Living Under the Boot of Rick

Living Under the Boot of Rick – Country Boy Domination |Part V Author: JB jbcountry@yahoo.com [Please feel free to email comments.]

NOTE: All characters portrayed in this story are a work of fiction. It contains ideas and scenarios sexually graphic and intended for a mature (18+) reader only!

We all enjoy the freedom to indulge our fantasies due to the efforts and expense of Nifty.org. I encourage you to donate to Nifty at http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html so that they may continue the cause

Part V

Tommy sat quietly on the edge of his bed. It was a twin size bed but; it and small dresser, filled his tiny bedroom. Beside him was Jack's football cleats. His dirty, ground ripping cleats on his clean bed. His task was clear but for some reason his heart was not in it. Serving Rick, in his presence, was his place. Licking Jack's cleats in the sanctity of his own room was different. He picked a cleat up to examine its bottom. The Nike check was barely noticeable from the dried mud from countless games and practices.

Tommy tossed the cleat on the floor. Chunks of earth broke free from the spikes and littered his floor. `I'm not licking it,' Tommy thought to himself. Who would know? He decided he would just get some warm water and a rag to clean them. They would clean up quicker, better, and who'd be the wiser? Tommy went to the hall closet and retrieved a cleaning bucket. From the tub he filled it halfway with warm water then he grabbed a wash cloth and returned to his room.

He picked Jack's cleat up from the floor and set it by its mate. He gathered the mud knocked off the cleat from his floor. The pieces crumbled a little more in his hand. He stood for a moment, examining the broken ground freed from the cleat spikes. Then Rick's questions posed as warnings filled his head: Do you half ass everything you do?' and I suppose you know how to clean those proper?' The warnings echoed in his head as he looked upon the dirt in his hand. Rick's power over him overwhelmed Tommy and he popped the pieces in his mouth as if they were candy. The dirt started to soften and dissolve. He chewed it; the nasty shit from Jack's cleat, and swallowed. Tears began to well in his eyes. He felt even lower than a subordinate. `That's who I am,' he declared to himself. He fell to his knees and greedily seized Jack's cleat and began work. He licked and licked until his tongue was sore. The white Nike check was finally clear from all dirt but it was still stained. Tommy licked it over and over; Jack told him they should look new. The spikes were mud coated. Tommy found that if he held them in his mouth; moistening the dried mud, he could suck the spikes clean easier.

Once Tommy was finished with the first cleat bottom he sipped some water, swished it around in his mouth and swallowed. Once his mouth was clean enough, he went to work on the cleat's well-worn leather top. It took nearly thirty minutes to finish just one cleat. The cleat did not look new, but he was pleased with the job. He hoped that Jack would be pleased which would keep Rick from giving him a strike. He began work on the other cleat. This time he did not knock of the dirt clumps first. As with Rick's treaded boots, he scraped the bottoms with his teeth between the spikes. There was only a couple of places where mud was packed but he ate whatever fell in his mouth. Towards the back grass was stuck between some fresh turf. The dirt was much softer and the grass felt strange in his mouth. It was more difficult to choke down. He continued his work as he did with the first cleat. His tongue was sore and his stomach rolled but Jack's cleats were finally done.

The next morning Rick and Jack were parked next to each other. They were eating some fast food biscuits. Tommy, as instructed, walked up to the jocks very hesitantly. Rick's demeanor was not hostile but not welcoming either.

"What do you want faggot?"

"I just want to return Jack's cleats to him," Tommy answered.

"Let's see `em; inspection time," Jack said enjoying the service. Tommy handed the Nikes to Jack. He wanted them to pass inspection badly. Jack took them and inspected the bottoms more so than the tops which were obviously cleaned.

"Did you clean those proper?" Rick asked while Jack examined Tommy's work.

"Yes sir," Tommy replied.

"You missed a spot," Jack said. Tommy thought he heard Rick growl. Jack continued, "Just messin' with ya. They're good enough bitch."

"They better be done right," Rick interjected.

Jack handed them back to Tommy and instructed, "Put them back in my locker; number 48."

Tommy accepted the cleats back and said, "Yes sir." Then he turned to leave when Jack started talking.

"Of course you know this is your new little assignment for me; keeping my cleats clean." Tommy stopped and turned to listen with his head down. Jack continued, "I expect them; how did you put it, spit shined again by Friday morning before game night."

"Yes sir," Tommy agreed softly.

"They will be waiting for you in my football locker every Thursday after practice; take good care of them." Jack instructed.

"Yes sir," Tommy repeated although he was not happy about it.

"Yeah, just after the bitch washes my truck first," Rick said.

The two jocks laughed. They enjoyed the alpha-jock life. "Hey check this out," Rick said pulling his phone out. He pulled up his gallery and showed the screen to Jack, "This is how I prefer my boots serviced." Tommy did not need to see the screen to know what it was. (Rick had taken a picture of him servicing his boots after his belting session last Saturday.)

"You heard the man," Rick said taking his attention away from his phone, "Go put his cleats in his locker fag."

Tommy said nothing and turned to leave once more. As he walked away he heard Jack say, "This is some sick shit; what a bitch."

Tommy had time to swing by the football locker room before his first class. It felt strange carrying cleats in the school. Everyone knew he had no reason to have cleats; a loner like him. He was surprised that no one seemed to notice or care. He quickly made his way to the locker room and found Jack's number 48 locker. Tommy was relieved that no one was around; he was not sure how he would explain what he was doing.

The rest of the day was school business as usual. After school he went straight to work. There were a few people at the stable working with their horses. He noticed a woman he never saw before instructing a young man on a horse. Tommy had never rode a horse before so he decided to watch the lesson. Tommy stood by the riding ring rail and watched.

"You're doing great," the instructor said, "Remember to drive from your legs, not your hands. Keep them still and steady."

The young rider seemed confident on the big horse. Tommy did not understand some of the lingo but he thought someday he might learn. The young rider noticed Tommy watching and glanced his way.

"Eyes forward," the instructor said, "you always need to be a step ahead of your horse."

Tommy did not want to disturb the lesson so he decided to start his chores. Per his routine he started with Tank's stall first. While he was picking out the stall he heard the young man ride into the barn and dismount. They boys instructor followed behind.

"Good job today," the instructor said, "Do you have any questions."

"Yeah, when can we work on some barrels or poles?" The young man asked.

"Once you get all the gears down pat; then we'll pull out the clock. Deal?"

"It's a deal Jane!" he said excited.

"Okay, tie him up, brush him down, and I will see you Saturday."

"Got it; see you Jane."

Tommy noticed the riding instructor walk past Tank's stall as she headed for the parking lot. Soon after the young rider strolled by carrying a large western saddle. The saddles were big and heavy and yet this kid carried it like it was nothing.

Tommy was finishing Tank's stall when the young man popped his head through the door.

"Hey, you like Tank? He's the best horse here."

"Yeah," Tommy said, "He seems really cool."

"Cool? Well he's strong, fast, and smart; yeah I guess he's cool. You must be the new guy."

"I've been here a couple of weeks," Tommy replied, "I'm Tommy."

"Billy."

"Nice to meet you Billy," Tommy said.

"Well I gotta see to Nicker." Billy said and then he pulled the stall door to and walked back to his horse. Tommy wondered how old Billy was. He had a young face but deep voice for his age. He was nearly as tall as Tommy but skinny. He wore his boots on the outside of his jeans and a hoodie. Tommy was impressed with how well he could ride. `An alpha in the making,' Tommy thought to himself.

Tommy heard a car pull up; it was not time for Rick yet. It was his boss. He walked down the barn hallway and noticed Tommy working.

"Hey Tommy; how's the day been treating you?"

"Good sir," Tommy replied.

"Sir?" He said, "Please, call me Teddy. Say, I have been meaning to let you know what a good job you've been doing."

"Um, thanks. I want to do a good job for you. This is a great place you have."

"Well I mean that; you've been more dependable than most of the boys I've hired. Seems like no one wants to do the dirty work these days; especially guys your age," Teddy said. "Has Rick been behaving himself lately?"

Tommy suspected that the `beer incident' prompted the questioning. Tommy quickly replied, "Yes sir; he so busy with football, school, riding, and all his activities I don't know how he keeps up with it all."

"You guys are young; that's how," Teddy said with a smile. "Oh shit, look at the time." Teddy raised his voice, "Come on sport; put Nicker up, we're late."

"On it," Billy replied.

How did he not make that connection; alpha in the making, Billy was Rick's little brother. Billy walked down the hall leading Nicker to his stall. As he passed by he informed his father, "I wanna start practicing barrels."

"That's Jane's department Billy; now come on let's go."

Billy shut Nicker up in his stall and tossed the lead on the ground.

Teddy said, "Is that where that goes?"

Tommy said, "I'll get; you guys take off."

"Thanks Tommy," Billy said running to the car.

"Yes thanks Tommy," Teddy repeated, "Keep all this good work up and I'll have to give you a raise!"

Tommy just smiled. Before long he was alone. Everyone went off to relax in their nice homes while he just cleaned up after their horses. It was past time for Rick to arrive; perhaps he wasn't coming tonight. Tommy was emptying his last muck bucket in the spreader when Rick's truck pulled up. He hoped that after his `lesson' and special care with Jack's cleats; Rick would be in a tolerable mood towards him. Rick was not in his usual attire. He had gym shorts on, a muscle shirt, and a pair of trashed Nike Shox on.

Rick stopped by Tank's stall and said, "Sorry boy; no time to ride tonight. I'm just here to relieve a little pressure." Rick paused for a moment and said, "But to make up for it; I'll let you watch."

Tommy stood by awaiting orders.

"Come on fag I'm beat; just gonna be a blow and go." Rick entered Tank's stall. Tank was munching on some hay on the far end of the stall. Tommy stepped into the stall and got a whiff of Rick. He was rank. Rick said, "Been playing a little B-ball tonight; you gonna love my man stank." Sweat soaked through the entire back of Rick's muscle shirt and much of the front. He could smell either his feet or sneakers or both; they were loud! "On your knees bitch," Rick said crowding Tommy against the stall wall. Tommy knelt down. Rick wasted no time. He pulled his jock cock easily from his gym shorts and drove it down Tommy's throat. Rick's pubes covered Tommy's nose (Rick did not believe in manscaping.) Rick held that position; he knew he was rank, and he wanted Tommy to suffer it.

"Bet your lovin' this; ain't ya faggot?" Rick laughed.

It was a little much. Rick's dick was coated with the slimy salt of his perspiration. He could smell his ball sack, ass, feet, and general jock body odor.

"Take it all in," Rick commanded.

Tommy took a breath. Rick was not satisfied. He made a single thrust and rammed Tommy's throat and his head against the stall wall.

"Mother-fucker I said take it in," Rick growled. Tommy took several deep breaths. It was intoxicating. Rick pulled out of Tommy's mouth and said, "Lick my balls bitch; clean `em up." Tommy complied. It was erotic; Tommy's little dick was rock hard. "Alright that's enough," Rick said then he thrusted back into Tommy's throat again.

Rick face fucked him with incredible strength and stamina. A true `blow and go,' and he was wasting no time. Tommy's head bounced against the stall wall with each cock stroke. Tommy couldn't breathe. There was little air to take in and absolutely no fresh air at all. It felt as if he was eating Rick's stench through his nose. Tommy's throat gargled and gagged but Rick was merciless. Tommy tried to push Rick off for just a quick breath but Rick countered with his strength and slammed his head against the stall wall again.

"Just fucking take it bitch," Rick said through gritted teeth. Tommy tried not to panic; that would only make it worse. He was beginning to turn blue when Rick groaned and stood on his toes. He pinned Tommy's head to the stall wall and stayed there as his seed blasted Tommy's throat. It was the biggest load Tommy ever took.

"Shew," Rick said wiping the sweat off his forehead. Tommy felt Rick's cock begin to soften in his mouth. Rick stuck his large cock back in his gym shorts and said, "You know what to do."

Tommy went down on all fours and kissed Rick's trashed Shox; one firm kiss for each sneaker saying, "Thank you master," after each kiss.

"No problem bitch," Rick laughed, "Good faggot; man, I should have beat you sooner. My training has done wonders for you."

"Thank you master," Tommy said and then Rick was gone. The blow and go was intense. Tommy's throat was raw and he could still smell Rick's stench on him. Life was good again.

Wednesday was a boring day for Tommy. Rick did not contact him and the barn was quiet. Thursday was a little more active. It was a nice day but overcast. The wind blew rapidly and it smelled like rain. There was still a rider at the barn when Rick's truck pulled up. Tommy was leading a horse outside to the pasture when he caught a glimpse of it. Evidentially Rick decided to go mudding before coming to the barn. It was caked in fresh mud. Tommy noticed that there were two figures in the cab. The windows are tinted so he couldn't tell who. Rick pulled in his spot (at the front) and jumped out of the truck.

"Better get that horse turned out; you got work to do."

"Yes sir," Tommy agreed. Tommy did as told. That truck was nasty; he knew it would take a while to clean well enough to pass inspection. He noticed Jack jumping out of the truck from the passenger's side. The two waited by the truck until Tommy returned.

Rick said, "Better get started on my truck; it will take a minute or two to shine up bitch."

"Don't wear yourself out either," Jack chimed in, "You have some cleat work tonight too."

Tommy gasped. His eye widened and he grimaced.

"You did fetch my cleats to clean them up tonight; right?" Jack asked sternly.

"I'm so sorry," Tommy pleaded, "I completely forgot to get them."

"What the fuck," Jack growled. Rick glared at Tommy. If looks could kill; he'd be dead.

"I'll make it up to sir. I will. I'm such a fuck-up," Tommy cried.

Jack was frustrated. He looked across the truck bed at Rick and said, "This is some slave you have here; obedient- the hell!" Rick heard Jack but continued to stare Tommy down. Rick raised his right arm up. Tommy instinctively knew what was next. He was right.

"That's one," Rick spat holding a single finger to his face.

"One hell," Jack insisted, "I have two cleats."

"No," Tommy begged.

No such luck. In an instant Tommy had two angry fingers in his face. Rick agreed with Jack and said, "I stand corrected, that's two." Tommy about crapped his pants. Two? How could that be two? Did that dumbass jock think you buy one cleat at a time? Tommy was enraged at Jack. Did he know what kind of trouble he was causing him?

"Better get start on polishing my truck," Rick instructed.

"We better see our fucking reflection in it you dumbass faggot," Jack added. Tommy held his tongue. He wanted to snap back at Jack. He caught himself though. What was he thinking? If he smarted off to Jack in front of Rick; well, he figured that would pretty much be the end of him. When his rage settled and he came to he realized Rick and Jack were heading down the barn isle. Jack was still ranting about what a waste of space he was.

Tommy got to work on Rick's truck. He was looking forward to pleasing Rick but now he knew; thanks to Jack, even if his truck came out perfect Rick would not be pleased. As he washed he kept thinking, `Two, why fucking two?'

Jack watched Rick practice pole bending. Tommy could see them from the parking lot. Tommy figured that Billy had sought instruction from Rick so he was honing his skills. How Tommy wanted to be the one standing in the ring; watching Rick command his horse. Rick and Tank were one; a team in perfect sync.

While he washed, the remaining boarder came outside and gave Tommy a strange look as she walked to her car.

"Washing Rick's truck Tommy?" she asked as she gathered her keys from her purse.

"Yeah," he admitted. What else could he say? Tommy thought quick and added, "I lost a darn bet."

"That sucks!" she said, "Perhaps I could make a bet with you too. My SUV could use a good cleaning." She joked.

`Get in fucking line,' Tommy thought to himself and said nothing else to her.

Once Rick had practiced and cooled down Tank, he and Jack strolled back out to the parking lot. Tommy was shirtless drying Rick's truck off with his shirt. He sure couldn't afford another damn strike!

"I tell you what fag boy," Rick said while Tommy polished his brush guard. "Jack and I discussed it and we're going to give you a chance to earn one of those strikes back. How does that sound?"

"Really," Tommy said surprised, "Thank you master."

"Meet us after the game tomorrow night," Rick said, "Just hang around; we're not sure when we will be freed up. I will text you where to go."

Tommy had finished drying Rick's brush guard. The two jocks were standing close. Tommy replied, "Thank you master; I will."

"I think you better thank Jack proper," Rick said, "It's him you fucked over."

Fuck. Tommy did not want to kiss that assholes boots. Tommy had never seen Jack wear boots before; he usually sported his Nike Airs. Jack's boots were similar to Rick's; but not nearly as broken in.

"Yeah faggot bitch," Jack snarled, "Kiss my fucking boots and thank me for being generous and shit." Rick laughed. Tommy did not.

Tommy knelt down; feeling degraded, and kissed Jack's right boot firmly saying, "Thank you sir." Then he did the same for his left boot.

After Tommy submitted Jack unleashed a massive amount of tobacco spit from his mouth onto the back of Tommy's head and growled, "Stupid faggot fuck-up; my pleasure. He laughed and lifted his right boot and wiped the bottom of it on Tommy's left shoulder. Some dried dust stuck to Tommy's bare shoulder. "I won't be so nice next time," Jack warned.

Tommy remained on all fours. Rick squatted down and his ever familiar finger was once again in his face. "Better start doing as your fucking told bitch or its round two."

"Yes sir," Tommy replied softly. Rick slowly return upright. Tommy instinctively kissed both of his boots. Instead of saying `thank you master,' he simply said, "Sorry sir," after kissing each boot.

Friday brought rain; and plenty of it. In the cafeteria Tommy watched as the rain pounded the windows. Perhaps they would cancel the game if lightening became an issue. But Tommy understood it takes more than a strong rain to stop a high school football game in Georgia. Tommy had come to understand the great appreciation and culture around southerners and football.

Occasionally Tommy glanced over to the jock's table where the starters congregated for food and to be admired by all the school. There was much hype going around school because their opponent for the upcoming game was supposed to be tough. In addition it was the last home game for a couple of weeks. He expected the game would go on; and he was correct.

The rainfall slowed down around 6:30pm that night. It was raining lightly at kickoff and finally tapered off completely by half time. Because of all the rain, it was a sloppy, muddy game. Both teams made mistakes due to the slick conditions. In the end, Rick's team prevailed. There was a great celebration on the field; their state championship chances improved according to some of the talk from the crowd.

The stadium began to empty. Tommy felt stupid remaining in the stands as people left. He decided to go piss before the stadium bathrooms were locked. While he stood at the urinal his phone buzzed. The text from Rick said, `b at the practice field in 15.' Tommy finished his business and hurried to the practice field; he did not want to be late.

When Tommy arrived his eyes began to adjust. It was a big transition to go from the bright stadium lights to the practice field. There was only a street light at the back of the field for security reasons. A small section of bleachers were centered on the 50 yard line. Tommy sat down and waited. It wasn't long before he saw two silhouettes emerge from the darkness. It was definitely two football players. They were padded up in full gear. Tommy figured they were just trying to intimidate him further. It worked. Two pissed off alpha-football jocks; who had just fought hard to win a game, were coming to torment and punish him. He was very nervous.

"Well the little faggot was at least smart enough to show up," Jack said as they approached Tommy. Tommy instantly lowered his eyes in submission. The two walked up the bleachers and sat down two rows above Tommy. Tommy turned around in his seat to face them. Steam rose from their heated bodies. The two jocks in full gear propped their nasty, hot, and mud coated cleats on the bleacher seat directly behind Tommy. Tommy could nearly smell the testosterone oozing off the two.

"Bitch I believe you owe Jack here a cleat cleaning," Rick said as if Tommy needed reminding.

"Poor little faggot," Jack said smiling, "I bet he just wants to be a real man like us. Here, let me help you little buddy; a little eye black like we wear just for you." Jack extended his cleat to Tommy's face. "Lean in here." Jack said in a condescending voice. Tommy reluctantly complied. With the side of his muddy cleat Jack smeared mud below both of Tommy's eyes. Then he tapped his nose with his cleat bottom and with a childish tone said, "Boop." After which he rested his cleats on the bleacher seat with his ankles crossed and said, "Now clean my cleats bitch!" Jack's tone instantly went from playful to authoritative.

Four disgusting cleats waited for his poor tongue to polish. This would take some time. He noticed Rick put a dip in. Jack immediately followed suit.

"We're gonna help you keep your mouth moist for this," Rick said with a devilish tone.

"Yeah," Jack said, "You get to be our faggoty cleat licker and spit cup; lucky bitch!"

Tommy wasted no time and took his first big swipe up the center of Jack's cleat. The wet mud fell easily onto his tongue in a larger quantity than Tommy expected. He instinctively made a slight gagging sound.

"You know what to do with that don't ya bitch?" Rick questioned.

Tommy didn't even answer. He swallowed hard. Eating the fresh mud was less than pleasant. It felt as if his stomach was already full of dirt from the very first swipe. Despite that; he knew he had to complete this task. Tommy dug deep. He made multiple swipes on Jack's left cleat. The bottoms came clean surprisingly well from where he had recently service them. He was sucking the top spike clean when he heard a muffled command from Jack.

"Open bitch; I need to spit." Jack pulled his feet from the bleacher seat and leaned forward. Jack spat his dip spit straight down his throat with force. Tommy coughed.

Rick stood up; towering over Tommy and commanded, "Stick that faggot tongue out." Tommy stuck his mud coated out for Rick who slowly controlled his spit to land directly on his tongue. Rick wanted Tommy to taste it; and he did. Tommy swallowed hard. If there was any doubt to Tommy how sub-human he was; it was confirmed now. "Good bitch," Rick said returning to his seat.

Jack propped his cleats back up on the bleacher seat and said, "Back to work bitch." Jack snapped his fingers.

And so Tommy did. He licked, sucked, and swallowed as quickly as he could knowing that the longer he took; the more dip spit he would eat. As he worked, Rick and Jack were discussing the details of the game. They talked about the mistakes from both teams, their dominance despite the odds, and their chances for a state title. When he started to lick the side of Jack's left cleat a glob of mud fell of onto the bleacher seat. Jack said nothing; he barely broke stride in his conversation with Rick, he just snapped his fingers and pointed. Tommy leaned his face down to the bleacher seat and vacuumed the mud up with his mouth. The finger snapping annoyed Tommy greatly. Jack grinned and wiggled his left cleat. Tommy knew to get back to it; he didn't need the visual instruction. Tommy's hatred for Jack grew.

When he was finished with Jack's cleats Jack stood up and widened his eyes. Jack needed to spit again. Tommy leaned his head back and stuck out his tongue. Jack, following Rick's example, let a controlled long stream fall. The spit half fell in Tommy's mouth but Jack shifted allowing some of it to land on his cheek and dribble down. "Look at him," Jack said wiping his own mouth, "Isn't he cute with baccor juice on his little fag face like a real country boy?" Tommy was not amused. Thanks to Jack he now had dried mud off the bottom of his cleats under his eyes and nose; and now sticky dip spit stuck to the side of his cheek.

"Yeah," Rick agreed insincerely; "he's looking like a real country boy now!"

Jack laughed. Then he snapped his fingers and said, "Better not keep the captain waiting cleat licker!"

`Fuck that finger snapping,' Tommy thought frustrated with his predicament.

Tommy scooted down with Rick's cleat spikes pointing right in his face. Tommy recalled holding Rick's cleats for the first time on his first day at the barn. He longed to service Rick's cleats. It was no longer a disgusting chore that he was being bullied to complete. He was honored to clean up Rick's cleats. His heart pounded as he began to lick. His dick began to harden. He was happy to finally be serving his master and not his master's obnoxious, asshole friend.

"Mmmh," Tommy said softly without realizing it.

Jack was disgusted. The pleasure Tommy was getting from servicing Rick's cleats was evident. Jack said, "I think the faggot is queer for you; he's in hog heaven licking your cleats."

"He just knows the price for pissing me off," Rick replied.

"Does this shit on his cleat taste better?" Jack asked sarcastically not expecting a reply. Jack watched Tommy continue to service Rick's cleat happily. "Well you're just gonna love this faggot." Jack leaned over Rick's massive legs and spat on the top of Rick's cleat. Most of the dip spit clung to the cleat's muddy top.

Rick yelled, "What the fuck!" Then he pulled the spiked bottom from Tommy's face and rested his cleat on the bleacher top side up. "Clean that shit off."

`That fucker,' Tommy thought. Why doesn't he just fuck-off now; he's cleats are clean? He quickly lapped up the mud, debris, and Jack's dip spit off of Rick's cleat top. Tommy hoped he would not taste it but he did. In fact it was enhanced because it flavored the wet mud.

Jack was pleased because Tommy's euphoria stopped with his intrusion. Jack leaned back, slouching in the bleacher seat and checked his phone saying, "Fucking queer."

Rick's cleats took longer to service. In addition to the fresh wet mud they had old dried dirt stuck underneath the fresh. Eventually he was finished. His tongue was sore and his stomach was bloated and rolling from eating the cleat crap; not to mention being a human spittoon for the jocks. Tommy sat back when he was done awaiting orders but none came.

"You wanna shower and head over to Ethan's party?" Jack asked.

"Let's do it," Rick replied.

They never even acknowledged that Tommy was alive. More importantly Rick said nothing about removing a strike! They walked down off the bleachers past Tommy. Tommy followed a few paces behind them hoping Rick would mention it.

Jack noticed Tommy following behind. In a swift motion he turned and tackled Tommy to the ground. Tommy yelped. He had never been tackled before. It hurt and he was scared the Jack would pummel him. Jack stood up and looked down on him. Tommy shifted to get up but Jack forcefully put his cleat on Tommy's chest pinning him to the ground. Rick watched with interest but did or said nothing. Jack warned, "Forget to clean my cleats again and it's your faggoty ass. Got it?" He allowed no time for Tommy to reply. Tommy was still processing what just happened. Jack leaned his entire body weight into the leg pinning Tommy to the ground. "Got it?" Jack snarled again. The spikes dug into Tommy's chest. It hurt.

"Yes sir," Tommy replied. Tears welled in his eyes. Jack glared down on him. Their hatred for each other was mutual.

Rick finally chimed in, "Jack, party, let's go."

Jack looked over at Rick who was motioning for him to come. Jack pulled his packed dip from his lip and flung it in Tommy's face. With athletic accuracy it splatted on Tommy's forehead.

"Let's go," Rick repeated himself a little louder and commanding.

Jack slowly eased the pressure off Tommy's chest. He drug his cleat along Tommy's body and lightly kicked his chin with the side of his cleat.

"Bitch," Jack said as he walked away with Rick.

Tommy did not get up right away. He just laid there crying. Was he crying because of his hatred toward Jack? Or was he crying because despite it all he had a massive erection? Tommy had no idea.