Date: Wed, 7 Jun 2023 20:59:25 +0000 From: Jake Tam Subject: Servant to a Soccer Stud - Chapter 35 SERVANT TO A SOCCER STUD CHAPTER 35 As I write this, I am finishing my junior year at Penn State. Kyle is finishing his junior year at UPenn. We are both 21 years old now, Kyle in the prime of his hotness and virility, 6 feet tall, size 12 feet, gorgeous face looking ever so much like the actor Alex Lange (https://men.wikifeet.com/Alex_Lange), except with slightly darker hair, more sandy brown than blond. I'll write briefly about how things turned out between Kyle and me once campuses reopened and we left our childhood homes in the suburbs of Charlottesville, Virginia. In short, whenever we could be alone (and we counted with Brad and Tommy as "alone time"), I would worship and serve him like I did non-stop for three years. These occasions would become less frequent as our lives took on different directions. He was striving to become all that he could be--academically, athletically, socially, and pretty soon professionally as he lined up coveted internships. I had finally come out (to more than just Kyle as I had done almost five years ago on that fateful night in his bedroom) and participated in collegiate LGBTQ+ activities, finally attaching me more into the "norms" of being gay in the year 2023. Don't get me wrong, as I wrote way back in Chapter 1, DNA is DNA: I will always be a foot-loving, cum guzzling submissive fag in the bedroom, but now I could see myself finding someone someday who loved me back, played with me the way I wanted to play in private, but otherwise be my partner in life as equals. And I could see that the normalcy of such a relationship, though never amounting to the one-in-a-million fantasy of what I had experienced with a cruel, straight jock stud who happened to be my crush since puberty, would be more fulfilling to me long-term as a human being--even if in the short term, I was devastated because I missed Kyle terribly, painfully, inconsolably. At times, I would just curl up into a ball and cry, I missed him so much, his scent, his face, his body, his insults, and yes, his cruelty. I think of the scene at the end of Brokeback Mountain when Ennis sniffs the shirt and longs for Jack; I feel like it's that multiplied by a million. But unlike in the movie, there are no reciprocal feelings of any kind here. I suppose Kyle was never going to forget having a sex slave on his beck and call all the time, and in that sense, Kyle "missed" the convenience of having me around to use and abuse. But Kyle never missed me as a person, much less as a friend or sex partner or anything else. So Kyle's pursuits and my realizations would naturally pull us apart from the confines of what started in Kyle's bedroom after soccer practice back in September 2018 when we were 16 year olds. But where I left off in the last Chapter, we were still on lockdown in Virginia. It was the spring of 2021. Kyle was 19; I was about to turn 19. We were finishing up freshman year away from campus. Many of you have asked me to write more, telling me how you come back to my story and have many a nice jerk-off session to your favorite scenes. Hot. Apologies for the delay. Part of the reason I haven't kept writing is what else is there to say? Snorting Kyle's warm and plentiful cum straight up my nose from his climaxing cock is about as close to Heaven as I can imagine. Heaven. Everything Kyle has done to me, or made me do to service and worship him, I have written about. Short of eating his shit, I've been commanded to do just about everything else, and I've written about it already. The other reason is sadness. Sadness that campuses were going to reopen in the fall of 2021, he and I would be many miles away from each other, Kyle was going to live his life toward becoming the successful straight alpha white man he inevitably would become, and I would feel an immediate emptiness so profound that I wasn't sure how to handle. My attachment to him meant he was the center of my universe. His attachment to me was nothing more than using the holes on my body as fleshjacks. In writing this delayed chapter, I would have to put into words just how much I would miss being the servant to this incredible jock stud. For me, then, the pandemic was a gift. It prolonged for a whole year, and intensified the already incredible two years during high school, my time and experience as Kyle's fag. I knew in the spring of 2021, as we received letters from our respective colleges, that our sophomore year would be as back-to-normal as possible now that everyone was getting vaccinated. You see? Sad. What to do then but make the most of the time I had left with Kyle. I felt an urgency like I had never felt before. I think when we were about to graduate high school, my impending plans with Brad and Tommy distracted me from missing Kyle, and then the pandemic hit in March 2020, sweeping all those plans away, but gifting me with the extra year with Kyle--except even more intense and intimate because he and I couldn't and didn't really hang out with anyone else, travel, etc. So this time around, I was faced with the reality of pulling myself away from that unparalleled, unprecedented closeness to my singular crush since I was 13. And who cares if Kyle had no reciprocal feelings whatsoever. When he slapped or kicked me in the face, farted directly into my ready-to-inhale nostrils, called me a shitstain or stupid faggot, enforced arbitrary rules that were impossible to follow, made me lick his pubes off the bathroom floor or chew and swallow his funky toenails, used his shoelaces to tie his stench-filled sneakers across my face while I cleaned his room, or ordered me to dress up as Cunty and French kiss the bottoms of his feet leaving bright red lip-shaped lipstick marks behind, etc., I felt closer to him. I loved him. I was in love with him. I yearned to be the target of his mistreatment. And so whatever abuse he dished out my way, my love for him surged in equal measure to his utter contempt for me. So if it was even possible (I don't think it was), I redoubled my efforts whenever I was serving Kyle. My tongue licked that much more passionately, my lips kissed that much more ardently, my nose sniffed that much more feverishly, my hands massaged that much more fervently. I praised, thanked, flattered, prayed to him with that much more vigor and enthusiasm. I yearned for him to say, "Shut the fuck up, fag", because I knew I wouldn't get to hear that sexy masculine voice, much less those words, all that much longer. Every time I sucked his cock, I treasured the moment like it would be the last time. I studied that beautiful cock, every vein, every texture, every funk, the warmth, the sheer power, the 8-and-a-half-inch magnitude. Like with Kyle's feet, I both revered and pretended to be the wife of, Kyle's cock. I truly believed Kyle's cock was worth more than, and superior to, my entire existence; at the same time, I pretended that Kyle's cock and I could be married and in love. Kyle's cock showed me its "love" by spewing its fluids (both jizz and pee) down my throat, up my nostrils, or flat across any part of my face. I showed Kyle's cock my love by worshipping it--worshipping it every which way I could conceive. Sucking, licking, sniffing, caressing, kissing, swallowing, deep throating, but also staring at, talking to, whispering to, professing my love to, etc. And through all of that, I tried to memorize how Kyle's cock smelled and tasted, looked and felt, grew and pulsated. Because pretty soon, I would be saying good-bye to Kyle's cock. Same with Kyle's balls, his baby makers, the source of his pre-cum and cum. Large and low-hanging. Coated with sweat pretty much all the time. Hairs growing off them as additional targets of my worship and adoration. When Kyle sat on my face to fart or be rimmed (almost always both at the same time), those luscious orbs would hang onto my nose which breathed in deeply. As my tongue pleasured Kyle's hole, my nose would dig lecherously into those balls. Easier to do when Kyle lay on his back on his bed, legs up in the air, and he let me just go to town, like a pig snorting truffles. But unlike some other dom-sub relationships, when I am serving Kyle, there is almost always a verbal component. I am required to talk to Kyle's ass, telling it how it is amazing, divine, sexy, what have you. And thanking his ass whenever it ripped a fart. From above, Kyle would laugh, call me names, and insult me like only he can. Then there's Kyle's size 12 jock feet. What more can I say about them? Or about what I "do" to them. Or, more accurately, what they "do" to me, my mouth, my face, my nasal receptors, my brain, and my DNA? After 35 chapters, I think you get it. Do I have a fetish for any feet? No. Feet on a young athletic good-looking guy? Now you're talking. Feet on Kyle Peterson? Bingo. The grime and lint and stench on Kyle's feet are identical at a molecular level to the nastiness on anyone else's feet. But because they're Kyle's feet, all of a sudden they're transformed and elevated in my perception to something infinitely more desirable and arousing. There's a love component because I love Kyle, so I love the grime, lint and stench that reside on his feet. There's also a submissive component: Kyle is so superior to me that I must debase myself to the same level as the grime, lint and stench from Kyle's feet. When I show respect and yeah, pray, to Kyle's foot grime, lint and stench, I'm reinforcing our immutable alpha-beta power structure. But most of all is the physical component. I simply have a basic, base sexual attraction and addiction to Kyle's foot grime, lint and stench. Kyle's foot grime, lint and stench repeatedly and invariably make me hard, make me leak pre, make my brain go numb, make my nostrils explode with sensation, give me goosebumps, make me shudder, cause me to moan and groan and writhe uncontrollably ... they make me lose myself completely, in them and to them. So when Kyle allows me to combine the creation of his cock (cum) to combine with the chief object of my addiction (his feet), when I get to lick, chew, eat and swallow his cum right off the soles of his stinky, rank feet, I truly think that's what Heaven is. So the knowledge that I will soon come back down to earth, and might not ever get to return to Heaven, has made me not want to write more chapters in my story. One way in which things somewhat changed from the previous 34 chapters is how frequently Kyle fucked me. Way more often. It used to be Kyle had a girlfriend or some random girl he could fuck, so he would use me almost exclusively for my mouth. I could keep all my clothes on; if he wanted me naked, it was so he could add to my humiliation, not out of necessity. But fucking required me to be naked, especially my genitals and my ass--things Kyle had zero interest in seeing. He found them, and me, disgusting. He went to the girls for pussy, or anal; he didn't need to engage in gay sex. But with the pandemic, he had no other outlet. My mouth still did plenty of work, but the sensations of fucking a mouth and simply fucking are obviously different. So my other hole became used much more often. On demand and on command, of course. There was no such thing as my consent. Why would I ever say no to Kyle anyway? Kyle simply started by saying, "I wanna fuck you now, fag," or "I'm going to breed you now, homo," or some variation like that. To which command I immediately stripped any article of clothing I then had on to expose my anus (and no others, like a shirt, unless Kyle ordered). Kyle would issue his edict any time, while I was already mid-way through a blow job, while he was studying, after a workout, whatever. All the more reason for me to eat fiber and douche constantly. God forbid his cock ever got stained by my shit.... My anus those exposed, Kyle would jab his cock in without lubrication (unless he wanted it to make himself feel more pleasure). But usually it's just a dry, raw 8.5-inch monster that my hole has to make way for, submissively and eagerly all at the same time. In that sense I wasn't being raped, since his cock in me is my desire, honor and privilege, always. And let's face it, I want only what he wants. If anything, I want him to fuck me more than he wants to fuck me, because he would be fucking some hot chick instead if he could. But since I have no real say in the matter, and of course I never was the one to initiate it, in another sense he was raping me every time he snapped his fingers at his sole discretion. "Thank you, Master Kyle, for raping me," I'd say. He liked it when I referred to what he was doing as rape, since he would never rape a girl, so that word placed what he was doing with me in a totally different category from what he, a straight stud, would do with a female. As for position, the most frequent was, unsurprisingly, doggie style. I was his dog, after all, had kneeled before a dog dish to eat an endless array of nasty things over the years, so the position fits. Sometimes he'd stuff my mouth with his stinky socks, or wipe my face with them while he was plowing my ass. Every so often he let me ride his cock. This was a real treat for me, since it's almost as if I'm the one doing the fucking. And then every once in a while, he would do a kind of missionary, but he only ever did that if I wore the Cunty wig and put on a mask of a hot girl, covering up my entire face. It was kind of dumb, since my throbbing dick would still be in Kyle's line of sight, but whatever. If Kyle said do something, I did it obediently. Sometimes Kyle shot his load in me, other times he'd pull out just in time and put his cock back in my mouth, on my face, up my nose, whatever. And then I'd get to treasure his cum in the many ways I have written about before. Thank you, Master Kyle's cum, for enriching my body and soul for as long as you have. I think I took in my belly (through the mouth or nose) more cum from one man than anyone else in the history of the universe, or so I'd like to think. Certainly in any three-year period, I'd have made it into the Guiness Book of World records, I'm sure. For three years, Kyle never had to masturbate. For three years, Kyle's cum never ended up anywhere but in my body, ever. Never in a toilet, never on a cum rag, never even on Kyle's own skin (because if it did, I would of course lick it up). I was Kyle's cum rag, period. So that's about it. Kyle is a gorgeous jock stud, and for three years, I was his bitch servant every single day and night. I know for the rest of my life, I will think about Kyle every day, probably more than once a day, even if I get married to someone else, even after I have children, even when I'm in a nursing home. This guy who so abused me and mistreated me, but whom I so loved and wanted, Kyle Peterson will forever be my Heaven, my God. THE END