Footsockboy

[mastersfootrest]

Jack’s Army Feet

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, “make a man out of me.” 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 I’d come to terms with likely being gay; though honestly, I often didn’t 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 they’d 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 couldn’t 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 I’d 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.

“Fuck.” 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 guy’s 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. They’d say that I should be more supportive and help him as if he was a fucking child. Wasn’t 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 I’d 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 “good little bitch” or how he was “so glad I realized my duty here.” 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. “‘Sup 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.”

I rolled my eyes as I sat down at my desk and opened my computer, getting ready to pull up a game. “Yeah, terrible.” 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.

“Cooooooooome oooooooon. We have to do something together. You can’t let me just rot here alone.” Jack whined, which I was gathering he was real good at and probably did often back at home. However, he wasn’t fooling me. He was an asshole. He constantly left work for me to do, he’d be degrading when I was forced to do it, and I’ve seen the way he’s talked about the women he dates like they’re objects and dispensable. Jack was, for better or worse, undeniably an attractive guy. Again, not really one to care about looks, it didn’t 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.

“I’d really rather just play a game.” I asserted as forcefully as I could.

“Then let’s play something together,” Jack pleaded. “You know I’ve told you I have a PS5 back home. I’m just waiting to buy a TV so I can use it.”

“They make us work. We’ve gotten paid for that. It may not be much since we have free housing and food, but it’s been at least enough for a TV,” I argued, trying to turn my chair back around.

Jack gripped the arm rest and held it down, though, spitting, “We’re gonna fucking do something. I don’t give a shit if it’s a game. I tried to be nice, but I’m not a fucking pansy. I’ll take what I want if I have to.” Suddenly his arm was around my neck and he threw me to the ground.

“Ow!” I shouted on my knees, crawling away from him a little before turning around. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Having some fun!” 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.

“Jack, stop!” 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.

“What? 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 fuckin’ beat the shit out of you and kill you?”

“What are you talking about?” I bit back, growing increasingly frustrated the longer I was underneath him. “I’m not gonna get into a fight with anyone! I’m not an asshole like you!”

“Really?! ‘Cause your nice ‘ol roommate just tried to play a game with you and you certainly seemed like an asshole then!” “Nice!?” I preposterously shouted, “you’re the furthest fucking thing from nice! Now get off… of… me!” My body wriggled and I could feel it start to loosen from underneath his grip. I didn’t give a shit if I’d get yelled at, I was leaving this damn room!

“Fine, you want mean Jack? You want me to be a bully? I’ll show you what that looks like pansy!” 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. “Come on, faggot, take a big ‘ol whiff!”

“Mmmmueeghh” 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.

“Thaaaaaat’s it. Stop trying to fight it, bitch boy. How does it fucking smell in there?”

With my mouth unable to open, the best I could muster in response was a muffled, “Shmmmminnn.” 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 Jack’s body pinning me down lighten as he rose up.

“Come on, man, I’m giving you a chance now.” Jack laughed to himself, rising from the ground. “You can get up and try to take me down now.” He partially squatted and patted his thighs, taunting me. “Come on, you gotta get me, otherwise it’ll be tooooo easy for me to keep winning, and there’s noooo way I’d want that.” His shit eating grin gave away his true feelings, he had something more planned, especially if I couldn’t get up.

I groaned in pain from my spinning head and tried to move my body but couldn’t. All I could do was tightly shut my eyes.

“Oh boy, you’re running out of time,” Jack continued as I heard his foot steps re-approach me.

“Jack…” I tried to muffle out, feeling a disconnect between my brain and the rest of my body.

“Ah, ah, ah, you gotta get up and take me down.” I could hear additional movement as Jack continued to move around. “Come on, just gotta put up a little bit of a fight, man. You can do that, right?” 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.

“Since you loved my pits so much, I have another treat for you,” Jack could barely stifle his own laughter. “But only if you can’t find it in yourself to move. Otherwise, you must want me to pin that little face of yours under my feet, riiiight?”

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. That’s 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. “Haha, that’s right, faggot.” Jack taunted, “That’s what a real man smells like. I know your pansy ass wouldn’t know shit about that, but take it fucking in. Enjoy it. This is as close to being a man as you’ll ever fucking be, just breathing in my ripe ass feet.”

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? There’s no way that was true… I don’t 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 “true men” 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 “true man” 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? That’s the part I couldn’t 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. 

At some point, Jack lifted his dank foot from my face, and grinned down at me. “So what is gonna happen next is that I’m gonna play some shit on your computer and you’re gonna be a good, quiet little fag and let me, got it?” Still overwhelmed by everything that happened, I couldn’t bring myself to answer. This only seemed to please Jack, however, perhaps content with his ability to break me down. “I’ll take your silence as obedience,” he said standing up, “That’s a good faggot. See how easy it is when you just do what I say?” 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. He’d 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 wouldn’t get out of my head. 

It didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 assert— that I was as much a man as him. I’d 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 he’s 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 man’s smell? Jack is a real man? I… I don’t know what I want, but I thought I might want a real man… That would mean I want Jack? That’s 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 didn’t 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 couldn’t 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 Jack’s. They must, I absentmindedly thought that day, I mean, there’s no way Keith and Darius aren’t 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 “real man” was. 

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 hadn’t 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. “Do real men’s feet stink?” 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 husband’s smelly feet. It wasn’t until I scrolled down that I got different results. On what appeared to be a gay porn website it had the title “Twink worships alpha males feet,” then below that was another link to a different gay porn site with the video title of “time to serve a real man faggot.”

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 “fag” 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 Jack’s.

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 I’d 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 he’d do if he found out. That scene from the video flashed across my mind, only this time the feet in frame were Jack’s. If he found out that’d 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 him…

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 couldn’t give in to that. I had to listen to reason. Who knows where that would lead me…

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, “Oof, perfect time, Quent. I’ve been having a problem, and need your help.” 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, “Yeah, what’s up?”

“I 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,” he grimaced as he wiggled some of his toes, my eyes instantly dropping to watch his toes slide against one another. “Thing is, I don’t see anything there, but I don’t know, I still feel the pain here. You think you can take a look?”

I’d 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 I’m 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, “Yeah, uh, sure. I can take a look.”

“Hah, nice. Knew you’d do it. Now c’mere.”

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, “So do you see anything?”

Sitting so close to Jack’s 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. “It’s, uh, hard to tell.” 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. “Here… let me get a better look.”

My hands slowly reached up and grabbed Jack’s 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, that’s much closer, that’s 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 didn’t realize I was even doing it until Jack let out a light groan.

“Oh, s-sorry, did that hurt?”

Jack had a strange expression on his face initially, not confusion like I’d 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, “Yeah… A little. That’s why I told you to look at my foot… Did you forget that I said it hurt?”

“Oh, uh…” I quickly tried to save face and come up with the best lie that I could. “No, I was, uh, trying to see where your foot might hurt…”

“Oh, heh, well then keep that up, I’ll tell you if it hurts anywhere too bad. Otherwise just keep rubbing around like that, ‘kay?”

I let out a sigh of relief that it seemed I’d managed to get off the hook, “Yeah, of course…” 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 couldn’t stop myself from breathing it in. It was like an oxymoron. It stank so I kept breathing it in. I couldn’t stop breathing in his feet, the smell of a real man. It was repulsive, but I couldn’t help from wanting more. This is my place… right? Just like that man said— underneath his feet. Even as my face slightly contorted unconsciously from the odor, I couldn’t stop myself.

“What about the other one?” I asked almost zombielike and thoughtlessly.

“What about the other one?” 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.

“I thought I might do the other one.” I continued, still slightly entranced.

Jack paused for a moment, then continued his interrogation. “Why the fuck would I want that? I said this was the foot that hurt, weren’t you trying to figure out where it hurt?” 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.

“I, uh, yeah, I was…” I mumbled, now clearly embarrassed at my thoughtlessness.

“Didn’t seem like you were really paying attention to whether it hurt or not either,” 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.

“Oh, I— I was… yeah, it seemed to really hurt around the arch. It felt like there was a knot there. That’s why I really focused there at the start.”

“Huh, I mean, I didn’t 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.”

With every word he spoke I felt my heart sink further and further into my stomach. “S-sorry… I… I just wanted to help…”

“Oho,” Jack grunted contempt, “so you wanted to rub my sweaty feet then?” I don’t 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. “Ugh, jesus, you don’t need to pout. I get that you’re a fag, but it’s not like you like my feet or something, right?” 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. “Fine, you can keep rubbing,” 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.

I’m not sure how much time passed, but after a while Jack sighed, “All right, faggot, you can kiss my feet goodbye or whatever because I’m fucking starving.” If he hadn’t 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 didn’t see anything, and I re-opened my browser looking for the same video. After a few seconds I’d 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 Jack’s, I held Jack’s 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 I’d just done. After cleaning my cock, I quickly rose up and tried to put his socks back where they’d 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 Jack’s 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 Jack’s 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 I’d 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 Jack’s feet.

-

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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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You can support and tip me here. Thank you! (:

[subfootboii]

You thought bringing your ex into the bedroom would make your boyfriend jealous. It did. Just not the way you planned. Turns out one look at your ex's cock was enough to make him switch sides completely. Now they're celebrating their new arrangement above you while you serve as their footrest and kiss whatever they put in your face. You started this. Somehow you still ended up on the floor.

[mastersfootrest]

Losing Everything Beneath Ted’s Feet

“Ugh, today was just so exhausting, I think I need a break, man.” I sighed, walking next to the couch.

My sincere declaration was met with the deep, boisterous laughter of my roommate, Ted. “Naw man, you’re just pussin’ out ‘cause you know you’re about to get fucking tanked dude!”

Scoffing, I shrugged off his accusation. “I win like nine times out of ten! I don’t even think you believe that!”

“There’s something in the air, dude. I was feeling it at work today. It was like I could lift anything I needed to without any struggle. I just know I’m gonna do the same to you… if you don’t puss out that is.” His voice was stern and strong. Defiant to all resistance.

“We game like all the time,” I tried to reason, “why does it have to be tonight? We can just do this tomorrow, right?”

“Naw, man,” he shook his head. “I wanna run on this high. How ‘bout we make this interesting. I know you didn’t hang out with the guys in college, but we have a lot of ways of making games more interesting. We’ll change it up, make it more fun. Something worthwhile for you.”

“Ignoring whatever that jab was…” I rolled my eyes, “What are some of these ideas?”

“We could bet money, though that’s always the most boring option.”

“Dude, we barely make enough to have any sort of fun money. What else is there.” “Good, I didn’t want to do that shit either,” he agreed. “We’d also make bets where the loser had to do whatever the winner said.” He started howling to himself. “There was one time where a friend of ours, Eli, kept fucking losing! Hahaha, eventually Stan just got sick of it, and made a bet that if Eli lost he had to be his slave for a week. Fuck, dude! Eli’s face when he fucking lost, and lost hard. It was fucking hilarious.” He paused for a moment and then made a face like he had an epiphany before chuckling to himself.

“Dude, what?” I inquired, quizzically staring at him losing it all on his own.

“I forgot, Eli came out a few years after we all graduated. Fuck… you know… he probably fucking lost that shit on purpose! I heard some of the sick shit Stan made him do that week… it makes sense he ended up being a fag—“ He stopped himself before he finished, looking at me sheepishly. “Heh, sorry man, I almost forgot myself for a minute. I know you don’t like hearing that word, ‘specially out of a straight man like me.”

I was taken aback by how Ted was just talking and could only slowly nod. Seeing that he wasn’t really reprimanded, he concluded, “You just should have seen it, man. If you were there, it would have made sense. If there was ever a time to use that word, looking back now, it was then!”

Nervously laughing, I just tried to move the conversation along. “Aaaanyway, let’s rule that out for now, any others?”

“Well, we also used to have the losers take shots. That was always funny since they’d just get worse and worse and end up wasted by the end. But you don’t drink, so that just leaves the last option.” He paused before a wicked grin spread across his face.

“What is it, man?” I leaned in expectantly.

He leaned forward in turn and I could feel his hot breath, thick with the scent of his beer spread across my face. “Strip betting. Loser takes off a piece of clothing. Keep going ‘till they’re naked… or more.” He had a shit eating grin with the last addition, a statement and a grin I didn’t understand in this moment.

“I don’t really know what you mean by more, but how does this entice me?”

“C’mon, bro. You don’t have to play coy. I know you’d probably love to see me strip off my clothes. ‘Specially after a long day, see the sweat glisten on this skin. Just try and tell me you’re not down for this shit.”

Now Ted was definitely a handsome guy. Really the embodiment of being a MAN, at least in the traditional sense. He had big everything. Big legs, big feet, big arms, a big belly. Yet you could tell underneath it all was this dense muscle. People would sometimes laugh seeing us as roommates considering the difference between us. I did try to workout, but mainly so I could have a big butt and eat a little treat every now and then. Compared to him, I was practically twink-ish despite not looking as thin or malnourished as many twinks do. But that’s just what happens when you have a hulking man standing beside you. And Ted’s features were all highlighted by a rugged, but clean and even, in some ways, cute face. He had a baby face that finally adultified and just became handsome and strong.

So, honestly, I couldn’t lie, thinking about seeing him naked wasn’t an unattractive proposition. But also, Ted was straight as a door nail. What would I really gain from getting this man to strip? An amplified undying lust for a man I could never have? Pass. I was getting ready to turn down the idea when he spoke back up.

“Spending an awfully long time thinking about it, huh, dude? It’s all right, I bet you’re just having to think about a good excuse for why you could turn me down when you know you wanna see this all exposed.”

I turned beet red and started stuttering trying to deny the accusation.

“Ah ah ah,” he tutted, “It’s all right, why don’t we just play a few games and you can see how much fun you’re having. After two or three rounds, if you still wanna call it quits, we can. Sound fair?”

Honestly, at this point I felt exhausted. Going along with what he wants just felt like the easier option.

“Sure,” I reasoned, “we can play a few rounds, see how it goes.”

With that shit eating grin returning to his face, he exclaimed in victory, “Atta boy! Hope you’re ready to taste defeat again and again!”

-

After putting my work things away, I came back into the living room and sat on the couch beside Ted. He had also recently come home and was still in his work clothes. As a construction worker, this meant he had on some thick jeans, heavy boots, and two layers of shirts, one long-sleeve undershirt and a thick zip up coat. I glanced over his attire and exclaimed, “Hey! That’s not fair. You have on more than me. You even still have on your boots! That’s gotta be cheating.”

“Heh, that’s just the way the game works, Lev, my boy. It’s whatever you’re wearing at the time. So don’t even think about going to put on more shit. ‘Sides, I had these boots on because as much as it’d feel better to have ‘em off, we were working hard today and it was a warm one for us. I was trying not to stink up the place too much.”

I looked down at his boots and shuddered. Ted and I moved in together toward the end of Fall and it was now starting to get to be late Spring and warming up. For the most part, he’d always commented how nice it was that we’d had such cold weather since it kept him cooled. But today had been pretty hot in comparison. The first day in the 60’s after months of anything barely above 40’s. Maybe he was doing us a favor…

But as I heard the upbeat music of the first game kick in, I turned my attention to the game and locked in. We played three different games: a kart racer, a fighting game, and a free-for-all game where you tried to survive being knocked out in mini games. As much as it’d be a little tedious switching between, we loved the change of pace and it helped us to never get bored.

I was better than Ted at almost all of them. The first two were easy to master through playing often, but the last involved too many unknowns with online players. That’s what made it almost more fun, but also the hardest to rely on. I felt confident though that I could make it out the winner even if he consistently won in the third game.

The discrepancy in our skill levels was only made more apparent once we actually started. As exhausted as I was, I was still able to maintain first for all of the races, while he sat comfortably in second, never really coming near me.

“See, Ted, I don’t really see how you think this is going to work in your favor.” I tried to reason with him once more.

Grunting, he just untied his laces and pried off a heavy boot. “There’s plenty of time left to come in from behind. Hehe, I’m often coming from behind if you know what I mean.” He snickered to himself as we switched to the fighting game.

I rolled my eyes as my nose twitched slightly. He wasn’t lying about keeping those boots on. That’s when I noticed he still had one of them on!

“Hey, don’t you need to take that other boot off!”

“Ahhh, see, it’s just one article of clothing, Lev. I took one off, didn’t I?”

Exasperated, I once again felt it would just be easier to let Ted have his way. Shaking my head, I turned back to the new game on the screen and selected my character.

“See, it’s all just easier, when you let ‘ol Ted lead and you follow. Now, I’m about to beat your pansy ass.” He laughed to himself.

Ted did not, in fact, beat my pansy ass. But… He came a lot closer than he has before.

“Damn! I really am better at this game today!” He exclaimed to himself as he began unlacing the second boot. With a loud thud, he dropped the other boot just like the first and kicked his socked feet up onto the ottoman.

We prepared to move on to the third game and as the game loaded us into the first round I noticed my nose felt like it was on fire. It took a second or two before I realized it was as if it was being pounded with a sweaty, stinky sledge hammer. I tried to hold my breath through my nose, but somehow that made it worse. It felt like I needed to breathe more, air it out more… except airing it out really only sucked in more of the dank air.

It wasn’t for a few second that I realized we’d started.

“Shit!” I exclaimed, as I rushed to try and catch up as many of the other players characters bounded across the screen ahead of me.

It was tough, but with much effort, I made it through the round and on to the next. Beside me, I heard Ted chuckling to himself about how far ahead he was and how it was time for me to be knocked down a peg.

I was determined to make it through, this would teach him a lesson and hopefully show him how dumb this was turning out to be. He was just going to end up naked in front of me!

As the round started and we had to stay alive to progress, that thought circled in my head. Ted was going to get naked in front of me. Would he really undress all the way? There was no way… right? Flashes of a thick, bushy cock at the base of his crotch flashed before my eyes and I had to squeeze them shut and open again to refocus.

I managed to just barely dodge something that threatened to knock me out, but as I jumped out of the way, I ran into a small group of other players and just as another object came flying past, someone grabbed me and together we were hit and sent off the edge, knocking us out.

“Dammit!” I yelled, excitedly. “Ugh,” I sighed as the realization of the loss hit me as Ted’s character progressed on, “I lost, fair and square.” I fessed up.

“Hell yeah you did. Now take off your shirt, bro. Loser strips.” 

I complied with his order and threw my shirt down before turning to him in confusion. “Wait, how come you get to tell me what to take off!”

Bellowing in laughter so hard, his character ended up getting knocked out and eliminated, he wiped away a tear before admitting, “I was just seeing if you’d do it. Besides… normaaaally we do let the winners decide what the losers will remove.”

Exasperated, I called him out, “You didn’t tell me that before!”

“HAH! So I bet you would have wanted to have me strip more than just my boots, huh? What, would you have told me to take my pants off? I knew you’d wanna see me naked! See pretty enticing game, huh?”

I fumbled my words trying to find some way to resist what he was saying. It wasn’t really that he was right per se. Sure, seeing Ted take his pants off would have been hot, but that wouldn’t have even been my first choice. I’d have probably said his jacket and then maybe his shirt.

“Whatever, man.” I pouted, unable to form the words properly to retort his argument. “Let’s just get back to the kart racer so I can beat your ass again.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ted taunted.

But I was locked in. After restarting the first game, I didn’t do amazingly, but I made sure to beat him every time, even if only just barely. Shit… was he getting better at this?

“So, I guess you want me to take off my pants now?” Ted sighed, but with a cocky grin on his face.

I took a second to speak before quietly demanding, “…Sock.”

“Huh? I didn’t quite catch that?” He snickered.

“Take off a sock. I’m not just gonna tell you to take your pants off!”

Giggling to himself like he’d won something, he followed through and removed his left sock, the foot closer to me. I was busy setting up the fighting game when he sneered and announced “Here’s your prize!” as he tossed the sock onto my face.

I felt the damp warm surface fall across my nose and mouth before I had time to react. Taken aback, I sharply inhaled through my nose and was assaulted by Ted’s dank foot sweat nearly from the source. Instantly I felt light-headed and slowly reached up to swipe it off my face. For a moment though, that burning sensation had stopped. Perhaps overwritten by all the other intense dysregulating scents defiling my nose. It was relief… but… but not in a good way, that couldn’t be good relief.

With the game now set up, my nose resumed twitching, itching and burning, almost more intensely now. Probably from his sock being removed. Fuck. What the hell did Ted do today?

It was a slight blur, but I selected my character and we started and I was trying to fight back, but it was much harder this time. Ted was getting so much better. We were basically even this time.

My only saving grace is that his attacks seemed sporadic and isolated. I tried my hardest to focus in just enough to plan a combo and with both of us on our last lives and close to being taken out, I sent him flying off the map.

Despite, this I felt unable to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Whooo! That was a close one, bud. You were putting up a good fight there, but I’ll for sure, have you next time.” He smirked, and playfully ran a finger across my exposed nipple sending electricity shooting through my cock.

With that it felt like I could finally take that deep inhale again as I shuddered from the sensation. Ted then crossed his right leg to face me and chuckled, “Other sock this time I take it?”

Despite my defiance and not wanting to seem like a horny perv, after all the teasing and the struggle to make it through these matches, I desperately wanted him to take off his pants. I readied to open my mouth as Ted slid a finger into the sock and prepared to peel it off.

“C’mon, bud, it’s not that hard to just tell me to peel off the other stinker.” He grunted humorously.

“Oh… yeah. Take off the other sock then, please.” I mumbled. It would just be easier to go along with what Ted wanted. Besides, he said he’d wanted to get more comfortable. Considering I’m gonna keep coming out on top, the least I could do was let him be comfortable as he lost.

“Hah, ‘Please?’ Well at least you’re learning some manners.” Ted said amused. As we went back to the third game, he stretched out his legs and crossed his feet.

I was determined to keep winning. Even as it felt like my capabilities were diminishing for some reason… maybe the exhaustion. Still, as our little characters were sent into the first mini game, I stayed laser focused on the screen. It was hard fought, but this time I made it to the final round with Ted.

This was a survival round, and per our rules, the winner doesn’t have to win the whole thing, just survive longer than the other person. Our characters stood on platforms that would disappear after a few moments and we had to keep running and jumping around to stay alive as we used up our flooring. Tier after tier of flooring disappeared until we were nearing the bottom. Both Ted and I still in it. He was one tier below me, giving me the upper hand. As I sat frozen and focused, Ted remained calm and assured of himself.

“Now don’t think you got this in the bag just because I’m closer to fallin’ out.” He crossed his right leg and leaned his head forward, bringing in his focus as well.

My nose started to twitch and burn again, inadvertently drawing my eyes down to the source. His right foot looked as though it was facing me, staring at me. The toes wiggled playfully despite Ted’s clear focus, as if demonstrating that he was still relaxed and in control beneath that facade of focus. He stretched and scrunched his foot and I had to scratch my nose to stop the burning. A half second after I did, I heard the sound of one of us being eliminated. I looked up excitedly as I saw my screen now mirroring his own, an indication that I had been the one eliminated.

“Fuck yeah!” He shouted, as excited as I had been mere moments ago. “I don’t know what the fuck got into you, but you were barely fuckin’ moving, dude!” Chuckling he taunted me further. “Finally realize you can’t win against me? I told you there was something in the air, and I’m about to dominate you, just watch and see!”

Almost as if not caring to even try anymore, Ted was eliminated himself shortly after as I sat in disbelief. I tried to shake his arrogance, but it was hard to let go of when I knew he had been getting closer and closer to winning each game, not just this one.

I was so much better than him. What the fuck was going on?!

As he started up the third round of our games, he demanded, “Pants off, now.”

Still stunned, I stood up and slowly took my pants off before dropping them next to my shirt. It wasn’t until I felt a huge, meaty hand slap my bare ass that I was brought back to reality.

“Fuck, dude! You’re fucking kinky as hell wearing a jockstrap to work! Haha, that cozy ass desk job really lets you get away with anything, huh?!”

My face now bright red, I quickly sat back down, still able to feel the sensation of Ted’s sweaty hand against my cheek. At a loss for words, I reached for a blanket to try and cover up when Ted maneuvered around and kicked my hand with a foot.

“Hey! No covering up! We’re stripping as a part of the bets, that’d defeat the purpose!”

Ted didn’t take his eyes off the screen as I tried to protest and continue pulling a blanket toward me. “Ted, come on, this is embarr—“ He moved his foot to kick away my hand again before missing and I felt a warm and sweaty, dirty sole push into my face. Once again, as the wet musk forced its way into my olfactory senses, the strange sensation with my nose died down and inadvertently released tension in my shoulders and relaxed my face.

“Hah! Whoops, didn’t mean to do that,” he feigned apologetically despite keeping his foot up against my face. “But this works too. Shut you up good, hah! Now, like I said, no covering up. If you win and get me to take off my pants, then I’ll sit right next to you just the same. I won’t have my hairy cheeks out like your smooth ass is out,” he chuckled to himself, “but I’d do it all the same.” After a pausing a second and wiggling his big, meaty toes across my face, he asked, “Do you understand? You gonna sit there bare cheeks exposed like a good boy?”

Despite feeling embarrassed and shaken, I gently nodded, almost caressing my face into his feet.

“Good. Now let’s get back into this shit so I can kick your ass some more!” He cheered, removing the huge sole from my face. I turned my attention back to the game and tried to set up a different build to try and help, but as I did, I couldn’t help but notice that discomfort return to my nose.

Switching up my build from balanced to speedy, I chose one of the thinner female racers which elicited a response from Ted.

“Heh, really leaning into them fag roots now with that pick. But we both know that’s not gonna help you. My man’s huge, like me. He’s gonna run right through and dominate you.” Ted taunted.

I was so focused on trying to win, I barely registered the individual words he said, just that he was saying he’d crush me.

“You’ve been getting destroyed at this,” I pushed back, trying to hold on to my confidence. “There’s no way you’re gonna fucking win. I can guarantee it.”

“Heh,” he grinned devilishly as our racers lined the starting point. “Fine, let’s make this interesting. Shake things up. You win, and you can have me take off two pieces of clothing.”

“You’re on! I’ll do it!—” I agreed proudly.

“Ah,” he cut me off as our racers took off down the course. “If I win, you don’t have to take off anything though, since you’re already soooo close to losing the whole damn thing.” He teased, before revealing my loss condition. “Instead, you’ll be bargaining a service. I’ll get to have you do whatever I want… for five minutes! So thanks for already agreeing!” He snickered.

To his credit, playing these games with these conditions had gotten me more invested… and as I was more invested, I was more intent to win. In a final act of defiance, I asserted, “Fine! But it’s not going to happen. I know it! So it doesn’t matter, we could bet that I do whatever you want five, ten… even, fifteen minutes, but it’s not happening!”

“HAH! You just dug your grave, little man. I know exactly what I’ll have a cocky little shit like you do for fifteen minutes, maybe it’ll teach you some humility.”

Our racers finished the first and second laps as we concluded our banter. I had been ahead of Ted for most of the race, a huge boon thanks to that speed he tried to discredit; but as we approached the halfway point of the final lap he finally pulled ahead of me.

“Heh, victory is within grasp, I can already feel your hands working my tired arches and soles.”

“What?” I questioned, distracted.

“Yeah, that’s right, when I win you’re gonna really get to experience being beneath me. Literally. Hope you enjoy getting up close and personal with my big dogs. Gonna shut that trap of yours and have you treat me like a king.”

He gloated as if his victory was assured. But I had one last chance. As we approached the end point, I was trailing behind him with a speed item. He was close to the edge of the course on his left and after taking a sharp turn, I was closer and could use my speed item to cut past him. Going to the right was safer, but I knew I could do it.

I clicked to use the item while there was still time left and shouted, “I’m not rubbing your big stinky—“ 

Then just as I got ready to pass him, his heavy-class male character rammed their kart into the kart of the light-class female character I’d chosen and sent it flying off the edge.

Not a second later, he passed the finish line in first.

“Whoo!” Ted erupted joyously, practically jumping in his seat. “What’d I tell you about playing a faggy character, dude! A man always comes out on top!” I was too stunned to speak and while I tried to find the words, I felt his big sweaty paw on the back of my neck shove me to the ground. Turning around he moved his feet on top of me, pressing my back against the ground. “Now, what was that about my feet? You said you wouldn’t rub my stinky feet? Is that anyway to talk about the man who owns you for the next fifteen minutes?” His arrogance grew ten times what it’d ever been. He was enjoying this. “I think a little bitch in your place should learn to enjoy their job. And since your job is rubbing my stinky,” he emphasized the word again, “feet, you’re not just gonna rub ‘em. Start with the right,” he demanded, shaking the foot in my face as I lifted my hands, still too stunned to do anything else but what he was telling me. “And, while you rub that one. You’re gonna be taking deeeeep whiffs of the other.” He extended his left foot into my face until it engulfed me. My head spun underneath the dank cheesy captor.

I opened up my mouth to speak, and perhaps feeling my lips brush against his feet due being pressed against them, he pushed harder, shutting me up just like he said he would. “No talking. Don’t even try to weasel out of this. You agreed. Heh, you fucking pushed it. Tripling the damn time. Bet you wish you didn’t put your damn foot in your mouth now.” He laughed as he spoke before pausing at the end. “Heh… HA! No… not yet at least. That just gave me a realllll good idea… Hahaha, I’m sure you’ll learn it soon enough, but for now, rub, bitch! I’ll tell you when to switch.”

I was unnerved by whatever his new idea was, but with my face pinned down by his foot and my senses dizzied from swimming in his musk that could only be defined as the epitome of manliness… the only thoughts that could make it through were those telling me to just go along with what Ted wanted. It was easier to just do what Ted wanted.

And so I did, exactly as he said, I took a deep, deep inhale of his foot sweat, right between the dirty toes speckled with toe jam. Above me, Ted closed his eyes and relaxed, seeming to enjoy the sensation of me inhaling his foot funk as I massaged the other foot.

Overwhelmed by the essence of Ted, my brain just… shut down. I massaged and inhaled, exhaled and massaged. My hands moving as if they had a mind of their own, which they must have because I wasn’t really thinking about what I was doing, but in the fuzzy understanding that I had, I could just barely make out them pausing and focusing on certain areas after he’d groan in pleasure from those focal points being attended to.

Eventually, he swapped feet, and this time, his right foot truly covered my entire face. Instead of placing my nose between his first two toes, it founds itself beneath his long, wide arch. Unable to see anything, I closed my eyes and continued the deep inhales while massaging his feet.

During this period, my nose, while assaulted by his scent, felt completely at ease. It made it easier to lean into this. A thought appeared, but completely subjugated beneath his feet, it never fully registered: All my discomfort and pain stops when I listen to Ted and inhale his ripe feet. That unregistered thought tickled my brain and I took deeper, fuller breaths.

After switching feet, I could just barely make out Ted moving around above me. His foot would slightly shift its weight and I’d hear the couch groan as he adjusted his position. Despite this, I just kept my eyes closed and inhaled as I massaged his feet. That was, after all, what he told me to do.

However, after another minute, he sighed, sounding slightly disappointed and removed his foot from my face. My eyes fluttered open and saw his phone angled down toward me as his foot roughly slapped the side of my face.

“Any words you have to say now, foot sniffer?”

“Huh…?” I said slowly, trying to understand what was going on, my head still spinning and subdued from his stink.

“How about a ‘Thank you, Ted?’” He jeered, pushing his big toe into my cheek.

“Th… Thank you… Ted—“ I started to say, still going along with whatever he told me. But as I spoke, I finally felt grounded again and realized what he was doing and opened my mouth to tell him to delete the recording, “Ted—“

“You’re welcome!” He shouted above my voice, “Thanking me for letting you rub my stinky, dirty feet, hah! This is too good!” He grinned to himself and ended the recording, putting his phone into his pocket.

“Ted! Delete that!” I yelled, what the fuck was he doing, he never said anything about that!

“That’s not anyway to talk to your roomie after you agreed to rub his feet.” He taunted me, riling me up. “Maybe if you say please, I’ll consider it.”

I did NOT want to listen to him any longer… but I wanted that recording deleted. Reluctantly, I grumbled out, “Please…”

“What?” Ted teased.

“Please, Ted. Please delete that recording.” I spoke up.

“Kiss my foot and maybe I’ll do it.”

“No way! I’m not kissing your dirty foot. Your time is up!” I rose from the ground.

“Fine, if you want me to delete it then beat me in another game.” He was goading me, but unable to think of another way to get him to do it, given he was much bigger and stronger than me, I acquiesced.

“Fine! You delete it and you take off two pieces of clothing.” I bargained.

“I’ll delete it if you win— nothing else— but if I win, you either take off two pieces of clothing, or you have to be my slave again. 45 minutes this time!”

“Fine!” I acquiesced, still a little tipsy on his foot stink.

I wouldn’t lose again. He was even more shit at this next game. There was no way I would lose.

After picking our characters, I went for another faster paced character whose skill centered around dodging attacks. Seeing me switch up who I selected again to a lithe androgynous male, Ted grunted a laugh once more.

“Another faggy pick.” He said, as he selected a beefy, muscular man with slight pudge, just like him. “We both know what happens when you have a real man and a fag up against one another.”

“What fucking happens, Ted?” I bit back defiantly as the game started. He immediately ran at me and predicting that I moved to dodge. But my timing was off and his character grabbed mine and threw him to the ground before stomping on him.

“The fags always end up beneath our feet!” He roared victoriously.

Frustrated and desperate I tried to avoid and dodge and get in hits where I could, but after several minutes, I was down to my last life and on the verge of being taken again while he’d only lost one and was still plenty healthy. I was dodging a lot, but wasn’t able to get many hits in. And more often than not, when I’d try he’d counter, often doing that same move of throwing me to the ground and crushing my character beneath his feet.

It was so irritating. He kept doing it. Over and over. It was like I couldn’t figure out how to see that coming. Just like I didn’t see his hand coming when he pulled me to the ground and pushed his actual feet into my face… Sweating, I nervously glanced at his feet. I… He was going to make me rub his feet again wasn’t he… or do more… I was going to lose again. No! I wouldn’t lose! I wouldn’t be under his feet!

With desperation, I launched a heavy offensive that landed and combo’d him until he was weak. My breathing picked up as I grew excited and hopeful for victory.

“Urgh, no, you don’t!” He grumbled, finally breaking free of the combo. I was caught up in it as his character recovered. I had to dodge right before he got me. I had to dodge! I moved to press the button to dodge and slick with sweat, my finger slipped and pressed the button for a light attack. “Get back under these feet!” He cried out as his character performed the heavy attack, taking priority over mine, “Where you belong!” His character did one final stop onto my character’s face before they flew out of bounds, losing me the game.

“HAH! I fucking knew today was my day! Another goddamn victory for alpha men everywhere!” He gloated in glee. “Now what am I gonna have you do…”

Freaking out and seeing flashes of his dirty feet engulfing my face again, I pleaded, “Wait— I get to choose… I… I get to choose… I’ll… I’ll…” I paused realizing what my choices were. Either let him order me which two of my remaining three clothes to take off, two socks and my jock, or let him order me to do whatever he wanted for 45 minutes.

“Yeah, what are you gonna choose,” he wondered with a shit-eating grin spread across his face. Turning toward me, he flicked my nipple again and pressed me. “Time is running out. I’ll decide if you can’t.” He counted down from ten, each second, flicking my nipple again. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five… Four… Three… Two… One…” I couldn’t decide. His huge feet were staring at me as they rested on the ottoman, I could practically see myself sitting there, face pressed between his soles. With every flick of my nipple, he’d press further and harder—

“Well, I guess I’ll—“

“Wait— Clothes, please… Clothes, I choose clothes.” I pleaded.

“You ran outta time, boy. Why should I let you decide now?”

His words sank into my brain like a knife cutting through butter. I needed to give him something, make him want to let me follow through on this! “Because… because…” I looked down and saw my remaining, skimp attire. “Because I have three pieces of clothes left. There’ll be one more… you… you can make me do something if you win. I’ll take off the last piece of clothing and you can make me do something.”

“For how long?” He continued to apply pressure.

“An hour! You get to win and have me strip down completely and I’ll be your slave for an hour!”

“Heh, fine. And if you win, I’ll take off my coat. How about that?”

“Deal!” I agreed immediately, not wanting him to back out and completely forgetting about the recording.

“Good, now strip the jock and one sock, I don’t care which.”

“Th… The jock?” I mumbled out in disbelief.

“Yeah,” he cooed, amused with himself. “The jock. Take it off. Remember you asked for this.” His words unfroze me. I… I had asked for this. I begged him to let me choose this option. He was just getting his right to pick what I had to remove.

I slowly slipped down the jock and as it fell to the floor, I was met with snide amusement. “Hoo boy. You must have really been enjoying the thought of being down at my feet again, huh? Although, it’s really only that big hard, eh?”

I blushed looking down and seeing my dick standing at attention 3.5 inches hard. I started to move my hands when I caught myself and pulled them back. “S-sorry… I know… No covering.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Be proud of that dicklet. It suits you.” I was surprised he was being so kind, despite his certain choice wording.

“Really?” I asked naively.

“Yeahhhh, signifies to everyone else you’re a fag. Lets real men know what you are and how to treat ya! Hahaha!” His raucous laughter overshadowed any emotions I had at that response, instead only allowing me to hang on to his earlier words of being proud and how this dick suits me. I guess… I guess I’m glad it suits me. Maybe I should be glad to have a little dick.

I leaned forward to take a sock off and after pulling it off, felt his huge paw slap my ass for the second time, sending jiggles across it. “Fuck, you do have a bubble butt if I’ve ever seen one. How have I never noticed that?”

“Heh, I work it out as much as I can.” I grinned, leaning into that same pride he’d told me to feel about my small dick.

“Damn,” he mused, now pawing at it. “If you were a girl, I’d have your clit wrapped around my dick whenever I wanted. And it ain’t a tiny thing like yours. Fuck, it’d break you in two, yeah.”

“R-really?” I once again asked naively, my earlier reservations about appearing horny for my hot roommate now all disinhibited.

“Ha, yeah, 8 inches and thick,” Ted declared as he gripped it through his jeans. He… wasn’t lying. It was fucking huge. “That’s all you get for now, if you wanna see it, you have to win, understood?”

“Y-yeah… it’s still a ways off though… First it has to be your coat, like we agreed… Then it should be your shirt. Then…” I looked him over more closely as he set up the third game again. “Oh. You have a watch… does that count?”

“Hell yeah. So you’re saying it’d be my coat, then shirt, and then watch?”

“Y-yeah… oh and then you have a belt… so I guess that. Then your pants… and after all that… Then… Then I guess it would be your underwear.”

“Boxers, specifically. I don’t wear fag shit like you.” He laughed, “But all right, if that’s the order you want to go in, I’ll hold you to it then. If you can even win that many times.”

“It is so far off, huh…”

“Heh, yup. It might just be easier to lose now. Let me take my win and have you strip that last sock and own you as my slave for an hour.”

My head and thoughts had felt like they were stuck in syrup, slowed and dumbed down. But hearing him talk about the games again, I finally felt like the gears were turning again and getting unstuck.

“N-no… No. I’m gonna win. I have to keep going. I will keep going!” I proclaimed.

“Good for you little dude. You have a long ways to go and everything to lose, but it’s more fun when you have fight, am I right?” He sneered cockily.

“I’ll win this one, just watch!”

“Okay, bud, sure.” He chuckled not taking me seriously.

The game consisted of a lot of obstacle courses, thankfully the mini game mode I was better at. Fifteen minutes later we were on the second to last round. We had to climb up a set of obstacles to avoid being taken out. Ted was awful at these and after making it all the way, the entire time focusing on how I needed to win, I watched as Ted, doing his best progressed, slowly but surely, until the elimination zone caught up with him and took him out.

“YES!” I cheered excitedly. Finally feeling back in the game and recentered, I remembered the video he took. “Delete it! Delete that video! I won!”

“Heh, now yer just forgetting on purpose.” He shook his head, sliding off his coat. “Remember, we agreed, if you won then I’d take off my coat. Then you said that for the next five wins, I’d gradually strip. Little dude, you gotta win at least six more games if you want me to delete that video.”

Memories of me saying what he’d have to do if I won, and that he’d hold me to it came bubbling up. Shit!

“But like I said earlier, Lev, we can keep going as long as you want. Even if I win the strip bets, there are other things we can bet.” He smirked, clearly wanting this to go on.

“I… you have to delete that. I’ll keep going. I’ll keep fucking going. What do we bet then, huh?”

“Well, it’s what we’ve already been doing, we’d bet servitude. If you lose another round, we could keep going, but you’d have to do even more for me. And since it’s the only condition for you, it’d be much steeper at that point.” He claimed, appearing sincere.

I felt at a loss. I… I couldn’t let him keep that video. “Fine, we’ll keep going. Whatever takes to get you to delete it!”

“Hah, that’s the spirit. Now, onto round 4!”

We played the racing game yet again, and I went for the same character; however, this time I planned to play much safer.

“Oh boy, we saw what happened last time you played as the girl.” He recalled amused as the race started. “We already know I’ll break any girl and the fags who play as them. I’m ready to get that hour of service from a good little fag.” He continued to taunt.

I stayed silent, focusing in on the race and not letting his words get to me. Just don’t think about him, not in any way, shape, or form. You can do this, you can do this!

As we approached the end of the race, he was dangerously close behind me. So close that I knew he was going to get a draft and pass me. Picking the lesser of two evils in playing it safe, I swerved and watched as he threatened to pass me right at the finish line. By the time we crossed, neither of us knew who had won until a moment later when it showed that I had gotten first.

“Fuck YES!” I cheered once again. “You’re not breaking this fag!” I taunted, oblivious to the derogatory term I’d used to describe myself.

“Heh, nice job, nice job.” He admitted. “It’s not so bad losing, your character is pretty hot. It’s easy to let a woman win when she’s hot, that’s how you get them all excited before you go in for the kill and get them begging to be bouncing on your balls. Not that you’d understand that… Though, the same strategy would probably work on you, I’d assume. I don’t think you could fool anyone into thinking you’re the one doing the fucking with that tiny dicklet.” He laughed, pinching my nipple before standing up and taking off his shirt.

He sat back down and stretched his arms behind his head as the fighting game reloaded. Sitting so close to him, the vinegary stench of his pits quickly wafted into my nostrils and suddenly I became keenly aware of my surroundings again. My eyes darted to his pits, densely coated with thick fur, and trailed down his similarly hairy pecs and belly until it reached his feet. The cheesy musk suddenly burst into my sense of smell.

I felt light-headed once again as my nose twitched from the assault. I quickly chose my same twinkish character as Ted chose his same bear-like man. Shit, this would be an uphill battle.

As we dropped into the arena, I recalled the last match. Ted liked to use that one attack. He would get me under his feet and… and… he would get me under his feet and make me massage them and smell them, I thought to myself, bringing up the image of his warm, dirty soles on my face.

I tried to dodge once again when he did a ranged attack and landed right in front of him. It was too late. Locking me into that same combo, Ted laughed as his character shoved mine to the ground before stomping on him. “Came right to Daddy to get his feet in your face, eh, boy?” I groaned, bothered by his taunt, and how I really had jumped right to him.

I was playing in the palm of Ted’s hand and he was gonna use that hand to smear his sweaty feet across my face again! I needed to win! I needed to win so many times… It felt like every game Ted was winning. He’d stripped me down and put me beneath his feet so quickly. Was this really going to end any different?

As I battled these thoughts, my playing suffered and Ted easily grappled my character, and did huge amounts of damage. Before I knew it, I lost my first life. Shit… I could practically already smell his dank feet again. At least then it’d get my nose to stop burning. Fuck, it was twitching so much. I tried to dodge him but had to rub my nose which put me in a precarious position. He knocked me away and started running toward me. Fuck! He was gonna put me under his feet again! I glanced down at his toes, lightly dusted with reddish-blond hair and instinctively dodged back. It wasn’t until I looked up again that I realized, I’d dodged off the edge of the map. I tried to do a special jump to climb back up, but it was too late. SHIT!

“Heh, now you’re just throwing to get me to dominate you, huh? Heard me say how I’d throw for a hot chick and decided you wanted to do the same for me? Shucks, it’s almost cute how much you want to be back under these feet.” He arrogantly teased me, frustrating me further.

“I- I’m not throwing!” I insisted, losing all control of any technical skill. “You’re just better. I can’t beat you!”

“That’s right, fag, you can’t win.” Ted agreed.

“No matter what I do, it’s like my character just isn’t strong enough. I just end up back underneath your feet.”

“That’s because that’s where fags belong. Underneath an alpha males feet.” I tried not to listen, but it was as if the game revealed what he said to be true, my character was just too slow, too weak, and every time Ted would stomp his feet onto my face.

Ted flexed his meaty toes and that odor wafted clear and strong into my nose, finally abating the discomfort. I relaxed a little and dodged Ted’s range attack, once again moving toward him.

“Too fucking easy. Come right to Daddy, Faggot.” He gloated as his character smashed mine into the ground and he went flying. I was stunned and put my controller down in defeat, but after a second we both realized he hadn’t knocked my character out. Despite this, slowly they fell off the map and took my final life.

“There was no use anyway. You would have just continued to dominate me. You’re too good. I can’t beat you at this.” I conceded, defeated. I stripped off my last sock and knelt down, ready to massage his feet again.

“That’s right, fag, you can get back to massaging. Remember, it’s for one hour this time. Oh, and instead of just sniffin’ my sweaty feet, this time you’ll be kissin’ and lickin’ ‘em, understood? Good bitch boy.” He asserted without even letting me answer. One foot suddenly shoved into my face and I felt that same resignation wash over me. Ted was just too fucking good. He was too strong. It was easier to just go along with what he said. Let him take control. Besides, I’d made this bet.

My tongue slid out and coated itself in his dirty foot jam sending shivers down my spine. “Fuuuuck, yeah, that’s a good fag. These fuckin’ dogs were killing me. Clean ‘em up nice, and make me feel good” He moaned above me as I tongue-bathed his sweaty feet.

In spite of myself… I found it now, strangely, easy to be beneath Ted’s feet. Something I would have never thought before now. The ripe odor now felt easy to breathe, I naturally took deep inhales which soothed my nose and help my mind to forget anything else. The scent was overpowering, overwhelming. So I could forget about everything else. I could just lick and kiss his tough feet. Rub out all their tension and make him feel good, just like he wanted. I spent a long time cleaning both his feet, yet even when he switched, they weren’t even halfway licked spotless. Eventually he had me stop massaging and placed both over my face. There was so much to do. Obscuring my vision and the entirety of his dirty soles only helped me focus in and forget my worries… forget about winning… and forget about that damn recording—

SHIT! The recording! Suddenly, it all came back to me, I needed to win. I needed to get him to get rid of the recording. I felt overwhelmed, he’d won so much. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus back on what mattered… He won… five games and we’d played… eleven…? Wait so I won SIX? How could I have forgotten that. It had felt like I’d lost every game… I clearly could win… So how could I win this time? I needed a way to try something else… I sat stewing for a while with my eyes closed as Ted naturally moved his soles and toes to where he wanted me to lick. Finally I thought of a strategy to intentionally make him fail at the next game.

Ted had his meaty big toe swirling around in my mouth when he once again spoke disappointedly. “All right, it’s been an hour, I supposed I should let ya stop.” I finished licking between his toes, cleaning out the last of the toe jam in between as he sighed contentedly, chuckling “‘Least I got some good new footage.”

My eyes slowly opened to see him recording his toe being tongue washed. His toe withdrew from my mouth with a soft ‘pop’ as I sat there frustrated once again. “TED! Seriously?!” I whined.

“Ha, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, bud. Just keep winning and after you get me to delete the first, you could have me delete this one too. If you didn’t keep losing, I wouldn’t keep getting new recordings.” Ted reasoned. 

“Ugh, fine.” I acquiesced. “I just gotta get a comeback, then I’ll have you delete them, no matter how many you take.” His toe jam still coating my lips and tongue, I hazily went along with his schemes, only able to concentrate enough to know I needed to win, and how I could try to win.

“That’s right, bud. You just gotta keep hoping to win. In the meantime, we’ll keep coming up with more and more for you as you lose.” He grinned, confidently as I stood up. “Speaking of, that raging hard on of your little cock reminds me. You’ve lost the strip bet. So what should we have you do now.”

“I… I have to win to have you delete those recordings. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Heh, good. Well, since we have to be much harsher about these bets now, how about this: one week. For one week, you’ll be my little fag slave, doing whatever I want.” He flexed his arms behind his head, showing off his strong muscles and bushy pits.

My nose twitching and itching in response to the sour musk, I hastily agreed. “Okay, yeah, one week! I won’t lose this next one though, I know it!”

“We’ll just have to see about that now won’t we?”

We locked in for this twelfth game, the night having worn on and closing in on 11 PM now. Yet, fueled by desperation, I stayed energized.

Just like I planned, we started the knockout game and after a few easy rounds, we got to an elimination mini game. I trailed behind him waiting for the perfect opportunity. Then, as the elimination zone approached, I grabbed his character to try and throw them off.

“You little…!” He grumbled. As both our characters came dangerously close to the knockout zone. Letting go of him I made a mad dash for the safe area as he was left behind. Struggling to maneuver his character effectively in time, he eventually got taken out.

“Phew,” I sighed, relieved that I’d won again. I was one step closer to getting those recordings deleted.

“What a tricky little fag you are,” He grunted out, both annoyed but also impressed. “Fine, a win’s a win.” He admitted, removing his watch.

“But after that trickery, if you want to keep going, you’ll be betting two weeks of being my faggot slave, got that?”

My confidence was shaking as the larger threat loomed over me, but I remained convicted toward my goal. “Yeah, two weeks. And, sorry, I know that was underhanded.” I said apologetically.

“Heh, it just goes to show the means you have to go to so you can beat me. But sitting on the couch is for real men who don’t need such tricks; park your ass on the ground from now on, got it?”

“Yeah... yeah of course,” I agreed, feeling admonished and genuinely sorry for my sly tactics. But I did what I had to do to win. I needed to keep winning.

So once again we started up our racing game. Locking in our same characters. No snide remarks this time. At least, whatever bothered my nose abated for this time.

As the race set up to start, part of my vision of the screen was obscured by his huge feet. I tried to focus as much as I could, but was unable to come anywhere near him as we finished the first lap.

“Ugh, you’re too good.” I complained, my mind hazing over. I forgot about the rest of this night, and was only aware of this one moment. Of him dominating me.

“You gotta try better than that, otherwise I’m gonna have your faggot ass worshipping me for two weeks.” He successfully goaded me.

“Come onnnn! Your feet are too distracting!” I pleaded. “They’re so big and beefy, I can’t focus with them in front of the screen.”

He condescendingly laughed at me, prodding, “Oh yeahhh? What’s so distracting about them?”

I let out a pathetic whimper as I continued to fall further and further behind him. “All I can think about when I see them is that you’re gonna have me back under them. I can’t stop thinking about kissing and licking your arches, and sucking on your toes. And I feel like I missed some toe jam when I was cleaning them earlier and it gets in the way of me focusing…”

“Ahhhh, I gotcha,” he chuckled as he entered the final stretch of the last lap. “Here, I’ll help ya out.” He offered as he shifted his left leg over moving it from in front of the TV and bent his right knee so his foot was facing me. “Any toe jam left?” He snickered.

My eyes naturally wandered off the screen and over to his foot. The smell intensifying. It felt so warm… so suffocating. It felt so good to be buried beneath it. My eyes scanned across his whole, big, wide foot, taking in all the dirt that still remained.

“Y-yeah…” I whimpered out. “I still have more I need to clean.” I leaned closer and closer. Feeling myself be dug further and further beneath his foot and forgetting about the game as Ted’s character crossed the finish line.

“Fuck yeah!” He shouted, and grabbed my head shoving it the rest of the way against his foot. Instinctively, my tongue lunged out and swiped up the missed lint.

“That’s it! Worship your fucking master, fag boy, because I fucking own you for the next two weeks! And fucking smile for the camera!” I looked up to see him snapping several pictures as my tongue was plunged between his toes.

“Teeeed…” I whined.

“Ah, ah, ah, faggot. You’re my slave, so you do what I say. Now kiss my foot for another photo!”

I obediently leaned in and placed my nose between his toes and softly kissed the balls of his feet as he took a photo and a short video.

“Come on, there has to be more…” I begged between laps at his long soles.

“What else you wanna bet,” he snickered, already knowing he’d won.

“A month… two months. I’ll— I’ll be your slave for two months, let’s just keep going!”

“Ha, fine. But you’re still my slave now, so you gotta play this next game with my toes in your mouth, got it, faggot?” “Y-yes…” I mumbled out. That made sense… I was Ted’s faggot. If he wanted me sucking on his toes while we played, then I had to do it. 

“Yes, what?” He demanded.

I thought for a second as I leaned forward and with my lips brushing against his meaty toes whimpered out, “Yesh, shir,” as his toes filled my mouth.

“That’s it faggot.” He sneered.

As the next game started, I slowly moved my character and tried to get him in position when Ted reminded me, “I think there was still some gunk between my toes. Don’t you wanna get that, fag?”

“Ohh… fhank yhu,” I answered gratefully. I put down the controller as I grabbed and massaged his feet licking between each toe. Easily, he stomped my character until they were all out of lives.

“Heh, weeeelp, you ought to get used to this, bitch boy, because it’s two months now.” Ted stretched his back, pawing and scratching at his strong, hairy pecs.

“Ugh…” I moaned out, reluctantly prying my mouth off his toes, “come on… there has to be something more… we can’t stop now…” I cried out, turning to face him.

“You’re already my little faggot for quite a while, what can you do to make this more enticing?”

I sat there lowering my eyes from his face back down to his feet. “You can own me longer…” I started to say, “Four months… No, six months… that’s still too short…” As I grappled with coming up with something worthwhile, Ted sat above me basking in victory, in his domination. “A… a— a year! Just one more game, I’ll be your slave for a year!”

“That’s getting better, but don’t you think I deserve a little bit more? What happens if you win? How’s that gonna be enticing for me?”

“I’m not gonna win though…” I started to pout, before regaining a little composure. “You— You’re right… A year is too short… How about… How about two years and… and you can decide to extend it whenever you want!”

“Hah!” He roared, pleased. “Now you’re making this worthwhile for Daddy.”

I smiled, happy he was finally open to the bet. “And— and if I somehow win, you get to decide what I win… does that seem fair?” I had maneuvered to the other end of the ottoman and started lapping at the still dirty parts of his soles. “Heh, that sounds plenty fair to me. It’s a deal!” He agreed, before stipulating, “And let’s just already establish, if you won— which you won’t— you’d still be my faggot slave for two years, with me being able to extend it whenever!”

Some small part of me was confused by my rewards, and with that small subtle confusion expressed on my face, Ted fanned his toes, blowing that heavy, heady musk to sedate me. My eyes went glassy and after noticing this, Ted stretched his feet out, pushing them into my face.

“All right, last game. As my little slave, you gotta kiss and lick my nasty dogs the whole time, no touching the controller.” After setting up his phone to record the whole thing, he barked, “Got that, faggot?!”

“Yes… sir…!” I answered, voice muffled as I worshipped his stinky feet.

“Oh, and what are you again?” Ted jeered.

“A faggot!” I cried out from beneath his soles.

“And whose faggot are you?”

“Yours, an alpha males, sir!”

He slapped my face with his huge feet in response, pleased with my answer. A minute later, we heard the elimination noise as I was taken out without ever playing.

Ted feigned disappointment, “Awww, would you look at that... You’re my slave for the next two years now… only, I can extend it whenever I fucking want! You’re my fucking faggot for life. Understand?!” “Yesh, shir! Thanmfk yhu, shir!” “That’s a good faggot...” Ted mused, “Too fuckin’ easy… Stan had the right idea with you faggots. You just gotta do is make ‘em bet away their lives.” He laughed turning of the games and sitting back as I worshipped his feet.

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I hope you all enjoyed this story! I was planning to release the second part to Subjugated Under Master Christian next, but then life got very hectic with the holiday season, work, and my personal life. It was only after speaking briefly with fellow foot lover @footsockboy that I found motivation to pick up and write another story. This picture definitely helped as well as it’s super fucking hot.

One thing that I’ve been tossing around in my head that could help with motivation is having an option for people to offer tips for the stories. I love writing and providing stories for fellow foot subs and masters, and that certainly is motivating all on it’s own, and this would offer another way to motivate me, especially to be more consistent. I also love my longer stories, but they do take time… and so I can plan to write shorter pieces with more parts, and that would help me push them out more consistently!

With regard to tipping, it wouldn’t need to be anything crazy; it can be one-time or however many times you want, and could just be a single dollar or any other amount you want. If people are going to support me this way, I want it to be because they want to and for it to be in a way they are comfortable with.

Either way, I’ll put the link out there in case anyone is feeling generous and wants to support their fellow foot lover in his writing endeavors.

You can support and tip me here. Thank you! (:

[pumbafeet2022]

[mastersfootrest]

Descent Under Stepdad 2

Foreword: Yet again, I just want to say this is a story that’s a bit more extreme in dynamics. A mixture of my usual work and the taboo. For people who don’t enjoy that, totally understandable. It’s all just fantasy, of course. Otherwise, I hope you enjoy. (:

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My dreams were vivid, clear. I saw myself underneath him. My stepdad. I… served him. His feet, and his every need. I saw years pass by. I grew older as I continued to wait on him. He remained this powerful, daunting, handsome man.

Though of course I was far younger than him, a little less than half his age, being 18 myself and him being 45, it was as if I spent my whole life under him. I was filled with such satisfaction.

As my dream came to an end, it was as though my life was coming to an end. I was beneath his feet— feet which years for had only been washed and cleaned by my tongue— and as I gently kissed them, I saw him smile down at me and tell me how I’d been such a good boy for him. That I served my purpose in life. He continued to praise me when suddenly everything went dark and my eyes flashed open.

-

I awoke, suddenly, feeling my lips softly kissing his big soles just as they had in my dream. It took me a moment to get my bearings, but I soon realized I was still on my knees on the ground before his bed. Light had begun to filter through the window blinds and I swiveled my head to check the time: 7:38 AM.

I breathed a sigh of relief and unconsciously went back to gently kissing his soles, which were now slightly smellier after a night of cooking slightly beneath his sheets. After a few minutes I grew aware of my growing erection and similar to last night began to lightly tap it to make it go down. However, with the hypnotic stink of my stepdad’s soles still directly feeding my brain the intoxication, I made the reluctant decision to rise from the bed and go downstairs to begin making him breakfast.

Over time, the erection naturally ended, and as I looked through the refrigerator, I decided I’d make him a breakfast sandwich with some sausage on the side, yet another morning meal I knew he enjoyed. I also prepared his morning coffee as usual.

I worked slow, having ample time, and used it to cook his food perfectly. While doing so, flashes of my dream and the events of last night played in my head. All I could think about was him.

As the meal approached completion, I heard a faint, “Boy,” from upstairs and quietly made my way up there, making sure the food would be okay if left alone for a few minutes.

Stepping into his room, I saw he was awake, hands behind his head. He had his glasses on and was looking over his phone before turning to me.

“What was your reason for leaving the side of my bed?”

“T-to make you breakfast… Sir.” I was worried he was going to yell at me. I realized I’d made a mistake acting on my own without his permission. However, his response was almost the opposite.

“Good fag. You’re allowed to do that.” I breathed a sigh of relief hearing his praise… Just like in my dream, I thought, butterflies forming in my stomach. After pausing and stretching, he asked, “I take it it’s almost done?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Put on my slippers and finish it up. I will be down momentarily.”

“Of course, Sir.” I spoke as I picked up his slippers and moved to put them on his beautiful feet.

“Wait,” he interrupted. “Kiss them and thank them before you put the slippers on.”

Smiling, I knelt once again beneath his feet and placed loving kisses on both of them, quietly but confidently thanking them as I slid the footwear on. Grunting in satisfaction, he dismissed me as I went back downstairs and finished up his breakfast. Thankfully, taking the food off heat helped it to finish cooking without burning and it was ready for him.

I plated the food and poured his coffee, making my way into the living room where I placed it down and waited for him to arrive.

He came in and had me get to work massaging his feet while he ate his breakfast. We did so in silence as he watched the morning news. This went on for about an hour after he finished eating and watched the segments he was interested in. After cleaning up from breakfast, he gave me more errands to run for him.

-

This became my routine. During school days, I would wake up and make him breakfast and also prepare his lunch, though I would do so an hour ealier in the morning as we both had to get up earlier for school and work, respectively. Typically he would wake up on his own, though on occasion I would wake him up, often by gently kissing his warm smelly feet. He would then eat and I would service his manly feet until it was time for both of us to leave.

I’d attend school and come back, doing homework and studying as well as taking care of chores around the house. Then once it was about an hour out from his arrival, I would start his dinner, ensuring it was done promptly at 6 PM.

I would quickly eat before serving his feet again, now ripened from a day of working. Whereas in the morning I would just be massaging his feet, in the evening he began enjoying other things in addition to that. I would massage his feet, but I’d also serve as his footrest; getting on my hands and knees, moving the ottoman and allowing him to place his huge size 14, as I now know, feet on my back. Initially it was quite hard to maintain the position. But as the days passed, I grew used to it. He also enjoyed having me lie on my back and using my face as his footrest. Though his orders were always the same: smell and kiss. He never gave the order to lick them, something that had been consuming my mind since the first day that I served him.

After I served his feet, he’d often take a shower while I tidied up the house after dinner. Then he either dismissed me for some time, where I’d anxiously wait around and faff around the house, or on occasion he’d have me do other things.

A few weeks ago, I had to give him a back massage as he had hurt it lifting a heavy package at work. It was the first time I’d seen him shirtless in a while and it was hard to keep my jaw from the floor. My eyes soaked in his firm body with the forest of hair across his chest.

After I’d finished, he gave a satisfied grunt and told me to stay next to his bed as he flipped around. I naturally obeyed, though was curious as to what my next orders would be. He gave a very genuine compliment on my work before telling me I’d earned a reward. Before I could really process anything, he grabbed me by the back of my neck and forcefully pulled my face into one of his pits.

The smell… instantly my knees fell to the ground. He gave a self-satisfied grunt seeing how weak he made me. His pits were damp, the air around them moist and heavy. Like his feet, the stench was sour and burned my nose. But in doing so, it made it so hard to do anything else. I was consumed by that smell. It was so bad it was good.

I didn’t mean to, my mouth just happened to be agape… but as I lied there collapsed in his pits, I could feel his sweat drip into my mouth and spread across my taste buds. My head spun rapidly and I felt the world darken around me. Just as I felt my consciousness begin to close out entirely, he pulled me out and slapped my face a few times before dismissing me until bedtime.

After that, I would routinely worship his feet as he fell asleep, again only ever massaging, sniffing, and kissing. I grew used to sleeping on my knees before him.

Weekends were similar, though I would often run errands for him during the day or do other longer household chores, such as laundry or washing his car.

-

This went on for several weeks and I grew used to the position I now had serving him. My needs became entirely centered around my stepdad.

Today was Friday and I was sitting at school, whiling away the time as I usually did, day dreaming about coming home when my friend Janet leaned over and whispered to me.

“Hey, Ian, some of us were thinking of going to the mall this weekend. Would you want to come with?”

“O-oh, that sounds like a lot of fun.” I replied. Through the haze of feet and pits and stink, I recalled dreams of wanting to fit in and be closer with those few people I did call friends.

“Yeah,” she continued, “It’ll be Connor, Sarah, and me. You should come with us!”

I smiled at the invitation. Especially thinking of Connor. I had been pretty confused about my sexuality before; though now, strangely without much resistance, I felt pretty sure I was gay. But even before then, there was something about Connor that always drew me to him. Even if I was uncertain before, I think deep down, I knew I was likely at least bi given my feelings for him.

Giving in to the moment, I initially agreed, “Sure...” Before pausing, the smile dropping from my face, remembering my stepdad, “I-I just need to get the okay from my stepdad.”

“You’re such a good guy, Ian. I’m sure he’ll say yes! So we were planning to go around 2 tomorrow. I can’t wait to see you there!” Though I was nervous thinking about my stepdad, Janet was absolutely beaming. As we got back to focusing on class, my heart sank into my stomach as I was worried about what I would do when considering broaching this subject to the man I had become so used to devoting myself to.

-

After coming home, I fell into the routine of getting what I needed to done for school before attending to household chores. It wasn’t the day to do laundry yet, but I found myself starting to work on it without thinking. As I sorted through the dirty laundry, I began to realize why I’d done what I’d done.

Slowly, I lifted a dirty sock to my face and inhaled deeply. It was weaker than from the source, but it still smelled of his dank dominance. I squeezed it tightly before lowering it and my hand absentmindedly traced itself along his other dirty clothes until it came across his underwear. The same pair he’d worn yesterday.

I had never done anything like this before… It felt wrong. I know we weren’t related by blood, but still…

Despite these doubts, my hands, as if they had a mind of their own, began to raise themselves to my face with the boxers in hand.

I opened them to where his crotch rested and all at once stopped resisting. My face dove into the heavy musk and inhaled his cock and ball sweat. It was a fuller spicier scent than his feet. It drove my mind wild. Like an addict I couldn’t stop breathing it.

My phone suddenly vibrated and my eyes shot down. It was just some random email. But more importantly I saw the time: 5:02 PM. I must have been huffing his dirty clothes for thirty minutes now. It was getting late. The only thing I cared about more than intoxicating myself on his scent was not letting him down. So reluctantly I put the boxers back down, put his dirty clothes in the hamper and went downstairs to start preparing dinner.

-

Although I was ultimately side-tracked by my stepdad’s manscent, it did help to take my mind off of my anxiety. So much so that it wasn’t until we had finished dinner and I was engaging in my nightly foot worship ritual that I remembered I was supposed to ask.

However, I had remembered that he had come in exhausted and complaining about his day. I had dutifully listened while we ate and as I massaged his sore soles. He had since finished venting and was enamored watching the nightly news. Kneading out the tight knots and stress, I knew now was not the time to ask. He was tired. He didn’t need me bothering him with something as unimportant as this.

With this conclusion drawn, I felt some of my own tension release. Now was not a time to pester him. Like all nights, this was a time to worship him and help him relax. In a way, doing so also relaxed me.

I lowered my face to his stinky soles and began kissing them as I had so many nights now. I embraced my subservience to him and took solace in the fact that if I was meant to ask then the right time to do so would make itself apparent to me. And that time wasn’t now.

So I continued to worship his manly soles until he ordered me to follow him upstairs. I once again gave him another back massage until he fell asleep this time. After which, I gently removed myself from his bed and crawled to the end of it where his feet rested. I placed my face down against them like fleshy pillows and made love to them until I fell asleep.

-

The next morning I woke up refreshed and energized with the funk of his feet naturally heightening over night. I gave a few soft kisses before going downstairs to make his dinner.

Once it was ready, I woke him up with his usual short foot worship session before coming back down into the living room with him to eat and begin our days.

-

I took my seat before him just as I normally did once I was done eating and dutifully massaged his soles while he watched the morning news. The decision to ask him had begun weighing on my mind while making our breakfast given I didn’t have any manscent to distract me. I tried to focus on my fingers as they took care of him, but eventually my anxiety was getting the best of me. I need to just ask him so I can resume focusing on him and serving him as best as I can. Because that’s the level of worship he deserves, I thought finally pushing myself into action.

“U-um… Sir?” I finally spoke, voice shaking from nerves.

“What?” He lowered the newspaper and glared at me, clearly annoyed by the disruption.

I swallowed hard, breaking my gaze away from his to stare at the beautiful soles in my hands while I spoke.

Just as I opened my mouth to ask my question, he pulled a foot out of my hand and smacked me hard in the face with it.

“Look at me when you speak, faggot. Understood?”

“Y-yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to disrespect you.” The words rushing out of my mouth in shame. As I brought my eyes back up to him he simply grunted in acknowledgement and as a sign for me to resume speaking.

“A f-friend asked if I wanted t-to hang out today… I was wondering… if it would be okay with you… and not too much trouble… if I could possibly… go?” Staring deep into the brown eyes, I found it hard to keep my confidence, though I knew he hated when I stumbled and fumbled over my words.

Sure enough, the first thing he addressed was in reprimand of my insecurity.

“We spoke about communicating with confidence, did we not? Say what you mean and mean what you say, especially when talking to me.”

“O-of… of course, Sir.” I caught myself stuttering again and took a breath to calm down before speaking again to assert my assent in obedience.

He sighed and paused, thinking for a moment before speaking again.

“I was going to have you assist me in constructing a new work desk… but you’ve been an obedient little faggot these past few weeks.” He wiggled his toes hypnotically in my face and my eyes fluttered in intoxication as he spoke. “You have permission to go.”

My shoulders dropped as I heard those words.

Despite him saying I could go… all I really heard was that he’d wanted my assistance today. Sir never asks me to help him with anything… I’ve never gotten to support him on any of his projects. As the thought passed through my mind, I began to feel guilt and shame about letting him down.

I thought about seeing him in his element. Watching his strong arms hammer nails and twist screws. I thought about being able to hold the pieces he was working with together for him and hearing him grunt in approval and praise for the ways I helped him once he looked at the final product.

He certainly didn’t need my support. He may not have even necessarily wanted it… but he had been going to have it before… Who was I to take that away from him?

I sat with my head aching in distress when he brought me back to the real world.

“You ought to be thanking me, boy.”

“I…” The word was barely a whisper as my mind spun so fast to process itself that it ran itself into the ground. In doing so, it pushed forward the most base and core beliefs I had, and in this moment it felt like a lifeboat in the middle of the water to save me.

I cleared my throat to speak with decisiveness and clarified my thoughts as I spoke them aloud. “I am very thankful, Sir. You are so, so generous. More generous than I deserve.” He would have let me prioritize myself over him, but… that felt wrong. I knew in my heart of hearts, deep within me, I wouldn’t be happy if I left him knowing I could have been useful to him, that I could have served him.

“I am not worthy of that generosity. It pains me to turn it down, but I shouldn’t be out there neglecting my duties with you. I want to assist you, serve you. I need to be here to do that.” I could go out and spend time with my friends whenever. I could only be useful to my stepdad in these moments as they came up. What I needed, what I wanted, was to be here to serve him for every moment that I could.

I brought my face down to his soles, placing my lips on them and kissing apologetically, “Please, Sir,” I spoke between kisses, “I’m sorry. Please let me stay here and be of use to you.”

As my stepdad looked down at me, I could not tell what lay behind the expression on his face. What I feared, however, was frustration and anger for wasting his generosity.

“Hmph,” he grunted out and kicked a foot against my forehead. “Know you won’t get this kindness again so easily.” Relief washed over me as I realized he was not angry. He forgave my indiscretion.

“Your real kindness is in letting me work with you after I had asked to abandon you.”

“As long as you understand that.” He huffed, pushing the ball of his foot against my forehead and knocking me backward.

“Go into the garage and get together the materials you purchased two weekends ago. Some of it’s been modified, but I know you’ll figure it out.”

“Yes, Sir!” I beamed, elated from his praise and rushing out of the room.

-

As the boy left the room, what he didn’t see was the man smirking in amusement and satisfaction. Pleased over how nicely and easily he’d been able to further sink his fangs into the obliviously innocent boy.

The man knew that when the boy was out from under him, his grasp would weaken some. However, he ensured the boy made the willing decision to prioritize the man— his Master— over himself. Making that first step was nothing to scoff at. Many people will put themselves first when under high stress.

But the boy had made the choice to prioritize his Master. This meant he viewed his Master’s needs as central to his own. His Master’s needs were his needs.

The man flexed his relaxed toes, the sensation of the boys pathetic kisses begging for forgiveness still lingering on them, and he laughed. Laughing at the power and control and domination he exerted over the boy. And as he prepared to rise from his seat, he sighed in satisfaction as he continued to observe himself finally gain the obedient bitch he’d always sought.

In the slightest way, he felt proud of the faggot for the display he’d just seen. A faggot like that ought to break under a strong man like him. The faggot was fulfilling his purpose, how could he not be just the tiniest bit proud to see that.

-

As soon as I got in the garage, I quickly wrote out a response to Janet. I apologized and explained that I needed to help my stepdad with something so I wouldn’t be able to make it. I hit send and put my phone on do not disturb, shoving it in my pocket. Out of sight out of mind, I thought.

I quickly got together the planks, nails, screws, and other items I’d grabbed for him, as well as Sir’s toolbox which was sure to have items we’d need. True to his word, all of the planks had been smoothed and painted, as well as some altered in shape. I laid out similar shaped planks together and organized all the other tools when he stepped into the garage.

“Hmph,” he grunted out a slight chuckle, “you faggots are all always the same. So detailed in your organization.” As he approached me, he put one of his big, strong hands on my head and firmly patted down. “It’s a good trait to have.”

“Thank you!” I grinned looking up at him. He looked so handsome and powerful standing above me. All at once it felt so obvious how I’d made the right decision to stay with him.

“All right. You’re gonna do exactly as I say, got it, boy?”

“Yes, Sir!” I grinned, and we began working.

-

Hours ticked by in the blink of an eye as I lifted planks and held them together for my stepdad and helped hold nails as he hammered them.

Halfway through, he had me go make a simple lunch, some ham and cheese sandwiches, while he planned out the next steps. After eating though it was right back to work.

It was nice though, throughout the process he spoke aloud his thought process, why he was doing the things he was doing. Even walking me through the plan while we ate. I had never felt closer to him. Additionally, assisting him with something he enjoyed so much, I had never felt more useful to him.

He never used to ask mom to help him, likely felt he couldn’t depend on her. But here he was— making use of me! As we worked together his deep baritone voice enraptured me and felt like a warming melody throughout our work.

Listening to him emphasized yet another reason for why I obeyed him. Within every word he spoke was raw dominance. He controlled a room, controlled minds, simply with his words. It was so soothing to listen to and then obey him.

I think I feared giving up control before, it was part of what made me scared of him. But now, I only felt relief complying to his every word. There was security in doing so. Security that I was doing what I could to please him; that my existence was meaningful.

So as we fell into this intimate rhythm of order and submission, I felt as though my entire demeanor relaxed.

Soon enough we were approaching the end and he sent me out again to make dinner. I hummed along a low tune as I cooked, feeling my head clouded and eyes glassy. My body almost going through the motions on its own. It was reminiscent of the thoughtless, empty sensation I got when I was deep into serving his feet.

Only now, I achieved that state in a detached act of servitude. I no longer needed to be directly underneath him, in contact. As dinner wrapped up, just on time as it always did— as it now always did— I practically glided along the floor as I made my way back to the garage.

“Dinner is ready, Sir.” I sang out upon opening the door.

“Perfect,” he grunted out in satisfaction, “just to add the final touch. Come here, boy, hold this last bit for me.”

Wordlessly, I went as directed and held on to a piece of the shelf for the second level on the desk. Swiftly, he worked in the screws to hold it in place. After everything was solidly in place, he backed away and wiped some sweat from his brow.

“It looks incredible, Sir.” I marveled at his handiwork.

“‘Course it is. I planned everything out perfectly.” He smirked at his genius, “Including how to best use you, and you didn’t disappoint.”

I smiled gently and thanked him for his praise as we made our way back in the house. As he made his way to the living room, I got our food together and brought it in.

Walking into the living, we fell into the routine we’d developed over these weeks. After eating, I knelt before his feet, gently removing his slippers to be met with a powerful flood to my nostrils of his sour, sweaty foot funk.

Immediately I felt light-headed. After a day of working hard sockless in his slippers, his feet had developed a sharp, intense stink. It was that sour, heavy toxic odor that I’d grown to love. As it burned my nostrils I couldn’t help but intoxicatingly flutter my eyes.

I heard my stepdad grunt in laughter at the sight before him. He obviously knew how disgustingly sweaty and stinky his feet had become, and here I was, butterflies in my stomach and batting my eyes like a girl in love.

But I was in love. I grasped his right foot gently and used his delicious sweat as natural lubricant as I slid my hands along his soles. My hands now expertly targeting where I knew his tension lied.

As my hands got to work on his right foot, my face slowly approached his left. Deeply inhaling that heady stinging musk. I felt my eyes roll to the back of my head and my lips softly placed themselves against his soles.

Without thinking, just once again allowing myself to become one with the moment, I softly yet confidently spoke between kisses.

“Thank you, Sir. Thank you for letting me work alongside you. Thank you for letting me be of use to you. Thank you for giving my life meaning.”

The words practically fell from my mouth. Pouring from the deepest recesses of my psyche. They were, in essence, the truest manifestations of my soul. One that felt indebted to this man for allowing me to serve him.

-

The boy couldn’t see it yet, but his Master’s trap was now beginning to tightly snap its jaws around his neck. It wouldn’t take much longer now before it became inescapable.

These thoughts the boy had, they were both from his deepest self and yet… still manipulated by the man he called his stepdad. The boy wanted to be useful, he wanted to be loved. It’s true. But this could have been met in so many ways. He had wanted the gentlest, softest love before.

However, with each inhale of his Master’s ripe feet and his reeking pits, cracks began to form in that psyche. Like muscles, the cracks would heal, but slightly altered. The boy wanted to be useful— then a crack, and it reshaped: to be useful to a man. Which then cracked open again and reshaped to become the boy wanting to be useful to his stepdad, specifically. More cracks appeared; he wanted to be loved… no he wanted to serve. He wanted to be used. To be loved is to be used. The highest form of love is when someone uses you for their needs. Yes, that’s right, his Master used him, so his Master loved him. That must be it. The boy’s mind shakily attempted to create connection, to fill in the blanks left by the cracks.

The man before him, who thought of himself as the Master of the boy, could see this, and he sowed the seeds to reform the fissures left by the cracks. When the boy served him, he praised him, showed the slightest and almost indiscernible sense of affection. But the boy noticed, subconsciously, at least. So the fissures healed the way the man planned. The boy needed— wanted— to serve him. Hungered for his approval, to wait on his every order. Because when he did, it felt so good to hear that praise, to feel that affection— that… love. The recent display of the boy discarding his own wants and needs showed that.

The boy’s psyche was becoming entirely destroyed and slowly reshaped by his stepdad, a title the boy felt less and less fitting by the day. But that’s what he called him… was there something else to call him other than “Sir”? The boy wondered. This man deserves more respect, more worship. He was so close to seeing it, the word almost on the tip of his tongue. The tongue which so desperately craved to run itself depravedly along the dirty flesh of the man’s soles.

The final cracks were forming, the man perceived. It was time to enter the second phase of his domination.

The boy had become brainwashed into experiencing his joy from submission, so now it was time to take it a step further. The destruction of the boy’s will, and the cementing of the unbreakable control the man would have over him.

-

As I slavishly kissed his damp, ripe soles, I felt on the cusp of becoming overwhelmed by his power and dominance. My head was spinning, intoxicated by him. Try as I might to be obedient, to be devoted only to him, my small dick was straining in my pants. It had been weeks since I last came. It was all becoming too much. Which made his next words practically stop my heart.

“Lick my sweaty feet, faggot.”

Shivers ran down my spine hearing that. It was all I had wanted for weeks. I had been dreaming of his sweat coating my tongue, furthering my submission to him. But… it would all be too much. No matter what, I knew I would not be able to stop my little dick if I did it.

So as hard as it was, I resisted and admitted such weakness.

“Sir… I-I can’t. My disgusting little dick… I won’t be able to control myself if I do. You haven’t given me permission.”

My expression showed the war waging in my mind between my desire to submit and obey his orders now and my desire to submit and obey to his overall control. Though I couldn’t tell, he was of course aware of this. A devious, wicked smirk crept across his face as he stared down at me weakly squirming beneath his disgusting feet.

“Hmph, of course a faggot like you wouldn’t be able to control itself. Figures.” His words were harsh, but his tone betrayed his amusement. “I know how pathetic you are. Which means I know what will happen giving that order.”

Clearing his throat, he wiggled his toes mesmerizingly in my face. “Now, I said lick my feet, fag boy. And don’t stop until they’re clean, until all the smell is off of them and on your face and your tongue.”

My heart felt ready to explode hearing his command, his permission. The honor to lick his feet, him knowing that I would pathetically cum as I did so.

Without hesitation, my tongue stuck out and slid along the wet bottoms of his feet. Instantly the full salty flavor exploded along my taste buds. I felt every sense go into overdrive. I lost control of myself, just as I expected. It was almost as though I was detached from my body, watching it all happen to me.

My tongue traced the crevices of his soles as my voice cried out, “Thank you Master. Thank you Master. Thank… you… Master… Master… Master…” The word simply finding itself in my throat, just as his sweat and sock lint now found themselves coating my throat. It wasn’t something I had to even think about. It just became apparent. He was my Master.

And as I pathetically whimpered out gratitude and his new title, I felt pleasure and warmth culminate and climax inside my pants. It happened uncontrollably. As if simply occurring in response to the act of furthering my submission and revealing who he now was to me. He wasn’t my stepdad. He stopped being that weeks ago. He was my Master.

“That’s right, faggot.” He mused, pleased. “I’m your Master now. Now and forever.”

My eyes rolled to the back of my head as I came. My tongue continuing to hungrily wipe itself across the bottoms of his feet. In a few swift motions, he pushed the ottoman out of the way, leaned forward to pull me closer and then used his feet to pin my head against the ground. There was no escaping now.

As my climax finished, I remained hypnotized by the funk that swallowed my senses. All I could see were his feet, all I could smell were his feet, all I could taste were his feet, and all I could feel were his feet.

Even as my mind, finally freed from the period of controlled arousal, tried to return to its natural state, he carefully and assuredly blocked it. My brain tried to tell me that I wasn’t horny anymore. I could stop licking. But his strong toes pressing against my temple held the cracks in my mind open as they filled with the sensation of his warm, massive arches perfectly lining across my cheekbones and sour, heady musk poisoning my nostrils and lungs with every inhale.

I couldn’t stop. I’d come down, but his feet were still so sweaty. They needed to be cleaned.

My head tried to clear itself, but as it cleared all else, his stinky and dirty feet only filled in the space it cleared.

It was such a devious trap. To align the natural deescalation following sexual climax with the highest need to continue serving his feet. With every breath, every lick, every second his feet pressed into my face, it cemented my place beneath them.

I was still here because I was meant to be here. I’m not horny, but I keep licking, I keep huffing because I’m meant to be beneath his feet. I want to serve him. No matter what.

And the final piece of the trap, the thing he couldn’t control, but was sure he could rely on, was my own role.

I could stop at any time. I could have flailed beneath his feet and attempted to struggle free. Even if he’d forced me to stay down, only my resistance would have been engraved in my mind and everything he’d done would have fallen apart.

But I didn’t flail. I didn’t struggle. I didn’t resist.

With every breath, I told myself I wanted to be here. This is who I am. I am his faggot, his bitch. He is my Master.

With every lick, I told myself I needed to be subservient to him. It wasn’t something he forced me to do. I needed it. Because I am his faggot. I am his bitch. He is my Master.

And as I continued to inhale and feverishly lick, it got a little easier each time. That small little flame that embodied my old wishes and dreams grew a little dimmer.

It was all but gone, until, “Thank you, Master. Please let me worship you forever, Master.” I blew it out myself. I let go. It was gone.

He removed his soles from my feet and could see it. His sexy brown eyes looked into mine and he saw the absence of any will of my own. He only saw the face of a small, weak little boy staring at him with a cute look of adoration and devotion.

He smirked back before hacking up some spit which he spat onto my face. Lovingly, I licked what I could from my lips as he brought one foot back down to smear it so I could lick it from his sole.

Then he sighed, contentedly and announced to me, “Come on, boy. We’re going upstairs.” I instinctively put his slippers on and followed behind him. My head was empty of all thoughts but elation to continue serving and worshipping him.

As we entered his room, he pat the bed beside him.

“Crawl up here, boy.”

I followed his orders and like a dog, hopped onto the bed, my small frame taking up a quarter of the space his hulking, powerful body did. He lifted a pit and I knew what he wanted.

I dove into it and began drunkenly sniffing and licking the sweat from the forest of hair my face was submerged in. I lost time buried in there, his big biceps framing themselves along my head. Always present in their touch, as if a gently reminder that while he did not hold me in there, I was trapped… but then again, was I really trapped if I would have chosen to stay here forever?

I could slightly feel his body shake, but it wasn’t until he roughly grabbed my head and held it down by his waist that I had any idea what was going on.

Suddenly a white torrent erupted and shot across my face. Stream after stream coated my lips and chin and cheek, and even some across my eyes. I was too slow on the uptake to open my mouth, but I naturally began licking as much as I could as he similarly pushed me down to his feet and just like with his spit began smearing the manifestation of his solidified control over my face.

I basked in it. In the representation of total satisfaction my Master had marked me with. And as I resumed worshipping his feet, cleaning now his hot spunk in addition to his sweat, slowly my Mastered relaxed until he fell asleep.

I continued to lick and kiss and worship. It was all I could think about. All I had been reprogrammed to think about in a moment like this.

It wasn’t until about an hour later that I finally succumbed to exhaustion, still serving him and his feet to the very last moment of consciousness. That’s what I was made to do after all.

-

-

-

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoyed this second part to this story. It was a fun one to write and fantasize about. I have an idea for a third part, which could possibly be the last one. As is evident from this part, while I want the outside world to play a role in our main character’s life and influence challenges, I want it to be a small role and for the main focus to be on the dynamic between our main character and his Master. However, if you have thoughts about that and/ or want a story where there’s more moving parts in the world, feel free to let me know. I know some people, including myself, enjoy that in some of the erotica they read. It wouldn’t be for this story, but could be something to keep in mind for a future story.

As always, I’d love to hear your feedback and ideas, and again, I hope you enjoyed this part!

[hisfeet]

Dad is relaxing after work.

[mastersfootrest]

Descent Under Stepdad

Foreword: This is a long one, a little raunchier at parts. Hope you all enjoy it!

-

After my mom left two months ago, I was devastated. She just… drove off one day, in the middle of the night, leaving me. She didn’t take her phone, just some clothes and money and left. I tried looking her up, but no leads popped up. She was just… gone.

In a way, I couldn’t blame her, at least for wanting to leave. My stepdad was an asshole. He was a demanding, traditional man. He expected a lot out of his wife. I’d often hear his strong, deep voice commanding her to do this or that. To clean, to cook, to run errands, to have his every need met. 

Once late at night, I even heard him from the bedroom, ordering her to get on her knees to which she had weakly pleaded “Please, this is the fourth time, I’m tired Jeff.”

I didn’t hear a reply after that, but in my curiosity as I stepped closer to the door, I heard noises that sounded like she was gagging on something. Likely him ignoring her request and having her… service him regardless.

I was scared of him. With mom gone, he had no reason to keep me around, and I was afraid that he’d throw me out any day now. I was always making mistakes and getting in his way. I was sure he’d never hurt me, couldn’t risk the repercussions of that. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that he viewed me as worthless and garbage. Even when my mom was here it seemed that way.

I was desperately trying to figure out what I could do to stay, I racked my brain and tried googling different things, but nothing seemed helpful.

Most suggestions said to call social services and live with a relative, but I didn’t have anybody else. All of my mother’s relatives were dead and after my dad died when I was young, my mom had shut them out of her life likely due to being unable to handle the grief. So I didn’t know any relatives I could reach out to.

Ultimately, I went to using sites like reddit anonymously asking for suggestions and emphasizing that I could not lose him. I wasn’t a minor anymore and I was too old to be put in foster care, not that I would have wanted that either. I would be out on the streets without him. 

As I went to school, all that was on my mind was checking to see responses. After my last class ended, I left to walk home and was checking through what people said. Much of it didn’t seem all that helpful, just more encouragement not to put up with this. But there was one comment, one that didn’t get a lot of traction, down at the bottom.

“Sounds like a shitty situation but if you have to stay with him, do what you can to make yourself useful. As bad as this sounds, fill the hole your mom left. Make the man dinner, do his laundry, wash the dishes. If it makes life easier for him or makes him feel better, he’s less likely to want to kick you out even if he doesn’t care for you as a person.”

I honestly hadn’t thought of this. I guess I also wouldn’t have been sure of where to start, but this gave me a good start. 

-

I decided I would start with the last thing on the list that reddit user posted: doing his laundry. I was surprised he even still had clean clothes considering I had never seen my stepdad wash them himself. His slobbish habits also made this more of a chore than it should have been. There were dirty clothes everywhere. Undershirts over chairs, underwear hanging off of furniture, socks on the floor and strewn over the couch. I sighed and began silently collecting everything.

At some point, it became tiring trying to bend over and pick up every piece of clothing, so I annoyingly got down on my knees and started putting everything in a pile on the floor to collect together later.

After about thirty minutes, I’d made some good progress and had a small pile in a corner in our living room. That’s when the door slammed open and I heard him stomping through the house, footsteps growing louder as he walked into the living room. Quickly I threw myself out of the way as he threw himself onto the couch.

He squinted at me, as he dropped his suitcase and grunted, kicking off his shoes.

“Finally you’re fucking doing something worth some shit around here. Now might as well take these off, I’ve been wearing ‘em for a week now already.”

My heart pounding in my chest, still kneeled on the floor, I crawled over to him. I was met with an overpowering sour scent. But more powerful than the scent was his control over me. He told me I had to do this, so lord knows I wasn’t about to back out. I shakily raised my hands to his left foot and gently tugged on the sock. For a moment, it stuck to his foot, a testament to his statement of how unwashed and sweaty these socks were. But soon enough I had the first sock off, then moved to the second.

After they were both removed, he kicked my forehead with a drenched bare foot and pushed me onto my butt.

“Now fuck off.” Hurriedly, I scurried away and put his socks on top of the pile of clothes as I bunched it up, using my chest and part of my face buried in the dirty clothes to hold it steady as he added, “Oh, and get to work on dinner when you’re done.”

“Of course.” I muffled through the socks and underwear covering my mouth, his freshly removed pair most prominently sticking out and brushing my tongue as I spoke. Slowly, I ambled my way to the washing machine with that same sour scent invading my senses every step of the way. Forced to breathe it in, I realized how fitting it was. Sour just like him, with a heaviness to it like how his presence dominated a room. Accented by a fullness and musk that embodied his traditional masculinity. There certainly couldn’t have been a more apt odor for that man.

Quickly, I deposited his laundry into the washer and made my way into the kitchen to get started on dinner. This was something I’d occasionally do since mom left, but like doing his laundry, I planned to do it everyday from now on if it meant giving him a reason to keep me around.

-

A few days passed. I’d grown used to making my stepdad dinner every night. I’d also taken to start cleaning up the house. At first, I wasn’t sure if he’d noticed since he didn’t comment on it. But then one day, he naturally ordered me to fix up the kitchen better.

I took that to mean that he had noticed and silently breathed a sigh of relief that my efforts weren’t going unnoticed. In a way… at least for the most part, I’d begun filling in the role that my mom left. I was still in school, but most of my time spent at home saw me as something of a… housewife. Or houseson? Houseboy?

Either way, I didn’t mind it, not nearly as much as my mom had, apparently. Though, perhaps that was a bit of Stockholm syndrome. I only appreciated the work because I had to. Nevertheless, the one real positive I knew it granted me was that I was perpetually preoccupied.

I didn’t have a whole lot of friends at school. I mostly just kept to myself, so only a few people who pushed through my anti-social tendencies really got close to me. While I liked them, though, we never hung out or texted much. A lot of the day I would just sit around feeling bad about myself. So in a way, doing these things for my stepdad kinda kept me busy and out of those thoughts.

Instead of thinking about how worthless I was, I would think about how my stepdad would want the house to look, or what he’d want me to clean next, or what dinner I’d be making for him. I still felt a desire to prove myself to him, to want to be useful, but I no longer felt like I was completely useless and at risk of being thrown out.

At first, I didn’t even notice this. It was one of my few friends, Janet, who commented that I seemed less depressed when we were in our AP Lit course.

“Huh…” I paused reflecting on that, “I guess maybe I haven’t been as hard on myself lately.”

“Good, I like you being nicer to yourself, Ian,” she said smiling.

Making this realization really put some wind in my sail that day. School flew by and after walking home, showering, and tidying up the place, I got to working on dinner.

-

I was making a lasagna today, which if you’ve never done so before, can take quite a while. After about an hour, the lasagna was mostly done and I was getting ready to fix a salad to go alongside it when I heard a thunderous slam of the front door.

Nearly dying from fright, I would have sworn the door must have been broken after how hard he’d closed it.

Walking past the kitchen, his voice boomed, “Is dinner fucking ready yet?!”

“N-n-no.” I squeaked out, “It’ll b-be just a little longer.”

“It fucking better be! You know I get here at 6 PM sharp, so fucking have dinner ready! Jesus, what the hell did I marry you—“ He stopped himself as he realized what he was saying. Though I could no longer see him, I could hear that he silently made his way to the living room and threw his things down and himself onto the couch.

I was scared, I’d never seen him this angry before. I tried to focus on finishing dinner but my hands kept shaking.

After about 5 minutes, the lasagna came out and I’d finished the salad. Though scared of his wrath, I feared even more what he’d do if I served him the food too hot, so I waited an extra two minutes to allow it to cool.

Normally I let him know dinner was ready, but when I tried to speak barely a whisper came out. I quickly got together a meal proportionate to his standard serving and slowly brought it out to him.

Every step I took, I felt my legs wobbling. As I turned the corner to step into the living room, I felt my breath get caught in my throat. He was sitting on the couch, feet up on the ottoman, trying to watch TV but he was staring daggers at it. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. And not because of measure of attractiveness, but rather the pure rage.

I gently placed his food down on the table beside him and took a step back. I didn’t want to take a step out of line. This was like my worst nightmare. Everything I’d done up until now could have been for nothing. If he was this angry, there was no telling what he could do. I felt like my life was flashing before my eyes.

“The fuck are you just standing there for?”

I was snapped back to the present, by that growling voice like a sledgehammer to my heart, which felt like it literally stopped for several seconds. I must have looked like I was jumping out of my skin. My mind went blank, and my mouth went on autopilot.

“I-I-I d-didn’t know if you needed a-anything else.” I stammered out. 

“Jesus christ, are you fucking dense? Do you always gotta be in the god damn way?” He barked out before sighing heavily. “Fuck, fine. You wanna be useful? Rub my fuckin’ feet or some shit.”

Immediately I dropped to my knees. I was still reeling from his anger, I just wanted to do what he said. It didn’t matter that it involved touching his disgusting feet. Not that I could really perceive my own disgust. Even as my hands gently wrapped themselves around his socked soles and pressed into the damp surfaces, my face remained emotionless, staring at the ground. In this moment, my entire being just collapsed into my hands. I stopped thinking, stopped feeling. I just rubbed his feet.

My hands glided over the bottom of the surface. With each motion into the soles of his feet, the force grew a little stronger and more confident. While massaging his left foot, my left thumb that rolled out the arch was soon accompanied by my right, kneading into the balls of the foot. Gracefully then, my hands would slide down to his heel, massaging the outer area, smoothing over the calluses that could be felt even through the sock.

This and more repeated between both feet, and truly during this time, I forgot my fear, my anxiety, all of my thoughts. I just… was. One with my hands. One with his feet. I couldn’t explain it, perhaps it was a mixture of my emotions just boiling over and my mind cracking under that pressure, but this was the most relaxed and free from worry I’d been since it had been just him and me. Even as my mind returned to the present by the very voice that previously sent shivers down my spine, I remained in complete composure.

“Be a good bitch and get me another beer.”

Silent, I rose up from my knees and walked out of the living room and into the kitchen. As I stood there, it felt like suddenly everything came back into me. I stared at my hands, which smelled of his disgusting, sweaty feet and I was mortified. As the smell permeated my nostrils I felt almost nauseous. However, I rushed to grab a beer and run back into the room so as to not keep him waiting too long.

“Now go fuck off, you’ve bothered me enough today.”

The words left his mouth no sooner than I handed him the opened beer. I needed no further instructions and quickly ran out and up to my room.

Despite everything, as I sat in my room, tears nearly bubbling to my eyes with my head in my hands, as the scent of his feet wafted off from my hands it reminded me that I got through this moment. Yes, he’d been more angry than he’d ever been and I got through it. He’d ordered me to rub his feet and I did and he let me go.

A wave of relief washed over as I focused on my ability to not just get through the moment, but continue to do so in a way where I was perhaps making myself useful to him.

I continued to sit there breathing in the stink that clung to my hands as I pondered the complete emptiness I’d experienced massaging his feet. For once in my life, I felt free of concern and anxiety. It… It was so nice. Yet again, it seemed the more I focused on attending to his needs, the less I worried about my own. Or was it that attending to his needs was, inadvertently, attending to my own?

I lied back on my bed as this thought and others swam through my head and until sleep slowly crept up on me.

-

I woke up groggily the next morning. It was a Saturday, so I wanted to just stay in bed. But images of my stepdad from last night flashed in my eyes. I checked my phone and saw it was 8 AM. I knew my stepdad kept a pretty tight schedule on his sleep, just like work, and that he’d be up in the next thirty minutes. So with those images still flashing in my mind, I rolled out of bed and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

I opened the fridge and breathed a silent sigh of relief in gratitude to past me for what I’d picked up at the grocery store. I pulled out some eggs and fresh fruit, things I occasionally liked having for breakfast, but also knew my mom used to make often for my stepdad and got to work.

I filled up a coffee pot with water and got to work brewing his morning drink as I cracked the eggs over a bowl and added some milk as I broke the yolk, a trick my mom taught me to make the eggs fuller and the way she’d always make them for my stepdad.

After mixing them up for a minute, an extra idea came into my head. I sifted through the cabinets until I found what I was looking for: waffle mix. I remember as a kid, mom and I used to always make them.

I smiled wistfully for a moment. I couldn’t believe she left me… A chill overtook my body and I could feel the dark thoughts threaten to consume my mind. Shaking my head, I tried my best to spin the situation: Maybe I can create this new tradition of making waffles for him instead. I thought to myself as I turned back around, setting up the waffle maker.

I proceeded to skillfully balance cooking the waffles and eggs while pouring the coffee. Quickly after it all finished, I cut up the fresh strawberries and bananas and plated everything as I heard him walk down the stairs.

“Good morning.” I greeted him with a warm smile. “I made breakfast for you,” I explained, as I carried his plate and coffee and dutifully followed behind him as he made his way to the living room.

He sat down, kicked off his slippers, and put his feet up as I placed everything beside him. Quickly I went back into the kitchen to grab the single extra waffle I’d made to have for my breakfast and joined him in the living room with a glass of water.

Silently we ate as he read over his morning paper. In the silence, I thought about the day ahead and how little I had to do. I was always ahead of schoolwork since I never really did anything with anyone. So for better or worse my day was free.

The longer we sat in silence, the longer that freedom and emptiness ate away at me. It made me think of how easy it felt when I was doing things around the house, taking care of my stepdad. I had a purpose. I was useful.

I felt a quiet passion burning within me as these thoughts brewed. Nervous as I was, I decided to speak up to my stepdad, possibly for the first time with any sense of confidence.

“Is there anything you’d like for me to do today?” I inquired, innocently and genuinely.

My question was only met with a short grunt to which I had no idea how to respond. But after sitting quietly for a moment, he spoke up.

“I got a list of things I need from some stores. You can do it so long as you don’t fuck it up.”

“I won’t.” I reassured him calmly. Calmly, huh? I noticed this sense of calm just like when I did chores around the house, like when I… rubbed his feet. I liked this. Though, as embarrassing as it was, it was probably the most powerful when I had been touching his dirty feet. But maybe this was worth doing whatever I had to.

He grunted again in response and reached over to the table beside him and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. He quickly wrote some things and then handed me the paper.

“I added the stores. Get each of those items from those stores. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Of course.” I replied before getting up and heading to my room to get dressed. Now properly clothed, I ran down the stairs and after cleaning up in the kitchen, and heading back in the living room to grab my stepdads dirty dishes, I grabbed the keys to my car and headed out the door.

-

2 hours had passed and I was able to pick up most everything from the stores my stepdad had written down. The only thing I hadn’t been able to find were some planks and nails he’d wanted from Home Depot. I knew I could probably find something similar in a Lowe’s but I thought back to his words and how he’d emphasized that he wanted everything from the stores he’d listed.

I knew he’d liked constructing things in his down time. That was one of the reasons my mom used to say she loved about him, both for the craft and how we’d never needed anyone else to repair anything. He was our handyman.

He used to work on something almost every weekend. But after mom left, I hadn’t seen or heard him go in the garage, his workplace, as much. I didn’t want to disappoint him, but this also clearly meant something to him. So I pulled up Maps on my phone and checked the next closest Home Depot.

“30 minutes away,” I said to myself. It was worth it, I decided, setting the route and shifting the car into drive.

The long drive gave me plenty of time to think about things. Everything I was doing. I took pride in the way I was being useful around the house, and once again felt a sense of relief at how much calmer I felt. The same tension that used to radiate from the walls hadn’t been there the past few days.

But also in my thoughts, I questioned what I was doing. I knew I just wanted to get by, but within days I’d grown comfortable in this position. A bubbling hole in my chest formed as I thought about how I was just filling the role my mom left. And she left.

So as peaceful as things felt now… Things obviously wouldn’t stay that way, right? I mean, she grew sick of it, and within some parts of me I really understood why. He was controlling and selfish. Everything was about him. His needs. And he wasn’t even nice about when you did cater to him. He just acted like that was the way things should be. So I should hate that right? I should… so why was I growing so much more at ease when I focused just on him. Was it simply because I wasn’t focusing on me? But that wouldn’t explain the growing sense of confidence that Janet, and now I myself had begun to see.

Before I knew it I’d arrived at the Home Depot. Parking and running into the store, I browsed the aisles for nails and upon looking for the specific ones he wanted, released a sigh of relief when I saw them. Quickly, I went to find the planks and experienced similar satisfactions seeing that they were here too. A sense of pride welled up within me at being able to get everything he wanted from the exact stores he wanted them from. I picked up the number of planks he needed and headed to the self-checkout to pay.

Upon making it back to my car, I placed everything in the back seats with the rest of his items and this time turned on my favorite pop album to try and lift my spirits and pre-occupy my mind on the way home.

-

After about 40 minutes I’d made it back home. Having left around 9 AM, it was now around 1 PM. I unpacked my car and put those things that my stepdad would use for his handiwork in the garage and some other items, such as printer paper and office supplies in their right places in his home office upstairs.

After coming back down, he was standing by the garage inspecting what I’d brought in.

“I made sure to get everything from all the exact stores.” I reassured him.

“What took you so damn long?” He huffed out.

“Home Depot was out of the planks and nails you wanted… so I looked up the next closest one. I know it added a bit of time.”

His only response to the job I’d done was a single grunt. Despite the limited response, I felt a sense of pride. I know he’d previously get mad at my mom when she ran errands for him and picked things up from more efficient locations as opposed to getting them from where he wanted. So that singular grunt was like beautiful praise to my ears for going out of my way for him.

“Just get started on my lunch, you know I like to eat at noon.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. I’ll make your usual BLT sandwich.”

Once again, he grunted in assent as he walked back into the living room.

Taking a few steps into the kitchen, I got to work. Mom would sometimes ask me to make it for him when she was busy so I knew exactly how he liked it and made short work of the sandwich.

After setting the food down, I asked him if he wanted anything to drink and hurried back into the kitchen to get him some water. Now that I’d taken care of him, I got to making myself my lunch. I perused the refrigerator and settled on having a soup I’d picked up from the store.

A few minutes later and I was sitting in the living room with him, just like this morning as we ate in silence. Only, instead of reading the morning paper, he was now typing away on his laptop every so often between bites.

I finished eating shortly before him due to his laptop taking some of his attention and as I rose to take his plate in with me, he spoke commandingly, “I’m going to the gym in an hour. Cut the lawn while I’m out.”

“Of course.” I smiled back at him then heading out of the room. Given he told me to start after he left, I decided to get started on some of my laundry while I waited. I could wash it before he left and dry it while I cut the lawn.

I then just meandered in my room for about 40 minutes while I waited to hear him leave. It was strange, how uncomfortable I had grown with stillness. Nevertheless, when I heard the washer go off, I was delighted to also find him dressed in his gym attire checking everything before he head out.

“Make me a protein shake.” He ordered, shaking the bottle in his hand after seeing me come down. 

Immediately I pivoted what I was doing and focused on what he’d asked. A minute later I handed him his drink. He took an initial swig of it and after tasting it he gave his usual grunt of approval and walked out the door.

I stood there a moment feeling that same pride as earlier well within me before I went downstairs and threw my things from the washer to dryer. After starting the run cycle, I ran upstairs and into the garage.

I filled up the lawn mower with gas and opened the garage door. Revving the engine, I got to work. I knew my stepdad preferred the lawn cut in a specific pattern so it appeared deliberately cut and appealing. That was why this was a task he often did himself.

Huh, I thought to myself, He asked me to do it instead… Does he trust me? A stronger sense of pride bubbled within me and I focused my attention on the task at hand. I’d seen him cut the lawn in the past. In fact when I first got old enough to do chores like this, he’d tried to show me how to do it. I was several years younger and so nervous and frightened by him that I hadn’t retained any information, and after initially cutting some of the grass, he stopped me and angrily questioned why I wasn’t listening to him. I just started crying and ran back inside.

Since then, he’s never asked me to do it. But he did now. I was making progress. He was trusting that I could be useful to him, that I could listen and follow his orders. So as I cut the lawn and did so perfectly as he liked, that sense of pride and a new sense of joy filled my chest.

Within 30 minutes, I had finished and after putting away the lawn mower, I went inside to shower and clean myself of the sweat and dirt I’d accumulated over the day and from cutting the lawn.

I was quick to rinse off, wanting to take my things out of the dryer, fold them and put them away. The plan was to finish before he came back so I could be ready to do whatever he wanted me to do.

After hurriedly putting my things away, I ended up finishing before he returned and sat alone on a couch in the living room. I glanced at my phone and saw it was 3:50 PM. He had been at the gym for a while now. I tried to mindlessly scroll on my phone but found that was ineffective and my anxiety continued to grow.

I was staring down at the slippers he’d left in the room from this morning when I heard the door crack open and instantly I ran over to the door. He stepped in and placed his bag down, light beads of sweat still dripping from his hair onto his forehead.

“May I take that for you?” I asked, pointing at his gym bag.

“Yeah, I need to sit down.” He grunted. I nodded in affirmation and quickly grabbed the bag taking it upstairs to his room and placing it beside his dresser, where he normally kept it. I noticed he didn’t have the bottle with his protein shake in his hand when he walked in. I reached into the bag and sifted through his clothes until I felt the bottle and grabbed it, pulling out an article of clothing along with it. As I held the bottle up, a worn sock hung from the palm of my hand. It wasn’t warm so it must have been from another day. He’d returned in the same gym clothes today.

The strong sour musk was still so strong radiating from the sock, it instantly assaulted my nose and my head spun. I sat there for a moment just staring at the dirty sock, the bottoms marred darkly grey from use. Shaking my head, I remembered he’d just returned from the gym and was tired, so I put the sock down and quickly went back downstairs and, after putting the bottle in the kitchen, went into the living room where he was sitting on the couch with his feet up.

I stared awkwardly at his feet, covered in a different pair of those same white socks darkened from use. Only these were freshly used. They were disgusting… and yet my heart was pounding. Before I could contemplate whether this was the most idiotic thing I had ever done, the words slipped out of my lips.

“Would you like a foot massage?”

I stared awkwardly down, my eyes still resting on his feet. I felt a mixture of repulsiveness and confusion at my actions and, albeit thoughtless, willingness to subject myself to something so debasing again. Waiting for a response felt like a torturous eternity. Though, one where I was trapped in this space of not knowing; of both wanting to hear assent and begging him to tell me to fuck off and not immediately beat the shit out of me. In reality, likely only mere seconds had passed before I received the awaited response.

“You wanna fuckin’ rub ‘em?” He paused, “Sure, whatever.” He grunted out, before adding under his breath, “Fuckin’ faggot.”

My heart flinched up upon hearing that word, and yet automatically I once again took my place kneeling before him. In that moment felt the strangest sensation. Sitting inches from his feet, I took a calming breath in, and slowly exhaled. And as I rose my arms to once again place my hands upon his feet, all of my anxiety just melted away. That same heady and heavy musk that could only be defined as my stepdads foot stink assaulted my nose, and yet it meant I was about to do something to serve him. And that meant I was being useful. So despite his feet reeking more than ever, I felt so sure of myself in being before him, attending to his stinky feet.

My body that was practically vibrating unease suddenly grew still, and I felt… happy he had let me do this again. Then as my hands once again began working along his socked soles, I felt my mind, more consciously this time, fold into itself until my entire being was focused in my hands and in taking care of his feet.

An unidentified amount of time passed where I lost myself and it wasn’t until he spoke up that I had any conscious awareness at all. But as he spoke, it all returned in a controlled, disciplined manner.

“Beer, bitch.” He grunted.

I rose with intention and quickly made my way into the kitchen. Unlike yesterday, my mind stayed still, stayed as one. I grabbed his beer and returned to him, cracking it open and placing it on the table next to him before turning to sit once again at his feet. I resumed massaging his feet as he sipped his new beer. I felt this overwhelming sense of fullness. In it, I felt like I never had before, more sure of myself than I ever had. I felt confident that I could make him feel good. That I was making him feel good, and that I was being useful. Without pausing my hands, I spoke, somehow without much thought but with clear intention.

“Would you like me to remove your socks?”

“Why the fuck would I want that?” He spat back at me, voice full of vitriol.

“I think it will help this to feel better for you.” I replied, without hesitation, no quiver or doubt in my voice.

I couldn’t see as I was only focused on my hands, as they moved across his feet, but he had on his face an expression mixed with disgust, curiosity, and self-satisfaction.

“You want to make my feet feel good?” He asked mockingly.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please.” The words once again leaving my lips naturally. I was requesting to massage his bare, sweaty soles. I’d normally be disgusted by that, wouldn’t I? And yet, in this moment I hadn’t a care in the world about that. I wanted to massage his bare feet.

He grunted and kicked my forehead with the free foot I wasn’t massaging, “No, faggot. That’s a good start, sure. But it’s yes, SIR, understood?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He snorted, clearly enjoying the way he toyed with me like a dog.

“Better, so what is it you wanted again, bitch?”

“I want to rub your bare feet so it can feel better for you, Sir.”

“Ahhh, there we go.” He sighed, clearly pleased with himself. “Sure, make me feel good, fag.”

Without missing a beat, without being told, and still not really in control, I replied one last time: “Thank you, Sir.”

Quickly I removed the sweat soaked socks which similarly clung briefly to his feet as they had a few days ago. My small hands now reacquainted themselves with the bottoms of my stepdads bare soles. The sweat and heat of his skin now amplified being in direct contact with my own. This change in sensation coupled with the intensifying ripe odor had a grounding effect on me. Compared to the texture of his socks, which felt akin to rough fabric, and the the more muted foot funk which I could zone out of, the feeling of his slightly rough, damp feet and that head-pounding musk now called my attention more than ever.

It was like a kaleidoscope zooming in, initially the image is so obscured by the fractured pieces, but now it was simple and clear. I could feel my knees dug into the carpet, my back tight from holding this position, and my hands slightly aching from working his tough feet.

I blinked a few times, and looked up at my stepdad. He was looking at his phone quizzically, then typing something. Shortly after I heard the sound made when an email is sent. He put down his phone and returned to his computer which sat on top of his lap.

What am I doing here? I thought to myself. Why… why am I beneath him massaging his feet? Is this really what I want. Is it really worth going this far to try and ensure he keeps me around? These questions swirled in my head. But with each question, I took a breath and would inhale that sour, burning scent and I’d feel the question dissolve. One after another they fell apart as I took in his poisonous stench.

I asked to be here. You wanted to be here. Were the only thoughts that seemed to escape and continue cycling through my mind.

I rubbed my thumbs over a small area of tension. I’d press my thumb down, move through the knot, and hear: You wanted to be here. My thumb would reset its position, move through the knot, You wanted to be here.

You wanted to be here. You wanted to be here. You wanted to be here.

Over and over. I must have wanted to be here, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. Otherwise I would not have asked… Right? That must be the case.

The knot worked out and suddenly a new thought echoed in my head: You like being down here.

I… like being down here? I heard my stepdad grunt in relief as the knot worked out and automatically a sense of satisfaction bloomed inside me. I felt so happy I’d made him feel good. That I’d made his feet feel good. I must like being down here.

I must like massaging his feet.

These thoughts brought concerns about why and what that meant. But for a moment, that satisfaction and joy of bringing my stepdad relief drowned them out. I could figure out what that means later. For now, I could just continue rubbing his giant soles.

So I continued to rub them for some time. Slowly the room grew dimmer as the sun passed through the sky. Eventually, he took a swig of his beer and the light ring of the empty can resounded through the room.

“Would you like me to get you another?” I asked, naturally attuned to his needs.

He grunted in affirmation and I rose from the floor and headed to the kitchen, grabbing the empty can on the way there.

While in the kitchen I finally had the chance to glance at the clock and saw the time. 5:27 PM. So I’d been on my knees for about an hour and a half. I opened the fridge and grabbed a new can before heading back.

After cracking open the can and placing it beside him, I asked, “It’s getting close to dinner time. Is it all right if I pause caring for your feet to make dinner?”

He glanced up, looking at me for the first time in a while. His expression sent shivers through my system. It always seemed he looked at me in disdain, with contempt. For the first time, his gaze seemed softer. Not necessarily of any fatherly caring, but more so one that perhaps embodied how he felt his needs were being met to his satisfaction.

“Make something quick,” he commanded, his tone more steady and void of the usual premature disappointment, “Have it ready by 6.”

I knew of only a few things I could make that quickly which would be to his liking, so I quickly turned around and headed out, but not before affirming with a “Yes, Sir.”

I entered the kitchen and washed my hands before turning to look through the fridge. I scanned its contents before my eyes rested on what I was looking for: the salmon. I’d make him a salmon salad, one of his favorite fish dishes. I also grabbed some packaged kale, an onion, and carrots.

I immediately got to work cutting up the vegetables before putting them on one pan to cook. I pulled out a second smaller pan to cook the fish after seasoning it. While both were on the stove, I poured the kale into a bowl, mixed it with some olive oil, salt, and pepper and gently massaged it. 

While I was working I’d heard my stepdad walk upstairs with the shuffling of his slippers, and shortly after heard the water running indicating he was showering. Strangely, the first thought that came to mind was of his feet and their smell. I wondered if they wouldn’t smell the same— as strong— washed. Curiosity mixed with… a sense of disappointment…? Filled my body as I considered the fact that they may not have the same scent.

Shaking my head, I returned focus to the food. Once the kale was done, I stirred the vegetables as they were getting close to finishing and flipped the fish after another minute.

Before long everything was done. I’d heard my stepdad walk back down and into the living room while I’d been taking care of the vegetables. Carefully, but efficiently I moved to plate our food as I glanced at the clock: 5:59 PM. I grabbed utensils for him and made my way back to the living room.

As I stepped in, I saw he was in the same position as earlier, sitting on the couch with his feet up. He glanced up to see the time and let out another grunt as he smirked proudly.

“Done on time. Good boy.” He praised me.

“Thank you, Sir.” I replied genuinely, a fullness welling in my chest. I gently placed his food on the table beside him.

“Get me water on your way back.” He ordered.

“Of course, Sir.”

I walked back to the kitchen and poured his water from our filter and carried the glass with me as I walked in with my food.

After placing his water beside him I sat on the couch across from him and ate. He turned the TV on and watched the sports game. As I ate in silence beside him for the third time today, it dawned on me. I never ate with him. Never sat next to him. I’d always gone to my room to eat, avoided him. I’d been so terrified of him that I never spent any time around him. Never listened to his needs. Never gave myself the chance to be useful to him.

A smile came on my face as I thought of this. How nice it felt to be around him, to feel his pride in what I did for him. I… want to keep doing this. The thought came to my mind like a vow.

The smile stayed on my face as I continued to eat in silence and he occasionally cheered for his team. I joyfully watched him get into the game, seeing a passionate side of him that I’d never seen before. I was almost sad when he finished eating since it meant I would have to leave for a moment, so I hurried as I took our plates and returned back to the room.

As I entered, he snapped his fingers and pointed at his feet.

“Pause over. Back to serving my feet.”

That same smile returned to my face, unable to be hidden, and an unintentional giggle came out of my lips as I kneeled before him and obediently assented “Yes, Sir.”

I saw him look down, his gaze boring through my skull like he was seeing something not visible to me. Though he didn’t say anything and simply returned to watching the game, he uncrossed and recrossed his feet and wiggled his long toes in my face. As he did a warm scent wafted into my nose and I inhaled happily. The sourness of his foot funk was gone and I missed it… I missed it, huh? I thought.

But still, the heady musk remained and felt so pleasant to breathe in. It’s pleasant to breathe in his foot stink? This time the question bounced in my head for a few moments. As I continued to breathe in the warm stench as my hands got to work, a simple thought came to mind that silenced them: Yeah, I like smelling his feet, cleaner, and stinkier. I do like it. I like it a lot. I really like when they’re sweaty. It feels like all I can think about is his feet. I like thinking about his feet. I like his feet.

I gently pressed my fingers into and across his feet, rubbing out tension and enjoying the feeling of his strong, warm feet against my small fingers.

I was generally a smaller guy. Standing only at 5’4. Not tiny, but below average. Everything about me seemed below average. Compared to my stepdad’s feet which seemed huge, though I didn’t yet know the actual size, mine were very visibly much smaller at only a size 8 in the US. My hands were additionally small, though I felt my fingers were appropriately sized for my hands, the natural diminished size of my hands meant my fingers were naturally smaller too.

This was all readily visible attributes, but sitting beneath him and rubbing his feet, seeing the visual difference between the two of us, made my mind naturally wander to my dick and its size. At only 4 inches flat when it was hard, and less when soft, my gaze slowly went from my stepdad’s feet, along his legs, and eventually resting at his crotch.

A deep pool of shame began to well in my chest as I stared at his crotch and it only grew as I thought back to that time when I heard my mom gagging on it. I wasn’t sure of my sexuality, I’d never done anything with anyone. But, when with some of my few friends, we had made jokes with bananas and popsicles and I knew you could take quite a bit down your throat before gagging. At least a little more than 4 inches.

Thinking about that moment so intensely made me recall a piece I’d forgotten. As I’d nervously backed away, hearing her gag, he’d said: “Come on! You know you still have more to take! You’re gonna get these last several inches down, bitch!”

If she was gagging and still had several inches to take… He had to be seven or eight inches long…

I swallowed hard and managed to break my gaze from his crotch, my eyes darted up and noticed him looking down at me, scowling. I say looking down at me, but again it was almost like he was looking through me.

I smiled up at him. I smiled because I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I smiled because I didn’t want to be anxious anymore. I smiled because I wanted him to be relaxed and enjoy me servicing him feet. I smiled because I wanted him to smile.

He stared at me like he wanted to say something, but stayed silent while I heard the game play in the background; however, as soon as it cut to commercial he spoke up.

“What’re you smiling about, faggot?” He asked. Despite that word I didn’t flinch. I didn’t flinch because he’s yelled at me so many times before. For so many years, I’ve heard disgust and disdain in his voice. When asking this question, though his voice was gruff and probably sounded grumpy, after years of feeling his contempt when he spoke, I could tell when it was absent. And it was.

“I like massaging your feet.” I spoke softly, truthfully and, for the first time, unapologetically. “I hope you’ve been liking it too.”

He grunted out a laugh at my honest response.

“Hmph,” he sighed, stretching his legs out further, his soles and toes coming dangerously close to my face. That warm, inviting, and toxic smell further tightening its grip around me. “You’re better than your mother. She never liked doing shit for me.”

He paused, and before I could stop myself, I spoke up.

“I like doing things for you.” His eyes homed in further, and second-by-second it seemed more and more like he was looking at me now.

“I… I like cleaning the house. I like doing your laundry. I like making you food and bringing it to you.” This time I paused, my eyes breaking away from his to stare at the mountainous soles before me. He let my words, my admissions, hang in the air. As they did, I sighed and felt a wave of relief wash out of me as these hidden thoughts were laid out before him and I breathed back in his foot funk. “I really like massaging your feet,” I admitted, gently tightening my grasp on them as an innocent smile spread across my face. “I want… I want to make you happy. I think that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Now I feel like I can— I hope I am—”

“Shut up and rub, queer.” He ordered, smacking my cheek with his foot as the game came back on.

Obediently, my mouth immediately closed and I went back to rubbing his feet. This time, gently attending to areas where he had mild calluses forming. Massaging them as if rubbing them out would rub out all his tension, all his disappointment in me. As if the more obedient I was, the happier he’d be with me.

I could only hope.

We sat in silence for another 10 minutes before the game started to end. He began cheering for his team, and as they made a final touchdown and won the game, he shot up. His outstretched legs pushed that much further forward, suddenly and unexpectedly coming into contact with my face. My nose finding itself directly between his big toe and his second toe, I sharply inhaled from surprise, and my eyes rolled back as I became completely intoxicated.

He leaned back and turned off the TV. My face almost feeling magnetically pulled toward his feet as they departed from my skin. That’s when he finally looked back down at me and cleared his throat. As I looked back up into his deep brown eyes which felt like a warm chocolate puddle I could fall into— deeper, deeper, deeper— he spoke up:

“You wanna make me happy? Do what I say?” His gaze sharpening as he asked these questions. “You wanna be a good faggot for me?”

“I-I d-do…” I stuttered, nervous now that his attention was so focused on me.

He ripped one foot from my hand and slammed it on the ottoman I was kneeled in front of.

“Speak up and speak with confidence when I ask you a question! …I like you better that way.”

He… he likes me when I speak with confidence? A surge of passion swirled in my chest.

“Yes, Sir, I want to make you happy! I want to do what you say! I want to be a good faggot for you, Sir!”

“Hmph,” he smirked, tapping that same foot against my cheek. “Then follow me upstairs. But first, put on my slippers.”

Hastily, I picked them up. A wave of sour, musky stench wafted from the footwear, reminding me of his sweaty feet. A pit grew in my stomach as I craved his ripe feet once again.

With his footwear now on, he stood up and began heading out of the room ahead of me. His command was final. I now had a choice to make. To follow his orders, solidifying the words I just spoke. Or, I could go back on them. Return to being afraid of him. To return to disappointing him.

This, wasn’t a decision at all, and that was shown as my legs decisively moved just behind him. Following, unashamed.

We walked up the stairs and into his room. He sat on his bed, turning toward me. Without looking at me, another order was given.

“Shirt.”

Without hesitation, I walked up to him. Standing before him, I knew something felt wrong, and letting my body move on autopilot, my knees dropped to the floor. I now looked up at him. Better. I thought, internally smiling. Much better.

I then began unbuttoning his shirt and helping him remove it.

“Pants.” He promptly ordered once his shirt was off.

Once again, from my knees I undid his belt, removing it. Then unclasped his jeans and gently pulled down the fly. He suddenly moved to stand up and I quickly backed up. His pants naturally dropped a few inches and a prominent bulge threatened to escape the front. I audibly gasped as it came into view. A pungent, spicy aroma burning my nostrils. It’s intoxicating too, I thought to myself.

Hands shaking I reached up and slowly lowered his pants. The pants initially caught on his bulge before it jumped out, springing free. The odor grew stronger and my knees grew weaker as I breathed it in, my face only inches away.

He removed his bulge from my face; however, as he moved to sit back down and I fully removed his jeans.

Last, he commanded, “Slippers.”

I knew this was just a formality. He could easily kick them off himself. I lowered myself even further and gently pulled the slippers I had put on less than two minutes ago. Their hypnotizing reeking stink, pulling me in, closer and closer until I was insignificant and tiny crouching beneath him. With his slippers off, he lifted a leg and roughly pushed his foot into my face as he used it to kick himself onto his bed.

Yet more symbolism. I internally acknowledged, shaking with glee. He used my face… His feet touched my face!

-

As aware of his descent as he thought he was, the small boy was blinded by his sudden submission and the joy that followed. He could not see the depths to which he had dropped… or risen, some might say depending on how they viewed his submission. His stepfather saw it all, he knew what the boy was. More importantly, he knew what the boy was to him. And he knew how to make use of the boy to his fullest advantage. How he could play his cards right and have that poor little boy wrapped around his fingers forever.

A life of complete luxury where he would have someone completely devoted to him, hand and, especially, foot. A life where his every need would be met with a smile. A life where he could be as demanding and cruel as he wanted and this sweet boy would beg for it time again, no… where the obedient little faggot would beg for more; more demands, more cruelty. The man smirked to himself as these thoughts came through his mind.

He was not evil, no. He had wanted all this from the kids mother, but the bitch couldn’t take it. She always complained when it came to doing what he said. Complained about putting him first. Complained about taking his fat fucking cock. And that cunt would never have touched his feet, not clean, let alone when they were sweaty and ripe.

So she wanted to leave and he let her. He wasn’t evil. But he saw now. Saw over the week, but only now with the fullest of clarity. He wouldn’t get what he wanted from the stupid bitch who left, but he’d get it from her kid. It wasn’t his kid anyway. They raised him as if the man was his stepdad, but the truth was the dumb bitch never could commit to marrying him. And seeing how useless she was, he stopped caring early on.

So the kid wasn’t his, not by blood and not legally. So, as he pressed his clean, but still smelly foot onto the kids face, the most devilish of grins formed in his mind. The boy would become his. That sweet and innocent boy would be taken advantage of and manipulated into the man’s perfect faggot. He’d intoxicate him with his foot funk, get him high on his sweaty cock, hypnotize him with his ripe pits, and control him. Control his mind, control his heart. In time that little fag bitch would forget he ever had wants or needs. Except for one thing. His new want, his new need:

To care for his Master’s every whim.

-

My stepdad’s warm, stinky sole pressed into my face and I felt my vision spin in ecstasy. I struggled to hold myself upright and fell backwards. I looked up at him as he relaxed, placing his hands behind his head and provided the next order:

“Come to the edge of the bed.”

Still feeling so tiny beneath him, I crawled to the end of the bed where his feet rested. I could pretty much only see the large soles spanning the space before me. Parts of his face or hair sticking out from behind his feet.

“Come closer.” He commanded, warmly, inviting.

Slowly my face closed the gap, inch-by-inch. Until my nose was up against the warm flesh and the heady aroma began to take its poisonous hold. He knew my cognitive processing would stop now. He could go in for the kill.

But he wanted to break me, not just take me down.

Brief flashes of everything I would do for these feet came through my mind, lingering on the most humiliating. As he spoke, he got his true goal out of me, my hungry, lustful disappointment.

“You will kiss the bottom of one of my feet as you rub the other, switching every few minutes. You will only kiss them. Understood, faggot?”

Despite my sadness at his orders, I craved to serve him. I craved to please him. My face turned slightly upright and my lips lingered, just barely brushing feet, before pressing in to the warm skin. The warmth spread across my lips, pulling me in more. I planted one kiss, then removed my lips—willfully— before quickly pressing them again and planting a second kiss.

It was so easy to kiss his big feet. It felt so natural. Yes, this is natural. This is where I belong. I thought, in between kisses.

My hands lifted and I began rubbing once again, feeling safe in the space underneath my stepfather’s feet.

After a moment, he turned off the light.

“Keep going until I fall asleep.” He commanded.

“Yes… Sir…” I assented between kisses.

I expected a grunt or no response at all. But he surprised me, jumpstarting my heart.

“That’s a good boy. Such a good faggy boy.”

I smiled in glee as I passionately kissed his powerful feet. Again and again, eventually switching feet for which I kissed and massaged. Resuming on the new foot, I planted loving, adoring, worshipful kiss after kiss.

Seconds turned to minutes and before long I heard him snoring. But my worship was unrelenting. I kissed his beautiful feet in silence, out from under his dominant gaze.

For the first time this night I noticed I was hard. My small dick practically straining in my pants. The tantalizing stink of my stepdad’s feet made my little penis strain all the harder. I was tempted to stroke breathing in his foot funk. But he did not give you permission. I thought. He ordered you to kiss and massage his feet. Not to play with your pathetic little dick.

I couldn’t cum. I wasn’t allowed to. So I did my best to stop thinking about the little thing straining in my pants and focused just on breathing in the musky scent of my stepdad’s feet, the feeling of his warm feet against my lips, and the flesh against my hands.

I turned my attention away from my dick again and again. Until at some point, I stopped noticing it. I stopped noticing a lot as the my world shrank in that darkness. At some point I stopped noticing the feeling of his tough flesh against my hands, and stopped feeling my lips leave his delicious soles.

Eventually just the smell remained as my head rested against his feet with my lips pressed against them. I inhaled that stink, filling my mind with it, clouding out everything else. I could only think about him and his feet. Even when I stopped consciously thinking, my dreams were only of him and his feet. Of being underneath. Of serving him.

Of being my stepdad’s good little fag boy.

End of part 1(?)

-

-

-

I hope you all enjoyed the story! I may write more following this storyline. It took me quite a while. I wrote about a third of it a few (7-8) months ago and didn’t pick it up again until a few weeks ago, when I slowly added to it. Needless to say, with all that time, I’ve grown attached to it and have ideas of where to go from here. Hopefully the length of time it took is a testament to its quality and how much you all will enjoy it! I have a few other stories that have been cooking and that I’ll be working on with some more times. Mostly new stories, I have a few ideas of where to take the story with the footballers. I hope those will all come out great too. Let me know what you all thought, always love hearing from fellow foot domination enjoyers, whether it be the doms, subs, or switches (:

[mastersfootrest]

Controlled by my Colleagues Feet

I sighed contentedly as I entered my office building. I had been hired about a month and a half ago for my new position which was quite a jump in responsibility, but also a jump in status and pay compared to my previous job. I appreciated the challenge though. My last job was too managerial, I gave out tasks and reviewed them once they were complete. Perhaps initially it was stressful; worrying about managing others. But eventually I got used to it and then it became pretty monotonous. This job actually reversed the positions funnily enough.

I now worked under a colleague of mine, Rex. I’d only just started taking direct orders from him about two weeks ago as I was being trained by another colleague who did work at the same level as me for the first month. However, since being let off the training wheels, I met with Rex roughly once every day for anywhere between two minutes to one hour. The huge variation in time all depended on what tasks he was assigning me and how well I did on the work he was reviewing. For longer projects sometimes he’d postpone meetings for an extra day to give me more time to make actual progress, and other times we’d agree to meet multiple times in one day.

Although Rex wasn’t exactly my boss, according to staffing we were on the same level; it still felt like he was basically another boss for me, and he was honestly a pretty cool one. He was pretty serious about the work, I had gotten the vibe from the first couple days that he was one who expected you to do as your told and do it well. But we’d also had a few chats after going over our work, mainly when I did a solid job, and he could be pretty funny!

Last Friday, he’d invited me in for a chat toward the end of the day, and at this point he’d practically gotten half-undressed, with his shoes thrown across the room, sweater off and shirt partway unbuttoned. Given it was the end of the day we both kept the meeting short, but he’d joked about his stripping of work attire and how he knew nobody’d really care because they’d all just be jealous they couldn’t do the same.

Honestly, at that point all I could do was admit that I was pretty jealous too! We laughed at the “told ya so” moment and he’d revealed how he actually kept his shoes off most of the day when he could if he was in his office, and that nobody simply noticed. We laughed over that for a minute before he dismissed me and I headed home.

Needless to say, I had felt like I’d slid into this role pretty comfortably. As I got into the office, I greeted my colleagues and got to work on a project we’d established from the previous week. After about an hour, Rex came out of his office with a man and a woman both in suits.

Getting up to get some water, I ran into the colleague who trained me and asked them what was up. They explained that today was the monthly meeting and inspection that Rex’s bosses did. My colleague stated how they’d be in meetings for a lot of the morning, and when not in meetings, Rex would be walking all over the office to show them around and explain what projects everyone was working on.

I vaguely remembered this from shortly after I’d started. Looking over at Rex now, I could tell he was focused and dead serious, even more so than usual. I did my best to get back to work and make sure that on my end things were going well.

-

About true to what my colleague said, around 1:30 pm, the two individuals in suits left Rex’s office as he waved them goodbye, smiling. However, as soon as they exited the office, Rex’s smile dropped and it was clear to see the hours of serious, in depth meetings and walking around was not to his liking. Thus, when his voice boomed “Jaime!” as he called me into his office, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Practically running into his office, I closed the door and sat down as he shifted around in his seat.

“Update me on your current work.” He spoke, to the point and curt. “I’m expecting good news on the progress.”

“O-of course.” I stammered out and began running him through the what I’d done the previous day and throughout the morning. As I began to run him through things, he’d nod along the way and seemed please. A lot of progress had actually been made and we ended up talking for a good 20 minutes at this point.

Somewhere along the way though, I’d started to feel… light-headed? That wasn’t exactly it, but I noticed it became harder to think. Maybe because we’d been at it for a bit by now, but I started to feel unusually warm and noticed the room had a light smell to it. Despite not being overpowering, it stung my nostrils and demanded attention. Attention I could not afford to have diverted, but was nonetheless.

Sure enough, as we continued talking, I lost track of the things I was saying and couldn’t quite get my words right. Rex called me out on an error present and when he asked me about it, I just began to fumble my words.

“What do you mean, you don’t know why it’s there. You put it there, right?” He scolded me.

“Y-yes, I guess I did."

“Guess? You guess you did? Did someone else put it there?"

“N-no… I’m sorry, I put it there, I don’t know why, I must have made an error in my calculations."

Beginning to lose his patience, Rex let out a disappointed and frustrated sigh.

“Then go back through, and get it right. I don’t want any mistakes. Got it?"

“Y-yes, Sir!” I quickly assured him, not wanting to upset him further.

After a moment of silence, he looked at me funny as I just sat there dumbfounded, still caught up in whatever was obscuring my judgment.

“Well then get the fuck out and make the corrections!"

“Yes! Of couse! I’m sorry, Sir!” The words practically falling out of my mouth as I ran out of his office.

Once I was out of his office, I was able to actually register how fast my heart was beating. Nervously I looked around. Though partially already knowing this to be the case, I still felt thankful when I saw that everybody was just moving right along with their work. Nobody else knew about the massive slip up I’d made. Quickly, I went to my seat and got opened the file we’d been discussing as Rex opened back up his door and called in the next person.

-

I spent the rest of that mulling over where I went wrong in this report. Rex was absolutely right. The numbers were not correct… But as I sat there and minutes ticked by, turning to hours. I couldn’t get my head back in things. I continued to be consumed by that warm, swimming feeling. At the very last hour of the day, I finally made some progress and after redoing the calculations, it seemed we were finally back on track.

I let out a massive sigh, but not exactly of the same content I’d had when I’d walked it. This is normally something that would take me like 10 minutes to work through, and instead it took me almost 4 hours. In addition to having fucked up, I was now seriously behind.

Rex tended to call us in randomly each day, so I had to pray that come tomorrow when we were next scheduled to meet, I’d be one of the later meetings to help make sure I could try and have enough progress made as possible.

After getting home I tried to understand what got in the way at work… Why I was so off. I wasn’t perfect, nobody is, so I was bound to make mistakes. But why had it taken me so long to correct the mistake? Try as I might to process what happened, I simply couldn’t understand why I’d felt so light-headed and almost thoughtless that day.

I sighed as I got into bed and vowed that tomorrow, I wouldn’t let the same thing happen.

-

As I walked into work the next morning with some pep in my step, I honestly felt pretty good about the vow I’d made. I felt energized and ready to tackle the rest of this project. Though I was certainly behind now, on the way to work, I’d found an order to address everything that should allow me to be much closer to being on track by the end of the day.

About a half an hour into working, I heard the front door to our office slam, and turned around to see Rex with visible sweat dripping from his forehead, stomping through the office. I thought it best to not say anything right now, especially after the mess I’d made of things yesterday. But kept in mind that I’d check in on things during our daily meeting after I’d manage to bring things back from looking so abysmal.

-

As I sorted through the accounts and numbers, and balanced them with the budget we had, things were going pretty smooth. Just as I’d hoped, it was was now 2 PM and Rex had yet to call me into his office, and thanks to that I’d made a lot of progress compared to yesterday, hopefully enough that he wouldn’t be too angry about being behind.

I actually hadn’t seen him after he stepped out of our larger office space about a half hour ago, and was hoping I could have just a little more time to really bring things back.

Unfortunately, this was where my luck ran out as Rex once again came storming in, similarly sweaty compared to this morning. Just before entering his office his voice boomed, “Jaime! My office!"

Gulping, I mentally prepared myself and the report I was going to make before wobbling my way over.

-

After closing the door, my anxiety got the best of me and I played into platitudes and niceties, “Is… everything okay today?"

Clearly annoyed, Rex let out a heavy sigh. “No, Jaime. Everything is clearly fucking not all right.”

Stupidly, I pressed the subject, “I’m sorry… Why— Why is that?"

Turning from his computer, he paused to look at me in disbelief as if I was insane or an alien.

“I’m fucking drenched in sweat!” He exclaimed, “My car wouldn’t start and I had to take the bus, which meant I had to run to the bus stop and then to the office. Then because I didn’t have my fucking car, I had to walk to get my damn lunch. I’m hot and I’m tired and I don’t want to be in these damn clothes. What part of that isn’t obvious?”

Now getting the hint, I remained silent as Rex adjusted in his seat before moving back, leaning in his chair, and putting his socked feet on his desk.

“I need to air these dogs out.” He announced, before demanding, “So, you’re in here to give your damn report, are you going to give it?"

“Oh— Oh yes, I’m sorry. Right away."

I began rattling off details of my update, the progress I’d been able to make. Slowly, as I spoke, the same light-headedness returned. My speech began slowing down as I felt bogged in the same heavy musk from the previous day, only more potent today. It was strange; it was strong, almost overbearing, but not altogether unpleasant. The longer I sat taking it in, the more palatable it became and the easier it became to let it take control.

By the end of the report, I’d started losing my words once more. I just dumbly concluded as I stared into his socked feet, two wide mountains obscuring his face.

A long pause ensued as I zoned out overtaken by the heady smell. It wasn’t until he spoke up again as he dropped his feet that I regained composure, only to be yelled at as I did.

“AND?!” He angrily, prodded. “That’s all you have to say. Do you really think ‘And I’ve just kinda been catching up now.’ is any fucking way to end a report?! You’re still fucking behind! We need this shit done, Jaime!”

I suppose I set myself up for failure thinking he’d be okay with me still being behind despite the progress I’d made from yesterday’s fuck up.

Despite all this, despite regaining some composure, as he yelled at me, it still all felt rather muted. I wanted this job, I wanted it so bad. But something in me wouldn’t let me focus as I deeply inhaled that warm scent that made my brain tingle.

I apologized and promised to try my best to continue catching up as he practically threw me out of his office. Silently, I walked back to my desk and sat preparing to resume working.

However, as I sat there the scent still hung around me, as if clinging to my clothes, my skin. I closed my eyes and breathed it in. My hands slowly moving along the keyboard automatically.

After blinking a few times, I took another deep breath as I noticed the scent begin to fade and checked my watch: 6:02 PM. What? I questioned to myself. I’d just left Rex’s office. It was just 2:41 PM… How… How was it not only the end of the day, but an hour past our usual end time? I’d- I’d just closed my eyes a moment...

I briefly looked over the file and saw that I had made some progress. But in about 3 and a half hours, the amount of progress was only about an hours worth... an hours worth of progress I didn’t even remember working on.

A sinking feeling growing in my chest, I saved everything and closed out. I had no idea what the hell I was going to do or why any of this was happening. I could barely think at this point and knew any more work would be fruitless. I just had to bank on having a few more days for the project and working serious, unpaid overtime before it was due.

-

The next day I arrived to work, dead set on getting my shit together. I spent all day laser focused on getting the files and numbers together, even forgetting to eat lunch as I continued marching on through the data.

Slowly, people around me began to leave for the day, though I was unaware of their decreasing numbers. Fewer and fewer people remained until around 5:10 when it was just Rex and I in the office.

Using the overhead comms, Rex ordered for me to come into his office. I tightly closed my eyes. There was still quite a bit to do. Maybe with just one more day, I could catch up. Couldn’t he give me one more day?

Not wanting to piss him off further though, I saved my work and made my way to his office.

-

As I stepped into his office, his face was obscured both by his computer screen and once again his huge socked feet resting on his table. Meekly, I sat in the chair in front of his desk as he spoke up.

“Do you know when that file you’ve been reporting on is due?” He asked.

“Um, n-no.” I stammered out. I had to take some deep breaths to try and calm myself down. In. Out. In. Out. I told myself.

“Ooooof couse, you don’t.” He groaned frustrated. “Yesterday. The damn thing was due yesterday.”

I felt my blood run cold. I’d never messed up this bad at a job, ever. I continued to do the breathing as the sudden warmth filled me once more. First in my nose. Then traveling up to my head, my brain. That warm feeling then spread throughout my body and everything felt fuzzy. As he continued speaking, my mind softened, slowed. My eyes found a nice relaxed resting place directly in front of me, gazing into his socked soles. Watching them move as he spoke.

“The higher ups want the damn thing completed today, so now they’ve said you and I both have to stay late to finish it.” As he spoke, whenever he got to something particularly vexing, his arch would flex and then his toes would curl. Then he’d stretch and crack his ankle, waving his foot as my eyes followed. Whatever the smell was, it began dulling my senses, my feelings, my thoughts.

After pausing for a minute to calm himself, he continued, “I’ve been monitoring your work when I could today, and honestly, thankfully this is at least some shit we can now actually finish today. But I’m fucking tired. My car's still fucked up and I had to run between here and the office upstairs thanks to your mess.” Though clear how annoyed he was, thanks to this mysterious musk, my anxiety was all but drowned out. If anything, the angrier and more frustrated he got, the more my anxiety would threaten to rise, and the deeper I’d breathe in. Letting that scent invade me. Control me.

“So you,” he paused, clearing his throat to be sure he was understood, “are going to sit here and work your fucking ass off, then beg me to let you keep this job. And while I decide, you’ll drive me fucking home so I don’t have to walk anymore. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to come back in tomorrow. Am I understood?!”

Rex flexed his strong, visibly meaty toes as he made these commands. I watched as his wiggled his second toe between the big and third toes, as he uncrossed and then crossed his feet again. I mumbled out a quiet “Yes, sir” unconsciously, but my eyes stayed glued to his feet as my brain stayed fuzzy and numb. Every time he flexed his feet and wiggled his toes, I swear the smell grew stronger, stronger… choking me into submission. Except, I stopped resisting long ago. Stopped thinking long ago.

Despite what I’d said, Rex noticed when I wasn’t moving. This sent him over the edge as he started to yell, “Are you a fucking idiot?! What the hell are you—.” He paused, as I remained unflinching, staring deeping into his thick soles.

“Are you…” He started, inquisitively. Rex uncrossed his feet and then lifted his right foot slightly higher. My eyes moved and followed the motion of his foot as if controlled by some external force. Left, then right. Up, then down. “You… you fucking are.” Rex laughed in disbelief to himself.

“I thought I heard you breathing loud as hell. You were fucking taking in my sweaty feet?!” He exclaimed, laughing harder.

Dumbly, I just continued to sit there, absorbed in his soles, sedated by what Rex now realized was the sweaty musk emanating from them.

Rex quickly peeled off his socks revealing two lightly lint covered white soles. Still my eyes stayed glued to them, unerringly.

“Move your chair a little closer.” He ordered. And being an order that didn’t involve my eyes taking themselves from his giant paws, my body moved on its own in compliance. Inching the chair closer, closer, closer. Until I was right up next to his desk.

“Now don’t move.” He commanded, stifling laughter.

My body froze. Not a muscle could move even if I wasn’t completely supressed by the foot funk that was only growing stronger. And it only continued to grow in intensity as those big, wide soles grew closer and closer, until the soft, sweaty flesh pressed up against my face.

I groaned out in pleasure with my face buried between his soles as my uncontrolled dick began twitching and cumming in my pants. This should have lifted the haze. In fact, if I had been anywhere else in the room, it would have.

But I was right under his soles. Almost as if Rex knew, he put me right where I would remain under his control. The scent was frying my brain. As I came with my mouth agape, his soles brushed up against my tongue, transferring sweat and sock lint from foot to mouth. Similarly, the strong sweat was directly being inhaled through my nose and into my brain.

This moment was being carved into my memory, etched into my essence. All of this moment, the pathetic, helpless submission under his feet captured as his howling laughter acted as the only audio to the moment.

“Oh my fucking god... Christ!” He struggled to speak between hysterical laughter, “Y-you just fucking came?! From what? My feet!? I had to walk two miles to get here, a mile to get food. I've been running up and down these damn stairs… and these socks… I hadn’t washed them since last week.” Talking out the events only caused his laughter to remain ignited as the gravity of the situation became clearer to him.

“And you… you fucking licked them as you came! Y-you fucking licked them… You… Do it again. Fucking do it again!” He demanded through tears.

Without hesitation, my faced still buried beneath his mountainous soles released my tongue, shooting out and licking up the very sweat that continued to absorb into my skin. Now also absorbing onto my tongue.

“FUCK!” He exclaimed, “Awww, fuck, that feels good! Yeah… Yeah, that feels real fucking good.”

Sighing, finally starting to regain his composure, his brain started to work some things out.

“Okay, okay… we’re going to figure… THIS,” he gestured vaguely, "out more in a bit… but this… this is worth some set back— oh this is fucking worth that shit.” He giggled to himself. “So here’s what we’re going to do. I can tell right now, you’re not worth shit. Hell— if anything— this makes your fuck ups make a lot more sense now. So I can tell you aren’t— can’t— do anything, at least not work related.”

Slightly turning his chair, he ordered, “But I know what you can do. Without, and I repeat, WITHOUT, removing your stupid face from my nasty feet, you are going to get out of that chair and onto the ground in front of me, got it, foot boy? If you want to keep huffing on these feet you’ll do it.”

He lifted his soles and I moved with them, mindlessly following his feet until I laid on the ground beneath him and his soles began using my face as a foot rest.

“That’s fucking better! HA! Always thought I needed a foot rest in my office, who fucking knew the way I’d get one!”

“Now I have some work to do, foot fag. So what you’re gonna do is kiss and lick your new foot master… ha… Yeah, I think I like that, I fucking own your ass... So you’re gonna lick and kiss my feet while I clean up your mess. Then, you’ll still take me home, just like I said before. But after that you’ll come in and we’ll…” He paused, as he tapped one of his big toes on my forehead, "figure out just what’s going to happen with you."

Obediently I began tracing the creases of the bottoms of his feet with my tonge just as I was ordered as he finished speaking with me and got to work. “At the very least, you know things are about to change in your life. And you can get real comfortable under my manly feet. ‘cause I’m not letting you out from under them. Not that I think you could even control yourself to ever leave them at this point.” He laughed to himself as he concluded and the only thing that could be heard after was the sound of typing and the faint sound of fervent kisses and licks against his feet.

-

-

-

I hope you all enjoyed this story. I made it using the pictures of @kingrex13 as a reference. He has some WIDE, MEATY soles, and I found it super easy to write this story as I stared at the pictures and after talking with him some. Here’s hoping he posts more pictures so more foot fags and foot boys can enjoy his sexy soles!

[sniffmysmellysocks]

[footsockboy]

Matt's Big Bully Feet

My sisters boyfriend Matt was a massive jock, he didn't work and spent all his time at the gym or around our house lounging around. My parents let him move in with us since he had a fight with his dad who kicked him out for not contributing to their family after graduating school. My parents were always kind to him and they thought of Matt like a second son who could do no wrong but I knew better. Matt and I went to the same high school years ago and I knew the real him, he was the school bully who tormented and beat up smaller kids, like me.

One Tuesday when my parents and sister were out at work, I had the day off from college so I decided to chill out at home. Matt wasn't around thankfully, I assumed he was out at the gym for his regular morning session. I made a big breakfast for myself of bacon, eggs and sausages and sat down to eat at the kitchen table. As soon as I did, I heard the front door slam and looked up to see Matt walking in the door still in his white gym singlet and red shorts. I started to get nervous as I did not like being alone with Matt from all the bullying and teasing I had been tormented to the past years.

"Hey bro." Matt said as he came into the kitchen and sat down on the chair opposite me.

"Hi" I meekly replied, not wanting to start a conversation with him, I just wanted to eat my breakfast and go to my room.

"Fuck that looks good." Matt eyed my breakfast. "Where's mine?"

"Make your own." I said rudely.

"Alright, calm down sissy, can't even take a joke." Matt said laughing.

I was about to take my first bite of breakfast when a strong smell hit my nose. I looked up to see Matt bring his huge size 15 feet up onto the kitchen table opposite me, he was still wearing his black socks from the gym, they were drenched in sweat and I could see them clinging tightly to the shape of his big feet. "Fuck that was a hard workout this morning. I did an hour on the treadmill after weights and my feet are killing me."

"They stink Matt, get them off the table I'm trying to eat!" I yelled at him.

"Hahaha yeah they do smell pretty bad hey, haven't washed these gym socks in a couple of weeks, that's the smell of a real fucking man right there." Matt exclaimed as he brought his two massive arms up and flexed them at me. "How about you give me that nice breakfast of yours and I won't beat you up right now." I knew he wasn't joking, Matt had previously beat me up when I defied him, I knew going to my parents was useless as they would always tell me that Matt was just joking around and that's how teenage boys acted. I gave in and pushed the plate over to his side of the table. "Fuck yeah, I'm starving." Matt cheered as he picked up the plate and started shoveling my breakfast into his mouth.

I sat there stunned and defeated, not really knowing what to do next. Matt, like he had read my mind pushed his two giant socked feet forward so they were just inches away from my face. "How about you be useful and rub my feet while I eat breakfast, they hurt." I really didn't want to and just sat there trying not to breathe in the putrid stink coming from his sweaty socks. "I said rub them NOW FAG!" Matt yelled and made me jump. Not wanting to defy him, I reached my hands forward and starting slowly rubbing his big foot. I could feel the sweat and heat coming from his feet as I rubbed and it made me feel degraded and inferior to him as he sat back and ate my breakfast.

"Fuck yeah! That's it, keep rubbing those feet. If you do a good job maybe I'll let you be my footstool for the rest of the day while I lounge around and watch TV." I started to cry at the sheer humiliation of what Matt was putting me through which just made him laugh as he pushed his socked foot forward and rubbed it on my face. "You stupid fag, you're fucking pathetic!"

[tidodore2]

[footsockboy]

I was in a lecture one day at university pretending to pay attention to my professor. I noticed my phone vibrate and picked it up, a message from my bully, Matt. My heart rate instantly started to rise as I clicked on the message, carefully looking around to make sure no one was watching.

The message read. "Hey fag, just had a meal with my bud, send me $50 reimbursement and I'll let you massage my feet this afternoon after football practice. I want it in 5 minutes."

I started to sweat as I looked at the time 12:25pm. Thinking about how much money I had left in my bank account I opened my banking app and saw I had exactly $50 left, that had to last me the rest of the week, I couldn't afford it. As I was thinking it over I received another message from Matt accompanied with a photo of him sitting on the restaurant booth with his feet up facing the camera.

12:28pm. "Where's my money fag? Don't you wanna be down at these big wide feet? 2 minutes until I get another fag instead."

I was stressing. I wanted to worship his big jock feet so much but it would mean I'd have no money to survive for the week. Another message arrived.

12:29pm. "Oh by the way, I forgot my socks at home today so I'll be wearing my football boots without socks. My feet are gonna STINK!"

That was it, after reading the last word in his message I lost all inhibitions and immediately went into my banking app as fast as I could. I was fumbling to type. It took me a bit of extra time to try and calm down but eventually I was able to send Matt the last of my money. I sent him a message telling him the money should be in his account now.

12:31pm. "Got it fag but you were a minute too late, no feet for you."

My heart sank into my stomach. I had just given my bully Matt all of my money for nothing. I sat there in silence just staring into space. My phone vibrated and snapped me out, another message appeared on the screen, it was from Matt again.

"Just letting you know your buddy Tim is gonna be the lucky fag to massage my feet tonight. Maybe you can ask him tomorrow how bad they stank hahaha. Next time don't make me wait. Later fag."

I dropped my phone and started to cry.

[hisfeet]

When your dad knows you have a foot fetish.

[footsockboy]

The Footstool

When I lost my job under the new government I couldn't afford to pay my rent anymore. I asked my dad if I could stay with him for awhile until I got back on my feet. He agreed to let me move in and live rent free but told me that until I got back on my feet that I would be under his. I didn't know what he meant by that and thought it was just a joke as he was laughing when he told me.

Fast forward one week and here I am every night lying on the floor under his recliner being used as a foot rest for his meaty size 15s. I've come to learn that his big feet really stink after work, especially on the days he doesn't change his socks. He doesn't care and just laughs, pushing his soles into my face when I try to complain, telling me that if I don't like it I can find a job and move out. I haven't had a reply from any of the jobs I applied for and he knows it. I get the feeling that I will be my dad's foot rest for many months to come.

[tidodore2]

[yurrfttboyy]

Hey cuck, I've had a long day at work. Bring me a drink and come rub my feet until your wife gets home. Chop chop!

[footsockboy]

I worked a 12 hour shift in my boots today, they’re extra sweaty. Make sure you lick them clean while you’re down there. You know your wife always bitches that my feet stink when I’m fucking her.

[hisfeet]

When your dad knows you have a foot fetish.

[realmennnnn-deactivated20240624]

“I’m coming home now. Boy in hand. He thinks it’s cute that you’re cucking yourself out. He’s certain you won’t be my boyfriend after tonight. Be there in 20.”

Connor, your 6’3”, muscular boyfriend, strolls through the door. You stare at his Nike sneakers and mismatched mid calf socks as he enters the room. Your eyes scan up his huge calves and toward his Vineyard Vines shorts and t-shirt. Finally, your gaze reaches his face. He looks so perfect with his backwards MAGA hat and a smirk that spreads across his visage. He holds the door open for the adorable twink behind him. He’s 5’9” and blonde with just enough muscle. He certainly passes for straight, and you can immediately tell why your oh so confident and masculine boyfriend picked him up. The boy shoots you a smile while a small laugh escapes his lips. Neither of them addresses you.

Connor makes his way to the couch, finding the two beers you had left for him and his new friend. He sits down on the couch as his friend crawls on top of his lap and begins to makeout with him. As he slowly raises his feet on to the coffee table, you crawl over to where Connor’s size 13 shoes are resting. You lean into the left shoe and pull off the sneaker. You bring it to your nose, taking several big inhales. You look up as you do so and see Connor’s hands rubbing his new friend’s ass as they continue to make out. He pulls away for a second and tells the boy to watch you. You continue to sniff as his new friend laughs and returns to taking Connor’s tongue down his throat. You take off the right shoe and take a few more sniffs as you watch Connor’s socked toes begin to wiggle. You put both sneakers down right in front of you, the smell wafting up to your nose. You pull each of Connor’s socks off and unleash his glorious feet. You hear him subtly moan as his “puppies” are released from their “foot prisons” - as he likes to refer to them. You give the socks a good sniff and stuff them into Connor’s sneakers.

You watch as Connor diligently wiggles, flicks, and stretches his toes. Immediately, you dive in and lick from the heel to the ball of his foot. Soon, you’re sucking on each toe one by one, making sure to lick every crevice. You hear another burst of laughter as Connor’s friend also gets down to his knees. Connor unleashes his beautiful cock as the boy lets out a simple “wow”. He gets to work quickly, slobbering all over Connor’s cock and enjoying every moment of it. You look up at Connor to find a face of pure bliss. You’re happy to know that you’re contributing to his pleasure.

Several minutes go by, and Connor invites his friend to come into his room. He picks him up and carries him into the room, throwing him onto the bed upon entry. Connor slams the door shut, and you get to work cleaning the soles of his sneakers. You listen as they start to makeout again, and Connor’s friend compliments his domination over loser fags like yourself. You concentrate on his sneakers, enjoying their taste, appearance, and smell. Suddenly, you hear Connor call you to his room. Upon entry, he and his friend are naked, lying on top of one another. Connor stands up with a full boner as he says “watch this” and turns away from his new partner. He tips his hard cock down and rubs it up against your lips. You drop your jaw as he begins to piss down your throat. You vow not to make a mess as you taste the shots and beers he’s enjoyed over the past several hours. As his peeing slows, you feel it dribble down your face and chest. He jumps back on the bed, and you know to exit the room.

Your return to Connor’s sneakers and socks. You immediately get back to work cleaning them. You hear Connor as he rubs lube on his bare cock and pulls the boy to the side of the bed. He lurches into his friend’s ass, and the moaning response is immediate. The bed creaks with every thrust. Connor and his friend pant with every thrust. They moan. The whole time, Connor continually tells the boy how hot he is. The boy is unable to do anything but pant and moan as Connor’s cock reaches deep within him and his tongue remains far down his throat. At many points, you hear Connor pull the boy closer to the edge of his bed, quickly switching back to a strong pounding motion each time. You dare not move as you sit in the living room - you don’t dare ruin your shot at listening to such glorious sounds.

You hear Connor tell his friend that he’s going to cum. The boy ensures he will too - no dick rubbing necessary. Connor tells him once again how hot he is, realizing the power he has over both you and his new friend. It doesn’t take long for either of them to cum, only about 10 minutes into sex. Connor reaches climax as his moans and pants grow louder, burlier, and sexier. With each moan and thrust, you shove your tongue harder and harder against each sneaker sole, licking up every possible morsel of dirt and grime.

You hear kissing begin once again and your name called loudly by Connor. You crawl to the room and enter. Connor’s member remains snug inside the boy; his arms are flexed as he hold his position above the boy. You crawl underneath the boy’s ass and Connor’s penis as he begins to pull out. Lube and sperm fill your mouth. You begin licking the boy's ass rapidly, cleaning up the mess Connor has left behind. You then quickly turn towards Connor, shoving his cock down your own throat. You clean up any leftover lube and cum on his penis and balls, preparing for piss number two of the night. He releases gloriously as you stare up at yet another grin on his face.

He looks to the boy and asks if he wants to spend the night. Connor warns him that he may wake up a few times and require quickies to fall back asleep. When the boy smiles and shakes his head excitedly, you know to make your way to the closet. As you crawl inwards, Connor dumps his laundry basket full of dirty clothes on top of you, which you will use as your pillow and blanket for the night. You hear him walk away as he fetches the pair of shoes and socks he had warn that night too. As he tosses them in, he closes the closet door. You hear the boy audibly giggle, and Connor gets in bed, pulling the boy into his body. “You know what? I actually might be ready for round 2 now. Shall we?” Before the boy even has time to answer, Connor is back on top of him, and the sound of kissing begins again.

By now, you knew you and Connor’s relationship would never be the same. You were destined to forever play the role of his diligent foot faggot. You’d be expected to pick up all costs of living, to conduct all chores, and to appreciate all of the new men in Connor’s life. That’s how you’d earn your keep of course! Those feet weren’t going to come for free, and Connor certainly had no use for you as his boyfriend any longer. Welcome to your new life, faggot.

[sergeant-adams-deactivated20240]

Finding Myself

This one is definitely not for everybody, but just right for @phagster

I guess I truly didn’t find myself until college.

Ok, I know a lot of people say that, but my experience was certainly unique. For starters, I was an exchange student from Germany, although the Americans were never able to guess that at first glance. My Turkish parents had gifted me with many things: their dark curly locks, their caramel-rich skin, their native tongue, and a stable childhood in Berlin. But I was living in two separate worlds, their Turkey and the physical Germany. So when I chose to study abroad, the United States was my first choice.

I know the United States is no longer the “playground of dreams” it used to be seen as, but I thought it would give me a chance to explore my own life. I was 21 with a complete grasp of English, meaning that it would be easy to socialize in any setting. And not to brag, but I didn’t regard myself as unattractive. I was around the average height but lean with incredible cheekbones. I’d had no problem finding men in the past, and I wasn’t going to stop that in a new country. Will taught me the error of my ways however. He has graciously taught me everything.

Will was the first person I met when I had come over to the United States. He was assigned as my roommate, at first to my dismay. Will was the exact stereotype I had been nervous about actually experiencing. The typical masculine American douchebro, he was everything Europeans despised about this country. When I got to our apartment, it was already decorated with American and MAGA flags everywhere. The place reeked of boy too, the stale layer of sweat and cum hung heavy in the air. His dirty laundry was basically the carpet. As soon as I entered the room, I immediately addressed the issue.

“Uh, yeah whatever,” Will dismissed. “You’ll get used to it. Probably come to like it soon enough.”

Nothing with his statement seemed wrong, but it still had the tinge of homophobia that very soon made itself apparent in every conversation. “Fag,” “Homo,” “Fairy”: it was like he knew the entire dictionary of gay slurs. Luckily however, our class schedules were different enough that we barely saw each other. The only time that it was guaranteed we’d both be in the apartment was Thursday nights. Neither of us had activities or plans after 3:30, so we’d both get home and be stuck in one another's presence.

It was one of these Thursday nights where Will showed me what I was destined to be. We’d been living with each other for about three weeks and I was in the living room working on my biology lab homework. He was in the kitchen, having just gotten home from the gym and flexing for himself. And somehow, over the musky enchantment he’d already placed over our apartment, I could still distinctly point out the fresh addition to it.

“Yo, queerdo,” he called from the kitchen. “Can I borrow you a sec?”

Rolling my eyes, I walked over to the table he was seated at. If he wasn’t such a dick, Will could have actually been hot. He was tall, muscular, and good-looking–the trifecta. But as soon as you added the personality, the book’s cover was lost to history.

“Look man, I’m gonna be honest with you.” I was already predicting some right-wing homophobic crap to spill out of his mouth. “My feet are absolutely killing me right now.”

I blinked, honestly a little caught off guard.

“Ok?” I replied.

“Can you just give them a rub or something? I was doing squats and followed it up with some cardio, and now for some reason they’re all sore and stiff.”

I hoped my crossed arms and raised elbow displayed my thoughts appropriately.

“Dude, come on!” Will persuaded. “This could just be like a bonding experience or something! We can talk and learn more about each other’s roles. Maybe you can even educate me.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” But Will wasn’t, and I knew he was going to keep bothering me all night if I didn’t just do it now. With a dramatic sigh, I took a seat at the table, watching as he kicked his massive feet up in front of me.

“Why are they so dirty?”

“Haven’t washed them in a few days,” Will bragged cockily as he flexed his arm. “Ain’t got time to shower when you’re conquering those sorority sluts down the street every night.”

His feet were absolutely disgusting. Never in my life had a scent been more powerful, more pungent. And with the dirt, grime, and cheese all accumulating onto the hardened skin of the sole, it felt like I could be on the verge of vomiting. But I was strong, and after a deep breath (which I quickly realized was a mistake) put my fingers to the task.

What I didn’t expect was for this occurrence to quickly become a habit for us. Every Thursday, Will would come home from the gym and I would massage his feet. I don’t know why it started, or why I had surrendered to this fate so quickly, but every night I just found my place at his feet and began working on his soles. At first, Will would just mutter out some groans or the occasional “Oh yeah, right there fag”. But when the sessions began getting longer, he engaged more. I didn’t even realize the foot rubs had started going from minutes to hours–I was just so physically engaged that my mental state always found a place of ease.

Along with the foot rubs came the “bonding” Will had promised. Our conversations at first were a little heated, with Will saying something controversial or hateful and my arguing of the progressive point back to him. For some reason though, I could never win. He always had unique ways of manipulating around my arguments that I just couldn’t battle.

“You can't listen to the other side when you're protesting.”

“Biden should have stepped aside and let Kamala take the lead. If he really thought a woman could be in power, then why doesn’t he let her?”

“Just because fags don’t have all our rights doesn’t mean they can’t fulfill a useful role in society.”

Overtime, my arguments became smaller and quieter. With the overpowering smell, the plush atmosphere, and the kneading, it was sometimes just easier to shake my head or give a grunt. Eventually, I stopped making noises or using body language all together, besides attending to Will’s feet of course. Our conversations had morphed into lectures, with Will speaking lengths about conservative viewpoints, white superiority, and his role over mine in the male hierarchy.

With my improving muscle memory of the contours of Will’s massive, hard-worked feet, my mind was able to wonder. And with nothing else to focus on, it slowly began to soak up Will’s lectures like a sponge. At one point, he had suggested that I should start taking care of the chores around the apartment, considering how busy he was with his business degree and social life. I was in the lab everyday for my degree, but that left me with open nights, a point that Will argued he did not have.

It started off rather simple, just dishes and trash. Will tacked on recycling immediately after; it came the same day as the trash anyway. After another week Will said I should just handle all the cooking. “It would make life much easier,” Will said. “You’re already doing the part after the eating, so why not do the work before too?” I picked it up rather quickly and figured that Will had been right; I could just make his food and then clean up immediately after.

Cleaning was next, and soon the apartment was decluttered and free of Will’s musky haze that you’d been surrounded by for months. But for some reason, I found that I actually missed the fog. I didn’t understand why, but the dominating scent of Will’s funk had become a part of my home. 

“I don’t see what’s so weird about a foot fag like you enjoying the smell of a real man,” Will shrugged when I brought it up. This was when I came to realize that he had an answer for everything. “I knew this was gonna happen when you started cleaning. You will start doing my laundry now too, that way you can get your fix.”

Laundry was simple, but a new issue arose that I hadn’t been expecting. Now that I had access to all of Will’s dirty, sweaty clothes (again), it dawned on me how much I had missed their constant presence. It made me oddly addicted, and I soon found myself taking a sock here or there to get a nice whiff. Will must’ve known, but he didn’t say anything. I appreciated him for this silent agreement to ignore my “fag desires” as he would later inform me about, and because of this appreciation I was able to admire him more than I had before.

Like how naturally attractive Will was. Physically it was undeniable, but deep down I always knew that Will was the perfect alpha male. He was confident and a true Adonis. And eventually the reason I had stopped arguing with his points became clear as day. Through Will’s teachings, I discovered he was right all along. His conservative standpoints were what was best for everyone. And as a Red-blooded heterosexual white American, he was inherently born superior. I however was anything but.

“Will,” I finally asked one day as winter was coming to an end, my eyes pointed towards the floor. Will had said I should start bowing my head while speaking to those above me. “What is my purpose?”

Although I couldn’t see it, I could feel the maniacal grin that spread across Will’s face. I’d passed the point of no return.

“You can start by addressing me properly,” Will replied, to which I gave a quick nod and “Sorry Sir.” After that was cleared up, he set aside the rest of his day to educate me on who I was–or more appropriately, what I was. He covered the errors of my past life, the misconceptions I had deluded myself with due to the progressive media and European politics. I’d been woke-ified by my upbringing, and Will explained he had redpilled me and was my savior. I could only suck his massive 9 inch cock as he went over my identity and purpose as a faggot.

My mission, as Will so graciously covered, was to have the knowledge, skills, and training necessary to serve a straight, white, conservative man like himself. As he was a natural alpha, I was a natural omega. The world was not a simple binary, but a hierarchy of positions in which he was at the top and I sat at the bottom. The “Homo Psyche” as Will called it illustrated the devolution of the queer brain from immature queer, to the developed cocksucker, into a complete descent into the faggot. I had in fact endured that transformation since I had first landed in the United States.

At the end of the school year, I almost came when Will offered me a permanent place as his personal faggot. I had already been filling the role since my awakening. My list of responsibilities included all the chores, paying for Will’s half of the rent, nightly blowjobs if he didn’t get any action, complete attention whenever requested, and of course, his weekly foot rubs (which now lasted around 3-4 hours each). Will said it would be best if I did not enroll for the next year, saying it would be much easier to devote myself completely to him by doing so.

At the beginning of the year, this proposition would have sent me into a rage. But now all I could do was feel my shrunken cock strain at its chastity cage as I came to fully accept my position in life. I wasn’t some smart and affluent gay European. I was a faggot, a mere servant of straight, white, conservative alpha men like my American roommate.

[ben-carindae]

He doesn't let fags anywhere near His cock. He has plenty of chicks to take care of that. but He finds it funny to watch a pathetic queer loser slobber all over His feet after He's been walking around barefoot all day.

He’s even got the neighbors 23 year old son checking in with Him through text message several times a day to make sure His feet are clean enough. He usually just ignores the text, only responding when His feet are truly filthy; and in those instances the fag rushes over eagerly to devour the filth from the bottoms of His massive feet.

It all started as a joke. The little fag couldn’t stop staring whenever He’d kick His feet up on the porch, and the Man was starting to notice it. After noticing the fag’s staring a few times, the Man called out jokingly one tipsy night “why don’t you come over here and kiss them since you’re so captivated by them”

And the rest was history. He knew He had the bitch by the balls when he first walked up the stairs and leaned in to kiss His big, stinking feet. It wasn’t sexual for Him, but He did enjoy it in a non sexual way. Once the Man had the fag’s brain hooked on His feet, He ordered a small, cheap chastity belt off the internet and demanded the bitch put it on if he wanted to continue being allowed to worship. The fag, desperate to secure his place at His addicting feet, put it on without a second thought, and the Man kept the keys.

He never really told the fag, but He had absolutely zero intention of ever letting him free from his metal cage. It was so effortless, stealing the young fag’s sexuality from him at age 18, and then constantly dangling His feet in his helpless face. The bitch had asked a few different times to have it taken off, if only for 10 minutes, but the Man insisted that if He took it off He would have to move away and never let the fag see His feet again. He had complete control of his mind, making him stay at home living with his parents where it’s cheaper so that he could send more of his paycheck to Him. The fag lived on a very strict budget, ensuring that he could send as much money as possible to the Man next door who kept a close eye on his finances. It was the perfect win- extra money for doing nothing, the thrill of controlling another man, and there was something particularly amusing about watching his eyes glaze over whenever he would lick His feet. It was the only ‘sex’ the fag would ever know, and boy did he enjoy it!

The Man knew he would own this faggot for as long as He wanted to, and his parents didn’t seem to mind him living at home, so there was no foreseeable obstacle anywhere in the future. The Man smirked when His phone lit up beside Him on the table. “New Message from Forever Virgin”

‘Sir, may I please offer my cleaning services to You and Your perfect Feet?’ He clicked the reply button and lit up a joint, eagerly waiting for the sick little fuck to come in and serve his filthy purpose at the bottoms of His cruel and taunting feet.

[footsockboy]

Lost story. If anyone has a copy of “cousins dirty feet” chapter 1 could you please forward it. Seems tumblr deleted the post and I don’t have a copy. Thanks :)

[footsockboy]

1000 Followers!

Finally reached 1000 followers! Thanks guys for all the support, have added another chapter to celebrate! :)

[socksandskins]

https://socksandskins.tumblr.com/

[footsockboy]

Just Us Guys - Chapter 2: Jake's Smelly Football Feet

Over the next few days dad didn't mention anything about me rubbing his feet or even ask for me to rub them again. I'm not sure why but each time I saw him with his feet up on the recliner or couch I couldn't help but stare at them. There was something about those big powerful feet of his that drew me towards them.

One evening I was home with dad, him sitting on the recliner while I sat on the lounge as we watched TV. My younger brother Jake came home walking through the front door, he looked absolutely exhausted, covered in dirt and sweat. Most probably from his football practice earlier in the day.

"Hey Jakey!" Dad greeted Jake in excited loving way.

"Hey Dad." Jake replied as he sat down next to me on the lounge, almost ignoring me.

"How was the game?" Dad asked him.

"Yeah was alright." He said as he continued to talk to dad, telling him all about his day. A few minutes later Jake lifted his legs and placed his sneakered feet up on the coffee table.

"Jake I know you're buggered from your game but get your dirty shoes off the table." Dad tells him politely.

"Sorry dad." Jake said as he kicked his dirty sneakers off his feet, falling to the ground with light thuds. Jake had pretty big feet, size 13's which were much bigger then mine but only slightly smaller then dads which I thought might change one day given the age difference and that he was still growing. He was still wearing his blue football socks from his game and after a few seconds a wave of musky foot stink reached my nose.

Dad must have noticed as well as I saw him turning to Jake. "Geez Jake, your feet stink." Dad said waving his hand in front of his face.

"Yeah I know, these are the only pair of footy socks that fit me, all my others are too small. I keep forgetting to wash them before practice, so I've had to wear them a few times."

"How many is a few times? A hundred? They smell worse than dads feet after work." I complain.

"Nothing is worse than that." Jake quickly retorts, which made us all laugh, even dad.

Jake leans forward and pulls his football socks off, tucking them into his sneakers to hide the smell at least a bit as he rested his big barefeet back on the coffee table.

"Coach worked us hard this arvo." Jake said to dad, continuing their conversation about his football practice. "We have to be ready for the next game against the Eagles."

"Yeah, that'll be a tough match. How are you feeling?" Dad asked.

"Pretty good but my feet hurt like hell." Jake complained, as he rubbed them together slightly. I noticed that I had not looked away from Jake's feet since he took them out of his sneakers. I shuddered, remembering being down on my knees rubbing dad's huge feet. I quickly snapped out of it as I heard dad's voice.

"Hey Kyleeeeeeee..." Dad said in his pretend cute voice, which I knew meant that he wanted something.

"What do you want this time?" I said rolling my eyes.

"Can you get me a beer please my favourite son?" He asked with the usual puppy dog eyes.

"Sigh, yeah yeah." I lightheartedly complained.

"Hey bro, get me a soda too while you're up." Jake added.

"Geez, if I didn't know any better I'd say I was the house slave." I said faking annoyance. "Anything else masters?" I added while bowing, which made everyone laugh.

I came back and handed the beer to dad. As I walked back to the lounge I noticed Jake was laying down taking up all the space.

"Hey! I was sitting there." I complained.

"You snooze you lose." Jake joked, grabbing the soda from my hand. "Thanks bro."

"Dad! Tell Jake to let me sit down." I whinged, like a little school boy.

"Jake, move your feet and let Kyle sit." Dad said in his fake stern voice.

"Fine." Jake bent his knees so that I had room to sit at the very end of the couch. As soon as I did he stretched his legs and placed his big feet on my lap.

"Hey! Move your feet, they stink!" I complained, moving my head away.

"Come on bro, just let me stretch my legs and rest my feet for bit, they hurt like hell." Jake sulked and rubbed his big smelly feet together. I looked down at them. They looked exactly like dad's only a little shorter. They were long and wide with plump toes that squished together, if it wasn't for the size difference I would've said these were dad's feet. I shuddered at the thought of how much sweat and grime had accumulated between his toes. Like dad's they also had a powerful authoritave nature to them that made me feel as if they were superior to me, like they deserved to rest on my lap. It made me give in and let Jake keep them there.

"Ok Jake." I quietly said with my head lowered.

"Perfect." Jake said grinning as he continued to watch TV.

I couldnt stop looking down at Jakes massive size 13's as they moved slowly. He would randomly wiggle his toes or rub one foot across the other, each time sending more waves of vinegary foot stench up to my nose. I couldn't believe I was letting him keep his feet on me like this, I tried to forget about it by lifting my gaze and focusing on what was on TV. After a couple of minutes, Jake lifted his right foot and rested his heel on top of the other as if he knew I had stopped looking down at his feet. His foot was eye level with me, his toes directly in front of my nose. I froze and stared at them, those big plump toes slowly wiggled and flexed in front of my face letting out a lot of Jake's foot stink. I could see the sweat and bits of toe jam stuck in between his toes as they flexed back and forth, each movement slower and wider in a hypnotic way. I don't know why but I breathed in deep. The cheesy stink coming from his toes was so strong. I heard Jake snicker and I quickly turned and saw him staring at me with a smirk on his face. Still wiggling his toes, Jake started to bring his foot closer towards my face so his toes were barely touching my nose.

"I think its time for dinner..." Dad said, turning towards us. "...Jake! What are you doing? Get your feet out of your brother's face!" He yelled.

"I was only messing around dad." Jake whinged, pulling his feet away from me, breaking me out of my submissive trance.

"I'm sure you were but knowing the state of your feet you'd probably knock poor Kyle out." Dad said chuckling.

"Hahah yeah. They stink pretty bad, don't they Kyle?" Jake asked, looking towards me with that same smirk.

I just looked back and lowered my head, feeling inferior to his powerful football feet.