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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 31
It was a Friday night in mid-April. (I am fast-forwarding things a bit since the end of the soccer season in November 2019. Brad, Kyle, Tommy and I spent the holidays largely the same way as last year. And in January and February, my worship of Kyle largely followed what you've read about before, except we were waiting for our college acceptance letters -- more on that later. Then, just as Kyle was getting ready for senior year tennis season, COVID-19 happened. The season was suspended and soon thereafter, schools closed. Kyle and I now had our classes online, but that also meant while everyone else was social distancing, Kyle and I (who was already eating and drinking his bodily fluids all the time) got to spend even more time just with each other.)
Today was no different. I was on my knees in Kyle's bathroom. Kyle was taking a shit. I had a shirt and my underwear on, but my bare knees were pressed up against the cold, hard tile floor. I kept my head bowed, but made loud breathing noises (to show Kyle I was reveling in the smell of his shit) while waiting for Kyle's next command.
"Get over here, fag." Kyle ordered.
I immediately crawled toward the toilet in between Kyle's jock legs.
"Put my cock in your mouth."
I obeyed instantly, bending down, contorting myself, and wrapping my mouth around Kyle's soft 5-inch cock. Some a manificent piece of meat. So beautiful, so substantial. It's like it has a soul.
, as my dream of Kyle's cock-soul was interrupted by hearing another turd log hit the water. I was in an interesting position for sure. I couldn't quite keep my face upright, chin down; instead, my face was at a 45-degree angle, one cheek on Kyle's left thigh while the other was tilted toward the ceiling. My nose was buried somewhere near the left side of Kyle's washboard abs.
The whole room smelled like ass, although I wasn't sure whether I was breathing in the assy smell of the room or more the smell of ass itself given how physically close I was now to Kyle's actual anus. Meanwhile, I could feel Kyle's cock growing in my mouth as my nose momentarily lost contact with Kyle's abs before I made more room in my mouth to smoke Kyle's growing manhood. Not fully hard yet, the tip of Kyle's cock was already tickling my throat.
again, this time I could feel a simultaneous squirt of piss spray onto my tonsils, which of course I swallowed while taking care to wrap my teeth inside my lips at all times.
Not wanting to stay so hard, Kyle pushed me back with his bare naked right foot. "Suck my toes for a while, bitch."
Kyle then flipped through his phone for a few more minutes on the toilet while he finished his bowel movement with me cradling his right foot in my caressing hands and darting my tongue in and over every crevice of those soccer stud toes.
By now, you've read enough of my relationship with Kyle, going on two years, to know why I uttered the next words: "Mmmmm, Master Kyle, thank you so much for letting me breathe in your Godly turd stink. I am in love even with your waste, with your shit, Master."
Before I could greedily put Master Kyle's second (longest) right toe back into my sucking mouth, he extracted his strong foot out of my hands and kicked me square in the face, the back of my head hitting the wall hard with a thud.
"Shut the fuck up, fag. Who said you could talk?"
Of course, no one gave me permission to talk, but I wanted to give Kyle the opportunity to abuse me just as he did. His pretend "anger" was an adrenaline rush for him, an ego boost, and so I had long learned that I needed to volunteer myself to get "in trouble" on purpose so that I could make it easier for my Master to subject physical pain on me -- all to make Kyle happier and feel more superior. Often I could see Kyle's semi-hard cock stretch forward just a bit more when he slapped or kicked me, and even in my daze, I saw it just then. Even with the back of my head in real pain, I smiled to myself. My satisfaction from that little bit of extra sexual urge I just provided to Kyle by sacrificing my face and head far outweighed any physical pain.
At this point, Kyle usually either made me wipe his ass or made me lick his asshole clean. Today, he wiped his own ass, stating, "I have something else to feed you, faggot." Then he flushed the toilet. As he did that, I stared at his bare feet some more. Those high arches, those size 12's (yup, Kyle now had size 12 feet -- a full size increase from when I first started worshipping them when he was sixteen), those veins and tufts of hair on the tops of his feet, that sheer masculinity and power. I had them in my mouth all the time, and yet I could never get enough. I chewed on his crusty socks all the time, yet I could never get enough. I had a whole collection of his stinky socks and shoes in my room that I could (and did) make out with every night I got to sleep in my own bed, yet I could never get enough.
Anyway, we stayed in the bathroom. Guess it was time for my feeding. What could it be? Couldn't be cum since Kyle could feed me that from the comfort of his bed. Out comes the razor. Ah, I see. Time to eat some pubes.
The first time we did this, Kyle made me shave him. It was not an efficient process, since I had to hold the razor in one hand, and feed myself with tufts of pubic hair with my other. But that was not close to the biggest problem. When I started shaving his balls, I accidentally nicked his precious scrotum. It's almost impossible not to do that when you're not shaving yourself, since I have no idea how much pressure was right and my hands were trembling in fear. You can imagine what happened afterwards. The shaving session stopped instantly, Kyle didn't even wait to put his boxer briefs back on. His towering figure simply unlocked and opened the bathroom door, risking his parents seeing us (they didn't), and dragged me by my ear back to his bedroom.
Once there, I received the beating of a lifetime. Which is saying a lot since Kyle beat the shit out of me all the time. And remember that time I accidently "pinched" Brad's foreskin in the car? Well, that wasn't even as bad as this. Basically, anything and everything that would not leave visible bruises (which means everything was fair game except punches to the face which would leave visible bruises). Plenty of hard slaps to the face, too, since slaps don't bruise the same way. Hard punches to the side and back of my skull. Pushing me to the floor then kicking me everywhere. Then him getting down on the floor to land a few more solid punches to my limp body. I cried that time, it hurt so much. Real tears. I hadn't ever done that in front of Kyle before -- not because I don't often feel the most intense emotions with Kyle, but all those other times I could hold it in. This time, I simply couldn't. I think that time, even Kyle knew my limits, and stopped beating me. He didn't apologize though, and instead it was, "Get the fuck out, fag, and think about what you did." As further punishment, Kyle didn't see me again for a whole week after that. And the next time he saw me, I was the one doing the apologizing, repeatedly kowtowing (on my knees and bending my whole body down until my forehead hit the floor), begging for forgiveness, and praying to him for a whole twenty minutes before he even acknowledged my presence with a, "Enough, fag. You're not forgiven, but I'm horny now. Get up here and blow me."
So since that time, Kyle did his own shaving. But my mouth was ready underneath, either to catch his pubes as they fell or as he fed them to me with his fingers (the same fingers that he had just used toilet paper to wipe his ass). Clump by clump, I started eating Master Kyle's sandy brown pubic hairs. Once in my mouth, I lubricated them thoroughly with my saliva. There was no point in chewing them much beyond that; it's not as if my teeth could break them apart. There was only one thing left to do: swallow. Which was not exactly easy. The trick is to build up as much saliva as possible. But that also wasn't easy because I had to keep my mouth open most of the time to catch more falling pubic hairs. The pubes were sweaty, and when Kyle fed them to me, I could taste the shitty tang left over from Kyle's fingers. Still, it was a joy for me to eat Kyle's pubes. Hey, those pubes were luckier than me for having spent so much intimate time with Kyle's cock and balls.
When Kyle was done shaving (thankfully, this time he did not nick his own balls -- since that would've been my fault, too), Kyle washed his hands. I didn't need to be told what to do. While Kyle stood before the sink, I bent down and licked the floor clean of any pubic hairs that were not already in my mouth -- again, swallowing them enthusastically. Even the way I licked Kyle's dirty bathroom floor was a kind of wanton passion if it meant my reward was ingesting more of Kyle's pubes. Once we were both done (I was lucky I could get every last hair with my tongue and mouth alone -- sometimes they stuck to the floor and I was not allowed to use my hands!), Kyle put his underwear back on, and we were off to Kyle's bedroom.
"So, faggot, you happy about Penn State?"
"Of course, Master ... except I'll miss you."
"Yeah, I know, but I'll be close, Cunty."
Yes, he will. You see, Brad and Kyle had worked out my plans for next year. We both knew Kyle could get into a really good school, and I might not, so instead of risking me not getting in, I would apply to Penn State -- where Brad was. Penn State was almost a safety school for me, so I got in easily. As Brad entered senior year of college, I would be a freshman. This way, Tommy and I could spend one more year devoted to serving Brad together. This way, Brad could end his college career with a bang, with two fags at his beck and call to serve and worship him. Meanwhile, Kyle got into UPenn (yay, Ivy League) and will be going there. Close enough to Penn State where Kyle could still come to Brad's on a weekend to get serviced, or Tommy and/or I can go to Kyle in Philly "on loan" from Brad. It also made sense because, let's face it, UPenn freshman housing was not going to be able to accommodate the kind of all-out sexual servitude I provided to Kyle anyway. Kyle had a real future to worry about; he could be President some day. Besides, plenty of girls were going to fall all over him regardless, and he could even look for another gay sub if he really wanted to (though I think Kyle was going to begin playing it safe where that was concerned -- he knew me well enough to know I would never, ever betray him, but random homos were too risky). Brad, on the other hand, was going to be a senior at Penn State -- and was not going to live on campus anyway. Tommy and I were going to pay for an apartment for all three of us. (I had to get a special exemption to live off-campus as a freshman.)
Anyway, that was the plan before COVID-19. I am behind in my writing, so you'll just have to keep reading to find out how things with Brad and Tommy actually work out. (But you can already imagine what "fun" Brad was going to have with Tommy and me on a college campus. We're talking about a 21-year-old soccer stud. I'm drooling already.) At least back in mid-April, I thought I only had a few more months left with Kyle alone. We were finishing up high school, about to graduate (even if without an in-person ceremony), prom was canceled, we were studying for "modified" AP tests, and I was going to make the absolute most of my time serving and servicing this 18-year-old soccer stud.
Kyle could tell I was getting sad thinking about "this" whole chapter of our lives soon ending, so he ordered, "Well, let's not waste any more time, huh, shit face? Why don't you give Master a nice blow job while he plays some XBox?"
I didn't need to be told twice. Soon, Kyle's hard cock was in my mouth as I bobbed up and down. Kyle had his Xbox controller in his hands. My head was nothing more than a fleshjack. Except I was much more than a fleshjack. I don't mean because I'm a living, breathing human being with a brain, a heart and a soul. I view my existence first from Kyle's perspective. And from Kyle's perspective, I was a fleshjack he did not need to operate. And I wasn't just automatic like a battery-operated sex toy. No -- and here's where it helped that I had a brain -- I calibrated my operation continuously and second-by-second to maximize Kyle's pleasure and to respond lovingly to Kyle's every whim. Kyle didn't need to do any of the work. Even a battery-powered fleshjack had none of the variety in lip/tongue action that my mouth could and did perform, obviously.
So what I'm describing is just a really good blow job, right? Well, a boy getting a blow job from his girlfriend still sees her as a person. A boy getting a really good blow job from his boyfriend still sees him as a person. Kyle sees me only as an object he owned, a tool, a device, a masturbatory aid. The fact that I am a person (which of course he recognizes) only boosts his ego more and pumps more hardness to his superior cock. But at no time does Kyle need to treat me any better than a mere fleshjack.
So Kyle gets the best of both words. An absolutely stunningly incredible sex toy for his cock, better than any person or object could deliver, but without himself doing a single bit of work, no need to put in any time, any effort (physical, mental, emotional or otherwise). Kyle knew I was so fuckin' gay for him that he could treat me like shit and I would always come back begging for more. Even before COVID-19, I was already "on demand" -- on his cock with Kyle's mere snap of the fingers or a mere glance and subtle nod toward his cock after making an impatient sort of eye contact with me. Since COVID-19 started and we no longer went into school, I spent so much time in Kyle's room (at least 100 hours a week) that I was as readily available to this 6-foot teenage stud as a fleshjack sitting on his nightstand.
Today, Kyle was playing Kingdom Hearts 3. Interesting and ironic that Kyle was playing such an "innocent" game involving Disney characters while I was engaged in live, full-blown obscenity on Kyle's cock. I was lavishing such love on that 8.5-inch mast. I was in between Kyle's hairy jock legs, my own hard dick pressed against the fabric of my underwear and the soft surface of Kyle's mattress. Although it wasn't about me, I was feeling really, really good also. From this position, I could rotate my head the entire 180-degree arc if you drew an invisible line parallel to Kyle's headboard and crossing right through the center of gravity of Kyle's cock.
Variety really matters for great blow jobs, so that's one of the things I excelled at: at each angle of that 180-degree arc, I licked, sucked from root to tip (and every different length in between), deep-throated, tongued Kyle's frenulum, then switched to French kissing and swallowing each of Kyle's sweaty balls in turn, only to finish the cycle by slowly and passionately licking my way back from the perineum up the shaft to resume sucking duties. For Kyle's part, his focus was on the game and if his hands with the controller came crashing down on my head or neck, of course I had to take it dutifully. If his hips swung from side to side, then my mouth (with hard cock inserted) had to swing along with him. If he decided to wrap his strong jock legs around my body like a hump toy, then my mouth was in the perfect place at the right time. (For most boys post-puberty, when they hump a pillow, it's somewhat pleasurable, but it's not like their dick is actually in a warm mouth. Kyle gets a fellow athletic teenage body as his hump pillow and a teenage athletic human mouth into which to exert all of Kyle's sexually charged erection. That's real pleasure. Some men don't get to experience that their entire lifetime. Master Kyle experiences it every day, whenever he wants, and has been for the past two years, much of that time before he even turned 18.)
Unfortunately (or fortunately?) for me, my calibration was a bit off, Kyle was really enjoying my service (even though he pretended to be 100% focused on the game, with me only an afterthought), and all of a sudden, I hear Kyle say, "Oh, shit." And he starts cumming in my mouth. Once that happens, I instinctively redouble my efforts. After all, if Master is already past the point of no return, then I better make the most of it and give him the most enjoyable climax I still can. So Kyle grunted and moaned sexily as he shot his as-usual ample load of delicious teen cream into my mouth. Of course, this diversion causes him to lose to whatever boss he was fighting in the video game.
"You stupid fuck," Kyle said. "Now look what you did."
I couldn't say anything since I still held every drop of Kyle's cum flood in my mouth, not daring to swallow unless commanded to do so.
Kyle just laughed. "Fine, ugh. Spit that cum onto my feet and do your thing, bitch." (I assume Kyle wasn't mad because the blow job had actually already gone on for like 30 minutes. I sometimes lose track of time -- especially when I'm in this position. The euphoric state Kyle's in, combined with the fact that, when I'm lying stomach (and dick)-down on his bed, it's probably the most comfortable position I get to be in while servicing Kyle, so when it ends, I usually think less time has elapsed than reality.)
Hooray!
Not only did Kyle not punish me this time, he was giving a reward that he knew that I treasured like no other.
So while Kyle went on with his game for the next hour, I "washed" his feet with his precious jizz, then played with it in my mouth, chewing it, swirling it, savoring it. Then after I finally swallowed everything that was Kyle's cum, I gave Kyle's feet another tongue bath, followed by my trademark Audible French Kiss with Supporting Hands routine (see Chapter 28). As usual, I was in heaven -- even when (or especially when) Kyle the hot teenager was playing a video game while his teenage fag "friend" (me) was being slapped or rubbed in the face by a sticky cum-coated size 12 bare foot. And don't worry, even during this seemingly "nicer" finish to an intense night, Kyle tapped the buttons and joysticks on his controller attentively even while still calling me every name in the book, "go get me a beer, shit stain", "don't you dare get any cum on my sheets, dumbass", "you make me sick, you stupid faggot", and yes, even now, "how could you have been my friend all those years, you fag loser ... apologize to me now!" And of course I would response with the appropriate apology, glorifcation, flattery, begging, prayer, or some other such verbal prostration.
Later, Kyle let me nurse his semi-soft cock in my mouth until he fell asleep -- another real treat.
TO BE CONTINUED ...