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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 2
"Shut the fuck up, fag."
I am a very intuitive person. I knew full well that Kyle telling me to shut up even though he had previously told me to heap verbal praise and gratitude onto him was not a matter to debate with him. He was being arbitrary and unfair because he knew he could be. At the same time, I knew, and Kyle expected me to know, that I was to continue glorifying him verbally even if his retort to me every time was a variation of "Shut the fuck up, fag."
More importantly, I felt myself lunging to remove Kyle's now crusty, off-white ankle socks. Kyle had uncrossed his ankles and now his feet were simply jutting forward in all their glory. Before I could put my hands on his bare feet, Kyle issued his next command: "Take that right sock in your hand and let's hear what you have to say to it."
"To it?" I thought to myself. I guess I was going to start talking directly to Kyle's clothing now. Another mental check in my head to remember to do affirmatively and voluntarily in the future.
"Kyle's sock," I said, "Thank you for being worn by such a stud as Master Kyle. Because you were worn by Master Kyle, you are automatically worth a hundred times more than my entire existence. I love you, Master Kyle's sock, because you were worn by Master Kyle all day long and carry his scent and sweat on you. You, like the total god that wore you, are perfect." Although Kyle had not given me permission to do so, I decided to take a chance and put the sock to my nose, inhaling deeply. I was now leaking pre.
"Now kiss it bitch."
Again, I was intuitive and knew what he wanted. Not just a couple of dry smooches, but a full-on worship mini-session devoted to this divine article of clothing. I dove in, as if the rest of the world did not exist, and lavished mouth love on Kyle's right sock. There was French kissing, there was caressing, there was nibbling. Every thirty seconds or so, I would pause and thank the sock some more, "Thank you, Master Kyle's sock, for letting me kiss you. It is such an honor."
Kyle wanted to draw this out, and I was going to let him. One might wonder why I so quickly and unabashedly jumped into this mindset. I think because it was Kyle, and because my fantasies had resembled this kind of interaction with him for years. When you have this much pent up lust and, frankly, love for someone, even the idea of someone, you just sort of go for it. After all, Kyle already knew the core of my secret. Throwing caution to the wind didn't seem like a far next step at all. And debasing myself before him just seemed right. Yes, he commanded it, but I so willingly complied because I wanted it, too. This wasn't about being gay, though of course that is a part of it. Rather, this was about how much I wanted him and only him. He couldn't have done this with some random homo, and I wouldn't have done this with anyone else even if they were on the boys' varsity soccer team. This, and precisely this, felt so natural, like I was meant to do it, like my mind and heart had been practicing to do it all this time.
Kyle sighed, "Now turn that sock inside out and suck on it." I immediately complied. Kyle continued, "Too bad I showered after practice so that sock is not at its maximum level of deliciousness for you. But I kept wearing the socks I wore at practice 'cause I knew you'd be pretty much where you are right now within 30 minutes of entering my room."
"Thank you, Master Kyle," I cooed. "Your thoughtfulness and brilliance have no equal." I then went back to sucking the juices out of Kyle's one sock. The thought that next time, I might get to taste the sock right off of Kyle's unwashed soccer practice or game feet cause another ample serving of pre-jizz to dribble out of my rock hard dick.
"Ready for my bare feet, faggot?"
I nodded hungrily, "Yes, Master, I have been waiting my whole life for this moment." But I did have another thought. How did I go so fast from hand massaging his socked feet to having not a shadow of a doubt in my mind that my mouth was imminently going to be the tool of service for Master Kyle's feet? Oh right, because my mouth did not hesitate one second to chew all over Kyle's sock. Mouth, hand, what's the difference, right?
"Here's what I want you to do. Now that you've sucked my sweat out of one sock, I want you to take the other sock, turn it inside out, stick it into your mouth, and then scoot your face to within in inch of my bare foot." I complied obediently. The salty sweet taste of the inside of the sock he had worn all day including at practice under the hot sun was driving me crazy.
I proceeded to stare at the bottom of Kyle's right foot close-up. Like the rest of him, his feet were beautiful. High arches and long toes. I couldn't see the veins from this position, but I knew from staring at the tops of his feet in flip flops before that there were bluish veins adding even more masculinity to his feet. And hairs on the toes, with the second toe ever so slightly longer than the big toe. And toes that were very jointed like you find on a lot of jock feet, with the joints angling more upward adding to toe length and sexiness. Must also improve athleticism or something. Being that close, my face could also feel the warmth radiating from them. I desperately wanted to kiss his feet.
I was about to get my wish. After a few minutes of my study session, he extended his foot into my mouth, pinched the sock in between his toes, and pulled it out. He started to say something, but in my eagerness to speak as he had instructed, I talked over him, "Master Kyle, I thoroughly enjoyed chewing your magnificent sock." What did I get for that? A swift kick in the face. Not terribly hard, but enough to know that the boss was displeased (or not, and he just felt like kicking me in the face), and that he would be making a habit of doing that.
"Don't fuckin' interrupt me, cunt." "Cunt." The word choice just kept getting better. Again, the fact that I was showing him respect while inadvertently interrupting him made no difference. All rules were going to be enforced, even if they're rules I had never heard of, and even if the rules can often contradict each other. I was going to be on the losing end every time.
And just like that, another kick to the face. "What the fuck are you waiting for, slut?" Again, totally arbitrary and unfair. Without his permission to actually plant my lips on his feet, I'm sure if I had done that, he would've foot slapped me for that violation. But then not doing it was still my fault for keeping him waiting.
For now, I put all that out of my mind because for the first time in my life, I was going to get to kiss Kyle Peterson's soccer stud feet. So I did. And did some more, and more still, making mouth love to the bottoms of both feet with wanton passion. As completely degrading and low as this was, I was having the time of my life. There's that DNA again. Of course I threw in the verbal praises with some frequency, but you probably get the point. For the next hour, I implemented every fantasy I ever had with respect to these feet: deep sniffing, licking, toe sucking, heel biting, tonguing in between the toes, toe jam eating, digging my teeth underneath his toenails, fitting large swaths of his foot and toes into my mouth. And every so often, he would kick me in the face, telling me I wasn't being verbal enough, or was being too repetitious with my worship style, that I needed to apply more pressure here or less pressure there, that I was a "dumb faggot who deserved to get foot slapped", etc. He also enjoyed using my head as a foot rest for whichever foot I was not then worshipping. If I got carried away with my worshipping, and his foot fell off my head, I would get foot slapped for that violation, and I would immediately apologize profusely to the foot that my faggot head had so clumsily dropped.
At about the half-hour mark, Kyle could sense I was probably gonna cum, and he said flatly, "By the way, bitch, if you ever cum in my presence without my permission, you are gonna be very, very sorry. A hard faggot delivers better service." He was right, of course. It was my duty to remain unsatisfied at all times while worshipping him, and that translates into more exciting, passionate and desperate service of him.
So entranced was I with his feet that I did not notice he had unbuttoned his shorts and was playing with himself. Once I realized, this brought a new level of excitement and anticipation into the equation. Was I actually gonna get to suck this stud's cock that first night? I soon got my answer.
"First text your parents to say you're at my house and you won't make curfew. Then take your clothes off, homo, and then pull my shorts and underwear off," Kyle ordered. "But don't you dare touch my cock." I did as told. My dick was not small, and I had ample size balls, but no doubt he would beat me in both departments. And he did. His cock was a magnificent 8-inch beauty. His balls were luscious, hairy orbs of baby-making machinery.
"Your pussy dick getting all wet for my manhood?" Kyle asked. He could see my dick was covered in pre-cum.
"Of course, Master." I replied. "I cannot wait to suck it, sir."
"Come here." I approached his cock, but he kicked me backward. "No, fucktard. Come put your face up against my feet." I did so, with sadness, not so much that I was gonna get kicked, but because I evidently had displeased him again. He kicked me in the face three times in succession, harder than before. "Who the fuck said you were gonna get to suck my dick, huh?" He added one more kick for good measure.
For the next five minutes, I apologized to him in every which manner, kissing and sucking his feet while I did so. My apologies were not just dry "sorrys" and "apologies". I repeatedly debased and degraded myself to evidence just how sincerely sorry I was. I called myself a "stupid, desperate queer" for ever presuming that "my faggot mouth" could be allowed to worship Kyle's "divine, drool-inducing cock." I was mid-sentence when he kicked me in the face again, which I took to be another way of saying, "Shut the fuck up, fag." So I did.
I think at this point, Kyle did not feel like drawing it out further. His plan tonight was to shoot his cum down my throat after a nice, long foot worship session. All the foot worshipping (by me) and humiliation (by him) had gotten even a stud like him very close. Plus, he was in control. If he wanted to cum now, he could. If he wanted to draw it out more, he could, too. Most importantly, Kyle was confident he had another two full years to explore his new power and torment and tease me mercilessly in a near infinite number of ways. But now, at this moment, his cock wanted release, and that was going to happen.
"Get up here, fag, and start sucking."
I obeyed.
I only was really "in control" for a couple of minutes before Kyle started fucking my face. While I was not at that point an experienced cocksucker (before Kyle, I had never sucked anyone), I had seen enough gay porn to know basically what to do and how to take it. I'm sure Kyle realized my inexperience and didn't push as far in as he could have. Even though he was still lying on his bed with gravity helping my head go down, my nose never touched his pubes that first time. Kyle would train me in the art of deep-throating soon enough; for now he just wanted a cum dump. For my part, there was no doubt that if Kyle was going to cum in my mouth, I was going to swallow every drop. (As I'm writing this, we are two weeks in since that first encounter, and just yesterday, we did this whole session that ended in me licking his cum out of a dog's food bowl, holding it in my mouth for 5 minutes while he flipped through ESPN with me on my knees and my back as his foot stool, then snapping his fingers for me to open my mouth to check whether his cum was still coating my tongue, then ordering me to swallow. See? Variety. More on that when I get to writing about that. First, back to that first session.)
Soon enough, Kyle proclaimed, "I'm gonna cum now, bitch."
And he did. I counted five main spurts, followed by shorter ones. Even that first time, I learned that Kyle's orgasms last a bit longer. Fifteen seconds into it, he was still shuddering and thrusting the last bits of his semen into my waiting stomach. And I was gonna keep my mouth firmly in place until he said or did otherwise. About a full minute after his first shot of cum, Kyle pushed my head away with his hand.
I was a quick learner. Looking directly at his cock, I said, "Thank you so much, Master Kyle's cock, for depositing your precious baby batter into my throat, which of course I swallowed gladly and appreciatively. You now know I have lusted after you, and your owner, for many years now, and to actually be here doing this is such a fulfillment of my deepest fantasies. I would only be so lucky if I got to do this again, hopefully all the time, if your owner Master Kyle would show me just enough mercy to use my mouth again for his sole pleasure whenever he wants to."
"Shut the fuck up, fag. And get the fuck out of my house."
TO BE CONTINUED...