Date: Thu, 4 Jul 2013 15:56:43 -0700 (PDT)
From: jerspray@yahoo.com
Subject: My Room Over the Garage

I welcome responses/input on the story.

My Room Over the Garage
By scentslave

The rumble of his truck makes me immediately jump off the king-sized bed in
the room above the garage he keeps me in. Grabbing the white towel and
white socks off the dresser I run down the steps; already hard. I stand
against the wall at the bottom of the stairs. As soon as he walks by me, I
drop to my knees. Eyes lowered, I am unlacing his boots when the first
smack lands across the side of my head.

"You think I didn't hear how deeply you inhaled when I walked passed you?
You think you get free smells around here all of a sudden?" I shake my head
no frantically. He grabs my chin but doesn't squeeze it, just lifts it. I
know to keep my mouth and eyes closed. He slaps me hard, forehand and
backhand, while I continue to remove his boots. Level with his crotch as I
am, the serious slaps mixed with the powerful stench of his balls makes my
cock ooze.

As I stretch to remove his boot he squeezes my chin; the signal to open my
mouth. Instead of spitting, he shoves two fingers in my mouth. I know
instantly that he has been scratching his balls; I live for that taste. His
calloused hands drive me crazy with lust. I don't dare suck on his fingers
the way I would like to. His other boot is now off. His fingers deep in my
throat I don't move a muscle but the smell coming from his work socks makes
me whimper involuntarily. He laughs. "Go ahead, you fucking fag."

While I am peeling off his damp socks, he randomly slaps my face, pulls on
my ears, my hair, and digs his fingernails into the back of my neck. Each
new ache causes me to love him even more. He likes to rough me up and I
love everything he does to me. I lift one foot and wipe it on my shirt. The
smell is perfection. Full on musty, working man feet stench fills the
air. I finish drying his feet with the towel. He stretches his leg and digs
his heel in as he rests it on my shoulder.  "Look at me" he says softly but
with great menace.

I will never tire of looking at him. Short, dark, wavy hair crowning the
angular face that would be more expected on a European model than a 35 year
old factory foreman in Indiana. His body has the natural toning that comes
from hard labor and hard fucking. Hands laced behind his head, I can see
sweat dripping down from his pits. Even with the sides cut out, the Ohio
State football tee-shirt is soaked in his sweat.

He growls, "I said look at me, not my pits, you faggot!" I stare into his
eyes. He is smiling now. He is so handsome and he knows I am utterly
entranced by his eyes. "I had a great fucking day today, my little
buddy. And I am gonna celebrate on your fag face tonight." He stares at me
for another second or two, almost without expression now. "Finish!" he
barks as he whacks me in the side of the head with the length of his
foot. I dry the other foot.

I still struggle putting his socks on, even after nearly a year of doing it
at least twice a day. He makes me so excited and nervous that I am always
jittery. He doesn't usually hit me while I put on his socks; I guess he
knows it will only make it take longer. As soon as his fresh socks are on I
am quickly back against the wall. He elbows me in the gut as he goes by. He
stops just outside the door, ripping off his shirt he shoves it hard in my
face banging my head against the wall. I grab the towel and quickly wipe
all the sweat from his torso, front and back. As I start to put the towel
up to dry his soaking wet left pit he pulls away.  "You want to use that
towel or do you want this instead?" He has made a fist. I stare at his
fist. It is the essence of powerful. As big around as a fast-pitch
softball, covered in throbbing veins accentuated by over-sized knuckles. I
am drooling. I close my eyes and present my chin to him. The force of the
punch, while far from as hard as it could be, sends me almost to my
knees. Bob laughs loud and says "Damn, I sure do loving punching you,
faggot. Get up here and get your prize."  I recover quickly and slowly rub
my face in each of his pits just once each direction. Yes, this is my prize
for taking his punch. He pushes me back onto the stairs, grabs the towel,
quickly rubs it under his arms before throwing it at me and slamming the
door at the same time.

He is gone, but his smell lingers in the tight space. I allow myself a
couple of unobserved deep intakes of his stench. One squeeze on my balls
and I would cum. I pick up his used socks. Quickly and quietly I go up to
my room sniffing his socks the whole way up to my room over the garage.  -
- - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
- It will be at least an hour before he returns. He will have dinner with
his wife and sons. Probably have at least a couple of beers and do whatever
else it is he does with his family. I hope no one ruins his good mood. My
guess is my evening will be rough enough as it is without him being pissed
off, too.

I am shocked to hear the door open again so quickly. There is no time to
get to my place at the bottom of the stairs so I quickly prostrate myself
at the top of the stairs, face down, palms flat to the floor. I steal a
glance down the stairs and I catch Matt's eye. Bob's oldest son is glaring
at me. I close my eyes and brace myself. Matt steps directly on my left
hand, digging the treads of his boot into me. I love it when they walk on
me. He kicks me in the side 4 times each one harder than the one before.

"Get up, bitch" he snarls as he digs his heel into my hand before removing
it. I kneel in front of him, head down, eyes staring at the boots I love so
much whether I am polishing them with my tongue, removing them to clean his
feet, or feeling their power as they kick me and stomp on me.

"Bitch, I gotta piss" is all I need to hear. In an instant I have his cock
out of his jeans and my mouth open, presented for his use. He squats a bit
until his cock is aimed directly at my mouth. As he starts to piss on me he
lifts his fat cock a bit and pisses right into my eyes. It burns a bit but
it is one of his favorite things to do to me and of course, I don't
complain. Loving his piss as I do, I put out my tongue to catch any that I
can. Eventually, he lowers his aim and fills my mouth. As I am about to
swallow the first load he shoves his cock into my mouth and grabs my chin
wrapping his long, thick fingers around my face. I am full of his cock. I
am desperately trying to gulp down his piss. He steps forward his boot
until his boot is atop my cockhead.

"That's right, cry, Bitch. We both know that this is exactly what we
want. I want to hurt you and you love me for it. So here, faggot. A special
treat for you." He pulls back the boot that had been stepping on my cock
and kicks my useless slave cock and balls with a ton of force. The
involuntary retraction makes me suck his cock deeper into my throat. Piss
is sputtering out of my nose. Again he kicks me. I look up at him, thanking
him with my eyes; silently begging for more. He jerks his head to the
right. I know what to do. I lift my cock out of the way. He rewards me with
3 more kicks direct to my aching balls. I swallow his cock and his piss
while lovingly staring into his eyes. He spits on me.  The piss is finally
drained from him to me. I whisper "Thank you Matt" over and over, very
softly. He rubs my head for a second, then grabs my ear and drags me over
to the foot of the bed.

"Has my father been here yet, faggot." I silently nod. "Let's see what he's
done." I present my chin to him so he can see the mark his Dad's fist left
on my chin. "NICE! I think you need a matching one, don't you?" I nod my
head anxiously and present the other side of my face for his punch. He
teases. He rubs his fist all over my face. Pushing hard, reminding me how
powerful he is. His fist is almost as big as his dads but he rarely uses
the same restraint that Bob does. I always know when Matt has been punching
on me for days afterards. He pulls back and hits me. My head bounces
against his knee. I can't help myself. I grab his fist and start kissing it
all over. "Thank you, Matt. Thank you so much. Please do it again and
again." He obliges. 6 punches all in the same place on my face. I am in
heaven.

"What else did he do to you?" I show him the scratches on my neck. He
immediately wraps his fingers around my throat. The pressure is intense but
nothing compared to his nails digging into my skin. He lowers his face to
mine and bites my cheek hard. Next he head butts me, throwing me to the
ground. I am dazed, not from pain but from lust.

"Get back up here, NOW!" I quickly hang my head between his knees. "You
sure can take some abuse, fag. Life sure is better now that I don't have to
take my hostility out on strangers. I sure prefer spending my weekends
partying than in the lock-up. Dad was sure right. It's good to have a fag
like you around."

He stands up, my face pressed into his crotch. "Take a good whiff, fag."
His stench is so similar to his Dad's that I often fantasize that one day
they will make me try to guess who's funk is who's. He unbuckles his belt
and pulls it out of his pants. I expect to feel the whip of it any
second. Instead it is wrapped around my neck. He pulls me back away from
his crotch. As he reveals his amazing cock and balls, I whimper. He laughs
in my face "pathetic fag". He jerks the belt behind him until my nose is
buried in his beautiful, sweaty balls. "Just breath, fag. If I feel your
mouth or your tongue, I am gonna beat you til you bleed, do you
understand?" He nods my head for me with a quick jerk of the belt. Neither
of us moves. I am buried in the stench of his 18 year old jock
balls. Slowly, I can feel him tightening the belt. I relax and go with it
for him. My nose is completely surrounded by his balls. I have clamped my
mouth shut after his threat. It is only seconds before I will pass out. He
steps forward, cutting off even the smallest air supplies that
remained. This is a smell to die for.

Next thing I know he is sitting on my chest, the belt still wrapped around
my neck but a bit looser. My arms are trapped under his legs. He drops the
belt. Grabs my hair and starts slapping me over and over and over. He
doesn't hold back or make his hand flexible. When Matt slaps me it is like
getting hit in the face with a book. We are staring at each other. A warped
kind of love and respect is passing between us. He is done slapping me. He
plants his jeans covered ass on my face and pivots around. He immediately
begins digging his nails into my nipples. The pain is excruciating and I
love it. My nose is crushed into the ass of his jeans and his fingers and
hands are mauling my chest. He grabs the belt and starts whipping my
throbbing cock.

Suddenly, he is off of me. "GET UP!" he screams. "What are my father's
plans for you tonight?" I quickly tell him word for word what Bob told
me. He chuckles. "Sounds like you are in for it. I'm gonna ask Dad if I can
watch. But for now, pull down my pants, kneel behind me with your hands on
the floor and clean my asshole, you fucking faggot." I do exactly as I am
told. He is digging his heels into my fingertips while I scrub his musky
asshole with my tongue. After a few minutes he pulls up his jeans and
shoves me to the floor. He sits at the foot of my bed. I immediately crawl
to him and start removing his boots.

"So how does one get to be your kind of fag, fag? I mean, I know all fags
don't like this shit. The pain, the humiliation, cleaning men's assholes,
spending hours sniffing feet, worshipping stinking armpits, taking kicks
and punches from men who will never make love to you...how does this
happen, faggot? ANSWER ME!" he shouts as he slaps the top of my head hard.

"Master Matt, I never did anything like this until I met your Dad. I saw
him changing into his boots one day at work. The sight of his socked foot
made my cock hard. I had no idea why. But I stared long enough that he told
caught me grooving on his feet. He worked on me for a few days, always
finding some opportunity to wrap his arm around my shoulder and squeeze
more than a little too tight. After that, he would stand by my desk with
his arm planted above me. On the third day, I was looking up at him, dying
inside from his beauty, hard from the scents coming off his body, and then
a drop of his sweat landed on my hand, I couldn't help myself. I licked it
off, right there in front of him. He leaned in and said `I knew
it. Bathroom stall. NOW!". I ran out of my office directly to the
bathroom. He came in to find me trembling against the wall of the furthest
bathroom stall. He grabbed my face, spit in my mouth and raised his hand to
slap me. He asked "Is this what you want, fag?" and I nodded. He lifted his
arm, showing his soaking wet armpit hair and said "Or is this what you
want?" I hesitated. He spun me around and put me in a choke hold. I could
feel his sweat soaking into my clothes. "Or is this what you want" as he
rubbed his closed fist on my cheek. I suddenly screamed out..."I WANT IT
ALL. I WANT WHATEVER YOU ARE WILLING TO DO TO ME. I HAVE NEVER SEEN A MORE
PERFECT PERSON. YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL TO ME AND I WANT YOU TO OWN ME. I WANT TO
SNIFF AND CLEAN EVER DARK DIRTY PART OF YOUR BODY EVERYDAY. I WANT TO FEEL
YOUR FISTS, YOUR SLAPS, YOUR KICKS. I WANT TO SUFFOCATE IN YOUR STENCH,
BOB, PLEASE FUCK ME UP!"

Matt is staring at me and squeezing his hard cock through his jeans. I have
tears running down my face. Not from pain or humiliation but from joy. I
have found the perfect place in life. I am the sexual servant to the
hottest man I have ever seen and his gorgeous son. And they like doing to
me what I like them to do. Smelling their rancid feet and keeping them
clean and dry is my job. Being an outlet for their aggression is my
job. Reminding them that they are superior beings that deserve to live
without any unmet needs is my job. Cleaning their sweat soaked pits with my
face is my job. Servicing there cock, balls and assholes is my job. And I
get to feel the pure joy of their release as they punch or slap or kick
me. I get to push the bruises to make them throb while I wait for their
next trip to my room over the garage to use me. I get to sleep on a pile of
their dirty underwear with a sweat soaked tee-shirt wrapped around my face,
gagged by their steaming socks.

"I really wanna hurt you right now, fag." I beg "please Matt, do it. Hurt
me. It's what I live for."

He drags me to my feet and across the room. He plants me firmly against the
wall.  "I've always wanted to do this. It better not slow you down tonight
with Dad. If it does I can't imagine even a sick fag like you liking what
will happen to you." Matt is now standing to my side. Like a battering ram,
he drives his knee into my quad. I start to buckle to the floor but he
straightens his arm and I am clotheslined under the chin, unable to stand
but unable to collapse, either. He bangs his knee into my leg 3 more
times. The pain is almost unbearable. "Walk, faggot!" I try and my leg
collapses underneath me. He starts slapping my face harder than I have ever
felt. I stagger to my feet. I find I am able to walk but with a horrible
limp.

"There! That should make sure you don't forget me while my father works you
over tonight! Now, get over here and finish my feet."

As is my job, I remove his boots, his socks, dry them on my shirt and
face. I kiss each one as is his preference. I place the clean socks on his
feet and put his Nike Shox on. I am panting from pain and exhaustion. "You
really are good at this. Here's a little present." He spits a big hawker
onto each of the filthy socks and rubs them both into my face. He is not
gentle. He rubs to hurt me and it does. Again, I am crying in gratitude.

"Get up and let me see you try to walk again." I do and it is not
pretty. Every step is excruciating. Matt pulls out his cock and starts
beating off as he observes my agony. "Socks!" he shouts. I quickly pick
them up and stuff them in my mouth as I continue to stagger and stumble
before him. He motions me to stand directly in front of him. He scratches
his balls and puts his fingers under my nose. I inhale deeply, loving his
stench. He leans forward and starts sucking my nipple as he beats off. His
fist is flying over his hard white cock. He is now chewing my nipple as if
he will get a prize if it comes off. The pain is intoxicating. The fact
that Matt actually has his mouth on me makes me so happy. He is sucking,
biting, squeezing my tits so hard I imagine he is thinking about one of his
girls that he has to go easy on and taking it all out on me. I am so lucky.

He doesn't stop biting me even as he starts to shoot cum all over. It
doesn't matter where it lands, he knows it is an honor for me to clean it
up. I can smell his load and can't wait to lick it up.

Once again I am shoved to the floor. He shakes his cock off on me. Zips up
his jeans and retrieves his belt. "Roll over, faggot." He whips me 10 times
and asks how many more I need. I can't answer as I am concentrating too
hard on not cumming.  "Ok, you stupid piece of shit! No more for you." I
cry out..."100 please Matt, please!" He stops putting on his belt and
starts whipping me over and over and over with his belt. I am crawling
around the room because he likes me to act like I am trying to escape. He
just follows and whips. It goes on forever. Tears are rolling down my face
and cum is leaking out of my cock. I crawl to his feet and start kissing
them over and over as he continues to whip me over and over. Neither of us
keep count...and neither of us want this to end.

All of a sudden he stops. I hear the belt jingle. I feel a pain unlike
anything I have ever felt before. He whipped me, full force, with the
buckle end of his belt, right between my balls and asshole. I shoot the
biggest load of my life. I try to collapse onto myself so he will not
see. But Matt knows what has happened. He kicks my legs apart and swings
his foot with an unbelievable force into my balls.

I have no idea how long I was out. He is gone. Thankfully, his socks are
still here. I get Bob's socks, too. I put all four of them on my pillow,
surrounded by Bob's tee-shirt and the white towel. There is almost a cloud
from all the scents coming off these intimate items from my Master and his
son. The charlie-horse in my leg is throbbing. My ass must be bleeding. My
back feels like it is on fire. I am used to the hot sting on my face...it
is not usually very long between slapping sessions. I bury my face in their
socks and sleep very peacefully. Everything is right with the world in my
room over the garage.