Jimmy Takes Over
By Ben Coolen
bencoolen@protonmail.com
Readers, please keep in mind that this story is 100% fictional. In real life no man is better than the other, and nobody is entitled to treat other people cruelly.
This story contains sexual acts (domination, submission, humiliation, oral sex, masturbation) between young males. If you don't like it, or it is illegal in your country, state or community, please stop reading it immediately.
Please keep in mind that Nifty needs our donations to keep this great free service running.
Thanks to Naughty Bard for proofreading the text.
This is a story about my best friend Jimmy and me. And that has to be in this order, because Jimmy always comes first. It has been like that since I met him at the age of 6, and I have never complained. That's how things are supposed to be.
Jimmy's parents were divorced and he lived with his mother in their spacious house a few blocks from me. His mom was a successful ICT-consultant and his dad paid generous alimony, so they had no financial problems. He rarely saw his dad, though, since he lived a thousand miles away. His mom worked long hours and was often out of town attending some conference or consulting with a client or whatever, so Jimmy had lots of freedom for a 16-year-old.
His mom was a good friend of my parents', which meant that if Jimmy needed something while his mom was away, all he had to do was talk to my folks. It goes without saying that the kid was always welcome in our house.
My dad loved Jimmy. I had a strong impression that in Jimmy he saw the qualities he had hoped his son would have, when he held little old newborn me in his arms. Although he was a good and loving dad to me, I knew he secretly wished I were more like Jimmy.
My dad stopped being Mr. Henderson to Jimmy a couple of years ago; Jimmy called him Dave, just like dad's friends.
I knew my dad was secretly disappointed in me. I was a shy, insecure, non-athletic, sensitive and physically weak boy. I wasn't one bit interested in cars, sports or fishing - my dad loves fishing by the way - and, probably worst of all, girls. My voice was squeaky, and when I was embarrassed, which was not unusual, it became all shaky.
Jimmy, on the other hand, was outgoing, confident, tall, handsome, athletic and strong. He loved cars, sports, fishing and girls, and girls liked him. Already as a kid he spoke with a strong, steady voice that oozed self-esteem.
When Jimmy was ten, he persuaded his mother to buy him a skateboard. He fell in love with it immediately and started to spend most of his free time at the skate park. He was a very talented skater and quickly gathered many like-minded friends. I hardly saw him anymore, so I asked my dad to buy me a skateboard too. He said immediately yes to the opportunity of seeing his son show interest in something athletic.
Naturally I sucked at it. But skaters are generally friendly and tolerant people, and they accepted me into their posse as some kind of a hang around member. I was way too happy about that to mind the constant bruises I got from my clumsiness on the skateboard.
By the time Jimmy and I hit puberty, I already knew that I was drawn to Jimmy as more than just a friend. I knew that I liked boys more than girls and enjoyed watching my skater friends at the skate park on a hot summer day, when the athletic teens rode shirtless. But most of all I enjoyed watching Jimmy whizz by on his skateboard, his skinny jeans hanging low in his hips, his slim upper body glistening with sweat and his shoulder-length black hair blowing in the breeze.
We were close buddies but I was always his tag-along. If Jimmy wanted to go to the movies, we went to the movies. When Jimmy wanted to try smoking cigarettes, we would smoke cigarettes, and so on. He liked to be the boss, and I never had a problem with that.
Jimmy loved to be the center of everyone's attention and had become very good in editing the videos he and his friends shot with their GoPros every time they were in the skate park. I had several of his videos on my playlist, and I often jacked off while watching shirtless Jimmy show off his skills in front of the camera.
When Jimmy heard about the county skateboarding contest, he signed in immediately. He saw it as a new way to gather popularity and hopefully interest of the numerous young females that would be in the audience. But his performance had to be perfect, and that's why he had been practicing for weeks.
"My legs hurt like fuck," he groaned one day when we were hanging in his bedroom and playing videogames, sitting side by side on his bed as usual.
"Where?" I asked.
"All over. But the worst is here," he pointed at his calf.
"You've probably been practicing too hard and your muscles are too tense. You should have your calf muscles massaged to ease the tension."
"How do you know that?"
I told him about my big brother.
"Kenny went to see a physiotherapist when he was playing soccer in our school team. I went along a couple of times to keep him company while the guy worked on his legs."
"Could I do it myself?"
"Hmm... I don't think so. Your legs should be as relaxed as possible, and I don't think you could massage yourself at the same time.
"You know how to do it?"
"Well, not really. Just seen it done."
"Wanna give it a try?"
I knew I didn't possess any skills that would ease Jimmy's pain, and he should go and see a professional. But the opportunity to lay my hands on his legs was impossible to resist.
"I can try it you want. But I'm not really..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you said that already. Now show me."
I tried to play hesitant.
"Well, I guess I could do that. Lay down on the bed on your stomach. But just a little while, okay?"
Jimmy didn't answer, just spread his legs on the bed.
I sat down at the foot of his bed and pressed my fingers on his calf and started to gently rub the muscle.
"Do you feel anything?"
"Not really. Rub harder."
Jimmy was wearing shorts, and I admired his long, sinewy legs. His calves were covered with downy black hair that felt pleasant against my fingers.
"How does this feel?"
"Feels good. Keep doing it."
I massaged his bulging calf muscles, pressing and sliding and rubbing, up and down, over and over again. Every now and then he commented my work.
"Yeah, that's it man. That feels good. Do that spot again, but harder. Yeah, just like that. You're doing fine. Now do the other one."
I massaged Jimmy's legs for a good 30 minutes. The problem was that I had to hide the hard-on I got the second my fingers touched his calf. Fortunately I was wearing loose cargo shorts, so the bulge wasn't too obvious.
Jimmy seemed to think that my clumsy massage helped ease the pain. He even turned around and told me to rub his leg just above the knee. It was thrilling to feel and squeeze his thighs, even if it was limited only to the lowest two inches.
The leg massage became a routine for us when we hung out in his room. We played Call of Duty for an hour or so, after which Jimmy usually asked me to work on his legs. Sometimes he didn't and I had to go home disappointed. I any case I could jack off in my bed at night, reminiscing the feeling of Jimmy's hairy calves against my hands, and sniffing my fingers, imagining that they still carried some of his body odor.
Something that I didn't clearly recognize at first was that Jimmy was gradually strengthening his power over me. He didn't show any gratitude for my services and he regularly scolded me when he thought I wasn't massaging his legs the way he wanted.
Strangely, the way Jimmy bossed me around and scolded me was a turn-on for me.
"Don't you have any power in those wimpy hands, dude? A five-year-old has stronger hands than you. Try again." He might say. Or tell me to get him another pillow from the rec room so he could lie down more comfortably while I worked with his legs.
It dawned on me only later that Jimmy was following a consistent and deliberate plan as he gradually became more and more dominant and demanding. He was just taking advantage of my weakness to achieve something he wanted, and I'm gonna tell you all about it in a minute.
My dad took us fishing a few times. We drove two hours to the old fisherman's cottage that he and his friends had rented to use as a base for their fishing and drinking weekends. I did a little fishing too to please my dad, but mostly I enjoyed the opportunity to spend the weekend with Jimmy.
In the evenings my dad poured himself drinks from the bottle he had brought. He sipped his drink while he chatted mainly with Jimmy about fishing and cars and sports and a bunch of other other guy stuff, and eventually about girls. At that point I always acted tired and told them I'd hit the sack.
One night I lay awake in my sleeping bag and listened to my dad and Jimmy talk. My dad questioned Jimmy about his experience with girls, and Jimmy told him openly about the girls he had made out with. His tongue loosened by the whisky, dad wanted to know if Jimmy had already had sex. Jimmy laughed it off at first, but eventually he told him that he had already had sex with three girls. I knew he was telling the truth because he always described each sex act to me afterwards in great details.
My dad patted him on the back and congratulated him:
"Way to go, Jimmy, I knew you were a man! I'm so proud of you, son."
And they talked their guy-talk and laughed their guy-laugh until my dad was sure I had fallen asleep. Then he lowered his voice; in his drunken state he didn't realize that he was in fact speaking in a normal volume.
"Tell me something, Jimmy. Just between you and me. Do you think Rudy likes girls at all?"
I closed my eyes and hoped earth would open up and swallow me right there and then.
"Well, Dave, I haven't seen him date any girl so far. But he's got time, so just be patient."
"You mean, he's not... you know... or anything?"
"A fag? Well, that has crossed my mind. But I'm not sure, to be honest."
"Look, Jimmy. When you go out looking for some female company next time, how about taking Rudy with you? You know, introduce him to some pretty chicks and teach him a coupla pickup tricks. Could you do that for me, Jimmy?"
"Sure, Dave. I'll keep that in mind next time I'm on a poon hunt."
"Thanks man. Keep me posted, willya?"
"Sure thing, Dave."
Their guy-laugh lasted for a long time.
Jimmy kept his word and took me with him to a party to pick up girls. The evening was pure torture for me. Jimmy introduced me to several girls, and I had to practice the sweet opening lines he had made me learn by heart. He also encouraged girls to ask me to dance, and I spent a couple of embarrassing hours on the dance floor trying to do clumsy moves. Eventually each one of them discovered what a shy jerk I really was and left me alone.
"Looks like girls ain't really your thing, Rudy. Maybe I'll introduce you to some hot dudes next time, hahaha!" He teased me and ruffled my hair as we walked home.
A couple of days later Jimmy stunned me while I was massaging his legs again.
"You've been doing a good job, man. My legs feel much better. I'll be in a great shape for the hunting trip."
"Glad to hear that, man. What hunting trip?"
"Oh, fuck. Dave hasn't told you?"
My good spirit sank.
"No," I said, and continued massaging Jimmy's leg absentmindedly.
"What hunting trip?" I repeated.
Jimmy sat up.
"Hmmm... You gotta swear that you won't tell Dave that I told you about this."
"I swear."
"Dave's going on a deer hunting trip to Montana with his buddies two weeks from now. One of the guys broke his leg, so they suddenly had one extra place in their posse. Dave asked me if I wanted to go. Of fucking course I wanna go! Fuck the county skate contest, I'm sooo gonna shoot me a deer," Jimmy explained, imitating firing a rifle at an imaginary deer.
"Pow! Jimmy got a kill!"
"He didn't bother to mention any of that to me," I mumbled, trying to keep my voice steady with little success.
"Well, I'm sure he was gonna tell you about it. And you would've found out anyway, hehehe. Just pretend you didn't know. Besides, we both know Dave was right about you and hunting."
I stopped rubbing Jimmy's leg.
"What did he say?"
"Well, you know, just the obvious. He said that hunting is a guys' sport, and you wouldn't have the balls to pull the trigger when the time came. He didn't want you to embarrass him in front of his friends."
"Nice," was all I could say without starting to sob.
Jimmy looked at me and saw that I was holding back tears. A sly little smiled appeared on his face for a fleeing moment. He brushed my cheek with his socked foot.
"Come on, cheer up, man! It's no big deal."
"Yeah, I guess so," I tried to act brave.
"I've never taken a helicopter ride before, though. That'll be cool." Jimmy said, and then he whistled and used his hand to fly an invisible chopper back and forth in front of my face.
I sprang up.
"Fuck you, Jimmy!" I exclaimed with a sob and rushed out of his room.
I held my grudge against Jimmy for three whole days. They felt like the longest days ever.
On the first day my anger evaporated. I started to feel like my dad did the right thing when he decided to take Jimmy to a father and son week with his buddies. Jimmy was my true brother, and I felt ashamed that I had been jealous at him.
On my second Jimmy-less day I went shopping with my dad and we had a break at a coffee shop. I slurped my ice cream while dad stirred his cappuccino. Then he told me in very gentle words about his upcoming hunting trip with Jimmy.
"You know Jimmy doesn't have a dad around to be his male role model, Rudy. I think it is very important for him to have an adult man that he trusts. And I thought you wouldn't necessarily appreciate all the blood and the gutting that the trip entails."
I had my answer ready and practiced up.
"You did the right thing, dad. I'm glad you decided to go with Jimmy, he so deserves it. And he really likes you."
"I'm glad you understand, Rudy. And you know that you will always be my number one boy," he said and patted my hand.
"I know dad," I lied, and slurped in the last drops of my ice cream.
Jimmy kept his Instagram well updated during their hunting trip. A photo of Jimmy lying in wait for prey with his rifle, a video of Jimmy driving a speedboat with my dad grinning behind him, pictures of Jimmy eating a steak with the guys, Jimmy aiming with a crossbow, Jimmy in a helicopter, Jimmy posing with my dad, arms around shoulders. Finally a video of Jimmy showing off the deer he killed; my dad, behind the camera, declaring excitedly: "I knew Jimmy could do it! You're a true warrior, son!"
Each post gathered a couple of hundred likes and admiring comments. 'You have the coolest dad ever, Jimmy!!', Corey, one of his friends wrote. That was more than enough to make me feel neglected and jealous, but that became worse when I saw that both Jimmy and my dad had praised Corey's comment with a heart.
Jimmy finalized his triumph over me with the only message he sent me from Montana. The snap contained a photo of him toasting with my dad; they both seemed to have whisky in their glasses.
Jimmy: had a man talk w/ dave last nite.
Jimmy: he's a real BAMF!!!
Rudy: WUT?
Jimmy: told me bout some rly heavy shit he's been up to LOL!!
Rudy: like??!!
Jimmy: confidential but LMFAO!!!!
So, my dad shared his dirty secrets with Jimmy now. And surely enough they had discussed my sexuality again, and I knew Jimmy had told him about my pitiful girl-picking night.
After their hunting trip Jimmy become even more cocky and condescending towards me. I kept suggesting that we hang out but usually he told me he was too busy or planning to hang with some other friends of his.
I was lonely and hurt, but still addicted to Jimmy. I started to walk or cycle by their house every day so that I could 'accidentally' see him and talk to him, but he wasn't around. Finally on an early Wednesday evening I saw him shooting hoops in their back yard.
I walked over, trying to be nonchalant.
"Hi!" I said.
"Wassup."
"I was thinking..."
"Thinking what?" He said and threw the ball; it bounced back from the ring.
"You know, we haven't, like, played Call of Duty in a long time. How about today?"
"You wanna play Call of Duty with me?"
"Yeah."
"I dunno."
"Come on man, it'll be fun."
"I think you really want to do something else."
"Oh?"
"Hahaha, we both know what you want, dude. You wanna rub my legs."
"Well, yeah, you asked me to."
"Bullshit, Rudy. I know you love to rub my legs. Just admit it, man!"
I blushed as always in a situation like that.
"Well, yeah. I like it."
He laughed.
"Okay, I'll play with you. But we'll see about the leg rub."
I was disappointed but tried to play it cool.
"That's alright."
We went upstairs to his room. Jimmy stripped off his sweat-soaked t-shirt and dropped it on the floor. Then he went to the bathroom to wash his hands and cool off his face and hair with cold water.
When I saw him close the bathroom door I moved quickly and picked up his shirt. I pressed it on my face and breathed in his fresh body odor. It smelled heavenly, and I got an instant hard-on. I took two more whiffs before placing it reluctantly back on the floor.
Jimmy came back, drying his hair with a towel, and we sat on his bed side by side and started to play.
It was hard for me to concentrate to the game because Jimmy was sitting next to me wearing only ripped cutoffs, his hair still dripping water on his shoulders, and the odor of his sweat was making me dizzy.
We played for maybe 45 minutes until I asked the question both of us were expecting.
"You want me to massage your legs now?"
"Naah. I wanna play."
"Well, I'm kinda tired of playing now. I just thought you might want a..."
But Jimmy was in his 'Fucking-with-Rudy-is-Fun' kinda mood.
"Hahaha! You want to rub my legs soooo bad, don't ya?"
I didn't say anything.
"Ask me nicely."
"What?"
"You heard me. If you want to give me a leg rub, you've gotta ask for it. Nicely."
I let out an exaggerated sigh.
"Jimmy, can I give you a leg rub, please?"
He continued playing for a whole minute before replying.
"If you do what I say."
"What's that?"
Two more silent minutes.
"I shot hoops for two hours. My feet hurt like fuck. I want you to rub them for me."
"Jim-my!" I burst out in despair.
"Take it or leave it."
I tried to swallow but my mouth was dry. I knew Jimmy was playing a power game with me; he knew how much I wanted to touch his legs.
He knew I was gay, and he knew that I knew he knew. And now he was playing it against me, like a cat messing with a mouse.
I tried to act reluctant.
"Well, okay. If you think it'll help."
Another long silence while he played.
"You gotta ask me first."
"What? I already asked you."
"No, you asked to rub my legs. I you wanna rub my feet, you've gotta ask for it. Nicely."
"Oh, fuck! Jimmy, can I give you a foot rub? Please?"
Jimmy played for a couple minutes while I waited for his judgement.
"You want to rub my feet, Rudy?"
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes please."
"Yes please what?"
"Jimmy, please let me rub your feet."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes I am."
"Well, okay then, if you want it so much. You can rub them for a little while."
"Okay. Just lay down on the bed."
"No. I wanna play."
"Well, how am I supposed to rub your feet then?"
"I'll sit in my gaming chair. You can sit on the floor and rub my feet there."
So, first Jimmy made me beg him to allow me to give him a foot rub. And now, like that wasn't enough, he wanted me to sit on the floor at his feet while I do it. It was obvious that this time he really wanted to humiliate me. I wanted him to stop, but, strangely, I also very much wanted him not to stop.
"Okay then," I said.
Jimmy turned the screen towards his gaming chair and sat down.
"Get me a ginger ice-tea from the kitchen frig. And a straw," he instructed me.
When I came back with his ice-tea can and straw, Jimmy was already playing. He didn't even glance at me when I placed the can on the table next to him. Then I sat down on the floor in front of him.
Jimmy was still wearing his scruffy white Nike Airs and didn't show any intentions to take them off. I unlaced his shoes and pulled them off without any reaction from him.
Then I had to make a decision. He was still wearing his black no-show athletic socks. Should I take them off? To do that I would have to degrade myself even more. I could just act like I didn't want to touch his bare feet and rub them through his socks.
But my cock was thinking for me, and it liked the idea of me being humiliated even more by Jimmy very damn much. I pulled the moist socks off Jimmy's feet and dropped them on the floor. Then I took hold of his left ankle and lifted it up. I looked at the foot I was holding.
It was quite a fucker for a 16-year-old, size 11, with a beautiful high arch and some black hairs on the toes. His feet were moist and flushed from basketball, and they radiated heat and teenage foot sweat.
I started to massage my friend's foot, rubbing gently the flesh and muscles of the soles and the arch.
The soles of Jimmy's feet weren't particularly sensitive, so he didn't flinch much when he felt my fingertips there. Rubbing the bare foot soles of another teen boy was particularly degrading, of course, but for me it was a huge turn-on, so I made sure I rubbed thoroughly every square inch of them.
After a few minute's massage my legs were getting numb from sitting cross-legged for so long, so I shifted to a better position. Jimmy smiled when he saw that, and when I realized what he was smiling for, I felt my face turn red. I was kneeling on the floor and rubbing another boy's feet.
Jimmy chuckled softly.
"You know Rudy, there's one thing we got in common, you and me."
I looked up. The smile on his face was smug and cocky.
"What's that?"
"Both of us love Jimmy's foot rubs."
I felt my face turn even more red.
Jimmy laughed at his own joke for a good while.
Then he said,
"Rub between my toes."
I rubbed all the eight cramped spaces between his toes; a mixture of black sock fluff, toe jam and sweat stuck to my fingertips. I was too embarrassed to look at him, so I just kept rubbing. Suddenly I realized that the sound of the game had stopped a good while ago. I looked up. To my horror he was filming me with his phone.
"Jimmy, no, please!"
"Oooh yes, I wanna watch this later. I'll send you a copy, I know you wanna watch it too," he teased me.
"Please don't do this to me, Jimmy!"
I felt tears well up in my eyes so I quickly looked down. Despite the humiliation and his cruel mocking I kept massaging his feet. His calves were spread right in front of me and I couldn't pass any opportunity to lay my hands on them.
"Okay, I'm not filming any more. Do my legs now."
I repeated the familiar process with his calf muscles, and I felt they really were softer than on the first time. Despite the circumstances, I felt proud of myself.
When I was about to finalize his left calf, Jimmy stretched out to reach his desk with his hand. He found what he was looking for and took out a red Sharpie marker. He pondered his decision for a minute before drawing a red mark on his skin maybe four inches above his knee.
"You can go on until the mark," he said and leaned back in his chair.
He offered me the opportunity to massage the lowest four inches of his thighs like a grand prize. I was happy to do that, although I secretly hoped that he had drawn the mark at least five inches higher.
I was in my bed, about to go to sleep, when my phone clinked for an incoming message. It was from Jimmy. There was only a link. I clicked it, and a video player appeared on the screen.
I pressed the Play button. A coolly stylized headline appeared on a black background:
RUDY the FEET LOVING FAGGOT Starring Rudy S. Henderson
A film by Alpha Hunter.
The film started and I saw myself sitting on Jimmy's bed with the Playstation console in my hands. Jimmy had secretly filmed me holding the camera in an angle slightly behind me. My face wasn't entirely visible but one could see I was talking. Then my voice said:
"Jimmy, can I give you a foot rub? Please?"
Then Jimmy laughed for a long time and said:
"You want to rub my feet, Rudy?"
"Yes."
"Why do you wanna rub my bare feet, that's disgusting. Are you a fag, Rudy?"
My voice said:
"Yes, I am."
The motherfucker had recorded my words while we played, and then edited them to a completely different context! And he had added his own comments between them afterwards.
"So, you're a homo, Rudy. Well, that's what I thought. Only a fag would want to rub another guy's sweaty feet. Are you sure you really wanna rub my feet, Rudy? They're dirty and they stink real bad."
"Yes please."
"Yes please what?"
"Jimmy, please let me rub your feet."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes I am."
"Well, okay then, if you want it so much. You can rub my feet for a little while."
"Yesss!" My voice said, full of enthusiasm. That was in fact my victorious exclaim after a major score in the game.
The scene changed with a professional smooth transition, and the screen of my phone filled with the image of me on my knees, massaging Jimmy's bare feet. My face was clearly visible, and I looked completely focused on my work. Anyone watching the video could see I worked those feet and toes with great care and love.
And then Jimmy's voice said:
"Okay Rudy Henderson, you can quit rubbing my feet now."
I looked up, with a horrified look on my face, and said:
"Jimmy, no, please!"
I seemed to be in the verge of tears because Jimmy wouldn't let me massage his feet.
Jimmy said:
"I said, stop rubbing my feet Rudy, that's disgusting."
And I said:
"Please don't do this to me, Jimmy!"
"Why do you wanna rub my feet, Rudy? Are you gonna jack off in your bed tonight, thinking of my feet?"
"Of course I am."
"Hahaha, you're such a faggot, Rudy!
"That's so true."
I looked down and continued to rub them, and Jimmy's laughter echoed in the background as the video ended with a fade.
I called Jimmy immediately and went straight to the business.
"You sneaky fucking bastard, Jimmy! What are you gonna do with that video? Show it to Danny and Steve and everybody? I'll kill you if you do that," I said, holding back tears.
I could hear him snicker at the other end. Then he said:
"Show it to everybody? Do you think I'm fucking mad, dude? We'd both be in deep shit if I did that. You know I'm gonna make a shitload of money by making movies someday. Why would I risk all that because of some fucking prank?"
Jimmy sounded genuinely agitated, and his arguments made sense -- he wasn't stupid.
"Okay then. But what are you gonna do with it?"
"It was fun to make, hehe! You look so pathetic. But I haven't made any copies, and I won't. The one behind the link I sent is the only one. And I'm gonna permanently destroy it in a minute. If you don't want to keep a copy for yourself hehe."
I thought about it for a split of a second.
"Is the link you sent good for downloading?"
"Hahahahaa, you're such a fucking little pervert, dude! Yes, you can download it with the link. I'll erase it tonight in exactly one hour, got it?"
"Okay."
I downloaded the video to my own secret cloud account that my parents didn't know existed. In the following days I must have jacked off to it dozens of times, often combined with shirtless images of Jimmy on my laptop screen.
Jimmy's power game became the pattern for our game sessions. He was always the one who called the shots. If I suggested we hang in his room and play games after school, he always said no. I had to wait until he invited me, and I never said no, of course.
We sat on his bed playing until I popped the question:
"Can I give you a foot rub, Jimmy? Please?"
He usually said "not yet", and we continued playing. After twenty minutes or so I asked again:
"Can I rub your feet now, Jimmy? Please?"
He often said yes or gave me a nod, but sometimes he declined again. At first I even asked for a third time, but he become annoyed and told me not to insist, and sent me home.
But sometimes he said yes, so I sat down on the floor and removed his shoes and socks. Then I massaged his feet and toes while he played until he told me to move on to his calves. When I had worked on them enough, he took the red Sharpie and draw a line on his thigh, every time a bit higher. It was a real pain for me, because I usually could see the remains of the previous line on his skin, and the new line was always less than an inch higher.
But Jimmy was the boss, and I had to bend to his decision.
Until one weekend changed things permanently between us.
Jimmy and I were at Wendy's birthday party on Saturday. I was driving, so I didn't have much else to do than observe Jimmy's partying.
I saw him flirting with several girls; he had also been drinking the spiked punch Wendy had managed to score. He made out on the couch with a girl I didn't know; I saw that he managed to slip his hand under her skirt and feel her tits through her blouse, but that was it.
Jimmy became frustrated and drank more punch until he got pretty drunk. I was a bit anxious, because my driver's license banned me from driving after 11 PM. At 10.30 I managed to persuade him to let me drive him home. His mom was away for the weekend, so he wouldn't get caught for drinking, but I had to help him to find the keyhole on their door.
I had to support him on the stairs to keep him falling down. I was surprised how shit-faced he had become. I marched him to his room and he managed with great trouble to get rid of his shirt.
"Gotta take a leak before I go to bed. Help me to the bathroom."
I helped him up, took hold of his shoulders and guided him to the can.
I tried to keep him steady while he fumbled with his pants.
"Can't unbuckle this fucking belt. Help me out, man."
Unbuckling Jimmy's belt while simultaneously keeping him steady wasn't easy. I stood behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I couldn't see what I was doing, so I had to search for the belt buckle with my hands, first feeling his lower abdomen and then the upper part of his underwear that was exposed by his low-hanging jeans.
Jimmy's bare torso was leaning against me and my cheek was pressed on his neck. His black locks were tickling my nose; his deodorant had worn thin and I sensed his body odor. I tried to keep myself slightly turned aside, so he wouldn't feel my hard cock pressing against his ass.
I found the buckle and opened it.
"Okay, it's open. Now go on and pee, I'll hold you steady."
Jimmy fumbled with his pants again.
"I can't unbutton them. You do it for me."
I searched the front of his jeans until I found the top button. It slid through the worn-out buttonhole almost by itself and I wondered how he could be so drunk that he was unable to do it by himself.
Three buttons left. The first one done, my fingers came in contact with his crotch, and I felt the shaft of his cock through the underwear. The second one was as easy as the first one, but to unbutton the third one I had to slip my thumb under the denim, and I felt the crown of his penis throb against it. Was his cock getting hard, or was it just my imagination?
"Okay, take it out and do your thing," I said.
"Pull my boxers down so I can get it out."
I slipped my fingers under the waistband of his Hollister trunks and pulled them down until I figured his cock was free.
"Is it out now?" I asked.
"I dunno. You tell me," he said, took hold of the wrist of my right hand and guided it to his crotch. My fingers brushed through something hairy, and when he pressed my hand down, my palm cupped his cock.
"Is it out?" he asked.
"Yeah, it is," I almost groaned.
"Good. Hold it steady."
"Jimmy, you can do it yourself!" I said and pulled my hand away.
"Come on, I can't hold back anymore. I'll piss all over the place if you don't help me out," he said and let out a spurt of pee on the lid of the toilet bowl and on the wall behind it.
He didn't give me any time for arguing, so I had no other option but to hold his cock between my thumb and forefinger. His dick pulsed between my fingers while I tried to aim the strong stream of pee into the bowl. Most of it did, but some of it splashed on the seat and floor. When the stream finally died, some piss splashed on my fingers.
"You made a fucking mess, dude," Jimmy snickered.
"You better clean that up or my mom will go fucking nuts. Now shake it."
I shook his shaft to get rid of the last drops of pee.
"Pack it back into my boxers so I can go to sleep."
I stretched the waistband of his underwear and tried to pull it up over his dick, but it wasn't easy. His cock had become harder, pointing almost straight forward, so I had to use my hand again to stuff it in.
I held him up while he brushed his teeth, spraying toothpaste on the bathroom mirror; more cleaning for me. Then he rinsed his mouth and spat the water all over the sink.
"Help me to bed."
I guided Jimmy towards his bedroom, but he didn't seem to be nearly as drunk anymore. He sat on his bed and pulled his jeans down to his knees. He tried to kick them off but they were way too tight to be pulled over his skate shoes, so I kneeled down and took off his shoes; by then that had become a routine for me.
Jimmy stretched out on his bed and clasped his hands behind his head. I stared at his bulging Hollister trunks; my hand had been inside them just minutes ago.
"Are you my friend, Rudy?" He suddenly asked.
"You know I am, Jimmy."
"I mean, a really good friend?"
"Of course I am. I love you like a brother, man."
He smiled.
"Nice. Now, why don't you show it to me."
"Show it?"
"Yeah. Show me how much you love me, Rudy."
"How?"
"Kiss me goodnight."
I was stunned. Jimmy wanted me to kiss him?
"Yeah... sure," I said and got up, looking him in the eye to see if he was serious. He didn't flinch.
I took some tentative steps towards his bed wondering feverishly if I should kiss him on the cheek or lips. I decided to go for the cheek, it was a safer bet.
Jimmy raised his finger. I stopped.
"Kiss me goodnight," he said again, and turned his finger away from me. I followed the direction with my eyes. He was pointing at his feet.
"You want me to... kiss your foot?" I asked.
He gave me one of his smug smiles.
"Both of them."
"But only if you love me." He added.
Both of us knew I would do it.
I took the necessary steps to the foot of his bed and kneeled down. I looked at his right foot. It had become slightly dirty above the sock line, but I took hold of his ankle and pulled the sock off. Then I crouched down and touched the ball of his foot with my lips. The odor was pretty strong, but it didn't bother me. I was in heaven, kissing a part on Jimmy.
Jimmy burst out laughing.
"Hahaha, you call that a goodnight kiss? You didn't even pucker your fucking lips. A kiss goes like this, Rudy," he said, pursed his lips and smacked them.
"Try again."
My lips felt dry, so without thinking, I moistened them with my tongue. Jimmy smiled when he saw that.
I leaned down, pressed my lips on the ball of his foot again, and kissed it, this time passionately with a loud, wet smack. I placed another kiss on the arch.
I heard his mocking voice from above.
"Nice work, Rudy. You really do love me, that's good to know," he snickered.
"Now the other one."
I smooched his left foot; top, toes, sole, until he told me to stop.
"Enough. Kill the lights. And don't forget to clean the can," he said and turned his back to me.
At 10AM on Sunday Jimmy texted me and told me to come over. That was very unusual because he was definitely no morning person. This had to be something important, so I left immediately to find out what it was about.
Jimmy came to open the door, his hair a mess, wearing only the same yellow Hollister trunks. He let me in without a word and led me upstairs to his room.
Jimmy sat down in his gaming chair and looked at me with a blank stare in his slightly red eyes. I stood in front of him without knowing what to do or say. I hoped that he had been too drunk to remember what had happened the previous night. But he snatched that hope from me. He stretched out his right leg, waving his bare foot at me.
"Good morning, little bro."
I realized that most of his intoxication had been acting, luring me to reveal how far I was willing to go to please him. And I had gone just about as far - or low - as one could go. I had opened his pants, pulled his underwear down, held his dick while he peed and kissed his feet. After that I had cleaned the bathroom from the mess he had made.
I had no reason to pretend anymore; he had proved his absolute dominance over me and I had proved that I accepted it. I kneeled down.
"Good morning, Jimmy," I said and kissed his foot.
My obedience made him smile.
"Start rubbin' he said.
I started the familiar massage and worked with his feet. Jimmy surprised me by interrupting me after just a few minutes.
"Move on." He grunted.
I massaged his calves the way I knew he liked. But that lasted only a short while.
"Enough."
He picked up the red Sharpie and tapped his thigh with it, pondering his decision, all the time looking at me. Then he flipped the marker towards his desk; it landed on the floor somewhere behind it.
"Go on."
I didn't need to be told twice.
I pressed my hands on his firm thighs and started to squeeze them. Just like his calves, his thighs showed the results of the countless hours he spent on his skateboard: they were all muscle and bone. How often had I imagined myself feeling them like this, and now my dream had come true. I knew that I was doing what I was supposed to, making Jimmy feel good. That was all that mattered.
My hands moved slowly higher, squeezing and rubbing Jimmy's thighs, letting my fingers feel his smooth skin and the pleasant tickle of the black hairs scattered on it. The bulge in his Hollisters seemed to have grown bigger. Was this the real thing I had been dreaming of? Jimmy would soon let me know. I knew he loved to play with me and to disappoint me at the final moment. I prayed in my mind that this wasn't the case now.
My hands moved slowly higher, approaching the critical zone. Soon my fingers were rubbing his inner thighs only an inch from the legs of his trunks; in my mind that was the beginning of a no-go area. I looked up and saw Jimmy looking at my hands intensely, biting his lower lip. I expected him to tell me to stop at any moment.
But he didn't say anything. Then I came to the point when my fingertips met the yellow layer of cotton, maybe an inch and a half from the bulge of his balls. I chickened out and stopped.
Jimmy noticed that, of course.
"Did I tell you to stop?"
"No. Sorry Jimmy."
I continued massaging his thigh through his underwear until the fingertips of my hands were skimming his ball sack. Still no word from Jimmy.
My middle fingers found their way to the cramped space between his thigh and balls. I could feel the heat and moist of his plump sack, but I didn't dare to really touch it.
Jimmy took hold of my wrist and moved my hand on his scrotum. I felt his cock pulse against my palm. He moved my hand slowly up and down on his hardening shaft, up and down, up and down, three of four times to show me what he wanted. Then he pulled his hand away.
I ran my hand up and down his crotch, and his dick got harder and harder. When my fingers brushed the head I felt something sticky ooze through the thin cotton. The familiar odor of precum got stronger.
Jimmy spread his legs to let me pleasure him everywhere, and I let my hand wander all over his package for several minutes.
Then he leaned in and grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulled me closer and pressed my face on his crotch.
"You love this, don't you fag boy?"
I couldn't have spoken even if I had had something to say, which I didn't. I was breathing in Jimmy's manhood. The front of his trunks smelled just like you would expect when a teen boy has been wearing them for more than 24 hours. Sweat, piss, raging hormones and lust had stewed into a heady concoction that I loved from the first sniff.
I felt Jimmy legs with my hands while I nuzzled his package with my mouth and nose. It felt just natural to stick my tongue out and lick up and down his hardening cock through the underwear and I got what I longed for, my first taste of Jimmy's cum.
"Do you want to make me feel really, really good, little bro?" he asked with a tensed voice.
I lifted my head off his scrotum to look him in the eye.
"You know I do, Jimmy."
"Then take it out. Just like you did last night," he rasped out and lifted his butt a little from the chair.
With slightly shaky fingers I pulled his trunks down, gradually exposing his cock until it sprang out in all its glory.
"Say hello to my baby maker, Rudy."
I leaned forward, supporting my hands on his thighs, until my face was right above Jimmy's scrotum, and looked at the cock in front of me. It was a man's cock, although it was less than 17 years old. I knew he had already used it to fuck girls. Now he was introducing it to me.
I prepared myself to the task ahead by breathing in the heavy musk of Jimmy's bush, cock and balls. Although he should have showered that odor away hours ago, smelling it convinced me that I was about to do the right thing, to do whatever I could to please Jimmy.
I looked at him and said,
"Hello, Jimmy's baby maker."
Then I placed a wet kiss in the middle of the shaft.
"Yeah, that's it. You can it suck now, boy."
I sucked the upper part of his hard cock, getting my mouth used to the task ahead.
I sucked Jimmy's cock with enthusiasm, squeezing my lips around it while he kept my head in a tight grip and made thrusts with his slim hips, letting my tongue gently caress and lubricate his pole as it slid over it. But soon he wanted more.
He pushed me away with his palm and his cock plopped out of my mouth. I landed on my ass on the floor. Jimmy laughed a little when he saw that.
"Get back to your place, homo. I'm gonna fuck your face."
I obeyed as quickly as I could and climbed back to my kneeling position. Jimmy pointed his cock at my mouth; it was ready for action, shining of precum and my spit, and he shoved it into my mouth the second I opened it.
He made a few tentative thrusts to make sure that I was able to accommodate it, but soon his thrusts became stronger and more aggressive.
I was surprised that I could take in his entire cock until my nose dove into the forest of his thick pubes. I knew I was making him feel really good, just like I had promised. I cupped his hard buttocks and helped him fuck my face by adding power to the movement of his lithe pelvis.
My task was hard, and Jimmy had no interest whatsoever in my wellbeing. But I was relentless and got my reward. After maybe five minutes of merciless fucking he panted:
"I'm gonna cum in your mouth. Don't freak out when it comes."
He wasn't asking my permission to dump his load into my mouth, but why would he? My job was to please Jimmy, and if cumming in my mouth was part of that, who was I to object.
He came seconds after giving me the heads-up. His cum was plentiful, sticky and sweet but it didn't fill my mouth entirely. Was I supposed to swallow it or run to the bathroom and spit it out? I didn't know what Jimmy wanted me to do, and I couldn't ask with my mouth full of cum. He gave me the answer after recuperating for a brief moment.
"You still got my cum in your mouth?"
I nodded vigorously.
"Come with me and don't swallow it yet!" Jimmy said and grabbed my arm, pulling me up.
He pulled his boxers up, dragged me to the bathroom and made me stand in front of the mirror.
"Open up."
I saw myself in the mirror, my hair a wild mess, my mouth open and a puddle of Jimmy's sperm covering my tongue, teeth and gums, some of it connecting my lips with thin streaks. A pearly stream of jizz was running down my chin from the corner of my mouth. Jimmy looked over my shoulder with a shit-eating grin.
"Look at you, Rudy. Look what a cocksucking faggot you've become. I wish Dave could see you now. What would he say, waddya think?"
His cruel words brought tears in my eyes, and Jimmy chuckled when he saw that.
"You can swallow now, faggot."
I fought for a good while to get the thick slime down my throat while Jimmy enjoyed the sight.
"Things have been going pretty well for me recently, little bro. Now I've got a dad and a cocksucker. Ain't that sweet?"
I thought about it for half a second.
"Yeah. It is, Jimmy."
"Are you gonna be a good cocksucker for me, Rudy? Promise to work hard like a good faggot to make Jimmy feel good?"
I met his eyes in the mirror.
"Yeah. I promise."
Would you like to read another chapter of this story? Drop me a line then:
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