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<Authoritarian, m/m, high school, feet>
Brief note: I realized that the last four paragraphs of the previous chapter required some elaboration, so I am starting there...
SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 9
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, the taste was appalling. Even without the piss, the salty mixed with sweet mixed with citrus mixed with dairy was totally disgusting. But I dared not cough or retch or anything like that, as that would've been disrespectful to the scraps that Kyle had "prepared" for me. Second, 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. I'd make drawn out "mmmmmm" sounds to show Kyle how much I enjoyed and appreciated my meal. Third, at one point Kyle sat on the edge of his bed and I felt his sexy bare foot step down on the back of my neck, submerging my face in the cold concoction. I just had to gulp and swallow obediently. After he mercifully lifted his foot off my neck, I licked the dog bowl clean, followed by licking the floor clean of anything that spilled out of the bowl.
When there was not a trace of the sloppy mixture anywhere outside my stomach where it belonged, I croaked, "Thank you, Master Kyle, for being so generous and letting me eat breakfast. Thank you so much."
"Shut the fuck up, fag."
Kyle then said he had homework to do, so he would do it while I made out with his feet. Other than the foot slaps, the periodic holler of "stupid faggot" and the like, and laughs at my servitude, Kyle pretty much concentrated on his homework, even asking me questions about some of it, like, "Hey faggot, did Mrs. Jones say we needed to summarize the reading or just read it?" I suppose he could have made me do his homework for him, but that wasn't Kyle. Kyle was an overachiever -- in sports, in academics and in life. He could make me do laundry or clean his room because those errands did not improve Kyle's brain or body, but he knew to succeed in life he had to learn in school. So he did his own homework, though he had no qualms having my lips ceaselessly kissing the bottoms of his bare jock feet for the next 2 whole hours (and therefore, I was not doing my own homework which I still needed to do).
After 2 hours, Kyle decided to take a break and receive his third blowjob of the weekend. Blowjob 1 ended with Kyle's cum on food in a dog bowl that he made me lick up, Blowjob 2 ended with Kyle's cum (and spit) in my mouth that he made me swallow after opening my mouth to show it to him, now Blowjob 3 was going to end with Kyle's cum on my face like he did that other time that he made me rub from my face onto his feet, then slowly and deliberately suck, eat and chew the globs of cum off his feet until all of it disappeared into my waiting tummy. I mean, what can I say. Kyle's cum was just so fuckin' delicious. And him making me eat it off his feet was a special treat, fast becoming one of my favorite things to do -- not only when I was with Kyle but in life. During the 10 minutes I devoted to eating the cum of Blowjob 3, I continued to beg, thank and pray to that cum, like "Please, Master Kyle's cum, please let me transfer you onto Master's feet and then suck you down my fag throat", "Thank you, Master Kyle's cum, for tasting so amazing, so incredible, so perfect", and "In Master Kyle's cum's name I pray, Amen."
Once spent, Kyle ordered me to make him lunch, "then get the fuck out of my house, you dumb piece of shit." I guess the weekend was coming to an end. There really wasn't anything in the fridge to make something gourmet, so I made him a sandwich, pickle and chips, gathered my clothes, and left Kyle's house. (He had ordered me not to bring the lunch up to his bedroom, as he didn't "want to see your ugly fag face for the rest of the day.")
So we settled into our master-servant routine over the next several weeks. Kyle's previous caution about not having me around too often seemed to have dissipated. I assume he had told his parents some story about why I was around more often, and since he was such a golden boy, they didn't question it further. As for my parents, I figured Kyle didn't give a fuck what I told them, so long as I continued to serve him on demand. As I said before, I was a good kid, my parents trusted me, my grades didn't suffer, and they also knew Kyle enough not to suspect anything inappropriate was happening. So Kyle had me over more often. And he also came over to my house more often.
Each session would feature an array of Kyle-pleasure-maximizing activities that I have written about before. The focus would be on Kyle's feet, cock, balls, cock, ass and worn clothing. My mouth, tongue, lips, nose, mouth, and (to a far, far lesser degree) hands would make contact with each of those body parts or clothing. The contact entails lots of deep kissing, sucking, licking, sniffing and massaging. Kyle's response varied, ranging from ignoring me to unleashing a torrent of insults and laughter to the punching, slapping and kicking he enjoyed inflicting whether as a form of punishment or to get his rocks off. And any excretion Kyle fed me from his body was a gift to me: his sweat, his pre-cum, his cum, his piss, his spit or his farts. I would probably eat his shit if he made me, but so far he did not make me do that. In addition to the physical worship, I endless heaped verbal worship on Kyle, Kyle's body parts, Kyle's clothing and Kyle's bodily excretions, including talking directly to those things -- praising, thanking, begging, praying to, and apologizing -- each form of my verbal prostration to him combined with unceasing self-debasement (calling myself a "stupid faggot", "Master Kyle's cocksucker", "useless piece of shit", etc. and related epithets almost as often as he called me those things), and each performed so perpetually and so over-the-top to comply with his instruction to always exert my maximum effort while servicing him.
And still, to this day, I had not been granted permission to worship Kyle above the waist, even though his nipples and armpits were included in his remote control list of services on demand. I suspected Kyle knew keeping me below the waist added to my status of being far, far beneath him. Once my kisses ventured too close to his six-pack abs, and he slapped me so hard and so many times that I was seeing stars afterwards. And whenever I slept over, the foot worship lulling Kyle to sleep and upon his waking up the next morning was in effect. If I was lucky, Kyle would order me upwards to "take care of my morning wood, bitch." If I wasn't, it was a piss drinking session finished with me licking piss out of a dog bowl and off the bathroom floor.
Kyle also kept up his promise to feed me his "fresh" game-worn or practice-worn soccer cleats, socks and feet right afterwards, right in my car when I picked him up. About 10 days ago, on October 9, this representative episode transpired.
It was a practice day, ending at 4pm. I now had to wait after school doing homework in the library until his practice was done. To make it even less convenient for me, he didn't text when he was done. I was required to be vigilant in keeping track of the schedule so that he never had to wait for me (if he did, he would fuck me up). So usually right when 3:30 hit, I would get to my car and drive it to a parking space as close to the soccer field as possible and sit in the car for often another 30 minutes until I saw him walk off the field. Almost all the other players hit the showers in the school gym, but Kyle stopped doing that about half the time. (The other half of the time, he would still head in with the guys, which just meant I had to move the car to the boys' locker room exit, where I would proceed to wait in the car even longer by 20-30 minutes more, basically wasting a whole hour of my day just waiting for Kyle to finish his post-soccer ritual. On these days, freshly showered Kyle would decide I should just drive him home immediately for prolonged at-home rather than in-car worship. Just depended on his mood. The in-car worship provided instant gratification and he could then get rid of me; the in-home worship obviously gave him more time to relax, unwind and extend both his sexual pleasure and his various ways of humiliating and torturing me.)
On this day, he walked right up to my car as I pulled it as close to where he would finish walking as possible. He got in and grunted his usual, "What's up, fag?"
"Good afternoon, Master Kyle. You look and smell amazing. My fag mouth can't wait to make your feet feel good, Master."
I then drove to the other end of the school parking lot where there were no other cars nearby. There was always a risk that someone would walk by and see us, but we rarely stayed in the car for that long, so the odds were greatly in our favor that our little rendez-vous would remain secret. He moved his passenger side seat as far back as it would go and also leaned it backward at a greater angle. I twisted myself in the driver's seat to face him as much as I could. He then pivoted toward me and placed his dirty soccer cleats directly on my lap.
"Peel my shoes off, cunt." I did.
"Put one up to your nose." I did.
"Sniff hard." I did. The masculine stink was incredible. Kyle's sweaty feet buried all day long in socks and shoes, partly during heavy athletic activity, made my heart race and my dick throb.
"Put that down and worship my socks." Again, an incredible heady stench. All athlete. All straight. All stud.
He didn't wait too long this time before ordering, "Now faggot, take one sock off, stuff it in your mouth, and sniff my bare feet." More smelly goodness. More radiating heat. More beautiful soles. These were long soccer socks, so no way I could ever get it all the way in my mouth, so I would always turn it inside out, and put the smelliest, crustiest toe part directly on my tongue and suck out the juices, then proceed to fold more of the rest of the sock into my mouth with the rest of the tube hanging out of my mouth downward. Then I took deep whiffs of Kyle's bare feet.
"All right, now put that tongue to work. Tongue bath time, faggot." I did my duty, thoroughly salivating all over Kyle's feet, first the left then the right.
Usually, at this point, he pulls his own cock out of his shorts (again, we just assumed no one would suddenly walk upon us), playing with it and jerking it. He pulled his feet away and put them down in front of him, sitting forward. "Get going on making mouth love to my cock, bitch." I turned my own body around, turned my head, and descended it toward Kyle's hard member, in a sort of classic in-car girlfriend sucking boyfriend's cock situation. Except I wasn't a girl. And Kyle wasn't my boyfriend. Nonetheless, I dutifully gave Kyle at his twenty-fifth blowjob from me.
"That's it, cocksucker. Fuck, you are so lucky I'm letting you blow me, you know that, you fuckin' faggot?"
With my mouth sliding up and down his cock, I couldn't respond, and instead kept going up and down, and deftly using my tongue on his frenulum and shaft to add to the variety and pleasure for him.
"Fuck, faggot, I'm gonna cum. Make your Master feel good, fucktard." And so I did, and got another mouthful of Kyle's delicious cum. After thanking his cum and him, I started the car and drove him home, while he put regular ankle socks and his regular sneakers back on.
When we got to his house, Kyle grunted, "Later, bitch."
So that's what happened last week. This week though, on October 16, Kyle switched it up and showered first. As he entered the car, he commanded, "Let's get back to my house, faggot."
His room was cluttered when we got there.
"Strip naked, you bitch. Then tie my smelly cleat to your nose using the laces. While you breathe that in, clean my room."
I complied instantly, taking all my clothes off (my boner and pre-cum present and visible, of course). I scurried to his right soccer cleat and pulled the laces off as fast as I could, then placed the opening directly on my nose, shoe pointing upward. Then I tied the shoe snugly so that my nose could reach as far as possible inside the shoe. I sniffed hard and leaked more pre.
"Thank you, Master Kyle. I love being granted permission to smell the inside of your soccer cleats. They smell fantastic, just like a straight jock stud's feet should. And you, Master Kyle, are a straight jock stud. I, your servant, am a queer faggot bitch." After I spent 15 minutes picking up after him, wiping off his desk and other hard surfaces, and vacuuming the carpet, he said, "Now take that shoe off and put your mouth on my cock. Nurse it. Don't go all out sucking it." So I did that, while he did his homework. It was my honor and privilege to warm his cock in my mouth while he went about his day.
An hour later, he ordered me to convert my nursing to a regular blowjob and so he fucked another load down my throat. Then he dismissed from his house.
So at around the one-month anniversary of my servitude to this straight soccer stud, I had transformed into a completely new person -- if "person" was still the right way to classify me. My world now revolved around Kyle, and I could not get enough. He was as hot as ever, and I became more and more addicted to everything about him -- him, his body parts, his clothing, his bodily excretions, his verbal insults, and his physical abuses. But like all good things, this one was headed for a pretty massive turn of events which I'll write about in the next chapter.
TO BE CONTINUED ...