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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 29
I opened my eyes. It must have been around 6:30 in the morning, still somewhat dark this time of year (November 2019). Tommy was on the floor next to me, still asleep. Up above us in his royal bed, I could hear the manly snores of our precious jock stud. The day and night before were wild beyond belief. Tommy throwing himself at Kyle after driving hours from out-of-state, Gemma discovering my identity, another awesome night of unadulterated pleasure heaped on Kyle, and us two fags still on the floor ready to be jolted awake to perform more worship.
I closed my eyes again and recalled the night before. As ordered, Tommy and I both returned to Kyle's house after dinner. It had been a while since Kyle received the cocksucking/rimming combo. See Chapter 17: "By 3:30, Kyle ejaculated into Tommy's mouth while my tongue was up his hole." That was almost a year ago. Over the summer, Kyle made us do it a few more times. But it had been 3 months since the last time. And even though it had only been a few hours since Kyle's last ejaculation, this stud had unbelievable stamina and was rock hard again within minutes. With less than 48 hours to go before the big game, Kyle was 100% entitled to command this pleasure-maximizing service.
Except for one time when Kyle switched our positions, Tommy got Kyle's cock while I was to eat Kyle's ass. There were many reasons for this allocation of duties: one, Tommy was the better cocksucker, not by much, but enough for Kyle to notice a difference (let's face it, Tommy had more experience, and Brad had a bigger cock, if not lengthier any more, still fatter along with that incredible foreskin, plus Brad was usually significantly rougher throat raping Tommy -- to the point of raping the gag reflex out of Tommy's throat permanently -- than Kyle was with me). Two, Kyle liked making me the beta fag whenever Tommy was around, even though Kyle knew Tommy was beta to me. Kyle wanted to play with my mind and heart, make me feel lower and inferior. Any homo will suck cock; only a true fag will eat dirty ass with farts and all.
So Kyle stood at his now 6-foot frame, while Tommy and I were on our knees. Kyle ordered me to grab firmly onto his legs, then insert my tongue into his hole. Kyle told me not to bother eating his ass full throttle like I usually did (except when he specifically said "eat"), since his fuck thrusts would push my tongue right out. Instead, he wanted my skull and his ass to move in sync as one. The only way to do that was to "lock" my tongue into his asshole and grab on for dear life. As often as possible, the tip of my tongue still flickered up and down for the sake of maximizing Kyle's pleasure, but my whole head and mouth otherwise stayed locked in place. Once my tongue fit snugly inside Kyle's dank anus, Kyle started fucking Tommy's mouth. Every so often, Kyle inserted the entire length of his shaft into Tommy's mouth and held it there, with Tommy's nose buried in Kyle's pubes, and Kyle's hands gripped steadfastly on Tommy's head. Then Kyle yelled, "Eat!" On that command, my tongue immediately "unlocked" and darted and snaked up and down Kyle's ass crevice, noisily sucking and chewing and licking and scooping. A slow count of ten-Mississippi's later, Kyle released poor Tommy, Kyle yelled, "Lock!", my tongue returned to being affixed to Kyle's hole, and Kyle returned to thrusting his massive cock in and out of Tommy's mouth at whatever pace and to whatever depth Kyle desired. Then repeat the sequence until Kyle decided it was time to climax.
Kyle absolutely loved it. One 17-year-old in total control of another 17-year-old and a 20-year-old. During the slow count of ten-Mississippi's, Kyle strained and stretched out his cock to edge himself while sensually enveloped in Tommy's warm and wet mouth and throat. During the entire slow count, Tommy's tongue never stopped moving, adding yet more pulsating sensation to Kyle's shaft. While God-cock was buried deep in Tommy's oral cavity, I provided maximal pleasure to Kyle's ass, rimming it from every angle, forcing my tongue to dive in as deep as I possibly could get it in. During a couple of those rounds, Kyle ripped farts right into my waiting face. As Kyle laughed, I sniffed hard and intensified my sucking, to show my Master just how much I appreciated ingesting his putrid gas. Eventually, during one of Kyle's forward thrusts, his cum started shooting into Tommy's mouth with only a nearly reflexive, "I'm cumming, you gay fucks", as the advance warning. As Kyle groaned and moaned loudly in enjoyment of his orgasm, Tommy held every drop of God-cum in his mouth.
When Kyle was satisfied some minutes later, he sighed contently and schoolboyishly hopped back into bed, shouting, "Cum-play-time, fags!" We knew what to do. We crawled to Kyle's feet and I started making out with Tommy who transferred about half of Kyle's precious load into my mouth. Then each of us started making out with Kyle's feet, letting some cum dribble down Kyle's feet and toes only to then be gobbled up again back into our mouths, careful not to let a single morsel of fluid hit the bedsheet. We alternated between kissing Kyle's feet and kissing each other, never forgetting that Kyle's cum was the star. I thought about the cooking competition shows with a secret ingredient that had to be the star of the dish. If my very sexual being was a dish, then Kyle's jizz was forever the star of that dish. It was Kyle's gift to us, and it was not to be wasted. Long ago we learned that merely swallowing this gift would be wasting it. No, Tommy's and my sexual energies were completely devoted to savoring Kyle's cum every which way possible.
During the cum-fest, Kyle unleashed a plethora of insults, teases and homophobic epithets -- almost all at me exclusively to further degrade me in comparison to Tommy. Kyle said horrible things like, "Hey Connor, were you born just to eat my cum? Huh, faggot? That's why your parents gave birth to your pathetic ass? God, what must they think if they knew what a cumrag loser you are?" and "How does it feel to have your main sexual organ be your mouth, huh, bitch? Yeah, your mouth wasn't made for eating food, it was made for eating my ass. And what else? Yeah, sucking my cock, drinking my piss, kissing my feet, chewing my cum, and tasting my farts, right? Fuck, what a total retard you are. Why doncha just throw yourself in front of a bus, you worthless piece of shit?" Yeah, it hurt, it really hurt. Kyle knew that I liked being his sexual servant and I liked being called a fag, so Kyle said other things he knew I didn't like: he attacked my very existence as a human being, i.e., to emphasize that if I suddenly fell off the face of the earth, he wouldn't care in the slightest. It was all about Kyle. All the name-calling and homophobia didn't hurt until it meant that Kyle would not miss me at all if I was actually gone. I wanted Kyle to miss me (though I knew Kyle would never admit that), Kyle knew that, and so he cruelly verbalized the opposite.
Ten full minutes later, Kyle ordered, "Swallow, you bitches." And only then did we down the mixture of God-cum, foot sweat, whatever was in Kyle's anus (from my mouth), and our own saliva. Then Kyle kicked us each in the face onto the floor and soon fell asleep. We had expected Kyle to make us suck him off in the middle of the night, but Kyle never woke up.
Now it was the next morning. Excited from my memories of worshipping Kyle from the night before, I reached for one of Kyle's black no-show socks on the floor. Crusty, though the smell had largely dissipated. Still, I put it to my nose and breathed in. It wasn't a deep sniff, and I didn't lick it or suck it. Rather, Kyle's sock was a familiar source of gentle comfort to me now. Even without the immediacy of sex or even lust, smelling Kyle's socks were as normal and frequent for me now as eating a snack or texting a friend. Nothing to do? Open a bag of chips, play on my phone, wipe Kyle's sock all over my face. Lying in bed trying to fall asleep? Listen to music, count sheep, nuzzle right up to Kyle's sock all night. That's not to say my dick wasn't rock hard. Waking up in the morning, it usually was already, but Kyle's sock and the vivid memories of last night made it stretch up even more. Why wouldn't a teenage fag be in love with that feeling -- a relaxed edging with the essence of his crush right over his face?
As more light filtered into Kyle's room, I started to hear Kyle stir. I immediately shoved Tommy awake and dove to Kyle's left foot and started kissing it gently. Within 20 seconds, Tommy was next to me doing the same to Kyle's right foot. Kyle stretched and grunted contently, kicking each of us in the face as his legs extended. Kyle grabbed his morning wood from underneath the blanket and positioned it so that Tommy and I could see and drool over the impressive cloth-covered tent. (Kyle had already slid down his boxer briefs.)
"How much do you want that, you dumb fucks?"
"More than anything in the world," my dry throat croaked.
Kyle unfurled the blanket. What a sight to behold. Total, utter nakedness except for the bright blue 2-xist boxer briefs half-way down his legs.
"Take my underwear off, cunty." I gingerly slid the warm garment down the rest of Kyle's hairy jock legs, then brought it to my face, inhaling greedily. Meanwhile, Kyle started playing with himself with more focus, causing more pleasure to shoot up his 8.5-inch shaft from perineum to cocktip.
"Enough, cunty, before I beat the shit out of you. You take too many liberties these days. My crotch stink is a treat for you; you don't get to just enjoy it without permission, bitch."
"Yes, God, I'm so sorry, God," I intoned, as I delicately folded Kyle's underwear and put it to the side. Now that Kyle was fully awake, Tommy and I kicked our worship of Kyle's feet into high gear, slurping and face-massaging, toe sucking and toe crevice tonguing.
Then Kyle sat up, said "Open", and pissed right into my mouth. It was a lot, but I didn't spill a drop. Pissing out of a hard cock into a toilet sometimes causes the piss to miss; pissing into a mouth enveloping the hard cock avoids that problem. Then Kyle slapped me and asked, "Why didn't you blow me last night, fag?" The answer, duh, was because we dared not wake him up (we only gave him a blowjob when he gave us permission; we didn't dare "help ourselves" even if he was wake, much less when he was asleep!), but instead I replied, "I am so sorry, Master Kyle, please, please beat the shit out of me for screwing up my duties yet again. Please hit me harder. Please slap me and kick me. Please punch me right in the face. Please hit me upside the head, with your hand, your sneaker, anything you like. Please whip me with your belt. Please, God, please punish me because I deserve it and because abusing me makes you happy."
Kyle laughed, "Maybe later, cunt. But now I gotta get ready for a big day. Blow me now, both of you."
I scooted up to position my head right at Kyle's balls while Kyle straddled his hairy legs over my shoulders. Almost like I was going to rim him again, but my focus during this duo-blowjob was Kyle's nuts. Tommy went at Kyle's cock from the side. While Tommy sucked Kyle's cock, I sucked and licked those beautiful balls. I placed one completely in my mouth while nuzzling against the other, then switched, then repeated. Intermittently, I licked and sucked on Kyle's perineum, too. Soon enough, Tommy got another ~7.5 mL of stud sperm, and this time Kyle ordered Tommy to swallow it all immediately, thereby depriving me of any taste. After all that, it was a curt, "Get the fuck out of my house, losers."
Some ten hours later, we were back at Kyle's house. Fresh off of Kyle's final practice before the county finals. Tommy and I sat in the bleachers for the entire 2.5 hours, watching Kyle and the other ultra-hot varsity soccer studs go at it. Watching them at the peak of their athletic prowess and drive was a real treat -- but no one on the field was as all-around divine as Captain Kyle Peterson. Even among stars, Kyle was a superstar. The others looked up to him, followed his lead, and took his shit. As is often the case now, Kyle did not shower in the locker room and instead headed straight home with fag (and this evening, two fags) in tow. If things go well the next day, Kyle will celebrate with his teammates, but tonight, the night before, it was all about service and worship.
And that's why Tommy was here to begin with. For a second night in a row, two mouths were going to provide Kyle with maximum pleasure. But we had a surprise for our Master. Kyle sat on his bed and ordered us to remove his snap-on Adidas trackpants -- convenient so he could comfortably lounge with his bare jock legs uninhibited while his cleats were still on his feet. Kyle also took off his sweatshirt leaving only a tee-shirt underneath. We began performing our ritual of worshipping Kyle's dirty cleats and soccer socks. Each of us first licked every molecule of mud and grass off of each cleat, while Kyle still had them on. Inevitably, some dirt fell onto Kyle's bed, and we immediately sucked it into our mouths to keep Kyle's bed clean. Then Kyle made us rinse our mouths out with Listerine before moving onto the next phase of worship. Remember, only "clean mouths" got the honor and privilege of making out with Kyle's dirty feet. Some dudes make sure they have minty fresh breath before kissing a girl's lips; Tommy and I had to have minty fresh breath before kissing another dude's sweaty feet.
And why did we subject ourselves to this level of degradation? Because Kyle's sweat and stench got us going like nothing else on earth. With newly cleaned-out mouths, we hurriedly removed Kyle's sneakers and each one of us spent a good five minutes alternating between breathing in the inner shoe stench and the drenchingly wet sock odor. Meanwhile, Kyle inserted his hand into his underwear and fondled his cock and balls as much or as little as he wished, getting to that perfect level of semi-hardness so he could draw out tonight's sexual festivities at his pace. He was in charge. Kyle teased us throughout, first verbally -- for example, saying, "You know, if we lose tomorrow, I am going to take it out on you two homos, right? So you better do a AMAZING job servicing me tonight. Even the slightest imperfection and I will make you pay -- dearly. You got that, you cumwads?"
"Yes, God," we both answered.
"Sigh." Kyle laughed. "You two lovebirds actually love me more than anything or anyone else on earth, but I don't give a flying fuck about the two of you, haha."
"That's exactly right," we both said in between unabashedly passionate sock kissing and inhaling. As the temperature in Kyle's bedroom rose, he slipped off his underwear and tee-shirt, too, leaving a totally naked body except for his socks. More importantly, Kyle now had instant access to his naked crotch and nipples, and he pleasured both areas with newfound vigor. God-cock was well on its way to 8.5 inches.
While Kyle played with himself, he also teased us physically -- for example, by pulling his leg away just out of reach for one of us to try to reach his still-socked foot with our tongue while the other fag was still worshipping the other socked foot. Then once we reached his raised foot to resume licking, he would suddenly mash it down against our face so we fell backward onto the floor. Kyle also bounced a soccer ball off our heads multiple times. If the ball bounced poorly instead of back into his hands, it was of course our fault, which meant us fetching the ball for him to then hit our heads with the ball forcefully as punishment. "Your brainless heads were made to be backboards, and they can't even do that right. You really are dumb as fuck!" Kyle was enjoying himself thoroughly.
Once we got Kyle's socks off (with his permission), and spent a sufficient amount of time smelling them, then stuffing them into our mouths and sucking their juices into our bellies, we started sniffing his rank bare jock feet like the hungry foot whores we were. The warmth of the skin on Kyle's feet was itself pulsating. The constant recollection that these feet were attached to the knee-weakeningly handsome high school senior soccer captain, on his (and their) way to leading his team to win the championship tomorrow, made my desire for Kyle and his feet all the more extreme. I fuckin' wanted to date and marry Kyle's feet. I wanted Kyle's feet to impregnate me. I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Kyle's feet.
Especially before I became a servant to this soccer stud, I often imagined what the jock feet of some of my peers would smell like, what they would feel like. My athletic classmates who wore the trendiest Nike or New Balance or Adidas sneakers; I would catch myself staring at them and imagining the moist, warm delicacies underneath. Each hottie's foot emitting a slightly different aroma, level of wetness, degree of warmth, smoothness of texture, etc. I dreamed of one day actually getting to bury my face, nose and tongue into a masculine jock foot like that. Now I luckily got to experience that -- on my #1 crush of all time -- on a daily basis. I was the luckiest fag on earth.
With those thoughts in my mind, I redoubled my efforts rubbing my entire face, forward and from each cheek, up and down Kyle's bare foot sweat, breathing in the funky, cheesy teenage jock smell as hard as I could. Each minute of my time with God-feet was precious. To make me jealous, Kyle again scooped up dollops of his pre-cum oozing out of his now rock hard 8.5-inch fuckstick, and fed it only to Tommy, not me. Tommy literally shuddered at how delicious it tasted. I, too, shuddered out of a mix of desire, jealousy and living vicariously through Tommy, imagining the taste of Kyle's pre-jism on my own tongue but satisfied for now just being allowed to feed myself more of Kyle's intoxicating foot scent, lint, and sweat.
My feelings for Kyle's divine feet were so intense that, before we launched into full-on open-mouth foot worship and toe jam ingestion, Tommy and I looked at each other and started singing -- Tommy directly to Kyle's left foot and me directly to Kyle's right foot:
*You are, my fire. *The one, desire. *Believe, when I say, *Kyle's feet: to You I pray!
*But we, are two worlds apart *Can't reach to Your heart *I obey, *God-foot: I am Your slave!
*Tell me why *Can't help but kiss You all day *Tell me why *Can't help but lick You that way *Tell me why *I never want to stop, no way, *Serving as Your fag always.
*Am I, Your faggot? *Your one, dumb faggot *Yes I know, You're too great *But You I still want to date
*Tell me why *Can't help but kiss You all day *Tell me why *Can't help but lick You that way *Tell me why, *I never want to stop, no way, *Serving as Your fag always.
*Now I can smell all your soccer jock stink *I worship it endlessly, yeah *No matter Your kicks *Straight into my face *My lust for You remains . . .
*'Cause You are my fire *The one desire *You are (You are, You are, You are)
*Wanna suck Your toes! *Can't help but kiss You all day *Can't help but lick You that way *(Wanna suck Your toes) *I never want to stop, no way, *Serving as Your fag always.
*Tell me why *Can't help but kiss You all day *Tell me why *Can't help but lick You that way *Tell me why *I never want to stop, no way, *Serving as Your fag always.
*Tell me why *Can't help but kiss You all day *Can't help but lick You that way *Tell me why *I never want to stop, no way, *(Never want to stop) *Serving as Your fag always . . .
*'Cause Kyle's feet: to You I pray!
After we belted out that song, surprisingly without interruption from Kyle (Kyle's parents were out so we sang at the top of our lungs), Kyle finally exclaimed, "What the fucking FUCK?!?", and glared at us wide-eyed with a mixture of disdain and amusement. (Since Tommy and I were transfixed only on Kyle's feet (to whom we sang directly) during the song, we didn't see Kyle's contemporaneous facial reactions to what we were doing. I am speculating that even Kyle was taken aback a bit but was curious enough to let us finish singing before reacting.) Tommy and I had decided to do something special, something we had never even read about online, in celebration of tomorrow's big game. It was a huge risk to attempt this, even though our sole motivation was to try to please Kyle, because Kyle was in charge, and he already warned us that he wanted to be worshipped tonight "perfectly". Tommy and I decided that "perfect" meant over-the-top, challenging ourselves not to repeat the same old, same old worship techniques that Kyle had already experienced ad nauseum over the past year-plus. We were about to find out whether Master Kyle agreed with our decision.
"Master Kyle, we wanted to compose and sing an Ode directly to your feet, sir. We, we, wanted to come up with a new, creative way to show our complete devotion to you, Master Kyle," I answered with 1000% sincerity. As I said that, Tommy already had Kyle's left big toe in his mouth, greedily sucking and rolling his tongue around and around.
"Oh my God," Kyle laughed as he quickly returned to his relaxed state, "And you set it to ... what was that? A Backstreet Boys song?!? Can you get any more faggoty than that? Oh my God, you two are disgusting!"
"Thank you, Master," Tommy replied. "We were hoping to entertain you. But really, that is how much we love, how much we are IN LOVE, with your feet. We really do pray to your feet. At night before we go to bed, we pray to You and end each prayer with, 'In the name of Kyle's feet we pray, Amen.' We want to sing our hearts out in praise of your feet. We will sing that song to your feet whenever you command us to in the future." As Tommy said that, I had already applied Audible French Kiss with Supporting Hands (see previous Chapter) about a dozen times to Kyle's right foot.
"Shut the fuck up, fag."
TO BE CONTINUED ...