[realmennnnn-deactivated20240624]

With Connor away on his 5-mile hike, you thoroughly clean everything in sight. You start with his laundry, including each of the glorious socks he had worn over the past week. You give all of them a brief sniff before placing them in the laundry machine. While sniffing, you become terrified that you may not have a single item of clothing to sleep with that night. You pray that Connor will give you the clothes he wore on his hike or at least his destroyed Nike sneakers to sleep with. Next, you clean the entire home, scrubbing every room and organizing any out of place items, including Connor’s massive stack of dirty dishes. You also spend a particularly long amount of time in both his mudroom and bathroom, using your tongue to clean his muddy footprints off the floor as well as all of his pee off the toilet. Afterwards, you give each of his sneakers a good cleaning, yet again using your tongue with impeccable detail while savoring each blade of grass and splotch of dirt.

With the first load of laundry done, you throw all of his bedding in the washer. You iron and fold each clothing item and can’t help but stare at his XL sized shirts, shorts, underwear, and socks once they’ve been perfectly cleaned and pressed. You recognize how lucky you are to even be in the presence of these items.

By now, it’s been three hours, and you’ve heard nothing from Connor. You become nervous that something may have happened but neglect to reach out since it’s not your place to bother your potential alpha. Instead, you move outside, mowing the entire lawn and weeding Connor’s select number of plants.

With sweat running down your entire body, you head back inside to make Connor’s bed with his freshly cleaned and pressed sheets. Finally, you head out of the house on your way to grocery store, dropping the trash into the necessary bin on your way out. You hope you’ll be allowed to wash his car tomorrow since you weren’t given access today.

Halfway to the store, and nearly five hours after Connor left, you receive a message from your Lord. “Hey, faggy. The lads wanted to do some day drinking, so I’m out with them. I’ll be home in a couple hours. You better be keeping yourself busy. By the way, pick up some dog food if you make it to the grocery store.”

You have no idea why Connor would need dog food. He certainly doesn’t have a dog. However, you refuse to question your master. You’re certain that if Connor says he needs dog food, then he needs dog food. He’s an alpha after all, so he knows best! You’re just happy that you had anticipated Connor’s desire for you to grocery shop.

As you enter the store, you couldn’t help but look at every possible item. You needed to make sure that you bought every item Connor could possibly want. You pick up six varieties of fresh meat and fish, a large helping of fruits and vegetables, and several hearty grains. Finally, you make your way to the dog food. As you look into your cart, you realize that you were likely to spend more than $200 on Connor’s food alone. You hoped he’d share some of his scraps since you hadn’t bought anything for yourself. With finances in mind, you went for the cheapest dog food possible, made with purely synthetic materials. After all, Connor didn’t have a dog, so you didn’t see a point in overspending on this item - your mistake.

After checking out at a whopping $275, you walk home, carrying an obscene amount of groceries. With four bags hanging off either arm and a bag of dog food wrapped between them, your body aches by the time you reach the grocery store parking lot! You walk as fast as you can, making it back to Connor’s house in roughly 25 minutes. You breathe heavily the entire way and nearly start crying. You remind yourself that this is only true since you’re a weak, pathetic faggot.

As soon as your home, you start your final chore of the day, cooking Connor’s glorious Sunday night meal. You realize he could be home any moment, so you get to work rapidly. You carefully put together a salad and start cooking a box of pasta. Then, you cut up even more vegetables, making a batch of tomato sauce from scratch. You don’t dare prepare a subpar dinner, and you know you must have it done on time. Connor comes first after all! You race to the finish line, hearing keys jingling in the door nearly 40 minutes later. With only the food done, you realize the dishes will have to wait until later, and you pray Connor won’t be upset.

You run over to the front door and drop to your knees. You bow your head as anticipation grows within you. You hope Connor will be pleased with your housework and cooking. Even more, though, you simply cannot wait to see your 6’3” and 220 pound master as well as his glorious size 13s. Connor steps through the front door, and you stare down at his beautiful sneakers and socks. They’re caked in dirt, and their pungent smell hits your nose with gusto. You’re immediately enamored and begin showering each sneaker with kisses, taking great joy in their scent and appearance.

Connor stumbles a bit and leans back against the door. He crosses one foot over the other and flashes a devilishly sexy grin at you. With his balance back, he steps around your weak frame. You can tell that he’s wasted and, as a result, likely highly sadistic. He drops his bag on the ground and makes his way to the couch. With such a hefty bang, you know the bag is full; you’re happy to know that his shopping trip was successful.

He lays back on the couch and turns his eyes toward the football game you had turned on for him. His sneakered feet dangle beautifully off the side of the sofa. He lets out a huge belch, and you wish you were next to him, giving it a sniff. However, like a proper fag, you wait patently by the front door for further instruction. He pulls his pants down on the couch, leaving them hanging by his knees. You look at his beautiful cock, remembering that just two days ago, you were afforded the privilege of sucking and riding it. He calls you over, using his fingers to gesture as well. “I need to take a nap, but I want my dick to be well taken care of while I’m asleep. Come over here and hold my cock in your mouth until I wake up.”

You crawl over to the couch and kneel in front of his crotch. You look up and notice that his eyes are already shut. You wonder if it would be proper to remove his sneakers from his feet. You hold off since he hasn’t directed you to do so. You wonder how sweaty his feet will be by the time his sneakers finally come off.

You crank your neck into an extremely uncomfortable position and wrap your lips around his cock. Your knees already hurt from the wooden floors, and you can tell that your neck will be in immense pain within minutes. You know it’s going to be a long few hours, but you also know you won’t get access to his feet unless you do exactly what Connor tells you.

As soon as your lips wrap around Connor’s cock, he lets out an ungodly amount of piss, made up of 100% beer. You hear him snicker for a second, laughing at the fact that you had no idea that his piss would be flooding your mouth. He knows you’ll do whatever it takes to swallow every drop. And, he’s right; per usual, you diligently swallow every single drop.

When he finishes peeing, you keep his cock in your mouth, the taste of leftover piss and dick sweat rubbing against your tongue. You take his balls into your mouth, and the flavors grow exponentially. “Good boy,” you hear Connor say. With that, you try your hardest to get comfortable, knowing you’ll be kneeling here tasting his funk and piss for hours to come - just as he asked you to do.

Connor doesn’t wake up once during his three hour nap but somehow lets out several large farts. You take pride in knowing you helped coax and keep him asleep. You also take enjoyment in the flavor of his dick funk as well as the smell of his farts. You can tell that those farts were inspired by an immense amount of greasy food and beer. They smell wonderful.

As Connor finally comes back to life, your head and knees begin to wobble. You can tell that your neck will be in pain for days to come. He reaches for his phone and starts scrolling. With Connor awake, you continue to hold his dick in your mouth but now count down the moments until you’ll be allowed to move. The anticipation of potentially being allowed out of your current position makes the pain grow ten fold.

For the third time of the day, piss starts filling your mouth, and you hope this will mark the end of your time as a human dick pouch. The piss tastes even more stale than the one from a few hours ago, but you revel in every second of it. Maybe swallowing piss is not only a godly blessing but also the purest indulgence known to a faggot.

“Get your mouth off my cock, faggot,” Connor says abruptly with his piss complete. “Time for some of that sauce you got cooking. The pasta better be ready. I ain’t waiting. Go make me a plate.” You’re happy to know that you planned appropriately for this evening.

He begins to sit up from his nap and nearly kicks you in the face. “I told you to get moving. Chop chop.” You give each sneaker another kiss and crawl to the kitchen. You hope you’ll be allowed to enjoy the dirt from his shoes as well as the foot sweat from his socks as he eats. After all, you haven’t consumed a single thing all day.

You stand up and pull the pasta out of the fridge. You place a heaping serving on to a plate, adding your homemade tomato sauce and salad on top. As you get back down on to your knees, you place the plate on your back as well as a set of silverware and a glass of water in each hand. As you crawl back to his feet, you keep your back and hands as straight as possible, refusing to let any food or water end up on the floor. However, you wouldn’t have minded being forced to lick it up. Your stomach was rumbling louder and louder by the minute.

After approaching the couch, Connor takes the plate from your back and puts it on the coffee table. You hand him his water and silverware and then bow your head, so it is resting on his sneakers. You pray he’ll let you peel them off; the steam floating off of them is far too temping. Instead, Connor rises up from the couch unexpectedly, nearly kicking you in the face once again.

“Ay, faggot. Where’s the dog food? I can hear your stomach rumbling. It’s fucking annoying.”

It’s at this time that it clicks for you. The dog food is for you. You’ll be eating dog food in place of human food for the remainder of your life - should Connor allow you to serve him for that long. “Umm, Sir Connor, it’s in the pantry, my Lord,” you say with your head still bowed.

You hear the pantry door open and the big bag of dog food moved around. Connor grabs a bowl and starts filling it. “You know how much of this you’re supposed to feed a dog? I don’t want to underfeed you.” He pauses for a second, letting out a light laugh. “Eh, never mind. You’re a faggot. What would you know?” he snickers, dumping another serving into the bowl.

He makes his way back to the couch and drops the bowl of food on to the floor. “Aw shit, faggy. You just emptied my bladder. I ain’t got any liquid for your food.” Your head remains bowed, sniffing at your meal, but the only thing you can smell are his glorious feet. You hope that smell will help you get this treacherous dog food down. “Move your head, faggot,” Connor says. He works up a loogie and spits it into the bowl. “That will have to do I guess. Now give me a bark and show me how excited you are for your first faggot meal. I thought you’d enjoy this type of food given how much time you spend with the pups,” he says as he wiggles his toes within his sneakers. “Show me how serious you are about serving me. Remember, service doesn’t only include paying for my livelihood and doing all of the chores. It also includes finding ways to spend as little money on yourself as possible. By only eating dog food and drinking my recycled beverages, I estimate nearly $60 in savings each week! That money goes straight back into my pocket! Now bark, faggy.”

You immediately start barking, letting your butt wiggle back and forth too. He didn’t ask for that, but you thought it would play into the effect nicely. He lets out another laugh. “Alright, faggot, go ahead.” You’re happy to know that he enjoyed your act.

You dive your head into the bowl and enjoy your first few loogie-covered bites. By bite number four, all of the loogie is gone, and the flavor becomes progressively worse. You don’t slow down on eating, though; you’ve never felt this hungry before in your entire life. On top of that, you’d never wanted to please someone this much in your entire life. Maybe it was a good thing that Connor dropped you as your boyfriend and made you his faggot. You seemed to be far more productive that way.

Connor attacks his meal nearly as quickly as you do yours, his eyes glued to either the TV or his food the entire time. He lets out a humongous fart followed up by an even bigger burp as his last bite slides down his throat. You sniff at both as you try to finish up your last few bites, terrified that Connor may take it away if you’re not done within seconds of his own completion. As you take your final bite, you realize you’ll have to do all of this over again tomorrow. You pray you’ll get a decent piss to help the food down.

“Ayy, faggy. Good job. You ate all of your food! I am stuffed. That pasta was pretty good, maybe a seven out of ten. Two of those are pity points, though, since I’m sure you put so much of your faggotry into making it.”

Connor turns toward the TV just in time to see the game winning point. Yet again, he nearly kicks you with his sneakered feet as he stands to cheer for the Patriots. After lobbing off a few texts to the boys about the big win, he continues his monologue. “It’s almost time for the faggot ceremony. You’ve earned it. The house and yard look great, my meal was… good enough, and you’ve done a decent job supporting my various needs. I gotta take a shit, so get to cleaning. The kitchen won’t scrub itself,” he says, letting out another laugh. Connor rises from the couch, and you give his sneakered feet yet another kiss. You pray that this so-called “faggot ceremony” will include some foot worship, but you have no idea what to expect. Maybe if you scrub the kitchen at a rapid pace, it’ll earn you some time at his feet.

Look at you, faggot. You’re doing everything in your power to impress your ex-boyfriend, Connor. You’ll literally do anything it takes to sniff and lick those size nasty 13 sneakers, socks, and feet. Think about how pathetic you are! Doesn’t matter, though, you’re loving your new life. You can’t wait to make it official with the faggot ceremony tonight!

[mystraightbuddy]

[sensualliberty]

My roomie had me disassemble and sell the bottom bunk so he could set up a desk there. I was given a mat in the closet to sleep on. I was only alllowed to use the desk when doing his homework for him, and couldn’t touch the bed at all except to change & wash the sheets once a week. Eventually he requested that when I was in the room, I stay in the closet so I wouldn’t be in his way. 

If he needed anything, he’d just shout out for it, like he was telling an Alexa to do something. So our communication mostly became one-way shouts of “Drink!”, “Footrub!”, “Shoulder Rub!”, or “BJ!” As i performed the task, he continued with whatever he was doing & I worked around his movements. When he wanted something cleaned up, he thought it was funny to announce it like a K-Mart announcement, “Clean up on the west wall!” or “Clean up at the garbage can!” 

Tasks that required more explanation he preferred to scrawl on a post-it and stick to the inside of the closet door. Sometimes while I was in there. He’d just reach in and slap up a post-it with laundry instructions or homework assignments and a done-by date and time without saying a word. This allowed him to stay in his groove without breaking his concentration with a lot of small talk.

Of course we had the usual sign he’d leave on the outside of the door if he wanted privacy, but if I was in the room when he arrived, he’d just jerk his head toward the door and say “Privacy”. This was especially arousing when he had someone with him and they smirked at me scuttling out as soon as possible while he returned to his conversation with them.

Once we moved out of the dorms, he wanted an apartment with two levels so he wouldn’t have to work around me so much. So I dropped out of school and got a job to rent the first floor and basement of a place. After that, my chores came via e-mail and were mostly performed when he was out. He got into a relationship so he needed my physical services less.

I always looked back fondly on our early days, when we had that close connection and I got to see so much of his daily life. But I guess all relationships evolve over time…

[subfootboii]

I met Leon at a bar on a Saturday night.

He was at the counter and I sat next to him. We talked until the bar closed. I woke up in his bed the next morning with his arm across my chest.

By the following weekend we were together.

In bed he was direct. He knew exactly what he was doing. He'd just bend me over and breed me.

He was vers but he never pushed me. Occasionally he'd ask me to top. I'd try, and it would be bad. I already knew I was bad at it. After a few minutes he'd reach up, hands on my hips, and turn me over without making anything of it. He'd slide back in and I'd feel the shame and the relief arrive at exactly the same moment.

He never said anything about it.

The foot thing started early. He'd noticed I got nervous when he touched me with his feet. Started resting his heel on my thigh when we sat together chatting. His feet on my chest while he watched something on his phone. His sole pressed to my face in the middle of sex.

Leon paid attention to what I responded to. He'd learn something once and remember it permanently. He'd let me finish to his feet sometimes, his sole against my mouth or his toes pushed between my lips while I jerked myself off.

Then things started to slow down.

I don't know exactly when I first felt it. We still ate together, slept in the same bed, still talked, still laughed. But in bed something had shifted. His attention was somewhere else. When we had sex it was quick and efficient. He'd finish and reach for his phone. I'd lie there.

I tried harder. It didn't matter.

One night I got desperate enough. We were in bed, lying there, and I reached for his waistband and started pulling his pants down. He pushed me away. Then he pointed at his foot.

"Just lick it and jerk off."

He pulled the sheet back up and turned on his side.

I went down and finished to his feet.

I didn't bring it up in the morning. He didn't either.

It kept happening.

I came home on a Friday evening, later than usual.

The lights were on inside. I could hear voices before I got the key in the door. Leon's laugh, and another one I didn't immediately place.

I opened the door and saw them on the couch.

Leon was leaning back, drink in hand, relaxed, enjoying himself. The guy next to him was from our gym. I'd seen him there enough times. Mike. I'd heard Leon mention the name once or twice over the past few weeks.

He was lean and young, curly dark hair. He had a drink too.

Neither of them looked up when I walked in.

I stood there for a moment. Then I set my bag down and sat in the armchair across from them.

"Hey"

Leon glanced over briefly. Mike didn't turn at all.

They kept talking. Leon said something and Mike laughed and leaned into him slightly. Leon didn't move away.

I sat there.

At some point Leon stood up. He said something to Mike I didn't catch. Mike stood too.

They went to the bedroom.

The door closed. I heard the lock a second later.

I sat there for another minute after the lock clicked.

I don't know what I expected. Some part of me was still waiting for the door to open again, for Leon to come back out and say something explain, acknowledge, anything. He didn't.

Then I heard Mike moaning.

I moved from the armchair to their couch. The wall between the living room and the bedroom ran directly behind it. I sat against it and listened.

Leon was the one moaning next.

I couldn't do that thing.

I don't know why I got hard. I sat there with my boyfriend's sounds coming through the wall. I listened and stroked myself and thought about the fact that Mike was doing something to Leon that I had never been able to do.

I came when they did. I fell asleep with my pants around my thighs, head back against the wall.

I woke up in the early morning with my pants still down.

I pulled them up and sat there for a moment. I got up and went to the bedroom door and knocked once. No answer. I tried the handle and it opened.

The room was dim, curtains still drawn. Leon and Mike were in the bed together, both in boxers, Leon half on top of Mike, Mike's arm around him.

I went to the wardrobe and changed out of my work clothes.

Then I saw Mike's feet.

They were at the end of the bed, rubbing with Leon's. Both together made me hard.

Leon looked at me for a moment.

"Did our feet make you hard, babe? Come suck our toes while we make out."

I didn't say anything. I got down on my knees at the foot of the bed.

Mike's sole was warm. I started there, pressing my mouth to it, running my tongue along the arch. He didn't look at me. I took his toes in my mouth while the two of them kissed above me.

I switched to Leon's feet and did the same. I stayed down there for a while.

"That's enough. Go make us breakfast. Don't come back in until I call you."

I got off my knees.

I pulled the door shut behind me and stood in the hallway for a second, then went to the kitchen.

I was getting eggs out of the fridge when I heard Leon start moaning again.

[obedientservicesub]

(Warning: Longer story, M/F Dom couple)

I have been living with his girlfriend, Lucy, for over a year now, and I've always had a bit of a crush on her. She was beautiful, funny, and assertive. The kind of girl a subby boy like me is bound to fall in love with.

She knew it too, and took full advantage of my crush. She teased me often, and convinced me to take on most of the chores in the house and even pay a little more rent than she did for our two-bedroom. I became something like a pet to her: someone she could boss around and expect complete obedience from. Truthfully, I loved it. I was happy to serve a Goddess like her in any capacity. Last week, while I was washing and folding her laundry, I overheard Lucy talking to her friend on the phone about me.

"I throw him a bone every once in a while. I walked around in just my underwear today just to watch him squirm.....no I would never fuck him! I need a real Man.....I think I'm going to see Josh again tomorrow"

Josh. I remember him. I painted her nails last Friday in preparation for their first date. Then on Sunday I helped her pick out lingerie to wear for him that night.

Lucy brought Josh over to the apartment for the first time yesterday. He made no illusions about the Alpha he was. He walked around with the confidence that only a real Man can, and treated me like I wasn't even there, besides once asking me to grab him a beer while Lucy got ready for their date.

They got home around midnight, and I listened to them fuck all through the night. Our walls were relatively thick, so the fact I could hear so much was a surprise...suffice to say I didn't sleep much.

This morning, I was finishing up making breakfast and coffee for my roommate, as I always do. I couldn't help myself, and made plenty for Josh too. He walked out of her room, grabbed his plate and coffee, and sat on the dining room table and ate breakfast in his underwear like he owned the place. He acted as if this was the norm, like it was expected for me to be making him breakfast. I wish I was disgusted by it: to watch this man walk all over me and take advantage of my hospitality. But I wasn't. The truth is, he was right. My service to him was expected. He is an Alpha and I am a beta. It is right for me to be making him breakfast, even if I had never formally met him. In fact, I wanted to do even more for him in that moment.

He must have noticed me on the couch contemplating all of this, because he walked over and sat right next to me on the couch. He stared at me for a while, then glanced to the floor in front of him and spread his legs wide. I meekly followed these silent instructions and slid off the couch onto my knees in front of him. He shot a devilish grin, the kind only an Alpha with full confidence in his power can muster.

"We had a nice long talk about you last night, fag"

The word stung, but I couldn't deny it. I felt like a fag in his presence.

"I've dealt with your type before. Men who are barely men. Boys who think they can please a woman, but wouldn't know how. Submissives whose place it is to serve Men and Women alike. Slaves on the lower rung of the hierarchy. That's what you are, right? a bitch?"

All these harsh words, all these truths, how did he see right through me so quickly?

"Answer me."

"yes, Sir." I finally whispered. Ashamed, turned on, and scared all at the same time.

"Good boy. Well, my girl seems to like you, and it sounds like you do an awful lot keeping this apartment tidy so there is no sense in getting rid of you."

A breath of relief shot through my entire body. I didn't want Josh to change anything that Lucy and I had. At the end of the day I loved living with her, even if I could never have her.

"However, I'm concerned about this little crush you have on my girl. Even though you are a fag who's hardly competition to a real Man like me, this can only be a one-dick apartment."

One dick-apartment? Where is he going with this?

"So I have a deal for you: You can continue to serve Lucy, and even have the privilege of serving me while I'm here, if you lock your little dick in chastity."

I had heard of chastity before, but never tried it. He must have seen the confusion on my face so he continued.

"There is a package at the front door. In it, there is a chastity cage and lock. If you want to serve Lucy and I as a couple, go open it, put it on in the bathroom, and hand me the key."

The emotions I was feeling were overwhelming. Confusion, excitement, fear, and desire washed over me all at the same time. I was frozen, looking into Josh's demanding eyes as I processed what he was asking of me.

He spoke gently now. Soft, quiet, almost encouraging. "Go on, I know you want to"

He was right, I did want to. Even though I didn't know it before this was all I ever wanted. I got up and grabbed the package that must have been delivered early this morning. I ran into the bathroom quickly, avoiding eye contact with Josh as to not second-guess myself.

I closed the bathroom door and shoved my growing dick into the tiny cage. It took a while as I was becoming more aroused by the second, but finally got it on and snapped the lock shut. I looked in the mirror at my reflection before leaving the bathroom. I felt a sense of peace, a validation in my own eyes that this was something I did in fact, need.

I proudly left the bathroom and walked toward where Josh was sitting, only to see Lucy sitting next to him. She was wrapped in a towel fresh out of the shower, glistening from her fresh application of moisturizer. They were both grinning as I approached.

"Kneel." Said Josh, in a low demanding tone. Lucy giggled with how quickly I obeyed him.

"Do you want to ask us something?" Josh baited. He wanted me to say something specific, but I couldn't find the words

"Can I....May I....serve you...both together....Josh and Lucy?"

They both erupted into laughter, mostly out of amusement but also with a healthy amount of mocking. I blushed, not knowing how to improve.

"If you want to be our servant, you have to beg like a good boy" Lucy spoke up, her voice soft but commanding.

"I'd actually like him to beg like a bitch." Josh joked, which won him a knowing smile and kiss from Lucy before both their eyes turned back to me.

I took a deep breath and thought for a second. I looked over at Lucy who gave me an encouraging nod, as if to say "go on, you know what to say"

"Please keep me as your locked live-in servant." I finally spoke, with new-found confidence. "Grant me the privilege to live in your presence, and I promise to serve you both to the best of my ability. I will clean, cook, chauffeur, pay for dates, and complete any other tasks as requested. Please, take these keys to my cage as a promise of my dedication to you both"

I held out the keys in my open palm and bowed my head to my new Masters. I couldn't see them, but I could feel the power they had just gained over me, and could sense their smiles of satisfaction.

"I'll be taking those." Josh said as he plucked them from my hand. "I don't want Lucy to get soft on you."

"You can have 'em babe, I've never cared about his dick anyway." Lucy giggled.

"Your offer is accepted slave. Go ahead and clean up breakfast while we celebrate this new revelation in the bedroom." Josh continued.

"Yes, Sir."

I began to stand up when Josh stoped me.

"woah woah woah there. We just granted your request, how do you say thank you?" He wiggled his toes a bit as a clue.

"Thank You, Sir" I said, before leaning down and kissing the top of his feet.

I pivoted my body toward Lucy and she proudly extended her leg, placing her beautiful clean sole inches from my face.

I leaned forward and kissed her sole, my cock now straining in its tiny prison.

"Thank you, Mistress"

"mmm," Lucy hesitated, "Not sure if I like Mistress. we will discuss what you will call me another time."

Tired of all the talk, and his job complete, Josh picked up Lucy and headed toward the bedroom without saying another word. I, as instructed, moved to the kitchen to wash up breakfast.

(I had fun with this, but am not sure if y'all will. lmk if you would like a part II)

[footish12]

[sniffthebondagefootpig]

Sure sign me up actually if u prefer I stay still and quiet too I suggest u zip me in my sleepsack and add a tapegag!

[misctf]

It is not original idea but I have it from an old story that forgot the title. There is an organization with agents working as reality correction. They change the fate of people to its "right path". So, What if, instead of being adopted by a wealthy family and having excellent degree, a young man's fate were "corrected" to be raised by a construction worker?

A bit of a longer one! Hope you enjoy and thanks for the requests! Any feedback is welcomed!

“This isn’t a road you want to go down.”

Looking back, maybe Thomas should’ve listened. At the time, though, he couldn’t even begin to understand what William meant.

“He was my father, just as much as he was yours,” Thomas had shot back. “You’re not cutting me out.”

Their father had been obscenely wealthy... real estate, contracting, the kind of empire that didn’t leave room for doubt. And like many men in his position, he’d had affairs. Thomas was the result of one of them. But instead of denying him, their father had claimed him, raised him, given him every advantage. Now, after his death, that decision was being dragged back into the light.

“Father should’ve never...”

“Well, he did,” Thomas cut in, already tired of the argument. “And he loved me. He wouldn’t’ve approved this. He would’ve wanted me to...”

“I warned you,” William interrupted coldly. “You’re not getting a thing from this estate.”

----------------

“Excellent report, Thomas.”

He smiled at his boss’s praise. “Thank you, sir.”

He hadn’t needed the family business to succeed. His work ethic and easy charm carried him forward at a startup where he was quickly making a name for himself. He was building something on his own terms. Something he could be proud of.

Later, changing for an evening walk, he queued up a philosophy podcast and grabbed an iced green tea.

“Alright, let’s...”

A knock interrupted him and when he answered, he was greet by two men in suits.

“Are you Thomas Lancer?”

"Yeah, that's me.” he said slowly. “Is something wrong?”

“We’re with the Department of Ontic Corrections. You’ve been identified as a potential infringement.”

----------------

They were called "docs". Agents of the DOC. Most people didn't want to run into these guys.

“We ensure predictability,” one agent explained as proceedings began. “And in predictability, we find stability.”

Thomas sat in a stark room, surrounded by agents, judges, lawyers. William sat across from him, smirking. Thomas could only listen as his life was dissected into probabilities, reduced to numbers. And after several hours of discussion, the head judge spoke.

"Thomas Lancer, it is our belief that your existence itself deviates significantly from the expected trajectory based on the most likely statistical outcomes. Moreover, this anomaly has significant ramifications for the Lancer family and therefore confers necessary corrections."

Thomas swallowed hard. William had won. Embarrassed him. Demeaned him in front of everyone.

“Fine,” he said bitterly. “I don’t need his money. You can have it.”

“Ah,” the judge replied, “but removing you from the inheritance does not resolve the underlying deviation.”

Thomas frowned. “What does that mean?”

William smirked. “It means you shouldn't have been raised as my brother.”

The room went silent.

Thomas felt his blood run cold.

“Wh… what?"

------------------

Thomas barely had time to process what William's words meant before he was dragged by the DOC officers to a sterile white room filled with strange pod-like devices.

"Welcome Mr. Lancer." A man in a different suit greeted him outside the pod, "I'm DOC Assessment Officer Davis. I'll be overseeing your correction." He smiled and looked down at his tablet.

"Correction?" Thomas whispered, "I don't... what're you going to do to me?"

Davis didn't look up, "We reconstruct the life you were statistically meant to live, introduced directly through our system. As those layers integrate, the pod makes corresponding physical adjustments so your body aligns with that history. It’s comprehensive, seamless. You won’t experience it as loss, Mr. Lancer… if that’s what you’re worried about."

“But... I built my job myself... my life is mine now.”

Davis gave a small, almost sympathetic smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “But the core deviation is still there. This outcome was never part of your probable trajectory. We’re not taking anything from you, Mr. Lancer, we’re aligning your life with the outcome you were always most likely to reach.”

“That’s not restoration,” Thomas argued, pulse pounding. “You can't do this. I won't just...”

“You don't have a choice.” Davis replied softly, gesturing toward the pod as it hissed and opened, "Now please undress."

Thomas hesitated only briefly before complying, folding his clothes with trembling hands as if the small act of neatness might anchor him to himself. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished surface of the pod. Lean, toned, swimmer’s build, smooth skin, the careful maintenance of someone who had always had time to care.

"Please enter."

The interior glowed faintly, sterile and inviting in a way that made his stomach turn. He stepped inside, lying back as the curved surface molded to him, sealing him in.

--------------

At first, it wasn’t pain. It was… intrusion.

A warmth spread along his temples, threading inward, and suddenly there was a memory... Forceful, overwhelming something else that had been there. A cramped living room. The hum of an old TV. The sharp scent of cheap beer.

“Tommy,” a rough voice called, casual and familiar in a way that made Thomas’s chest tighten. “Grab me one while you’re up.”

The name landed wrong... Tommy- and yet, disturbingly, it didn’t stay wrong for long. He could see himself moving through that space, younger, grabbing a bottle from a fridge that rattled when it opened.

A man... Greg, his mom’s boyfriend, sat sprawled on the couch, broad, worn, solid in a way that radiated authority without effort.

“Atta boy,” Greg muttered, taking the beer.

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas’s body slackened slightly. The tension in his shoulders eased. The sterile hum of the machine blended with the low drone of that TV, the two realities overlapping until the difference blurred. The memory of his real father- tailored suits, polished offices- felt… distant. Thinner. Less lived in. Greg’s presence, by contrast, was heavy, immediate, grounding.

--------------

The next shift came harder.

Thomas... no... Tommy... stood in front of a mirror, but the reflection wasn’t quite right. The frame was thicker, the edges of muscle less refined and more functional, built through repetition rather than design. His hair looked less styled, more… neglected. He lingered there a moment too long, staring, trying to reconcile what he was seeing... trying to understand.

“Don’t just stand there gawkin’ at yourself,” Greg’s voice snapped from behind him, sharp with irritation. “Mirror ain’t gonna do the work for you.”

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas’s breath hitched sharply as sensation followed the memory. His muscles tightened, then shifted, a dull, spreading ache as fibers seemed to knit differently beneath his skin. It wasn’t dramatic, not all at once, but it was real. His arms felt heavier, denser. His chest expanded, rising with each slow breath.

"Dial it up." Davis said, watching Thomas's progress closely.

--------------

The shift into the next phase did not come gently. It hit like impact. Sudden, jarring, full of motion. Tommy was on a field, the ground uneven beneath his cleats. Someone slammed into him, and instead of fear, there was a surge... hot, immediate, good. Football. Not swimming or golf. A real man's sport.

“Get up!” Greg’s voice cut through from the sidelines, louder than anyone else’s, full of rough-edged approval. “That’s it! Hit ‘em back!”

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas’s back arched as sensation flooded him. His muscles tightened violently, then began to swell... not grotesquely, not all at once, but undeniably. His shoulders broadened, the clean, streamlined lines of a swimmer thickening into something denser, more impact-ready. There was weight to him now.

"Wait..." Thomas mumbled, voice flat and distant.

--------------

The next wave came rougher. A flick of a lighter in the dark. The sharp inhale of smoke burning down his throat, making him cough hard enough to double over while laughter echoed around him.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Greg muttered, though there was a crooked grin behind it. “You’ll get used to it.”

The burn dulled into something tolerable, then familiar. Again... and again.

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas’s lungs seized for a moment, a phantom irritation scraping through his chest before settling. And then he felt it. A craving. A need for a cigarette. And the memories didn’t stop.

--------------

A cheap bar, loud and crowded. The sticky floor beneath his boots. Someone bumping into him too hard... and the reaction was immediate. A shove. A shout. Then fists.

“Atta boy,” Greg said later, voice approving even as he handed Tommy something cold to press against his face. “Can’t let people walk all over you.”

--------------

In the pod, Thomas gasped as his face twitched, a deep, aching pressure forming along the bridge of his nose before settling. Not breaking, not fully, but changing. Less refined. Slightly off. His skin, too, seemed different. Less cared for, faint imperfections surfacing, the kind that came from sun, from work, from not paying attention to things that used to matter.

"How's his progress?"

Look for yourself."

Inside the pod, Thomas’s body had begun to tell the story before his mind fully caught up. His frame thicker now, muscle settling in with a denser, work-built weight. Fine hairs had started to gather across his chest and stomach, subtle but new. A faint shadow of stubble edged his jaw, and along his arms, the ghost of ink- half-formed lines of tattoos- lingered just beneath the skin, not yet complete, but no longer absent.

"Perfect."

--------------

This time, the memory didn’t force itself in. It settled. Tommy leaned against the side of a work truck, metal warm from the sun, dust clinging to his skin. He shifted and caught his reflection in the window.

Something felt off. He stepped closer.

His frame had filled out. Thicker through the chest and shoulders, solid rather than sculpted. His hair sat uneven, pushed back without care, and a rough layer of stubble shadowed his jaw. When he tugged at his collar, he noticed darker hair spreading faintly across his chest.

--------------

Inside the pod, Thomas grimaced as it happened. The itch across his chest, sharper now, as hair thickened. His jaw tightened as stubble coarsened.

--------------

“School starts next week.”

“Yeah… don’t think I’m goin’ back.”

No conflict. Just relief. Greg glanced over from where he stood, sizing him up for half a second before giving a small nod.

“Figured,” he said. “You’re already makin’ yourself useful.”

--------------

"St... stop..." He whispered, eyes half lidded. His awareness of the word around him overwhelmed by the memories he was being guided by.

Thomas tried again to hold onto something... an idea, a plan, the importance of what he was losing... but each attempt came up shorter than the last. Thoughts simplified... the need for anything more complex was fading. In their place came something steadier. The memory of a long day’s work settling into his muscles. The satisfaction of finishing something tangible. The ease of sitting back with a drink, not thinking too far ahead. His breathing slowed. Deepened. The panic flickered... and then faltered.

--------------

The pod’s hum shifted again. Lower, denser, like it was pressing inward rather than surrounding him.

“Final correction phase initiated. Cognitive resistance collapse accelerated.”

There was no space for thought anymore. Just overflow. Drowning out anything that was left of "Thomas Lancer."

--------------

Nights stacked into each other without edges. Cheap beer burning down his throat after work, laughter he didn’t need to explain, cigarette smoke curling out into streetlight haze. Ash flicked away with an easy motion. The weight of his body collapsing into whatever chair, curb, or bed was closest. Exhaustion, release, repetition. Each memory slid into the next without pause, stripping away anything that required reflection to hold.

The morning light woke him up. He dragged himself upright in a narrow, unmade bed, sheets twisted and half-hanging off the side. The apartment around him was dim and cluttered. Empty beer cans on a table, clothes tossed wherever they landed, the air thick with a stale, musky smell that clung to everything. He didn’t notice it. Didn’t care.

"Hell..."

He stretched slowly, arms pulling up over his head, back arching as something popped along his spine. His pits were damp, hair thicker there now, holding onto the smell of yesterday’s sweat. He exhaled through his nose, scratching idly at his chest, fingers dragging through the coarse spread of hair. A low grunt left him as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

He shuffled toward the bathroom, bare feet dragging slightly against the floor, and leaned over the sink, staring into the mirror without really thinking about it. Ran a hand through his hair. Messy, sticking out in places, flattened in others.

Scratched at his beard. Spat into the sink. For a moment, he just stood there. Not analyzing. Not questioning. Life wasn’t complicated. Get up. Go to work. Get paid. Grab a drink after if the day was rough, which it usually was. Maybe catch a game if something was on. Didn’t need much more than that. He snorted softly to himself, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep. “Could be worse.”

--------------

Inside the pod, there was no resistance left to mirror. Only completion. His body settled into itself fully. Weight distributed differently now, thicker through the torso and limbs, every inch of him carrying the quiet density of years of labor. The last traces of softness gave way to something more permanent, more worn-in.

--------------

The site was already loud when he rolled in, gravel crunching under his boots as he hopped out and lit a cigarette.

“Harris!” someone barked.

He jerked his chin up. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Damn, can’t even get a smoke in first?”

A couple guys chuckled.

Tom Harris now... had been for years. “Tommy” didn’t stick past being a kid. He grabbed his gear, spitting to the side. “Alright, what’re we hittin’ first?”

--------------

Inside the pod, his eyes fluttered beneath sealed lids, a faint groan slipping out as his head shifted against the surface.

“Aw, damn… my head…”

--------------

Leaning against a truck during a break, cigarette hanging loose from his lips, someone nudged him. “You still lookin’ for steadier work?”

Tom shrugged, flicking ash onto the gravel. “Long as it pays better than this crap.”

“Lancer’s crew is hirin’. Bigger jobs. Better hours.”

He squinted slightly, rolling the name around in his head for all of a second before exhaling smoke. “Lancer, huh? Yeah… sure. I’ll give it a look.”

The name didn’t stir anything... no memory, no connection, not even a passing sense of familiarity. Just another company, same as any other, another crew, another paycheck at the end of the week.

Later, filling out paperwork, he barely glanced at the logo stamped across the top.

Lancer Construction

His pen scratched across the line beneath it:

Tom Harris

Signed clean. No hesitation.

No idea.

--------------

The pod opened with a low hiss, and Tom stepped out slowly, his body heavy in that dull, satisfying way that followed deep sleep. He stretched without thinking, arms rising overhead as his back cracked, chest expanding with a slow breath that carried no urgency. The air felt cooler against his bare skin, but it didn’t bother him. His gaze drifted lazily to the folded clothes nearby, lingering only a moment as if trying to place them before the thought slipped. They didn’t feel like his. He turned instead to the rough denim and worn fabric set aside for him, already reaching for them without question.

“Everything checks out,” one of the DOC agents said, glancing up from the tablet. “Identification, employment, residency are all aligned. Tom Harris, you're good to go”

“Yeah?” Tom tugged on the jeans, rolling his shoulders as the fabric settled naturally against him, then pulled the shirt over his head. “Good. Didn’t feel like stickin’ around here anyway.”

--------------

Out in the hall, he slowed slightly when he spotted a sharply dressed man lingering nearby. Something about him stood out... clean, put-together, out of place.

“Hey,” Tom said, nodding. “You’re Lancer’s kid, right? Seen you on-site.”

William’s smile came easy, thin and satisfied. “I was curious how things turned out,” he said, voice smooth. “Seems you’ve landed exactly where you belong.”

Tom scratched at his chest through the fabric, frowning faintly. “Yeah… guess so,” he muttered, glancing him over. “Kinda weird you bein’ here, though. Don’t you got people for this stuff?”

William’s expression didn’t shift. “I like to stay involved.”

Tom huffed lightly, already losing interest. Still, as he walked past, a faint thought tugged at him... why was he here? But it slipped loose before it could settle.

--------------

The site noise hit him full force as he arrived, boots crunching over gravel, cigarette already between his fingers as he lit it.

“Harris! You draggin’ ass today?” someone called.

He took a drag, exhaling slow. “Yeah, yeah, keep talkin’. I’ll outwork you anyway.”

A couple of the guys laughed and he got to work. It came naturally, his body moving without hesitation, every motion familiar in a way that didn’t need thinking. He adjusted his grip, muscles tightening as he lifted, falling into rhythm with the others.

For a brief second, something felt off... but the weight in his hands grounded him again, steady and certain.

“Quit starin’ into space and move,” someone barked.

Tom smirked faintly, shifting the load. “Yeah, yeah! I got it.”

[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! (:

[gc8118]

They're all friends. Each of them is a successful cash master online. Each has his own distinctive style. Some weeks one of them makes more money, but the next, it's one of his two buddies, and the next it's the third.

They have some playful conversations about who's the best, but then they finally decide to answer that question with a little contest. Each of them chooses the guy who has been their most loyal customer, and then those three men check out all three masters. If everyone stays loyal to his original master, it's a draw. But any switching around could sway things for one of these cocky studs.

What’s the outcome?

#1 wins

#2 wins

#3 wins

There’s no clear winner

Voting ended onMay 1

[gc8118]

Everyone agrees on how this is going to go. They'll all get 20 minutes with their three regular clients watching, and that the end of it all, they'll tally how much each of the Masters earned from their slaves. If they each get tribute from their usual boy, the winner will be the one with the largest amount. But the slaves can pay tribute however many times they want. And if one of the three Masters gets money from all three boys, then he'll be the clear winner.

#1 is Jay (his boy is Jeff)

#2 is Chris (his boy is Chad)

#3 is Aaron (his boy is Anthony)

Chris goes first, starting off dressed in compression shirt and skimpy shorts. He always plays up his history as a jock--baseball in college and the minor leagues--and he always ends up in some version of tighty whities, like the boy next door. He knows his muscles are impressive, and he always shows them off. And at minute 20, he gives the guys a quick flash of his soft cock.

Jay's up next. His persona is some combination of stoner and gooner. He's always on his bed, which always looks like he's just had sex with two or three guys on it. He's always thrusting his crotch at you, spreading his legs so you can imagine what's between them, under the striped shorts he wears the whole time. He talks a bit, "Like that, dudes?" "You wish you were here at my feet?" And toward the end, he grasps his crotch to show you he's hard, and big, and ready for you.

Last is Aaron, sweaty and flushed from a workout. He goes at it verbally from the start: "Admit it, guys, you thought you were hot shit, but when you saw me, you realized that you had a long way to go, and that you'd probably never get there. My boy Anthony can tell you that he was a cash master himself, till he stumbled across my account. Now, he feeds me tribute 24/7." It's 20 minutes of hot patter that gets more and more degrading as it goes on. At the end, he actually gets naked, and says, "Now, I know you all are about to shoot, if you haven't already. But before you do, remember that you'll shoot harder when you've given me my tribute."

When all three are done, they examine their accounts, displaying them for each other and their audience:

Chris has tribute just from Chad: $20.

Jay has tribute from Jeff and fron Chad: $30 from each, for a total of $60.

Aaron's account shows:

$200 from Anthony (as usual) $150 from Chad $250 from Jeff

Aaron smiles into the camera. "What do you say, Chris and Jeff?"

At that point, his phone pings, pings again. He shows his account:

$500 from Chris $1000 from Jay

[gc8118]

They're all friends. Each of them is a successful cash master online. Each has his own distinctive style. Some weeks one of them makes more money, but the next, it's one of his two buddies, and the next it's the third.

They have some playful conversations about who's the best, but then they finally decide to answer that question with a little contest. Each of them chooses the guy who has been their most loyal customer, and then those three men check out all three masters. If everyone stays loyal to his original master, it's a draw. But any switching around could sway things for one of these cocky studs.

What’s the outcome?

#1 wins

#2 wins

#3 wins

There’s no clear winner

Voting ended onMay 1

[gc8118]

The true alpha?

#1

#2

#3

#4

Voting ended onApr 25

[gc8118]

#1 Leroy #2 Jeff #3 Dom #4 Rajiv

Doms perspective:

I'm at the bar chatting with Leroy and Jeff. They both claim to be alpha tops, but I think I've got them both excited at the prospect of coming home with me and "experimenting." What that might involve, I'm thinking, is Jeff and Leroy having a little wrestling bout, with the loser giving his cherry to the winner, and then me stepping in to control both of them. They're young, inexperienced; they have no idea of the game that I bring. They're probably imagining double-teaming me and ending up with a spit-roast. But I know that's not gonna happen.

Just as I'm about to propose we get out of here and go to my place, a new guy walks in. Positions himself at the other end of the bar. Both Leroy and Jeff look his way, and I do too. I have to admit he's attractive. Probably South Asian. His t-shirt clings to muscles, and his tight jeans show a big bulge. But he's for another night: I'm happy to have Leroy and Jeff to play with.

But, again, just as I'm about to make my move to leave, Leroy and Jeff simultaneously walk away, positioning themselves on either side of the new guy. They're flirting with him, and he's smiling. Not just at them, but down the bar at me. Actually, it's more of a smirk. Saying, "look who's getting these hot guys tonight!"

Well, I don't give up easy, and I make my way over to their group, standing close to Leroy. I whisper in his ear, "How about just the two of us, stud? I promise you'll enjoy yourself."

But Leroy acts like he hasn't heard, turning back to the new guy and laughing at something he's saying. The guy looks directly at me, "Hey, I'm Rajiv, and you are ..."

"I'm Dom." He smiles at my name. "I'll bet you are." Then he turns to Jeff and Leroy. "Were you guys actually gonna go home with him?"

Jeff answers, "Yeah, we figured since there was nothing else on offer."

Leroy chimes in, "But now ..."

Rajiv smiles, looking into my eyes, "How does it feel, Dom, to be abandoned so easily?" Then, in what seems completely unconnected, he says, "So, Dom, how much cash do you have in your wallet?"

"Um ... why ... I guess about $500."

Rajiv turns to Jeff: "If Dom here gave you all his cash, would you go home with him?"

"No fucking way."

"But you would come home with me?"

"In a second."

Rajiv smiles, addresses me: "Dom, Leroy and Jeff are leaving with me. You have a choice. You can just let us go, go home alone, and jerk off thinking about what we're doing together."

I can't believe he's saying this to me, but I also can't get myself just to step away from him. He continues, "Or you can hand me your wallet and your Rolex, and I'll let you tag along with us. That way, when you jerk off, you can at least be watching the three of us have our fun."

I reach in my pocket, hand over my wallet. I take off my watch and hand it to Rajiv. He fastens it around his wrist.

"C'mon guys!" He and Leroy and Jeff turn and walk toward the door. I follow behind them, wondering whether the only thing I'll be allowed to so is watch.

[rubbergay32]

[bddsdl]

(Fiction) Our dynamic changed over the years, from a lot of fun play in the beginning to being nothing but a mere house object for chores, always gagged, plugged, chastized and in full head to toe rubber, while he at some point got himself a new boyfriend. But once that guy also moved in, he convinced my Master that i should not be lingering around when i wasn't doing chores, so the new regiment wa introduced. I got 1 hour for shower, body care and food, then 2,5 hours for a top to bottom home cleaning, after that mittens, gasmask with blacked out lenses and headphones with white noise went on and i got locked up in the cage for the next 21 hours, to repeat that every day of every week then. But earlier this morning before getting back into the cage i made the mistake to whine about it and ask not to be locked into the cage again for 21 hours. After he and his boyfriend whispered a moment, you can see the result and before the white noise got activated, he mentioned: 'Well, i gave you what you asked for, you're not locked IN the cage, instead you're locked onto it in a predicament position. With your weight resting on your knees and no way to relief much, you will find out within the next half hour or so that pain is not only inevitable, but it will not go way, instead grow through the hours. And this will be the new every day resting posture unless... you can convince me and my boyfriend by sincere begging that you deserve to be locked inside the cage instead. If you beg well and we both believe it is really sincere, then you get to spend that day inside the cage, but you will have to convince us every day from now on that you truly want and need to be locked inside that cage.. You have the coming 21 hours to think about how you will do that, then it's chores as usual again.' I am in that position now just a few hours and already don't know how to handle that pain in the knees anymore.... i should not have whined in the first place, now inside of that cage seems heaven...

[bddsdl]

(Fiction) I was in town for the long fetish weekend. Geared in my favorite full army, I went out exploring right after the check-in was done.

I saw those two stand outside a store and could not help, had to compliment how the boy kneeling there looked in the full gear, locked proper into all of it, could not resist to also mention that I'd gladly be like that on the end of that leash as well.

I then went into that store browsing a little, but not long after he came inside as well with his boy on the leash of course, came up to me and asked if I was serious earlier, because he'd agree to have his boy and me swap, give his boy some time of freedom to enjoy, but I'd have to swap all of it, what I wear against what he wears.

How could I say no to that, as surprised as I was, we went to the back of the store and he told me to strip, during that he unlocked all the padlocks, every jacket strap and the muzzle were locked of course, and then got the boy out of things.

Muzzle first, jacket, boots and pants went on the floor, and I could have guessed, of course a full chastity belt was also part of the whole, but this one also had a plug locked in.

While he told his boy to get dressed in my stuff, from the undies to the cap, everything, he started me on the belt first, a little adjustment here and there and it sat snug, but then of course... he grabbed some lube from the store, still it took quite some effort on my end and quite a gasp when that plug finally slipped into place and the backplate on the belt was padlocked, securing it here.

The still warm leather trousers followed, rough wool socks and the boots were next. The jacket was just as warm from his boy wearing it just before, felt great too, arms in, zipped and buckled on the back and then the crotch and arm straps tightly secured as well, every strap padlocked as they were before.

I moaned slightly, it felt so horny, but my dick could no longer get hard freely, only now, growing slightly and getting me into trouble, I felt the inside of the tube on the chastity belt was spiked, quickly moans of pleasure turned into hissing of pain... it was hard work to convince my dick to relax enough to stop the pain.

The muzzle then came as last one, again I missed it before, but a massive silicone gag was embedded in the front shield, removing ability to speak fully and no longer allowing more than muffled, almost silent grunts. Strapped in place it was also padlocked of course then.

But then... a lot of bystanders in the store watched the swap of course, but one of them then shouted: 'He asked for it, why don't you make him spend all weekend in it then. '

He looked at me, by now kneeling at the end of his leash as his boy was before, his grin was not promising... then I saw him hand the keys to all the padlocks to his boy, stuffing those into the pocket of my army trousers, then he said to his boy:

'Let's make sure of that. You got this boys' hotel key, so you can stay there until we check out Sunday afternoon, so for the next 48 hours make sure that I do not see you anywhere, else I double the punishment you received last time you fucked up seriously, and we both know you won't want that. Now get lost!'

He gave him a hefty push, making sure the boy leaves immediately. Then, looking down at me while the bystanders laughed on what just happened: 'Looks like you're stuck at the end of that leash exactly as you are now, those keys won't be back for the next 48 hours, you can bet on that. And beware: if you embarrass me during that time by not being the most obedient and best behaved property, you'll regret it too. Now get up, I have some more stores I want to visit before dinner.'

He pulled on the leash and I had no choice, but my mind was racing, hard to focus on walking on that leash when my mind was too busy thinking what happened, stuck for the coming 48 hours like this, damn... But the bigger problem were those spikes inside the chastity tube, and would be for most of the coming 48 hours likely.

Of course I did not act perfect, not even aware what he expected, despite giving my best efforts, even dared to attempt complaining, not that the gag allowed him to understand those grunts, but because of all that, in the next store then he purchased a shock collar to add on my neck, and the amount of times he used it on full power settings over the hour following that made sure i got VERY compliant. A few hours later you could see me, already for an hour kneeling outside of that restaurant where he had dinner with some buddies, the leash locked on to the lamp post out there, my butt aching from the huge plug, my dick aching from the still constant attempts making me feel those spikes, my jaw aching from that massive gag, of course, he could see me from inside and would punish if I dared getting up or even just looking up. Just 7 hours passed, 40+ to go, damn....

(PS: if this would be happening in real to meet - which will never be - and get the offer to swap, and even if you tell me in advance that I'd not be out any time soon, I'd still not hesitate to go for it)

[wileywets]

“You want out? Too bad!”

My friends decided to leave me in my new toy while they went to the other room to play with legos (and the vibrator)

All I could do was bounce helplessly and fill my diapers 🥺

[bddsdl]

(Fiction) Poker nights at theirs were always nice, even though it took a while to get used to the 'living decoration' of his boy struggling in the room while we played.

Tonight was a good night for me, won quite a bit, the others left not long ago, i was telling him I'd be getting ready myself too when he asked for one more game, i had woon most of his money, i could give him a chance to win it back. I still had time, so i told him that given my luck of today, chances were not looking good for him, he still insisted.

As predicted, he lost three hands in a row, betting big each time, sitting without any funds opposite of me at the table then. But he wanted to go on, one more, he asked, but having no money to bet i asked what he'd think on that, he did not know, but kept begging for one more game.

In the background his boy still struggled in the bouncer, i looked at that and grinned, looking at him then i told him about an option: I'd put in the amount of money he lost this evening, he'd bet time in the bouncer. If he won, we'd be done for tonight, if he lost, he'd have to spend every poker night, which we held every other weekend, the whole day in that bouncer the way he kept his boy usually. Since i was putting up 1500 bucks, 15 of those weekends it would have to be. He agreed without thinking.

Cards dealt, i had a great hand, a straight flush, eight to queen, no concern about that, i did the 'official' bet of the 1500 bucks, he thought a little, then said: 'I of course match that, but i want to raise, what would it take to get you perform an 'all in' with everything you won tonight?'

That was a surprise, i thought a little, cards exchanged, cards on the table, cards in my had, chances of loosing were extremely little, so i returned the question what he'd be willing to offer, knowing that chances will be high that he lost that again. But i also added a suggestion to it, maybe if we'd change the 15 planned 'days we play' into whole weekends, from arriving after work on Fridays to leaving for work Monday morning without interruption.

He turned and looked at his boy bouncing there like nothing was happening at all, then thought a little and returned: 'I really am certain this time i get lucky, so i go all the way. I place the prior agreed 15 poker-night days in the bouncer, but i raise to permanent poker night weekends in the bouncer in the way you suggested against all your money winnings AND 100 poker night weekends in the bouncer for YOU, starting with the remaining time of this weekend for the looser.' He also added that we would sign a mutual promissory note in the amount of 500,000, payable immediately upon refusal to comply with the agreed weekend penalties, so the looser could not refuse for sure, no matter what.

I asked if he was serious, i looked at my hand again, no way I'd be loosing, so i mentioned whether he is sure, permanent, he'd never participate on our games but every time, so every other weekend, be over there like his boy was, asked again if he was truly sure about that. But he did not even listen, typed the promissory note already on his mobile and after pushing the print , i heard the printer already. He presented the doc for our singing. I again asked if he was certain, it was clear to me that he'd loose that one, but he countered with a 'chickening out, now that your stake raised too?' Well, that did it for me, i accepted the bet and stakes and signed right then.

I laid out the straight flush i had with a major grin on my face, but when he placed his hand on the table, fuck… double fuck…. mega fuck…. he also had a straight flush, but 9 to king. He yelped out, somehow only then realizing he actually won, at the same time i sat there, could not believe with that hand i lost this one…

But after grabbing the money on the table and the document we signed, he grinned at me, then pointed at his boy in the bouncer, telling me: 'The weekend still goes on for a while, time to get you ready.'

I still could not believe, but there was also no doubt about 'paying up' the losses, in all the years we played that was at no time ever a doubt.

We went into their bedroom, he had me strip and said: 'Exactly as my boy is the deal, that means double of the thickest night diapers we have, with double inlays to boost capacity, onesie and sicks only on top of that, the pacifier head harness locked on, mittens locked on behind the back, in the bouncer. but it also includes what you do not see, the flat chastity cage and the dildo up his butt.

I did not know indeed, but did not say much about it either, 'as his boy' was the agreement, not 'almost as his boy'. I was definitely not looking forward to any of it, so was not at all horny, it did not take any troubles for him to lock another flat chastity cage on me, making me think about the troubles to come when i DO get hard again, which i did regularly during evenings and nights. The bigger issue was the dildo then, i wasn't a virgin, but the amount of times and sizes of tools back there were limited in the past, so it took quite some work to accommodate the one he had, about 1.75 inch diameter and 7 inch long, with a base simulating a ball sack also.

Doing it all the time, the diapering up was no trouble for him at all, getting those two diapers and inlays in place neat and snug, by that also forcibly preventing that dildo from fully sliding out. But when i got up to get that onesie on, i noticed, sitting would push that thing deeper into my butt again, moving around meant slightly moving that thing in and out also, I'd be fucking myself slightly then, feeling totally weird to me right then.

But after onesie and socks were on, we went over to the living room, his boy still innocently bouncing around, unaware of anything. He unlocked the mittens of his boy and released him from the bouncer, then also unlocked and removed the head harness with the pacifier in place, while he then cleaned that dummy a little, he sent his boy 'to bed'. That harness went on my head, with it the huge dummy into my mouth, he even added the brim cap his boy wore earlier then before it was time to get into that bouncer.

I followed his guidance on that and minutes later was actually hanging in that thing, feet off the ground, my hands now also locked in those mittens on my back, and of course, with my weight on it, that dildo fully pushed up my butt now. He then took a little clip showing me off, all that was on, my helpless bouncing diapered, patting the thick padding in front of that flat cock cage also, not that i felt much of that anyway, then he said:

'It is Saturday morning 2 am now, so you have the time until Monday morning 6am, enough time to get ready to go to work then, I'll fetch the clothes you need to go to work from your place during the weekend.

I'll send this clip to our poker buddies, telling them that you won't be able to attend the next 100 game nights, because this is how you spend each of those weekends without exception.

So let it sink in during the remaining weekend now, I'll be snuggling up to my boy for the night.'

F*ck….. but then an even bigger f*ck... realizing- 100 times, every other weekend, that is 200 weeks, that makes 3 years and ten months... another 'megaf*ck' entered my mind...

[tickletopia-blog]

[yurrfttboyy]

When your blind date turns out to be a foot fag….

“Well this is new, I never thought I’d be out on a date with a guy with a foot fetish.” He said, laughing nervously and slipping his barefeet out of his vans. He plopped them up on the table, just a foot or so away from your face. “There you go, that’s better isn’t it? Now you can check them out up close, go ahead and lean in and give them kisses” he wiggled his sweaty toes, pointing them towards your face as you leaned in and started giving them soft kisses. He giggled at the way you obeyed and kissed his sweaty toes, then started looking at the menu.

Before you knew it the waiter was there. Your hot date kept you mesmerized by his wiggling toes as he ordered the most expensive meal on the menu, then the waiter turned to you. You were obviously too consumed with the wiggling toes in your face to notice, so your date went ahead and ordered for you, “He’s good, he’s just having my feet for lunch today. Thank you”

If that wasn’t humiliating enough he made you pay the bill, and after you gave the waiter a generous tip the two of them exchanged phone numbers. After watching them exchange numbers and flirt for a few minutes he thanked you for joining him, but let you know that he just wasn’t interested. He and the waiter left together holding hands, while you left alone with the smell of his stinky feet still on your upper lip and face. You couldn’t deny that it felt amazing to help him hook up with someone else and to buy his 5 star lunch, it made you feel like the luckiest little foot fag in the whole city.

[guysunderwearstories]

Story #23

“Pajama day? What are we, five years old?”

Aaron was disgusted. Not only was his boss making them work all day on a Saturday, but he was trying to insult him and the other employees by making it a “fun pajama day.” This job was supposed to be a part-time thing to put on his resume, but here it was ruining his social life.

“I just thought if we all had to be here on a Saturday, we could all dress comfortably,” said his boss, Vincent. Though Vincent founded the small startup, he looked like he couldn’t be a day over thirty. With an imposing figure and brown hair shaved into a buzz cut, his constant sternness juxtaposed what could only be described as a youthful face. Both his seriousness and his youth described exactly a person that would find pajama day fun.

“Again, since I’m not a toddler, I don’t own any pajamas, so I guess I have to work on a Saturday AND be uncomfortable doing it,” replied Aaron. Brock and Sam, the other two guys his age in the office, nodded emphatically.

“Can you guys bring sweatpants or something?” Vincent was looking flustered.

“Why do we have different rules we have to follow than everyone else?” Brock fake whined. His carefully styled black hair and Egyptian features made him look more like he belonged in a modeling agency than a startup. He, like Aaron, clearly just wanted to push Vincent’s buttons.

“If I’m going to wear pants, I’m not going to wear sweatpants. I’m going to actually commit to the bit,” laughed Sam. Sam had a slight Australian accent, dark hair shaved into a fade, and charming enough looks and personality that no one really noticed that what he said didn’t make a thing of sense.

“Well if you boys don’t wear pajamas, what do you wear to sleep?” inquired Luis. He was the one older man in the office. “I”m genuinely curious,” he said innocently to a clearly exasperated Vincent.

“Boxers,” said Aaron proudly.

“Undies,” said Brock with a grin.

“What kind?” asked Sam. “Panties? Budgie smugglers?”

“Nah, boxers too,” laughed Brock as he gave Sam a punch on the arm.

“This meeting has gone off the rails!” Vincent wasn’t happy about having to work all day Saturday either and all this backtalk wasn’t helping his mood. “If you boys really want to come in Saturday wearing your actual sleepwear, be my guest! Karen is still on maternity leave, so it’s not like anyone is going to mind!” Lisa, who they all called Karen, was the only woman in the office.

“Boo ya!” Aaron, Brock and Sam all high fived each other.

“Not that I think you boys have the balls to do it,” muttered Vincent under his breath.

“Carefully, Vinny, that’s an HR violation,” teased Aaron.

Aaron drove home, his displeasure at working Saturday completely alleviated by the knowledge he could cause havoc at work showing up in his boxers. As soon as Aaron walked in the door, he shed his khakis and waltzed around in his blue boxers with red lobsters on them. If he was going to spend all day in his underwear, he might as well get the practice in now. He plopped down on the couch, but the sudden movement caused a family jewel to plop out the bottom of his underpants, which he hastily readjusted. He frowned. Even if his office was willing to bend the dress code rules tomorrow, there was only so far they’d be willing to go. He got an idea and walked upstairs.

He knocked on his roommate James’ door. James, in the middle of a video game, laughed when he saw Aaron, though it was almost bitter. “Nice outfit,” said James. After all, Aaron was standing there in his plaid button down work shirt and crustacean boxers.

“Well, I have to get used to it don’t I?” laughed Aaron. He quickly filled in James on the events of the day.

“Why are you telling me all this?” asked James.

“Well, while boxers are pretty similar to shorts, there’s always the possibility that something might pop out the bottom,” Aaron grinned. “You would know that if you ever wore boxers.”

James glared at him.

Aaron continued, “I was wondering if you would loan me a pair of briefs I could wear underneath. I don’t own any.”

James looked at you in horror. “Loan you a pair of my underwear?”

“What?” asked Aaron. “You’ve loaned me bathing suits. If you don’t, I’m going to have to go to the store and actually spend money on those things. And I don’t want to encourage any future production of them.”

James scoffed. “Remind me to burn those bathing suits.”

Both boys stared at each other in awkward silence. It was time to address the elephant in the room.

Last weekend, after a breakup with his girlfriend, James drank way too much and somehow ended up filming an Instagram Live at 2 am featuring all his unsuspecting roommates. Only issue was James was in his underwear and all of his roommates were in their various sleeping attire (for the majority of them, their underpants). It’s not that Aaron was embarrassed to be seen in his underwear (he was going to work pantsless tomorrow, after all), but it was the principle of the thing; even if James was drunk, his instincts were try to embarrass his friend.

But even Aaron had to admit that the guys’ retaliation may have gone a bit too far. They picked up a fast asleep James and left him in nothing but his briefs on the porch of their attractive neighbor, June. As James angrily informed them all the morning after, he woke up (quite cold) to a disgusted looking June, clutching her bathrobe tightly to her body and poking him with a broomstick. James merely ran away. He still has never spoken to her and after that he probably never would.

“Listen. It was none of our finest hours,” Aaron said slowly.

“Get out of here. Not doing anything for you after that shit,” snapped James.

Aaron wasn’t too bothered. James had a bit of a temper but he was fiercely loyal to his friends and he knew their “bromance” wasn’t in any danger. But he was slightly annoyed that now he had to go to Walmart to buy briefs, something he has never done.

Aaron walked into the store from his xar. He found a pack of five solid black Gildan that didn’t look to bad (saying “good looking briefs” would have been too much of an oxymoron for him). But $35! He was going to wear them under his briefs one time for a bit at work. That wasn’t worth it.

The store didn’t have a ton of briefs; mainly boxers and boxer briefs lined the shelves. While it inconvenienced him in this moment, the lack of briefs being available to the public did restore his faith in humanity just a little bit.

He involuntarily grimaced as he passed a seven pack of Hanes tighty whities. His housemates Carlos wore them, and as a result in the infamous Instagram Live he looked like a beefy baby. But he did a double take. $15?!? For a pack of 7?!? He couldn’t argue that was a better deal. He found a pack in his size and shrugged. It’s not like anyone would see them. He tried to shake off the feeling that that statement was probably some nasty foreshadowing, almost like something an amateur writer might put in some gay erotica on Tumblr.

When he got home, Aaron went into his room, took off his boxers, and pulled on the tighty whities. He had to laugh at himself. He took off his plaid work shirt and stood there in nothing but the tighty whities. They made him look a loser but he had to admit a pretty well-endowed loser.

He slid back the boxers over them. Nothing was going to pop out now. There were some faintly visible brief lines, but if anyone was going to be staring at his ass that intently they better be buying him dinner first. The Hanes waistband stuck out over the top, but he wasn’t worried, as he’d be wearing a shirt tomorrow.

His phone buzzed from inside his discarded pants. He picked it up to see a text from James.

JAMES: Sorry for being a dick.

AARON: All good. Was kind of a dick too. Can you drive me to work tomorrow lol. Eli is borrowing my car.

JAMES: Sure. Text me a time.

Aaron smiled. James really was loyal to a fault.

The next day, Aaron woke up and got “dressed” for work. He pulled on the white briefs, a pair of white boxers with red polka dots (the funniest pair he owned), and a white wifebeater tank top. Socks and sneakers completed the outfit. He didn’t even put on a coat, as he wanted everyone in the office to take in his grand entrance.

Aaron and and James walked to James’s car. They carried two large boxes of bags of potato chips. As the least senior employee, Aaron had also been charged with bringing snacks to get them through this awful Saturday workday.

James parked the car. Aaron stopped him.

“Let me carry in the boxes with you.”

“Oh please,” Aaron brushed him off. “I got it.”

“Seriously.” James looked at him. “I was mad about one person seeing me in my underwear but I put you online. I feel bad. Let me help you out. Not like you can carry in both boxes those scrawny arms anyway.”

“Fuck off,” laughed Aaron. The two guys got out of the car, bragged boxes, and started walking towards the office.

As Aaron opened the door, he heard the crunch of potato chips as James threw his box to the floor. He gripped the waistband of Aaron’s boxers and pushed him forward with all his strength. Fuck. James must actually have been stronger than him, because his boxers ripped clean off. He landed on the office floor in full view of his coworkers, wearing nothing but white socks, black sneakers, the white tank top, and the Hanes tighty whities.

“I didn’t know you brought white ones!” cackled James. He ran out the door. Aaron heard snickering coming from every guy in the office. He took a couple seconds to recover from the shock before standing up. He started to run for James, but felt Vincent’s hands on his shoulders.

“You wanted to wear your actual sleepwear to work, and now that you showed up like this, you actually have to work.” Vincent looked stern and aggressive at the same time. He was wearing a black sweatshirt and gray sweatpants.

“I don’t actually wear these,” sputtered Aaron. “I was-“

“What do you mean you don’t actually wear them, you’re wearing them right now,” said Vincent. The whole office, still listening intently to the conversation, erupted in laughter.

Most of the office opted for Vincent’s sweatpants idea. A handful of guys wore flannel pajama pants. Brock and Sam were the only two in boxers. Brock opted for a basketball jersey and some Yankee boxers. Sam wore a faded fraternity t-shirt and some dark green boxers with light green shamrocks on them. As Aaron sat at his desk in shame, the two guys walked up to him.

“Was that your boyfriend who dropped you off?” teased Brock.

“Shut up.” Aaron was fuming.

“I didn’t think guys actually wore those outside of cartoons, but good for you for being different.” It seemed like Sam was trying to be nice. In his own special way. “Kind of weird to wear them to work though.”

Brock started, “Yea I can kind of see the outline of your-“. Aaron slapped a folder in front of crotch. He was humiliated. He hadn’t worn briefs since the age of six and now at the age of 23 he had the spend the entire workday in them. This was the stuff of nightmares.

All day long, people came over to take peeks of him and chuckle. He would keep trying to cover himself with things but everyone would just take them away. He was pretty sure he saw Brock filming a Tik Tok.

Luis walked over to him. He just wore his normal work clothes.

“Now people used to wear briefs but I thought that went out of fashion years ago,” he said to Aaron.

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Aaron’s patience was waning.

“Listen here you little shit.” Luis, usually jovial, was not messing around. He opened up a pair of potato chips to reveal nothing but dust. “I am not going to take any crap from some loser who wears tighty whities to work.”

[uw2024]

[slaveboymatt]

Doing as Master had instructed, you removed any remaining boxers from your underwear drawer and prepared to cut them up. You were now only permitted to wear tighty whities when getting dressed for work. It's not like you wore fancy designer boxers in the first place like these plain ones in your hand now. But it was still a step down and reinforced your status as an inferior, especially in the gym changing room.

[blahjej-deactivated20190215]

[briefsdudesblog]

Basically the wedgie I was just given for making excuses and not going to the gym

[jockbro91]

Given to him by me. Hit the gym like you should faggots!