feet, faggot?"
"Oh, Master Kyle's feet. I am so, so happy to be getting to worship you. You smell incredible and look perfect. I want to devote the rest of this summer making out with you, making mouth love to you, and maximizing your pleasure, oh divine Master Kyle's feet!"
"Shut the fuck up, fag."
TO BE CONTINUED . . .