We
Both Know What You Are
Part 1
by
Willin2PaynPS
My
current Master has ordered me to write for you a
brief synopsis of how I first learned to be a good
slave, happiest at the feet of my superiors.
As a fraternity pledge, we all had to perform menial
tasks for the brothers. Having washed more than
my share of jock straps, cars and laundry for the
brothers during my pledge period, the brothers found
that I was especially adept at spit polishing shoes
and boots. This being a Texas university, boots
were extremely popular. I soon found that I was
constantly being summoned to the guys' rooms to
pick up yet another pair of cowboy boots to make
them gleam. One day, nearing the end of my pledge
time, I was summoned to the spacious corner room
of the fraternity president, the best looking stud
jock on campus. He was talking on the phone when
I arrived and signaled for me to remove his boots
to take for cleaning while he continued his conversation.
Startled but obedient, I knelt in front of him and
held on to his right boot as he pushed against my
chest with his left foot. Not missing a beat in
his phone dialogue, he then put his sweat sox-clad
foot against my chest to push for the removal of
the other boot. Whether by accident or design, his
foot slipped and brushed across my face. I knelt
there frozen, a strange and pleasurable tingling
sweeping over me. Removing the other one, I started
to withdraw from his room with his boots for cleaning,
leaving the house boss to his phone call.
As I neared the door, he terminated his conversation
and, without even looking in my direction, said
matter-of-factly, “You might as well take
these damp sweat sox and wash them out too.”
He had never before deigned to speak to a lowly
pledge like me and his voice sounded as if it came
from Mount Olympus. I stood there for a few seconds,
assuming he would remove them and hand them to me.
He did no such thing, only continuing to write at
his desk. Hesitantly, I again knelt and crawled
under his desk and gently removed each sock. His
large and perfectly shaped feet, hardened by his
renowned athletic activities, were slightly slick
with the sweat of having been encased in those boots
that would soon be my pleasure to polish.
As I crawled back out, the god spoke again. “You
can use those sox for chewing gum while you shine
my boots, shithead.”
My mouth and throat were now dry from astonishment
and excitement and I could only croak out, “Thank
you, Sir” as I withdrew from his magnetic
presence. He didn’t answer nor did he even
cast a glance in my direction. It was to him as
if a piece of furniture had spoken.
Back in my own tiny room, already crowded with boots
awaiting service, the air redolent with the smell
of leather and healthy young feet, I lovingly arranged
my cleaning materials in preparation for work on
the footgear of The Boss. Taking a deep breath of
the air inside his boots, I started the cleaning
and then remembered his comment about my use of
his sweat sox. I jammed one in my mouth and happily
chomped on it as I worked. The salty flavor tasted
so grungily delicious that my cock stayed erect
throughout my labors. I cleaned the soles and gutters
with my personal toothbrush and dreamed how pleasurable
brushing my teeth would now be. When I finished,
the boots sparkling like mirrors, I relaxed and
treated myself to the boss man’s other sock,
now dried and stiff. The flavor released itself
slowly as I chewed. Not being able to bear the thought
of washing away that elixir with soap and water,
I took a new, never worn, pair of my own sweat sox
from my drawer and, with boots and new sox in hand,
went to Boss Stud’s room.
Softly knocking on his door and hearing a gruff,
“Its open,” I slipped in and was chagrined
to find he wasn’t alone but was sitting talking
with the house pledgemaster, his best friend and
a fellow jock god. The Boss was still barefoot,
his legs propped up on an ottoman.
Barely glancing at me and at my offerings, he motioned
me to his feet and uttered one gruff word, “Massage.”
I nervously looked toward the pledgemaster who acted
as though all of this was the most ordinary thing
in the world and in which he had little interest.
They continued discussing house business as I silently
massaged my new Master’s feet, praying that
this would become a common occurrence.
After a while, Boss said, “OK, now lick them
clean and dry them with your hair before putting
the sox on my feet.”
I again looked involuntarily toward the pledgemaster
but the Boss said, amazingly gently, “Its
OK, we both know what you are.” Those words
would forever change the remainder of my college
days and the years that lay ahead. Not only the
two magnificent studs knew what I was, I knew it
now! The insight that I was a natural slave who
would find my happiness only in serving and groveling
to men and my rewards only at their feet exploded
in my mind, bringing relief and joy.
Neither of my Masters (oh, yeah, the pledgemaster
decided to use me too) told the other brothers about
me. I was voted in to the fraternity and had to
keep my labors for my two Bosses quietly discrete
but work for them I did. Throughout my freshman
year, as I joyously took the humiliations that they
enjoyed heaping upon me in private, I worried about
June commencement when they, as seniors, would graduate.
It never occurred to me that valuable property is
not abandoned just because the current owner can
no longer use it. The details of the remainder of
my college days are fresh in my memory but perhaps
you believe that I have talked far too long as it
is.
Read Part 2 Now
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