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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, college, feet>
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: This series is not for the faint of heart. There is brutality, homophobia, self-loathing, humiliation and abuse, on top of very intense sexual acts. But make no mistake: there is also consent -- always. The subs in this series want to be treated this way (and can choose to stop whenever). If I'm writing this correctly, readers should stay rock hard reading the descriptions and dialogue because the writing is intended to align with the fantasies of many of us. As much as the masters in this series are being mean to the point of sadistic, they are, at the end of the day, giving the subs (and I dare say, many of my readers) what the subs voluntarily crave. Needless to say, my intent is not to offend, though I am sure many would be offended reading this series. This series is not for those people. I can't take the narrative where I need to take it if I hold back on any of themes I've explored so far. My words are also not meant to be political (that is the word someone used in recent feedback to me), and definitely I do not endorse homophobia outside of this very specific, consensual context. There's a good write-up at footfraternityfilms.com/concerned.php about this topic. Over the years, I am sure the well-established proprietor of that website has received the type of feedback I'm addressing in this note, so the "debate" about the pros/cons of the themes I'm exploring is nothing new. In sum, to each his own: if you love reading this series, please continue; it you are offended by it, please stop!
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 20
So some of you have asked me to write more about the New Year's ski trip, so here goes. We all live in a town near Charlottesville, Virginia. That's about an hour away from Wintergreen Resort. Not the biggest mountain by any means, but you can't beat the proximity. Right after Christmas, Brad suddenly had the idea to do a ski trip there starting December 30 through January 4 -- five nights -- before he had to go back to school. And Tommy's credit card was gonna pay for it. In fact, the conversation went like this.
"Yo, fag, beg me to let you pay for our ski trip next weekend."
Since this came totally about of the blue, Tommy replied, "What ski trip?"
< SLAP >
"That how you speak to me, faggot?" Brad fumed.
Tommy cowered in fear. "I'm sorry, Master, I'm so sorry. Please, please, let me pay for your ski trip next weekend. Please let me spend the money I get from my parents for your enjoyment and pleasure. I am begging you. Even though I'm not worthy to worship you in this way, I would literally die if you didn't let me. Please, Master Brad. Please show me some mercy -- even though I don't deserve it -- and let me pay for ...."
"Shut the fuck up, fag." Tommy immediately stopped talking. "Yeah, so the dates are Wednesday through Monday. Go online and look up Wintergreen Resort. And don't fuck it up."
"Yes, Master." Tommy said as he moved his head forward to start kissing Brad's feet.
Brad kicked Tommy's face away. "Now, motherfucker. You a retard or something?"
So Tommy scurried off and looked up Wintergreen. Since it was so last minute and New Year's weekend was particularly expensive anyway, for five nights and the room quality Tommy was sure Brad expected him to get, Tommy was going to have to put several thousand dollars on his credit card and somehow incrementally pay it off from working and spending cash from his parents. There were hotels within a few minutes' drive from the slopes, but Tommy knew Brad would want ski-on, ski-off access. And Tommy knew exactly the kind of room Brad wanted: two-bedroom suite with one king bed in each room. Sighing, Tommy clicked "place order" on the room. Then it was time to buy the lift tickets for Brad and Kyle. Another several hundred dollars down the drain. Brad didn't tell Tommy to buy lift tickets, but it was Tommy's job to cover all bases. No way in hell Brad was gonna buy the tickets himself. Tommy even thought of driving to Wintergreen ahead of time to pick up the tickets so that Brad and Kyle wouldn't have to wait a second to get on the slopes, but Brad had Tommy doing so many chores (sexual and otherwise) that Tommy couldn't spare the 2 hours on the road.
Kyle then filled me in on the trip. I happily helped pack Kyle's clothes and gear, while Tommy did the same for Brad. It was also our job to be prepared: snacks, drinks, and groceries for at least the first couple of days since we knew we'd be cooking for our masters. The night before, Tommy and I loaded the Petersons' big SUV, while Brad and Kyle didn't lift a finger. In fact, when we came back in, Brad showed his "gratitude" by barking at us, "What took you fags so long? Get over here, fag 2, and suck my cock. Fag 1, peel off my socks and make out with my bare feet." After a while, Brad ordered me to join Tommy at his cock, so we could perform our double-mouth blowjob.
Brad said, "You know, fags, you really suck, and I don't just mean literally. Two mouths should equal double the pleasure for me, but I never feel double the pleasure. What the fuck, huh?" It was an impossible question, since pleasure on a man's cock doesn't just multiply that way. I started to answer, but Brad cut me off. "No, don't make it worse by speaking, bitch. I just want you to know just how incompetent and worthless you two are." Ironically, even as Brad said that, he moaned loudly and writhed in pleasure. No matter how good we made him feel, he was going to make us feel like useless losers.
Undaunted, Tommy and I redoubled our efforts, working every centimeter of Brad's truly beautiful 8.5 inches. As Brad's precum started to flow, I got even more excited. Brad's juices tasted so masculine, so rich. Our excitement translated into more licking, kissing and sucking deeply and worshipfully of Brad's rock hard pole. "F-u-c-k," Brad groaned in obvious pleasure and even let out a giggle. "You fags better do it better next time." Even Brad couldn't rebuke us in a serious tone at that point. Our mouths, lips, and tongue were making this jock stud just feel too good. Then the eruption of Brad's seed happened just as Tommy was at Brad's cockhead, and I was just above Brad's balls. So Tommy got to get the first taste of Brad's creamy baby batter. But months of training had taught Tommy not to swallow. Like we did that other time with Kyle's cum, Tommy and I were going to make out with Brad's cum -- with Brad watching. Once when Tommy accidentally swallowed some already, and Brad decided that the amount of cum left in Tommy's mouth was deficient, he made Tommy hold the remaining cum in his mouth for 20 minutes. Tommy was not allowed to swallow at all. Try not swallowing for even 5 minutes some time, even without cum in your mouth. But Tommy obeyed, and after Brad inspected Tommy's mouth after 20 minutes, he ordered, "Now swallow my juicy goodness, you piece of shit. And don't let your mistake happen again."
So as unscripted as sex is for normal people, Tommy and I always had a ton to remember to avoid making mistakes. It wasn't easy because sometimes the rules were inconsistent. But this one was clear: when Tommy and I were both blowing Brad, the initial cum dump is required to keep all of Brad's gift in his mouth. "Open," Brad ordered. Satisfied this time with the inspection, he said, "You know what to do, get to it." While we kept our faces near Brad's now softening cock, nuzzling and brushing against it like cats and dogs sometimes, we started French kissing. You sometimes hear that an ingredient is the star of the dish. Well, here Brad's cum was the star of our make out session. Tommy and I had even discussed it. When we were "kissing" Brad's or Kyle's cum, especially in their presence, we literally focused 100% on kissing the cum, not each other's lips. This rule also never let us forget that, when in Masters' presence, it was never about us, it was always about them. And so every few seconds, one of us would make sure to nurse Brad's cock in between kisses, while the other continued to swirl Brad's precious cum all over the roof, sides and everywhere else in our mouths, just totally savoring the flavor. And even when we weren't directly sucking Brad's cock, as I said, we nuzzle our cheeks in Brad's crotch while we made out. And yes, both Tommy and I were fully hard the entire time.
Another 10 minutes had passed before Brad commanded, "Enough, you stupid fags. Now swallow." We each swallowed hard, and then we were both met with swift kicks by Brad off his bed. "All right, we have a long day tomorrow, so both of you get to sleep now in my room." I guess Kyle wasn't getting off tonight -- at least not with one of his servants.
The next morning, bright and early, Brad and Kyle showered and were ready to leave. No time for breakfast in bed. We helped dress Brad and Kyle in their flashy snowboard outfits. (Lords in England used to have personal valets who helped put on their clothes, so did emperors in China. Yup, Brad and Kyle's status above Tommy and me were somewhere between a lord and an emperor.) Brad said, matter of factly, "We'll get our morning blowjobs in the car." "Yes, God," I quickly answered. (Speak when spoken to, of course.)
Even now, I would sneak glances at Brad and Kyle to check out the straight eye candy. Once in a while, they would punish me and say things like, "Don't look at me, fag. I ain't your boyfriend." But other times even when I was pretty sure they caught me, they didn't punish me. Even these small indicia of generosity completely overwhelmed my feelings for these two soccer and snowboard studs. Because their standard M.O. was to treat us like shit, whenever they gave us the tiniest niceness, we melted with gratitude. And so I let my eyes linger on Brad's face as we were getting ready to leave. He was so good-looking he was making my pussy wet. He really was the perfect mix of man and boy, and just entering his prime at 20 years old. (Brad had just turned 20 earlier in December. Tommy was still 19 and will turn 20 in the spring. Kyle was 16 but is turning 17 in February. I don't turn 17 until May.) As much as I got to suck his cock when he was around now, I suddenly felt like I wanted to suck his cock every waking moment. I wanted him so bad. Brad finally noticed me checking him out, lifted his eyebrow and his gaze at me hardened; that immediately snapped me out of my lustful trance.
With Tommy performing the driving duty, I was on double blow job duty. Brad took precedence, of course, and sat in the back with me. Kyle sat in the front-side passenger's seat. And off we went. Within 30 seconds, Brad ordered, "Fag 1, get me hard again, now." I lowered Brad's snowpants and Mack Weldon boxer briefs (red stripes today) and immediately started ingesting Brad's foreskin cock cheese, just how he (and I) liked it. "Take your time, fag," Brad ordered. Brad didn't care if Kyle got less time to use me; his needs were the ultimate priority. So once again, I pretended Brad's foreskin was my boyfriend's lips, and my mouth did everything to the nth degree that a mouth normally does with a lover's mouth. But I wasn't kissing a mouth, I was kissing foreskin on a cock, and also peeling it back and licking and sucking the area thoroughly, passionately, and seriously. One thing Brad liked before he got fully hard was for me to gently pull his foreskin out so that there was about a half-inch distance between the tip of the skin and the mushroom head. Then, with one hand still gently tugging at his precious foreskin, I would stick my tongue into that half-inch crevice as far down and wide as I could and lick zealously in that crevice, providing Brad additional pleasure in that divine region.
Today we hit a hiccup though. Since we were in a car, sometimes things got bumpy. Tommy must have hit a pothole or something, 'cause all of a sudden, my fingers slipped and I guess a fingernail accidentally pinched a piece of Brad's foreskin as my head was propelled upward. Well, one virtually imperceptible bit of pain to a part of Brad's magnificent cock caused by me was going to be multiplied exponentially as punishment. First, Brad shoves my head further off his body and slams it against the window next to my seat. Then he punches me hard right in the crotch. Not hard enough to do permanent damage, but hard enough to mean, "You give my cock anything but perfection, even if it isn't your fault, and I'll make your worthless gay dick feel real pain." Finally, Brad slaps me in the face at least 10 times on each cheek and shouts, "You clumsy faggot. Is that how you treat my God-cock?" Believe it or not, the pain I felt from disappointing Brad exceeded the physical pain from his punches and slaps. I could also here Kyle laughing in the front seat and chiming in, "Yeah, sorry Brad, he really is a clumsy cunt."
When I was sure Brad was done slapping me silly, I immediately dove back to his God-cock and apologized to him and it every which way til Sunday, alternating between caressing/licking/sucking/kissing and verbally saying every variation of "sorry" I could come up with. I also repeatedly called myself a stupid, clumsy faggot who didn't deserve to service and worship God-cock. (If you couldn't tell, I now addressed Brad's cock by its name, "God-cock".)
Soon enough, Brad's 8.5 inches were fully hard and throbbing, foreskin peeled back completely, and I could really go to town. And I did. Even though I was battered and bruised, my mission to make Brad feel good overrode everything else. Suddenly, Brad ordered, "Pull off at the next parking lot, fag 2." Tommy obeyed, and the car came to a stop in a (thankfully nearly empty) convenience store parking lot. My mouth did not leave Brad's cock for a second. So while anyone could have walked up to the car and seen us, I did not allow myself to get distracted. And just like the night before, Brad started moaning and groaning. Brad's sexy-as-fuck sex pleasure sounds always made me feel so good about myself. Soon I could sense the next batch of cum coming, and my mouth was ready, ingesting it all. Brad sighed contently, then pushed me off back to my side of the backseat. My neck ached from bending over, and everywhere else ached from being punched and slapped, but I still felt happy and just as importantly, appreciative toward this gorgeous jock stud who not only fed me his cock, but guided his younger brother into discovering me in the first place. Kyle was my main master, but without a Master Brad, there would not have been a Master Kyle.
Then Brad said, "You know what, Kyle? I change my mind. Now I want my feet massaged by fag 1 the rest of the way there. So I'm gonna stay back here. But you're lucky I'm feeling generous, little bro. Fag 2 can just bend over and give you a quick blow job. I'm setting my timer for five minutes; we're leaving after five minutes no matter what, so you better make it count."
Kyle didn't have time to thank Brad for his "generosity" and immediately slid his pants and 2xist boxer briefs (bright blue) down, then reached for Tommy's head and positioned its blowhole onto Kyle's already semi-hard cock. "Hurry the fuck up, faggot. We don't have all day." Meanwhile, Brad had kicked off his shoes (he was not wearing snowboard boots yet), pivoted his jock body around, and placed one socked foot on my lap and the other in the space around my head (i.e., on the top of the car headrest or on my shoulder so that his sole was right up against my face). Obviously Brad was not just going to sit around waiting 5 minutes for someone else.
"Socks off, fag 1," Brad ordered. I peeled the socks off. For once, everything smelled pretty fresh, these were clean socks and just-showered feet. But Brad's size 13s were his size 13s. Even without the usual stench, they still rocked my world. I proceeded to massage the foot in my lap. Brad then brushed his other foot against my cheek, or stuck the crevice between his toes and sole right onto my nose, or pried open my lips with his strong, hairy toes. His feet were so fuckin' beautiful. Kyle had a prettier face, but Brad had the more amazing feet. Size did matter, and while Kyle's were big especially for his age, Brad's at size 13 were just to die for. As often as I could, I would kiss or lick the foot on my face. Brad would tease me periodically, making his foot just out of my mouth's reach, then forcefully bringing it back to surprise me with a kick to the head. Each time, I thanked Brad's precious foot with complete sincerity for kicking my worthless head.
As for Kyle, having not cum this morning or last night, this almost-seventeen-year-old shot his load into Tommy's mouth in less than 4 minutes. Of course, Tommy's mouth certainly helped to accelerate things.
"Good job, you horny little fuck," Brad said. "All right, Tommy, chop chop. Get back on the road." With Kyle's cum still swimming in Tommy's mouth, Tommy immediately returned to the wheel and pulled out of the parking lot. Twenty minutes later, with me worshipping Brad's feet the entire time, we reached our destination.
I still had one of Brad's jock feet in my hands massaging them and the other one's toes in my mouth when Tommy pulled into the main Wintergreen parking lot. We weren't even half a day done yet with this 6-day trip of total servitude. I couldn't fuckin' wait.
TO BE CONTINUED ...