I was awoken from my incredibly sound sleep by the sudden feeling of my legs being stretched abruptly into the air. Disoriented, I groaned and looked back over my shoulder to see my sadistic 18-year-old Master holding both of my ankles up almost to his shoulders and grinning widely as he forced my back into a severe and painful arch. My arms, of course, were still chained to the base of the toilet so I was at his total mercy.
"Good morning, faggot. It's your 11 a.m. wake up call," he said smirking and pulling up harder on my ankles. "I see your little boycock is still drooling for me, even in your sleep."
"Argghh. Yes, I guess so, Master," I whimpered in pain. "Please let my feet down, Master. You are killing my back. It hurts so much."
As I begged, it set in just how much my entire body was in pain from having slept the night on the rock-hard bathroom tile, not to mention all that it had been put through the day before. Unsurprisingly, Drew did not let go of my ankles, though.
"Hmm. Why should I? I think I'd rather use you to start my morning workout anyway."
At that, he chuckled and lowered my ankles slightly, to the point where my feet were only at his waist. My small reprieve was very brief, as he quickly raised them up to shoulder level again. Then back down, then back up. Down, up, down, up, again and again. Each lift upwards put my arched back and legs into agonizing pain. Master Drew was counting the "reps" out loud, using me like an exercise machine.
"Damn, this is a good workout, slave. You are a regular fucking Bowflex. Normally I have to hit the gym to keep my body looking hot for the ladies, but now that I have a slave around, everything is so much fuckin easier."
After 30 reps, Master Drew stopped in the lower (only semi-painful) position and asked me if I liked being used as his Bowflex machine. When I mumbled a less-than-enthusiastic "Yes, Master" for an answer, he yanked my feet up as high as he could in a swift jerk.
"What was that, faggot?? You don't seem very appreciative."
I moaned and whimpered in genuine pain as I managed to squeal out a groveling response.
"Ahhhh, I am sorry Master. I am...so happy to be...used as your exercise equipment...Master...so you can...aaaaaaahh...keep up your sexy...appearance. I am honored...that you even...touch your worthless slave, Master. Thank you...for causing me...to be in this...pain so...fuccccckkk...I can remember...how lowwwww...I am compared to you, Master. But pleeeeease, Master...let me down so...that I can...serve you, Master."
"Haha, alright bitch. Since you learned your place and asked nicely."
Stepping aside, he let go of my ankles while they were still at their highest point, letting my lower body come crashing down in a thud. Holy shit did it hurt, and I moaned in more pain. Master Drew just flashed me a small smirk and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me to wallow in my own discomfort. The day was not off to a great start, and if this rude awakening was any indication of what my final five "initiation ordeals" would be like, I was flat out screwed. Within a minute or so, he returned to the bathroom holding a Nalgene bottle that looked to be about half full with some unidentifiable liquid. He unscrewed the lid, placed it between his legs, and inserted his awesome looking cock into the mouth of it. His cock was semi-erect, from a combination of his morning wood and the excitement of just having tortured me, but after a few seconds, he let loose with his morning piss. I helplessly looked on, knowing with very little doubt that the bottle of urine would be used to punish me at some point in the day.
"Hope you like what you see, Matty. You and my piss are gonna get to be real good friends later on today. I've been saving it up ever since dinner last night, and this batch seems like it will be extra strong! Mmmmm, mmm."
When he finished pissing, the Nalgene bottle was full almost to the brim, and he screwed the lid back on and set the bottle on the sink. Casually, he took two steps towards the toilet and walked onto my back, his full weight on top of me like I was a piece of carpet. He pivoted and plopped down on the toilet, picking up a Sports Illustrated from the ledge by the sink. For the next ten minutes or so, my master casually roosted to take his morning shit, leafing through magazine articles, and occasionally telling me what a "fabulous fucking bathmat" I was. He said it might be my best skill so far.
"You are sure as hell a better bathmat than you are a swimmer...or a wrestler...or a cook...or probably pretty much anything. We may have found your true calling in life, considering how fuckin worthless you are at most things."
As he said this, he stood up and started wiping his ass, still standing on me while he did so. After the third or fourth wipe, much to my dismay, he crouched down and stuck a piece of the toilet paper in my face, just inches from my nose, ordering me to sniff it. He laughed hysterically as I did so, and I couldn't help but gag and squirm away. Luckily, he threw the toilet paper in the bowl and flushed.
"Don't worry faggot. Someday you might earn the privilege of being allowed to wipe my ass for me," he said matter-of-factly. "Alright, well its almost time for us to get to work on the day's ordeals, but you are gonna have to beg me to unhandcuff you first."
Playfully, he pressed his left bare foot against my face, pinning it against the base of the toilet. After a minute, he let up and let his foot rest on the tile just in front of my face, and he told me to beg properly. For several minutes I did just that, begging as thoroughly as I could to be released, sucking up and telling Master Drew how amazing he was and how much I worshiped him while I kissed and licked his smooth, well-tanned foot. Despite the fact that I knew there was nothing but punishment ahead of me once I was unchained, I really DID want to be released. I was sore and stiff from the hours of sleeping on the hard tile, and needed badly to be able to move around.
Master must have been satisfied with my foot worship, as he produced a key and reached down to take the handcuffs off my wrists. What a relief to be free. Or at least as "free" as someone can be while still being a slave. Enjoying my unbound hands, I instinctively rose to my feet and stretched my limbs.
"Man, you really are a dumbfuck aren't you, slave?" he said, glaring at me condescendingly. I wasn't really sure what to make of this as I continued to try and shake some life back into my arms and legs. Master must have seen my dumbfounded look and realized I clearly had no idea what he was referring to. He took a few steps towards me until he was standing just inches from me, slowly hocked phlegm together in the back of his throat, and then spit in my face. He snapped his fingers and firmly pointed to the floor. Immediately, my error sunk in, and I fell to my knees.
I scrambled for an explanation, fearing any level of added punishment he might decide on. "I am so sorry Master, I know I am not allowed to stand in your presence, I was just so excited to be free and I totally forgot. I promise it won't happen again, Master," I managed, as I felt the gob of his spit run down my face.
"You'll be punished extra for that later, fag. For now, follow me and dress me."
He exited the bathroom, and I submissively crawled behind like a puppy who had just been swatted with a newspaper. What was most fucked up was that I genuinely felt bad about having stood in his presence and broken his rule. I actually felt mad at myself, like I had let him down. He actually had me brainwashed to feel that I deserved severe punishment for the simple pleasure of standing on my own two feet. It was embarrassing just how much of a submissive faggot this younger dude had turned me into in less than a day, and my cock still throbbed with desire for him.
In the master bedroom, Drew had laid out some clothes on the bed: a fresh pair of white ankle socks, a very sexy looking black athletic jockstrap, a pair of Nike Shox running shoes, a red pair of medium length nylon athletic shorts, and a white Nike t-shirt with big letters on the front that read "My Feet Hurt from Kicking So Much Ass."
"While you complete your ninth ordeal, I am going to go for a run on the beach and pick up some lunch, so hurry your ass up and get me dressed. I don't have all day."
He loved to bark orders, and the cocky confidence in his face made me melt. I quickly dressed him, although it seemed a shame to cover his wonderful body with clothing. When I had finished tying his shoes for him, Master ordered me to gather his soccer cleats, his flip flops, his Air Jordans, and the video camera, and meet him in the living room. I had no idea what to expect from all this, but anything with the camera was sure to be extra humiliating. I had to crawl all over the condo looking for the things Master had ordered me to get. His soccer cleats, which were well used and caked with a layer of dirt, were in the bedroom closet; the flip flops were near the balcony sliding door; I found one of the Jordans under his bed, and the other on about fifty feet away under a table by the window; the video camera was in one of the other bedrooms. After several minutes of crawling here and there and everywhere, I had all the items piled up in the center of the living room floor, where I knelt waiting for Drew to appear. He didn't keep me waiting long, but instead of approaching me, he went over to the table by the entry door, which housed the many bags of "supplies" he had bought for my initiation. Digging through them, he produced quite a few lengths of rope, as well as an unfamiliar looking device that looked like a black leather donut with some light chains hanging off of it.
"Alright, bitch. Number nine is about to start, which I am sure you are excited for. Cuz every one we finish gets you one step closer to getting your cock-sucking lips around THIS," he said, approaching me and crudely grabbing his crotch through his athletic shorts. "Now, just for a second, I need you to stand up. Since you're not allowed to stand in my presence, I'll have to punish you for it later, but for now, stand up, put your hands behind your head, and spread your legs like the slut you are."
Master dropped the pile of ropes on the floor near my feet, but held onto the leather and chain contraption and held it up before my eyes for me to see closely.
"Do you know what this is, Matty?"
"I have no idea, Master."
He didn't answer me, or not verbally at least. Instead, he squatted slightly in front of me, unsnapped part of the device, and then attached the leather donut-looking part around my balls. It snapped closed so that the inner ring of the "donut" was between my balls and my body, and the three light chains hung down beneath and were all joined by a metal ring. The device, I could now tell, was clearly intended to be used to stretch my ball sack. Once it was attached, Master Drew grinned up at me and then gave the ring on the end a firm tug, effectively yanking my balls sharply towards the floor. It wasn't excruciating, but it was by no means pleasant, and I let out a small yelp when he did it. Inexplicably, my cock was still rock hard (as it had been without interruption for the past 18 hours or so), despite all the pain and humiliation. I was clearly getting off on all of this, despite myself.
"Enough standing. Back on your knees where you belong, slave boy," said Master, giving me a playful but firm slap in the face. "Actually, skip the knees. Get all the way down on the floor, on your stomach."
I complied quickly. Master grabbed some of the ropes he had gathered earlier, and ordered me to put my hands behind my back. Meticulously, he wrapped the rope around and around my wrists, weaving it across-ways several times as well, before finally ending the rope in a series of firm knots. Next, he grabbed a fresh rope and tied my legs firmly together at the ankles. Satisfied that they were secure, he grabbed yet another rope and used it to connect the rope around my ankles to the one around my wrists. He pulled it tight and knotted it off, and for the first time in my life, I found myself hogtied. Master let out a satisfied chuckle as he rose up and backed away, admiring his handiwork.
"How's that feel, faggot? Try and escape. If you can get out within 2 minutes, I will let you jerk off." He circled me slowly as he talked, observing my restrained body from all angles. I started to squirm and pull at the ropes ferociously, the thought of the sexual gratification that I desired so desperately being all the motivation I needed, but it was very quickly clear that there would be no escape without Master's help.
"There is no way I can get out of this, Master. You are the Master of hogtying, Master." Blatant ass kissing never hurt.
"I am the Master of EVERYTHING, fucktard," he quipped. "Don't ever forget that. Now all I need to do is set up the camera and we can get started."
He went about setting the video camera up on a tripod in the corner of the room, making sure the camera could capture more or less the entire living room area. Once it was good to go, he returned to the center of the room where I was helplessly awaiting him. Master sat down cross legged in front of me so he could more easily talk to me, and picked up some of the shoes I had gathered to look them over. He looked so sexy in his running clothes, and I wanted him more than ever. My cock, now trapped between the hard floor and my torso, ached for release.
"Now that you're in a nice, comfy position, faggot, I am gonna go for my run on the beach and then pick up some lunch. Before I get back, you need to complete your ninth test, which is thoroughly tongue-cleaning these 3 pairs of shoes. When I get back, they better be as fuckin spotless as the day I bought them, and I want them lined up neatly right here in the middle of the floor. Sound easy enough?"
On the contrary, it didn't sound THAT easy. While the Air Jordans were actually relatively clean, the flip flops were dirtier, and had distinctive rings of foot sweat that I figured would be next to impossible to get off using only my tongue. Far worse were the soccer cleats, which had a thick layer of grime on the top, and I couldn't even see the bottoms. Thinking back to when Master had made me clean his shower with my tongue, I knew how dry my mouth would get as well. But just as I was thinking about how difficult this would be as is, Master Drew started throwing his shoes all over the room. From my worm's-eye-view of a vantage point, I couldn't really see where they were going, but I got the general idea. He had scattered the six shoes as far away from each other as possible. Looking around as best I could, I could see a flip flop over by the exterior door and a cleat all the way by the sliding balcony. It was going to be next to impossible to try and wiggle my bound, naked body all over the room to retrieve each shoe before cleaning it.
"Because I am super fucking generous, I am putting a bowl of water here in the middle of the floor so you can keep your tongue wet and clean like the a champion shoe-rag that I'm sure you are," he said, setting down the bowl. "Ohhh, and one more thing."
Master retreated to his bedroom, and I could hear rustling around in there, but I obviously couldn't see what he was doing. It was hard to imagine that he was going to make this any harder or worse, but his evil genius seemed to know no bounds. Minutes later, have came back into the room holding a small duffle bag, about the size that you might take on an airplane as a carry-on. With a thud, he dropped it on the floor directly behind my feet and knelt down. Because of his position directly behind me, I couldn't see or figure out what the hell he was doing. Whatever it was, it didn't take him long and he was soon back to his feet.
"You better get started. Those shoes won't fuckin clean themselves!" He could see the discomfort and worry in my eyes, and he was really enjoying rubbing in his total power over me.
"Master, what was with the duffle bag?" I asked timidly, fearing that he would leave without giving me some vital instruction to the task.
"I don't think you had permission to speak, there, slave boy. And besides, that is a pointless question. Even a dumbfuck like you will be able to figure out what the duffel bag is for soon enough. Now I'll be back in around an hour and a half, and I fully expect you to be finished by then. I'll sure as fuck enjoy watching the video later on. How bout a little lick for good luck before I go, bitch?"
As he said that last bit, he walked right up to my face and presented his Nike Shox. I stretched my neck forward and licked the top of each shoe. "Thank you, Master," was all I could say.
"You're oh so fucking welcome, faggot."
With that, he ran out the door, slamming it behind him and leaving me to face my challenge alone. I didn't even really know where to begin. My arms and legs were already starting to ache from being tied up. More pressingly, I needed to figure the best way to negotiate my body across the floor (which was a combination of carpet in most places and hardwood in others) without totally crushing and rug-burning my cock, and without accidentally letting myself cum. I knew that the penalty for such an infraction would be unthinkable. My rough math skills told me that, in order to finish in time, I had around 15 minutes to spend for each of the 6 shoes, so I couldn't afford to keep wasting time. Since I could see one of the flip flops about 20 feet directly in front of me beside the door, I decided to start with that.
I managed to slowly writhe my body forward, inch by inch. But when I had gone a little less than a foot, I felt a tugging on my scrotum. As I kept advancing forward, the pressure on my poor balls got worse and worse, and eventually, I heard something drag slightly on the carpet behind me. It was only then that the full picture of Master's scheme hit me, as I realized that he had attached the duffel bag to the device that was fastened to my balls. I was going to be forced to effectively drag a suitcase around by my nuts as I retrieved and tongue-cleaned the shoes. A brief feeling of anger towards my cleverly sadistic Master quickly gave way to panic at the fact that my task was now sure to take longer than anticipated, and I absolutely had to get moving in order to have any prayer of finishing in time. Resolved to give it my best, I powered forward.
By the time I reached the flip flop, my balls were really getting sore, overcome with a dull ache from dragging the deadweight. I got the toe of the flip flop in my mouth, picked it up with my teeth, and started back towards the center of the room. A few minutes (and considerable pain) later, I was back to the water bowl, the area where Master wanted his clean shoes lined up. I dropped the flip flop and got to "cleaning it" with nothing to use as a rag but my tongue. It was a black Adidas sandal, and had obviously been worn a lot. The top was just a little dusty, and I managed to get that clean pretty quickly. Flipping it over, I got to work on the bottom, which actually wasn't too bad except for one or two spots of minor grime stuck in the tread. I had to dig my tongue in, and the taste was definitely foul, but it went pretty quickly. Lastly, I flipped it back over and examined the top base of the flip flop, which had the distinct outline of my master's sexy foot deeply imprinted in sweat. As much as I tried, and believe me I licked and licked, that imprint would not go away. All I was left with was salty taste mixture of leather and boy-foot in my mouth.
What really worried me was the fact that I had no idea how long this had taken me. There were no clocks in sight, and I definitely felt behind schedule. Squirming around the room, the next two shoes I retrieved and cleaned were both the Air Jordans. They were a fairly new pair of mid-height basketball shoes, primarily white and light blue with some darker blue accents and laces. Since they were still so new, it took me almost no time to clean them. If I was lucky, I might have even been back on schedule.
The next shoe, one of the soccer cleats, did not go so smoothly. For one, it was all the way on the other side of the room, and in retrieving it, the duffel bag had become caught on the leg of a table. I nearly ripped by balls off before finally backing up and reorienting my path in order to get the duffel loose. My arms and legs were losing feeling, and my balls literally felt like they were falling off. My penis, still erect, was also getting really sore from being pinched and dragged around under my body weight. By the time I got the cleat back to the center of the room, I could have almost collapsed in a mixture of pain and exhaustion. Unfortunately for me, the shoe was in just about as bad of shape -- it couldn't have been any filthier. Every inch of its upper surface was covered in dirt or grime, and the bottom had mud and grass and other filth caked into it. Just to get started, I had to fill my mouth with as much water from the bowl as it could hold, more or less spitting it onto the soiled cleat to loosen some of the grime and rehydrade the mud. For what seemed like an hour, I worked my tongue to death on that shoe, polishing the dirty top, deep cleaning the laces, and chewing mouthfuls of whatever soccer field Master Drew had last played on out of the bottoms. All the while, I was surrounded by a fairly pungent locker-roomish foot smell coming out of the shoes.
Once I had finally finished the cleat, the flip flop that I went for next was a piece of cake. You know your life has hit a low point when the taste of one particular shoe seems refreshing compared to others. After polishing off the flip flop, I now had the pair of Jordans and the pair of flip fops cleaned and neatly lined up together. They were joined by a single soccer cleat which was virtually unrecognizable from the disgusting mess it has been not long ago. All that remained was its mate, which was still right where Master Drew had flung it, all the way across the room by the bathroom. Just as I started the slow and painful creep to retrieve it, though, I heard the unlocking of the key card and the condo door swung open. I turned my head to see my boyish owner enter, carrying a McDonald's bag and large drink. The warm sunlight glistened off the visible layer of sweat that had collected on his body during his run, making him look incredibly sexy. Despite his shorter stature and very boyish face, he exuded a manly confidence in everything he did, and even though I knew I was about to be punished for not finishing my task, I was nonetheless glad he was back so I could be around him again. Plopping himself down casually onto on of the big leather couches, he spoke.
"Did the little slave boy miss his Master??"
The question was sarcastic, but little did he know I actually HAD missed him. At least kind of. But he didn't wait for a response.
"You were probably having too much fun to miss me. But fuck, dude, it looks like you didn't even finish the simple orders I gave you! Just when I was starting to think you might be a halfway fuckin decent slave, you go and fuck up again."
He got up and paced over to me and inspected both me and the line of completed shoes. As he looked over the Jordans and the flip flops, he seemed relatively satisfied with their cleanliness and made no comment, but when he got to the cleat, he picked it up and looked at it with genuine amazement. He turned it all around, inspecting every angle and crevice, flexing the soul and playing with the laces, and then repeating the whole process another time or two, as if his eyes might be deceiving him. I, meanwhile, was overcome with terrifying apprehension that he might be displeased.
"Dude. Honestly, what the fuck?" he said, incredulously pausing. "I seriously cannot believe you did this using only your fucking tongue. This thing looks like its fresh out of the box at the shoe store. Holy shit, bitch. And I mean this shoe was fuckin nasssssty. I mean I didn't think you had a prayer of getting it to look even halfway clean, let alone spotless. Unbe-fucking-lievable. We might have to open up a shoe cleaning service with you someday, bitch."
He put the shoe down and squatted down to speak to me more closely.
"You did good, boy. Obviously, I'm still gonna have to punish you for not finishing the last shoe, but still, you did good." Turning his attention to my body, he continued with a bemused chuckle, "And holy shit dude your nutsack looks like its turning a little blue."
With that, he thankfully removed the device from my balls, which was a great relief, and continued by undoing the middle hogtie rope and then unbinding my ankles. My wrists remained tied behind my back, but it felt absolutely amazing to be able to stretch out my legs. Master Drew arose, retrieved the uncleaned cleat from over by the bathroom, and then returned to his perch on the couch. He had kicked off his running shoes and, flipping on the TV, now perched his socked feet up on the coffee table in front of him.
"Well don't just lay there, bitch. Get over here and take my socks off."
My brief respite period of laying stretched on the floor was over too soon. I managed to get up to my knees and make my way over to the couch. With my hands tied behind my back, I had no choice but to take off Master's socks using my mouth. They were totally soaked through with sweat from his workout, and tasted salty and rank. I struggled to grab a hold of them at the ankle with my teeth and pull them down over his slender feet. Drew wiggled his toes around as I did this to rub in the degradation.
All the while that I was laboring to remove his sweaty socks, Master had started to enjoy his lunch. He was eating what looked like a double quarter pounder with cheese and munching on a super-sized order of French fries. Starving, I eyed it all out of the corner of my eyes, catching whiffs of the meaty aroma overtop the pervasive sock smell. Despite the fact that I had been "fed" various things (like dog food, a cup of mayonnaise, and some charred chicken scraps) I hadn't had any real food in over 24 hours. Master Drew obviously had to know how hungry I was, and taunted me by enjoying his burger extra loudly, frequently "mmmmm"ing and making it clear that his lunch was very satisfying. Once I had finally gotten his socks off, he did take some small mercy on me.
"You hungry, Matty?"
"Yes Master, I am absolutely starving." I nodded quickly and begged for mercy withy my eyes.
"Here, faggot. Have a snack."
With that, he took 8 French fries and put them in the gaps between his toes, telling me to eat up. Granted, it was humiliating to have to eat this way, but I was so hungry it didn't matter, and I quickly scarfed down the treats.
"Those fries left grease between my toes. Why the fuck haven't you cleaned it out? Aren't you grateful for the food, slave?"
"Yes, Master, I'm sorry Master. I truly am very grateful for it, Master. I am starving, and you were very generous to feed me, Master," I sniveled pathetically as I quickly dove to lick between his toes. I meticulously licked between every one, making sure to remove the "grease."
"Damn straight I was generous, boy. I actually even bought you a hamburger."
He pulled a single McDonald's hamburger out of the bag, still in the wrapper, and showed it to me. My eyes lit up with excitement.
"BUT...I don't think you really earned the right to eat it, since you didn't tongue clean all six shoes like I told you do. MAYBE your punishment for failing should be not getting to eat this delicious burger. What do you think, faggot?"
"Nooooooooo, please give it to me, Master," I begged, plunging my face back to his feet, which were still plopped on the coffee table. I kissed them repeatedly as I begged to be allowed some more real food. I was truly starving.
"Lemme think about it, boy. If you want your lunch, show me how much you want it by giving my feet a good tongue bath like you did the first soccer cleat. Maybe if you do a really good fucking job, you might get this burger."
He grinned down at me smugly, basking in the glow of his total dominance of me. Drew was really settling into the practice of having a slave, and was certainly at ease in the role of Master. The fact that I was now totally dependent on him for basic necessities like food was not lost on his devious mind, and he clearly intended to take full advantage of it. I too was settling into the total submissive role pretty naturally. It clearly was something that turned me on sexually beyond belief, and I had started to break down some of the mental and ego-based barriers that had made the humiliation so bad at first. I knew that my Master controlled when and if I would eat my next meal, and I was more than willing to grovel at his feet and lick them eagerly to show him my submission.
I had thoroughly worshiped every inch of both of his feet for a period of close to fifteen minutes when Master made his decision. Pushing my face away with his foot, he ordered me to crawl to the kitchen to get a knife. I complied, unsure of the purpose. Perhaps he wanted to cut the burger in half so we could split it. I guessed half a burger would be better than none, for sure. When I returned holding the knife in my teeth, Master had removed the burger from its wrapper and was holding it in the palm of his left hand.
"So since I am such a fucking generous Master, I am still gonna let you eat the burger even though you fucked up your last task. But as a punishment, you are gonna have to eat it with some extra toppings."
With a sneer, Master put the burger down on the hardwood floor in front of the couch and removed the top bun. First, he drooled a big gob of his spit onto the burger, landing goopily in the pile of ketchup and mustard that was already there. Next, he took the knife from me and also picked up the dirty cleat that I had failed to clean. Carefully, he used the knife to pick clods of mud and grass out from the bottom of the shoe, letting them fall right onto the sandwich. There was a LOT of grime in the bottom of that shoe, and Master managed to extract most of it. When he was finished, he hocked one more load of his spit on the top for good measure before replacing the top bun. As a final insult, he brought his right bare foot down on top of the newly enhanced sandwich and slowly crushed it underfoot, various bits of the slimy mixture oozing up between his toes and the rest muddled together on the floor. Within five minutes, this hamburger had gone from mouthwatering to absolutely disgusting.
"Well what are you waiting for, faggot? Eat up! Chow down on every last bit of it, and don`t waste the delicious morsels on my foot either."
Since my hands were still tied, I had to eat like a pig on the ground, lowering my face into the slop and eating it up. Despite the occasional tastes of grass and mud, and the overall disgusting appearance of it, most bites didn't taste that bad. It was actually nice to consume something that at least tasted somewhat like normal food for the first time in a while. I labored to get up all the little scraps of food, sucking them up off the floor and out from under Master Drew's foot. As I did so, he had taken off his sweaty shirt and started playfully whipping my back with it, the way men sometimes do with wet towels in a locker room.
"Clean that floor spotless, boy," he barked as he continued to laugh at me and whip me with his shirt.
Finally, I had consumed the last bites of my "lunch" and used my tongue to restore the cleanliness of both the floor and my Master's foot. I got back up on my knees to await further instruction, and to hopefully stop the stinging barrage of whippings.
"Good job, Matty. I guess that completes your ninth ordeal. Before we start number ten, as a reward, I'll let you crawl up here and give my pits the worship they deserve."
Master leaned back and put his hands behind his head, swinging his feet up on the couch to relax. His sinewy muscles on display in their glory, he truly looked like a god, and I gladly accepted my reward. Burying my mouth and nose is his armpit, I lost myself in his manly scent and taste. My body and mind were still on overload from all the pain, exhaustion, and humiliation of the last day, but for now I was totally relaxed and in heaven in the worship of my Master's body.
...
Feedback greatly appreciated. This is my first story on Nifty. More parts coming soon!