Date: Sun, 3 Jun 2007 19:16:46 -0700 (PDT)
From: Toby Tyler <tobyt_yler@yahoo.com>
Subject: Seventh Grade Foot Slave - Chapter 2

Seventh Grade Foot Slave

By Toby Tyler
tobyt_yler@yahoo.com

This is my first story. If you like it, have any comments or suggestions,
you can email me at tobyt_yler@yahoo.com. If you have no interest in
reading about boys with foot fetishes, or if it is not legal for you to
read such material, leave now. There's no sex (just feet) in the first
few chapters, but there will be soon, so keep reading.

Chapter 2

I was afraid that Brad was going to tell the whole school that he had
made me lick his feet and, what was worse, that I had enjoyed it.
Thankfully, Brad never said anything. If he had, how could I have
explained myself? It was just too bizarre.

I kept jacking off every night, still thinking about Brad's sweaty feet.
I had become aware of my attraction, not only to feet, but to boys in
general. I couldn't help staring at the sneakers of practically every
boy in school. I felt myself drawn to boys with sneakers that were the
most battered, worn-out and filthy. I wanted to stick my face inside each
smelly sneaker and breathe deeply.

In the locker room I kept secretly watching my classmates, watching them
untie their beat-up sneakers and peel off their dirty white gym socks.
What I really wanted was a chance to steal some of my classmates dirty
socks. I actually did manage to steal one boy's socks in the locker room
once. I hid it in my duffle bag. Then I locked myself into a stall in the
boys' room and jacked off with my nose buried in the still slightly
moist, sweaty socks. I wondered how the kid felt when he went to change
and realized that his socks were missing!

One day Brad and I were exploring the woods near the gravel pit by the
trailer park. We found a rickety old clubhouse some kids had built a long
time ago. We climbed inside and Brad sat down to smoke a cigarette.

I sat down next to him. As he smoked, I found myself staring longingly at
Brad'worn-out Nikes.

My heart was beating. I knew what I desperately wanted to do, but I
didn't know how to ask Brad. The first time it happened it was so
spontaneous, so unexpected. Now I very self-concious. I took a deep
breath. I reached over and began gingerly untying the laces of his right
sneaker. Suddenly, Brad pulled away.

"Hey!" he shouted.

"B-b-but I was just-" I stammered.

Brad stood up and looked deeply into my eyes. "Okay, Toby. We're gonna
have to talk about this."

"I just wanted to-"

"I know what you wanted to do." He seemed angry. I was starting to get
scared. "But listen. If I want you to touch my feet, I'll let you. But
if I don't want you to, it's hands off. Got that?"

"Well, maybe I don't want you to hit me sometimes!"

"That's different. That's just horsin' around. You know it doesn't
really hurt."

"So you can hit me all you want but I can't touch your feet?" Now I
was starting to get angry.

"I didn't say you couldn't touch my feet. You can't touch my feet
without asking. And you can't touch my feet if I don't want you to.
Got it?"

"So, you'll let me touch your feet if I ask?"

"I might let you."

This is getting stranger and stranger, I thought. But things had come
this far, so I might as well just go for it.

"Well, can I?"

"Can you what?"

"You know^Å"

"I wanna hear you say it. Can you what?"

"Okay. Can I take your sneakers off?"

"Is that really all you want to do?" In a twisted way, Brad was really
starting to enjoy this. I was, too.

"Can I take your sneakers off and smell your feet?"

"And?"

"Can I lick them, too?"

"If they're dirty, will you lick them clean for me?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Brad, I will lick your dirty feet clean for you." My hard-on was
really raging now. I was still sitting on the floor of the clubhouse,
with Brad standing over me with his hands on his hips and a devilish
grin. He was waiting for something. So was I. "Well, can I?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Forgetting what, I wondered. Then I figured it out. He wanted me to say
please. The magic word.

"Please, Brad, can I take your sneakers and socks off and lick your
dirty feet clean for you?" My excitement was building.

"No."

"No?" After he put me through all that?! "Puh-leeze! Pleeeze can I
lick your dirty feet? I really wanna do it."

"Not today, anyway. I don't feel like it."

I must have looked really sad when he told me that. I had made a jackass
of myself begging, and then he didn't let me do what I wanted.

Brad changed the subject, acting like the entire conversation hadn't
happened. "Why don't we go have dinner at your place? I wanna see what
your mom has been cooking up."

----------------------------------

This went on like that for a while. I would get up the courage to ask
Brad if I could lick his feet, he would get me to beg for a while, and
then he'd say no. Finally I had given up. Then one day we were back in
the woods again, messing about in the very same abandoned clubhouse. He
had gotten me to start smoking cigarettes with him. I couldn't handle a
whole cigarette, but we would share one together sometimes. It was kind
of nice when we did that.

That's exactly what we were doing, sitting and smoking in the clubhouse.
Then, to my surprise, Brad nonchalantly stretched out his leg and put his
foot in my lap. "Hey Toby, why don't you untie my sneakers for me."

I must have looked like a kid at Christmas! Finally, I was finally going
to get my wish! Brad smiled sweetly as I untied his sneakers. I could
smell them already! As I began to tug at his warm, smelly sweat socks,
Brad began to talk.

"Okay foot freak, we're gonna have to lay some ground rules here. Like
I said before, you can only lick them when I want you to. You have to say
please. You wanna be my slave?"

I wasn't sure what he had in mind. "Slave?" I asked.

"Now don't get any ideas. First off, I'm not queer. My dick is off
limits to you."

"Hey, I'm not queer either!" I exclaimed. At least, I didn't think I
was. Was I?

"Then why do you have a hard-on? Don't answer that. If you want to be
my slave, it's only going to be about this. Your freaky foot thing. No
blowjobs or any of that shit. Is that okay with you?"

"Sure" I said. I had both feet unsocked and was holding the right foot
to my face and sniffing. "May I lick your feet, please?"

"You can ^Ö" he replied. I lifted his left foot to my face and got my
tongue out and ready. "But-" he continued, "If you're my slave, this
is how it's gonna work. You can only lick with my permission but you
also have to lick whenever I want you to, no matter what. Even if you
don't feel like it, you can't say no. You agree to that?"

This was getting too damn hot! "I agree!" I moaned between licks,
wiggling my tongue in between his toes, getting all the little bits of
lint and dirt out that I could.

"Now aren't you going to thank me?"

"Thank you Brad, for letting me take your shoes and socks off, smell
your feet and suck your toes!"

-----------------------------------------------

For a while, things went on quite nicely. We did our usual stuff, mucking
about in the woods or flying his planes, but there was a lot of foot
licking, too. I liked to  meet him after he had been shooting hoops for a
few hours ^Ö that's when his feet were nice and sweaty. He'd tell me
his feet were sore and that he needed a foot rub. I was always happy to
oblige.

His sneakers were really getting dirty and worn. He had been wearing the
same ratty pair of Nikes since I had met him. Then he started wearing the
same socks for a few days at a time so they'd be nice and ripe for me.

It would usually start this way. I would ask Brad if I could worship his
feet, and he would usually make a big deal of saying no. Then I would beg
him for a while. He really liked to hear me beg. Finally, when I'd
begged and pleaded long enough, he'd let me rub and kiss his feet. I
learned to give really good foot rubs. I wanted to make sure that Brad
was enjoying my attention to his feet at least half as much as I enjoyed
giving it.

On Thursdays, we had a regular routine. He would sit on the living room
recliner, watching TV and eating junk food while I sat on the floor and
lapped away at his soles like an eager puppy dog. Sometimes we'd go into
his room. I would lie on the floor while he sat on the bed with his foot
on my face, exploring my mouth with his toes. Sometimes Brad would let me
sleep over. We would sleep in the same bed, head to toe. I always slept
with Brad resting his feet on my face.

---------------------------------------------

Part of the deal was that I had to lick Brad's feet whenever he ordered
me to. I couldn't say no. He was sneaky this way.

One day we were at my house sitting at the kitchen table eating tuna
sandwiches. I had made them very sloppy with lots of mayonnaise, just the
way I liked it. Brad liked them that way, too. My dad was out bowling and
my mom was in the garden. I had just taken a big bite of my sandwich when
Brad lifted up his sneaker.

"Toby! Do it!" he commanded.

"Mmmpf-" What was he thinking? I had a mouthfull of food and my mom
could have come in at any minute. I must have looked pretty panicked. I
indicated that my mouth was full, and my facial expression indicated that
there couldn't possibly have been a worse time for Brad to order me to
lick his foot.

"Now, Toby! Lick my foot or else I'm gonna fuckin' kick you with it!"

I quickly choked down my mouthful of tuna sandwich and got on my knees to
pull off his sneaker and sock. Hurriedly, I began to lick Brad's sole.

"You can't stop licking until my whole foot is wet! Hurry up, Toby!
Before your mother comes in!"

I licked frantically, trying to cover his whole foot with my spit. Sure
enough, I heard my mother coming up the steps. My heart was beating
faster and faster. How humiliating it would have been to have my mother
catch us! And how could I have possibly explained what I was doing?

I heard the sound of the door opening and I knew I would have no time to
put Brad's sock and sneaker back on. I jumped back into my chair and
tried to make it look like I had just been sitting there, eating my
sandwich. My mom came in. She didn't seem to notice that Brad had his
sneaker off. I was relieved.

"Hello, boys," she said. "What are you eating?"

"Tuna sandwiches, Mrs. Tyler. Toby made them." Brad replied,
innocently.

My mom wrinkled her nose. She always complained when I ate tuna
sandwiches. She said she couldn't stand the smell of tuna.

 "Toby, why don't you be nice and offer Brad a Coke or some orange
juice to go with his sandwich."

"Brad, wanna Coke?"

"Yes, please." Brad smiled at me. I went to the refrigerator to get
Brad his Coke. My mom was about to head into the living room when she
turned around.

"Toby?"

"Yes, Mom?"

"Can you ask Brad to put his shoe back on? I don't know what smells
worse, his feet or your tuna sandwiches."

To Be Continued