Date: Sun, 27 Jul 2008 05:46:47 -0700 (PDT)
From: Subtoy Kimy <subtoy_kimy@yahoo.com>
Subject: Consented Enslavement (Ch 07)

Warning: This story is about gay sex and domination between young
adults. If this subject offends you, or if it is illegal in the country
where you live, or if you are under 18, then read no further and quit this
page now.

Copyright 2008 Subtoy_Kimy. All Rights Reserved.


CHAPTER 7: PIZZA HOME DELIVERY


Though I craved it, I dared not jack off and release the load that was
boiling in me, and burning to blast. Terrorized by the zero tolerance I was
subjected to, I didn't even try. The three minutes I was given to shower
and be back were too straight anyway, and I couldn't even dry my hair. I
just rushed as fast as I could, and managed to be back right on time and
all naked, just as ordered.

Kevin and Damien were lazily slouched in their sofa, facing the TV
set. While chatting cool, their legs were stretched out and their shoed
feet lain on the top of the central table. A football match was about to
start.

In how I was, with my hair untidy and wet, and with Kevin's used towel
pending around my neck and along my torso, I stood still at a certain
distance, not knowing what I was to do next, and whether I had to kneel
down or not. Damien turned at me, and I caught a sparkle in his eyes. "Your
boy's not bad like this," he said.

Kevin smiled with irony, and stopped the chrono. Pointing at me with his
chin, "go get us two more Buds," he ordered.

I executed and served the beers on a tray in the way I was taught, putting
one knee down and bowing my head with respect. Damien grabbed his can
without even turning at me. When I did the same before Kevin, he
unexpectedly ordered me to stay where I was:

"Want my spikes taken off," he said.

Before I could get back from what I just heard, he moved his stretched out
legs and lifted up one of them towards me. I turned red. I held his leg by
the calf, and laid it down again, with his shoed foot right in front of me,
heel on the table. It sized not less than 11.

I concentrated on unlacing his spike, and did it as slowly as I needed to
delay the moment I'd be facing his sweaty socks, and all of what I started
to figure out would follow. By the time I did, they both resumed chatting
like in disregard of my listening presence, but actually wanting me to
listen.

"... So, you're telling me how you managed to bathe without wetting your
spikes?" said Damien, both amused and intrigued.

"Yeah, actually I stepped into the bathtub, and I sat in it and laid my
spikes up on the edge of it, and only then I started to fill it up..."

"Cool!... I couldn't have done the same in the showers of the gym. So I
just worked and came right over..."

To keep their feet immersed in their whole day sweat clearly seemed to be
the deliberate issue they had been planning for. As I started to guess what
in their mind was hiding behind such intentions, I panicked but dared not
react or let it show. When I pulled out Kevin's spike, my heart was hell of
drumming. I laid it on the floor.

"Next" he ordered, while stretching out the other shoe, straight to my
face. I started unlacing it in the same way I just did the first. While I
executed, Kevin addressed to Damien suggesting:

"Hey, how about ordering some pizza? I'm kinda starving aren't you?"

"Yeah...  bu' then let's do it right now, before the match starts."

At this, Kevin grabbed his cell phone and called Mac Milano where he
sounded he was already databased, like regular customers usually are.

Mac Milano - or Emem's, as it is commonly named - is known for having built
its marketing strategy on hiring the cutest boys for the delivery
job. They're all selected and recruited in the suburbs where the
communities of Italian immigrants are the greatest, and precisely in the
public areas of these suburbs where young skaters usually gather. Big
posters of these attractive recruits are then displayed on Emem's
advertising road campaigns. In this way, when a calling customer is
delivered, it is always by one of these local celebrities, a familiar face
he'd noticed before, or wishes to see live. This strategy worked, and it
was at the origin of Emem's huge growth.

Kevin placed an order for two medium size Margheritas with extra Prociutto,
to be delivered the soonest.

I pulled out his second spike, and laid it next to the first.

Though the sole side of his socks looked bright and clean, a whole day of
physical efforts left them totally wet and sweaty. His day had started with
hours of hard football training, followed by the hard whipping session he
inflicted me, and all of what came after in the afternoon, and it showed.

"Now go get two breakfast bowls, and a bottle of cool water from the
fridge," ordered Kevin. "You have twelve seconds to be back."

I rushed executing, and came back to my place, wondering what corn flakes
bowls would be for.

With his chin pointing at the bowls, and with a finger pointing at his
feet, "put one of them down here," he said.

As typically expected from the late teen he was, the more I obeyed him, the
more he went ordering me with an increasing attitude, and his orders became
shorter and more authoritarian:

"Now socks," he said, while facing me raw with the sole of his lifted up
foot, to which Damien smiled.

Again I held Kevin's calf in one hand, and grabbed the upper end of his
sock with the other. I started to fold it down on itself. In anticipation
to the end result, I felt awfully embarrassed to soon be facing his bare
foot so closely. Even facing his penis didn't make me feel that much
ashamed. As my fingers kept slowly pulling his sock, I uncovered the
slenderness of his powerful ankle, and I reached the sole side of his
pinkish heel. My face blushed red with embarrassment.

"C'mon! Harry up," he ordered with a hint of anger, and he jerked his foot
right before my eyes.

I kept pulling, till the sock flipped inside out in my hand, and his bare
foot spread its androgynous beauty to my eyes. Despite the awfully
humiliating situation of being facing his toes so closely, I was instantly
hit by the awesome gracefulness of them. With a second toe equal in length
to the big one, if not slightly longer, and with his toenails cleanly cut
in crescent, they were perfectly shaped, and looked as if drawn by some
kind of fairy. I was in admiration, and secretly felt like I could
prostrate myself to their awesome beauty, no matter how degrading this
would be.

As if he could read what was in my mind, "kiss it," he ordered with
contempt, and while bending the end of his toes slightly down, just enough
to make them pointing at my lips. As he didn't seem to be kidding, I looked
at him imploring: "C'mon," he insisted, without hiding his enjoyment in
feigning some snobbish manners.

Damien enjoyed watching my embarrassment, and he laughed briefly.

Thorn between a cruel seduction and a seductive cruelty, I kept holding his
foot, with the heel of it in the palm of my hand, and bowed my head with
respect. I brought my lips close to the topside of his toes, and closed my
eyes, cut my breath, and with the very tip of my lips, I kissed his foot
with an awesome respect, and with an extreme sensuality.

With not a slightest comment, he just withdrew his foot in an offhand
manner, and all he said was "next," while the sole side of his other socked
foot confronted my face raw.

I started over again, and did it all the same.

The next thing I was ordered was to fill a quarter of the bowl with fresh
water from the bottle. I had barely finished executing, when Kevin plunged
his toes in the bowl.

"Mmmmyeah, gooodl!" he moaned with delight, cynically willing to tease me
with his enjoyment, and he slowly wiggled his toes right before my
eyes. "There's no cooler way to remove one's sweat after hard training," he
added addressing to Damien, but obviously willing to raise my panic. While
he went on alternating between one foot and the other I couldn't stop
wondering if he would ever order me what he sadistically enjoyed
suggesting. "Hey Dam, you really should try it... it's really good," he
continued cynically.

"Of course I will," replied Damien with an amused determination, then he
snapped a finger and pointed at his feet, where I was to move with the
second bowl in hands.

...

All of what Kevin had me doing with the contemptuous self-confidence of the
natural arrogant winner he was, Damien had me doing it his way, under the
severe power of a permanent threat. I had to remove his red All Star, then
his ankle socks, till I came to face his bare feet.

Much more than I expected they would be, Damien's feet were simply to die
for. Slightly but so gracefully arched, and so gorgeously long toed, they
were the perfect merge between an aggressive sportiveness and a pure
aristocratic elegance. His toenails were beautifully shaped and cleanly
cared, looking as if he just had them pedicured. Well aware of their
awesome beauty, Damien did not order me to kiss them. He just confronted my
lips unmercifully with the topside of his toes, and cruelly waited to see
how long I could resist before I do it by myself. Behind the titanium frame
of his eyeglasses, never the devil in the eyes of this 19-year-old DJ was
that powerful. He stared me into a silent obedience, and it didn't take
seconds before I was broken with desire. Bowing my head almost devotedly, I
kissed Damien's feet the very way I had just kissed Kevin's.

They both went on refreshing the soles of their feet, wiggling their toes,
and releasing in the water the tiny particles of dry skin caught between
their toes, after a whole day of physical efforts. Meanwhile, I was kept
down, dealing both with the pain in my knees, and with the unbearable
uncertainty of this ritual's issue. Meanwhile, and above all, I also had to
bear listening to how they enjoyed the pleasing and relaxing sensation of
it.

On TV, the players started entering the football field and warming up,

"Now take my socks in your hand," ordered Damien firmly, when he finally
withdrew his feet out of the water. I did.

As his bowl was still laid on the floor, right before me, Damien ordered me
to unfold his socks and to make sure they were well turned inside out. I
did. Obviously considering my obedience as the least of my duties toward
his awesome gorgeousness, he then ordered me to soak the sole part of his
socks, which was the sweatiest, and to squeeze the water out, by twisting
them firmly over the bowl, and restart. While I executed, he went arguing
with Kevin on how enough concentrated in foot sweat the water should be,
but none of them mentioned a hint on the real issue of this operation. I
only could guess and fear what this was all about, and panic, then hope it
wouldn't be what I guess it was, then panic again, but well knowing that
their arrogance was such that hardly nothing was really impossible.

With an offhand disregard of how I could feel about it, Damien made me soak
and squeeze his socks three to four times each, before Kevin had me doing
it all the same, each one of them in his bowl, till they agreed that this
should be enough. But I still didn't know or want to know 'enough' for
what.

"Now pick up the bowls, and lay them on the table," ordered Kevin, when the
football teams started positioning in line for the national anthems. At
this, Damien moved from the left end of the sofa to the middle of it,
leaving his bowl behind, for me to pick it up. I picked it up with the hard
feeling that what I feared most was getting closer to become inevitable.

...

Damien adjusted comfortably crossing his fingers behind his head, and he
laid his feet back again on the table, right beside Kevin's. In this way,
they both had me kneeling down at their feet without disturbing their
straight view on the TV screen. I was like hypnotized by how the gathering
of their feet exhaled their awesome sensuality right before my eyes.

"Good. Now pour the water of one bowl into the other," ordered Kevin.

"And better not waste a single drop of it," added Damien severely, and with
a hint of an authoritarian threat.

While I was kept kneeling before their gracefully muscled legs, facing half
the sides and half the soles of their stretched out feet, I executed what I
was ordered, to the letter. Water had become slightly tinted with a whitish
dusty color, and had lost some of its transparency.

As they enjoyed watching me doing, Damien's toes stretched and wiggled and
stretched again, while Kevin's feet rubbed against each other's. I was
scared to death. I wondered how I could escape what was undoubtedly coming
next. I searched my mind trying to find out if there was something I could
possibly offer in exchange of their eventual renouncement, but I found
nothing that they couldn't order and get anyway. Teams' national anthems
had started to be played. My heart was hammering. Kevin's feet stopped
rubbing. A drop of sweat dripped down along my back.

"You're given a choice," said Kevin with a cynical smile. He pointed at the
water bowl, and his upper lip twisted with disgust.

"Uhh nooo, please..." I interrupted imploring, before he even finished what
he had to say.

"You either drink it all now," he continued, disregarding my interference,
"or ..." and he stopped there, enjoying to raise my panic.

"Or... you choose to stay there on your knees, but you'll be kissing our
feet for as long as the match goes on," followed Damien, obviously amused
though trying to look strict.

Despite the pain on my knees, I was just about to rush on the second
choice, when Kevin interfered adding this: "But of course, kissing our feet
will only raise your chance to be spared the drinking, so if this is the
choice you take, you take it at your own risk."

"And that'd make it bout two thousand kisses at each one of our feet, or
eight thousand kisses all together," said Damien, "this is just in case it
helps you makin' up your mind," he added cynically. "Any question?"

They were all together so hard, so self confident, so arrogant, and above
all so gorgeous, that dealing with them was lost in advance:

"Uhh... please, isn't there something I could do to just make sure I'll be
spared the water bowl?" I asked inquiringly, like craving some indulgence.

"Mmmm, nope... not really," said Kevin feigning ironically to be
sorry. "Nothing but an all the way perfect execution," he added as he
winked at Damien.

"Yap," approved Damien, "a perfect execution of our foot kissing is your
possible way out, but still, it's not really guaranteed,"

"Right. At the end of it, it will only be up to us to decide whether it was
good enough or not," added Kevin, with his typical winner smile.

"Yeah, it depends on how satisfied we will be."

"Now that's the deal, what's your choice?"

Thorn between the bad and the worst, they subjected me to such a cruel
situation were I was bound to take the bad, though well knowing I may end
up with the worst as well. The hardest thing of all was yet to say it. As
they both enjoyed to watch how hardly thorn I was, my face blushed red, and
my eyes looked down, and my voice trembled when I whispered what turned to
be my own choice: "I ki... uhrrr... I kiss your feet."

On their final instructions, I only was to count the hundreds loudly, but
in between every hundred my counting was to be kept silent, so that they
keep following their match without being disturbed. With this rule, anyone
of them could control any hundred, anytime, and make sure I was not
cheating. Also, after every thousand kisses executed, I had to alternate
between their feet, so that none of them waits too long for his turn.

"And finally, you better not raise up your eyes from the one of our feet
you'll be kissing, before total completion of your duty," warned Kevin.

"Unless you're thirsty, of course," added Damien, to which they both burst
out laughing.

As the referee prepared to whistle the beginning of the match, they had fun
inviting each other's to the honor of the start. After some feigned
courtesies, Damien was finally first to lift up his bare foot straight to
my face. Facing me raw with it, "enjoy!" he said, with a killing contempt.

I held Damien's foot in my hands, and started kissing it.

Kevin and Damien concentrated on following the match and commenting it,
without even showing a sign of enjoying what they had me doing. Kissing
their feet was of course very degrading in itself, but much worse was that
they didn't even seem to notice that they were having it done. They simply
behaved as if this was my privilege rather than theirs, and this made the
feeling of it even more degrading than it already was. I didn't even want
to think that I was worshipping the feet of the two arrogant juniors who
had just raped me a little earlier, and forced me to swallow their
load. Perhaps they considered what they were having me doing, as the least
of what I owed to thank them for the rape. Along with an awful pain in my
knees I had to struggle with the pain that started to spread along my
chalks, and the feeling my lips were burning.

...

The first half time of the match had just passed its middle, when I had
accomplished a bit more than a quarter of my total job: One thousand kisses
on Damien's left foot, then as much on Kevin's, then I had started kissing
Damien's right foot, when the doorbell buzzed. I suddenly panicked, but
Damien's foot in my hand didn't even twitch. Kevin slipped his bare feet
into his spikes, and he rushed all naked to answer.

"Your pizzas," said a young voice over the speakerphone, with a little
stress on the 'i' of 'pizza', which gave it a hint of Italian accent.

By the time the delivery boy came up, I announced the fourth hundred, and
then dared a desperate attempt to avoid being seen in the very situation
where I was: "Please Sir, can I stop, just until..."

"No you can't," was Damien's firm and immediate reply, as he shrugged his
shoulder. He just shake his foot at my face, as to confirm his verdict.

By the minute it took the pizza boy to come up, Kevin had grabbed his
wallet, opened the door, and he was back in his position: "Come in," he
called out, when the pizza boy reached the doorstep.

The boy made a few steps inside and then stopped short, like instantly hit
by the scene that was scrolling right before his wide open eyes:

"What's going on here?" he said, totally astounded.

Stefano was his name, as written on the Mac Milano ID card that hanged over
the pocket of his overall. He was tall and slim and above all, very nice
looking. With his light brown and silky hair, tall enough to cover his
neck, and with braces along his bright teeth, he had the perfect kind of
face that fits with Emem's requirements and reputation. I felt terribly
ashamed to be seen in this very situation.

"Come over," reiterated Kevin, in a natural way that showed there was
nothing unusual, "put them down here."

The Emem boy stepped slowly, and though I dared not meet his eyes, I could
feel how he stared at me fixedly.

"What? Never seen a slave before?" said Damien.

Again, I felt awfully outraged by the word used to describe how I was to be
considered, and though I dared not react, it showed.

"A slaaave?" repeated the boy amazed, while he kept staring at me with a
contemptuous disdain.

"Yeah, the kind of houseboy one can order anything," explained Kevin.

"Anything?" the boy exclaimed again, with a smiling stupefaction, before he
twinkled his eyes as to make sure he was not dreaming.

"Yeah, right, anything, as long as it brings fun, or entertainment," said
Kevin as he gave the boy 20 bucks. "Keep it all," he added.

"Ow, thanks a lot," said Stefano, as he realized he has just been tipped
almost as much as the total bill.

"Five hundred," I announced.

Before Stefano reached the door, Damien suddenly turned at Kevin, like with
an idea popping up in his mind, and I just caught they both winked at each
others: "Hey, when's your day off?" called out Damien.

"At Emem's we're closed on Mondays." he said, inquiring.

"Well then come over on Monday, and we'll let you share some good times
with us."

"Yeaaah?" he said joyfully, "Cool! Monday's the day my Emem's buddies and I
join for skating. But I can come right afterward," he added.

"Cool, then be here at seven," said Kevin before he added what was enough
to kill me: "And get all your Emem buds with you, we'll have a small
party."

"Reaaally? Ow that's really cool" he exclaimed, "I bet they won't believe
it," he added, with his nice Italian accent

At this, my blood ran cold, and I felt I could burst out.

Kevin and Damien topped their hands with a smiling complicity, and all I
could do was to deal with the facts of their further plans.

At the half time of the match, I was nearly done. I had exhausted the bits
of my strength and pieces of my dignity, to just satisfy these snobbish
juniors' whims and their insatiable entertainment. I struggled with what
had become an unbearable pain and with the worst kind of humiliation to
please their feet with four thousand kisses, and this was still one half of
the total job I was subjected to complete. I was allowed what they
contemptuously called a generous break, but to just finish the remains of
their pizzas and clean the table. After this, I was cynically instructed to
wash my hands and lips, before I resumed execution. When the referee
whistled the second half time of the match, Damien lifted up his foot and
his 11 size bare sole slammed against my face. Glancing at the bowl I dared
not react. All I could do was to hold his terribly gorgeous foot by the
ankle with the recommended respect, and I started kissing it back again.

After five thousand kisses, I laid Damien's foot down and held Kevin's
lifted up one, to start over with a new thousand; the sixth. I shamefully
became acquainted with how every one of their toes flexes under the sweet
touches of my lips. At this stage - but I wouldn't be able to say when it
really started - none of them bothered instructing me anymore on where I
was to move my kisses. All they needed was to bend their toes, or bend them
back, or twist their foot in a way or another, and either move of the foot
I was holding was an instruction to me in itself. Regardless of how
degrading these silent orders were, their power over me was such that I
could only comply. Kevin mostly liked to feel my kisses on his toes or
else, have them spread along the fleshy outer profile that runs from the
side of the heel up to the base of the little toe. Damien rather prefered
to have my kisses spread all over his soles, mainly on the center of his
archs. I guess he enjoyed to feel my eyebrows brushing against his
protruding ball.

...

Like in a perfect synchronicity, the referee whistled the end of the match,
when I had just announced the eights thousand, and laid Kevin's foot on the
table, and sighed. I was like stoned, but wondered what kind of miracle
made me reach the end of my execution, despite the pain.

Kevin stood up and stretched his arms: "Twas cool, wasn't it?" he said with
a lazy voice of someone who's just waking up. He was even more divine than
I ever saw before.

"Yeaaah..." was all what Damien said, as he slipped his feet back into his
All Star, and adjusted his eyeglasses.

To think that I spent all this time, degraded into humiliation, struggling
with a hard rising pain, for them to just find 'twas cool... yeah', I
realized that the extent of their power over me had no limit. Actually I
didn't even know if their last comments were on my execution or the match,
and dared not move. As Damien was tying up his laces I glanced at the bowl,
and the fear invaded me. Some tiny black particles released from the soles
of their feet and from in between their toes floated on the surface, a few
others had sunk into the low transparency of the water mixed with their
foot sweat. I badly needed to be sure that I was definitely released from
the threat of it, and for this, I was even ready to start the whole thing
all over again. But for them, there was no reason to hurry, and they
cruelly kept on torturing me with the uncertainty.

"Still, it could have been better, couldn'it?" said Damien.

"Yeah, sure..." approved Kevin lazily.

The seconds of silence that followed this were the longest ever, and the
hardest to bear. Finally Kevin turned at Damien with a visible will to end
up with a verdict: "You know what?" he said, "if we want it to be better
next time, I see no reason why we'd grant him our tolerance."

"Sure, why would we?" approved Damien, as he stood up as well. "All the
hours and hard times we spent training and working out make this water too
precious to be wasted," he added, and he didn't seem to be kidding.

"You're perfectly right," said Kevin, before he turned at me adding: "Sorry
boy, you kissed our feet at your own risk; now you won the honor of
savoring our foot sweat... It's our verdict and it's final, so c'mon!"

Depp in me, I knew I could be inflicted such an outraging unfairness but I
still didn't want to believe it could be possible. "No, please," I sighed
craving their mercy, and still hoping this would only be part of their
teasing torture.

"N' then you'll tell us how it tastes, or how much you liked it..."
continued Damien with a cynical arrogance, without hiding his feeling smug.

"Mmmm... he'll love it for sure; he'll even ask for more," added Kevin so
self-confident his beauty could make me do anything.

I bowed my head, ashamed by the cruelty of their comments. After I spent
that much time bearing the pain, suffering, and degrading myself for the
only sake of spreading pleasure to their snobish feet, I hardly believed
that this would my reward. But for boys made with this terrible mix of
divine gorgeousness, and contempt, and arrogance, the simple 'why not'
argument ends up always winning over any other logic.

Kevin lifted up his knee holding my chin with it, and forced me to look up:
"I said c'mooon!... that's an order!" he added, with a hand threatening to
slap my face.

I held the bowl, brought it to my lips, closed my eyes, and sipped.

"Yeaahhh... ggooood... c'mooon... sssavor it... mmmm..." were the kind of
reactions that came out of their clenched teeth. I sake for a desperate
consolation that could somehow ease the outrageous infliction I was being
subjected to, but all I found was two young masters' head-to-toes devine
beauty. "Yeaah! swill it ... yeaah again!... ggooood, swallow it
... yyeaaah!... You fffuckin' love it!"

When I laid the bowl back, they checked to made sure that not a drop was
left in it, and topped their hands with winner smiles on their faces. Then
they simply tuned their back and walked out through the entrance
door. They'd finish at the Speedy Gonzo's, as I heard them saying.

"Hey, close the door behind you when you leave," said Kevin.

"And don't forget to wash the bowl very well before," said Damien.



CHAPTER 8: THE SKATEBOARDERS' PARTY

I was petrified when Emem's striking boys started coming in, stepping
inside one after the other, like top models fashion showing. The bunch was
made of six slender studs, all of them dressed in sleeveless shirts of
different colors...

(to be continued)

_________________________________________________

P.S. This story is dedicated to my favorite reader Jason (NYC), and also to
my cyber Master Mark (from UK) whose beauty inspired me every detail of
this chapter.

As usual, I apologize for my frenchy English. I also apologize to have
taken that much time before bringing this chapter to its end.

Names featuring in this story are fictional and totally invented. If they
happen to belong to existing people and / or places, it's only by pure
coincidence.

Finally, reader's comments (positive or negative), corrections, and / or
suggestions are mostly welcome: < Subtoy_Kimy@yahoo.com >