Affluent
by QuantumLuv

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There was now pounding against Kyle's locked door. "Open up!" the voices shouted. He scrambled about his room, trying to find a place to hide, and a way out, just anything. He was panicking and desperate for a solution. "Hold on, I got a key" he heard from outside his solid-oak dorm room door. Kyle reached for his wallet ... it was empty. He was just about ready to cry, as he knew what was going to happen next: he was going to be tickled for hours and hours and hours, and Kyle hated being the most ticklish person he had ever known ...

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Kyle loved guys feet. He had since he was young. Growing up in a small New Jersey suburb, he never was afforded opportunities for wild dates with hot girls or ample spin-the-bottle games with junior high classmates. His sexual awakening occurred when he was playing with his best friend at his house while his mom was at work some sunny summer weekday. In the den (where the big screen TV was located), Kyle and his friend (Dylan) sat on the same couch, their heads on opposite ends, their bared feet situated near each other. Though a new episode of Power Rangers was just starting up, Kyle, for whatever reason, just couldn't help but stare at Dylan's toes. That faint wisp of hair growing on top of them, the way the tips were perfectly rounded ... they looked ... delicious. He began rubbing Dylan's feet just out of nowhere, and though his dusty haired friend first looked at him with a cocked eyebrow, Dylan didn't say a word, largely because his head began tilting back and his eyes began to close: that look of genuine, powerful relaxation. Kyle kept it up, and it wasn't long before Dylan began sleeping and then snoring. Deep snoring. Kyle moved Dylan's boy feet around a bit to try and wake him -- no luck. Cracking a bit of a devious smile, Kyle tried something else: he ran his fingernail up Dylan's perfect left sole -- and though the toes clenched a bit, Dylan continued snoring. His interest piqued, Kyle repositioned himself on the floor next to the couch, his arms wrapped around the sides of the sleeping Dylan's legs. He drew his face towards the base of Dylan's toes, and inhaled. The smell -- that slightly pungent, colorful, yet undeniably delicious smell -- is what changed Kyle's life. He had never been so ... attracted to something. With the dense, guttural snores still filling up the den, Kyle then took the risk of his life: he opened his mouth and clenched his wet lips around Dylan's unconscious toes. He sucked and slurped them up like his foot was a giant lollipop; Kyle's drive soon taking over and turning this experience into a passionate foot worship section. Saliva was still dripping down Dylan's soles by the time Kyle was done a half-hour later. Almost as soon as he finished, though, Dylan woke up, still tired from his relaxed sleep. When asked what happened during the past hour, all Kyle could say is that the Red Ranger destroyed a giant squid monster in the second episode.

Kyle thought about that definitive moment a lot, but he thought of it even more so now that he was entering college. His foot fetish had gotten him into a lot of trouble in high school, but it also gave him a lot of pleasure. He never was attracted to guys: just their feet. Yet, really, that was enough for him: he had constructed his whole sexual life around that one small aspect, yet it was enough to fill up his masturbatory fantasies a dozen times over -- he saw no need for change. Now, as he stood with bags of clothes hanging from his shoulders, he couldn't help but notice the never-ending supply of guys walking around in baggy shorts in flip-flops, or jeans while barefoot, or khakis with sneakers and no-show ankle socks. His parents had officially said their goodbyes about an hour ago, and now he was on his own: in the land of temptation.

Having finally found his room (and finally gotten his keys to work), Kyle entered the surprisingly spacious little space that he would be living in for the next year. Much to Kyle's surprise, however, was that half the room was already filled up. There was an empty, generic bed on one side (adjacent to a closet and an empty computer desk), and on the other, there was a laundry hamper, a small circular table in the shape of a yin-yang (likely bought at Target), a desk with a new Mac all up and running, and a TV sitting atop up-turned milk-carton boxes on the far wall. Kyle turned to his left, and saw the most handsome sight he had ever seen in his life: a 19-year-old boy in just his shorts, with a chiseled set of abs, buzz-cut-short hair, and the most gorgeous size-13s he had ever seen. Kyle thought he was going to die.

"So ... you must be Kyle."

Kyle didn't know what to say -- he was still in a trance, his cock twitching ever-so-slightly through his boxers, as if his mind had shut down because he was stuck in some sort of erotic coma.

"Hello? You there?"

The muscular Adonis was still addressing him.

"Oh, sorry" started Kyle. "I'm Kyle."

"It's OK, man. I space out too, sometimes. I'm Matt."

They shook hands. Kyle set his stuff down next to the empty bed.

"So …" he started, "you're already here."

"Ha ha, yeah. I'm on the swim team here -- I got a scholarship just for swimming, but even though it's not in season, the coach wanted all the water athletes here early for evaluations and an early test meet in October. I think it's stupid, personally -- you shouldn't have to swim when it's less than 60 degrees outside, but whatever. I'm here, and I'm set up. Decided to take this side, hope you don't mind."

"Oh, no -- not at all" stammered Kyle. "I can imagine there being quite the demand for swimmers now, given Michael Phelps and all."

"Dude!" started Matt, swinging his legs off the bed, "I know! That guy is such a fucking badass. I was watching him all summer -- dude knows what he's doing. I swear to god his toes are webbed or something."

Kyle, of course, couldn't keep his eyes off of Matt's feet, as hard as he tried. Kyle looked up and saw Matt caught his footwards stare. Kyle thought fast:

"Well, yours aren't. Webbed that is."

Matt laughed.

"Ha ha, nah. These clod-hoppers get their job done, though." He pounced off the bed and slipped on his cheap, black, plastic flip-flops. "Yeah, they've helped me win quite the few matches -- and can kick like hell during a fight. Anyhoo, I'm gonna get some food. I'll catch you later."

In a flash, the bare-chested, barefooted Matt had snagged a shirt from his closet and closed the door behind him. Kyle checked: as far as he knew, he hadn't moved an inch from where he first saw Matt's perfect young body. Minutes must have passed since the door closed, as Kyle just stood in amazement. Was this really going to be whom he was rooming with? Jesus -- this was just so unreal. Instead of worrying about unpacking, though, Kyle's eyes darted towards Matt's closet, and his impulses took over: he opened the door up and looked in the laundry basket: it was empty aside from a few shirts. Matt hadn't donned socks yet -- he must've been wearing flip-flops from the second he got there. Either way, Kyle's mind was already awash with possibilities ...

As Kyle had settled in during the first week, he gradually got to learn more about the perpetually unshod Matt: grew up in Montana, had a fondness for the swimming pool at the YMCA when he turned 14 and had been drawn to it ever since. He had a girlfriend back home, but she knew that Matt was a bit of a flirt: they were just in an "open relationship" which, of course, meant that they were going to break up soon. Kyle found this all utterly fascinating, and even when doing tasks like registering for classes, still kept thinking about Matt's feet. He wasn't one to get obsessed over someone easy -- after all, he was at college, and there was a literal buffet of foot flesh at his eyes -- but he kept thinking back to Matt's unstoppably lickable monster feet. By the end of that first week, it was settled: he had to worship them.

As classes started, Kyle began settling into a groove (he decided to pursue classes in both Creative Writing and Philosophy this first term), and began making a few easy acquaintances. He was happy with how normal it all seemed initially (aside from the cafeteria thing, where he was able to indulge the whim of every taste bud he had). As Wednesday rolled around, Kyle felt he had an easy day: by 7PM, he had already finished his reading for Intro to Philosophy and just did a huge rewrite on his assignment for his creative non-fiction class, so he felt he deserved a break. He sat in his bed and began watching Matt's TV. As Conan just began finishing up his opening monologue a few hours later, the door to Kyle's room opened with a violent bang.

Kyle whipped around quick enough to see Matt hurl his backpack against the wall in complete rage. "I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS!!" he shouted, soon pounding his fists on his mattress. "THIS IS SUCH BULLSHIT!!" Kyle was worried, and tried to calm him down.

"Matt, buddy -- what happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened!" he started, decked out in a plain white T-shirt, black shorts, and those ever-present flips. "Coach is letting Orton take the lead spot at the meet in October! I'm so pissed off!!"

"Why's that a bad thing?" inquired Kyle.

"'Cause I'm a better swimmer than he is! I beat him by two whole seconds on the 100m! It makes no goddamn sense that coach would favor someone slower than me. Goddammnit!"

Matt -- running out of inanimate objects to throw -- picked up one of his flip-flops and threw it at Kyle's bed. It landed next to Kyle's pillow, but Kyle didn't have time to notice as he saw Matt angrily flop down on his bed. Matt shoved his face in his pillow and was breathing heavily. This continued for a minute.

Suddenly, something came over Kyle. A sort of strange bravery that he hadn't felt before. He didn't have time to analyze the should-I-or-shouldn't-I factor because it all happened so fast: next thing he knew, he was sitting on Matt's bed. Suddenly, Kyle spoke with confidence.

"Dude -- you got to calm down. Now, who's this Orton guy?"

"Phil", Matt uttered through his pillow. "Phil Orton. He's a senior and a douche bag."

Without hesitating, Kyle put his hands on Matt's down turned feet, and put them in his lap.

"Turn over" ordered Kyle. Matt, angry with the world, did without even thinking, Matt now staring at the ceiling while Kyle positioned Matt's feet right in his lap. He slowly put his hands to Matt's beautiful, enormous, perfect feet and began rubbing them, talking to Matt the whole time.

"Well, look at it this way, Matt: Phil a jerk but he's also a senior -- of course he's going to get preferential treatment. That's just the way shit happens. If you're already beating the star senior's time, though, don't you think coach is noticing?" At this point, Kyle's hands began massaging deeper and deeper, enough to where he could physically see Matt's tension drip off of his shoulders. "Dude, this isn't even the real season: that's gonna start happening in the spring. Phil's only here one more year: let the dude have his time in the sun. God knows you're going to get more chances. You really can't sweat the small stuff, 'cause really it's going to bring you down in the end."

There was a good few minutes that passed as Kyle's hands kneaded Matt's smooth, uncaloused soles in the silence. Matt, finally, spoke.

"Dude ... you're right. I mean, I'm still angry, but you're right: this isn't the only chance I'll ever have. I'm just starting off. Let the little fuckwad have his spotlight -- I'll be stealing it soon enough anyways."

"That's the spirit!"

"Oh, and dude ... where did you learn that shit?"

"What?" asked Kyle.

"That foot massage stuff. I mean ... it feels fucking incredible."

"Well ... self-taught I guess. Had lots of practice, you could say."

"What, with guy's feet?"

"Yeah."

Oh shit. Kyle blurted out that "yeah" without even thinking about it. Blood was already rushing to his soon-blushing cheeks, but he kept working Matt's feet as if nothing happened.

"... So, what, you got like a foot fetish or something?"

"Yeah." Dammit, there it goes again.

"Like, all feet or..."

"No, just guys feet. It's kind of weird."

Matt was growing a bit uncomfortable, but wasn't saying anything.

"So ... OK ... in your perfect little world, what would you be doing to my feet right now?"

"Well, to be honest ... I'd be sucking in your toes, and licking your soles, and just making your feet feel good, really."

"I ... see." Matt was definitely uncomfortable with this now. Yet as he still held onto those feet, Kyle knew he couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

"Is ... is that something you'd like to try?" asked Kyle.

"What? You sucking my toes?"

"Yeah."

"Um, no thanks dude. I mean, the foot rub is great, but ..."

"What if I paid you?"

Again, Kyle caught himself saying something without thinking. He looked at Matt. Matt's eyebrow was cocked with interest.

"How much?"

"Um ... $20?"

Matt mulled this around for a second.

"So let's get this straight" he started: "YOU would be paying ME for the chance to suck on MY toes, correct?"

"Um ... yeah." replied Kyle.

There was a pause.

"Let's see the cash."

In a second, Kyle had jumped off the bed, gone over to the desk, and reached for his wallet. He pulled out a crisp $20 and walked over and handed it to Matt. Matt readjusted himself, flexed his feet, then just laid back and closed his eyes. "Alright man -- go for it."

This was it! Kyle was stunned this was even happening at all. He kneeled at the foot of Matt's bed so that those perfect size 13s were inches from his face. He put his nose up to the base of the big toe on his right foot and inhaled. This, thought Kyle, is what heaven smells like. His erection -- stirring since he ever put his hand on Matt's foot -- was yearning like steel thunder now. He still lightly massaged Matt's gargantuan feet, but then made the risky move and began sucking on Matt's big toe. Matt clenched a bit at first, holding his breath, but then Matt released it and said, "OK. Cool." all with his eyes still closed. Kyle's mouth slowly slid across the tip of the toes, across the toenail, around past those wiry small hairs at the base of his toe, and then back again. Each toe was a treat unto itself, a sweet savory delight that was treated with the greatest care and tender worshipping respect.

Kyle's horny mind was losing track of time.

It wasn't long before all 10 toes had undergone a similar treatment, and Kyle's tongue began slowly tracing the outline of Matt's soles from the heels on upward. Kyle's favorite part was still the tops of the feet, as that's where all the nerves tended to be. There were faint bits of hair on them as well, but that just kept driving Kyle onward. He was passionately making out with these feet, and it was utterly glorious. He then went back to the toes, and began sucking on them in a rhythmic fashion, up and down, slowly yet surely. Matt's mid-section arched up, and Kyle glanced: Matt had been jacking himself off for the past few minutes! With that in mind, Kyle kept at it, Matt soon began moaning, and right as the young swimmer came, Kyle could feel those toes clench while in his mouth -- which was enough to make Kyle come inside his boxers. He went back to slowly, lightly massaging those feet as Matt lay there, a trail of sperm lining up his white shirt. After a second, Matt withdrew his feet and sat cross-legged on his bed. Kyle looked up, and Matt grabbed Kyle by the chin and brought him face to face.

"Listen" Matt started, "you do not tell anyone about what just happened, OK?

ANYONE! That is strictly between you and me."

Kyle stammered, "Dude, it's OK. It'll be our secret."

Matt frowned "... that's not good enough, dude."

"I'm ticklish" Kyle blurted out. "Listen, I'm really, really ticklish and I fucking hate being tickled, as it makes me feel weak and totally powerless. That's my secret. You can have that one."

Matt stared quixotically. "That's your secret? I could tell the guys on the team that and they would just..."

"NO!!!" shouted Kyle. "Don't tell anyone!! The second you point out that someone's ticklish to someone, what do they do? They tickle that person! I can't stand being tickled, OK! I'm telling you that in confidence, alright?"

Matt smirked "OK. Fair deal. Now if you don't mind, I'm gonna get ready for bed."

Two hours later, the lights were turned out in the dark, and a few minutes passed. Kyle then spoke up.

"Hey Matt?"

"What?"

"Would you mind if we did that again ... sometime?"

There was a pause.

"You got $20 on you?"

"Yeah."

"... Then sure."

Kyle slept very, very well that night.

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A week later, it was Thursday, and Kyle didn't have any classes that day. This meant, of course, that he could sleep in. He hadn't worshipped Matt's feet since then, but it was OK: they were still on good standing. Kyle was actually dreaming about doing that very act when hard pounding on the door awaked him. Kyle tried to ignore it, but it was quite persistent. He got up -- in his boxers, and opened the door. It was a 6'5" Polish guy in long-sleeves, jeans, and flips, his back-pack slung over his shoulder.

"Um, can I help you?" started Kyle.

"Hi, I'm Will. I'm on the swim-team with Matt."

"Oh, hi."

"So ... you're the guy?"

"... What are you talking about?"

"The foot guy."

Kyle stood with his mouth agape. Matt had told the guys on the team about his roommate with the foot fetish. He couldn't believe it.

"Um ... well, yeah. That's me, I guess."

"OK, sweet."

Will just moved his way into the room. Confused, Kyle closed (and locked the door). After absorbing the flavor of the room in a bit, Will set down his backpack, kicked off his flip-flops, and sat on Matt's bed.

"OK," Will started, "how do we do this?"

"Um, dude ... I honestly don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I thought Matt explained it to you. He said that if any guy on the team needed a foot massage to go see his roommate, and if we wanted to make $20, we could as long as you got to suck on our toes for as long as you like."

"Well, suck on toes AND lick your soles" Kyle said in a nonchalant way that surprised even him.

"Alright, well sign me up!" Will adjusted himself and awaited for his feet to be serviced. Kyle was still a bit stunned.

"Will, was it? Listen, it's not that simple..."

"It's OK -- I can wait."

Kyle had this opportunity in front of him. This stunning, perfect, opportunity. He didn't know what to think. Yet, though he wasn't sure, it sounded like Matt wasn't clear on specifics. Kyle, technically, could do whatever he wanted. So ... he did. As Will laid there in barefooted anticipation, Kyle slowly slid off his boxers, leaving him naked. He bent down, and picked up one of Will's canvas-soled flip-flops. Must be size 12. He took a big whiff of where the sweat blackened toe imprints were, and he went from zero-to-horny in a nanosecond. He looked at the perfect Polish feet sticking out of those thin blue jeans, and just dug in.

Seconds after Will had jerked himself off to the intense foot erotica he was experiencing (some two hours later), Kyle heard his door knocking again. Dripping pre-cum, he was a bit nervous, but the door kept pounding. "Be back in one second,” he told Will. Will was too blissed out to notice. Nude, he slowly, carefully cracked open the door while concealing his hard on. "Hello?"

A short, stocky young guy stood there: about 5'6", a bit of muscle mass on him, gloriously jet-dark hair. "Hey, are you the foot guy?"

"Oh, hey Greg!" shouted Will. "It's OK. I'm just finishing up."

"Sweet" said Greg, just walking into the room as if it were his. He turned and saw the nude Kyle still sporting a raging erection. "Heh heh -- looks like you still got some juice in ya!"

Will slid back into his flips and began making his way out, before he stopped himself.

"Oh, pfft. Sorry -- stupid me: you got the $20?"

Kyle was dumbfounded yet again, yet non-hesitant: "Um, yeah, it's right over here."

He handed Will a $10 and two $5's, as he was out of $20's. Will thanked him as he walked out the door and Greg began removing his Sketchers. "Do you want me to keep my socks on or not?" This was already too much, yet Kyle couldn't do a thing.

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Two weeks later, Kyle had serviced just about every single guy on the swim team (but was told there were already a few holdouts). Kyle was obviously a bit broke, but he sure as hell didn't mind. This week he was looking for an off-campus job to help feed his fetish, but at the same time he was endearing himself to the swim clique. He had gone out for a few late night Taco Bell runs with them, and he was becoming a bit socially acclimated to this group of fun, hard-partying guys that -- even in the middle of September -- still donned flip-flops like there was no tomorrow. Kyle was elated when he found out he was to the part at Phil's apartment that weekend -- it was exactly what Kyle was expecting in terms of fun college experiences.

When that fateful Friday night rolled around, he walked there with Matt, both of them donning flips and in good spirits. Kyle was starting to develop feelings towards Matt that were a bit stronger than normal, but he still had only worshipped Matt's feet once (unlike Will, who had been back three additional times for foot worship, joking offering to service Kyle's feet on the last visit). When they got to Phil's apartment (off-campus, of course), it was around 11:30PM, and there were already glorious drunken sorority girls there, and half the swim team either starting to drink or trying to kick each other's ass at Wii Olympics. Kyle actually got to talk to a lot of the swim guys about non-foot stuff: the new Coen Brothers movie, if the Arcade Fire was really going to play a show at the end of the term on campus, etc.

In fact, Kyle's role as a foot service toy didn't even come up. Yet, there was one swimmer he hadn't met yet: Phil. He finally did (after a few vodka shots), and it was just as bad as he envisioned it: Phil was tall, commanding, an egomaniac, and -- as seemed to be the team requirement -- donning flip-flops, exposing the biggest set of feet that Kyle had ever seen. It was like he had been starving for a year and someone just plopped the biggest sirloin steak in the world right in front of him, served on cheap Old Navy flip-flops: the meatiest, thickest, most glorious feet he had ever seen. Phil did mention, "Oh, hey, you're the Foot Guy!" and even wiggled his toes a bit at Kyle, but was soon distracted by new pledge Stephanie, who was flirting with him across the room. As he walked away, Kyle couldn't get those big-toed monsters out of his mind, but was soon brought up into a game of Wii Shot Put, and lost track of time for the next hour or so.

By the time Kyle had finished up, he had to pee like no tomorrow (all that booze goes down fast). He stumbled to the restroom, and as he was washing his hands after, he heard the unpleasant whining of a girl in the room adjacent. As he stepped out of the restroom, Stephanie was slamming the door behind her.

"Hey, you alright?"

"Jeez -- no!" Stephanie didn't seem upset, but wasn't pleased.

"What's wrong?"

"Pfft, Phil -- he began making out with me and the passed out HALF-WAY THROUGH. He's now just lying there snoring like the Jolly Green Giant or something. God, I hate it when he drinks. If you see Carol, tell her I went back to my place."

Kyle had never met a Carol, and certainly wouldn't know what she'd look like if he did. Stephanie was out of there in a flash, and he turned to see that the rest of the team was eagerly watching the current Wii Baton Relay. Perhaps it was the booze, the lack of inhibitions, or just caught up in the whirlwind week he'd been having, but Kyle took a risk. He sneaked into the room Stephanie had just come out of: it was Phil's bedroom, and it was pitch black (it was about 2AM by Kyle's estimations). He locked the door behind him, and turned to hear the loud snoring of the Jolly Green Giant himself, facedown on his bed with his gargantuan feet sticking out over the edge. Since his bed was just two mattresses stacked on top of each other on the floor, Kyle noticed that Phil's toes were just inches from the floor. "What the hell" Kyle thought.

Kyle laid facedown on the floor at the foot of the mattresses; the gigantic toes just an inch from his mouth. Like a fish reaching for bait, Kyle slowly reached up and began sucking on Phil's toes, though at first Kyle was blown away by the strong, glorious odor that permeated from those monster soles. Still drunk, Kyle didn't mind. In fact, he got a little sloppy, his tongue lavishing Phil's soles with an almost reckless abandon. He'd stop every 30 seconds or so just to make sure Phil was still snoring, but after 5 times, he figured that Phil was out cold. God, these feet were so tasty and big and hot looking and -- at the moment -- HIS! Kyle unzipped his jeans to make sure he was well stroked while worshipping the god-like feet before him. Slowly, gradually jacking it while his tongue absorbed every molecule that existed between Phil's toes. Slowly, he was coming to what was going to be the climax of his life ...

"What the fuck are you doing?!"

Oh shit.

Phil had woken up. His slightly turned head was staring at Kyle, his mouth dripping with satisfaction with his cock as solid as a rod and in plain sight.

"Oh, no you didn't." uttered Phil.

Kyle didn't need anything more than that. He zipped up as quick as he could and bolted right out the door ... almost knocking over Matt who was passing by.

"Fuck dude! What's wrong with you?" started Matt.

"Dude was licking my feet while I was asleep!" shouted Phil from his bedroom.

All the other guys were mulling about, having won their Wii Medals. They all turned towards the developing situation.

Matt turned to Kyle "Oh, you're in deep shit now. You might have to owe him more than $20 man"

Kyle shouted "I don't have any money on me!"

"What about that I.O.U. you promised me last time?" shouted Will, who did not get paid during his last session.

"It's OK," started Matt to the group, slyly; "there's another way we can extract payment from Kyle."

"What?"

"Kyle once told me that he's ticklish..."

Kyle's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. Next thing he knew, he was running as fast as he could back to his room.

His breath was panicked in the cool night air, his sandals preventing him from breaking a full running stride. He didn't need to turn around -- he could hear the hurried sounds of the slapping flip-flops of an entire swim team not far behind him. This was impossible. This wasn't happening ... yet it was deserved: he had just broken the unspoken rules to his "agreement" with that swim team. He just wanted to go to sleep right now and wake up all safe and in his room with all of this behind him ... but that wasn't going to happen. Kyle got to his dorm room, and locked it, turning off all the lights.

There was now pounding against Kyle's locked door. "Open up!" the voices shouted. He scrambled about his room, trying to find a place to hide, and a way out, just anything. He was panicking and desperate for a solution. "Hold on, I got a key" he heard from outside his solid-oak dorm room door. Kyle reached for his wallet ... it was empty. He was just about ready to cry, as he knew what was going to happen next: he was going to be tickled for hours and hours and hours, and Kyle hated being the most ticklish person he had ever known ...

"HERE HE IS!" said Matt as the door swung open, keys in his hand. In a flash, the guys had pounced on Kyle and were holding him down to the floor. Kyle began pleading:

"Please! I'm sorry! It was just the one time! I swear!!"

In response, he heard an inordinate amount of angry profanities, but Matt played it cool and addressed all.

"Guys! You know what, it's OK. Kyle did something stupid. We've all done stupid stuff. Let's give him a bit of a break, alright? Does that sound OK, Kyle?"

"Yeah" Kyle gulped.

"But," continued Matt, "wouldn't it be fair that Phil get some revenge for what you did to him? Wouldn't that balance things out a bit?"
Kyle nodded in agreement.

"Me too!" shouted Will, almost as an afterthought.

"Yeah, you too, Will" continued Matt, who then turned behind him. "Phil, trust me: the kid is very ticklish. It's your call."

Phil donned the most diabolical shit-eating grin Kyle had ever seen. He was in a room with about 8 swim-team guys who were going to obey his every order. This was not good.

"Lock the door" started Phil. "And make him naked." The guys didn't remove Kyle's clothes -- they ripped them off him, making them unusable ever again. Soon, there were four guys holding down his arms and legs, leaving him naked, spread-eagled, and totally helpless. Phil pulled over Kyle's desk chair and sat right between his legs, putting Phil's toes just inches from Kyle's exposed balls. His erection had faded due to absolute fear. Phil was loving this.

"First, Kyle," started the Swim God, "I want to see how horny my feet really make you." He then lifted up his bared monstrosities and placed them square on Kyle's chest, the big toes right at his nipples, rubbing them slightly. "You like that, don't you?" The feet began slowly circling Kyle's ribcage, and he couldn't help but be a bit turned on. "Yeah ... tell me how much you like them." Kyle screamed "They're the best feet I have ever worshipped in my whole life!!"

"That's what you told me!" shouted Will. "And me!" shouted Greg.

"Well," started Phil, "we just might have to have a test where Kyle gives us the real truth. Of his favorite feet." Kyle's hard on was returning. "But first," started, Phil, "I want to see just how ticklish he is..."

Phil's monster goes slowly began inching their way to Kyle's armpits, and the big toes began circling, tickling all of Kyle's armpit hairs. Kyle screamed with laughter, deliciously horny laughter. Without orders, one of the guys sitting at his feet began tickling his left foot. "No, not my feet!!" shouted Kyle. Phil looked over. "Oh, Andy already is getting in on the fun. Hey -- let's all get in on the fun!" Then, the wiggling, tormenting, fingers of a ton of guys descended on Kyle's naked, sensitive body. They were tickling the space between his ribs, the nape of his neck, his armpits, his thighs, his balls, and everywhere. He was instantly hard, begging.

Will managed to make it to his face and placed his sweaty canvas flip-flop right to his face and said "Start licking!!" which Kyle was only able to do between huge gulps of laughter. As the horny tickling continued, the guys wound up enjoying it all the more, and soon more toes began tickling his body than fingers, and Kyle came right then and there. But that wasn't enough. As time began blurring together, he just remembered at one point he was ordered to suck on as many toes at once, judge feet by smell, and beg for more tickling as he was being tickled. He came twice, then three times, and then a fourth. By the fifth time (sucking on Phil's toes, again), he was shooting blanks, as all his sperm had been drained out of him. Then, Phil kneeled down to Kyle and began using his ultra-long fingernails and began scraping them slowly and gently along Kyle's sides. Kyle dry-shot again and then passed out.

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Kyle awoke with a foot in his mouth. The unconscious foot of Phil. It tasted grand. Kyle was still nude and wearing enough dried cum for an entire orgy. He looked around. The guys -- all of them -- had passed out at one point or another, and now they were all in Matt/Kyle's room. Kyle smirked a bit when he saw that Will had passed out with Andy's feet in his mouth. Kyle tried to move ... but he couldn't. His arms were tied to the radiator and his legs to the foot of his bed. Kyle didn't remember any of this. Then he heard a bit of a digital ring. It was text message sent to his phone. Will woke up, the phone in his hand (what was Kyle's phone doing in Will's possession, pray tell?). Will groggily removed Andy's size 9's from his mouth, and looked at the text message. He then turned to the still-bound, still-nude, unbelievably horny Kyle. Will spoke out loud.

"HEY DUDE, I'M IN TOWN, SURPRISE SURPRISE -- that's a text message for you, Ky. Um ... who's Dylan?"