My parents, though really my dad, made me join the army a few months ago to try and give some direction in my life, and, as my dad put it, âmake a man out of me.â The life drained out of my face when they first told me they submitted an application and went through the process all on their own. What the fuck did they mean I was going to join the fucking army? I was a skinny guy who mostly just liked playing video games and jerking off to porn occasionally. Over the past few years Iâd come to terms with likely being gay; though honestly, I often didnât picture any guys when I got off. More so what attracted me than looks was dependability, maturity, and strength. And while women could have all these traits, there was something about envisioning them in a guy that made me feel more warm inside. I felt more secure. I would often jerk off more to the idea of living a life with a man who made me feel secure and a life where we could both rely on each other than necessarily thinking about his cock or ass⌠so that was still to be explored.
But now with this new development, it felt like really coming to understand myself better would be halted. I practically had a meltdown that night and the only thing that calmed me down was when they told me it could be a few months before they had me physically live on the base. Though that reassurance was cheap, it was enough to stop me from continuing to have a nervous break down. I spent the rest of those months trying to enjoy my freedom as much as I could and researching what the fuck theyâd gotten me into.
The time between joining and moving in here passed in the blink of an eye and having been here for a few months now, I was pleasantly surprised to find my research proved correct. It seemed nowadays joining the army was much less like the movies with all that ridiculous living in a shed with 40 people and constantly doing insane training montages. They still had us working out, and they still tried to break us down and mold us into these obedient machines. But, we at least got our own rooms⌠mostly. Instead of living in a giant shed with 40 people, we basically lived in studio apartments with a roommate. Unfortunately, my roommate, Jack, was a little bit of an ass. But another bonus was we did have a lot more freedom than I expected. Although I couldnât spend my free time in my room because I tried avoid Jack, I at least kept my laptop on the base with me and would take it to a local library where Iâd play my computer games in my downtime.
That was what I planned to do this evening; however, my base had other plans. They enacted a curfew after a few of the guys got a little too drunk and up to no good. The person enforcing that regulation made it clear they were planning to keep it that way for at least a few weeks.
âFuck.â I muttered under my breath as I walked back to my room. I was dreading having to actually exist in the same space as Jack for any longer than necessary. He was basically the exact opposite of the type of guyâs I fantasized about. He was immature, unserious, unreliable, and unpredictable. There was basically a line across our room where you saw whose space was where. And my space was constantly gradually decreasing because Jack persisted in leaving his clothes unwashed. They occasionally did room checks and while Jack always failed and would get yelled at, they would rope me into it for some reason. Theyâd say that I should be more supportive and help him as if he was a fucking child. Wasnât the whole reason I was thrown into this because my parents believed I needed to be whipped into shape? Why was it now my job to either whip someone else into shape or baby them?
In spite of myself, every month we had a room check, and for the three months Iâd been here now, every single time I cleaned up the entire room. And every single time, without fail, Jack would make some snide remark about being a âgood little bitchâ or how he was âso glad I realized my duty here.â It infuriated me to no end.
Despite his horrible organization, Jack was fit and strong. He was readily at the top of the class in terms of training, and so it really seemed like they favored him and overlooked his faults for that reason. Whereas I was left to pick up after him because I was the inverse: maintaining everything orderly, but struggling to do any physical labor.
I sighed as I entered the room and already saw Jack lying on his bed, picking between his toes as he scrolled on his phone. ââSup Quent. This fucking sucks, right? I could be out hooking up with a chick in a bar and instead I have to be stuck here doing fuck all.â
I rolled my eyes as I sat down at my desk and opened my computer, getting ready to pull up a game. âYeah, terrible.â I feigned sympathetically. I scrolled through my library trying to zone Jack out when I felt his hands grab my shoulders and spin me around.
âCooooooooome oooooooon. We have to do something together. You canât let me just rot here alone.â Jack whined, which I was gathering he was real good at and probably did often back at home. However, he wasnât fooling me. He was an asshole. He constantly left work for me to do, heâd be degrading when I was forced to do it, and Iâve seen the way heâs talked about the women he dates like theyâre objects and dispensable. Jack was, for better or worse, undeniably an attractive guy. Again, not really one to care about looks, it didnât affect me much. But he had women drooling to be with him, and he was constantly making them do shit for him. Needless to stay, I did not want to be the continued victim of being used for his needs any more than this place forced.
âIâd really rather just play a game.â I asserted as forcefully as I could.
âThen letâs play something together,â Jack pleaded. âYou know Iâve told you I have a PS5 back home. Iâm just waiting to buy a TV so I can use it.â
âThey make us work. Weâve gotten paid for that. It may not be much since we have free housing and food, but itâs been at least enough for a TV,â I argued, trying to turn my chair back around.
Jack gripped the arm rest and held it down, though, spitting, âWeâre gonna fucking do something. I donât give a shit if itâs a game. I tried to be nice, but Iâm not a fucking pansy. Iâll take what I want if I have to.â Suddenly his arm was around my neck and he threw me to the ground.
âOw!â I shouted on my knees, crawling away from him a little before turning around. âWhat the hell are you doing?â
âHaving some fun!â Jack exclaimed as if that clarified anything. His arms were outstretched and as I maneuvered around on the ground trying to get back to my laptop, he mimicked the direction I went and cut me off from it. Suddenly he was on the ground on top of me. I tried to crawl backwards to get away, but Jack was faster and grabbed my arms, pinning me down.
âJack, stop!â I whisper-yelled, trying not to make too much noise as I struggled to break free. It was clear, however, that his dominant strength was winning out. I was simply too much smaller and weaker than he was.
âWhat? Come on, just think of this as more training! You gotta be able to get out from underneath me. What happens if you get into a fight and are pinned down? You just gonna let them fuckinâ beat the shit out of you and kill you?â
âWhat are you talking about?â I bit back, growing increasingly frustrated the longer I was underneath him. âIâm not gonna get into a fight with anyone! Iâm not an asshole like you!â
âReally?! âCause your nice âol roommate just tried to play a game with you and you certainly seemed like an asshole then!â
âNice!?â I preposterously shouted, âyouâre the furthest fucking thing from nice! Now get off⌠of⌠me!â My body wriggled and I could feel it start to loosen from underneath his grip. I didnât give a shit if Iâd get yelled at, I was leaving this damn room!
âFine, you want mean Jack? You want me to be a bully? Iâll show you what that looks like pansy!â Just as I was beginning to slip from underneath him, Jack readjusted. His feet went between my legs, stretching over them so his knees were just below my waist, weighing down my own legs. Then, he unexpectedly let go of one of my arms. However, it was for a split second, and I was too caught off guard by the change to take advantage of it. Within a second, he descended on me, his sleeve riding up his arm until his pit was exposed. Before I could tell what was happening my face was in his armpit. âCome on, faggot, take a big âol whiff!â
âMmmmueeghhâ I groaned beneath Jack. I could feel the sweat that had built up smearing against my face and dripping into my mouth as I cried out. I fought back vigorously. However, the edge I had earlier had been lost, and I was struggling to budge an inch. Worn out and tired, and with my mouth firmly pressed inside of his put, I had no choice but to take sharp inhales of stench.
âThaaaaaatâs it. Stop trying to fight it, bitch boy. How does it fucking smell in there?â
With my mouth unable to open, the best I could muster in response was a muffled, âShmmmminnn.â My response inadvertently forced me to fully exhale. Between the lightheadedness from exerting myself and from the scent of his disgusting pits, I was feeling weak and helpless. All I could do was keep breathing in the acidic scent.
My head spun in circles as I desperately clung to consciousness. My breathing had hiked before sharply slowing down as my vision tunneled. Finally, I felt the pressure from Jackâs body pinning me down lighten as he rose up.
âCome on, man, Iâm giving you a chance now.â Jack laughed to himself, rising from the ground. âYou can get up and try to take me down now.â He partially squatted and patted his thighs, taunting me. âCome on, you gotta get me, otherwise itâll be tooooo easy for me to keep winning, and thereâs noooo way Iâd want that.â His shit eating grin gave away his true feelings, he had something more planned, especially if I couldnât get up.
I groaned in pain from my spinning head and tried to move my body but couldnât. All I could do was tightly shut my eyes.
âOh boy, youâre running out of time,â Jack continued as I heard his foot steps re-approach me.
âJackâŚâ I tried to muffle out, feeling a disconnect between my brain and the rest of my body.
âAh, ah, ah, you gotta get up and take me down.â I could hear additional movement as Jack continued to move around. âCome on, just gotta put up a little bit of a fight, man. You can do that, right?â I willed my body to move, to at least maneuver my head, but still nothing happened. Finally I opened my eyes and as the world slowly kaleidoscoped into focus, I saw a tall pink mountain slowly descend upon my face.
âSince you loved my pits so much, I have another treat for you,â Jack could barely stifle his own laughter. âBut only if you canât find it in yourself to move. Otherwise, you must want me to pin that little face of yours under my feet, riiiight?â
With my world now focused I began to catch that rancid scent of his bare foot. Compared to his pit it was lot more cheesy and foul than a burning acidic scent. Thatâs right⌠training earlier had involved a lot of running. Fuck⌠I⌠I needed to move. I willed my head to move, to the left, to the right. Anywhere, I needed to do anything to avoid this. I felt the atmosphere of his foot, as if the sweat from it somehow hung in the space around his foot, engulf my face. My eyes rolled to the back and somewhere deep inside me I knew movement had become impossible by that point, even as my mind desperately screamed to move.
As the slick sweat finally pressed into my face, I no longer wanted to fight against my consciousness. I wanted that darkness to take over and relieve me from this⌠But pray as I might now for unconsciousness to take me, somehow it was now escaping. Powerless and weak, I lied on the floor as Jack smeared his disgusting, wet, dank foot across my face. âHaha, thatâs right, faggot.â Jack taunted, âThatâs what a real man smells like. I know your pansy ass wouldnât know shit about that, but take it fucking in. Enjoy it. This is as close to being a man as youâll ever fucking be, just breathing in my ripe ass feet.â
His words swam in my head as it pounded against the raw, cheesy stink. What the fuck was he talking about? His foot sweat was a sign he was a real man? Thereâs no way that was true⌠I donât know why but him saying that tugged at something in my brain.
In trying to understand my sexuality, I always found myself drawn to composed, strong men. Dependable, reliable. Hardworking. This is what I envisioned âtrue menâ being, I suppose. And Jack was strong and maybe hardworking at the gym, but he was so vastly different than what I ever imagined a âtrue manâ to be. But⌠if they were hardworking, I suppose they might get a little sweaty, would that mean their feet stink⌠like this? Why did that even matter? Thatâs the part I couldnât understand or shake. Even if there was some logic that could make that make sense, why the hell was it so stuck in my head. This is what a real man smells like, that phrase just bounced around endlessly.Â
At some point, Jack lifted his dank foot from my face, and grinned down at me. âSo what is gonna happen next is that Iâm gonna play some shit on your computer and youâre gonna be a good, quiet little fag and let me, got it?â Still overwhelmed by everything that happened, I couldnât bring myself to answer. This only seemed to please Jack, however, perhaps content with his ability to break me down. âIâll take your silence as obedience,â he said standing up, âThatâs a good faggot. See how easy it is when you just do what I say?â He tapped my face one last time with his bare foot before turning around and sitting at my desk.
I could hear him messing around with the computer before I heard the familiar sound of one of the games starting up. As he got comfortable, I slowly brought my mind back into focus and finally found the strength to move. Groaning, I crawled to my knees before wobbling on my feet and walked out of the room. I ambled to a bathroom and sat down in one of the stalls, cupping my face in my hands as I tried to process what the fuck just happened. As I sat there, I could still pick up faint traces of his foot stink clinging to my face, lightly spinning my head. Exhausted I went back to my room and crawled into bed, covering my head with a blanket until I fell asleep. The entire time, continuing to breath in the foot stench that clung to my face as his words replayed in my head.
The next few days I did everything I could to avoid Jack. I just let him have free rein of my computer because I did not want to fight him again. I was constantly on edge, expecting him to do something similar despite my obedience. Heâd be sitting at my desk, angrily tapping his feet as he struggled in one of the games, and with every tap a vivid image of him forcing me underneath the desk and instead tapping his foot against my face would flash across my mind. It made me deeply uncomfortable on the surface level simply because it was a disgusting and mean thing to do, but also because his words felt burned into my mind. That was the smell of a real man. For some reason that thought wouldnât get out of my head.Â
It didnât help either as the days passed and we continued to engage in rigorous training, one night I felt this gnawing curiosity that I tried to resist as much as I could. But after Jack left to take a shower, I couldnât resist it any longer. I grabbed my own shoes and tried to smell them. Whatever I was thinking was clearly flawed, but I think I was figuring that if my feet smelled like his then it would disprove whatever he tried to assertâ that I was as much a man as him. Iâd never paid much attention to the smell of my own feet, I suppose because it was simply something I never thought would be relevant, but now it seemed that perhaps there was another reason. After trying to taking a light whiff I found that there was very little scent at all. Despite us doing the same training, the same workouts, there was something about his feet that made them reek like that. Because heâs a real man. That thought forced its way into my psyche and suddenly I felt another scratching urge.
I glanced over at the door. It had only been a few minutes⌠I quietly snuck over to his bed, as if I was trying to hide from someone not even here. Letting go of all inhibition I pulled the trigger, quickly grabbing a boot of his and raising it to my face. Immediately I was met by the same pungent stench that had engulfed me just a few days prior. Shaking, I continued to hold the boot at my face as I took deeper and deeper inhales. This is a real manâs smell? Jack is a real man? I⌠I donât know what I want, but I thought I might want a real man⌠That would mean I want Jack? Thatâs not possible⌠Is it?
I heard some footsteps outside and quickly dropped the boot and ran back to my bed. After a minute, Jack walked into the room. Right as he did, I noticed the straining sensation in my pants and quickly threw my blanket over my hard on, praying he didnât notice. As I looked back up, I saw Jack staring at his phone as he sauntered over to his bed. As soon as he walked past me, I got up and grabbed my own toiletries and clothes and went to take a cold shower myself. My face was burning red as I went out the door.
As more and more days passed until about two weeks since the incident with Jack, I still couldnât take my mind off the experience. I noticed that I started paying attention to the feet of other guys in our unit, especially those who seemed more mature, and wondering whether their feet reeked like Jackâs. They must, I absentmindedly thought that day, I mean, thereâs no way Keith and Darius arenât real men being as dependable as they are, so their feet must reek too after all this training. As these thoughts sifted through my mind, I felt more and more out of place. I really did feel like a boy amongst men. Jack had so easily overpowered me that day, and there was no doubt in my mind that any of these other guys could do the same. At the same time, it felt easier and easier to see Jack as what I had thought a âreal manâ was.Â
Once we were back in our rooms, I tried to busy myself on my phone and reading a book for most of the day. At some point Jack left the room, and perhaps it was due to these salient thoughts that after a while I made my way to my laptop. Jack hadnât been as interested in it today, so I booted it up and found myself typing out the thoughts that have been eating away at my mind for the last two weeks. âDo real menâs feet stink?â It felt a little silly googling this question, but nevertheless I hit enter and was met by some unexpected search results.
The first few were about what I expected without really answering the question: a reddit page on someone asking why their feet stink so much and how to solve that, a quora thread on someone asking for help with their husbandâs smelly feet. It wasnât until I scrolled down that I got different results. On what appeared to be a gay porn website it had the title âTwink worships alpha males feet,â then below that was another link to a different gay porn site with the video title of âtime to serve a real man faggot.â
Gradually, my heart started to speed up as I read through these titles. I felt a lump in my throat as I click the link to the second website. I turned down the volume and played the video. After a few seconds it cut to a POV from on the ground as a guy stretched his feet toward the camera. He started talking very confidently with a strong, deep voice praising the viewer for being a good âfagâ for knowing their place. This man stretched and flexed his toes in the frame as he continued on about how real men deserve to have weak, pretty little boys on the ground beneath them. He said how faggots were inherently weaker and needed a strong man to take control, to assert their power; and how naturally a fag found solace in giving himself up to a real man.
I knew he was talking to the camera and not anybody in specific, but it felt like he was talking to me. Something about the tone of his voice and his words felt like he saying them specifically to me. And his words sounded just like Jackâs.
Suddenly I heard footsteps at the door and I swiftly closed my laptop, cutting the sound. Jack then walked in, hair dampened and sweat glistening on his arms and face. He walked over to his bed and grabbed a towel to wipe off his face before lying on his bed. I could hear him groan, seemingly out of exhaustion as he left the towel lying over his face.
As Jack lied there, my eyes slid down until they rested on his boots. Inside were the sure-to-be-sweaty assailants from the previous week. Taking quiet but deep breaths, I could faintly smell some of his stench from here. I quickly turned around and buried my face in a hand. What the hell do I care about his feet for? How does that make him a man? Despite these questions, the words of the faceless man in the video echoed in my head, telling me that I was a faggot, that Jack was a real man, and that I was meant to serve a real man like him. Abruptly, I stood up and walked out of the room to take a shower and cool off.
While I was in the shower, I tried let the cool water calm me down and I tried to think through things rationally. I hated that something was going on with me, but clearly something was. The words Iâd heard from Jack did something that day, and being forced to breathe in his ripe body odor had some sort of effect on me. I suppose⌠that was undeniable. I just had to play it cool, pretend like nothing happened, and maybe I could explore whatever this was with someone more safe. Jack⌠it was terrifying to think about what heâd do if he found out. That scene from the video flashed across my mind, only this time the feet in frame were Jackâs. If he found out thatâd likely be my reality. Put down beneath his feet⌠Hearing those words, every day⌠That I was just his faggot and I lived to serve a real man like himâŚ
I shook my head trying to break out of my stupor. There certainly was something about Jack and his feet. Maybe because he started all this. Maybe I could take quick whiffs of his boots while he was out or something, maybe see if that second time was just a fluke. But no matter how much that scene that just flashed through my eyes made my dick flood with blood, I couldnât give in to that. I had to listen to reason. Who knows where that would lead meâŚ
After washing off and finally wrapping up, I stepped out of the shower, dried off, and dressed myself before walking back to my room. As I stepped inside, Jack was still on his bed, although he was now sitting upright with a bare foot crossed over one of his legs. As I put my dirty clothes away, Jack spoke up, âOof, perfect time, Quent. Iâve been having a problem, and need your help.â Although none of his words were necessarily scary, Jack had his usual confident grin on his face. A grin of control. A grin of power. The kind of grin a real man would have when he knows he can get what he wants.
I gulped and nodded along, âYeah, whatâs up?â
âI was working out earlier with some of the guys. You know, Vince, Keith, and Corey. Anyway, I think there must have been something in my shoe, I got like a stabbing sensation in my foot,â he grimaced as he wiggled some of his toes, my eyes instantly dropping to watch his toes slide against one another. âThing is, I donât see anything there, but I donât know, I still feel the pain here. You think you can take a look?â
Iâd sat on my bed while he spoke and felt a lump in my throat as he made the inquiry. Holy fucking shit, Jack was asking me to take a look at his foot⌠There was no fucking way that he knew what had been going through my head, was there? In an instant, I tried to process what the fuck I should do. On the one hand, it was fucking crazy to just do what he said and willingly go close to his feet like this. But on the other, he was stronger than me and could force me to do whatever he wanted. I could feel reason slipping from my hands though. This was the perfect opportunity in a way; I could get close to the source of my curiosity and really see whether being by his bare foot again caused the same effect. I had always been a bit of a nerd and in trying to process this I suppose I was trying to break it down scientifically. If I approached his foot and felt the same dizzying effect, felt the same haze as the first time and like when I watched that video, then it meant⌠well Iâm not sure what it meant, but I could figure that out.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I let go of my earlier reasoning and decided this opportunity was too good to pass up, âYeah, uh, sure. I can take a look.â
âHah, nice. Knew youâd do it. Now câmere.â
I got up and slowly ambled toward him before looking down at his right foot and deciding that I had to get down, it only made sense. After gently lowering myself to the ground, Jack then turned his foot to face me, âSo do you see anything?â
Sitting so close to Jackâs big, wide foot, I suddenly felt the pressure of the situation start to sink in. It was hard to focus, and I tried my best to keep bullsitting my way through this interaction. âItâs, uh, hard to tell.â I tried to appear like I was looking at his foot from various angles. It really was hard to see anything as my eyes tried to take it all in. The huge vastness of his soles. The cheesy aroma emanating from them was stronger, but still less intense from this distance. It was different than last time. To⌠to get a better idea, I had to get closer. âHere⌠let me get a better look.â
My hands slowly reached up and grabbed Jackâs large foot, my hands slightly sliding against the still slick surface. Surprisingly, he let me just take his foot into my hands as I lifted it and stretched it out, drawing it closer to my face. There, I thought, thatâs much closer, thatâs juuuust about⌠it. All at once, I was struck over the head by the intense stench. It was just like before. It was almost⌠commanding. Demanding to be noticed. My eyes had started to kaleidoscope once again before I used all my willpower to bring them back in to gaze over the sole stretching before me. I tried my best to take quiet, deep breaths as that familiar scent enveloped me. It was warm and suffocating. Intoxicating in its own way.
I looked back over his foot, scanning the whole surface from heel to toes. There were a few rough spots, a testament to how much he worked out, how strong he was⌠a real man, but overall it was still relatively smooth and pink. I looked for anywhere there might be something pressing into his foot, causing him pain. As I held the foot close to my face, one of my thumbs naturally drifted onto the arch and pressed into the sweaty, meaty surface, kneading it. I didnât realize I was even doing it until Jack let out a light groan.
âOh, s-sorry, did that hurt?â
Jack had a strange expression on his face initially, not confusion like Iâd expect, but an intense look in his eye that felt like he was staring through me. Then he knit his brow while listening to my apology, and grunted, âYeah⌠A little. Thatâs why I told you to look at my foot⌠Did you forget that I said it hurt?â
âOh, uhâŚâ I quickly tried to save face and come up with the best lie that I could. âNo, I was, uh, trying to see where your foot might hurtâŚâ
âOh, heh, well then keep that up, Iâll tell you if it hurts anywhere too bad. Otherwise just keep rubbing around like that, âkay?â
I let out a sigh of relief that it seemed Iâd managed to get off the hook, âYeah, of courseâŚâ This time intentionally, I let my thumbs wander back onto the surface of his sole. I thumbed around the arches, noticing tension built up from the days exertion since we joined. I firmly pressed in and guided the knots outs.
After working along his arches for a minute, I drifted up toward the ball of his foot and under his toes. There were a few roughs spots here, though the accumulation of sweat helped me to more easily knead out the pressure. I then gently massaged each of his toes before coming down to his heel.
All while I did this, I held his foot less than a few inches from my face. My head pounded from the raunchy odor, but I couldnât stop myself from breathing it in. It was like an oxymoron. It stank so I kept breathing it in. I couldnât stop breathing in his feet, the smell of a real man. It was repulsive, but I couldnât help from wanting more. This is my place⌠right? Just like that man saidâ underneath his feet. Even as my face slightly contorted unconsciously from the odor, I couldnât stop myself.
âWhat about the other one?â I asked almost zombielike and thoughtlessly.
âWhat about the other one?â Jack questioned, moving his foot from my view and managing to pull me from the atmosphere of his foot. He looked down with a mixture of confusion and disgust.
âI thought I might do the other one.â I continued, still slightly entranced.
Jack paused for a moment, then continued his interrogation. âWhy the fuck would I want that? I said this was the foot that hurt, werenât you trying to figure out where it hurt?â His voice had changed slightly. It became more assertive, almost arrogant. Like he was testing me. It helped to snap me out of the spell.
âI, uh, yeah, I wasâŚâ I mumbled, now clearly embarrassed at my thoughtlessness.
âDidnât seem like you were really paying attention to whether it hurt or not either,â Jack scoffed. My face burned bright red at being caught in that lie. I had no idea how to save this other than by saying the very things that could bury my hole deeper. But they were all I had.
âOh, Iâ I was⌠yeah, it seemed to really hurt around the arch. It felt like there was a knot there. Thatâs why I really focused there at the start.â
âHuh, I mean, I didnât ask you to rub my nasty foot, I just wanted you to see if there was something in it, like a splinter or something. Honestly, rubbing it could have just made it worse.â
With every word he spoke I felt my heart sink further and further into my stomach. âS-sorry⌠I⌠I just wanted to helpâŚâ
âOho,â Jack grunted contempt, âso you wanted to rub my sweaty feet then?â I donât think my face could turn any redder than it possibly already was. I had no idea what to say anymore, so I just stayed quiet. âUgh, jesus, you donât need to pout. I get that youâre a fag, but itâs not like you like my feet or something, right?â Jack raised his right foot back to my face and wiggled his toes as he spoke. My heart which initially felt like it stopped hearing those words now went into overdrive being re-engulfed in that heady, sweaty scent. âFine, you can keep rubbing,â he relented, lifting his other foot and prying off his other boot and sock. As he slowly stretched his other leg out and his second foot increased the intensity of his foot stink, something truly snapped back into place.
Without hesitation, I raised my hands again and worked on his left foot now as he dropped the right foot to rest on my shoulder. I continued to massage his left foot for quite a while, making sure I rubbed every inch, before he then pried it from my hands. Before I could react, Jack then pushed his right foot back into my face. Instinctively, I got back to work on that foot like I thought he wanted.
Iâm not sure how much time passed, but after a while Jack sighed, âAll right, faggot, you can kiss my feet goodbye or whatever because Iâm fucking starving.â If he hadnât pulled his foot from my hands when he did I might have actually kissed his foot. Instead, he slipped on some slides and jumped up as I crawled back over to my bed, coming down from the high of his feet. Without saying another word, he sauntered out of the room and left me alone.
I waited a few seconds but after that I practically lost control. I grabbed his still wet, sweaty socks and rushed over to my computer. I opened it back up and realized I must have closed the tab after before he came in, probably some fast thinking on my part to make sure he didnât see anything, and I re-opened my browser looking for the same video. After a few seconds Iâd found it and clicked play once again. As I listened to that voice tell me what a good faggot I was lying beneath his feet, feet that looked close enough to Jackâs, I held Jackâs damp socks to my face and took a deep inhale. Within seconds of pulling out and stroking my cock, I shot load after load onto my stomach.
As I pulled the sock away, a clear grimace on my face, I shuddered at what Iâd just done. After cleaning my cock, I quickly rose up and tried to put his socks back where theyâd been. I felt almost frozen with dread before all the regret and disgust came crashing back down. I ran out to the bathroom and dropped to the floor in front of a toilet, dry heaving. What the fuck did I just do? That question spun around in my head as images of Jackâs sweaty feet flashed before my eyes. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on my breathing to prevent myself from throwing up, but all I could see where the expansive soles of Jackâs feet. So close⌠so ripe.
I stayed on the ground for about 10 minutes before my stomach settled and I wobbled my way back to my room. I quietly crawled back into my bed and pulled the covers over my head like Iâd done so many times recently. I squeezed my eyes shut for as long as it took until sleep finally took me. While I did, my hands rested close to my face and I continued to breathe in the stink that clung to them. Too tired to get back up, I eventually fell asleep feeling as though I was still surrounded by Jackâs feet.
Hope you all enjoyed! A fellow footsub @footsockboy wanted me to write an army foot worship story, and I did my best to do so! This is definitely another story where I could see myself adding to it in the future, so let me know if you all enjoyed it!
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