Date: Tue, 3 Sep 2019 23:41:23 +0000 From: Jake Tam Subject: Servant to a Soccer Stud - Chapter 26 Feedback welcome to walnutlink68@hotmail.com NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Master Kyle wrote this chapter. SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 26 I've been reading Connor's writings over the past year. I approve. They are accurate. It's been the best year of my life. Devoted girlfriend, excellent grades, top of my game in both soccer and tennis, immense popularity in school, and a servant who waits on me hand and foot 24/7. And it's only about to get better. We were about to enter senior year. Brad and Tommy were back at university. I was named co-captain of the soccer team. Everyone looked up to me. If I didn't rule the school before, I was definitely going to rule it now. Yes, yes, there's the old warning that people who peak in high school become losers later in life. But is that true? Because no one said straight, white, male privilege goes away after high school. And remember, I do well in school. Think about the banker bros in Manhattan, or the tech execs in Silicon Valley. No, you dumb fags, I don't think I'll ever come close to being a loser like you. Ditto for college. You seriously think I won't have a fag or two hanging off my cock and feet the way Connor has the past year? Maybe even a prof or two whose heart starts racing whenever I show up for lecture. Yeah, as far as my eye could see, I was gonna be on top for a long, long time. Let me remind you of my dimensions: 6' 160lbs of solid muscle, perfectly smooth chest with quarter size nipples, six pack abs, size 11.5 feet, hairy jock legs, and a cock that's 5 inches *soft* / 8.5 inches hard. Yeah, drool on that, you fuckin' faggots. But even if I'm perfect, my *life* isn't always perfect. And having a servant to cheer me up has become a highlight of the past year. Yes, one of the ways Connor cheers me up is by being my sex slave. Because yeah, often my pent up teenage angst can be released and relaxed by orgasm-ing deep into a warm hole -- Connor's mouth or Connor's ass. But there are virtually an infinite number of other ways I use Connor to improve my mood. STEP 1: Glorification. One of the best parts about having Connor as my servant is that he is a human being, with a human brain. In fact, the kid's pretty smart, was (and still is) pretty popular, plays sports (Connor could throw and catch a ball, and could even beat me in a foot race), and (when we're not alone) could pass for a normal, straight teenage boy. Since he had not come out yet, he pretty much had the straight, white, male privilege I had. So why is that so great for me? Because his near-equality to me made his total subservience to me boost my ego all the more. Connor was not (though I could snap my fingers and turn him into) a dog. His pretty darn intuitive human brain could verbalize his animalistic lust for me; a dog can't. So while I could have gotten unconditional love from a dog, what I got from Connor was obviously a lot more -- a lot more intelligent, a lot more comprehensive, and a hell of a lot more fun. So whenever I was in a bad mood, I merely had to command Connor to "start praising me" -- and out came a torrent of over-the-top, diversely creative compliments, unleashed non-stop until I permitted him to stop. "Master Kyle, you fuckin' rock my world," Connor would start, from his usual position, completely naked and on his knees at the side of my bed. (I often had Connor start there because I can easily turn my head and look at him on his knees, with his little throbbing boner leaking pre. The line of sight from the foot of the bed is more blocked.) "You rock everyone's world. Everyone lucky enough to be near you is better off, because they are in the presence of an incredibly good looking, powerfully athletic, straight stud. The word 'stud' in the dictionary would say Kyle Peterson's name. Everything about you is embodied in that word, you fuckin' stud. Fuck, I love you so fuckin' much, Master Kyle. My heart beats for you, my lungs breathe for you, my life is sustained by you. I am so, so lucky to be your foot licking, cum-guzzling slave." A smile would come to my face. I knew Connor meant every word. That was the other beauty of our relationship. I commanded him to stay stuff, but he really felt that way about me. His sincerity often did as much to cheer me up as the actual words he was saying. When I tired of one line of flattery, I would say, "Switch it up, shit stain. Focus more on my body." "Yes, God," Connor would continue. "I dream about your feet, your cock, your cum, or your ass every night, Master Kyle. No, seriously. My mouth has the honor and privilege of being wrapped around your various body parts so often that the images easily come back to me when I'm asleep. That's why I want to spend so much time worshipping you, God. I want my worthless brain cells to be so concentrated with the experience of pleasuring you when I'm awake that I can increase the likelihood of dreaming about you at night." "More specific, faggot," I ordered, as my own cock stirred and grew in tandem with my ego. "The stench of your feet," Connor would obey instantly. "Right after a match. I can't wait to tear your cleats and socks off so I can plant my nose right in between your sweaty toes. It's such a one-of-a-kind smell, Master Kyle. Let me be clear: it is a stink. I never want you to think that I'm partaking in something that is objectively pleasant. No, you dish out your worst on me, the absolute lowest parts of your body, the most vile excretions possible. But I am lower. Your stink is superior to me, and so I love it, I crave it, I need it. It's a combination of salty and sour and bitter. It smells like cheese and vinegar and ammonia all rolled into one. My sexual organs go ballistic just thinking about that stink. That fuckin' awesome stench." I could see Connor swallowing, his throat was so dry. More of his earnestness was pouring out of him. He didn't just believe his words, his whole body literally shuddered from being so excited merely talking about the smell of my feet. And of course, that little dick of his was rock hard and wet as a pussy. "Get over here then, bitch." And Connor would scurry to plant his face into the soles of one of my feet. His reward for all his effusive glorification? A swift kick to the face. STEP 2: Slaps, kicks, and other physical torments. Being verbally praised is a good way to start boosting my already-fulsome ego. Exercising near-unlimited power over a human being -- especially arbitrarily and unfairly -- is a great second step. And there's definitely a sexual element to it, too. My own cock would be near full-mast at this point, over 2 inches longer than the faggot's. With each slap or kick, my cock would tighten and jut forward some more. And though Connor was on the receiving end of the physical torture, Connor's dick would do the same. (Except his dick, being more like a clit, spewed a lot more precum like a pussy in heat than mine. It's really interesting how Connor's basic sexuality is so much like a girl's.) It was just such a power trip. Here was Connor saying all the right things and doing everything I wanted. And I could be so unfair to him to respond by kicking him and slapping him. Now, I never did anything that would really injure the poor kid. One time I really did kick him a bit too hard, and he fell back, unable to get back up. I got off my bed and walked over and then squatted down to check on him. "Connor, you all right?" He was so touched by my rare niceness that he willed himself to consciousness and started planting kisses on the tops of my feet, saying, "Oh, Master Kyle, I am so sorry for making you get out of bed to check up on lil' ol' me. Thank you so much, Master Kyle, for showing so much mercy. I don't deserve it. Please, please, I beg to you keep kickin' me in the face whenever you want, however hard you want. Please don't let my weak faggot face take away from your power and your pleasure. I am so, so sorry for fucking up. Please forgive me, Master." I patted him on the head and tousled his hair as I got up and returned to my lounged out position on my bed, with Connor -- still obviously a little dizzy -- resuming his fervent mouth love to my stinky feet. As I said, I would never deliberately hurt Connor to the point of serious injury, but when you really get into beating someone, I'm not always cautious with my kicks and slaps. I think Connor has built his fortitude to not let himself collapse again -- all for my pleasure. He was being a good faggot. Today's kicks were spaced out so that Connor could kiss and thank the kicking foot when he wasn't being kicked. It was hilarious, and I laughed heartily. My foot would make firm contact with Connor's forehead, nose, cheek, or lips, and Connor's reply would be to leap toward the kicking foot and French kiss it deeply, slurping and licking away, then saying, "Thank you, Master Kyle's foot, for using my head as a soccer ball." "Shut the fuck up, fag," I said, laughing boisterously again. "Get into horse position." Connor would come right back to the side of my bed, remain on his knees, then bend down so his hands touched the ground, with his back up as straight as possible. I would strip off my warm boxer briefs and wrap it around Connor's head, making his nose breathe in where my cock or ass had just been. Then I would sit on Connor's back, with my huge hairy balls resting comfortably on it, my 8.5 inch cock pointing straight up in the air, and start riding my horse. Connor would have to gallop around my bedroom. I'm sure it wasn't easy for him. One, I was sufficiently heavy -- heavier than him. Two, he had to gallop enthusiastically -- which is especially hard on his already bruised and battered knees (seriously, I actually felt a little sorry for Connor having to be his knees so much, and now with the added weight of my body). Three, he had to keep me and my balls comfortable. Four, he couldn't do anything to cause me to lose my balance; whenever I started to bounce of slide off of him, I would punch him on his back or on his sides. Five, he had to sniff my boxer briefs. Six, he had to continue to thank me, compliment me, and pray to me. Seven, he had to neigh like a horse, so between the sniffing, talking, and neighing, Connor had to do a ton of work. And whenever I ordered him to stop or I pinched his neck, Connor would freeze in place. I'd then pick up a jock strap, sock, or other smelly clothing from the floor. I'd then stuff it in his mouth, tie it around his nose, blindfold him with it. Today (and usually), it was all three: a sock blindfolding him, my boxer briefs going into his mouth, and my jock strap tied snugly around his nose. And though he couldn't talk anymore, he had to continue making sounds for my amusement. "Resume, cunt." And Connor would start galloping again. With the blindfold on, sometimes Connor would bump into furniture, and then I would punch him again, saying, "Stupid, retarded faggot. You must be the dumbest piece of shit on the planet." When I got enough from riding my horse, I got off, jumped back on my bed, and ordered Connor to remove his blindfold, but keep everything else in place. STEP 3: Chores. As tired as Connor was from all the work he had done up to this point, that was only the first half hour. For the next half hour, he was to do chores. You might ask, since he was already around all the time cleaning my room, and since I never had him do my homework, what else was there to do? As it turned out, plenty. In addition to the room cleaning itself, Connor often had to do my laundry. But Connor had to give my dirty clothes a thorough mouth washing first before they went into the laundry machine. I called it a pre-rinse. Obviously, if he's pre-rinsing, he has to remove my jock strap and underwear from his face and mouth (from Step 2), and then proceed to lick and suck and kiss whatever else was in my hamper or gym bag. Of course, this pre-rinse had a verbal element, and as you fags know full well, my fag is required to directly praise, thank and pray to every piece of my clothing his tongue was pre-rinsing. Connor knew what I liked, which was basically enter into his own intimate little world with my clothes. It was a really fun little game for me. Connor had to say all the right things so I could hear him, but he had to go about it in a way as if I wasn't even in the room. I never had to teach Connor how to do this, or some of the other things. Connor somehow could predict the most effective way to pleasure, honor, and entertain me. So this pre-rinse wasn't just licking and sucking -- that's degrading enough. It was Connor going to town blissing out on my dirty clothes. Each new item was like a new magical treasure for the fag, a distinctive smell, a crustier texture, a sweat or piss or cum stain, stray pubic hairs to chew, filthy sock lint to swallow. Take an ankle sock, for instance. Connor would lie on his side, in fetal position, on the floor in my line of sight. He would turn that sock inside out and start kissing it some two dozen times, moaning and groaning and most importantly, writhing in genuine pleasure. Between each fifth kiss or so, Connor would talk directly to the sock, often in a whisper to emphasize the intimacy. "I love you, God-sock. I love making out with you, like other dudes make out with their girlfriends. You smell so good. I love the crust on you. And I love your taste, all funky and cheesy. I love you so much, black ankle sock." Then more kissing until Connor started sucking where my toes had sweat and eating sock fluff. Connor would get into it so much that he'd switch positions as part of his writhing, from on his side to on his back to on his stomach. He sometimes even rotated his body all 360 degrees. Then repeat with the next article of clothing. Bottom line: he is required to show me the utter intensity of his adoration for each piece of my dirty clothing. "Enough, you gay fuck," I would say when satisfied. "Now go do regular laundry. Your filthy mouth is an insult to my underwear, socks, shirts, and jock straps -- and could not possibly get them clean. You stupid fuck." I knew just what buttons to push. I had ordered him to do the pre-rinse, but after all his effort, I put him in his place by reminding him it was all worthless. Other chores? Another fun one (for me) was toenail clipping, worshipping and swallowing, which the fag has described to you before. Except I recently added a new component called "pre-clipping". This involved making Connor bite the tips of my toenails with his teeth. Think nail-biting for fingernails, except it involves nasty toenails -- and haha, it's someone else's mouth doing the biting. Of course, it's impossible to bite thick toenails off using teeth, but if I commanded it, then the fuck face was gonna do it. The pre-clipping complete, I gave Connor permission to use the toenail clipper to clip my toenails. He had to be very careful, as I made him stay on his knees during the chore, which meant his angle facing my toes was challenging. But any less than perfection (if he didn't cut correctly or God forbid nicked my flesh even the slightest), I would beat or kick him inflicting 20x the pain. Because each toenail also had to be sufficiently sized for how Connor's mouth would have to "deal with" them after being clipped, Connor also was not allowed to screw up by making too many cuts resulting in toenails that were too small to be properly worshipped. Remember also that he had to keep each toenail carefully preserved, worshipping them twice, first when they are first cut, and he kisses and sucks on each one, and also thanking each nasty toenail directly. Then after all the toenails have been clipped and placed in a container, I would shout numbers at the bitch, and that would be the number of toenails Connor would be required to swallow in that iteration. So if I yelled, "five," then Connor would have to scoop up five of my clipped toenails in his fingers, then kiss and lick and suck on them again, thanking and praying to them some more, then place the five toenails on his tongue and swallow all five toenails in one gulp. Once I made him do fifteen, and the poor kid nearly choked. What did I do? Blamed him for being a clumsy faggot and disrespecting my toenails, and slapped him in the face a dozen times as punishment. Way more fun than cutting my own toenails. (I've recently started making him do pre-clipping and worshipping of my fingernails, too. This, to date, is the only example of me letting his mouth touch any part of my body above the waist. But unlike my toes, I do not let the fag suck on my fingers.) I also consider feeding the pig my piss a chore for him, though as part of Step 3, my cock is usually so hard at this point that it's hard for me to piss down his throat and not have it get anywhere. I have done it before though in the bathroom, and then Connor's new chore was to lick the bathroom floor clean. STEP 4: Teasing and insults. Step 4 is really a classic -- before my final climax, I let Connor go to town at my feet as a reward for spending the last half hour doing challenging chores. It's amazing that as intense and intimate Steps 1 to 3 are, they usually take about an hour tops. Steps 4 and 5 usually take another half hour combined. So on average, Connor spends about 90 minutes a day serving me, 7 days a week. If we skip a day, or it's the weekend, sometimes it gets to a longer session. This explains two things: first, how Connor could still function and do reasonably well in school, take the SATs and other tests, work out, spend time with his family, and start applying for colleges. The actual number of hours a week Connor spends serving me, while relatively high, is time he might otherwise have spent playing video games or on his phone (or date -- which was completely out of the question). And second, a LOT happens in 90 minutes of sex-driven, ego-boosting interactions between me and my slave. I also have a full life, obviously, and Connor is merely a tool to make my life better. I do not need him, or need to spend more time with him. He is not anywhere near a meaningful part of my life, with any lasting significance. Obviously Connor didn't look at me the same way, but I'm the stud, and he's the fag. Back to Step 4. As gay as Connor is for every single part of me, it's been clear to me for a while now that Connor's ultimate true passion remains my feet. Remember, even Connor's favorite thing to do with my cum is having it spewed all over his face and then transferred to my feet. And here, I'm a nice master. It's a chance for me to relax a bit (of course, I'm chillin' for pretty much all of this servitude by my servant). Sometimes I don't say much, I'm playing on my phone, whatever, but most of the time it's more fun for me to tease and insult him. I mean, I already call him every homophobic epithet in the book all the time anyway, so what I say to him in this Step 4 isn't that different from my usual. Sometimes I talk about regular things with Connor, but from a master-servant perspective. Here's a recent example, with Connor still completely naked and on his knees making out with my feet. "Bitch, did you get your schedule yet?" "Yes, Master Kyle, I did," Connor answered in between foot licks. "What classes are we in together?" "Um, I don't know, sir. I don't have a copy of your schedule." "Dumbass, can you do anything other than kissing feet? It's on my desk; go fetch it." After studying it for 30 seconds, Connor said, "Master, sir, we have AP Calc and AP Lit together. Oh, and phys ed." "Phys ed, heh? I wonder what the guys in the locker room are gonna say if they find out about you." "It would suck, Master. But I am devoted to whatever you want to do." Connor then planted more passionate French kisses on my left sole, alternating his stares between my foot and my throbbing cock. I snorted. "Yeah, well, we'll see, faggot. By the way, watch your tone, cum wad." "I'm so sorry, God. I didn't mean to be disrespectful." For good measure, Connor started slapping himself across the face, adding "I'm sorry, God" in between each slap. Meanwhile, I continued to absent-mindedly tug at my hard cock every few seconds, keeping my pleasure level high and strong. "Ok, enough, you stupid bitch. Get back to what you do best -- kissing my feet." "Yes, Master." After more kissing by him, I command, "Put on some lipstick, cunty." Connor complied, and the foot kissing continued, leaving a trail of red lip imprints on my feet. I sighed contently and smiled, my cock rock hard ready to explode. STEP 5: Sex. By Step 5, I am usually so amped up that I can cum usually pretty quickly. If that's the case, then pretty much Connor gives me his usual A+ blow job with ample attention paid to my nut sack, and I cum down his throat or on his face (and then his face cum gets transferred to my nasty feet, then swallowed down again glob by disgusting glob off my feet). But today, I felt my stamina extra powerful, and so I first ordered Connor to give me a rim job. Connor has described this to you subs many times before, so I won't repeat it. Basically, it's him eating my ass like there's no tomorrow and me feeling more and more superior with each lick and suck. If I fart, Connor inhales and thanks my fart. After I was satisfied with the rim job, I made Connor get on my bed in doggy position, and I proceeded to fuck him raw. I would say I fuck Connor about twice a week. It's not my favorite thing, because I continue to find fucking Connor's mouth is more degrading to him and is way more intense on his senses -- smell, taste, touch, and sight. I also think my cum ending up in Connor's ass is disrespectful to my cum, which should instead go down the tube where Connor's food and water go down. So I almost always make Connor scoop as much of my cum out of his anal cavity as possible to then eat and swallow down his proper cum receptacle. He usually can't get much out, because my cock is so huge and with the propulsion forward, my cum really gets in deep. Luckily for him, I cum so much that there is some left for him. And he better do it quickly, since the ass-flavored cum left on my softening cock still had to be cleaned, and if any of that cum dripped off my cock before it went into Connor's mouth, then I would consider the entire Steps 1 through 5 to have been a failure. Thankfully for Connor, he is such a desperate cum whore that he almost always gets it right and his mouth is on my cock within a minute. After my cock is thoroughly cleaned, and he spends another two minutes thanking me and flattering me, I say my usual, "Shut the fuck up, fag, and get the fuck out." After Steps 1 through 5, any bad mood I had is completely gone, and that is how my faggot servant cheers up his straight stud master: Me. TO BE CONTINUED (resumed by my servant faggot next time) ...