Humiliated Under a Skater's Feet
by Tony

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NOTE: The excerpt below is from a fictional story I recently wrote for a domination website describing my ultimate fantasy. Enjoy!

I'm lying on the floor under a hot young guy's dirty, smelly DC skater shoes as he rests them on my face.

He's been skating for hours, and his tan, scuffed legs glisten with sweat. The worn, blackened soles of his skate shoes tap against my nose and forehead to the beat of punk rock blaring from his earphones. A steady heat and rank odor radiate from both of his shoes. He's had them on my face for more than 10 minutes now, and they're starting to sting a little.

Moving his shoes away from my face, he looks down at me with a smirk. His face and hair are still drenched in sweat from skating outside in the heat. He shakes his head slowly back and forth, letting beads of his sweat fall to my face below. My heart begins to beat faster. "I gotta tell you, fag, my feet are fuckin' burning up in these skate shoes. You see, bitch, the thing about skate shoes is they really don't let your feet breathe. I mean, they don't allow any air to reach your feet AT ALL. That's really gonna suck for you, 'cause I've worn these socks five days in a row now.” I cringe when he says this, and he gives me an evil smile. "That's right, mother-fucker...five fucking days straight! And it's been, like, what...90-some degrees here this past week? Whew! I would NOT want to be where you are right now.”

Resting his shoes on my chest, he bends over and begins untying them. “You've got about eight seconds to move out of the way,” he informs me with mock concern. “Otherwise, these shoes are coming off and my feet are going right against your face. And if that happens, I guarantee it'll be a living hell for you. You want to get up?” This routine is solely meant to further my humiliation. The fact I'm trapped on the floor beneath his computer desk, wedged between his chair and the wall, certainly isn't lost on him. He knows I can't move, knows I won't move, knows he'd surely kick my ass if I even tried to move. “Damn, dude, you're not gonna get up? Well, suit yourself.” Smiling at the whole charade, he finishes untying his shoes. “You ready to suffer, faggot?"

My heart is now pounding against my chest. "I guess I'm--"

"I don't give a FUCK if you're ready or not!" he yells down at me, kicking off his shoes. One lands near my head, the other near my arm. A blast of heat and sickening odor immediately consume me. I recoil in horror and try to turn my face away, which results in a sharp kick to the side of my head. “Don't you fucking move, bitch! DO NOT fucking move, DO NOT close your eyes, and DO NOT HOLD YOUR BREATH. If I catch you doing any of those things, you'll wish you never lived.”

His words register with absolute clarity. Resigned to my fate, I stare in horror as he lowers his socked feet down onto my face. His once white ankle socks are now stained almost completely black with filth, and I'm stunned at how incredibly hot and wet they feel on my face. Pushing his feet flat and hard against me, he relaxes with a sigh. "Ahhhhhhhh" he moans, wiggling his toes over my eyes, cheeks, and nose. "That feels SO much better! You like that, faggot?” I know better than to respond at this point. Instead, I listen in shame as he continues to tease and degrade me. “So, what do you think, bitch? You enjoying yourself down there? I hope this isn't too much for you, because the worst is yet to come.”

Chuckling to himself, he continues wiggling his toes while wiping and rubbing his socked feet over every square inch of my face. His socks are so drenched in sweat that they glide across my face with ease, leaving a trail of heat, wetness, and pieces of debris pulled from the bottom of his shoes. "Man, it must absolutely suck right now to be you,” he says with a laugh. And he's exactly right. His socks simmer against my skin, their sweat saturating my face as I continue breathing in his rank foot odor. His socks look, feel, and smell utterly disgusting from my position beneath them.

The smell is so putrid and vile, in fact, that my gag reflex kicks in before I can stop it. A retching sound escapes me, which REALLY sets him off. "You fucking worthless queer!” he shouts at me with another short kick to the head. “I swear to God if you throw up down there, I will beat your fucking faggot face in! Be quiet, lay there like the pathetic bitch you are, and TAKE IT!" I regain control of myself and manage to keep from vomiting as he resumes his relaxed position above me. He continues listening to his music, tapping his steamy wet socks aggressively to the beat as they slowly air out on my face.

After what seems like an eternity, he lifts his socks from my face, letting them hang above me. I feel a wonderful rush of soothing, cool air against my face where his socks once rested. Rather than feeling relieved, however, a sense of dread takes hold of me, for I know exactly what's next. He looks down at me once more, and I can clearly see the excitement in his face. "Take my socks off, bitch." Of course, I quickly do as ordered. His bare feet now hang above my face, and I actually shiver at the amount of dirt and debris plastered to his soles. “Good fag. Remember: Same rules as with my socks, and don't pass out. Okay?” I nod understandingly, and he smiles at me in an almost friendly manner. “Good boy. You just lay there and relax while I use your face for what it was meant for.” With a long sigh of pleasure, he slowly plants his sweaty bare skater feet on top of my face.

He positions his feet firmly against my face, ensuring both his comfort and my degradation. Not surprisingly, his feet completely reek. In fact, everything about his bare feet – from their intense heat, to their sickening smell, to the excess of sweat all but dripping from them – is similar to what I experienced lying under his socks...only much worse. And once again, as was the case with his socks, he makes it a point to wiggle his dirty wet toes while rubbing, wiping, and smearing his feet all over my face.

He then spreads his toes wide, fanning them out before shoving the gaps between each of his toes directly against my nostrils. The smell is agonizing, but it pales in comparison to what's next. Stopping his iPod and removing his earphones, he begins whistling the tune from the Kill Bill movies (his favorite films of all time) as he rubs the gaps between his toes against my nostrils in circular, upward motions – one by one, gap by gap, slowly and methodically. This technique succeeds in dislodging and depositing his toe-jam into moist, sticky little clumps under my nostrils and near the tip of my nose.

As horrible as these clumps of toe-jam smell, I shudder at the thought of how they'll taste. He continues to whistle while rubbing his nasty bare feet all over my face – up and down, left to right – focusing intently on my humiliation. The minutes drag on, and it doesn't take long until my face is coated in grime and debris from the bottom of his feet. His little piles of toe-jam still rest at my nose, and I know the rancid odor of his feet will linger on my face for days before he grants me the privilege of showering. The size and scope of my degrading, humiliating treatment under his feet begins to sink in, and I find myself struggling not to cry.

As if sensing my despair and seeking to capitalize on it, he begins degrading me at length as his feet continue to abuse my face. "I seriously don't see how you can let me do this to you. I mean, I don't see how ANYONE could let someone else do this to them. Think about it, dude: I've got my sweaty, dirty, nasty-ass bare feet all over your face. And look at where you are right now! Look at what I'm doing to you...what you're LETTING me do to you! It's fuckin' sickening! My feet totally smell like shit! I can barely stand the smell from up here, so I can't imagine what it must be like to be lying down there, letting someone half your age completely destroy you like this. I mean, you're like...what...38? Forty? I'm 20 years old...you're practically old enough to be my dad...yet I fucking OWN you right now. And the saddest thing of all is that you actually WANT me to do this to you. Fuck, you PAY me to do this to you! Then you fucking lay there and act like you don't like it, like you can't stand it – I know that's part of what gets your sorry ass off – just like I know you're in heaven right now, you sick fuckin' queer. Lying on the floor under another guy's feet is fucking HEAVEN for you. Un-fucking-believable."

I attempt to respond, to tell him I have absolutely no idea why I enjoy being degraded and humiliated. I want to tell him I can't explain my fetishes and didn't ask for them, that I just want to live my life and be happy, that being dominated and degraded and humiliated by him makes me so incredibly happy for some reason that I don't give a shit what he or anyone else thinks, it's my fucking life.

I want to tell him ALL these things, but he just forces his toes into my mouth as I begin to speak. "Shut the fuck up, loser. I don't wanna hear you try to justify your inferiority. Just make yourself useful and suck all the dirt from my toenails. And here...eat this toe-jam I left for you." He must have deliberately avoided disturbing the piles of toe-jam near my nose when we has rubbing his feet all over my face. Removing his foot from my mouth momentarily, he uses the bottoms of his toes to drag the piles of gunk onto my lips. “Suck that shit off my toes and swallow it down, fuck-face.” I do as ordered before beginning the terrible task of licking under the edges of his uncut yellowed toenails, using my tongue as a chisel to dislodge the grime before swallowing it.

His feet taste extremely salty and feel hot, wet, and rough against my lapping tongue. I clean his toenails, then thoroughly lick between each of his toes. Next, I obediently clean the top, sides, sole, and heel of his feet with my tongue. He laughs and taunts me the entire time as I fight back feelings of dizziness, my head spinning at the foul odor and terrible taste of his feet – one resting on my face, the other lodged in my mouth. After what seems like an eternity, my task is done. “Is your mouth dry from all that cleaning?” he asks as I finish up. “Here, let me help. OPEN UP.” I open my mouth in time for him to lean over and spit several loogies into it. I use his spit to wet my tongue, then swallow it down as he laughs at me.

Rising from his chair, he stares down at me with pure contempt before flashing an arrogant smile. "Thanks for cleaning my feet, queer. Now get yourself off and get the fuck out of here. Having you in my home sickens me." I watch as he leaves the room, closing the door behind him, then jerk myself off until reaching one of the most explosive, rattling orgasms I've ever felt.

Lying on the floor of his bedroom, spent and exhausted, I smell worse than I ever have in my entire life. I stretch my arms and legs for several seconds, then slowly get up from under his computer desk. A combination of shame, excitement, and ecstasy races through me as I head for the door to let myself out. "See you next week, faggot!" he yells from the kitchen as I exit his apartment. "By the way, I hear it's gonna be 92 degrees the next seven days. You're in for a REAL treat next time!"

Standing in the hallway outside his door, I smile with pure joy.