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SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 14
Two vignettes from over the summer, followed by one from just the other day.
One, June 2018. Saturday late afternoon. Brad had just finished a workout, and Kyle had just finished a run. Tommy was rushing back after a double shift at the mall. Tommy knew the Petersons were away this weekend, which meant the bros had the whole house to themselves. This usually meant triple the work for Tommy -- both sexual and otherwise. When Tommy walked in, Brad and Tommy were playing X-box downstairs in the family room, socks on shoes off. Brad was also shirtless, with glistening muscular chest and abs on full display. Kyle had on a sexy tank-top. Both had on Under Armour soccer shorts. Tommy fell to his knees.
"What the fuck took you so long, bitch?" Brad barked but not taking his eyes off the screen.
"I'm sorry, Master," Tommy replied, and started slapping himself in the face without being prompted to do so.
"Wrong, faggot!" Brad shouted. Even the self-debasing self-flagellation was wrong. "You didn't answer my question!"
Momentarily pausing the slapping, Tommy answered, "I ... my shift didn't end until 4. I got back as fast as I possibly could, Master."
Even though Tommy had said nothing of the sort, Brad continued, "So you're saying it's my fault, you stupid faggot?"
"No, of course not, Master Brad. I am happy to work long hours at the mall and give you all my earnings, sir. And I love coming home to you two studs lounging comfortably while my mouth goes to work. It's completely my fault for wanting to do both those things as best as I can. I'm really, really sorry, Master Brad."
Brad seemed satisfied, but Kyle wasn't finished. "Really, bitch? I don't believe you. You knew with our parents out, we'd be waiting here all day for you. Don't you think you should've tried to get out early? The fact that you didn't shows you would rather avoid servicing us. Isn't that right, homo?"
This was so unfair, for all sorts of reasons, but what could Tommy do. If Tommy had really asked his manager to let him out early, he could've been fired altogether, which would've cut off Brad's summer cash supplement. Plus, Tommy who now especially lusted after Kyle genuinely had no motivation to stay away from Brad and Kyle. To the contrary, he truly wanted to worship these two hot studs; he would've hung off Kyle's cock all day if Kyle would let him. But he also couldn't contradict Kyle, so he said, "Master Kyle, you're absolutely right, as always. I deserve to be punished for not thinking of a way to get back home earlier. My lack of thoughtfulness proves my lack of devotion to the two of you, my Masters. I am so, so sorry."
Kyle paused the game and stood up. "Go beg for forgiveness at Brad's feet." Tommy immediately crawled over to the stinky, sweaty, crusty post-workout socks of the 19-year-old jock stud, and began sucking the fabric. Tommy thought he was getting off easy until he felt a hard whack against his butt. Kyle had grabbed one of Brad's leather belts and was now spanking Tommy with it. With each whack, Tommy's foot worship would be disrupted.
So it was Brad's turn to jump back in. "Yo, faggot. This is terrible foot worship. Kyle, I think you need to hit the fag harder." And so Kyle did. It was a vicious cycle. The harder Kyle hit, the more difficult it was for Tommy to service Brad's feet properly, and the more Brad would then tell Kyle to hit Tommy harder. Tommy also had to keep spewing out verbal apologies between his mouth-work and Kyle's belt whipping. A lose-lose-lose yet again for poor Tommy. After about 10 minutes of this treatment, Kyle sat back down and resumed the game, while Tommy kept going with the kissing. (A "Shut the fuck up, fag" got him to stop apologizing, as the bros had tired of hearing Tommy's fag voice.)
"Socks off, faggot."
So onto Brad's size 13 bare beauties. Post-workout, the stench was potent, and Tommy lost himself in those feet.
"So Kyle," Brad turned to his little brother. "This queer blow you yet?"
"No, but he's eaten my cum a few times already, haven't you, fag?"
Before Tommy could respond, Brad jumped back in. "That's not good enough, bro. I want the faggot to give you a blowjob. What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I still don't know if I want a dude anywhere near my cock." In the world of nifty stories, we sometimes imagine that straight dudes let homos suck them off without hesitation, to fulfill a story fantasy. But there are plenty of straight masters out there who let faggots worship their feet but never, ever even let their dicks come out. That's sort of where Kyle was in his own evolution. His horniness had caused him to whip his dick out in Tommy's presence so he could cum to the pleasurable sensation of foot worship, but a fag's mouth directly on his dick? Kyle wasn't ready yet to cross that line.
But Brad did not relent. "Sure you do. It feels amazing, better than any chick. If I love it so much, you will, too."
Kyle fell silent, then finally replied, "Well, maybe when you're not here watching ...."
"Fuck that. You either let him blow you right now, or I make you massage my feet."
Well, that was new. As shitty as Brad sometimes treated Kyle, he had never threatened Kyle with actually performing some service on Brad's body. Even that incident with Brad's sock mashed into Kyle's face didn't require Kyle to actually do anything. Now, with this new threat, Kyle had no choice but to go with Option A. His own horniness + his scary older brother overrode his straight instincts. "Fine, Brad, God! You can be so annoying sometimes. Fine, let the faggot give me head."
Tommy, for his part, had been looking forward to this moment for a few weeks now. Kyle stood up, gave him permission to take his soccer shorts off, and once that was done, Tommy was on his knees facing Kyle's naked crotch. A juicy piece of teen meat hung tantalizingly. Tommy immediately nuzzled his face into Kyle's crotch, sniffing all around like a pig searching for truffles. 16 year olds get hard easily, and Tommy's lips and tongue skillfully got Kyle hard in less than 2 minutes. Tommy then licked up and down Kyle's shift several times before suddenly wrapping his entire mouth over seven of Kyle's eight inches.
Kyle gasped. No girl had ever fit that much of his cock in their mouth. "Fuck!" Kyle exclaimed. But Tommy wasn't done yet. True deep-throaters know how to get that last inch in by opening their throat at the right angle, and Brad had trained him well. In no time, Tommy's nose was directly up against Kyle's pubes. And then Tommy went to town. He slid his tight lips and tongue up and down the entire length of Kyle's shaft, but Tommy went further, applying every single lesson Brad had taught him over the past 7 months. This meant impeccable tongue work and variety. It also meant that he lengthened the time his nose hit Kyle's pubes during each thrust. This prolonged the deep-throating sensation, maximizing the pleasure of the blowjob recipient. So it was tongue at the head, slide mouth over 8 inches of cock, open throat to let the tip of the stud's cock in and feel the back of the fag's throat, and then forcefully push and grind the entire head into Kyle's pubes. Each time Tommy did this, he could feel the tip of Kyle's rock hard dick scratching the back of his throat. The more the friction in that area, the more Tommy knew he was doing it correctly. (Initially with Brad, when Tommy was having trouble with this self-throat-rape, Brad stuck his fingers own Tommy's throat to open it up, screaming at him to get it right, slapping and kicking him for letting his Master down.)
You can imagine how quickly Kyle cum with this level of pleasure he had never felt before. Brad was cheering in the background, "Yeah, take down my baby bro's jizz, you faggot bitch! You worthless piece of shit cocksucker!" Tommy's expert cocksucking skills were by no means "worthless", but that's how Brad and Kyle excelled at degrading their servant. When Kyle told me this vignette, he made a point of saying my cocksucking skills were nowhere near Tommy's, and that part of the reason for our Thanksgiving get-together was so I can get a few more pointers from Tommy.
Meanwhile, Tommy's only regret was that direct throat deposits of sperm meant he couldn't taste its flavor as much. So he was already thinking of ways to get more of Kyle's cum straight from the tap in the future. What he could taste, however, was perfect. Sweet, teen cream.
Brad turned to Kyle and said, "Told ya, dummy." Kyle couldn't disagree because he couldn't contradict Brad, but he also came to terms that Brad was right. He'd always be into girls, strictly, but no high school girl was going to give head like this, especially in exchange for absolutely nothing in return. All his hesitations about this being too "gay" therefore melted away. Kyle's sexuality did not and could not change. Straight means straight, at least with the Peterson brothers. But sexual preference does not need to match sexual activity, and the quality of the activity -- when performed by a skilled, shameless faggot -- can be high enough to override the fact that the faggot is a dude.
This vignette ended with Brad getting up off the couch, pulling Tommy's mouth off Kyle's cock, and ramming his own cock in its place. Both brothers would each get one more full blowjob that night, followed by two more loads each the next day before their parents came home, blissfully unaware of what their sons were doing to their "friend".
. . .
Next vignette, July 2018. Brad was really horny. His supply of chicks was lower than on campus because most of the girls who were his age spent the summer elsewhere. Blowjobs were fine, but Brad started thinking of something closer to warm pussy. He had fucked a few girls up the ass before, and he knew the sensation felt a lot more like pussy than a mouth.
So here's Tommy in his usual position making out with Brad's size 13 bare feet when Brad suddenly said, very matter-of-factly, "I'm gonna fuck you now, fag."
Tommy didn't know what to say, so he just kept Brad's toes in his mouth.
"Get up on my bed, on your knees, and bend over." Brad wanted doggy style.
Tommy had been fucked before a few times, but never by any cock the size of Brad's. Nonetheless, after a "Yes, Master," Tommy proceeded to climb onto Brad's bed and get into position.
Brad took his underwear off, spit on his hard cock, then spit onto Tommy's hole, then Brad inserted the tip of his cock into Tommy's anus. Tommy wanted to scream, but he kept quiet. Within a minute, Brad was sliding the entire length of his cock into Tommy. Tight, warm, juicy, just like Brad had been missing. Brad closed his eyes and thought about fucking some hot chick. Tommy closed his eyes and thought about inhaling Kyle's stinky feet. Soon the pounding on his ass didn't feel so bad, either.
Brad desired to finish in Tommy's ass to get the full feeling of fuck completion. So he did. He shot his load right up Tommy's ass. Brad's pent up horniness had been satisfied, and that's all that mattered. Once Brad was spent, he pulled out and with one hand shoved Tommy's whole body right off his bed. Tommy landed hard on the floor.
"Stick your finger up your hole and scoop out my cum, bitch, and you know what to do with it." Tommy sure did, eating Brad's cum with gusto. Two minutes later, Brad commanded, "Now get back to worshipping my feet, cum breath." With his whole body aching, Tommy nonetheless had to exert his whole being into worshipping Brad. Within 5 minutes, Brad dozed off, and Tommy backed off. He went into the bathroom, started running the shower, then burst into tears. Tommy cried very hard during that shower. He was being so mistreated, and yet he wanted more from these two hot-as-hell brothers. Why was he born this way? These thoughts drove Tommy to sob. After the shower, Tommy went into the guest room and himself fell asleep. An hour later, he woke up to Kyle straddling him with his hard cock pressed against Tommy's lips. "Wakey, wakey, faggot." It was time for Tommy to go to work again.
. . .
Third vignette, November 2018. The soccer season was now over. Our school's team did not advance in the county "playoffs". Kyle was pretty much in a foul mood all the time, including at the diner (the same diner where it all started) last Friday, November 16. Like my dad told me how his dad used to "take it out on him" when he had a bad day at work or something. Kyle was basically my daddy, and this month he was definitely taking it out on me.
So at the diner was a group of us, including members of the varsity soccer team.
One of the forwards, Nick, said to Kyle, "Man, what a tough loss."
Kyle muttered annoyedly, "Yeah, when I'm captain next season, we'll do much better."
I decided to jump in in agreement, "For sure, Kyle. You're gonna be a great captain."
"Shut the fuck up, fag."
I looked at Kyle, and Kyle looked at me. Nick broke the silence, "Hey, Kyle, you really shouldn't use that word."
Kyle doubled down, "Nah, we're just kidding around, right fag?"
Somehow I knew I had better answer the way Kyle wanted me to, so I said, "Yeah, Kyle, it's ok."
Nick, though, was confused. "Wait, what? But you're not gay, right Connor?"
Kyle snickered, but I replied, "No, no, I'm not. Like Kyle said, he's just playing around."
Kyle snickered again. "Yeah, fag, I'm just playing around." But he said it in a way that sounded like he wasn't playing around at all, that he was calling me what I was, calling me by my name.
I swallowed hard, and thankfully Nick rolled his eyes and dropped it.
When we got back to Kyle's place and up in his bedroom (he kicked his shoes off downstairs and now was in his day's old ankle socks), he immediately shoved me against the wall and punched me in the stomach multiple times. "Don't you dare embarrass me like that again, you fuckin' faggot piece of shit!" With each word, his voice got louder. I wondered if his parents could hear us.
"I'm sorry, Master," I said after the punching stopped. Recklessly, I added, "But I don't know how I embarrassed you, sir."
Kyle immediately gave my face the back of his hand.
"What the fuck did you say, faggot?"
I dared not repeat myself, so Kyle used his other hand to slap the other side of my face.
"Since you're so stupid to figure it out, let me explain it to you. You made things weird between me and Nick. All because you're a faggot."
Now, this made absolutely no sense, since all I did was compliment Kyle (which I did all the time, even in public), and Kyle decided to blow our cover and call me a "fag". Surely, he did not expect me to come out to the world right then and there (he had never told me he wanted me to do that), so naturally I deflected as best I could, while being as nice and deferential to Kyle as I possibly could. Sure, Nick and Kyle might have had an awkward moment, but one, how was Kyle "embarrassed", and two, how was that my fault?
But apologize I did, crawling to Kyle's socked feet and caressing them, apologizing and praying to my God over and over and over again.
Kyle continued, "If you weren't actually a fag, I wouldn't have called you one. So it's your fault for being a fag, you got it now, FAG?"
Not really, but I immediately cooed, "Oh yes, Master Kyle. You are totally right. I am to blame for being gay. I am to blame for not having come out already, so you can call me a fag in public whenever you want. I am to blame for being at the diner tonight. I am to blame for speaking out of turn. I am to blame for having a whiny fag voice that soured your mood even more. I should've known exactly how to make your mood better, my God, and I failed completely. Please take out your bad mood completely on me. I deserve it, my one-and-only Master."
Kyle kicked me in the face. "Peel those socks off, and get that washcloth mouth onto my bare feet, you stupid, stupid, stupid fuckin' faggot."
"Yes, Master Kyle."
As I stuck out my tongue to lick Kyle's sole, Brad said, "Just wait 'til next week, fag. You need a real education, and Brad's gonna show you the way. And you're gonna beg for it, too." My heart raced, as it had been ever since Kyle first told me about Brad and Tommy, and I was filled with a mixture of lust, fear, and anticipation.
TO BE CONTINUED ...