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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 10
University sophomore and varsity soccer athlete Brad Peterson sat back comfortably on the bed in his dorm room, his sweaty big toe on his right foot lodged in Tommy's mouth, and his left heel resting on the top of Tommy's head. Brad and Tommy were just getting started. Brad's cock and ass would come next. Brad was a 6 foot 1 stud. Tommy was only an inch shorter, but a faggot. It was a brisk mid-October morning, and Brad was enjoying the service Tommy was providing him for almost a year.
About a year ago, Brad met Tommy in one of their freshman classes. It was a small writing seminar, only 15 students. Brad soon noticed that Tommy's eyes would linger on Brad a bit longer than was normal, that Tommy always tried to sit directly across from Brad at the seminar table (to sneak peaks at him), or right next to him (to breathe in his scent and feel his warmth).
Brad decided one day last November, just before Thanksgiving, to see where all this pent up crush went: "Hey, Tommy, wanna help me with this paper after class?"
"Oh, sure," Tommy replied. "Where do you want to meet?"
"Let's see, I have soccer practice this afternoon. How about right after, around 5, in my room?"
"Ok, where's your room?"
"Room 303 in Chestnut."
"Ok, cool."
Tommy showed up at 5pm on the dot and knocked. No one answered. Tommy stood there and waited, checking his phone, pacing back and forth, looking dumbly around. Fifteen minutes later, Brad walked up in his soccer cleats and shorts, red jersey, and gym bag, still quite sweaty from practice.
"Hey, buddy. Sorry to keep you waiting. Decided to get a snack with the guys."
"Oh, no problem, Brad," Tommy said, probably an octave higher than he intended.
"Come on in. Guess no one's home." Brad lived in a dorm suite with a common room and four single bedrooms. Brad led Tommy into his bedroom, which was relatively sizable, with an extra-length twin-size bed, a desk with chair, a dresser, a bookshelf, another chair, and a TV.
"Hey, Tommy, why don't you go get me a beer? Just look in the fridge."
"Ok, sure." Brad did not offer Tommy a beer or any drink, and Tommy did not think he should just get one for himself.
Tommy came back in the bedroom, Brad had kicked off his shoes and was sitting on his bed, and Tommy handed him the beer. The room smelled of feet.
"Fuck, Tommy, how you expect me to open this without a bottle opener? C'mon, dude, think!"
Tommy was a bit stunned by the tone, but instantly replied, "Sorry. I, I, I, I don't know what I was thinking. S-s-s-orry."
A stutterer, Brad thought to himself, at least when he's nervous (Brad had not noticed Tommy stuttering in class). He was gonna have some fun with this faggot.
Tommy went back out and looked for the bottle opener, taking a bit too long for Brad's liking.
"Dude, what's taking so long? You don't want me to have to get up and find it myself, do you?"
"No, no." Tommy answered, even though he still had no idea where the bottle opener was in the rather cluttered common room. After another frantic minute, he finally found it, on the floor next to the coffee table.
When Tommy returned, Brad sighed loudly. "Well, let's go. Open it for me so my beer doesn't get any warmer."
Tommy obeyed, and his shaking hand now handed the open beer bottle to Brad. Brad took a huge gulp of the beverage. "Ahh," Brad exhaled. "Ok, have a seat and tell me a bit about yourself."
"Huh?" Tommy thought to himself. He thought he was there to work on a paper, not talk about anything else. But he sat down in the extra chair and replied, "Ummm, I, I, I don't r-r-really know. I'm from Ohio. I think I'm gonna be an econ major. I, I played tennis in high school, but wasn't good enough to keep going in college. So for now, I just go to class, do homework, hang out with my new friends. Th-that's about it. Wh-wh-at about you?"
Brad ignored Tommy's question, and instead asked, "You gay?"
Tommy didn't deny it and instead replied, "Wh-wh-wh-wh-y do you ask?"
"So that's a yes? I figured." Brad wiggled his socked toes. Tommy's gaze floated toward that direction.
"W-w-well, it doesn't m-m-atter, right? Wh-why don't we get started on the paper, ok?"
"It matters if you have the hots for me, then it matters."
"What? N-n-o way! Is that why y-y-y-ou asked me here? I, I, I should just g-g-o." Tommy intended to get up, but for whatever reason he was frozen in place.
Brad chuckled, "Look, Tommy. Why leave? I know you dig me 'cause I see you checkin' me out all the Goddamn time. I know about dudes like you. Homos. Queers. I knew them in high school, too. Since you're into me so much, why wouldn't you stick around and hang out?"
Tommy cogitated about what Brad said, "W-w-w-ell, ok, I guess, but I'm really not into you!" Tommy tried some more to lie.
"Ok, but I am hot, right?"
Tommy didn't know what to say, and objectively speaking, any gay person was going to find Brad attractive (he was literally everyone's type), so he figured if he denied that, Brad would know he was lying. Therefore, Tommy admitted, "All right, fine, you're hot."
"How am I hot, Tommy?" Brad put the emphasis on the word, "how".
"Y-y-ou're tall, y-y-ou got a good looking face, your muscles are pretty well-defined, the sh-sh-shape of your butt is really nice . . . . There, you happy now?"
Brad laughed. "Ok, so if you think I'm hot, doesn't that mean you dig me?"
Tommy's head was starting to spin. "Ummm, ok, I guess so. Can we start working on the paper now?"
Brad took another swig of beer. "No, I don't think so. No, I think I want you to do this paper for me. Since you don't have much of a life, you should have plenty of time to get both my paper and your paper done. And as a reward, I'll let you worship my feet. One minute for each page, 20 whole minutes to lick and suck and KISS this hot studly foot." Brad didn't waste any time. If Tommy was who he thought Tommy was, Tommy was going to say "yes" to this pretty quickly. All the interim things to fish Tommy out of his closet were just a waste of time, Brad's feet ached from practice, and he wanted them serviced now. And, if Tommy on the off chance was not a foot fag, then this was not meant to be anyway.
Thankfully (for Brad, and as it turned out, for Tommy), he had Tommy pegged exactly right, and Tommy replied (rather quickly despite what seemed initially to be resistance), "Ok, I'll do it."
But Brad was now not going to let Tommy get what he wanted without torturing him a bit more. "Really, dude? I just took a guess that you're into feet, or at least the size 13 feet attached to a hot stud like me. Not only was I right, you aren't hesitating one second to worship them . . . AND do an extra 20-page paper? You sure about that ... faggot?" There it was, the word "faggot." Nevertheless, Tommy felt his dick lurch forward.
Now that the idea of actually making out with Brad's feet was a real possibility in his head, Tommy switched from denial mode to the mode of basically begging to worship them. "Tommy, I, I, I . . . yeah, I really want to worship your feet. I've always been into hot jocks, and y-y-y-ou are definitely a hot jock." Tommy's throat was getting dry, but his dick was now throbbing, and he continued, "And yeah, I like jock feet. Please let me worship yours, please Brad."
Brad guffawed. "Ok, faggot, go for it, but remember you better get me an A on that paper, and the prof better not figure out the same person wrote two papers, or you will pay."
Tommy now leaked pre hearing himself being called a "faggot" again, and he lunged toward Brad's socked feet and immediately started sniffing the arch. Deep, deep whiffs. Intoxicating. Brad set the timer on his phone to 20 minutes, but Tommy didn't even notice.
"Whoa, faggot, don't give yourself an aneurysm. Fuck."
Again, Tommy paid Brad no attention, now beginning to French kiss all the way around Brad's feet.
Brad took another slip of his beer. "Use your hands, too, I want you to massage my feet at the same time."
Tommy again complied without hesitation, maximizing the pleasure to Brad's feet with both his mouth and hands.
Brad picked up his phone and texted his little brother Kyle, then a 15-year-old sophomore in high school. "Yo."
"Yo."
"Guess what? I got a bitch here worshipping my feet."
"Yuck. Lucky her, right?"
"Not her, HIM."
"What? Fuck. Thats gay."
"No, hes gay. Im just gettin my rocks off."
"Ok, still sounds strange to me. But w'ever floats ur boat!"
"Shut the fuck up, Kyle. U should be so lucky to get urself a fag."
"Sorry, Brad."
Brad took a photo of the tops of his socked feet with Tommy's face nuzzled right up against them. He texted the photo to Kyle.
"Haha, you the man, big bro!"
Brad then took one more photo except this time Tommy's face was very recognizable. Tommy was aware that Brad did that, but couldn't do anything about it. Then Brad put this phone down, drank more beer, and said to Tommy, "Now wrap your mouth around my toes and start sucking the sweat from them. Oh, and start verbally responding to me. I don't want my servant to be a mute."
"Yes, sir."
"Try again, fag."
Tommy hesitated for but a second. "Yes, M-m-m-master Brad."
Then Brad's right toes entered Tommy's mouth. Tommy's mouth did heavy work sucking all the juices out of Brad's socked feet. Followed by Brad's left toes. The jock stench was incredible. Just incredible to Tommy.
"So, fag, how do my feet taste?"
"I love it, Master. I love them. And I l-l-love the s-s-smell and taste of your jock feet. It really, really gets me all hot and b-b-b-othered to be worshipping your feet like this."
"Well, tell that to my size 13s then, dumbass."
Tommy was already rock hard, but hearing the words "size 13s" almost made him cum. "Oh, Master Brad's feet. You are divine, you are godly, just because you are attached to M-m-master Brad, who is a hot jock stud. Y-y-you smell beautiful, you are beautiful, and I th-th-thank you for letting me k-k-kiss you."
Brad took a final drink of his beer and said, "Good, fag, good. You're gonna wanna do this again real soon, right?"
"For s-s-sure, Master. I can't w-w-wait to worship you again."
"And you'll get my paper done so I can focus on being the stud that I am, right?"
"Y-y-y-you rewarded me with your f-f-f-feet in exchange for me doing your p-p-p-paper, so of course I am obligated to do your paper, Master."
Then Brad's tone shifted. "Also, you lied to me earlier. You said you didn't have the hots for me when obviously you do, you fuckin' fag. Don't you dare lie to me again, you got it, you stupid motherfucker?"
"I'm so, so s-s-s-s-sorry, Master. I won't d-d-d-dare lie to you again. Obviously, I've been c-c-c-c-c-c-crushing on you hard, and I should have admitted it to y-y-y-you, my new Master, right away."
All of a sudden, the timer went off. Tommy suddenly realized and instantly started to remove one of Brad's socks. He hadn't even gotten the chance to enjoy Brad's size 13 bare feet.
Brad kicked Tommy's hand away, and then kicked him square in the face.
"Uh uh uh, faggot. The rules are the rules. Better luck next time. Now get the fuck out of my room, fag. I'll text you next time I want you."
"Yes, Master." And Tommy slinked away and out of Brad's room.
TO BE CONTINUED ...