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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
Welcome back, readers. First, a few housekeeping items.
One, Kyle's remote control list of services in Chapter 3 is replicated here to be more readable (hopefully). Since it's becoming my new Bible, I figured it also made sense to put it at the top here for easy reference:
A: Foot massage;
B: Leg massage;
C: Back massage;
D: Take Kyle's shoes off and sniff the insides of them, hard;
E: Sniff and kiss Kyle's socked feet;
F: Take Kyle's socks off and worship the socks;
G: Bury nose in between Kyle's toes;
H: Suck big toe;
I: Suck second toe;
J: Suck middle toe;
K: Suck fourth toe;
L: Suck pinky toe;
H-L Combo: Fit all toes in mouth;
M: Tongue in between each toe;
N: Lick foot from heel to toes;
O: Worship armpit;
P: Worship nipple;
Q: Bring face close enough for Kyle to slap;
R: Take Kyle's underwear off, turn inside out, and sniff the pouch, hard;
S: Fetch another piece of clothing from Kyle's room and make out with that;
T: Bury nose in Kyle's ball sac;
U: Lick Kyle's balls;
V: Suck on Kyle's balls;
W: Hold Kyle's cock in hands and jerk the tip into waiting fag mouth;
X: Full blowjob;
Y: Kiss Kyle's ass all over;
Z: Eat Kyle's ass like there's no tomorrow.
Two, in Chapter 4 when I wrote about thanking Kyle's fart, I listed the other Kyle-related things I had already thanked and inadvertently omitted Kyle's jock strap. The corrected sentence reads: "Wow, after repeatedly thanking Kyle, Kyle's feet, Kyle's cock, Kyle's socks, Kyle's jock strap, and Kyle's cum, I was now reduced to thanking Kyle's fart." It's an important enough sentence crystallizing the extent of my servitude to Kyle that I figured I had better get it right.
Three, to give exact dates for the events that have unfolded so far. My first night with Kyle after the diner was Friday, September 7, 2018. The Sunday morning encounter during which I was handed Kyle's "remote control" happened on September 9. Four days later, on September 13, Kyle came over and farted directly on my face. This Chapter resumes the events of that day, though the rest of it focuses on Saturday, September 15, 2018.
Last but not least, if any of you guys want a more visual idea of what Kyle looks like, check out actor/model Alex Lange, available at, e.g., https://men.wikifeet.com/Alex_Lange. Of course, for those of you who want to stick to the mental picture of Kyle, or of your personal version of Kyle, that you've already created in your brains, then stick with that!
Now, without further ado...
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 5
As I started getting up off the floor, my eyes suddenly saw that his sweaty soccer socks were still on my bed. In one swift motion, I picked up the socks, sat back on my bed, slid my shorts and underwear off half way, brought the socks up to my nose, started inhaling the intoxicating scent, and brought my other hand down to my dick. It did not take long.
After I jizzed, I snuggled my face some more into Kyle's black Under Armour game-worn socks. I turned them inside out and snuggled into them some more. They still smelled very potent and were still damp from Kyle's foot sweat. I sucked and sucked that sweat, plus a not insignificant amount of lint, into my mouth. It just tasted so amazing to me. I felt my dick tingle again. The way Kyle had writhed in pleasure while I was rimming him, my face was now writhing into Kyle's socks. It was like post-sex spooning, except my partner wasn't a girl, but Kyle's dirty socks.
I kept going, eyes now closed, smelling and licking, kissing and biting, shifting from rapid smooches to sensual making out, thinking about these socks wrapped around Kyle's feet, as he ran the length of the soccer field, and heroically scoring the winning goal. And then thinking about Kyle's face. Oh, that face. My dick was fully hard again. Incredible. I started moaning and groaning and finally screamed out, "I love you, Kyle!" And then I climaxed again, very little cum of course, but equally enjoyable. My first ejaculation was about urgent release; my second was about love. With that, I croaked out one last, "I love you so much." Then I went downstairs, grabbed a Ziplock bag, and stored Kyle's socks in there to preserve freshness. Shit, I realized I had a ton of homework and studying to do.
Friday went by all right. The chem test was a pain, but I ended up getting a 93. Saturday morning and I did my usual routine of starting with a 2-mile run. Still had to be track season-ready, after all. Then his text came, "Yo, my parents are out of town. Tell ur parents ur sleeping over." I replied, "What time should I be there, sir?" I clutched my phone for 10 minutes and there was no reply. So I decided to jump into the shower. At lunch, I told my parents about the sleep-over, and they said ok.
It wasn't until after 2pm that Kyle finally wrote back, "Go buy a dog food bowl and groceries to cook dinner. I want steak, mashed potatoes, corn and carrots. Be here by 4." Dog food bowl? Cooking dinner? Kyle didn't have a dog, well, I guess I was his dog now. And cooking? My cooking experience was limited to frozen pizza and microwave leftovers. But what could I write back to Kyle but, "Yes, Master." I was just getting in the car to speed through this list of errands in under 2 hours when Kyle texted again, "Oh, and bring back my socks, laundered." Fuck, his socks. He wants them back. I couldn't wash them at home; my parents would know something was off since I never did laundry. So I ran back in the house, fetched the Ziplock bag, and looked up the nearest laundromat. Shit, the next town over.
I hopped in the car and drove straight there first. Now I had a new problem. I had no detergent. And I was running out of time. Someone else had left their Tide on a machine. I decided to "borrow" some. Then I threw the socks in a washing machine and started it after getting quarters from the change machine. 40 minutes. I went back in the car and found a pet store. Picked up the dog bowl for $12. Then it was back to the laundromat to take the socks out of the washing machine and put them into the dryer. Again, I had to "borrow" fabric softener. I could not think of skipping fabric softener and Kyle's feet feeling even the slightest bit less comfortable when kicking the soccer ball -- or kicking my face for that matter. Another 30 minutes. Then it was off to the supermarket. Got 2 T-bones, a sack of potatoes, and frozen corn and carrots. By the time I got back to the laundromat, it was 3:40pm. I hadn't even looked up how to make mashed potatoes yet. No time to think about that now, I grabbed his now clean and dried socks and ran back to the car.
At 3:58pm, with a bag of groceries and a bag containing a dog bowl and Kyle's neatly folded clean socks in one hand, I ran Kyle's doorbell with the other. No answer. I ran it again. Then my phone chimed, "Just come the fuck in, you stupid faggot." Here we go again. I swallowed hard, but I was also getting very excited anew.
I opened the door. The living room was empty but I could hear the TV on in the family room. I tiptoed toward the sound. When I reached the entryway, my eyes fell upon his lithe jock figure. He was sitting sideways on the three-seat couch, in bright blue Under Armour shorts and a plain white T, legs stretched forward, beautiful bare feet. He turned his head away from the TV and his gaze fell on me. He was so unbelievable gorgeous that I froze for a second. For a moment, I wanted to jump right on top of his body, hug him, and make out with him. I wanted to hold his hand. I wanted to be his boyfriend. I wanted him to love me back.
I continued to stare into this jock stud's eyes. Kyle lifted his brow. That snapped me out of my state. I dropped the bags on the floor and dropped myself to my knees. My now standard three-bow kowtow followed. Then, "Master Kyle, you perfect stud, I am in awe whenever you give me permission to be in your presence."
Kyle yawned. "Put the food and dog bowl in the kitchen and then come back."
I followed his order. I also kept his socks in the one bag and laid into on the kitchen counter. When I came back, I fell to me knees again, waiting for whatever he felt like dishing out.
He didn't say anything for five minutes, and neither did I, in case he didn't want me interrupting Netflix. It all made sense. If I was Kyle's dog, I can sit (in this case, kneel) on the floor silently until my master called for me.
Kyle snapped his fingers and pointed to the floor between him and the coffee table. I crawled to where he was pointing.
"My neck is feeling sore turning toward the TV, but I don't want to rest my feet on the cold, hard coffee table. That's where you come in, foot stool."
I knew exactly what he wanted. First, I pushed the coffee table away so that I could be in the perfect position for his outstretched legs. Then I put my hands down to the floor, and lifted my back and made it as straight as possible. Then I felt Kyle's feet come crashing down on my back. I willed myself into not sagging.
"That's better. How does it feel for you, fag?"
"Oh Master Kyle, I . . . ."
"Who fuckin' cares how it feels for you. You're just a piece of furniture." As he said that, his left foot dribbled my head a couple of times. Not kicks, like when he punishes me or just wants to get off abusing me, but forceful taps. Kind of like when an older brother pats a younger brother's head, except Kyle was using his foot. I decided in this instance it was best just to keep my mouth shut.
Kyle kept talking and snickering though. "You don't know how fuckin' lucky you are. Most people at school would pay to spend time with me, and I'm letting your faggot ass in here for free." Free? But I was obviously not going to contradict him. And with that, his right foot kicked my ass. Again, I willed myself to stay in place. But Kyle was in the mood for being mean. So he kicked my ass much harder, hard enough where he knew I wouldn't just move, but would definitely fall over. And so I did, which meant his feet fell on the floor, and my whole body fell toward the coffee table.
Kyle didn't have his remote control, so instead of saying "Q" (bring face close enough for Kyle to slap), he simply ordered, "Get up here, shitface. Get up here now." Uh oh. I sat up on my knees facing him. He leaned forward on the couch. And then he slapped me, palm to left cheek, back of the hand to right cheek, over and over again. Not hard enough to kill me, but hard enough. The slaps also moved to my head, including upside to the back of the head, like what my dad once told me his dad used do to him to mean, "Don't be stupid." Some of the slaps included Kyle grunting -- a sign that he was exerting force and also that he was enjoying himself thoroughly and getting off on it. And just as the slaps seemed to slow down, he would suddenly resume them in quick pace, including ten consecutive palm to left cheek slaps in at least three separate series. So you can see why I lost count. Just those series totaled over thirty slaps. I could feel tears fill my eyes. They came from a mixture of physical hurt and emotional hurt -- both for disappointing Kyle (even though I didn't do anything wrong) but more so that my former friend was deriving such pleasure from hurting me. I had truly lost my friend. Sure, I knew that before this episode, but this episode sealed the deal.
After Kyle decided he had let out enough steam, Kyle used the heel of his right hand to push my forehead backwards and used his size 11 right foot to push my chest backward.
"Get back into position, you dumb fuck." Even though I was battered and bruised, and would've started sobbing outright but for my will not to do so, I reverted to foot stool position and once again felt the weight of Kyle's crossed feet on my back.
This went on for another thirty minutes. Kyle would tease me mercilessly throughout. For example, he'd repeatedly take his left foot and either "force tap" me more on the head or wave it inches from my nose or lips, just out of reach. And when my face or tongue would move toward his foot, he'd pull it away, saying each time, "What a desperate homo," or some variation of that. At no point did my insatiable lust and desire for Kyle dim one bit, however.
At some point, Kyle kicked my head and ordered, "Now go make dinner."
I exited his presence and went into the kitchen. I looked up how to make mashed potatoes on my phone and followed the instructions. Then I seasoned the steaks and tried my best to cook them to a medium rare. I also cooked the corn and carrots. When I was done, I started to set the table with 2 plates of food, but immediately knew that was not at all the right move. My dinner was going to be eaten out of a dog bowl on the floor, so I put my portion there. I felt fortunate that Kyle wasn't making me eat dog food, at least not tonight.
I crawled back into the family room and announced, "Dinner is served, Master."
Kyle got up, turned the Netflix off, and walked right by me into the kitchen. I quickly followed him in on my knees. His dinner was on the table; mine was on the floor. He walked up to the dog bowl and kicked it to one side away from the table, causing some of the food inside to fall out.
"Your mouth ain't gonna be eating food yet; it's gonna start by eating my cock." With that he slipped off his Under Armour shorts and cool blue and gray 2xist boxer briefs in one fluid motion. His cock was soft. Mine was starting to harden. He sat down at his chair, wearing only his plain white T. (Shirtless Kyle was not yet routinely revealed to me, but I prayed that the menu items relating to Kyle's nipples and armpits meant that I would soon be getting more access to the above-the-waist parts of Kyle's delicious body.) His cock disappeared into my mouth.
"Don't go full bore sucking. Just nurse that cock while I eat." But "nurse" still meant work, and I made sure my tongue and lips were giving plenty of stimulation to Kyle's manhood even if I wasn't bobbing my head up and down.
Kyle dug in. "Ahh, this is the life, my friend. Eating steak while a mouth is hanging off my cock." Him now calling me "friend" only served to highlight how far away we were at this point from being friends. Meanwhile, Kyle's cock had grown to semi-hard state in my mouth.
Suddenly Kyle's cell phone rang.
"Oh, hey Brad," I heard Kyle say. It was Kyle's older brother, Brad, the sophomore in college I mentioned before. The last time I saw Brad was over the summer. At 6 foot 1, Brad was 2 inches taller than Kyle (and looked like he had size 13 feet). He was a more built version of Kyle. But in almost every other way, Brad and Kyle were alike, similar mannerisms, similar voice, blue eyes, and the face, oh that model face. Both these brothers were blessed by the "good looker" genes. Oh, and Brad had been on the high school varsity soccer team, too, including as co-captain senior year, and he was now playing soccer at university. You might almost say that Brad was even hotter than Kyle until you realize that Kyle very likely will be growing into Brad over the next 4 years.
'Yeah, Mom and Dad left for the weekend." Kyle said. "But I got someone here keeping me company."
Hmm, why did he say it that way?
Then I heard Kyle laughing. "Oh, don't worry about it, bro. Next time you're home, I'll tell you all about it."
After a few more minutes of shooting the shit, Kyle hung up the phone, and his cock had meanwhile reached full length. So I went for it. He didn't want intense suction right now, but I could still apply my recent cucumber skills on him, so I shifted my head forward, angling the shape of my mouth and throat to match the angle and shape of his cock. At once, I could feel his cock tip hit the very back of my throat and my nose hit his sandy brown pubes. And when I reached that spot, I held the position and refused to gag.
"Whoa, faggot. Oooh, that's pretty good. You like feeling my cock tickling the back of your throat? Huh, cocksucker?"
Of course, with a mouthful of cock, I couldn't respond verbally, so I just nodded my head somewhat.
Kyle sighed in pleasure, then took another bite of mashed potatoes and vegetables. Meanwhile, I had to retreat from my deep throat position if I didn't want to choke, and did so, lubricating his shaft as I slid my slutty lips backward.
"All right, fag, go for it. Blow me." It was like a light switch turned on. I immediately quickened my pace and intensity, sliding my mouth up and down and up and down. Maximum tongue action to maximize Kyle's pleasure. With no one else in the house this time, Kyle's moans and grunts were louder and sexier, and his hands were grabbing onto my head. "Oh fuck, faggot. You should rename your mouth 'Kyle's cocksleeve.' Yeah, don't let your mouth pull more than half way off my cock, bitch. Keep your mouth at the deep end of my shaft." More grunts, more pleasure, more insults. "Oh you creepy fag, what a total loser. I'm gonna make you eat so, so much more nasty shit." For my part, I kept up my dutiful blowjob, while my dick continued to spew pre-jizz like always.
All of a sudden, Kyle pushed me off his cock, stood up, and stood over the dog bowl. He pointed his cock toward the bowl and started jerking out his cum. Ropes and ropes of creamy Kyle jizz shot out of his slit and into the bowl. Maybe a third of it ended up outside the bowl, but Kyle could do no wrong so long as it made him feel good.
Kyle then kicked the dog bowl back toward my direction, with more, now jizz-covered, food falling out. "There, bitch. Your dinner, with my cum as the highlight."
I could not wait to thank him. "This is so nice, Master Kyle, you are so nice to me," I exclaimed enthusiastically, even as I could still feel the sting of his slaps on my face. "Letting me eat dinner out of a dog bowl is a treat; letting me eat it mixed with your cum is a gift from God. Thank you so much, Master."
Kyle's response? He slapped my face again, just because he could. "By the way, you had better eat up anything that fell onto the floor, having your mouth suck it directly off the floor. Then lick the floor clean. Got it, cunt?"
"Yes, Master Kyle," I nodded hungrily.
"Shut the fuck up, fag." The weekend was only starting.
TO BE CONTINUED ...