by Mr. Jersey
It's 3:30.
The last school bell has wrung and my daily routine was to carry on like normal. I got my stuff and was soon out of there, making my way to my home only a few blocks away. I would work all day. My father had me on a tight leash ever since mom left us when I was eight, when she saw him in bed with another man. Since then I do the chores and serve my father.
I got in and put my stuff in my room, a small corner room that had once been a closet. Our house is small: a kitchen, a living room, a bathroom, my fathers big room and my room. I walked into the living room and grabbed father's running shoes and placed them beneath the recliner. As always, before he gets home at four, I am to be in a crawl position on the floor with my head in my fathers running shoes, smelling them, when not licking them clean.
My father is tall, 6'3", skinny, 180 lbs, he's tan with a shaved head, dark scruff and a killer smile. He often attracts new boys to our house every weekend or so. Like his size, his feet are also big, size 14s. Every day at four when he gets home from work I am to have my head in his shoes, smelling the odor, preparing to care for his feet. He has me lick his feet everyday regardless. He usually comes home in sneakers and sweat-drenched ankle socks, occasionally he comes in a suit and wears dress or sheer socks. Other times he wears sneakers without socks. He plops his feet up on the recliner and watches TV whilst I lick up his soles and in between his toes. Sometimes he likes to sit up on the recliner and have me lay out on the ground, while he drags his feet over my face and tongue. I do this regardless if he is alone or has his boyfriend over whom either watches me slave to his top boyfriend or makes out with him on the recliner whilst I worship their feet together. Some nights I am allowed to sleep in my bed, my tiny room. Other nights I must lick daddy's feet until he falls asleep, then sleep beside him, my face at his feet as he wafts them in my face. On weekends I spend hours at a time under his feet, licking them while he eats breakfast or talks on the phone. I have no independence. I am a slave to him and his feet.
It just became 3:55, my face in the sneakers, smelling the raunchiness of daddy's size 14s, I hear the door open. The keys fall onto the table, and within a minute I feel a presence sit majestically upon the recliner. I hear the unlacing and falling of sneakers to my side, and then his long bare size 14s are placed in my face, pushing me out of the sneakers. His feet rest on top of them as he tells me, "Good boy, now lick Daddy's big feet." I mindlessly engage my tongue at the tops of his raunchy feet, tired from a day of activity. "Daddy has been waiting all day at work to have his pathetic slave boy at his feet." I continued to lick and lap from the his toenails to where his feet meet his legs, reminiscing.
***
I remember the time when daddy first made me lick his feet. Mom had left six years ago. I was ten. Dad was 34, not that he ever ages in spirit. Dad had enrolled me in little league and was the coach of our team. I always disappointed him. His own son was his worst player, it feels awful to want to so hardly please your father but be so unable too. He used to encourage my teammates to make fun of me for sucking, and they did. I became the laughing stock, my own baseball team, including my father, made me fetch the team drinks and snacks, all while insulting me, calling me "stupid" and "fag" and telling me how much I sucked at baseball and at life in general. My father only smiled and smirked when I was tormented, and also made me fetch him snacks and drinks.
One day toward the end of the season, Buddy Rogers, the first baseman and best player on the team was tormenting me in the dugout, saying my sucky performance cost us some opportunities in the game. My father didn't even care. I told him to stop to which he pushed me. I pushed him back. He got me into a headlock and threw me onto the ground. My father watched unamused, then continued to peruse the baseball diamond in his sunglasses. Buddy was much taller than me. He sat back on the bench and undid his cleat. He told me to kiss his foot. My father was still watching. He shoved his socked foot in my face as I was on the ground.
All the boys chanted to kiss it, so I did. "Hahahah," buddy laughed. "Now I want you to lick my foot, its payback you deserve for sucking at life." My father was unmoved. All the boys were silent but began saying 'ew' and laughing when I gave in. I stroked my tongue up Buddy's blue baseball socked feet, he had the biggest feet on the team. I licked up his foot a few times and up the sole as he held his leg up looking down at me with a smirk. He shoved his toes in my mouth and made me suck them for a minute. All the other boys on the team soon were saying they wanted their feet licked by me too.
My father was still watching and yelled out, "Alright! That's enough." We all looked at my father, looking at us like the clan leader, the troop master. He told me to crawl over to him and told Buddy to put his cleat back on. He sat down and removed one of his sneakers, he wore no socks. He wiggled his toes as I approached him. He held me by the back of my head and dragged my head into his toes, feeding me them as they entered my mouth and he wiggled them on my tongue. "You lick my feet now," he said, "I'm the one who owns you." All the other kids burst out into laughs pointing and telling me I sucked. He looked back up at the field in his sunglasses unamused, spitting out a sunflower seed beside me, having just put his own son at his sweaty feet. He moved his toes in and out of my mouth and dragged his big foot up and down my face with my tongue stuck out. Down on the ground, I remembered being awed by my giant father and his humongous feet. I continued to lick out of intimidation.
For the rest of the game I was made to lick his sweaty feet whilst the other boys laughed. Buddy, after hitting a home run, came behind me and took off his cleats again. I was down at the floor licking father's feet when Bud placed his socked foot up against my face, caressing it, and holding his foot up to my nose. Father did not look down at me, but he spoke, "lick Bud's feet to thank him for earning the runs you lost before," to which I began slowly lapping up Bud's dirty socks for a minute until father repositioned my mouth onto his toes again. He did not release me into the field or to bat. I was just the bitch boy licking the team master's feet.
When we got home he didn't even speak to me. He went to the fridge and took out a beer, then told me to crouch before the recliner. He sat in the recliner and held him feet up under my face as I looked down at them. "You are worthless." he began to tell me. "Those boys are right, you belong at your father's big feet, like all of his boyfriends. You're good for nothing else." He then told me to begin licking his feet again, I lowered and began to lick up daddy's size 14s. I licked up his toes and in between them as he drank his beer and watched TV.
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I remember the first time when daddy humiliated me to his boyfriend. It was a year after mom left, and dad had mostly been seeing boys outside. I was 11, he was 35. He brought home this cute, shorter, probably 5'9" boy with curly blonde hair and a gorgeous face. It was 4:00 after school and the past year I had endured painful training of father teaching me to meditate in his shoes upon coming home from school. He and Taylor, his boyfriend, walked in kissing and sat down on the recliner, Taylor curled up into daddy's lap like his little boy. I was below smelling the man scent of my father's feet in his shoes. Father was in a business suit with dress shoes and dark sheer socks. His boy was similarly dressed. I moved the sneakers aside in the way that father had trained me, held together and placed gently to the side aligned with the front of the recliner, to the right of the recliner so that fathers dominant hand could reach it should he need to shove it in my face again to suffocate me for poor behavior.
In front of me were my fathers huge size 14 dress shoes, which I quietly unlaced as he continued to make out with his boyfriend. I pulled off his shoes and was overtaken by the raunch of his sweaty office feet after a day at work. He wiggled his toes in my face as I dutifully kissed and smelled them. Once his feet rested I opened my mouth and sucked the sweat from his toes, making audible noise with the sucking, tasting and feeling the sweat being drunk from his socks. After it was drunk, I dug my nose under his smelly soles and licked up his foot from as close to his heel as I could to his toes, over and over, moving from one side of his foot to the other and then to the other foot.
Taylor and Dad stopped making out and both looked at me. Taylor was turned on that his hunky boyfriend had reduced his pathetic son to a sub-human foot slave. "Does he do this for you often?" "He licks my feet everyday." Taylor was turned on by my dad's words. My dad never spoke much to begin with, and his tone was the slow, deep, rugged voice of a conservative man with a quiet domination over others. " Wowww." Taylor was impressed as I continued to lick. "Take of my socks," father commanded. Soon I was lapping up fathers still sweaty bare feet with a stench of a hard working top. My tongue was caked in the cheesy taste of his feet. Taylor then took off his socks and shoes, and pushed his sweaty size 11s in my face to lick as well. I took a small break from daddy's feet and licked the salt and sweat up Taylor's soles and in between his toes. I then went back to fathers feet and licked up from his heel, to his toes, to taylor's foot resting on top. Taylor took out his cock and began to jack off to me licking their feet together. Father then took hold of Taylor's face as they started making out whilst the slaveboy worked their toes.
It wasn't too much longer before they were off to the bedroom. "Son, I want you to lick our shoes and socks on this floor, lick the places our feet have been." I was commanded. I licked their dress shoes and began to suck on their socks as they had sex in the bedroom. I could not only hear the sounds, moans and commands, but could somewhat see from the the small opening in the doorway they hadn't closed. I only saw my father's legs and feet on top of Taylor's beneath him against the bed. I heard thrusting and moaning and when it was over I heard kissing and saw my fathers feet rubbing up against Taylor's who was motionless beneath him. "That's a good little bottom slave boy," I heard my father say. "Yes sir," I heard gasps from Taylor "You're the master of my dreams." Father laughed, "Do you wanna lick my feet boy?" "Yes sir, I do." "Go close the door." I heard Taylor get up and approach the door. He saw me sucking on his sweaty dress socks, "Thats right bitch, suck my socks, I'm your master now too." He then closed to the door to return to serve his master, who I was now understanding to be this sort of arch-master, the lion in the food-chain to which I was at the bottom.
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My body was laid down up-right. Father's big size 14s were dragging up and down my face. My tongue was out. He'd wiggle his toes to the feeling of his son's saliva wetting and relaxing his sweaty big feet. I looked up at the clock. It said 5:45. I'd been licking dad's feet for almost two hours now. He was silent, as he usually is, watching TV. I had licked his soles, his toes, in between, the tops of his feet, his ankles and up the bottoms of his legs, removing the day's sweat, all without him saying two words to me. I peeked up to find father stroking his cock. I was surprised, usually my slave behavior hadn't turned him on like that, being that I was his son, though today his large cock, which I had never seen before, was out and being stroked by his fist.
He saw me look at him. He then took his sneaker that was sitting beside the recliner and shoved my face into the opening. I sniffed and inhaled big breaths to let father know I was inhaling his odors. His pushing got more and more forceful, crunching his shoe with all power into my face. "Have you ever sucked a dick before son?" I thought about the times the school bullies, including Buddy Rogers, forced me to meet them in the stalls after school when they'd plow their cocks into my throat. Though I know if I'd told him this I would've been beat for showing such weakness. "No, daddy I haven't." I told him. He threw the shoe away and dragged my head up on his cock, and shoved my head down it, his head cruising my tongue to my throat, and bobbed me up and down slowly a few times. I gagged and then he threw my head off his cock and head me lick his cock with my tongue. He held his arms behind my tongue. "That's right, learn with daddy's cock, lick the man who owns you." My heart sank in a feeling of submission as I licked his crotch and lower shaft. Arms behind his head, I watched him smile and felt him curl his toes in delight to be cock licked by his slave son.
I felt completely owned.
