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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 8
Deep in my thoughts, my exhaustion set in, and I finally fell asleep.
I woke up with a jolt, but couldn't move my head. Oh, because Kyle's massive right foot was stepping down forcefully on my left cheek. I suddenly got very, very scared. Oh shit, I had not woken up before he did to worship his feet. It was all coming back to me now, his clear instructions, my equally clear failure, and the dire consequences that were sure to follow. I started to croak out an apology, but Kyle lifted his foot up but a second to smash it down again on my face.
"Don't you fuckin' talk, you worthless piece of shit. This is how you serve your Master, huh? Can't even follow a simple order?"
He removed his foot and sat down on my bruised body. He straddled me in between his powerful jock legs. And then he started slapping and punching all over my face, head, neck, chest, and shoulders. I started crying. It was just no use. I was only a boy, after all, being hit repeatedly. It hurt.
"Stop crying, bitch. I don't want your fag tears on my hand!"
But I couldn't stop. Neither did he. I was losing consciousness. I was ...
All of a sudden, I woke up. The room was cold; remember, no blankets for me. I had my t-shirt on, must have put it on reflexively, but my dick was still naked. I quickly took my shirt off since Kyle had not given me permission to put any clothes on. It was definitely morning, though the curtains were still drawn letting in just enough light to see clearly. And I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I could still hear Kyle sleeping. I must have been dreaming about oversleeping because, well, what else was on my mind? I grabbed my phone and checked the time, 8:22am. Can't believe I cut it that close. On a Sunday (today was September 16), Kyle usually wakes up just before 9am, but who knows whether he sticks to that today. So I stood up to decide what to do next and there he laid in front of me. Covers to the side, his magnificent body sprawled out in all its glory. He still had on his 2xist boxer briefs from yesterday, now being stretched into a big bulge by his morning wood. I counted the six packs on his abs, each ridge perfectly firm and luscious. I stared at his nipples, quarter size, against a chest that was starting to bulk up now that Kyle was doing more chest workouts at the gym.
And oh, that face, that incomparable face. I previously mentioned to you guys actor/model Alex Lange. I've now googled him a few more times and yes, the resemblance is striking. So yeah, you can see why I lusted after Kyle. My throat was getting dry just looking at him. My heart was racing again. God, he is such a stud, and I had such a crush on him. No wonder I stared at him endlessly for all those years, and he caught me. He's just eye candy. And when you're gay like me, you stare at male eye candy. Sigh, time to get to work. But was it work?
My eyes settled on Kyle's size 11 feet, those long toes, those masculine arches, those sexy veins. It was not work to service those feet. It was a treat. Even when it was under threat of severe punishment, I still enjoyed nuzzling my face right into them. So I proceeded to get back down on my knees and planted my nose right in between the toes and the sole. Ahh, heaven. The smell was relatively minimal at this point, but the warmth radiating from Kyle's toes was enough to elevate my senses, again. I breathed in hard. And harder still. But no, can't wake him up. I figured my mouth (and not my hands) would perform the service. And so the kissing started, very softly, very gingerly. Then I stuck out my tongue ever so lightly and flicked it against his sole. Kyle stirred. I froze. Oops, too much. So stick with the nose and lips, but hold back on the tongue. Got it.
After 15 minutes, I heard Kyle stretching and grunting. I took a chance and assumed this was him waking up and not me waking him up. So I gradually increased the pressure on my kissing, also adding more tongue gymnastics. Kyle stretched his legs, his feet acknowledging my existence. When I was sure Kyle was awake, both of his big toes disappeared into my mouth, and I started sucking, greedily.
"Good morning, fag."
It was the nicest thing Kyle had said to me in weeks.
I took Kyle's toes out of my mouth. "Good morning, Master Kyle, you incredible hunk of a man. The day is now brighter because you are awake. My life has 10,000 times more meaning now that you have acknowledged my fag existence. I worship you, Master Kyle. I adore you, Master Kyle. I pray to you, Master Kyle." I then backed away from the bed slightly and bowed down, not three times this time, but ten times, uttering, "Thank you, Master Kyle", in between each bow.
"R, fag. Chop chop."
I was so excited. I put my shaky fingers inside Kyle's cool blue and gray boxer briefs, and pulled them down. Kyle's 8-inch pole, rock hard, firmly plopped against Kyle's abs and made a sound. I went to down making that 2xist underwear my lover for the next five minutes, sniffing and licking and kissing and sucking, devoting equal time to where Kyle's cock was and where his ass was.
"Oh, Master Kyle's sexy underwear," I cooed, "You smell and taste like the incredible man that wore you. And that makes you more valuable than my entire life. You get to spend so much time with Master Kyle's cock and ass. I am so jealous of you, Master Kyle's boxer briefs. I am so jealous, but I also love you. You're like my older brother. I look up to you and want to be you. You hold Master Kyle's cock and balls in your pouch; I relish holding Master Kyle's cock and balls in my mouth."
As I finished spewing my verbal praise onto Master Kyle's smelly underwear, Kyle got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.
Kyle snapped his fingers, "Follow, bitch." I crawled behind him.
Once in the bathroom, Kyle said, "Look, fag. I'm going to punish you now. You followed my evening and morning wake-up routine properly (we'll see whether you can repeat that performance for the next 2 years, haha), but in doing that, you deprived me of punishing you. So for that offense, I'm gonna punish you. Punishing you gets my rocks off, so depriving me of that fuckin' irritates me. How does that sound, you stupid faggot?"
"Master Kyle, I understand. I'm a stupid faggot. I deserve to get punished either way, simply because it pleases you. If I do something wrong, you punish me, but if I do something well, then that deprives you of punishing me, so then of course I should get punished for that. Thank you, Master Kyle, for explaining your wisdom to me. Thank you, sir." And I started kissing the tops of his feet.
He flicked my lips away. "Q, you cunt."
I knelt up straight, face in position to be slapped. I guess my nightmare was gonna come true anyway. Yes, even though I did not oversleep, Kyle started slapping and punching all over my face, head, neck, chest, and shoulders. And yes, just like in my dream, being hit repeatedly hurt. But I willed myself to hold back my tears and even shouted out "thank you, Master Kyle, for teaching me this valuable lesson", "thank you, sir, for bitch slapping me", and "oh, Master Kyle, your hand is so strong and powerful", in between the slaps and the punches. Kyle laughed and I could see his hard cock lurching forward, inches from my face, with every slap.
"Fetch the dog bowl, homo, and put it down in front of you." I had brought it up to the bathroom last night, so I turned around and put it where Kyle ordered.
"Now, I'm gonna start pissing, and you're gonna drink my piss straight from the tap. For every drop that lands in the dog bowl, I will spank you with my shoe. For every drop that lands outside the dog bowl, I will whip you with my belt. How does that sound, faggot?"
"Wow, Master Kyle!" I exclaimed. "I am so indebted to you for coming up with new ways to educate me in the ways of serving you, servicing you, and maximizing your pleasure. I live to maximize your pleasure! I live to maximize your pleasure! I live to ..."
"Enough, dumbass. I know you love pleasing me. Fuckface. Haha, now I'm gonna fuck your face, with my piss. Open."
I opened, and the tap started to run. For those of you who've never tasted piss before (I hadn't before this day), it's better than you think. It's warm (obviously), and the taste is, well, of piss, but I'd describe it as more malty than anything else. Or maybe it's because Kyle's soccer jock diet makes his piss taste superior. So it actually wasn't that hard to swallow and drink, even though there was a lot. I just sucked down the liquid like sucking on a pacifier I guess. Cock to mouth to throat. I loved Kyle, so I loved Kyle's piss. Logical.
When he was done and pushed my head off his now softening cock, I kissed his cock thank you (and don't worry, I thanked Kyle's piss, like, really thanked it; remember that line about thanking Kyle's farts? it was now upgraded to, "Wow, after repeatedly thanking Kyle, Kyle's feet, Kyle's cock, Kyle's ballsac, Kyle's asshole, Kyle's socks, Kyle's jock strap, Kyle's underwear, Kyle's cum and Kyle's farts, I was now reduced to thanking Kyle's piss.") and bowed my head waiting for his next command. I also looked at the dog bowl, a few drops had fallen off my chin into the bowl. I licked all around my lips to try to prevent any more drops from slipping out. I did not see any drops outside the dog bowl, but I certainly wasn't going to move my head around and risk more retaliation from my jock master, or he could just invent some story about invisible drops, whatever he wanted.
"Good, you nasty toilet. I count 3 drops in the dog bowl, so I guess you'll get 3 love taps from my shoe. Come."
I crawled behind him back into his bedroom.
"Go fetch my cleats." I did; they were very dirty, covered in mud. "Smell them." I didn't need to be told twice, bringing the right one's opening to my nose and breathing in the intoxicating soccer feet smell. "Hand me the other one, queer." I did. And while I was smelling in Kyle's masterful right cleat, he aimed the pointy bottom of his left one right at the back of my head and "spanked" me hard with the "love taps." And it wasn't 3 times, it was more like 30 times. Kyle was so clever. He knew spanking my head, where my fag brain was, was even more humiliating than spanking my ass. He didn't want to be like a parent spanking a child; he wanted to be a stud spanking his sex slave. What made my poor skull feel less hurt? Focusing on the wonderful smell of Kyle's other cleat. It was a smell that made me forget the world, even the severe head bashing that Kyle was inflicting.
"All right, fag, now make me breakfast and bring it up here. I want breakfast in bed. Move your fag ass now, you stupid faggot."
Even though I was dizzy from the head "spanking", my nose filled with sweaty foot odor and my mouth filled with the taste of piss, I gathered my wits about me and rushed downstairs to cook breakfast for my teen master.
I cooked eggs, bacon, toast and pancakes. And I poured a glass of juice and milk. It was probably too much food, but I was whipping myself up into a frenzy. I found a tray and put all the plates and glasses on the tray. I made sure to include napkins and utensils.
When I walked back in, he was sitting up on his bed, wearing new boxer briefs (this time a bright orange color with red waistband, still 2xist). His hair was wet (he had apparently showered). His face was as beautiful as ever. The room smelled of his freshly applied Gucci Guilty for Men. I almost dropped the tray when his voice scared me, "What the fuck took you so long, fuckface?" It hadn't been that long, but whatever. I didn't quite know how to set the tray before him, but he helped me out (for once) and put one of his pillows on his lap. I put the tray on the pillow, careful not to spill anything.
"Now go get the dog bowl from the bathroom. You'll lick my piss from the bowl, while I eat this breakfast."
"Yes, Master." And so we did that. The scene was utterly absurd to any bystander. A stud eating breakfast in bed; his servant bent over on the floor, ass sticking up in the air, licking piss out of a dog bowl.
"You're gonna start running errands for me, fag," Kyle said with his mouth half full. "Picking me up from practice or games, with instant foot worship in the car thrown in, is just a start. You're gonna start cleaning my room, doing much more of my laundry, along with of course the sexual stuff."
"Yes, Master, thank you. I will do whatever you command, my Master."
Kyle then scraped the remnants of his breakfast -- solids and liquids together -- into the dog bowl. Then he stood up and pissed a bit more into the mixture.
"Now beg me to let you eat your breakfast, you fuckin' faggot."
"Master Kyle, please let me scarf down your leftovers, which you have so generously blessed with your piss, which I love more than life itself. Master Kyle, I beg you to let me eat this divine mixture. I need it to survive, sir. Please, I'm begging you to let me eat this food that no one else gets to experience. I would be so lucky, so fortunate."
Master Kyle had already started playing with his phone. Using his annoyed voice, he replied, "I suppose, since you want it so damn badly. Ok, go ahead, faggot, eat your breakfast."
And I did. The egg-bacon-pancake-toast-juice-milk-PISS mixture was very difficult to ingest. First off, I had no utensils, so I had to suck chunks of solids soaked in liquids upward into my mouth. When the solids were mostly done, I then sucked in the remaining liquids. And then I licked the bowl clean.
"Thank you, Master Kyle, for being so generous and letting me eat breakfast. Thank you so much."
"Shut the fuck up, fag."
TO BE CONTINUED ...