Date: Wed, 26 Jun 2002 18:54:37 EDT
From: Willin2PaynPS@cs.com
Subject: We Both Know What You Are!

My current Master has ordered me to write for you a brief synopsis of how I
first learned to be a good slave, happiest at the feet of my superiors.

As a fraternity pledge, we all had to perform menial tasks for the
brothers.  Having washed more than my share of jock straps, cars and
laundry for the brothers during my pledge period, the brothers found that I
was especially adept at spit polishing shoes and boots.  This being a Texas
university, boots were extremely popular.  I soon found that I was
constantly being summoned to the guys' rooms to pick up yet another pair of
cowboy boots to make them gleam.  One day, nearing the end of my pledge
time, I was summoned to the spacious corner room of the fraternity
president, the best looking stud jock on campus.  He was talking on the
phone when I arrived and signaled for me to remove his boots to take for
cleaning while he continued his conversation.  Startled but obedient, I
knelt in front of him and held on to his right boot as he pushed against my
chest with his left foot.  Not missing a beat in his phone dialogue, he
then put his sweat sox-clad foot against my chest to push for the removal
of the other boot.  Whether by accident or design, his foot slipped and
brushed across my face.  I knelt there frozen, a strange and pleasurable
tingling sweeping over me.  Removing the other one, I started to withdraw
from his room with his boots for cleaning, leaving the house boss to his
phone call.  As I neared the door, he terminated his conversation and,
without even looking in my direction, said matter-of-factly, "You might as
well take these damp sweat sox and wash them out too."  He had never before
deigned to speak to a lowly pledge like me and his voice sounded as if it
came from Mount Olympus. I stood there for a few seconds, assuming he would
remove them and hand them to me.  He did no such thing, only continuing to
write at his desk.  Hesitantly, I again knelt and crawled under his desk
and gently removed each sock.  His large and perfectly shaped feet,
hardened by his renowned athletic activities, were slightly slick with the
sweat of having been encased in those boots that would soon be my pleasure
to polish.  As I crawled back out, the god spoke again.  "You can use those
sox for chewing gum while you shine my boots, shithead."  My mouth and
throat were now dry from astonishment and excitement and I could only croak
out, "Thank you, Sir" as I withdrew from his magnetic presence.  He didn't
answer nor did he even cast a glance in my direction.  It was to him as if
a piece of furniture had spoken.

Back in my own tiny room, already crowded with boots awaiting service, the
air redolent with the smell of leather and healthy young feet, I lovingly
arranged my cleaning materials in preparation for work on the footgear of
The Boss.  Taking a deep breath of the air inside his boots, I started the
cleaning and then remembered his comment about my use of his sweat sox.  I
jammed one in my mouth and happily chomped on it as I worked.  The salty
flavor tasted so grungily delicious that my cock stayed erect throughout my
labors.  I cleaned the soles and gutters with my personal toothbrush and
dreamed how pleasurable brushing my teeth would now be. When I finished,
the boots sparkling like mirrors, I relaxed and treated myself to the boss
man's other sock, now dried and stiff.  The flavor released itself slowly
as I chewed.  Not being able to bear the thought of washing away that
elixir with soap and water, I took a new, never worn, pair of my own sweat
sox from my drawer and, with boots and new sox in hand, went to Boss Stud's
room.

Softly knocking on his door and hearing a gruff, "Its open," I slipped in
and was chagrined to find he wasn't alone but was sitting talking with the
house pledgemaster, his best friend and a fellow jock god.  The Boss was
still barefoot, his legs propped up on an ottoman.  Barely glancing at me
and at my offerings, he motioned me to his feet and uttered one gruff word,
"Massage."  I nervously looked toward the pledgemaster who acted as though
all of this was the most ordinary thing in the world and in which he had
little interest.  They continued discussing house business as I silently
massaged my new Master's feet, praying that this would become a common
occurrence.  After a while, Boss said, "OK, now lick them clean and dry
them with your hair before putting the sox on my feet."  I again looked
involuntarily toward the pledgemaster but the Boss said, amazingly gently,
"Its OK, we both know what you are."  Those words would forever change the
remainder of my college days and the years that lay ahead.  Not only the
two magnificent studs knew what I was, I knew it now!  The insight that I
was a natural slave who would find my happiness only in serving and
groveling to men and my rewards only at their feet exploded in my mind,
bringing relief and joy.

Neither of my Masters (oh, yeah, the pledgemaster decided to use me too)
told the other brothers about me.  I was voted in to the fraternity and had
to keep my labors for my two Bosses quietly discrete but work for them I
did.  Throughout my freshman year, as I joyously took the humiliations that
they enjoyed heaping upon me in private, I worried about June commencement
when they, as seniors, would graduate. It never occurred to me that
valuable property is not abandoned just because the current owner can no
longer use it.  The details of the remainder of my college days are fresh
in my memory but perhaps you believe that I have talked far too long as it
is.