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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, college, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 15
The Tuesday morning before Thanksgiving. Got a text from Kyle as I was getting ready for school. "B at home at 3, u fag fuck." Kyle seemed to be getting meaner over time, which was hard to believe since he was already so mean to me that first night. Now that soccer season was over, I usually could get home earlier, even on days when Kyle still ordered me to pick him up. I inferred from his command today that I didn't need to pick him up.
By 2:30 I was home awaiting Kyle. My mom was home today, but Kyle had long decided my parents weren't an issue. At 2:50 the doorbell rang. I guess Kyle assumed, correctly, that whatever time he said, I'd be ready well in advance. Before I could run down the stairs, I saw my mom heading toward the door, and then I heard, "Oh, hi Brad. What are you doing here?" Oh shit. What was he doing here? Brad and I had never hung out before, much less alone, so even my trusting mother must have found it strange.
"Hi Mrs. McGinnis. Yeah, Connor has to give me something for Kyle."
"Well, c'mon in then." I heard the front door close and then heavy footsteps bound up the stairs. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. Why was Brad here and not Kyle? Where was Kyle? Brad reached my room, closed the door, and looked at me. Now, mind you, Kyle had not shared the details with me about what he told Brad about me, and Brad had not seen me, much less alone, since the time I assume Brad first found out that I was Kyle's fag bitch, the one Kyle told Brad on the phone was "keeping him company" during that first servitude sleep-over weekend seemingly a lifetime ago.
I looked back at Brad's hot face. He was so hot. Not as pretty as Kyle, but a more rugged, masculine, don't-you-dare-mess-with-me kind of hot. A kind of hot that maybe would have been too much for a high school kid, but now that Brad was a college man, this variety of hotness suited him perfectly. Brad's silent gaze at me was turning into a "What the fuck are you waiting for" look. A combination of lust, instinct and putting 2-and-2 together told me what I needed to do, and I dropped to my knees.
"Master Brad, it is an honor to be on my knees before you. How may I be of service to you, Master, so that you can feel more comfort and pleasure."
Brad walked over to me and slapped me hard in the face. "It's about damn time, cunt." Deep, booming, sexy voice. I was already on my knees and they still felt weak.
Brad took off his college soccer varsity jacket and threw it onto my chair. He was wearing a black cashmere sweater and jeans. Then he, still with his shoes on, jumped onto my bed. I pivoted my kneeling body to face him. "Oh, and don't call me 'Master'. That's what you call my little brother. You call me by only one name: 'God.' That's how far superior I am to you. And since you are lucky enough to see me only once in a while, I am your God who appears in the flesh only when you're really, really lucky. I told Kyle that you're not to call him 'God' ever again, since I will be your only God. And if you do, he is to punish you severely. Kyle wasn't too happy about that, but I call the shots. Got all that, fucktard?"
"Yes, God." I instantly answered.
He looked at his phone and said, "G."
What? I thought to myself, but dared not ask God what he meant. Then it hit me, Kyle's remote control. Letter "G" is "Bury nose in between Kyle's toes". Well, obviously I was to substitute Brad for Kyle in this scenario. More interestingly, Brad wasted no time wanting me to go straight to his bare feet. Bare feet are most relaxed, naturally. I wasn't complaining. I had never had the thrill of implanting my face underneath size 13 feet. And so I quickly untied Brad's funky New Balance treads. But before I could pull them off, Brad ordered me to use my head as the object to remove his shoes, as a way to further degrade me. Of course I complied and fixed my head perfectly still in the right position, so that Brad could dig the lip of the back of his shoe into the back of my head and pull his foot out. The shoe hit me in the cheek as it fell off, while the bottom of his sweaty socked feet naturally wiped the front of my face from forehead to nose to lips to chin. He repeated the process with his other sneaker and ordered me to place both sneakers neatly on the floor.
The room instantly filled with Brad's foot aroma. When I placed my face back into position, Brad extended his socked foot right over my nose and I was in heaven. It was the smell of Kyle's athletic feet but that much more rancid and wet. But I knew better than to linger. Letter "G" was about bare feet, and I had to hurry. So I removed Brad's black no-show Dri-fit socks and stuffed them in Brad's sneakers to preserve their magical fragrance. I knew my nose had to equally rapidly bury itself in Brad's bare toes, but I had to take a moment, just a lustful moment, to stare in awe at Brad's magnificent jock feet in all its splendor. Beautiful, long toes. High arches. Even though Brad's feet were obviously lengthier than Kyle's, they were also wider, completely obstructing my line of sight. Size 13, baby!
Brad mercifully let me linger a bit, but a modest but firm "tap tap" by his big toe and second toe against my cheek reminded me that time was up. Like a battering ram, my nose crashed itself into that oh-so-sexy crevice between the toes and ball of Brad Peterson's bare right foot. To show my appreciation and adoration, I breathed hard, steel-like hard, over and over again, probably harder than I had ever before, which is difficult to imagine given my prior experiences with Kyle. But there was something uniquely divine about Brad. Even as I was Kyle's servant, he was still my friend of many years, someone who, if he were gay, possibly could have been my boyfriend. But the manhood and masculinity of this college stud Brad was so potent, so pronounced, that you couldn't even imagine him ever being gay. Which meant Brad was in all respects truly and utterly out of my league. He was truly a God to be worshipped, not a crush to be desired.
I was about to verbalize my gratitude to God, when God spoke first: "You like that, faggot?" So simple, so direct, and yet able to get my cock to throb with extra intensity. So perfectly taunting and teasing. And of course it included my favorite word on earth, "faggot".
I answered, "Oh my God, yes, God. I am already falling in love with the incredible, intoxicating smell of your gorgeous bare feet." A reality check: anyone but a fag would find the smell of Brad's feet totally nasty and disgusting, rank and putrid.
"How do they compare to Kyle's, huh, fag?"
Fuck, if I said his were more magnificent, that would mean Kyle's were less so. But in the few minutes of my education with Brad, I had already learned that Brad was king. Brad wouldn't care if I disrespected his brother if it was for the purpose of making Brad happy. Don't get me wrong. Kyle was still Brad's flesh and blood, so would always be infinitely superior to me. And other than to inflate Brad's ego, I of course was never to cast any negativity on Kyle, because that would have been an indirect offense to Brad. But Brad vs. Kyle head-to-head, I knew that my answer was to put Brad ahead of Kyle, every single time. After all, Brad was God.
At the same time, I didn't want to just say Brad's feet were better and leave it that. No, can't take the easy way out with one of the Peterson brothers. So I responded, "Oh, God, everything about you and Master Kyle are already so perfect. But nothing compares to you, God. Nothing and no one. Your feet are larger, smellier, sweatier, and yes, even more beautiful than Master Kyle's. I hate to admit it, but yes, since you are God, everything on your body is the prototype for mankind."
Even Brad had to guffaw at that. "Fuck, bitch, Kyle's trained your mouth well, I mean, not just for sucking but you're a pretty good talker. My fag Tommy doesn't come up with responses that clever, plus he stutters like a retard, so I usually just tell him to shut the fuck up. But you, well, we'll see. Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves. You're still a fag. Your mouth is still much more useful for sucking than talking. In fact, do H to N, fag." H-L was sucking all the toes, M was "Tongue in between each toe", and N was "Lick foot from heel to toes". So again, Brad was wasting no time. He basically wanted a foot bath using my lips and tongue. And so I obediently but zealously went to work. I wanted to show Brad just how much I wanted to please him. Even though I was expecting Kyle to show up at my house today, and even though my mind hadn't had nearly enough time to process my new servitude to Brad, my DNA was on overdrive. My homosexuality and submissiveness slid seamlessly into Brad's alpha straightness.
I was tonguing the crusty jam out of the crevice between the fourth and pinky toes on Brad's left foot when he said, "So, homo, you wondering why I'm here today?"
My response: "No, God. I am such a dumbass faggot that I could not even begin to guess at your divine wisdom, my God whom I adore and fear so, so much." And then my mouth returned to its sucking and licking duties.
"Hmph, yeah that's right, queer. I'm here because Kyle's with Tommy right now. You remember Tommy, right? Sure you do. Kyle and I thought it would be fun to switch our fags. Tommy's like, totally in love with Kyle right now, like you. Something about him that just gets you fags get all wet. And you, well, you're getting to meet your God for the first time."
For whatever reason, I decided to respond in a somewhat contradictory way. It was my 100% truthful response though: "You make my pussy real wet, too, God." Then I went back to French kissing the bottoms of Brad's feet.
Brad liked my answer, "See, you do know what to say." (A rare compliment from Brad, to anyone. It made my heart well with pride. I also got the sense that Brad was not as brutal with me as he was with Tommy, someone his own age. It's like some traditional fathers who are much harder on their first-born son. Between Tommy and me, I guess I was the younger brother that Daddy didn't beat quite as frequently or quite as hard.) Brad continued, "But yeah, of course I get you wet, too. You're a brainless fruitcake. A fairy cocksucker."
I was on a roll, so I ventured, "God?"
"What, fag?"
"May you'll grant me the permission to sometimes call you 'Stud'? I know you are God, my one and only God, but I want to make sure I also refer to you as the object of everyone's desire. Because, because, you are just oozing sex, God."
Thankfully, Brad did not get mad. "Hmm... yeah, ok. You may occasionally address me as 'Stud' ... but only when we're alone."
"Oh thank you, God. Thank you, Stud. Thank you, so, so, so much." I screamed in between deep, sloppy kisses planted lustfully on Brad's size 13's. It didn't even matter to me that my Mom could've heard me from downstairs.
"Q, faggot." Uh oh. Letter "Q" was "Bring face close enough for Kyle to slap." Everything was going so well. But I instantly obeyed, moving my whole body up the bed so my face was in slapping reach. And Brad gave me four hard slaps, two to each face.
"That, faggot, so you don't forget your place. You don't get to take any liberties because you have no liberties. Every word your speak, every move you make, every breath you take, in my presence is only by the grace of God, and that God is me. Remember that, bitch ... or else."
"Yes, God."
"Ready for some God-cock, faggot?" There he went again. So simple, so direct, and my dick was leaking pre upon hearing those words.
"I would be the luckiest gay fuck on earth."
"X." Brad commanded. True to form, Brad was gonna get on with it. "Full blowjob" right off the bat. But there were still layers of clothing between my mouth and the object of its desire. But "X" meant I got to rip Brad's pants off right then and there, right? Oh, fuck it. If "G" meant I got to rip Brad's shoes and socks off, then "X" meant I got to rip his pants and underwear off. At least that's what I told myself. So I courageously reached for Brad's belt, undid it (Brad didn't stop me), yanked it off (Brad lifted himself slightly to help my efforts), then unbuttoned Brad's jeans. Next, in one fell swoop, I pulled both his jeans and underwear from the waist down.
With those articles of clothing out of the way, I scurried back up to behold what truly was a God-cock. (Yes, Brad's hairy legs deserve some mention, too, but you already can guess just how hot they look.) Back to Brad's cock. Still only semi-hard but I could already tell that it was going to be massive and veiny quite soon. And, here was something different.
A long foreskin, very long foreskin. I don't know why, but whereas Kyle was cut, Brad was uncut. This opened such a new world of possibilities for me. I knew what cock-cheese was (I myself am uncut), and when I peel back my own foreskin after a long day or first thing in the morning, I can usually see a thick build-up underneath. When I rub it, it sometimes collects as a flaky solid. When I bring it up to my nose, I can smell the pungent, cheese-like smell. (But fags rarely like their own excretions.) So the very first time I sucked Kyle's cock, I was looking forward to scarfing down his much more desirable cock-cheese. But then I saw he was cut, and well, cut cocks just don't collect any meaningful cock-cheese. Seeing Brad's foreskin, therefore, was making me very, very excited.
But the source of excitement was not merely in the knowledge that I would get to savor Brad's putrid cock curds. My search for porn and other gay "education" online had taught me how pleasurable the foreskin can be for a man. All those extra nerve endings. All that extra, well, skin. The idea that I could implement my now quite-practiced oral skills on my new "friend" (that friend, of course, being Brad's foreskin) to maximize Brad's pleasure was doubling my excitement.
As with his feet, Brad mercifully let me study his cock for a bit longer. He knew I would be excited since he obviously knew Kyle was cut. For my part, even though I would've loved to take my time and fully explore Brad's foreskin with my nose, lips and tongue, since Brad ordered "X", it was on me to perform that full blowjob without further ado. So I just went for it, wrapping my whole mouth over Brad's still-growing cock. Brad just sat back and had me do all the work.
A minute into the blowjob, I could feel Brad's foreskin start to peel back, revealing Brad's mushroom head. But I knew what was happening even more than by the texture, but by all that delicious goodness underneath Brad's foreskin now finding its way into the pores of my desperately waiting tongue. Wow. Every bit as amazing as I had anticipated. It was a flood of flavor that I had never, ever gotten from sucking anyone's cock. I lapped greedily at the source of that flavor bomb. Half of Brad's now fully-hard cock was now outside my mouth, both because I was concentrating so intensely on his cockhead, and also because Brad's cock was very long (and thick).
Suddenly, I felt Brad's hand push my head off.
"One second, bitch. I want you to look at my fully hard cock for a minute."
"Yes, God." I cooed breathlessly.
His cock was now lubricated fully with my saliva, foreskin peeled back, mushroom head protruding obscenely toward the ceiling.
"How long do you think it is, fag?"
I knew Kyle's was 8 inches, and I thought Kyle told me once he was as big as his big bro. But looking at it now, it looked bigger than anything I had ever sucked. But before I got in trouble for saying a number and then Brad had to go below that number, I went safe and said, "8 inches, God." I knew Brad had to be at least as long as Kyle ... and again, with considerably more girth.
"Hmph. Yeah, I see why you might guess that, but you see, I've actually grown by another half inch since college started. I measured myself the other day just before jizzing, and it was 8 and a 1/2 inches. What do you think of that, you stupid faggot?"
"I think I just died and went to heaven, Stud."
"Good. Now get back to it, and you can do better with the deep-throating, or I will make you, you piece of shit."
Oops. I was relishing his cock-cheese too much but realized that God naturally wanted his precious cockhead to feel the back of my throat. So I mustered all my cocksucking skills and learning and swallowed my new Second God (i.e., God's cock) with renewed effort. Eight and a half inches, especially at this more expansive diameter, was a lot of cock. It was sexy as hell and made my fag heart pound with lust, but physically, it was a lot of cock.
"Hmmm. We have to work on that, bitch. You are not as good a cocksucker as Tommy. You know I had to beat his skills into him -- like real beatings. You see that belt you just took off my jeans? It's one of five belts I routinely beat Tommy with, and then make him kiss and thank afterwards for teaching him the valuable lesson. I also make him apologize to my belts for having to make contact with his disgusting faggot body." With every word, my dick would lurch forward some more. Wow, Kyle's brutality was just a fraction of Brad's, and yet I can now see where Kyle gets some of his sadism. "You're lucky I don't plan on being so tough on you."
As afraid as I should have been and was of Brad's belt, I was intensely curious as to why, so I (again, very daringly) took Brad's cock out of my mouth to ask, "Why, God?"
Again, no punishment from Brad. Instead, he said nonchalantly, "Because variety is the spice of life. Plus, I want Tommy to be jealous of how I treat you. That'll only make him gayer for me. But I'll be sure to mention your shortcomings to Kyle, and he can deal with you as he sees fit."
"Thank you, God," I said as I went back to Brad's cock, trying as mightily as I could to fit as much of it as possible into my mouth. God-cock's head definitely hit the back of my throat at least two dozen times before it was all said and done, but my next goal is to sustain it, you know where the cocksucker massages the cockhead with his throat and rubs pubic hairs with his nose, over a prolonged period of time each time.
Up above, Master Brad started breathing harder and grunting, and then my head felt his hands take control, guiding it up and down and up and down, tip to base, tip to base. He was fucking my mouth, in a pure and unadulterated fashion. Yes, Kyle had done that to me many times, but I don't remember it ever being this strong and this raw.
"Uhhh, I'm close, you filthy HOMO QUEER FAG COCKSUCKING B-I--T---C----H!!!" And then IT came. Spurt after spurt of hot man-cum. In my throat, in my mouth, on my tongue, on my lips. A copious amount, all of which I sucked and swallowed. As I mentioned before, at least Tommy thought Kyle's cum tasted better, and I suppose that's true. Kyle who was still in high school had a more boyish tasting semen. Sweeter, fresher. And I guess I agreed with Tommy, but for me it wasn't so much a question of "better" as "different". Brad's cum was more complex tasting, with more saltiness and bitterness, more body and soul. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Poor brutalized Tommy was more appreciative of a kinder, gentler (however slightly) master with his sweeter, fresher cream. I, on the other hand, craved this new God who dangled fear in front of me without fully executing it, at least so long as I didn't cross him. And this more dangerous man with his more dangerous tasting cum brought a completely new dimension to my servitude.
Spent, Brad pulled my head by the hair off his deflating cock, then ordered me to put his clothes back on. I took particular care putting back on Brad's famous belt. Then the no-show cocks, which I put to my nose to whiff and my mouth to suck.
Brad saw me do that and said, "Greedy faggot. Let's go. Put my socks on."
Again, this kind of disobedience, had I been with Kyle, or Tommy with Brad, would've been met with instant harsh punishment. But remember when I said when I first started writing that I am an intuitive person? Brad said he wanted variety, so maybe I could provide that for him. Yes, that meant I was living even more dangerously close to the edge, but I also felt a thrill from this new dynamic.
When I finished tying the laces on Brad's stinky sneakers, he got up off my bed, put back on that oh-so-sexy varsity soccer jacket of his, and said, "We're heading to my house. We're not done for the day, not by a long shot."
When we got downstairs, Brad walked out the front door, while I ran to my mom to say where I was going and without answering her question whether I'd be home for dinner. I got into Brad's car and within minutes we were at his and Kyle's house.
Brad bounded up the stairs with me close behind him, and then Brad simply barged into Kyle's room. Kyle was standing up, completely naked, with his cock 100% in the mouth of an also completely naked Tommy who was on his knees. Brad kicked off his shoes and hopped on Kyle's bed. I quickly closed the door behind me. Kyle didn't stop thrusting his cock into his cocksucker's mouth, and Tommy didn't stop sucking like there was no tomorrow. Brad snapped his fingers at me and pointed to the ground beside the bed. I got to my knees and crawled to that spot.
Brad said, "You know, Kyle was so resistant to getting blowjobs from guys until I showed him the way. Now he gets them all the time, from you, from Tommy here, just like my baby brother should."
Kyle continued to pay his brother no attention, though I'm sure he was distracted by the sudden spectators. Still, a 16-year-old this close to ejaculation is laser focused on getting release. And a couple minutes later, Kyle grunted, "Take it, fag." And I witnessed Kyle pumping his own semen one spurt after the next into Tommy's waiting mouth. I had never seen Kyle climaxing from this vantage point, much less while he was in his birthday suit. Remember, I hadn't cum yet, so I was instantly hard as a rock again. No surprise there, either. The Peterson brothers long ago knew the rule about better service from fags: keep the fags raging hard for their superior studs. This Adonis shooting his delicious load down another rather attractive dude's throat was like a work of art come alive.
All of a sudden, I heard Brad clapping. "Good job, bro."
Kyle barely had time to gather himself when Brad said, "All right, Kyle, get dressed and leave the two fags with me for a bit. I'll text you when you can come back."
Yeah, Brad was in charge, no doubt about that. This was Kyle's room, and Kyle was still nude, while Brad was fully dressed. It would've been far easier for Brad, Tommy and me to leave and go into Brad's room, than for Brad to kick Kyle out of his own room. But Brad was showing his dominance over his whole harem. Kyle was no fag, of course, but he was Brad's deputy, and Brad was the big boss. And now, Brad wasn't even going to let Kyle stay to at least watch the very first time two fags serve a Peterson bro at the same time.
But no protest came from Kyle, as he knew better. He quickly got dressed, took his phone, and said, "See ya later," and left the room.
Tommy and I, both on his knees, looked at each other. The only other time I had seen him was over the summer at that backyard party. But we needed to exchange no words now. We instantly knew what the other was, fag subs, and that our primary sex organ for these soccer studs was our mouth. Then we both looked up at Brad, who was wearing the broadest grin I had ever seen on Brad's face.
Fuck.
TO BE CONTINUED ...