Hierarchy, discipline, rigging, edging, humiliation, will-breaking, hypnotizing, entrapment, gleeful & casual sadism

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2022-01-22 15:18:20

    Worshipping My High School Bully

    In high school, I was known for being the “gay” of our school— or as some of the other students phrased it, the “fag.” It wasn’t that there weren’t other gay students, or even gay students who were more flamboyant. I think I more so gained the title due to being one of the first “out” kids at my school, and my response to any acts of homophobia. I was always a docile kid and aware of my responsibilities as a student to not aid in the ignition of a fight. But I also had enough self-respect to not just let myself get walked over.

    As bullies at my school soon found out, put a kid like me in a scenario like that with really no one else to turn to and you either get someone like me, or a doormat. Meanwhile, during my senior year, a lot of freshman came in, and with them came a shift in the system. Suddenly, there were not only a lot more “out” kids, there were a lot more “proud” kids. And with how many there were, the bullies swiftly found that even if there was a weak chain in the link, another gay would have no problem quickly coming to step in and clap back. So what that lead to was a dilemma, there were the newer “fags” who were catty and fought back, making poor targets. And while you’d think some of the older “fags” who were too scared to do anything might make the perfect targets, they were the ones who formed the quickest bonds with the catty gays, trying to get by their last year without fear of harassment.

    Then there was me, the quiet gay, who, yeah, had a lot of girl friends who would try and step up for me, but I was never the type to clap back myself. And at the same time, while I didn’t clap back, I also didn’t run at first sight or quickly try and befriend the more aggressive gays. In other words, I was the perfect target. So I somehow became notorious among the more aggressive, needing-to-prove-their-masculinity straight guys. Yet still, it was a strange relationship. Especially toward the end of the semester, I started to get the hint some of the guys were sad I wouldn’t be in their lives anymore. Don’t get me wrong, it was because they would miss picking on me and tossing slurs like “faggot” at me. But still it was strange because they started to get just the tiniest bit nicer.

    After graduating, I didn’t really give a shit about the people I was leaving behind. My friends and I would stay in contact, we texted each other the entire summer, but everyone else? They could get on with their fucking lives on their own time, not like I’d see any of them anymore anyway.


    After starting Uni, everything felt great. I had been lucky and managed to get a dorm room without a roommate, so I’d be able to just relax in my room without concerning myself with what someone else was doing. And while I had to say goodbye to all my old friends, since I was the only one going to this university, and wasn’t too keen on becoming friends with people to only be friends for a semester, my first semester was starting off great.

    I was walking back to my dorm from my last class on a Monday when I had my headphones ripped out of my ears and was then greeted by a “Did a you miss me, Fag?”

    Turning around I was greeted by the surprisingly close face of Peter. He was one of the guys who used to harass me in high school. Unlike many of the other guys, Peter was the only one I ever actually had classes with— in fact I had at least one class with him every year. Of course, why would I lose him now then? Peter was somewhat handsome and if he were more mature and maybe didn’t try so hard to smell like he was just at the gym… then he wouldn’t be so bad to be around. But as of now, even with a face like his, it didn’t make me want to be around him any more than necessary.

    “Hello, Peter.” I said curtly.

    “Hello, Faggot.” He repeated in a mocking tone. “Come on, I know you’re happy to see me, you’re life must have been so boring without me there to remind you of your place.” I continued to walk as he spoke and like a lost puppy, he followed me, with a shit-eating grin plastered to his face the entire time.

    “And where might this place you are reminding me of be, pray tell?” I was taking a short cut to my dorm between some buildings that didn’t acquire any foot traffic and seeming to notice this, Peter gladly answered:

    “Why don’t I show you!” With that said, before I could react, he grabbed my neck with one of his arms and threw me to the ground before putting one of his feet on my face and flexing.

    Swiping his leg away, I quickly got up and began walking again, thankful nobody saw that occur and wiped the shit from his shoe off my face. “Fuck off, Peter, can’t you grow up or something?”

    “Oh, I’m a fuckin’ grower, bitch. A shower and a fuckin’ grower. Wouldn’t you like to know.” He continued, just as childish as I remember.

    “Not with an attitude like that, not really.” I replied, showing the first small amount of resistance to this treatment since it started over four years ago.

    “Oh, I’m sorry, let me be nice, we can hold hands, and feed each other. I’ll do all the house work and you’ll clean the dishes and rub my fuckin’ feet. Is that what you want bitch?” I wasn’t going to reply, tired of his idiocy, and perhaps he realized that or… something was going on in that brain of his because instead of waiting for a reply, he followed it up, laughing, “That doesn’t sound too bad actually, might be a good deal for you, eh?” I paused as he started, not hopeful for any potential homosexual ideologies hidden within him, but because I’d never had any of the bullies even dare make a joke like that until now. Perhaps with him out of the sight of those other guys, he was being more free with his sense of “humor.” Unamused myself, I promptly resumed walking, approaching my dorm.

    Seeing me keep walking, he once again made a strange comment that made me pause once more before I entered the building. “Come on, I’m so- eugh” he pretended to vomit, “sor- eughg, sorRY-uregh… sorry.” I didn’t know if it was fake, although suspected it was, but this was the first time any of those guys had ever apologized, even a potential fake one. “I missed having someone to tease,” he confessed, “so come on, I’m out here putting my, admittedly shriveled and cold, heart on my sleeve. Can’t you just entertain me, take me up to your room, we can reconnect, talk about our classes— I could even meet your roommate, and while I picked on you in front of other people in high school, I don’t know your roommate, he could be some liberal freak and go apeshit on me.”

    Regardless of his apology’s sincerity, he seemed genuine here, and so I relented. “Fine, but I don’t have a roommate, so I guess you don’t have to worry about that.” I laughed a little, which he also seemed pleased about, although perhaps a little too pleased.

    As we rode the elevator up to my room, it was a bit awkward. He started complaining about some of his professors, and how he has to drive to uni which is a bitch, especially with morning traffic. It was all too… normal. After unlocking my door, I went to place something in my bathroom trash as he rushed ahead through the small hallway. As I closed the bathroom door, I heard his ruck hit the floor and the springs of my bed creak. “Holy shit, this is pretty nice.” He announced as he was sprawled on the bed with his arms behind his head. “You sure you don’t want a roommate? Because I would kill to be able to live here. You think just walking from here to classes might be brutal? I had to drive a half hour to get here and walk from the parking lot to the other side of the school!” He began kicking off his shoes, which he’d kept on up to this point. “My feet have been fucking killing me!” As his shoes began coming off, I saw the first peak of skin and within second of his shoes hitting the ground, the room smelled like his feet.

    “Oh shit, sorry!” He laughed, “I forgot I went sockless today.”

    “HOW DO YOU JUST FORGET?” I said, actually surprised by how loud I got.

    “Dude, chill, chill.” He said coolly, making hand motions to bring my volume down. “I just forgot to clean my socks. I had worn all of them, like… 3 or 4 days,” he continued after a pause, “and so they needed to be washed, but I also needed to leave this morning, so I just put some shoes on.”

    “That’s disgusting, holy shit.” I said covering my face with my shirt.

    “Come on, dude, aren’t fags supposed to like that smell? I don’t doubt you somehow manage to smell like perfume when you sweat, so come on,” he said laughing his ass off as he turned to have his soles face me and wiggled his toes , “take a whiff or ten, it might be the only time you get to smell a real man.”

    “Fuck off.” I shortly replied.

    “Come on, how are you supposed to know if you like it or not if you don’t place your fag face right up in my big ol’ feet and take a few dozen hits!”

    “Because I know I don’t like it! How do you know you don’t like having a guy choke on your dick instead of a girl, same difference!”

    “Jokes on you fag, a mouth’s a mouth, I don’t know what the fuck gave you that impression. Just because you haven’t taken a spin on this disco stick,” he grabbed his junk as he asserted, “doesn’t mean it’s not ever gonna happen.”

    I had no retort to that, it took me completely by surprise, which he used to further torment me, teasing “I know, I’m sure I just made you realize all your dreams of getting fucking skull fucked by me are possible. No need to thank me, fag.” The most I could do was roll my eyes at his claim, I was still stunned into silence. “Anyway, fuck my feet are killing me! Come on, dude, can’t you rub my feet or something! I promise I’ll chill out with all the fag talk if you do. They are just fucking killing me.”

    I really did not want to be anywhere near his feet, and as much as I wanted the fag talk to stop, I didn’t need him in my life. I told him no and that he either needed to put on his shoes or leave and was already getting ready to show him the door when he got up off the bed and threw me on the floor again.

    Shoving his feet into my face, he commanded, “I told you to rub them, bitch. So what the fuck are you about to do?”

    I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off, but again he must have been reading my mind because the second he saw my mouth open, he shoved his disgusting and sweaty foot in my face.

    “I didn’t need a verbal answer, FAG. Now rub my fucking feet with your hands, or would you rather I use your fag face to massage my feet?” Quickly, I began rubbing his feet with my hands. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing but I figured doing anything with my hands would be better than doing nothing and his alternative…

    Potentially I could have resisted more or screamed for help, but it just seemed like it would be more trouble than it was worth. His feet were fucking disgusting, and yes I was going to have to take a shower after this, but as long as I dealt with it now and was able to get rid of him afterward, I might never see him again and not have to deal with this shit. It was the same thing I’d told myself all four years in high school.

    After about five minutes of rubbing his feet, I spoke up. “Okay, come on, I’ve rubbed your feet for five minutes, can I please stop?” I didn’t need to ask, but it was better than him taking offense to it and going to his plan B.

    “Dude, you are so fucking good at it though. Come on, just rub ‘em for me for another five— ten— minutes tops.” I groaned and willfully resumed massaging his feet. But I was a little surprised: I was doing a good job? I had never done anything like this so I expected to be bad, but, hey, maybe with another more mature guy who wouldn’t just force me to rub his feet when they were disgusting and sweaty, I might do something like this for them if it’d make them happy.

    Without necessarily meaning to, I tried a little harder to give a better foot rub, I mean IF I were to do this for my future man, I may as well get just that little bit better at it now.

    I wasn’t keeping track of time as closely, but after what should have been at most another fifteen minutes, five over his ten minute “top,” I finally pulled away, “Okay, okay, I know it’s been over ten minutes now. I’m not touching your disgusting feet again.”

    He had looked relaxed while I had been rubbing his feet, but as soon as I stopped, that shit-eating grin came back on his face and he harped, “Aww, with treatment like that my feet were practically falling in love with ya. Come on, seal the deal with a kiss,” he once again pointed his still sweaty soles at me, “and trust me, I would go from teasing you to doing nothing but praising you— as long as you kept doing it the way you did it now. Otherwise I might need to whip ya into shape.” He laughed.

    “As tempting as that sounds, I have to decline the offer.” The smell was getting to me at this point even with my shirt over my nose and I had to open a window.

    “Your loss,” he sighed, “chicks never relent when it comes to treating me like a king and rubbing my feet. Figured a fag would be the best way to go. Typically you skull fuck them once and they’ll do anything for ya, thought maybe we could skip all that since we were old pals, but I guess not.” Was he implying he was going to skull fuck me? “Anyway,” he said as he finally rose out of my bed, putting on his shoes, “I gotta go. Good job with the foot rub, fag. Catch ya later,” and left as suddenly as he came in him.


    After leaving the window open the rest of the day and even using some scented sprays, my room still reeked by the time I was trying to sleep. Why did he have to go to this university and why did he have to run into me? I was ready to move on and be free from all of those guys. I guess it was time to just try and avoid him, what I couldn’t be bothered to do in high school would be mandatory here. Since it was just him, an avoidance tactic would be more plausible.


    Throughout Tuesday and Wednesday I did my best to stay on the lookout for Peter. Thankfully, I never even saw him and so while I was on edge, nothing ever came of it. Thursday morning I was sitting in my last class when I received a text from an unknown number that said:

    “Hey FAG 😈 guess who it is! although I’m sure you’d know who it was from the bottom of my 🦶🏼🦶🏼 haha i’m just fucking with ya”

    My heart started racing. How the fuck did he get my number? Before I could even think of a reply a second text came through that read:

    “But seriously my 🦶🏼🦶🏼 have missed you 😭 when you gonna rub them for me again, i swear i’m wearing 🧦 today, so come onnn, i need that shit dude” followed very shortly by, “I could even help a fag out if you need some motivation 🍆💦💦 😂😂😂” With my face growing red, I very quickly put my phone on do not disturb and put it away so I wouldn’t have to see any more message from him.


    After my class ended, I unconsciously checked my phone before I remembered Peter’s texts, but was surprised to see no additional messages. With my last class of the day done, I started walking back to my dorm before deciding to go into the dining hall to get a snack.

    After leaving the dining hall it was a short two minute walk before getting to my dorm. As I was walking I took my phone out to change the song that was playing when a new text immediately came up that stopped my heart. “You look like you’d look even better under my 🦶🏼🦶🏼 today, making my 🍆💦💦” As soon as I saw that message, I turned around and could see Peter approaching me. Perhaps I could make a run for it, but at this point… what was the point.

    “There’s my fag boy!” He said as he approached me, “just as I promised,” he said pointing to his socks “they’re all ready for you!”

    “Please leave me alone, Peter…” I sighed, “look, you’re definitely different and more bearable than in high school, but I’m not interested in what you want from me.”

    After pausing a few seconds, he relented, “fine, fine, but come on, I walked all the way here. The least you can do is show yer old pal Peter back up to your room to hang out for a bit again.”

    Groaning, I once again walked into my dorm with him trailing behind me. The elevator ride consisted of more of the same. He told me how he met a bunch of new bros and was thinking of joining a fraternity. He said it sucked that aside from me, he was the only other person he knew that got into this school and that he had to leave his old bros behind. I was thankful for this tidbit since it assured me that there would be no other surprises like Peter that I should expect. As we came into my room, he once again pushed past me and sat on my bed after kicking off his shoes.

    “Ahh, that’s so much better.” He announced to me, wiggling his toes. “So fag, how’ve you been? I feel like you never actually talk. Any fairy make his way into your life yet? Or maybe you do like the more straight-passing guys… yeah you definitely seem like a bottom to me.”

    I turned red at his insinuation… even if it was correct it was still embarrassing to hear. “No, there’s no guy I’m talking to. But I could be a top you know!”

    He immediately laughed at my assertion, “not with how good you looked with my feet in your hands the other day. Even for a fag, a top wouldn’t look so natural in that kind of state, not like how you did.”

    My face growing redder by the minute, I grumbled, “will you quit bringing that up, why do you have such an obsession with your feet?”

    I expected this to potentially throw him off, but like always he responded coolly, claiming, “what’s wrong with a guy liking his feet rubbed? My feet have been fucking killing me and the rubdown you gave them felt fucking great.” He gave an actual normal response for once, one that logically made sense; however, he followed it with also claiming, “plus it also just feels good to have someone down there. Honestly might not have felt as good with a girl doing it. Nothing like having a fag at yer feet! Not that you would know, YOU were the FAG at MY feet!” He started bursting out laughing as I once again grew red in the face.

    I was about to kick him out when he abruptly changed the subject back to what he had initially started it as, “Anyway, that’s kinda sad though, thinking about it. I’m the only man in your life…” he laughed at this statement but followed it up by asking me about my classes and college life, living on my own, and this time he was at least being genuine enough to let me answer.

    It was strange talking to someone who had unrelentingly harassed me, and I mean, he kind of still did. Even if his responses were fake and he didn’t really give a shit, talking like this with him was humanizing. And yeah, I had to admit, the few times I made him laugh, he did look really attractive. I had settled on the ground and with him still laying on my bed, I had to look up at him and it was not a bad angle for him. He was laying horizontally with his elbow on one of my pillows propping up his head. It was nice seeing him in a different light, even if only temporary.

    After talking for thirty minutes, Peter sat up and started standing up but immediately recoiled and sat back on the bed. “Fuck, my feet are still tired as shit…” He paused for a moment before turning to me, and with a puppy dog expression and pointing his socked soles at me. I wanted to tell him no, but today was really nice, surprisingly …So I relented and scooted forward.

    As soon as soon as Peter saw me give in, he had a huge, goofy grin on his face. As I got to where I sat the other day, he motioned for me to go to the other end of the couch— it was in a corner so I had been facing the longer end previously. As I got to the foot of the bed, he grabbed one of my pillows and placed it down under his feet and moved the rest so he could keep his feet at the edge of the bed while resting on them. Seeing him grab my pillow like that I wanted to say something, but just figured there was no point; he would come up with some excuse to keep his feet there, I would just need to remember to wash the pillow case.

    Once again, I placed my hands on Peter’s, now socked, feet and began running through similar motions as the previous day. It was admittedly tougher to do this with his socks on. As revile as his feet were, his sweat functioned as a… natural lubricant. I noticed he would slightly inhale when running my hands over his arches, so I figured that must be a sensitive spot. I worked my hands over the area pushing the tension down and out, using enough force to add pressure without making it painful. It was strange the level of thought I put into doing this for him. Whatever, he had certainly been more bearable today than when he was previously in my room. I just hoped that if he were to continue to force his way into my life, he would act more like he did today.

    After massaging his feet for a while, I looked over at the clock I had on my dresser and saw the it read 5:37 PM. We had gotten back to my room at around 4:30, so I must have started around 5… jesus, this was getting out of hand. I looked up at Peter to say something and saw his left hand down his shorts playing with his dick.

    I immediately shot up, “Peter, what the fuck are you doing?”

    “The fuck does it look like I’m doing, Fag? You ought to be grateful I’m fucking jerking off to your foot rub. You,” he kicked me lightly with his foot, “should be proud of yourself. Now I’m feeling nice, I was thinking of gagging your faggot throat with my dick since you were doing such a good job, but since you caught some fucking attitude if you get back down on your knees and resume what you were doing, I’ll still let you fucking watch me cum and MAYBE let you lick it off if you take my socks off while you continue rubbing.”

    “Peter, you need to get the fuck out.” I demanded.

    “No,” he retaliated, taking his hand out of his shorts and standing up, “you need to learn your place.” He quickly grabbed me and started wrestling me to the ground. “I treat you well, relent on the fag talk, and all I ask is that you be a good bitch and fucking rub my feet and even think of letting you swallow my fucking jizz. You,” he pinned me to the ground and spat on my face, “You should be fucking grateful, faggot. Now it’s time for some obedience training.” With that he ripped off his socks, and as much as I tried to resist and get out from under his grip, he held me there and forced his disgusting sweaty socks into my face.

    He held my jaw up, forcing me to breathe in through my nose, and try as I might to fight it, I was already out of breath. As the first wave of his socks sweaty fumes made their way into my system, I felt my body grow limp and heavy. It was too much, how long had he been fucking wearing them? Reading my mind, he proudly proclaimed, “that’s three fucking days of sweat for you, fag. I had been saving these fuckers for you since Monday. Surprised you didn’t pass out just being near them. Heh, but I can see that won’t hold true for very long.” True to his claim, my vision was blurring and I couldn’t move my body. Noticing and taking advantage of this, the last thing I saw was him kick off his socks only to replace them with his sweaty feet. I had one last look up at him from under his feet before I blacked out.



    When I woke up, I had a splitting head ache and couldn’t remember a thing of what had happened… I had come up with Peter, we talked… he talked me into giving him another foot massage… but then, just blanks. Every time I tried to think about it, my head just throbbed more. I was tired, though I had just woken up. Did I pass out or something? That seemed vaguely familiar… But, ugh, I just couldn’t remember.

    I got up off the floor and went to shower. I didn’t bother looking myself in the mirror, but after finally feeling slightly more awake I realized there was a weird smell. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from, but as I washed my face, it felt like I was rubbing something off. I tried to look at my hand as I rubbed my face, but if I saw anything it must have been clear. I had no idea what that could have been. It was like instances of rubbing drool off of my face but it was sort of over my lips, under my nose, and on my cheek, far too spread out to have been anything like drool or anything like that. I was too tired to even bother trying to figure it out, so I just finished washing myself before getting out, drying off, and getting back in bed.

    Again, I felt like there was something I was missing from my memory, but my pillow felt so nice and I was so tired. I took a deep breath and sighed, and felt my body grow heavy for the seemingly second time that day as I drifted off into sleep.



    I woke up the next morning feeling much better. As I got out of bed, I checked the time and realized it was already 8 AM, my first class was at 9, and while that was an hour away, I would have preferred to wake up a half hour earlier to give myself time to not rush. Walking to class alone was twenty minutes, so quickly I put on some clothes grabbed my stuff and headed out the door.

    Once I got to the dining hall, I decided to text Peter to see if he could, or would, tell me what happened yesterday: “Hey, Peter” I started, but then decided I would try to be more friendly, especially if I was trying to get information out of him.

    “Good morning, Peter. Um, this is kind of a weird question, but what happened yesterday? I don’t know if I passed out or what, but I woke up sometime last night on the ground and can’t remember anything after I…” this was going to be embarrassing to type, “…gave you that foot rub. Thanks for the help.” It was getting late so I just sent it immediately, scarfed down my food, and rushed to class.

    I had forgotten two of my three classes had big quizzes today and with all of my classes back to back, I was pretty busy up until my last class. As I settled in to my seat, I checked my phone and saw a text from Peter that read: “Damn, dude, you really don’t remember? haha that’s wild. yeah you gave me another killer rub down 🦶🏼🦶🏼” …okay?? I asked what happened after that. I saw he only texted me recently, so I didn’t feel too bad about my delayed ability to check my phone.

    Typing back, I wrote, “yeah, but what happened after that? That’s what I’m confused about.”

    A minute or two after sending that message he replied, “Ohh, bro you should have explained that,” …except I did… ignoring that, however, the message continued, “i dunno, you seemed tired or something, i had noticed you stopped rubbing my feet so i tried to wake you up, i put my socks on your face thinking that might do something but no dice. i took my socks off and same thing. i coulda swore i heard moaning though dude. i mean i know youre a fag but still 😂😂😂”

    My face immediately grew bright red, and typed back, “Ha ha, very funny. What actually happened?”

    He didn’t respond for a while. My leg was constantly shaking, he had to be fucking with me right? It was hard to concentrate during class but I managed to slowly regain my focus. During the last five minutes of class, he finally responded with:

    “Okay bro, but would you believe anything I told you? what if I said you sucked my big fucking cock and passed out in fag heaven after i nutted. would you believe that any more?” NO, BECAUSE THAT ISN’T PLAUSIBLE EITHER! I had no idea what game he was playing at and was glad when class ended so his toying with me wouldn’t interfere with my focus any further. Almost immediately after I left the building, he followed up with another text, “anyway, nothing really happened if you want the truth. i just left after the rubdown you gave me. i have no idea what you did after I left… although perhaps I have an idea 🍆💦💦” Immediately, another text came through that read, “haha jkjk but you ready for some more today? 🦶🏼🦶🏼 i’m already thinking of how incredible it’ll be”

    I rolled my eyes at his last message. Whatever, it was just more of his teasing. Though it was different now, I was slowly getting used to it. I was glad to be done with classes at only 12:30, and now that the ordeal with yesterday was resolved, thinking back on my performance on the quizzes, which I did well on, made me feel pretty great. So as revolting as it could be, Peter was slowly becoming something of a friend of sorts, he was at least in my life as much as a friend, so I responded:

    “Sure, why not. I’m already out of my classes. What about you?”

    “same, only have one class today, and it’s at 11, makes it great for getting here early to get my 💪🏼💪🏼 on and workout at the gym. i’ll meet you at your dorm” he replied, then quickly followed it up with, “wait you have passes to let people in the dining hall with you right? cuz i’m fucking starving”

    I did have passes to let non-students and non-dorm residing students have dining hall access, although not too many, but I also didn’t know when else I’d use them, so I said we could meet at the dining hall across from dorm and eat.

    Upon meeting there, Peter wrapped his arm around my neck rubbing my hair, which felt like a very strange act to receive from someone who had harassed me in the past. As we walked into the dining hall, he started telling me about it session at the gym this morning, and as soon as we were into the main portion of the dining hall, there was a ridiculous change in temperature. On one of the walls, it had a sign that said the air conditioning was temporarily out of service and that the building should be expected to be hot due to all of the equipment used to heat up, cook, and just generally keep the food warm. It wasn’t as big a deal to me, it was still September and I was already wearing hoodies, due to typically running on the cold side. After we sat down with out food, me just a small salad, and Peter with a mound of chicken, fries, mashed potatoes and other food, I commented on how he wasn’t hot since he was in similarly heat trapping clothes.

    “I wear this to work out in,” he explained, “the more you break out a sweat the better it’ll be for fat loss. I’m just used to it at this point.” He continued to talk to me about his work out and what he was trying to aim for. He said he didn’t care for big muscles because they just looked stupid to him, he wanted to be lean cut, but built. He was saying the fact that he focuses on losing fat as opposed to building muscle is the reason he’s as quick on his feet as he his.

    As we were talking, I realized that this entire time was the first interaction we ever had without him calling me a fag, joke or not. After he finished eating, I took both of our plates to the drop off station since he wouldn’t know where it was and we headed back to my dorm.


    After entering my room, I immediately went into the bathroom to piss and could hear him flop onto my bed once more and instantly kick off his shoes. After washing and drying my hands, I opened the door and was immediately greeted by that awful smell. As I walked into the main part of the room, I was greeted by his bare feet, resting on one of my pillows, explaining the smell.

    “Ugh,” I groaned, “seriously Peter, you didn’t say you went sockless again…”

    “I also didn’t make any promises about wearing socks. Come onnn, they’re aching after the workout this morning and really need this. Plus you already said you would!”

    He… wasn’t wrong there. But I didn’t want to be down there any longer than necessary, so I already wanted to set a boundary, “Okay, but I’m not doing this one any longer than any of the previous ones.”

    “Works for me,” he said laughing, “ I think you were down there like… an hour yesterday.”

    “What?” I blurted out, “There’s no way I gave you an hour long foot rub!”

    “Didn’t you say you don’t remember though?” He cornered me, tactically.

    With nothing to counter that, he pushed his sweaty feet closer to my face, wiggling his toes, and taunted me “Come on, faggy, the hour doesn’t start ‘till you start rubbing.”

    Defeated, I grabbed his warm, sweaty feet and began massaging them as I was becoming all too familiar with doing. He leaned back on to my bed, closing his eyes, and relaxed with him arms behind his head.

    Compared to last time, I noticed this massage felt significantly more muscle-memory related. I no longer felt as though I actively had to focus on where I would massage or how much pressure I should apply.

    With my mind free to wander, I looked up at Peter as he rested on my bed. I remember thinking yesterday that he honestly was really attractive, and the more I got to know him the stronger that feeling grew. He was also really devoted to what he cared about. He seemed so invested as he was describing his work out routine. Although he could be immature, it more so seemed now like he acted like that not because he couldn’t be mature, but rather he preferred not feeling so bogged down by caring so much about how he appeared to others. Maybe it was because he was the only person I really talked to, but I did really start to enjoy the time I spent with him… even the time’s where I gave him foot rubs. Because of them, I had sort of subconsciously, and now consciously, noticed he took really good care of his feet. His toe nails were all well-trimmed, despite the vigorous workouts he described, his feet were still pretty soft. It was strange to think but he had pretty nice feet; the kind that perhaps I didn’t mind giving foot rubs to.

    I had settled down at this point, sitting with my legs crossed and couldn’t see any part of him aside from his feet. I was still lost in thought, until I heard Peter groan and order, “get between the toes, fag.” I moved my fingers between his toes, noticing when I pulled my index finger out the first time that there was quite a bit of lint and toe jam. It was a bit gross, but I continued after hearing his moan of pleasure. After going through all ten toes, he told me to sniff my finger. Without thinking, I instinctively brought my finger to my nose and inhaled loud enough that he would have heard. The scent was intense, it was like I had shoved my nose between his toes, and it made me want to vomit. My mind was flooded by thoughts questioning why I did what he said without question when he ordered me to come over to the other side of the bed. I crawled over and once I got there he lifted himself up to sit, with his legs hanging off the bed, revealing his dick had been pulled out and was rock fucking solid. My jaw had dropped, he had not been kidding about being hung; he was well over 8 inches.

    In my stupor, he shoved one of his sweaty toes into my open mouth and instinctively I sucked. As soon as I did, he pulled it out before I could take it out, leaned forward, and shot all over my face, moaning, “Fuuuuck, that’s a good fucking foot faggggg, that’s it, take my fuckingg loAD.” As he came all over me, my mind was racing, I had no idea what had just happened. I had been rubbing his feet for him one moment, the next he had his sweaty toe in my mouth, and the next he was cumming all over my face. I continued to just sit there, on my knees, frozen as he let out a sigh. “THAT’S what I’m fucking talking about, faggy boy.” He announced, as he leaned forward and wiped the additional cum that had leaked out on my mouth. “Fuck, that felt so fucking good.”

    He stood up, putting on his pants, and walked toward a pillow he had left at the other end of the bed where they were normally kept. “I had forgotten I left these from yesterday,” he insincerely confessed as he pulled his socks out of the pillow case, dumping the pillow onto the floor “surprised you didn’t notice ‘em. Guess that was why you didn’t do any of your usual bitching about their smell today, they managed to adjust ya.” He shoved them into his bag and stood over me, grinning from ear to ear. “I gotta go now, but thanks again for the foot rub, faggy. You just keep getting better and better, my feet really do love ya,” then lifting his right foot he insisted again, “let’s seal it with a deal.” And placed his foot on my face. I felt him smear his cum as he moved his foot up and down my face. My mind felt like mush and I felt like I couldn’t move, so I don’t know what happened, but suddenly he burst in tears laughing, “There it is!! I know I felt a kiss in there!”

    Taking his foot off my face, he wiped the rest of his cum on my chest and started putting on his shoes. “Anyway, I seriously gotta go. See ya Monday, foot fag!” Before walking out the door.

    It felt like hours after Peter left before I finally rose from where I had been kneeling. When I finally did I slowly made my way into the bathroom to take a hot shower and try to process what had just happened.

    I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but after entering the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror, and plastered on my face was his cum in the shape of his right foot. It covered my entire face, even going into my hair, demonstrating the size of his feet. Breathing in, I was met by the heavy odor of his cum and felt my head begin pounding. I recoiled and leaned against the wall. This smell, I recognized it somehow. I think… it was the same smell from the previous night. My blood went cold and my mouth felt dry. Stupidly, I wetted my lips with my tongue, tasting his cum. Immediately, I rushed in the shower to wash the rest off of my face.

    I was trying not to think of what I just did or more generally what just happened, but try as I might, my mind was flooded with scenes of me rubbing his big, sweaty feet, of his hard dick as she shoved his toes into my mouth, of his cum spurting all over my face. The biggest imprint left on my brain, the image that played over and over in my head more than any other, was of his giant foot covering my face as he smeared his cum and his condescending laugh of dominance as he proclaimed: “There it is!! I know I felt a kiss in there!” Had I really kissed his foot? My body and mind were so numb at the time I genuinely couldn’t recall. And what made me so nervous was that unlike the prior night, it’s not that it was all just blank, I could remember what was happening, but that one fact, the biggest, most meaningful fact of whether or not I did actually kiss his foot, evaded me.

    As I exited the shower, I was exhausted. All I was thinking of continued to be his massive foot on my face, his assertion that I just sealed the deal to continue… worshipping his feet by kissing them. I slowly moved all the pillows. From the middle of the bed, back to where they belonged and moved the pillow at the foot of the bed on top. As I slowly slid into bed, I grabbed the pillow that was on the floor, holding it close for warmth. I closed my eyes, trying to process or forget or… anything, anything that would help me move on from what just happened. I took a deep breath through my nose to calm down and felt an overwhelming sensation overcome me. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I remembered he had his feet on the pillow my face was on and his socks on the pillow I was cuddling close to my face. But the part of my brain my consciousness used… was too tired. So as I took those deep breaths, I fell into a blissful, exhaustive sleep breathing in his foot sweat.


    The next morning I woke up feeling like shit. Throughout the night I kept tossing and turning, but whenever I fell asleep, it felt like I never really dreamed. Despite this, I didn’t really wake up at all throughout the night, I could just tell that I was restless in that dreamless sleep. I checked the time and saw it was a reasonable hour to get up despite how early I went to sleep, but to be fair I remembered the exhaustion I felt the previous night and so it wasn’t that surprising.

    Throughout the day, I mulled about. I had no motivation to do anything, and I was bored out of my mind. Thankfully I didn’t have that many assignment given it was still early in the semester, but even for work so light, I felt too willful to work on it.

    I decided to maybe play some mobile games on my phone, since they were low effort and spent most of that Saturday just lounging in bed. At around 4 pm I received a text from Peter that read: “What’s up faggy boy, my 🦶🏼🦶🏼 miss you, wish i had you here rubbing my feet, just got done with the most killer workout, you would not believe how fucking sweaty I am. i love nothing more than to choke the chicken after a workout… except maybe getting my feet fuckin worshiped by you 😈😈🤤”

    Seeing this text made my heart skip a beat. I had manage to at least somewhat push those thoughts to the recesses of my consciousness and now the images of his big, sweaty feet over my face, his rock hard dick, and his geyser of a cumshot were back in my mind. I opened the message forgetting I had read receipts on and paused, scared of what I should do as those images once more burned in the forefront of my thoughts. In my hesitation, he followed-up asserting, “You’re thinking about yesterday aren’t you? my big ass sweaty feet in your face, my huge fuckin cock, the way my hot fuckin cum felt on your face. you tasted my cum didn’t you? you had to get at least one fuckin lick in? don’t lie to me, i know you couldn‘t help it faggy boy, it’s not your fault.”

    I paused, knowing that I did lick up the cum he had spurted over my face and rubbed in with his sweaty foot. I didn’t want to admit it… but I didn’t want to— couldn’t lie to him. Once more, in my hesitation, he sent one final message, and above it, a picture of his foot, absolutely drenched in sweat, as he promised, “you couldn’t help but lick up my cum as you thought about my big fuckin feet smearing it all over your face, isn’t that right, fag?”

    Seemingly, without me typing, a response from me was sent that had one single word: “yes.” And I felt my leg become drenched in my own cum.


    I woke up sweating. What the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck. I immediately snatched my phone from directly in front of me on the bed and immediately went to my texts with Peter. The last message in the conversation was me telling him I would use one of my dining hall passes so he could eat there and agreeing to meet outside of the building. I breathed a sigh of relief, realizing the ordeal was nothing but a dream. Throwing myself back against my pillows I felt sleep once again come for me, and without much will to fight it, felt it over take me.



    Sunday I woke up feeling much better, but starving. I don’t think I ate much if anything the day prior, so that was the first thing I set out to do.

    After eating a larger meal than usual, I went back up to my room and decided I’d finally wash my sheets. As I was taking off the pillow cases, it came to my attention that I never had washed the sheets after Peter rubbed his feet all over them… multiple times… or after he apparently kept his socks in the pillow case. Doing my best to ignore that realization, I quickly walked out of my room to the laundry room and started the wash.

    Upon returning, I set out to finish the work I had to do for school and by the time my phone’s timer went off indicating the wash was done, I had finished. As the sheets dried, I had decided to just peruse youtube on my laptop, trying to find something interesting to watch. Every so often I would check my phone, waiting to see if Peter had texted me, worried about the events of that dream. But with every check came a negative result. I don’t know why I was so fixated on it, especially when I had turned on the ringer and would know if he, or anyone, had texted me.

    I had mostly been still aimlessly scrolling through youtube, starting and stopping videos, when the dryer was done. I got my sheets and upon returning to my room, promptly set my bed back up. After I finished, I had started walking to the bathroom when my phone pinged. I rushed back over to check it only to see that it was an email of no import. Sighing, I put back down the phone and went back to what I was doing before.


    The rest of my evening progressed as painfully slow, by the time I was getting ready to sleep, I felt as though I was dying of boredom. Getting into bed, it felt weird remembering Peter’s sweaty feet had been all over my pillows before. Thinking about it, I had fallen asleep much easier the previous nights. I shifted around trying to get comfortable, but something would just not get right, whether it was my leg, my arm, a pillow, the blanket, something just felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t until about an hour later that I finally began to drift off again.



    Monday, morning flew by. After waking up, eating and getting to class, my actual classes were extremely note-heavy that day, and it felt like as soon as I finally put my pencil down it was time to move to the next class. By the end of it all, my hand was aching, and I had a headache. I reached into my ruck for some Tylenol I keep on hand for these very situations.

    As I was walking back to my dorm, I was taking a similar path to the one I took the Monday prior, and within a few minutes, I got to the very spot I first ran into Peter. I half expected him to run up behind me again, throwing his arm around my neck and calling me his fag boy. But as I kept walking, my pace was never interrupted.

    As I approached the dining hall by my dorm, I decided to take out my phone and pulled up my messages with Peter. After pulling it up, I stopped in my tracks, hesitating. Thinking back on the past events still left me with complicated feelings… but this weekend had felt so… lonely. Even with how our last interaction had gone, I had gotten used to having him around and I admittedly kind of— really missed him. With a bit more resolve, I started typing, “Hey, Peter. Did you want to potentially get something to eat again at the dining hall?” Then, pausing, I decided to at least add some justification to rationalize my text and added, “I remember you saying you get hungry around this time, and it’d be better than spending your money for food. I still have quite a few passes, and I could always get more.” After typing out the message, I quickly hit send before I started over thinking the text.

    I decided to go on and enter the dining hall, but before I walked into the main portion of the building that requires student ID, I got text and saw it was from Peter.

    “Fuck yeah, i’m fucking starving! i’ll be there in like 30 mins, k? thanks” After reading the message, I decided to sit down at one of the chairs they had in that entrance area, and got on my phone to pass the time while waiting for him.

    By the time thirty minutes passed, my stomach was growling, and I was starting to get a headache again due to the pain. I considered going in and getting something for myself while I waited for him, but decided it would be better if I just waited to eat until he got here, it just felt wrong to go in there beforehand.

    Quickly that thirty minutes became forty, then fifty, and then an hour. I considered messaging him, but figured he must have just gotten caught up in something. It wasn’t his fault that he was later than he said he’d be.

    I continued to distract myself for another half hour, when I felt my hair get ruffled up and was greeted with a “what’s up fag!?” Thankfully, nobody happened to be there, and as I turned around, I was greeted by the sight of Peter in a sleeveless top practically soaked in sweat. “Hope I didn’t keep ya long!” He teased, knowing I had waited three times as long as he originally said.

    “N-no, I just kept myself busy, didn’t even realize to be honest.” I lied, as we entered the main dining area, followed shortly by my stomach growling giving away how hungry I was.

    “Aww, did ya wait all that time before eating to wait for me? That’s pretty sweet, faggy boy! I wanted to get a work out in, and I got a little to into it,” he said, subtly flexing, “you know how I get.”

    “Yeah,” I agreed, remembering how invested he showed himself to be last week, “I really didn’t mind.” I confessed.

    “Good, now I’m exhausted. You know what I like don’t you? Would be a good faggy bud and get me my food?” He made puppy dog eyes trying to persuade me.

    “S-sure,” I offered. As I went to go get his food, I tried to grab the same stuff he had last week, but with the food different, I decided to go for similar things that I thought he might like.

    Upon my return, he had his feet in the chair across from him and he was on his phone doing something. As I placed down the tray, he added, “oh, and get me a coke too.” Quickly working my way to the soda machine, I filled up his cup and quickly brought it back. He had looked over the food and commented, “this looks great, but could you go get me some ketchup?” Making my way back to where the food had been, where they keep condiments, I grabbed some packets of ketchup and made my way back over to Peter once again.

    “Anything else?” I asked, genuinely.

    Thinking for a moment, he replied, “nothing I can think of.” And went back on his phone.

    I went to go get my food, grabbing mostly anything I could find that was relatively healthy before making my way back to Peter with a salad, some soup, and a burger.

    As we sat down, the conversation mostly remained devoid of life, as he continued to do things on his phone. However, after ten minutes of me picking at my food, waiting for him to start eating, he finally put it down and sighed. “Jesus christ, chicks can be so fucking annoying.”

    “What do you mean?” I inquired.

    “Just that, they never shut the fuck up and they never want to talk about the thing you wanna talk about. Like this bitch keeps complaining about how her friend has been making moves on a guy she had previously shown interest in and she wants my opinion! Like she was practically throwing herself at me this morning and now she’s talking about how she wanted to suck some other guy like a fuckin’ whore. Just suck my fuckin’ dick and get over it, you know what I mean?” He asked, before pausing, and laughing to himself, “oh wait, you wouldn’t since you’re a fag. But you have chick friends, are they always this fuckin’ stupid?” He asked.

    “I wouldn’t call them s-stupid.” I defended them, but relented, “but yeah… they do want to talk about guys pretty often. Maybe she just wants you to comfort her?”

    “Why the fuck would I comfort her when she’s talking about another fuckin’ dude?” Sighing, he paused and started eating, making feel as though I could also start eating. When he began again, he insisted, “that’s why I like hanging around you, fag. Like you never talk to me about boys or shit and when I talk about my work outs you actually listen. I swear if I had told a girl to get me shit because I was tired, she would have looked at me like I slapped her.”

    I felt a bit better hearing that he actually liked hanging around me and agreed that since he was tired after working out, it made sense for me to get his food for him. Shortly after we had both finished scarfing down our food, we got up and I took his plate for him again like last time and offered to take his ruck for him since he was tired.

    Stepping out of the dining hall, I asked if he wanted to come up to my room again to relax. “I dunno, kinda just wanna get home.” He said. I admit, it kind of hurt to hear him say that, and I must have wore it on my sleeve because he, followed up saying, “fine, but you owe me a foot rub, because my feet are fucking killing me”

    “Deal,” I agreed quickly, glad he was going to hang out with me, as we made our way over to my dorm and up to my room.


    “Fuuuck,” he groaned as he kicked off his shoes, after laying on my bed, revealing his sweaty bare soles.

    “Told ya it’d feel better!” I said, as I grabbed the pillows for him to rest, keeping one and putting it under his feet.

    “It’ll feel even fuckin’ better when you start rubbin’ ‘em, fag” he asserted as he wiggled his toes.

    “Yes, sir, yes, sir,” I teased, beginning to work my hands on his drenched soles “don’t worry, I can see how tired you are. Just lay back and I’ll take care of your feet. I’ll let you decide when to stop.”

    “Ahh,” he sighed, as he put his arms behind his head and, chuckling, informed me, “get comfortable then, fag, and I’ll see ya in the morning.”


    Once again, I found my hands were able to work purely off of muscle memory, and thought back to one of the first comments he made about how I was a natural at rubbing his feet and how true that clearly was. I made sure to run a finger through his toes as he made clear he liked previously, and slowly brought my finger to my nose inhaling. The scent was somehow different from before. It still had that pungent kick to it, but I no longer found myself repulsed as I used to be.

    I thought I had heard him chuckling as I took a whiff of his toe jam from my hand, but figured I must be mistaken, as almost immediately, he spoke up, with no sort of change in tone indicative of previously laughing, “fuck you are one great fucking fag, you know that? I was exhausted after that workout and this was just what me and my feet needed.”

    “Happy to help!” I replied, sincerely, putting a bit more focused effort into the massage. His sigh in response to my effort made me all the more motivated to continue putting in the extra effort.

    With my attention centered on his feet, I began more thoroughly observing his feet. I remembered when he had place one over my face and noticed just how big they were. His workouts were described as being so intense as well, and yet to the touch his feet were very soft and fleshy. He must take very good care of them, and well… I should feel proud of myself for the contributions I make toward the care of his feet as well, then. I moved my hand up to his foot, placing it flat against the sole, with my palm against his heel and saw that my fingers were no where near reaching the top of his feet.

    He must have caught on to what I was doing because he proudly announced, “Big aren’t they?”

    “Y-yes…” I answered, mumbling, “they are so big…”

    Chuckling, he moved his feet out of my hands and instructed me, “let’s play a game, guess how big my feet are. Every time you get the answer wrong, I’ll move my feet a bit closer to your face to help you get a better look.” He had a shit-eating grin as he went over the last part of the game.

    “O-okay,” I consented. “U-um,” I thought, his feet were bigger than mine, clearly, but I didn’t know how much bigger, so since mine were size 9, I guessed, “are they size 10?”

    “BZZT!” He recreated a buzzer going off, “come on, that’s like barely entering real-man’s-feet territory.” Scooting, his feet forward, they were now a few inches away, he advised me, “take a closer look, fag, come on, I know you got this, you’ll figure it out with how much you’ve been down there!”

    Thinking, I remembered my hand didn’t nearly reach the top of his foot. If I had to guess my hand it about 6 or 7 inches… but I don’t know, I’ve never had to think about this before. If his feet were around or just under the length of both of my hands… “Are they, um, size 12’s?”

    “BZZT!” He sounded off again. Scooting closer so his feet were now about an inch from my face, he admitted, “you’re getting warmer, faggy! And I don’t just mean your face as it gets closer to being swallowed by these dogs! You’re very, very close to the answer. You got one more chance before your face becomes my foot massager!”

    With how close he was saying I got, that should mean his feet are either size 11 or size 13. He could be lying, but I knew Peter wouldn’t do that… Thinking back, to when he had his feet on my face, they truly covered my whole face, his feet were huge. So the most likely answer was…

    I took a deep breath, breathing in his foot sweat, and felt the same release of tension I felt all those nights after he had his sweaty feet on my pillow and his sweaty socks in the pillow case. His feet were really big, and he was right, they truly did seem to swallow my face… But how could I be sure I was right? Even if I got the size right, that would’t be the same as knowing his feet could completely engulf me… I wanted to know…

    Looking up at Peter as he wiggled his toes, I answered, “My final guess is… size 11.” I felt something in my chest begin to tighten, but then relax as I slowly watched Peter’s face disappear as his feet obscured my vision totally.

    “Ding! Ding! Ding! You got the absolute WRONG final answer, BUT you got the correct final result by getting all three attempts wrong!” He laughed as he grinded his feet into my face. The sensation of finally giving in to him was… freeing. I took a deep breath of his foot funk, straight from the source and felt any tension just melt away. “That’s it, faggy,” he sighed. “You know,” he wondered, “you spent all that time at my feet, and had your face covered on multiple occasions— although I guess you don’t remember one of ‘em. Y’know… I’m beginning to suspect you wanted this,” he chuckled.

    I… did want this. I remember now. I remember Peter enjoying my foot service that one time and how upset I got with how he showed his enjoyment… why did I get upset? A man like him deserved to have his feet rubbed and I was lucky to be the one able to service him in that way. He was showing his enjoyment by jerking off and I got upset. That’s when he put me in my place with his socked and bare feet. And he still showed me how much he enjoyed my foot worship before he left, I should have been grateful. And then the time after I didn’t resist, but I didn’t properly thank him either… by letting me worship his feet, he was doing ME the favor.

    Slowly, I placed my lips against his feet, placing kisses on them. This time there would be no confusion. “Oh?” Peter inquired, “what are ya doing there, faggy?”

    “Sealing the deal.” I proclaimed.

    Laughing he assured me, “That was sealed the moment I saw you were here, but I’m glad you’re finally caught up to speed and have accepted things. I’m proud of you, faggot, you’ve come a long way.”

    Continuing to kiss his sweaty, rancid feet, I thanked him. “It took me too long to realize this is where I belong… I’m sorry.”

    Chuckling, he reassured me, “I knew you wouldn’t want to give in, but that just made it more fun. But if you wanna apologize, apologize to my feet for the years of worshiping they could have had if you’d just realized your place in high school.”

    “Y-yes… s-sir.” I stuttered nervously, worried about sounding stupid.

    As I slowly took his big toe into my mouth, swirling it and licking between his toes, he sighed, “fuck, that’s good. And you can just stick with Peter, faggot. Never really been into all that sir and master shit.” Then laughing he added, “but good on you for trying to show you recognize your place in another way.”

    After licking his feet for thirty minutes, he told me to move to the other side of the bed. “And hand me your laptop while you’re at it,” he added. After unlocking it with the password I told him, he instructed me to face away on my hands and knees, after which he placed his huge feet on my back, using me as a foot rest. “Okay faggy, I’m gonna watch some shit, so stay niiice and still and think about how great I am for letting you be my foot rest, ‘kay? Good faggot.” And before I could say anything, he began playing whatever he was watching and I knew I should stay silent.

    After about ten minutes, he paused whatever he was watching and informed me, “oh, by the way, I had already told my parents I’d be spending the night at a friend’s. So don’t worry about me leaving, they were more than happy to have me hang out with someone here. Little do they know it’s with my own personal faggot, but hey, that’s none of their concern. And I know, you’ll be sure to thank me later in more ways than one for my consideration in making sure you get to worship me as much as possible.”

    I was excited to be able to have the whole weekend, and potentially more weekends, to serve Peter. He truly was considerate, and in the pause before he resumed what he was watching, I thanked him profusely as he patted my head in consent. As I sat there, serving as his foot rest, I began thinking of all the ways I could serve him in the coming days.