<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 32
It's now the summer between my sophomore and junior years at Penn State. I'm 20 years old now. When I graduated high school two years ago, we were in the midst of the pandemic lockdown. I pretty much lived in Kyle Peterson's bedroom. It was a horrible time for most people but it was the best year and a half of my life. Never had I gotten to spend so much uninterrupted and unadulterated one-on-one time with my forever-crush, my Soccer Stud, my God.
Kyle's tennis season was cancelled, as was my track season. But what we didn't expect was that college campuses would be closed for a whole year. So we spent our entire freshman year at home--attending classes remotely. No parties, no frats, no new friends, no new girlfriends... It was like I received a huge gift from the world to freeze our last year of high school where Kyle and I were concerned--and I was elated. The original plan before COVID-19, whereby Tommy and I would live with Brad for that year, was scrapped. Well, partly scrapped. Brad and Tommy, as college seniors, still got that off-campus apartment that Tommy and I paid for, but I didn't live there. I stayed home and remained Kyle's exclusive servant--for an entire extra year and summer. I paid one-third of Brad's rent (Tommy paid two-thirds) in order to "buy" the privilege of continuing to serve Brad's younger brother day and night. I did not move to Penn State until August 2021. Imagine all the extra and unexpected exclusive servitude I got to perform for, and on, Master Kyle from May 2020 to August 2021--when Kyle and I were 18 and 19 years old.
Despite the cancellation of team sports, Kyle and I still needed and wanted to stay in good shape. Eventually Kyle would play varsity soccer at UPenn. So we would often go running together, where my ulterior interest was in Kyle (and Kyle's jock feet) working up a sweat. Running was one of the few things I was better at than him, and it was fun when he'd want to quit but I wanted to keep going. Of course Kyle was the boss, but sometimes when we were outside the house I exerted my opinion and he permitted it--not without teasing me about it though...
"Fuck faggot," Kyle complained after an hour run on one afternoon in August 2020 (we were both 18 and had just found out that campus would remain closed at least for the upcoming semester), catching his breath. "I thought you fairies were supposed to suck at athletic activity."
I smiled to myself. Kyle had said stereotypical stuff like that for years now. I liked hearing it because it meant from the outside, I still passed as a straight-looking jock myself.
"I'm sorry, Master," I replied. "Let's go for another 15 minutes. I know you can do it." The longer Kyle's feet were encased in his sneakers, the more stench I would get to enjoy later.
"Yeah, yeah, fine faggot," Kyle muttered as I felt his hand knock the back of my head. Even though he agreed with my suggestion, he got the last word and the last (well, only, obviously) smack.
Twenty minutes later his 8-and-a-half-inch cock was in my mouth, sliding in and out the way God and nature intended. He was standing with his sneakers still on; I was on my knees wearing his boxer briefs on my head over my nose. With one hand clasped to the back of my hand, Kyle's other hand would wipe his dirty underwear all over the top half of my face.
"You are so fuckin' lucky, shitstain," Kyle said in between thrusts. "You get to suck this cock day and night for a whole extra semester." (Little did he know the campus closure would extend well beyond that.)
With Godcock in my mouth, I could not verbalize my agreement, but my heart had been soaring non-stop since we found out that we would stay home instead of part ways. Serving Brad with Tommy would have satisfied some of my sexual cravings, but Kyle was the love of my life. Being with him made my entire soul purr with contentment. The fact that the lockdown made it impossible for either of us to hang out with other people made us that much closer. This was as close to me getting Kyle all to myself as I ever could have hoped for.
Sometimes at night, I fall asleep saying the words "I love you, Kyle Peterson, I fuckin' love you", over and over again. If as I'm saying that I am gooning over Kyle's worn sock pressed up against my nose, I would inevitably cum within a couple of minutes, sometimes without even touching myself. If I don't have a piece of Kyle's worn clothing to huff at that moment, I would still be rock hard. My mind's eye would visualize the now-infinite ways I had worshipped Kyle over the years. I wanted to maximize the likelihood that my dreams would be about Kyle.
Back to the blowjob, suddenly Kyle tosses his underwear aside and pulls me off his cock, then aims his exploding cock at my forehead, spewing volley after volley of teen cream onto various parts of my waiting and willing face. I was so well trained by that point that I had my hands waiting underneath my chin so that they could catch dripping cum--the amount Kyle jizzed was so massive that inevitably there would be dribbling when he face painted me. Most of the time, when this happened, Kyle's bare feet would be available nearby so I could rush to transfer his cum from my face and hands to the bottoms of those now-size 12 beauties. I wanted as much of that cum to go from my face directly to his feet than from my hands to his feet. Why? It's a ritual that should be properly performed, like a religious ceremony.
Every part of my face reveled in the stickiness and the smells and the sexiness--of cum and feet. And now I had discovered a new and improved version of performing this foot/cum-love fest. For the first few minutes my mouth would remain closed (except to verbalize my devotion to Kyle--but my lips would do no kissing and my tongue would do no licking), while every part of my face rubbed every which way against Kyle's bare soles, consumed all the while by Kyle's man juice. As closed as my mouth was, my nostrils were fully open, breathing hard and loudly--snorting in both the stench of Kyle's foot and the rawness of Kyle's semen. Of course, semen is liquid, so as I inhaled the smell of semen, I doubled down on snorting the semen itself, that's right, the semen itself. We've all swallowed water through our nose -- not exactly comfortable and leaves your throat sore afterwards. Well, here I'm nose-swallowing CUM, Kyle's cum, something I would not do for anyone else except this stud with whom I am in total, abject love. As the globs shot up my nose, I don't really know the biology -- some reached my throat and ended up going down my tummy; other globs went elsewhere, seemingly straight to my brain who knows? Regardless, nose-swallowing cum (instead of mouth-swallowing cum) meant the flavor stayed with me a lot longer. My nose hairs grabbed onto and held onto more particles of the gooey substance. With each breath i took for hours afterward, the lingering smell and taste of Kyle's cum lingered. A new, delightful way to "wear" Kyle's essence inside me, and I loved it.
Kyle never instructed me on this new and improved ritual; it developed from my own innate lust and creativity. But Kyle knew I was doing it and I appreciated that he knew. (After all, the very first time I did it this way I said, "thank you Master Kyle for letting me snort your precious, foot-sweat-coated cum straight up my nose!") I appreciate that he knew just how much I wanted to show him the degree of love I have for every aspect of his body's excretions that I wanted to take cum swallowing to a whole new level. Any slut can swallow cum using her mouth. I believed (or at least I could fantasize with some degree of truth) that I had invented a new way to swallow cum through my nose. I mean, that's how drug addicts snort cocaine and meth, right? So there you have it. Kyle's cum is the drug I am addicted to. So why wouldn't I ingest it into my body the same way?
The other reason I know Kyle noticed what I was doing is that a few weeks after that, after a blowjob (I was ordered to be completely naked for this one), Kyle shot his load into that same dog dish I had purchased so long ago. But instead of having me lick every drop of cum, Kyle handed me a short straw and said, "Ok bitch, tell me what you're gonna do now."
I thought for a second. Kyle could be asking me to suck up his cum through the straw, but that didn't seem particularly new. I had already used straws to drink his cum out of a glass, cup or mug many times before, sometimes combined with water, milk, juice, beer or whatever other beverage amused Kyle. One time Kyle shot his load directly into a glass half full of water while he made me stare intently into the glass as the creamy substance broke the water. I was mesmerized. "Now down that, bitch." I didn't need to be told twice. I then spent the next 10 minutes thanking Kyle for feeding me his cum-water, prostrating myself before him and performing an all-out Audible French Kissing with Hand Massage of Kyle's feet, interspersed with my varied ways of verbalizing my ceaseless gratitude toward Kyle.
So this time I figured the straw was not meant for my mouth. It took only another second for me to conclude that he meant the straw for my nose, so I answered, "Master Kyle, I am going to snort your precious cum from this dog dish up my queer nose."
"Beg me to let you, faggot."
This begging component remained very important to our relationship. Of course he and I both knew that everything he was ordering me to do was something my DNA craved, but that wasn't enough. Kyle wasn't just going to let me do something because it gave him pleasure and amusement, or because it satisfied my lust and adoration of him, but (also) because I outwardly expressed my need and desire to perform the servile act, and only then did a merciful Master who occasionally took pity on his slave give it permission to proceed.
"On my God, Master Kyle. Plus let me inhale this intoxicating drug that is Your sperm, Your baby batter, Your seed, Your fuck juice--the drug that I am addicted to, the drug that I live for day and night, the drug that I dream about awake and asleep, the drug I need to survive. Please God, please take pity on me and give me permission to fuckin' snort every last drop of Your precious cum through my nose, please, I beg you, my Master, my Lord, my God." I prolonged the words "fuckin' snort", really drew out those words, brought my voice down really low to intone them.
Kyle guffawed. "Well, what the fuck are you waiting for then, faggot? Chop chop." Such a tease. If I had dared get started without begging, Kyle would punish me like there was no tomorrow. But then the way Kyle actually gave me permission routinely included a bit of blame, a bit of criticism: like I was taking too long to get started. Kyle was so brilliant at playing mind games with me.
So I crouched all the way down to the metal dog dish beside Kyle's bed, still on my knees of course, held one end of the straw to my right nostril, and started tracing the lines of cum with the other end of the straw while breathing in deep--just like tracing lines of powder cocaine or crystal meth and getting a hit. But even that wasn't enough. As I performed this abjectly debasing exercise, switching back and forth between right and left nostrils, Kyle rested his bare fight foot on my neck, just to add to my humiliation. (The warmth of the sole that ruled my life on the back of my neck always made me feel a mixture of fear, excitement, lust, and submission that both gave me goosebumps and stretched my hard-on.) So now in addition to making sure the dog bowl was 100% clean by the time I was done semen-snorting, I had to make sure Kyle's foot did not slide off my neck, because if that happened, it was also going to be my fault. And since my mouth wasn't otherwise occupied during this task, it also had to be working, perpetually voicing my thanks to Kyle for letting me nose-swallow his fuck juice.
Picture the image again as I have described: me, completely naked with a rock hard dick giving away my gay desire for every bit of the servitude and submission that I am performing at that very moment, crouched down like a dog with my face in a literal dog bowl, using a straw to loudly and appreciatively ("I pray to you, Master Kyle's cum, I am so lucky to be literally inhaling you into my nose") snorting my Master's cum dump through each of my nostrils from the dog dish until 100% clean--all the while with my Master's sexy tanned size 12 foot alternating between resting and pressing down on my sore neck, and Master saying things like, "Hurry the fuck up, you gay fuck, before I kick the shit out of you". And oh yes, there are times the foot resting on my neck, without warning, transforms into a kicking foot, launching itself forcefully against my face just while I am still devoting myself to nose-sucking the remaining cum in the dog dish. That adds a whole new complication where I then have to spend time apologizing to the kicking foot, then maybe be slapped hard numerous times while I'm doing the apologizing. Or maybe Kyle decides to step on my neck (one time the straw got pushed deep into my nostril), and the cum ends up all over my face. Or maybe Kyle's other foot interrupts my semen-snorting and steps all into the dog dish, and then I'm blamed and punished for that, but I still end up either nose-swallowing or mouth-swallowing the remaining cum that gets onto Kyle's other foot. The possibilities really are endless, but always Master Kyle is in charge, so if he wants to add a million unpredicabilities to my worship, that is his prerogative.
And you think that's the maximum respect I can pay to Kyle's cum? Not quite yet. A few days after that, Kyle commanded, "When I cum today, you're going to snort my cum through your nose straight from the source, got it bitch?" My first thought hearing that wasn't, how am I going to do that? Rather, it was, why hadn't I thought of that already? My second thought wasn't a thought but rather the sudden rush of excitement I felt getting to try a new way to experience Kyle's cum.
So after my usual A+ blowjob, when Kyle was ready to cum saying, "Now, fag", he aimed his cock up my left nostril while I pressed my finger to close off my right. It was downright impossible to catch a lot of the first shot because of the intensity. The second and third shots were easier, as they become less shotty and more oozey. I tried to synchronize my inhales with Kyle's volleys. Since I was so madly in love with Kyle and his cum, my efforts generally paid off. I could see the white cream ooze out then reveal the skin color of Kyle's engorged mushroom head, as the white substance disappeared up my nose. Unlike the dog dish semen-snort, this time the semen was very warm, still just a few degrees shy of Kyle's masculine body temp, bringing a whole new delicious sensation to my psyche. Cum is still cum, and it's still going to smell and taste the objectively "bad" way it does to most people even most gay people, but in my mouth if the cum belonged to Kyle I found it delicious, and now in my nose still warm, direct from the ejaculating cock, I found it indescribably aromatic and gooey, sexy and all-consuming. After the third shot, my right nostril got the chance to enjoy, so my finger pressed to close off the left. This went back and forth a few more rounds until we hit the tenth "shot", a final ooze that my nostril quickly "lapped up". I then boldly put my hand around Kyle's semi-hard dick, brought the tip into my mouth, and French kissed it repeatedly like most dudes French kiss their girlfriends. For once I didn't say a word. The only sound other than the audible French kissing was me breathing in the remaining cum in my nostrils like breathing in snot during a cold--except this wasn't my snot, it was another dude's cum. I put every ounce of my worship, gratitude and love into those kisses, as I felt intensely every bit of those emotions. I was so in love with this Stud, his cock, and his cum, that I was perfectly content to live my life solely for them.
As for Kyle? Less than a minute later he unceremoniously shoved my head away and said, "Get the fuck out of my house, fag."
But while semen-snorting out of a dog dish or straight from the source now found themselves into my list of servile acts, semen-snorting off of Kyle's bare foot was still the most frequent. The added dimension here, of course, was the inclusion of the stink and sweat of Kyle's foot. I will say again, Kyle's feet are beautiful. For foot fetishists like us, the mere words "size 12" can get us hard. Here we have size 12s attached to an uncommonly attractive 18-year-old straight jock stud. And the feet themselves also look like beautiful jock feet, long veiny toes, tufts of hair on the toes, high arches, not too meaty or wide, and not soft. Some foot fetishists are into soft feet; I'm not. Kyle's feet did not have any unwanted extra padding. They were simply perfect, proportionately perfect in every way. And so like a pet nuzzling at its master's feet, I nuzzled and brushed and rubbed my face all over Kyle's semen-soaked feet. The crevice between Kyle's toes and the balls of Kyle's feet is a natural area to collect Kyle's jizz, and it is often from that platform where I can most effectively nose-swallow relatively substantial globs of Kyle's jizz (along with the virile scent of this smelliest part of these gorgeous jock feet). And, for Kyle's listening pleasure, I would make the nose-swallowing sounds as loud and deep as possible.
My hands would get in on the action since they did catch globs of Kyle's semen dripping off my face from the blow face painting. So my hands would massage Kyle's feet, transferring that additional semen to Kyle's feet. Then eventually that semen, too, would make it into my nose.
So these days most of the time, only after I had snorted as much semen off of my-face-onto-Kyle's-feet as possible did I finally open my mouth (beyond saying the things Kyle expected to hear me say) and start licking. The objective was so my tongue gobbled up whatever my nostrils had missed. And as my saliva coated the bottoms of Kyle's feet, they transitively "washed" my face, and I would continue this process until both of Kyle's feet (along with my face) were 100% clean from any remnants of jizz--because that would mean 100% of Kyle's jizz had been ingested into my body through one entry or another. And for those out there who think then I'm missing out on chewing and swirling whole globules of Kyle's precious cum in my mouth, don't worry. The pandemic lockdown meant that Kyle and I were together literally all the time we weren't listening to a lecture remotely. Plenty of time I still used only my mouth to swallow Kyle's cum. And plenty of time when he was in a rush, of course we simply resorted to the classic Kyle cumming directly into my mouth. No fuss, no muss.
Today, though, Kyle's feet and shoes were still on after our hour-plus run outside, and I was starting to have globs of his cum dripping off my face into my hands. Kyle gracefully kicked off his sneakers, ripped his soaked-with-sweat right ankle sock off, turned it inside out, and started wiping my face with it. Once he decided he had wiped up most of the cum, he said, "Open up wide, foot fag." I obeyed instantly. Kyle then stuffed the cum-covered inside-out sock, toe-first, directly onto my waiting tongue. He then shoved the rest of the sock to fill my mouth, ordering me to close my mouth. "Suck" was all he needed to say. (As we all know, he didn't even need to say that.) The taste was incredible. I was leaking pre.
He then hopped onto his bed and ordered, "Have at it, bitch." That was Kyle's way of saying I get some free time to worship him based on my judgment. I immediately dove at Kyle's bare right foot, planted my nose in the really stinky crevice between toes and sole, and inhaled deeply and appreciatively, all the while swallowing the cum-sweat mixture from the sock Kyle had generously fed me, eating that plus I'm sure plenty of sock lint along the way. Then my hands, which still had some of Kyle's cum on them, began faithfully massaging Kyle's bare foot, lovingly transferring that bit of cum onto them, then nose-swallowing the cum since my mouth was full. But even if my mouth was otherwise occupied, my lips were not, so I planted dry kisses onto Kyle's feet, maximizing his pleasure with as many parts of my own body as possible. Kyle carelessly launched verbal grenades at me throughout the time (he was otherwise watching TV).
Half an hour later, Kyle sat up and ordered, "Open, you pathetic faggot." He then pulled the nasty sock (nasty to me only because it was now soaked with my own saliva) out of my mouth and said, "Show that sock some respect, turd." I immediately brought that completely wet sock to my nose and mouth and kissed it, prayed to it, thanked it, etc. Kyle knew I didn't like the sock as much now that it had my own saliva on it, so he definitely relished in making me do this.
"Lucky you faggot, you have a whole other foot to go." Kyle teased raising the pitch of his voice toward the end of that sentence mocking what he knew was my wanton excitement. I put the right sock in my left pocket and immediately pressed my nose into Kyle's left socked foot--still unadulterated and consisting only of Kyle's pure jock foot stench and sweat from the hour-and-fifteen-minute run we had just done. The sock had only just slightly hardened to crusty as some of the sweat dried leaving a raunchier stink to intoxicate me. I shuddered and leaked more pre as I spent another half hour engaged in a classic verbal make-out sess with this socked, then bare, smelly masculine foot--ultimately with this sock going into my right pocket for me to goon with, and jerk off to, once dismissed from Kyle's house.
TO BE CONTINUED ...