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Man of the House

by MeLikeyFeet

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Justin and I have all through his teen years had a bit of a rigid relationship.

It's typical for a father and son to have trouble seeing eye to eye, but by the time he turned 18, we all but fought constantly. He showed no respect for me whatsoever. My wife, his mother, did not seem to want to present a united front. In fact, lately she had been a bit indifferent toward me. As man of the house, I felt like I was losing all control.

One day Justin came home after school as I was mopping the floors. (The three of us some time ago had agreed to split the chores equally, but lately I found myself doing it all.) Totally ignoring me, Justin walked through with his filthy shoes leaving grass and dirt everywhere. “Son, do you mind!” He looked at me and started shaking his foot to drop more dirt around. “Fuck off, old man.” He whispered.

“Hey! You don't talk to me that way. Do you hear me? Hey! Get back here and apologize to me!” I stormed after him into the next room. I don't know why I even bother. Justin stood at 6’4” and had really big feet. He grew so fast that he went from a size 11 shoe, to a size 12 shoe, and then a size 13, and finally to a size 14 all in about 18 months time.

Justin plopped down on the couch, took off his sweat soaked shirt and threw at me. It hit me directly in the face. “Throw this in the laundry bin for me, and then bring me a sandwich and a gatorade.” He said to me like I was a waitress. I just shook my head, fixed his sandwich, and took it to him. He had propped his dirty sneakers on the coffee table. “Justin, you know you're not supposed to put your shoes up on the table.” He ignored me and took his sandwich and drink from me. I used my leg to push his legs to the floor. He, however, immediately put his giant feet back on the table. “So take ‘em off then, Robert.”

I was getting hotter by the second. “Ok, you don't call me that got it. Now get your shoes off.” Justin leaned back and turned his legs toward me and held his shoes directly in my face. He slipped them off and exposed his smelly, dirty, bare feet. He knew how much I hated that.

“Justin, why are you always going barefoot in your shoes? I've told you how it makes your shoes reek, and it makes your feet slimy.”

“I just don't see the point in wearing socks.”

“Which reminds me, I haven't seen many of your socks in laundry lately.”
“I've been selling them.”

“Selling them? Socks? Used socks?”

“Yeah, through my blog. You'd be amazed at how many pathetic losers will pay a ton of money for filthy socks. I'm planning on selling my shoes eventually.”

Later that day I had a few words with his mother. I told her how he deliberately ignored me and how this seems to be a pattern of becoming more and more out of control every day. All she said was, “He's just a kid. He'll grow out of it eventually.”

“Dear, I really could use a little more help from you on this.”

“Let's just drop this and have dinner,” she said.

“Alright, what are we having?”
“Don’t ask me. You we're supposed to make it.”

“No, I made it last night. It's your turn.”

She shook her head, “Never mind. I guess we'll just have to spend some of our hard earned money on take out. Justin, honey,” she shouted into the other room, “What do you want for dinner? We're ordering out since someone forgot to cook dinner,” she cut her eyes back to me with disappointment. I am positive that it was her turn to cook, and this was not the first time she did this to me. The same thing happened the next night and the following night. It looks like I was cooking from then on, and she insisted that Justin plan the meal each night. He also talked his mother into buying all of his clothes and all the gas for his car. She did so without question and she ignored me when I told her not to do that.

Most nights after dinner he would grab his car keys and leave without telling us when to expect him back. Then he would stumble in around daybreak without explanation. He'd just slide his smelly bare feet out of his shoes and make his way to his room. He only went to school when he felt like it, and he quit his part-time job at the local supermarket. I got no help from my wife when I tried to make him go back. She would just remind me that he was 18 and we could not make him do anything. Justin had taken complete control of the house.

I came home from work totally exhausted and I found Justin lying on the couch. “Did you go to school today?” I asked.

“Yes, bitch, I went to school if that makes you happy.” He did not make eye contact with me but kept staring at the TV. “Alright that is it!” I grabbed the TV remote, turned it off, and stood in front of it. “I am putting my foot down. This nonsense stops now. I call the shots, not you. You're going to drop your little rebellious attitude and show me the respect I deserve.”
He laughed, grabbed the remote from me and turned the TV on. Looking through me he said, “When you get done with your little tantrum there, how about taking off my shoes and get some water to clean my feet.” In one final attempt to stand up to him I said, “And what if I don't?” Saying this would become my biggest mistake.

Justin stood up, grabbed my shirt, and pulled me to his eye level. “You fucking worthless pussy. Don't you realize that nobody has any respect for you around here? You're not my dad. You're just a dumb piece of shit. You hear me? A piece of shit!” He dropped me to the floor so hard that I landed flat on my face. He continued to look down to me. “Although you ‘putting your foot down’ just now was kind of cute.” I looked up at him just as he placed his shoe on my neck. “now get up, get some water, and clean my goddamn feet!” I could no longer hide my fear from him. You know what they say about teenagers smelling fear and bullets.

Like a dog with his tail between his legs, I went right away to get a large pot, a rag, and some soap to wash his feet. First I pulled his stinky shoes off his rank bare feet, but not before he ordered me to clean them with my tongue. My face showed disgust, but Justin told me to enjoy it. His toenails looked like they hadn't been clipped in almost two months. His soles were a very dark brown. Damn, his feet were dirty. I placed both feet in a large pot of water. “Scrub ‘em, faggot!” Justin spit on me as he roared.
He inspected my work thoroughly. “Hmm. The right one looks good, but work on the left some more. All in all, not bad, slave.” I cleaned his foot some more and didn’t protest what he called me. “Now, lie down on your back and place your head under my feet.” Once I was under his feet he pressed them hard on my face and neck. It's as if he was trying to kill me. I was shaking like a leaf. “Justin, I…” I was trying to tell him that I couldn’t breathe. “Shut Up!”

He rubbed his feet up and down my face. He stuck his toes in my mouth, and told me to suck on them. “Yeah, that’s right. Just relax. You're my foot slave now. So you might want to get used to the smell, the taste, the texture, and the feeling of being totally useless,” Justin laughed. “Of course you've noticed that I don't wear socks anymore. So they're going to be pretty ripe especially after a nice long workout.” He smacked my face with his foot just like with a hand. I heard the door close. His mother was finally home, and surely she would not let him humiliate me like this. “Hey, mom,” he said. She acted as if I was not even there.
“Hey, Justin. How's it going?”

“Remember the other day when I told you I wanted a pet? Well I've decided I want a foot slave and who better for the job than this little bitch. I mean we've already got him cooking and cleaning for us, and just today I've taught him to worship my feet on command.”
“Yeah, and as of today I quit my job so now he can make all the money for both of us. He needs to be of some use around here,”

“Mom I can’t help but ask you something. How’d you end up with such a loser?”
“Yes, it's true. We all make mistakes. No offense, sweetie, I’m so sorry I waited so long to tell you about your real dad.”

“None taken, we all make mistakes. If not for your mistake though, I wouldn’t be here to put my new little faggot here under my feet where he belongs.”

“When found out I was pregnant I had to find someone to help me raise you fast. So I found this guy, and I guess I just felt sorry for him because no other girl would give him the time of day. So I got him drunk one night and in time made him think I was pregnant with his child,” she said. I could not believe what I was hearing. “Justin, you look more like your real father every day. Not a day goes by that I wish he hadn’t died serving our country in Afghanistan, because then we could have been a real family instead of having you raised by ‘that.’” she said pointing at me like I was an object. They both laughed. “Never the less, this sore loser helped me raise you, but you're 18 now and a full grown boy. So I don't need him anymore. Making him your foot slave will give him a new purpose for being here.” Justin stood up and lifted his foot from my face and then stomped hard digging his heel deep in my mouth. “And if he thought I was impossible to live with during my teen years, he ain't seen nothing yet.”

Just like that, through total mutiny I was no longer man of the house.