Date: Wed, 16 Nov 2022 20:13:25 +0000 From: Jake Tam Subject: Servant to a Soccer Stud - Chapter 33 SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 33 FROM KYLE'S PERSPECTIVE . . . . June 2020. I stirred from my lazy slumber. Cock throbbing. Then felt something making contact with the bottoms of my feet. Not something. Someone. I had pretty much gotten used to it by now -- Connor dutifully waking up before me and brightening my every morning by showing me just how much my feet meant to him, how much they rocked his world, how much *I* rocked his world. The physical sensation felt great, but the emotional felt even better. To have a fully functional, intelligent human being be so willing to improve my mood, cater to my every whim, turn his life upside down to maximize my pleasure -- my cock swelled just that much more as those ego-boosting thoughts woke up my sleepy brain. The his-mouth-to-my-feet contact became firmer, more passionate. Connor must have realized that his Master was awake. Gentle soft caresses grew into deep French kisses. I stretched, my arms and my legs, kicking Connor's face backward, not intentionally necessarily, just naturally as part of a casual but sharp leg extension that didn't care one bit that a human head was in the way. Not a second later the desperate lips planted right back onto my soles, mouth loving and worshipping, making out lustfully with my soccer and tennis feet. Around the periphery of the kissing I felt fingers begin kneading and massaging. I also began hearing loud sniffs and whiffs, also feeling the tip of Connor's fag nose nestled belongingly in the funky crevice between my toes and soles. I literally felt the care, devotion, adoration, obedience and respect Connor was pouring into his daily assigned task. "Mornin', fag." I yawned, my head still on my pillow. "Good Morning, God." Connor replied. I allowed Connor to continue his now full-on foot worship without interruption for a few more minutes while I played with my cock and writhed in pleasure, periodically stretching and moaning some more. Periodically I teased him by scratching his cheek or forehead with my nasty big toenail in a flicking motion, or "punching" him in the face with it, like I was using my big toenail like a battering ram. When he "cut" my toenails these days with his teeth (and kissed and swallowed them, of course), I often ordered him to leave one or both of my big toenails alone, keeping them longer more often, just so I could use them as an additional humiliation-inducing weapon to his queer face. He thanked my abuse by digging his teeth underneath the stabbing big toenail, scooping out the nail funk into his hungry mouth, then verbally confirming his action by saying, "Thank you God for feeding me your toenail jam after stabbing me in the face with your sexy toenail." Let me state the obvious: there is nothing whatsoever sexy about my (or any guy's) toenail. Then I said, "You forget somethin', bitch?" I had so much fun messing with Connor like this. On the one hand, he wasn't allowed to stop smelling, kissing and massaging my feet even for a second without my permission. On the other hand, he was supposed to bow his head down to the floor three times and utter a ridiculously over-the-top morning prayer to me between each kowtow, necessarily requiring him to remove his lips from my soles. Of course, Connor didn't "forget" anything. As with so many things, I got to punish the poor kid either way. Kings get to be arbitrary and capricious, and I was Connor's King. Connor immediately backed away from my feet, and delivered his first bow, thump onto the floor so I could hear the loud sound. "Master Kyle, thank you for being my Master. Thank you for having beautiful size 12 jock feet that stink SO bad after soccer and tennis, because I live for that stink, my God. I crave your stink. I am in love with your stink. I am a slave to your stink. The fuckin' stink that explodes off your feet, that's what I want eat, drink, and breathe all day long. In Master Kyle's name I pray, Amen." I snickered. "You saying my feet stink isn't very nice to my feet, is it?" I could draw out this verbal torture for hours if I wanted to. Connor gulped. "I want you to know how low I am, Master. What a total loser I am, Master. Straight jock stink repulses everyone else but me, that's how you know I am fuckin' in love with every part of you, my Lord." "You're saying I hang out with losers?" Connor nervously answered, "I'm a loser only compared to you, Master Kyle. To everyone else, I am seen as really, really lucky to get to be in your presence." "So you have answer for everything, huh fag?" Connor knew that I could rain down a series of slaps, punches and kicks right about now. If he didn't have an answer, I could punish him. If he did have an answer and I decided he was being too smart, I could also punish him. "No, Master, I don't have all the answers. I am only answering you as honestly and truthfully as I can. I know I love you. I know I love your foot stink. I know that when you feed me your feet, your cock, your cum, your piss and your farts, you are rewarding me. I can only tell you that truth, and you, Master Kyle, have 100% power to treat me however you want. Abuse me. Hit me. Kick me. Flick my fag face with your toenail. I am your fag, your bitch, your servant, your slave. Please, for the love of God, do with me as it amuses you, pleases you, makes your cock hard, makes your ego bigger. I beg you, my Lord." I chuckled. "You sure are one mouthy faggot, aren't you. You better have more to say for Prayers 2 and 3 then, you piece of shit." He was right about one thing though, my cock was about to burst. Actually, he was also right that I now enjoyed it more when he described my foot as stinky, even using words like dirty and nasty sometimes. Because obviously his servile actions embracing -- no, craving -- the stink and the nastiness only made them more arousing for me. It was an evolution from when he first started pampering me, when he would only use positive adjectives to describe my feet -- beautiful, fragrant, yummy, delicious, etc. Not that he decided to evolve on his own; I'm the one who steers how he serves me. I'm a jock stud. My feet sweat and reek. I want the fag to acknowledge that -- emphasizes his inferiority to my superiority, his desperation to my studliness, his beta (really, omega) to my alpha. Any bitch can (and plenty of my past bitches have) get up close and personal with a part of my body that is "beautiful" and "yummy"; it takes a truly lowly faggot like Connor to do so with parts of my body that are in fact "stinky" and "nasty". Then again, if I ever decide he goes overboard, like one time he said my feet were "disgusting", I decided that was too negative, even if Connor thought he was only saying what I wanted him to say, I beat the shit out of him, like real bad that time. For now, Connor delivered his second bow to me, another loud thump, head to floor. "Yes, God. Your face is a work of art. It's handsome, it's gorgeous, it's pretty, and it's masculine; it's eye candy for the chicks, and it's eye candy for the fags. It's just fuckin' perfect. Even though I know it's never going to happen, I still think about kissing your face, I still think about kissing *you*. I just can't help it. I'm gay as a fruitcake. You are just too good looking. I can't help but fantasize about you being my boyfriend. It's in my DNA. But thinking those thoughts is a sin." Then I hear loud slaps he started dishing out to his own cheeks, over and over again, interspersed with the words, "I need to be punished for my sins." And finally when the slaps stopped: "In Master Kyle's name I pray, Amen." The whole time Connor performed this ritual, I didn't acknowledge his existence. I had sat up on my bed and grabbed my phone, checking messages and such. A few more silent minutes passed while Connor's head remained glued to the floor, waiting for my next command. Then: "What the fuck are you waiting for, you dumb faggot?" Third bow followed instantly, loudly. I could see his head now when he came up, but not while he was crouched down. "I am so sorry, my Lord. My third prayer this morning is to your magnificent cum, your baby makers, your creamy fuck juice. It is the best part of my diet, and I love eating it, drinking it, swirling it in my mouth over and over again to savor the funky flavor. FUNKY. I'm just telling the truth again, God, like with your foot stink. Straight studs like you find it nasty. I don't think the taste in my mouth is any different. It still tastes nasty, but because it comes from you, I can't get enough of it. So I don't want it to taste like chocolate or steak or berries, I WANT it to taste like FUNK, because then I know it tastes like you, *of* you. I love your funk, and I love your cum. In Master Kyle's name I pray, Amen." "Wait a sec. You still think about being my boyfriend, bitch?" "I'm sorry, Master. I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. Please punish me, Master. In reality, I will be forever happy just being boyfriend to your toenails, to your sock lint, to your foot sweat." "So you're gonna cheat on my toenails to hook up with my sock lint?" I guffawed. "You're one greedy homo, aren't ya?" "Yes, God. Sorry, God." At this point, my cock was about to explode, so I said "X" -- "full blowjob" off the menu I had shoved in Connor's face almost two years ago. I pulled the blanket off my jock bod, while Connor hurriedly pulled off my boxer briefs. My cock stood at full attention. Connor positioned himself between my hairy legs and put his nervous shaky fingers on my warm veiny shaft. "Still scared of it, fag?" "Scared that this is all too good to be true, Sir." I tousled his hair. I know how much even that tiny bit of affection makes the fag's heart swell. Then Connor put his nose right up against my piss slit, sniffing deeply. Then he sniffed and nuzzled all around my cockhead, inhaling my cheesy smegma. Enough respect having been paid in this fashion, Connor wrapped his warm lips around my cockhead, while his now more relaxed hands jacked my shaft, slowly and gently. I started moaning, today deciding to let him do all the work at his pace. "That's it, queer," I whispered. Soon more and more of Connor's throat replaced his hands, so that he was full-on using my pole to fuck his throat. Meanwhile his tongue continued to do all sorts of acrobatics on multiple parts of my cock, stimulating as much as he could. As I got closer, I sat on the edge of my bed and pushed Connor back onto his knees smoking my pole. I moaned and groaned on the edge of ecstasy while Connor did all the work. At the last possible moment, I pulled Connor completely off and sprayed his face with 10 shots of my teen spunk. Before the first shot had even fired, Connor had already put his hands underneath his chin to catch any jizz that came off. As my climax subsided, I looked at Connor. It still amazes me how much he wants me that he would kneel there with my cum on his face. I shoot a lot, I know I do. So his face is almost always over 50% covered by globs of white. His eyes are wide open out of respect, looking back at me, and any cum that hit his eyelids are just collecting there, some dripping through his eyelashes some collecting to the side toward his cheeks. His eyes pleaded with me, desperately wanting me to lie back on my bed so he could have access to my feet. He didn't want to talk because that might cause more of my precious cum to drip off his face. "What is it, faggot?" I asked. Connor moaned back a whiny closed-lip cry. "Oh my God, shut the fuck up you whiny bitch. Do you know how much you sound like a whiny cunt right now?" Surprisingly Connor kept moaning, even louder. I guess he thought I'd get more of a kick from him wanting so desperately to perform the cum-on-my-feet ritual than actually obeying my command to be quiet. He was right. "God damn it bitch," I scolded. Connor just kept going, subserviently locking his eyes into mine. I decided to be nice. Last time this happened, I made him kneel in the corner of the room until my cum dried on his face. Today I decided to let him worship my cum off my feet. "Fine," I sighed. "You are very, very lucky I'm in a good mood right now, cunt." I leaned back on my bed and commanded, "Get going." Connor dove to my feet, rubbing all of my cum onto my soles. Then something new happened. Instead of licking up my cum and swallowing it down his throat, Connor started breathing my cum into his nose! I was about to say something, but then stopped myself to see how this new development progressed. I was amazed. I could hear the sound of Connor intensely "up-taking" my globby jizz through his nostrils like lines of cocaine. As far as I could tell, Connor's mouth was sealed shut the entire time. All of my cum, including what Connor transferred from his hands to my feet, ended up in Connor *through his nose*. Not easy to do. The tongue is wet and can soak up sticky cum. Without using his tongue, the queer really had to plant his nose in all the right places on my foot and inhale really, really hard, over and over again, to make sure every drop, every morsel of my cum was cleaned up properly. Many minutes later, when Connor was finally satisfied with his work, he said, "Thank you Master Kyle for letting me snort your precious, foot-sweat-coated cum straight up my nose!" "Shut the fuck up, fag." Inside I was beaming with excitement. First, nose inhalation of my cum by Connor was the ultimate act of, well, everything: of Connor's servitude to me, of his absolute, unabated, unadulterated lust and love of my everything, especially when it comes to the essence of my sex -- my cum. For pretty much the rest of the world, mouth swallowing of someone's cum is already the ultimate act of love and devotion. But Connor's very unique act of swallowing my cum using his nose takes it to a whole unparalleled level of adoration. Second, nose inhalation by Connor of my cum opened up so many new possibilities of ways for me to use him, abuse him, humiliate him, degrade him, and dominate him -- all for my pleasure, arousal, and amusement. But while I was jumping up and down on the inside, no way was I going to show any of that emotion to Connor. Even now, with him having exerted so much effort to perform an act of total and abject sexual prostration to me, his Master, and when in fact I was almost to the point of proud of the poor kid for having on his own volition come up with a profoundly creative and satisfactory way of worshipping me and making me feel so, so good (and easily could have avoided performing this act since even I would not have come up with it), I tortured him by not giving him any indication that I cared the slightest about his wanton and herculean efforts. All he got from me in this unquestionably praiseworthy moment was my rude and detached, my most indifferent and impatient, "Shut the fuck up, fag," which I said with even more cruelty than I usually did. With genuine sadness (which means I achieved the psychological torture on him I designed), Connor proceeded to silently give my feet a tongue bath, before guzzling down my morning piss and nursing my cock while I took my morning shit. Oh, and I didn't wipe my ass with toilet paper that morning . . . . guess what I used instead? So even though everything sucked, Connor's servitude made it suck a little less. I was supposed to live out my senior year as the King of my high school. Play tennis, party, drink, prom, and graduate. And hook up with lots of girls. I didn't get to do any of that thanks to the pandemic. So I was pissed, like all the time. That's where Connor came in. Connor was my girl--I got to release all my sexual urges on him, and had the added bonus of releasing all my anger and rage on him, too. Even before that summer (of 2020), Connor and I had worked it out so that he lived out of my house. Brad already got his apartment with Tommy, so he was not around. But Connor slept on the floor in my room (my parents had offered him Brad's room, but we made up some excuse where he declined). Every morning, Connor was duty-bound to wake up before me (without an alarm--because any alarm might wake me up). Imagine that, 7 days a week for month after month after month, he just had to train himself to wake up early. Of course it was impossible for Connor to maintain a perfect record. Sometimes he overslept like every teenage boy does, sometimes I woke up early. When that happens, I kick him awake, or bring the full weight of my 170-lb. body onto him by stepping one foot on his face and the other on his frame. Connor would be jolted awake and start begging me not to beat the shit out of him, apologizing profusely, and kissing my feet. But since Connor was so fearful of displeasing me, and had such a strong innate desire to serve me, on most days he woke up before me, sometimes an hour or more before. He's not just supposed to dive for me feet, however. He has to wait until the right time, just before I'm about to wake up. Another difficult burden the poor fag has to bear. At least during the summer time, it was already light out so he didn't have to sit or lie in the dark. I'm told sometimes he grabs my shoes or socks to huff, sometimes he plays with his phone, sometimes he gets a head start on homework or reading, but he never leaves my bedside--not to eat or drink, not even to pee. In other words, he had to wait for me to start his day. When he still lived in his own house, at least he'd only have to perform this particular task during a sleep-over, but now he had to do this every single day. Hey, if I had to be stuck in my house because of the pandemic, I was going to make the most of it. So most mornings by the time I stirred, I could already feel the fag's lips, tongue and nose on my feet, kissing and licking and inhaling. After I had my fun teasing and mocking him, or kicking and abusing him--depending totally on my mood--I would get my morning wood taken care of. It feels so good to be the alpha. If while Connor was making mouth love to my feet, I felt like touching my cock, slowly and gently brushing it with my fingers, teasing it to throb just that much tauter, I could. If I wanted to change it up and make Connor lick my ass while I farted in his face, while I jerked my cock to climax, I could order that off the menu. Speaking of licking ass, Connor once admitted to me that he rarely watches porn anymore. Even when he's in his own house, his "fantasy come-to-real-life" -- his words -- is all the porn he needs. He told me that his orgasms are bigger and more enjoyable when he is huffing one of my stench-filled socks, and picturing me in his mind, than watching any porn produced by a bunch of strangers. In response to Connor's humiliating admission, I slapped him and punched him, scolding him for making me hear something that disgusting. I called him a disgusting faggot -- which he is -- and then made him lick my ass. At least that time it was not immediately after I took a dump. LAST THOUGHTS FROM CONNOR'S PERSPECTIVE: As I ate Kyle's ass with reckless abandon, I thought about the porn I did watch from time to time, when the "top" lubricates the "bottom's" hole he then gets to fuck, right? So even a top and bottom have a somewhat equal relationship in that regard: the top at least does the more lowly task of eating the bottom's ass. But that obviously will never happen between Kyle and me. There is nothing equal here. My mouth eats and licks Kyle's ass, but it's not to lubricate it -- nothing else is ever going to go into *Kyle's* ass. Rather, it's my ass that gets fucked, with no lubrication, by Kyle's cock. My only sex organs are holes. And I am responsible for doing all the work, including changing my diet significantly to be more fibrous, and douching like all the time, so that my anus is as clean as possible to provide pleasure to Kyle's stud cock. And the fact that Kyle uses my mouth way more than my other hole doesn't matter. It's my job as the servant to this soccer stud to be prepared ... always and forever. TO BE CONTINUED ...