The Senior Towel Boy
By Ben C.
This story contains sexual acts (domination, humiliation, oral, masturbation) between
young males.
If you don't like it, or it is illegal in your country or state, please
stop reading.
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Thank you for all the comments! And thanks for Naughty Bard for providing Italian phrases for me and proofreading this chapter.
Chapter 2
I fished my cock hastily out of my pants with my right hand while my left hand pressed Gino´s wet shirt on my face. I inhaled greedily the aroma of his fresh sweat. I didn´t need to jack off much before I shot a copious load of cum into my palm.
It was already late when I got my tasks finished and drove home with Gino´s cleats on the passenger seat. The shoes were filthy, but somehow it felt right to let them ride on the white leather seat next to me. I mean, what would Gino say if I lost them?
Most of our housekeeping staff had gone home already, so I had no problems in sneaking into the household quarters. I had never been there since I was a toddler, but I ran through the closets and cupboards until found some clean clothes and a bottle of shoe polish. Then I sat down on a stool and started to work with Gino´s cleats. I removed the laces, washed them in the sink and hung them to dry. Then I started to scrub the outsoles and soles of the shoes, thinking about Gino and his team.
For some reason the guys seemed to respect him as their leader, although he lacked all the basic qualities of a true leader – I mean; money, power and ruthless attitude. No-one ever questioned my Dad as a boss, because he could fire any one of them anytime, strip their families off their steady income and the nice living standards they were enjoying. But Gino – he couldn´t threaten his teammates with anything like that; and still the guys looked up to him as their captain and seemed to accept his leadership – I think the boys even loved him in a brotherly way. Fuck if I ever will understand these losers, I thought while polishing the black studs in the bottom of his shoe.
And Gino himself – he seemed to come from another planet than the one I lived in. Everybody seemed to adore his good looks, his confident aura and catchy laugh. Fuck that long-haired white-trash-Italian kid, I thought bitterly, looking at the cleats I had just cleaned and polished. All there was left for me to do was to clean them inside. That brat had been running around the field like his life depended on it, exuding sweat off his filthy feet until the inside of his cleats were soaked in that disgusting secretion. Why didn´t he just throw these shoes away and buy a new pair? Oh yeah, that´s right, he couldn´t afford it, I chuckled to myself.
My phone beeped to tell me I had a new Snapchat message. About time for some of my friends to make contact, I thought and fished the phone out of my pocket. The message came from an unknown sender. Absentmindedly, I opened the message and saw the headline: `Finocchio at work!´. The video started immediately after that, showing a clear image of me on the floor on my all fours, kissing someone´s foot. I was the only person whose face was shown in the video; however, one could tell that the foot belonged to a guy, by the black hair of his calves and the size of his foot.
The video was short, only 10 seconds, but long enough to show me crouching anew to kiss the guy´s other foot. This time the camera zoomed in very close to my face. The picture was crystal clear, and to my horror it showed how I not only kissed the guy´s foot, but also stuck out my tongue to lick it.
I put the phone down and buried my face in my hands. I´ll hire someone to kill that cocky dago, I swore to myself.
Then I remembered myself kneeling in front of him, staring at his hairy calves and flushed feet, being forced to kiss them. Or... did he really force me to do it? Yes, he forced me to kneel in front of him! But... didn´t I stick out my tongue because I wanted to taste the sweat of his foot? And all the humiliation and the smell and the taste had caused me a hard-on that I had to cover with my hands when I stood up in front of the boys.
I had to admit one very shameful fact. I got aroused by the presence of sweaty, half-naked boys. What is this? Could it be that I´m... some horrible words crossed my mind. Gay? Queer? Homo?
No way. It was all about the sudden change in my life. These thoughts were just some temporary confusion, caused by unexpected confrontation with people belonging to lower classes. There must be some way to cure my present perverted state of mind. I just had to find the right doctor and pay him whatever he wanted. But I could not discuss this with my father. He wouldn´t accept a homosexual as his son. He would write me off his will, and probably kick me out of the house. What can I do, someone please help me!
I picked up one of the shining cleats and looked at it. I didn´t really decide to bring it onto my face and take a whiff of the inside, but I did it anyway. For the second time in two hours I jacked off breathing in Gino. I hate this guy, I screamed in my mind as I shot my load into one of the shoe rags.
I packed Gino´s cleats into a plastic bag and stuffed the bag into my backpack. Now I had to figure out a discreet way to deliver the shoes to him without becoming everyone´s laughing stock. I waited nervously until lunch break. Then I went to the school yard to find Gino, holding the bag under my arm.
I saw him sitting on a bench with a small group of his friends. I waited for a long time, hoping his friends would go away. But no, they seemed to be having a good time with Gino, joking and slurping smoothies. The lunch break would be over soon, so I gathered my courage and approached the bench slowly, thinking feverishly how to deliver the cleats to him with as little embarrassment as possible.
When I got to the guys I still hadn´t figured it out. I stopped a few yards from Gino and offered him the bag. He just smiled and said something to the guy sitting on his right side. The guy burst in laughter and the other guy wanted to hear it too, so the first guy leaned over behind Gino´s back to tell him, and then they all laughed, looking at me.
"Gino, I brought you this," I said, holding the bag. He didn´t take it, just kept looking at me, smiling.
"Rrraymooond," he said mockingly.
"The third, was it?"
I was too embarrassed to speak, so I just stood there awkwardly.
"Well, Raymond the Third, what have you got there? A present for me?"
"No, they are your... your cleats."
He pretended to be surprised.
"You brought me my cleats, Raymond? Oh yeah, now I remember. You promised to clean them for me. You´re such a nice guy. Well, show me, Raymond."
I had no choice but to open the bag and show him the shoes. He took the cleats and inspected them. Then he held them up for his smirking friends to see.
"Nice job, Raymond. Did you clean them all by yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Look guys, Raymond the Third cleaned my cleats for me. Last time I saw these cleats they were all fucking muddy and sweaty. But shoe-shine-boy the Third has done good work."
He gave his friends some time to laugh before continuing.
"Are you sure they don´t smell bad anymore, Raymond? I hate foul-smelling cleats."
"Yes Gino. I´m sure."
"How can you be sure, Raymond? Did you sniff them?"
"Umm, no," I lied. "But I´m sure they..."
Gino shook his finger at me.
"A-a, Raymond. Better be safe than sorry. Why don´t you take a good whiff of both of them, so we know you didn´t accidentally bring me stinky cleats."
His friends found this hilarious.
"Go on, Raymond."
I took the cleats from him and took a whiff of both. They had a pleasant, fresh odor, as I knew they would, because I had finished the insides with fresh lime.
"They smell good, Gino."
"Did you hear that guys? Raymond the Third likes the way my feet smell. Last night he even wanted to taste them."
When the laughter had faded out, Gino took the cleats and spat on the ground right in front of my feet.
"Now get the fuck outta here, finocchio."
I feared for the next time I had to face Gino and the team in the locker room. Would they continue to make hell out of my life there? But to my surprise, things went pretty smoothly. The guys weren´t really bullies, and no one bothered me much. Gino didn´t make me clean his cleats anymore either. It seemed that they considered their point made clear. Well, they didn´t really treat me as their equal, either, but I didn´t mind. I knew it was just a temporary stage in my life, serving these losers, until I could get back to my comfortable lifestyle and classy friends again. The mothers and fathers of these guys would be serving me and my family at our country club.
Well, there was one thing I hated. The derogatory word `finocchio´ Gino used at me had stuck. I looked it up: finocchio is probably the nastiest possible expression to call a homosexual male in Italian. It became my name at the locker room, used casually to call for service: "Bring me water, Finocchio!" or "Finocchio, towel!" Even Coach Bennett used it once absent-mindedly: "Get that laundry cart outta here, Finocchio," he yelled at me and looked puzzled when everyone burst into laughter. I knew the name was destined to spread into the entire school sooner or later. But there was nothing I could do about it.
But, as I told you, things went pretty smoothly in the locker room – until I blew it for good.
It was just one of my shifts after practice. Most of the guys had hit the showers already, so I decided to use the spare time to take care of one of my most unpleasant tasks, tidying up the toilet. The cleaners would clean and disinfect the toilets and the urinals, but it was up to me to empty the waste baskets, swipe the floors and see that all the stalls were stacked with toilet paper.
I was just about to take the three steps down to the foul-stinking toilet when I froze in my tracks. Gino was standing in front of the nearest urinal, naked, relieving himself with a loud gurgle, and I had a ringside diagonal view from the top of the stairs. I stared at his solid buttocks; the two hairless mounds of muscle were at ease as he urinated, but I could see there was not an ounce of fat in them.
When Gino had emptied his bladder, he took a step back and revealed his love-muscle to my eyes. It was poking proudly off his slim frame, curving downwards like a 7 inch garden hose. He shook his teen gun to get rid of the final drops of urine, and I just stared at it as it swung up and down in front of my eyes.
Gino´s voice broke my trance.
"What the fuck are you looking at, Finocchio?"
Busted! He was looking straight at me.
"0h nothing, Gino, I... I just came to... to ask if you need a towel."
He laughed and took the three stairs up with one leap. I was sure he was going to punch me, and my knees started to shake. But no, he stopped in front of me and stared at me with a sneer.
"We both know what you were looking at, checca," he said and grabbed me by the hair, forcing me to follow him down the steps. He pushed me into a corner where we wouldn´t be seen by anyone entering the toilet.
"Well, take a good look then, culattone," he ordered and bent my head down so I was looking at his crotch again.
My eyes followed the thin black love trail that ran downwards from his navel, down to his black, untrimmed pubes. And there it was, his proud young cannon resting above a full sack of plump teenaged balls. Gino pulled my head up so that I was looking at him again. He was taller than me, so I had to look up to meet his dark eyes.
"You want to wrap your lips around my cazzo, don´t you, pervertito?"
I didn´t know what to say, so I turned my gaze to the floor and hoped that he would just let me go. But no. He slapped me in the face. Ouch!
"Answer me, Finocchio. You wanna suck me off, don´t you, homo?"
I forced myself to look at him and nodded.
He smiled. But it was no friendly smile, more like a predator looking at his prey.
Gino bent my head down again and made me watch as he slid his free hand slowly down to his crotch. He took his time to rub his package with his open palm. Then he bent my head up again and rubbed his hand on my nose and lips. The heady smell of his manhood was stupefying, and for a second I thought I would faint right there.
"I just might let you go down on me, culattone ricco. Wait and see," he said and left.
The rest of the school day went by in a daze. I didn´t hear or see what was happening in the classroom; I just sat at my desk, thinking of Gino and his powerful cock; and his persistent smell under my nostrils made sure that my cock was rock hard all the time.
I left school early, went right into my room and jacked off. But the thought of Gino and his essence – I didn´t even think of washing it off – wouldn´t go away. He told me he might let me suck him off and I wished he would. But how long would I have to wait? Maybe I could... no, I couldn´t do that.
I resisted the idea until early evening. Finally I gave in and looked up the number of Pizzeria Rossi. I dialed and a young girl, probably his sister, took my order.
"Yeah, I´d like to have a Frutti di Mare delivered. Extras? Uhh, whatever, but please hurry."
Then I just waited, hoping and fearing for the doorbell to ring. When it did, I waived our housekeeper off and rushed to open the door. It was Gino. He stood there holding a pizza box, wearing his red uniform ball cap turned backwards and red Pizzeria Rossi t-shirt, tattered jeans and blue Vans, no socks. The uniform was ridiculous, but he still looked hot as hell.
He gave me a professional smile.
"You ordered some pizza, Mr. Henderson?"
"Oh, yes."
"That´ll be nineteen-twenty-eight, Sir."
I gave him a twenty. We looked at each other for a few seconds. Then I handed him a fifty that I had ready in my back pocket.
"Would you like to stay for a while, Gino?"
He smiled at me. It was a friendly smile.
"You want me to stay, Ray?"
"Yes, please. I´d really appreciate it, Gino. I think we should talk."
He held his hand in front of me, rubbing his fingers together. I took out my wallet and handed him another fifty. He smiled broadly, opened the box and spat on the pizza. He closed the box and handed it to me with a wide grin.
"Thanks for the tip, frocio," he said and left.
I stood at the doorway and watched him strut confidently towards the old van, whistling. His denim-clad buttocks swayed as he walked.
I stood at the doorway, handing out towels as the team members came in, panting and swearing. In a minute or two everybody had their towels – except Gino. I had seen him at the field so I asked one of the guys:
"Where´s Gino, Joe?"
Joe chuckled.
"The Coach told him to take fifteen laps for excessive cursing in practice."
I peeked out the door. Yes, I could see Gino´s lean figure jogging around the field. He seemed to be in no hurry, so I would just have to wait for him before I would be able to lock up and go home.
All the guys were already gone when the door finally swung open and Gino staggered in, breathless. He slumped down on the bench and stripped off his shirt, tossing it on the floor. I walked over and picked it up. The shirt was hot and soaked in sweat.
This might be a good time to get us in friendly terms, I thought.
"You look exhausted, Gino. Can I get you something?"
"Water."
I took one of the plastic bottles and filled it with cold water. He took the bottle from me and drank greedily. Some of the water ran down on his chest and stomach, mixing with his sweat. My gaze followed longingly as the sparkling little streams ran downwards between the tanned mounds of his sixpack. The droplets gathered momentarily in his navel before following the black trail to the waistband of his shorts.
"Want some help with your cleats?"
He nodded, so I kneeled down at his feet, unlaced his shoes and pulled them off. Without waiting for further instructions, I ripped off the black tapes that were holding his shin pads in place under his soccer socks, peeled down the knee-high socks and removed the shin pads. Finally I removed his thin ankle socks.
"Anything else I can do for you, Gino?" I asked hopefully, but he just waved me off with his hand.
I sighed and went to the laundry room to get the machine started. I loaded it – pausing every now and then to sniff a shirt or shorts of some of the hottest team members – pressed Start and leaned on the machine to check my messages. There weren´t many; it seemed that most of my friends had forgotten me since I had become the little helper for the soccer boys.
The machine was humming, so I didn´t hear him enter the room. I was startled when I heard a click as the door was locked from inside. Gino didn´t say anything, but from the smell of his sweat I knew he was standing right behind me, and I felt his breath on my neck. Suddenly he grabbed me by the shoulder, swung me around and pushed me against the wall. I was terrified. Was he going to beat me up, or could this be – it?
Gino leaned closer and placed his right forearm on the wall above my head, so that I was staring right into the jet-black hair of his armpit. His smell was overpowering, but instead of trying to hold my breath in disgust, I instinctively took a deep breath through my nose. Gino´s sweat exuded raw physical power, youth and virility. It was fragrant with testosterone; screaming out his ability to fuck women and to conceive new life into the world – abilities that I lacked. Although being only sixteen, he was a real man. The forceful odor that filled my senses sent me an unquestionable signal of his superiority, and it made my cock harden. Right there and then I admitted it to myself: I am a fag, and I am destined by nature to serve this young man, to obey his every word without any contradiction.
Gino leaned even closer so that he could whisper right into my ear. Lashes of his wet hair brushed my cheek and his breath felt hot in my ear.
"Succhiamelo, frocio," he whispered.
I didn´t need an interpreter to explain his Italian words. He needed someone to serve his manly needs, and he had picked me as his bitch.
Gino leaned slightly back so he could look into my eyes. A self-satisfied smile crossed his lips as he read the submission in my eyes. He leaned in again, this time so close that his armpit was pressed on my face. My cock was fully hard now.
"Subito, frocio," he whispered, and pulled my shoulder down with his free hand.
He leaned back a couple of inches so that I was able to sink slowly down to my knees in the narrow space between his sweaty body and the coarse concrete wall behind me. As I went down, my eyes drank in his body, the hard pecs, flat abdomen and the love-trail under his navel.
Gino spread his legs so I could bend my knees between them until they met the hard tiling. Now I was staring at his marlin-blue soccer shorts. I took the string between my shaky fingers and pulled the knot open. The shorts fell down to his ankles with just a little help from me. He lifted his feet one after another so I was able to pull the shorts completely off. Then I was staring at the bulge of his tight white compression boxers. Without thinking, I wrapped my hands around his slim waist and leaned over to kiss the bulge and the love-machine beneath it. I could feel that his manhood was awake, preparing to do what was needed to pleasure Gino and bring him the relief he was entitled to. It felt so warm and promising against my lips that I kissed and licked the sweat-dripping underwear over and over again, until I felt him take a strong grip of my hair.
"Enough. Succhiamelo, finocchio," he grunted.
I obeyed and peeled the tight underwear down to his thighs. The main character of my recent wet dreams sprang free in half mast. I didn´t waste any time; the sex organ in front of me expected to be worshiped. I gave the shaft a long lick and got my first direct taste of young cock. The taste was heavenly, and I leaned in greedily to take another lick, and another, until Gino tightened his grip of my hair. He lifted his balls with the fingers of his free hand.
"Leccami le palle, checca," he grunted, and my fag instincts translated the command immediately.
I took a gentle hold of his ball sack and started to lick the hot skin, transferring the sweat of the boy´s crotch into the eagerly awaiting mouth of his faggot. He spread his legs so I was able to lap the soft and sensitive area between his thighs and balls. Then the tightening grip of my hair told me it was time for the next stage.
Gino lifted my chin and I looked up to him. He nodded and I opened my mouth, letting him slide his rock-hard manhood into my mouth. He pushed it in maybe halfway and gave a tentative thrust, still holding me by the hair. I gagged a little, so he pulled out and let me take a breath. Then it was time to take some more.
Pretty soon Gino saw how far he could push his cock into my throat without making me gag, and he made good of it, fucking my face with increasing power. I felt his hairy calves with my hands and continued higher, adoring the power of his thighs and buttocks as they fueled his powerful fucking.
I guess our sex act in the laundry room could be called copulation; but there was no couple, just a boy and his fag; both determined to bring pleasure to the youngster. There was no love, no feeling, just the need of the boy to get off and the obligation of his fag to help him achieve that goal.
Gino´s fucking became more and more powerful, and he was now forcing his schlong further and further in, regardless of my capabilities. I gagged but tried to serve him well, pulling his rock-hard buttocks in with each of his thrusts. Every time he pushed in, the back of my head hit the coarse concrete wall, but that couldn´t be helped; it was just something a fag had to live with.
His climax was almost business-like; he just tightened the hold of my hair and pushed my head against the wall with his pelvis. His cock was now completely buried in my abyss and my upper lip was pressed against his pubes, the lower lip caressing his ball sack.
And then he came.
"Nnnngh," he grunted and delivered a copious load of teenage cum into my mouth. I tried to swallow but it was hard as I had no space to breath. As I gasped for air, some of his sperm flowed from mouth into my nostrils. When he finally pulled out, I coughed wildly and his cum was running out of my nose.
Gino looked around, still panting. and took a clean small hand towel from the pile on a nearby shelf. He wetted it in the sink and wiped his cock and crotch with it. Then he looked at me.
"Holy fuck, ricchione, you look fucking disgusting!" he sneered and threw me the towel.
"Clean your face, frocio."
I obeyed and wiped my face with his cum-rag. I was exhausted, but overwhelmed with joy. I felt as a complete person now; no pretense anymore between me and Gino. He had made me his cocksucking fag and I loved it. I saw he was preparing to leave, but there was something I had to tell him.
"Gino, I wanna do this again. Please, just tell me the time and place and I´ll be there."
He snickered.
"Of course you will, culattone", he said and turned to leave.
But I had to share my feelings with him.
"Gino, you don´t understand! I´m just so grateful," I stuttered and grabbed his ankle.
He laughed and tried to pull his leg free, but I didn't let go. I leaned over to kiss his foot.
"Thank you Gino, thank you..." I kissed his foot over and over again.
Gino used some force to yank his leg free.
"Ciao, checca," he laughed and left me there.
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