Disclaimer: This story is basically a fantasy involving humiliation, mild violence, and sexual activity between young men. If you find such material offensive or in violation of the laws of your state/country, please don't read any further.
Copyright Art M. Hill ArtHill579@aol.com All rights reserved (2004). If you enjoy this story, please email me.
The following week I settled into my new routine. Each morning I drove over to Chris' house to pick him up for classes. Invariably he was late. His mom usually offered me a glass of OJ or coffee and a muffin, which I started looking forward to. It was the only reward I got for the extra work that Chris had talked me into.
During school time Chris virtually ignored me. We would usually pass each other once in a while in the halls, but he would be talking with some of his buds or his latest girlfriend. On the other hand, I did everything I could do to avoid Nick. This was not totally possible since we still had that English class together. Now when I came into the auditorium, if he was already there, I would try to sit as far away as possible. I guess he figured that two could play at that game, since if I was seated first he would choose the seat directly behind me if it was vacant. A few times he even asked someone occupying the seat if he/she would mind moving since he wanted to sit near his `little buddy.' Then he would put his feet up and start to torment me.
By now both Nick and I were accustomed to him using my shoulders as his foot rest. More and more, however, he brought his sneakers together with my face, like I was in a vise. Then he would push my cheeks up and down. Several times he took his shoes off and did the same thing with his socked feet. I asked him repeatedly to stop, but that only seemed to encourage him and cause him to challenge me to make him stop. Nick was careful not to let the teacher observe what he was doing, but the students sitting near us had to muffle their laughter at what they were seeing. In spite of my protests I inevitably got a boner from this kind of treatment, feeling his body heat penetrating through his jeans and socks. Nick was quick to notice it.
"You know you love it, you little fag," he said, "so don't get your panties in an uproar. Besides they're probably too sticky to move anyway. That right you little homo? Le'me see. Aw, that's real nice," he laughed before starting up his foot torture again.
I was grateful that English was only three times a week and first class in the morning. Of course, that was more than enough, but at least I didn't need to see Nick for the rest of the day--if I was careful. Another part of me, as I said, wanted to see this blond hunk. Unlike Chris, Nick wore his hair long, and it fell sexily over his forehead and down to his collar. Although he was muscular, he was tall and lanky, and I continually tried to imagine what his chest might look like, especially when it was all sweaty after football practice. He drove a motorcycle, and that only enhanced his macho image for me. Yep, one thing I had to say about this college: there was no lack of eye candy!
When I arrived at Chris' house on Saturday evening (having told my parents that I was going to a movie with Allen) I found him ready for once, tossing a football up in the air and catching it.
"You play any football?" Chris asked me.
"Not really, Chris," I answered, "I used to swim and play some tennis in high school, but I've been too busy with college lately to go out for any sport."
He threw the football and it hit me hard in the gut, almost knocking the air out of me. Chris laughed. "Yeah," he said, "you need to do some working out. School ain't the only thing in life. In fact it's a damn small part for me. I' m hoping to get a football scholarship to take me through the rest of college. Coach tells me it looks pretty good," Chris boasted. "Anyway," he said, " let's get going, horsey," he said. He laughed again, but kind of in a good-natured way.
Chris directed me to his bud's house. I heard loud music blasting from inside and wondered what kind of a strategy session this was going to be. "I'm going to wait here and do some studying," I told Chris.
"Whatever," Chris shrugged. "Just don't forget I'll be out at 11:30 pm. Be here."
After about an hour it was getting too dark to study in the car and I began to doze off. I knew that I could have studied at home or at Allen's, but a strange impulse was telling me to stay put.
Right around 9:30 pm I heard someone banging on the car window, and I awoke with a start.
"Hey man," said the guy standing next to the window. "He was slurring his words and smelled of beer and something sweet that I later learned was weed (told you I was a late bloomer!)
I was confused as I awoke from my nap and stared at the guy blankly. He was obviously another football jock from the school team. I involuntarily ran my eyes up and down his athletic body. Luckily he was too drunk to notice.
"Foster sent me out here to tell you to get us a couple of 12-packs of beer. You can go right down there," he said, pointing unsteadily down the street. " There's an all-nite market on the corner. "Hurry up, he said, "we're gettin' mighty dry."
The guy then weaved back up the stairs into the house. He had not even bothered to introduce himself, nor had he offered me any money to buy the beer. I figured Chris would pay me later. Two 12-packs of beer was a lot more expensive than burgers and fries!
I got the beer, returned to the house and knocked on the door. "C'mon in!" somebody yelled.
When I opened the door I saw six burly guys kicked back watching football on TV. I guess this was their `strategy' meeting! The air was heavy with smoke, and the guys were talking and laughing and generally acting rowdy. I was gratefully relieved to see that Nick wasn't there, something I had been worried about all evening.
The talking and laughing stopped when I came in, with everybody looking at me. I turned to Chris and said nervously: "Here's the beer you asked for, where should I put it?"
"Leave one pack here and put the other in the frig," Chris ordered. "It's in the kitchen, to your left."
As I was going into the kitchen I overheard one of the jocks say to Chris: " Is that the dork that drives you all over?"
"Yeah," Chris laughed. "He picked me up one day hitching and he's been picking me up ever since. He does whatever I tell him to."
"Whatever you tell him to," said another voice. "Does he suck your cock for you too?" There was general laughter at that.
"Not yet," Chris chuckled, good-naturedly, "but the guy is so damn agreeable he would probably be on his knees in a second if I asked him to."
"Oh, yeah?" said the second voice. "Prove it. Tell him you want some head. Hell, the rest of us do too."
"All in good time," Chris answered. "All in good time. Besides you remember coach said we shouldn't be fucking during training. It makes ya all weak and stuff." He burped loudly. I guess he had forgotten the remark he had made to me about fucking his girlfriend.
"Well, when you get around to doing it, make sure you tell us about it. Why should you get all the goodies." General laughing.
Overhearing this conversation, I turned all shades of red, and sweat broke out on my forehead and the palms of my hands. How could I go back in there? I wondered briefly if I could sneak out the back door. Still, I had promised Chris I would take him home at 11:30 pm. It was now only 10:00 pm. Looks like I couldn't escape. Nevertheless, I was determined never to put myself in this kind of situation again.
"Hey, dude," I heard Chris yelling at me, "what are ya doin' out there, washing the dishes?" More laughing. "Come on in here. The guys want to meet you."
Reluctantly I stepped into the living room. "We hear you're real good to Chris," said the guy who lived there (whom I later found out was named Ben). That' s real good. Chris is one of the best guys on the team: so when you help him, you help us, and when you help us, you help the school."
Ben was so smashed he could hardly get through this little speech which he punctuated with a loud fart. The guys went into hysterics laughing, leaving me to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.
"Hey man," Chris interrupted, looking at me. "Do me a favor. Take off my sneakers will you? My back still hurts and I can't reach `em."
For a moment I stood there dumbly. Surely Chris wasn't going to tell me to do such a degrading thing in front of his buds?
But Chris was serious. "Come on," he said impatiently, "my feet are getting real hot and sore. Maybe you can even give me a foot rub." The other guys snickered.
Chris was clearly trying to demonstrate to his friends the extent of his power over me, but at that moment I didn't care. My cock had taken over again. There was something I was finding terribly exciting about this public humiliation, and I was ready to comply.
Sensing this, Chris began to grin and said to the other guys: "Watch this."
I knelt down in front of him, and he once again put his feet in my lap. I had intentionally put on a pair of baggy pants to try and hide the erection I always seemed to get in Chris' presence, but noticed there was still a slight tenting, a tenting I'm sure Chris could feel as he plopped his feet in my lap.
Trying to get this over with as quickly as possible, I untied each grimy shoe lace, loosened the sneakers and took them off one at a time. The odor coming up from his feet made me conclude that he hadn't taken a shower after today's practice.
"Man, Chris," laughed Ben, "your feet stink, don't you ever take a shower."
"Not today, man," Chris answered, "I wasn't gonna miss out on the free beer. Besides I didn't want to keep our little friend here waiting too long. I was afraid I might piss him off and he would start beatin' on me." The guys started laughing their asses off.
"Okay, man," Chris said to me. "Now give my big dogs a good massage; work the tension out of them. Shit, are they sore."
Chris was taking his control over me to a whole different level, letting his friends in on how obedient I was to his commands. I was scarlet with embarrassment. Nevertheless, I started rubbing his smelly feet through his sweaty athletic socks.
"Ah, yeah, that's it," he sighed. Chris had leaned back with his hands behind his head and a smug look on his handsome face. "Make `em feel real good. I know none of these guys would help me out like this." His words were met with a chorus of cat-calls.
I gently but firmly massaged his entire foot and then moved to the other one. The guys watched in disbelief, wondering, no doubt, how anyone would rub another dude's smelly feet.
"Okay," Chris said after about twenty minutes of massage. That was pretty good. Now go back out to the car and wait."
As I left I heard a chorus of comments: "Is he for real, Chris…I never seen a dude act so low…I think he gets off on it…he's a fag for sure."
"Oh, he gets off on it," I heard Chris say as a went through the door and closed it behind me. "I put my sneaks in his crotch twice and he was hard as a rock both times. Besides, I gotta tell ya the story I heard from Nick Marshall . . ."
It was almost midnight when the `strategy meeting' broke up. I was glad I had called mom on the cell and asked if I could stay over at Allen's for the night. Then I quickly called Allen and invited myself to stay over. He was kind of mystified, but glad for the company. I was happy that, like me, he wasn't much of a social person either and so didn't have a Saturday evening date.
"What's up?" Allen asked over the phone. "How come you're coming over so late?"
"It's a long story," I said, "I'll tell you later…" After I shut off the cell, I dozed off again.
I heard a loud banging on the car window, waking me up again. It was Chris and he wasn't alone.
"Chuck and Larry need rides home too," Chris slurred. "You don' mind taken ` em, do ya?"
"Where do they live?" I asked.
"They'll tell ya," Chris said. "Drop me off first."
The three drunken jocks slipped into the car. I was almost knocked over by the smell of beer, and each of them was carrying another can. When Chuck, who was sitting in the back, opened his can, it sprayed all over the car with me getting a healthy squirt on the back of my neck. He laughed uproariously, having first shaken the can.
The three of them continued to babble away, acting as if I wasn't there except when it was time to give directions. Considering how plastered they were, it was lucky they knew which end was up. Finally we got to Chris' house.
Chris started to get out of the car and blew a loud fart, which almost hit me right in the face. The others were rolling on the back seat in fits of laughter, and spilling more beer on the seat and floor of my car.
"See ya, on Monday," he giggled, seemingly proud of the reaction his fart had on his buds. This comment, of course, was directed to me, his chauffeur.
As soon as the car door slammed closed and we backed out of Chris' driveway, Chuck said to me: "Hey dude, are you a faggot?"
(to be continued)