Revenge Is
the Best Reward
by SheerQueer
Brad was excited and nervous
over the prospects of this evening. It was the annual Architectural
Awards Banquet, and he was up for "Most Promising Young
Architect". He'd worked hard, and the recognition would
mean more prestigious projectsand more money! This had been
a hellish day in the office, and he was running late. He needed
time to get cleaned up, and figure out how his new "monkey
suit" went together. He had never had the occasion to wear
formal attire, so all of the paraphernalia that accompanied the
tuxedo was foreign to him.
Two weeks ago, he panicked when
he heard the ceremony was "Black Tie". So he had rushed
into Nordstrom's, and asked one of the effete salesmen to help
him pick the right outfit. The salesman took note of (and pleasure
in) Brad's handsome features and nice physique. "Armani
should do quite well on you", lusted the salesman. When
Brad suggested that his black oxfords would look fine with the
new Tux, the salesman almost fainted. "Oh no, sir! Only
black formal slip-ons are appropriate! And they should be worn
with fine black sheer hosiery." Brad thought those were
sissy things to wear. But, he recalled his favorite movie stars
like Cooper, Gable, and Astaire from the 30's and 40's. They
always wore Tuxedos, and those types of shoes and socks, so maybe
it would be cool. He reluctantly agreed, and the salesman enthusiastically
chose a beautiful pair of black patent slip-ons, along with a
pair of very expensive black silk/nylon OTC's.
Two weeks, and too much money
laterBrad stood in his briefs and T-shirt, gazing at his purchase
spread before him on his bed. He navigated through the shirt
studs, cuff links, and bow tie. He saved his socks and shoes
for last. As he sat to pull on the OTC's, he marveled at how
smooth and silky they were. They perfectly fit the form of his
size 11 feet. They were totally sheer, except for the toes and
heels. His feet literally glided into his shoes. "Wow",
he thought, as he flexed his arches inside the shoes. "No
wonder Clark, Cary and Fred liked these!" "They feel
kinda sexy!" He put on his jacket, proudly checked himself
in the mirror, and ran out the door.
The Banquet was a stuffy affair,
with forgettable food, and even more forgettable conversation.
The highlight was when he heard the presenter call his name
as "The Most Promising Young Architect"! He was stunningly
attractive, as he accepted his award, and made the obligatory
Thank yous. Afterward, he schmoozed with the Senior Architects,
and soaked up the praise. He was one of the lasts to leave.
Because he arrived late, he had to park several blocks away.
He didn't mind walking, especially since the slick, stylized
Lucite column, which had his name engraved on a gold plate at
the bottom, was accompanying him. He strolled happily, with
one hand in his pants pocket, the other one swinging the Award,
and a slight bounce to his step. He reached the street on which
his car was parked. It was one of those dimly lit industrial
areas, with train tracks that disappeared into old buildings,
and deserted looking truck docks. It had been full earlier,
but his was one of only two cars left by this time. When he
reached his car, he set the slightly heavy award on the front
hood, to fish his keys from his pocket. From the shadowed doorway
behind him, he heard a raspy voice say, "Hey bud" Understandably
startled, he spun around. A hunched, non-threatening figure
stepped out of the shadows, with his hand extended. "can
you spare a dollar?" Relieved and feeling benevolent in
light of his good fortune, he pulled out his wallet, flipped
through several larger bills, and handed the vagrant a dollar.
He stuffed the wallet back in his rear pocket, and turned to
resume unlocking his car door. He reached over to the hood for
his award, but it wasn't there. Just as he straightened up to
look around, the Lucite column glanced a swift blow across the
back of his head. The impact thrust Brad against his car. Severely
dazed, and in blinding pain, he groaned and reached for his head.
Before he could, he was roughly grabbed under his armpits, and
dragged back into the dark doorway. Stunned, there was nothing
he could do to defend himself. His assailant let him drop to
the ground. Instinctively, Brad tried to raise himself up to
escape, but the vagrant straddled him, and caught him squarely
across his prominent chin with his fist. Brad's head snapped
to the side, and he fell back, motionless. The vagrant pawed
over his catch like an animal, rummaging through every pocket,
pausing briefly to cop a squeeze of the unconscious man's cock
and balls through his trouser pockets. He rolled Brad's limp
body over partially, to retrieve the wallet of cash. He let
Brad flop back over, face up. A trickle of blood ran down his
handsome, sleeping face. His beautiful Armani Tuxedo was disheveled.
The vagrant, who was wearing tread-bare sneakers, eyed the shiny
black shoes that graced Brad's feet. He knelt down, and slipped
them off. He kicked off his own raggedy sneaks, and tried on
the luxurious leather. They fit pretty well. He was contemplating
adding a slightly used Armani Tux to his wardrobe, when he heard
footsteps. He didn't waste any time leaving the scene, and leaving
Brad, lying knocked out and shoeless.
That's when I entered the story.
You see, I attended the Awards Banquet, too. I arrived late,
so I parked somewhat farther down that same street. I had left
the affair early, and gone to a bar across the street from the
Convention Center to have drinks with some colleagues. I had
worked very hard over the past year, and had hoped to be named
the "Most Promising Young Architect". However, I was
upstaged by a smug, no-talent ass-kisser named Brad Stephens.
Why is it that those "pretty boy" types seem to get
it all? Their looks and personalities overshadow we "worker
bees". Anyway, my friends from the office and I couldn't
stomach Brad's speech, and his smile was blinding us. So, we
retreated to friendlier territory, drank Martinis, and dished.
I was walking down that dimly
lit street to my car, when just ahead of me, I thought I spotted
a pair of black feet sticking out of one of the doorways. As
I moved closer, I could tell that the feet were clad in black
sheers. I could see the cuff of what looked like Tuxedo trousers,
but the other trouser leg was pushed up, revealing the sock covered
calf. I thought, "How many Martinis DID I have?"
Then I began to thank the Sock Fetish Fairy for smiling down
on me! I quickly regained my senses, and realized that the guy
was in trouble, and may be hurt. I ran to the dooway, but I
couldn't make out who it was. The guy had been beaten, and was
out cold. I checked for a pulse, then I lit a match for light.
In the fire's flicker, I saw that it was my ass-kissing nemesis,
Brad Stephens! What the hell happened to him? Boy, someone
must have REALLY resented him for winning that award! Then I
saw his empty wallet beside him, and deduced that he had been
mugged. My heart was racing! I was scared, but my affinity
for knocked out and helpless men exhilarated me. Here was the
guy that I most wantedand hated. I had fantasized countless
times about capturing him, rendering him unconscious, and sexually
humiliating him. He hardly ever even spoke to me, and now, he's
lying here like sleeping beauty on a deserted street. I looked
him over. He was sort of "spread eagle"; head rolled
over to the side, toes pointing up and slightly out. His feet
looked so hot in those sheer socks. I had noticed that he was
wearing them, earlier in the evening. I watched him as he danced.
His pants legs would ride up slightly, showing off those socks.
And when he sat, he'd cross his legs, and let his shoe dangle
off his heel, a little. God, what a tease, but he was totally
unaware of it.
I needed to see if medical attention
was necessary. The back of his head was bleeding, but there
wasn't a huge wound. There was some blood from where he had
apparently been punched out. Otherwise, it didn't look serious.
What should I do? Call the police? Take him to the hospital?
I couldn't just leave him there for the vultures to pick over(when
I could have much more fun, doing it myself. Really! What would
the point of this story be?)
I thought about grabbing his
ankles, and dragging him to my car, but I didn't want to do more
damage to the Armani. I summoned the memories of those dreadful
days I spent in High School R.O.T.C., and our emergency evacuation
training. We learned the correct execution of the "Fireman's
Carry". Who knew that I'd have the opportunity years later,
to use that knowledge in the aid of a "fallen colleague"?
I pulled Brad's 165-pound frame up to standing position, facing
me. I held his right arm at the wrist, bent down and planted
my right shoulder in his pelvis. He easily flopped over my back.
I straightened up, raising Brad's limp body draped over my shoulder
and around my neck. Ah, Sgt. Hollister would be proud! I looked
around to see if the coast was clear, then hauled my dangling
bundle of man down to my car. After I stuffed him in the backseat,
I ran back up to the scene of the crime to retrieve his wallet,
and the coveted trophy/weapon.
As I carried Brad into my house,
I had no idea what I was going to do with him. If he came to
in my house, he'd surely accuse me of assaulting him. I laid
him down gently on the sofa. I needed to think. I decided to
listen to my messages. There were several from friends, wishing
me luck at the Awards ceremony. Ha! Prince Charming over on
the sofa took care of that! Then, I heard Robbie, my buddy from
work. I'd just seen him at the banquet, and we drank together
afterward. Why was he calling? "Hey, you won't believe
what I just found out about good ol' Brad!" he quizzed
in a scandalous tone. "Seems buddy boy 'knelt' to new
lows for that award. I heard a couple of drunken execs talking
in the parking garage. They joked about how a good blowjob was
worth their vote; and that the winner had proven to be especially
'promising'! I guess Brad is more talented than we thought!
The cheating bastard! I'll talk to you tomorrow. Bye."
I was furious! "You Son
of a Bitch!" I yelled at tuxedoed asshole, sprawled on my
sofa. "You got what you deserved, tonightor at least, you
WILL get it!" Any compassion I may have had for Brad's
plight went up in a blaze of anger. I stormed out of the room,
to get a beer. While I was in the kitchen, I heard movement
in the living room. When I got back, Brad was sitting up, still
very dazed. He was facing away from the kitchen door, so he
couldn't see me, luckily. I'm not so sure he could see clearly,
anyway. My first inclination was to hit over the head with my
beer bottle. But I didn't want to add to the concussion that
he probably already had. I may have been angry, but I have limits.
I needed to put him back out somehow, though. I moved behind
him, quietly. My heart was pumping wildly. Swiftly, I wrapped
my arm around his neck, and put him in a sleeper hold. He tried
to struggle, but he was disoriented. He tensed up, and made
choking sounds. Then he sighed, and I felt his body relax. Success!
I release him, and his head flopped back and rolled to the side.
Wow! That was easier than I thought! Now, what?
I had lusted after Brad from
our first meeting. The firm hired him just a year ago. He was
a hot shot even then. We did all of the work, while he took
all of the praise. The bosses were all mesmerized by his charm,
but we knew the REAL story. He treated us like dopes, and threatened
to report us if we snitched. He's not a nice person. But, you
knowthere's something seductive about handsome bastards. You
just want to "do" them, and make it hurt. Maybe this
was sweet justice. He was at my mercy, and I decided to make
the most of it.
In spite of everything, Brad
still looked good in his tux. His black sheers were pulled up
tight. I knelt to examine the smooth contours of his feet more
closely. The white lettering on the bottoms of his soles tipped
me off that his socks were new. I pressed my nose into his curved
arch, and inhaled deeply. His foot sweat faintly tainted the
smell of new leather and fabric. I pulled him by his ankles,
onto the floor. His limp body slid off the sofa, as though he
was spineless. I enjoyed manipulating him out of his formal
attire. I took great care in unfastening his shirt studs and
cufflinks. I loosened his belt, and unzipped his trousers.
Then, I removed them by lifting his legs. Undressing an unconscious
man (especially a straight man) wields such power. I ran to
the bedroom, to get my camera. I needed to record this for posterityand
for insurance (in case ol' Brad ever got out line again). When
I returned, he was sitting up AGAIN! Shit! This time, I angrily
straddled him, and pushed him back down. He looked up and tried
to focus on me, just as my fist came down on his face. That
was fun. I was getting used to it. I resumed my task of snapping
pictures from various angles, and of him in diminishing states
of dress.
Finally, he lay there totally
naked and vulnerable. His adequately sized cock and balls were
perched prominently and unprotected, in a bed of dark brown pubic
hair. I tied his silky sheer socks over his eyes, as a sort
of blindfold. By this time, I had worked myself up into a hormonal
frenzy! Before I proceeded to my diabolical finale, I decided
to relieve the pressure. I spread his legs and moved between
them. I gently slid my palms under his fleshy asters, squeezing
them and lifting his pelvis toward me as I veritably feasted
on his cock and balls. That was only the appetizer, though.
I rolled him over on his stomach for the main course. There
was one of those stainless steel cylinder-type trashcans under
my desk. I lifted Brad at the waist, and pushed the trashcan
under his stomach. That raised his round buns high enough for
me to have perfect rear access. I couldn't resist squeezing
and slapping his butt, watching it turn redder with each swat.
Brad didn't (couldn't) offer any resistance, as I finally thrust
my stiff cock up his helpless ass. I pumped him for what seemed
like hours, before pulling out. I flipped him over on his back,
just in time to christen his chest with streams of cum. The
sight of him lying there, unaware of what I had just done to
him, was like a drug. I went back down to his bare feet, and
hungrily licked his soles. I manually flexed his foot, while
I bit the fleshy part just below his toes, and sucked his high
arch. I had to jack off again, and came on his feet. My cum
oozed between his toes, and slowly trickled toward his heel.
I leaned back against the chair, and just gazed at my conquest.
Brad began to show signs of life, again. "Hell, here we
go again! I'm not ready for him to wake up, yet. I have one
more task to accomplish." I decided to watch his awakening
for a few minutes. I liked those groggy groans, and labored
movements. However, I couldn't let him get too used to being
awake. I sadistically knelt between his spread legs, and just
as he tried raising his head, I punched him in the balls. He
let out a choked yell. I didn't let him suffer for long. I
crawled around behind him, and put him in another sleeper hold.
His writhing body went limp once again. I knew that I couldn't
keep torturing him, and it would be daylight soon.
After gathering up all of his
stuff in a bag and tossing it in the car, I pulled Brad's naked
body up, and flopped him over my shoulder. I stuffed him in
the backseat, and ran back in to get something important that
I had forgotten. Luckily, dawn hadn't yet broken, and there
was almost no traffic. I turned down the darkened industrial
street, where Brad's special evening had abruptly ended, and
my adventure had begun. I found the spot, because a program
from the ceremony was still lying where Brad dropped it when
he was slugged. I dragged his naked body back to the scene of
the crime. This time, though, I made sure he wouldn't be mistaken
for the homeless. I turned him on his stomach, neatly folded
the Armani and placed it under his head, slid his wallet into
the jacket pocketand placed the coveted Lucite Column between
his legs, gingerly resting in the cleavage of his rounded red
ass. The engraved gold plate would herald his accomplishment
to all passers-by:
BRAD STEPHENS - MOST PROMISING YOUNG ARCHITECT 2000
As I drove off, the city was
beginning to come to life.
Send your story to My Friends' Feet today. You could
win cash!
|