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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 7 - AS TOLD FROM KYLE'S PERSPECTIVE
"Shut the fuck up, fag."
I thought about the first time I said that to Connor. He was in the middle of showering me with compliments (when is he not?), and I was enjoying it, but then all of a sudden I was tired of hearing his fag voice. And like a good little fag, he took whatever I dished out just to be around me. It was a win-win. I thought about him making out with my feet. It really was like he wanted to date them. After practice or a game, my feet reek, but this nasty homo goes to fuckin' love town on them. The prolonged mouth and tongue massage feels great, and so does the power trip. Well, I deserve it. I'm hot as hell ... and straight. And this fag wants to eat my sweat -- and anything else that comes out of my body -- 'cause he's in love with me. What a loser.
I wanted to kick him in the face again (one of my favorite things to do -- use his head as a soccer ball), so I did. He rushed to apologize to my precious foot for being hurt by his useless head, kissing it apologetically. My response? I kicked his head again. My cock lurched forward with every kick. Kicking the fag's face was getting me semi-hard again. This went on until my boner re-emerged at full mast.
I did tire of his apologizing, though, so I said, "No really, faggot, shut the fuck up now." Connor just knelt there like a dumbass, so I barked, "Well, get the fuck over here, bitch! God, you're such a dumb motherfucker." With all that kicking and apologizing, I guess the fag forgot about the rimjob I assigned to him.
He got up on my bed, lay on his back and scooted his face between my now spread-out hairy jock legs, toward my ball sac. As his nose approached, it buried itself in my crotch, sniffing and smelling and sniffing and smelling. He sniffed really hard, like really hard, like he wanted to smell nothing else but my scrotum. Man, he loved me so damn much I just had to laugh.
"Enjoying that, fag?"
"Yes, Master. It is an honor to be this up close and personal with your sperm factory."
I then lifted myself up, signaling that Connor was to place his head in between my ass and my bed. Connor complied obediently.
"Ahh," I sighed as I settled my ass onto his nose. I wiggled around until my hole sat right over Connor's lips.
"Rim me, faggot. Rim me like there's no tomorrow."
He stuck his tongue out and started licking. He used his hands to spread my ass cheeks apart more so his tongue could reach more deeply into my hole. It felt even more amazing than last time, since gravity was helping pull my hole onto his tongue. I was hard, and so was he. I played my Xbox; he rimmed my ass. I farted; he breathed in deeply. I would shudder every so often from the intense pleasure. Since he was doing such a good job, I was distracted and having trouble winning the video game, and so of course I took it out on him.
"Fuck, you stupid faggot. You made me lose the level!" Since I couldn't slap his face under my ass, I punched him in the stomach and then again on his side. I could hear him groaning underneath me. In response, I kicked him. He dug in his tongue deeper. I writhed in more pleasure. I farted again. He sniffed hard again.
This went on for a while, maybe half an hour, until I was getting close and decided I wanted a blowjob. "All right, get up here and wrap your fag lips around my cock."
I lifted my ass up to let him out. He dove for my cock and started making mouth love to it. He was developing into a great cocksucker. Even his first time sucking me, he was better than most girls. But now with the excellent deep throating, he was the best I'd ever had. But no way would I tell him that. He needed to constantly seek to improve his service to me. Plus if it made me happy, it made him happy. That was all the fag deserved. At one point, I pulled him off and told him to pray to my cock. He did. He stared at my cock almost cross-eyed and ended his prayer with, "In Master Kyle's cock's name I pray, Amen." I told him to get the fuck back on my cock. He did. Then I pushed his head all the way down with his nose buried in my pubes. I could feel my cock tip tickle the back of his throat. I lurched upward as far as I could go. It felt so fuckin' awesome.
"Ahhhh, you fuckin' cock slut!" I exclaimed. And unlike the fag, I get to climax whenever I want, and my deposit of sperm is never wasted, not a drop. So I shot my load directly into his cunt throat. Then I pulled him off half-way so the rest went in his mouth, making sure the queer savored the flavor of my gift. As Connor had discovered by now, my climax (even the second one that evening) lasts longer, and I was still squirting more of my semen into his mouth after most guys are done.
When I was finally satisfied, I pulled him off. "Open," I ordered.
He opened his mouth. My spermies were swimming inside. I hocked a loogie and spit it in his mouth.
"Now swallow, bitch."
He did, then said, "Thank you so much, Master Kyle, for feeding me your precious cum and spit."
I kicked him in the face. Then I ordered him to get his face into kicking position for the next five minutes. I really enjoyed that. It was so fun to kick his face and head every which way I pleased, sole to nose, heel to forehead, toes to chin, foot slaps to the cheek, telling him he had to keep his tongue out while my bare foot made contact with it, etc. At this rate, the next two years of my life were gonna be and feel real good. The fag can go back to writing this now; why am I doing any work?
THE REST BACK FROM MY PERSPECTIVE
My face and head ached from all the endless kicking. But I was so in love with those beautiful jock feet of his it didn't matter. I'd still stick my tongue out to try to caress them even though I knew it would only feel the pain of being abused. The rest of my body ached, too. My throat which had just been raped again, my tummy and sides which he had punched, my dick which was still rock hard. In fact, I almost came while he shot his load in my mouth. It tasted so delicious (as usual), and it took extra self-control not to commit the ultimate sin of cumming in the presence of my new God.
Kyle, of course, had just cum. He was relaxed and sprawled out on the bed, completely naked. His chest and abs glistened. His pubes exuded sex. His hairy jock legs were works of art. And his cock, even soft, looked so manly and divine.
"You'll be spending even more quality time with my bare feet, all night long, in fact. You excited, you fuckin' homo?"
"Oh, yes, Master Kyle. I would love to have more opportunity to woo your feet so that they will give me the time of day. I know they don't have to spend time with lil' ol' me, so I'm extra appreciative when they do. Thank you so much, Master Kyle, and thank YOU so much, Master Kyle's gorgeous, precious soccer jock feet." I planted more deep and prolonged French kisses on Kyle's bare soles as I kowtowed in front of them.
"So now that I've enjoyed myself, you're gonna make mouth love to my feet while I fall sleep. Now don't go too crazy, 'cause I'm tired, but I want the feeling of a nice warm tongue and lips to lull my feet to sleep. So you can't go too soft, either. And yeah, throw in some toe sucking, too. When you're 100% sure I'm asleep, you can stop and sleep at the floor of my bed. And at that point, if you're still kissing too hard and wake me up, I will destroy you. And don't you dare cum, or there will be hell to pay. Got it, you stupid faggot?" (He really knew just the right words to use, always. The way he articulated "stupid faggot", emphasizing and drawing out each syllable, was particularly awesome. It was so degrading, so condescending, just dripping with disgust and disdain for me and everything about me.)
"Yes, sir. I am here to serve you, Master."
"Good. Now here's the hard part, and since you're such a useless fag, you'll probably fuck this up, and then I'll fuck you up. Hell, I might fuck you up in the morning anyway 'cause your ugly cocksucker face irritates me. But anyway, before I wake up, but not too early, you'll have to start kissing my feet. But if your fag mouth wakes me up, I will give you a beating the likes of which you have never felt before. But if I don't feel your mouth worshipping my feet the second I do wake up, I will beat you equally hard. The idea is I wake up the way I normally do, but I instantly feel your mouth on my feet, making them feel good first thing in the morning. You got that, bitch?"
What else could I say but, "Yes, Master. I am desperate to please you and pleasure you, so I will obey your every command." Inside, a thousand thoughts were going through my head, however. How could I allow myself to sleep at all and risk not waking up before he does? How do I adjust the force of my kissing based on how asleep or awake he is? How was I not going to cum when I was still this hard and being subjected to more Kyle-feet was going to drive me crazy? One thought that did not enter my mind was, since he was probably going to beat me anyway, why bother with this at all? Kyle deserved to get exactly what he wants, so I must do everything I can to please him, and if he beats me on top of that, that's just double the pleasure for him.
"Fluff up my pillows, faggot."
"Yes, Master Kyle."
Kyle put his underwear back on and got under the covers. He got himself comfortable. "Go turn the lights out, faggot, and get going."
"Yes, Master Kyle. Good night, Master Kyle."
"Shut the fuck up, you stupid faggot."
As I turned the light out, I could hear Kyle yawning and stretching in satisfaction. What a hunk. I decided I had to put my head underneath the covers to worship Kyle's feet, rather than lift up the covers and risk his precious feet getting cold. So that's what I head, snuggling up against his warm feet in the dark, kissing and caressing and sucking and licking. Even now, I was loving it. Kyle's soccer feet were just such the objects of my lust and desire and obsession. I wanted them to be my boyfriend. I was so in love with them. Then I realized, I had to take it down a notch so Kyle could fall asleep. So my lips softened their worship, transitioning from "go to town" mode to gentle puckering and nibbling.
Eventually, I could hear Kyle's breathing deepen. He was too hot to snore like an old man. But I could tell he was falling asleep. I wanted badly to lie in bed with him, cuddling with his taut jock body, smelling his cologne up close, making out with him, having him (not his feet) be my boyfriend. I imagined if Kyle were gay, or bi, how amazing that might be, how awesome it could be to be Kyle's boyfriend. Of course, I'd still be the sub in the relationship, and we would role play my fantasies, but he would love me, and we could go back to being intimate boyfriends whenever I wanted. I would die just to get to kiss his model lips just once, rub our cocks together lubricated by our pre. Stop it, Connor, just stop it, you're gonna make yourself cum and then get into deep shit. Kyle was right; I was a stupid faggot. Anyway, how was my boyfriend fantasy ever gonna come true with this straight, abusive, cocky jock queer-hater? I was ever only gonna get Kyle neck-down (so far it was only waist down -- I still had not even sucked his nipples or his pits). And my mouth (and sometimes hands) would do all the work. His dirtiest body parts -- smelly feet, sweaty balls, stinky ass -- I would only ever get to be "kissed" by them. Never by Kyle's mouth on his gorgeous face. No, no part of me would ever get to touch Kyle's face.
Knowing for sure that Kyle was now asleep, I retracted my head from underneath the covers and curled up in fetal position on the floor. No pillow, no blanket, still throbbing dick covered in pre. Now, should I let myself fall asleep? What if I oversleep? That would be real bad. Kyle rolled to sleep on his other side. I froze, my heart raced. This is what he does to me; even in his sleep, I am deathly afraid that I might displease him. Afraid of a beating? Sure, but more afraid of disappointing my new soccer jock Master. I wanted to fantasize some more about spooning with Kyle, but I knew that would cause me to ejaculate. I wanted to relive some more of the most intense moments where Kyle abused my mouth, but I knew that would cause me to ejaculate. I wanted to recall the masculine stench of Kyle's game-worn socks and cleats, but I knew that would cause me to ejaculate. Fuck. So I thought about how I had better be sure to be awake well before him in the morning, and what new degradations he would come up for me tomorrow and the future.
And what about his hot college brother, Brad? That phone conversation Kyle had with him at dinner, what did he mean, "tell you all about it" "next time you're home"? If serving Kyle was a trip, serving Kyle and Brad together would give me a heart attack. And while Kyle was nice to me before I became his servant, Brad was never nice to me. It was like Brad instinctively knew I was inferior. When we were around, Brad would always tell me to fetch the drinks or "Hey, Connor, throw my plate in the trash." Even though Kyle was his younger brother, Brad would boss me around instead. I could hear Brad's deeper and equally sexy voice; I imagined it saying "Hey, Connor, massage my feet." No, "Hey, faggot, massage my feet." No, "Hey, you stupid faggot, kiss my feet, you stupid faggot." But Kyle already barked commands like that to me. No, if Brad was already mean to me before he fully found out my gay sub secret, can you imagine the hell he would unleash on me if Kyle ever did tell him "all about" me next time he's home? Fuck.
I don't know why, but my mind wandered to the image of Brad fucking my ass while Kyle was fucking my mouth. I had never been anal fucked by anyone before, so why I thought this, I don't know. But the thought of the two Peterson brothers filling both my holes at the same time really was something that all of a sudden I wanted very, very badly. Like, even more than Kyle's bare feet, if you can imagine that.
Deep in my thoughts, my exhaustion set in, and I finally fell asleep.
TO BE CONTINUED ...