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Warning: This story contains sexual acts between young adult males and/or females. If you do not enjoy this type of material, or if it is illegal in your country or place of residence, please stop reading immediately. This story is not in any way an accurate depiction of reality, and any relations to real persons or acts are unintentional. This story is fiction.
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Worshipping Jake Chapter 4
As I followed Jake into the house, I couldn't take my eyes off his body. He was magnificent, like a big, blond, muscular lion. The sight of him in nothing but those thin, grey athletic shorts should be against the law, it was so hot! I was mesmerized by his casual grace and the way his muscles flexed as he led me inside.
"My parents are gone for the day, faggot. And there's chores that need to be done. So, I figured, what's the point of having a bitch at my disposal if I don't take advantage of the situation. You're gonna be a busy fag today."
I followed Jake through the living room and to the garage, where he opened the garage door. He grabbed a large bucket, setting it down next to his truck in the driveway.
"You're gonna start by detailing my truck. Hose is over there. Vacuum is inside the garage. It better be spotless inside and out when you're done, or I'll take it out on your ass, faggot. Get busy scrubbing while I go enjoy the breakfast you bought me," he chuckled.
I started grumbling to myself as I began washing Jake's truck. This day certainly wasn't shaping up like I'd hoped, and definitely nothing like my fantasies. After a few minutes, I noticed Jake had taken up a position on the front porch. He was kicked back in a chair with his bare feet up on the railing, eating his breakfast (which my hard-earned savings paid for). I stopped for just a second, stunned by how overpoweringly masculine and sexy he was. He was like a god, and I just wanted to worship him in any way I could.
That sight of him made me re-think washing his truck. Suddenly, it wasn't a chore, but a privilege. This total alpha male was allowing a lowly fag like me to serve him, cater to his needs, and make his life a bit easier with my labor. Sure, it wasn't as awesome as kissing his big jock feet, but it still made me feel close to him and like what I was doing was worthwhile.
After that realization, washing his truck took on new meaning, and I leaned into the job with gusto. It wasn't enough that the truck was clean; I intended for it to be spotless. I wanted everyone else to see how magnificent Jake was, and that included his spotlessly clean truck.
It took me a couple of hours, and I was sweaty and tired when I was done. Every time I felt the need to rest, though, I'd look over at the object of my worship where he sat on the porch playing on his phone and get a renewed sense of purpose.
I wasn't sure what to do when I was finished, so I walked over to the porch and knelt next to Jake. He ignored me and continued playing with his phone while I remained on my knees next to him for about five minutes.
"What is it, loser?" he asked, not looking up from his phone.
"I'm done, Sir," I replied.
"Oh yeah? And what do you say, fag?" he asked, still not bothering to look at me.
"Um...thank you for letting me detail your truck, Sir?"
"That's better, cocksucker. Let me go inspect your work. It better be right," he said, getting up and walking over to the truck. Jake looked over the truck with a critical eye. He didn't say anything, but it must have passed muster, because he came back over to the porch where I was still kneeling, snapped his fingers once, and walked into the house. I guessed the snap was my instruction to follow, so I quickly hopped up and trailed behind him obediently.
As he walked down the hallway, I noticed sweat spots on the back of the thin grey shorts he was wearing from where his ass was sweating while he was sitting on the porch. I'm sure by the time we reached the bathroom, I had a noticeable bulge in my pants.
"Time to scrub my bathroom, bitch. I want it cleaned top to bottom, and it better shine. Cleaning supplies are under the sink." He glanced at me and must have noticed my poorly concealed hardon. "Fuck, look at you! Hard as a rock over the chance to clean up my piss," he laughed derisively. Shaking his head, he casually smacked me in the crotch with his hand and ordered, "Get busy perv," as he walked off.
Ever tried cleaning a filthy bathroom with sore, blue balls and an erection? It's not easy, but I managed it. I spent the next hour working on that bathroom, scrubbing every inch of it. Apparently, it hadn't been cleaned in a while. I alternated between being grossed out by what a pig Jake was, and turned on by the idea of him making me do menial, disgusting tasks like this. As I scrubbed up his stale piss and grime, I began to realize how low I was, and how much I was willing to be degraded for a chance to serve such an alpha male. I was conflicted and ashamed...but I kept scrubbing. By the time I was done, my arms were sore from trying to get stains off the porcelain and my knees were sore from kneeling on the tile floor. But the bathroom looked good if I do say so myself.
Once again, I went and found Jake. He was in the living room, and I again knelt silently at his feet to let him know I was done. I desperately wanted to lean over and kiss his muscular bare feet but didn't dare without permission. He'd just as likely kick my teeth out.
Without speaking to me, he got up and snapped his fingers again, then headed down the hallway to the bathroom. He didn't even look to see if I was following him, just taking for granted his every order would be followed. He took a quick glance into the bathroom, and evidently it met his approval, because he led me across the hall into his bedroom.
I felt like I'd entered the Holy of Holies. This room was pure Jake from top to bottom. Sports trophies lined the walls. His dirty clothes, in what I would learn was typical Jake style, were laying pretty much everywhere. And the smell! It was a mixture of sweat, testosterone, and what I could only imagine was a faint hint of Jake's cum, probably from where he fucked some girl on his bed or something. Everyone knew he didn't lack for women, and I immediately started imagining how many of the girls from our school had been lucky enough to spread their legs for Jake on his king-sized bed. Jake flopped down on the bed and turned his attention back to his phone.
"Well, don't just stand there, stupid bitch. Clean this place up, " he ordered, without even looking at me.
I started cleaning his room, organizing his desk, and picking up his clothes. The clothes, especially, were sheer torture, since most were pretty sweaty, especially his socks and underwear. Turns out Jake was a boxer briefs man. It was all I could do not to try to steal a pair of his sweaty socks or underwear to take home with me as a prized possession, but I didn't dare. I got all the clothes picked up and put into the clothes basket for washing, and then started to organize Jake's shoes, lining them up against the wall neatly. I lovingly arranged each pair: the loafers I loved mainly because I got to see his bare feet; his Chuck Taylors, which made my balls and dick throb in my pants; his flip flops (God what I wouldn't give to see him in those!); an old, worn pair of Nike's, and his cowboy boots -- big, leather, and shiny black. The crowning glory, though, were his football cleats. I took this opportunity to sneak a peek and see how big his feet were: size 14! Dear Lord, with feet and hands that big, I could barely imagine how big his cock must be.
When the room was nice and neat, I went and knelt next to the bed until Jake spoke to me.
"What it is, pussy?"
"Sir," I said. "I'm done. Thank you for letting me clean your room. And for letting me clean your bathroom, Sir."
Jake smirked, then hopped of the bed and began inspecting the room. He saw where I had lined his shoes up next to the door.
"That's funny, faggot. I thought you told me you were done, but my shoes and boots don't look clean. Matter of fact, my boots have dust all over them, and I can see mud and grass on my cleats. Is this how much you respect me, faggot? You want me walking around in dirty, muddy cleats? Is that it? Do I need to give you some more `correction', asshole?"
"Sir, no, Sir! I'm very sorry, Sir!" I quickly responded.
"Well, perv, since you seem to like licking my shoes so damn much, you better get busy. Make them shine, fucker."
I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven! Jake had just ordered me to lick his shoes and boots clean, and I didn't hesitate a second. I immediately picked up his boots and started to lick the tops.
"No, dumbfuck. Don't pick them up," he corrected. "Bend over and lick them like you would if they were on my feet."
I did as I was told. I knelt and started licking his boots clean, imagining they were on his huge, perfect feet. His boots were very dusty, and they were so large I got a mouthful of dirt. But I didn't stop. I wanted to show him how much I worshipped him, wanted to make his boots as shiny as possible, so he could see his reflection in them when I was done.
"Don't forget the bottoms, cocksucker. Get those soles clean, too," Jake said from where he reclined on the bed.
I turned the boots over and licked the soles. I don't want to think of what my tongue was picking up, so I just closed my eyes and concentrated on imaging Jake in the boots and enjoying the smell of his sweat trapped in the leather.
I licked his loafers next. Then the flip flops. Then the Chucks I loved so much, followed by his old, worn out Nikes, which were pretty dirty and hard to make look clean.
I saved his cleats for last. I know that makes me sound like a desperate, pathetic faggot, and I suppose I am. Even I thought so as I was cleaning the dirt and clumps of grass from his spikes. I never thought I'd do something so low, so disgusting. But here I was, hard as a rock with my dick leaking so much precum it soaked through my underwear and made a wet spot on my pants.
I was putting the final spit shine on Jake's cleats when I glanced over at him, expecting to see him either ignoring me or watching my depravity with complete disgust. To my surprise, it was neither.
It was worse.
Jake was still holding his phone, but he wasn't playing on it and texting people. He was recording me. And he had a look of complete triumph on his face while he did it.
Fuck, I thought. The video of me licking his shoe in class was bad enough, and probably would have ruined my life. But I had no idea how much of the little `performance' I just put on he recorded, but I assumed all of it. Fuck my life!
"Get over here faggot, take a look at your new video!" Jake smirked.
I crawled over to the bed, and he turned the phone towards me. There I was, perving on Jake's shoes, eating, literally eating, dirt and grass from his filthy football cleats. And moaning with pleasure while I did it, apparently. I don't remember moaning, but I guess I was too caught up to notice. Probably the worst of all though: you could clearly see my hard dick tenting my pants, and the growing wet spot from my precum. Jake was about to laugh himself off the bed at both the video and the expression of shame on my face. I was more humiliated than I think I've ever been in my life.
And the worst part of all: my cock was still rock hard.
"Get up, faggot. Strip off those clothes and stand against that wall. Now," he commanded.
I wasn't sure where this was going. I stood and started removing my clothes. The wet spot on my shorts was an even bigger spot on my underwear. I'd never been naked in front of another person before like this, and I felt as much fear as desire when I finally removed my boxers and stood there in front of Jake, bare naked and totally exposed.
"Pathetic. Look at that tiny little faggot dick. Bet you've never even used it for anything except beathing off, huh bitch?" Jake sneered.
"No...no Sir," I replied, blushing even more (if that was even possible at this point).
"Yeah, I can see why. What woman is gonna want that little needle dick in her, anyway? Now, put your hands behind your head and spread your legs, bootlicker."
I complied, and Jake took two pics of me in that position.
"Now, faggot," he explained, "those pics I just took of you naked with your little weenie dripping are the first pics I'll share if you give me any problems. Kinda like extra insurance. You tell me no, you give me any lip, or even if you just piss me off for some reason, those get texted to everybody. Might print a few and post them around the school. That will be your one and only warning. After that, I'll be sharing the videos of you, too. Understand, you stupid fuck?"
I felt like crying. "Yeah, I understand, Sir. I'll do whatever you want, just please don't show those to anybody, ever. Please, I'm begging you, Sir."
"We'll see, pussy. As long as you are useful to me, or at least obedient and entertaining, I may keep your secrets. Now put your boxers back on, fag. I don't want to look at your stupid, tiny dick."
Jake got up from the bed, and walked over to his desk, taking a seat in his desk chair while I hurried to put my boxers on. As soon as I did, he snapped his fingers and pointed to his feet. I had learned by now that was his way of giving me a command, just like dog, and I'd better jump to it.
I crossed the room and knelt at his feet, savoring his physique. Just being this close to him, smelling his scent, a combination of soap and his sweat, intoxicated me.
"You like my feet so much, faggot, maybe you should clean them off the way you cleaned my shoes. Get busy and make them feel good, foot fag," Jake said.
It was too much. Too good to be true. I leaned over and started licking his perfect size 14 feet. It was better than I'd dreamt in my best jack off fantasy. The taste of his sweat was incredible. I licked every inch of the tops of both his feet, and then moved to his long toes. His big toe was at least half as long as my dick, and I worshipped and sucked it like I was sucking Jake's cock, like my life depended on it, like I wanted to make him cum just from having his toes worshipped. Maybe, I thought, if I make his feet feel good enough, he will let me do this regularly. That would be paradise!
I truly worshipped both feet. I cleaned between each toe, sucking each one of them individually, then licked the dirt from his soles. Feeling his foot against my face was the new high point of my life, and I'd never felt so perfectly in my place as when I was on the floor with his jock feet resting on me and my tongue licking sweat and dirt off his soles.
After I'd licked both his feet, Jake directly me to grab some lotion from the bathroom and give him a foot massage, which I did. He played a game on his phone while I was experiencing my personal nirvana. To him, I was just a tool to use for whatever he needed done: fetch him food, complete his homework, scrub his toilet, or clean his feet. Apparently, I was just the obedient fag he owned.
To me, it felt like an honor.