by MeLikeyFeet
The dream for me was always the Ivy League degree. To see a degree from each of the Ancient Eight schools on my wall was a lifetime goal. I was always totally academically gifted, and I always had a passion for science. With my mother being a nuclear physicist and my father being a molecular biochemist, did I have much of a choice? There would be plenty of time to make friends and have fun after my first Nobel Prize was my family’s philosophy. As a child prodigy I enjoyed studying, reading, and being deprived of television, sports, and hanging out with friends. Many of my peers picked on me because I was so small and academic. But I always said that one day “they” will need me and they’ll be sorry.
I graduated high school at 15, undergrad at 18 from Princeton, and graduate school at 19 from Brown. Here I was 21 years old and on my way to a doctorate in neuro-molecular physics from Yale University, the alma mater of several of my family members. When it came time for my dissertation, I decided to work on an unusual subject. I wanted to research the neuron functions of the foot, its connections to hormone and pheromone release levels, and how they correlate with sexual intercourse. In other words, what is the cause and effect of a foot fetish? I do not know why this subject suddenly entered my head.
When I moved to Connecticut I saw an ad in a window for a roommate. The rent was reasonable. I called the phone number and arranged to meet Dierk at the coffee shop where he worked as a barista. He said over that phone to look for a tall guy, but wow he was huge. I’m only five foot tall and he was six foot six inches. We both learned that each of us was a mostly private person, and there would be no loud parties or music.
For the first few weeks after I moved in, Dierk and I hardly saw each other. He was busy with school and work and I had locked myself in my room working day and night on my research. I did not sleep for days because I was so determined to create a thesis. I ran several ideas by my advisor, but he said that none were acceptable. After a while I stopped trying. Maybe I finally needed a break to cool down my brain. I was so angry at myself for failing. I have worked so hard all of my life just for this to happen to me. My parents would be so disappointed.
Dierk came home from work that same day while I was watching TV (or more like staring at the TV). We barely knew each other, but he could tell I was in a bad mood and needed some comforting. I told him I was in a rough mood because I had hit a wall with my research. He asked me about my research and I tried to explain it to him in the simplest terms but I knew he would not understand half of what I said. Dierk was such a sweet and gentle giant. “Sounds like you need a beer,” he said. Then the most amazing thing happened.
Dierk slid off his big brown boat shoes exposing his enormous bare feet and my life changed forever. My eyes were wide. My mouth was wet as he rested his very wet feet on top of his shoes for a second and then pushed the shoes to the side. I studied his feet as he crossed them on the carpet with his soles facing out. I do not know what came over me but I could not take my eyes off of his feet. They looked twice the size of my head! My mouth was wide open like I was about to drool, but he did not notice at all. He just watched TV and wiggled his toes freely.
When he got up to grab us both a beer, I quietly followed closely behind his feet over to the fridge. He turned around, looked at me as I stood motionless over his feet and said, “Whoa man, are you okay?” as he slipped past me to return to the couch. I followed his feet again back to the couch and just hung my head as low as possible from the couch. “Dude,” he said as he jumped up from his seat about spit up his beer. “You’re starting to freak me out.” My eyes were still locked on his feet.
“I’m sorry, but I just can’t help but stare at your beautiful feet.” I sounded like a pre-teen boy who just saw his first pair of female breasts. If he did not think I was weird before I knew he did now, but I did not care. Dierk sat down trying to stay cool. He raised up one heel while pointing his massive toes to the floor.
“So what size are they?” I asked, “I mean shoe size?”
“I can fit into a 16 even though a 17 is sometimes more comfortable.” He said. I could not help it anymore. This uncontrollable urge made me get down on my hands and knees and inch my way closer to his massive puppies. He did not seem to care that I helped myself to raise his right foot and begin massaging it. “Have you ever had a foot rub before?” I asked him.
“Can’t say that I have,” he said as he guzzled his beer and looked at the ceiling. He must have been pretty parched. “Have you ever done this before?” He asked, “Feels like you know what you’re doing.” I had no idea what I was doing as I’d never been as close to a pair of feet until now. As I massaged I started running my tongue up and down his wet soles and between each toe. His toes were like lollipops in my mouth. If only I could bite into them to see what was in the center.
Then suddenly Dierk yanked his feet away from me, sat down his beer bottle, and then jumped from his seat. “Wow,” he said, “My my look at the time. I better get to bed.” He faked a yawn, dashed to his bedroom and slammed the door. Did I say or do something wrong?
I went to bed a little bit later, but I could not sleep. I thought about my Ph.D. and everything that my family expected of me. What good would all this research do down the road? I might have a thesis in one of the greatest university libraries in the country, but who would read it? I graduated high school at 15, undergrad at 18, and graduate school at 19 suddenly it all seemed for nothing. Here I was 20 years old on my way to a doctorate, but yet had I truly been that successful in my life? I just was not happy with how my life turned out.
That night I had a peculiar dream. It was about Dierk, but he was the size of the empire state building. He ordered me to service his feet. So with my tiny hands I went up and down every inch of his feet. I worshipped and massaged and then Dierk shrank to his normal size. He turned me around and fucked me. Then he slammed me on the floor and trampled me. What an awesome way to die, I thought.
I woke up and I sat up in my bed and decided that I no longer needed this doctorate. Screw my family. Screw anything that I have ever earned in my life! All I needed was right there in the next room. From then on Dierk’s feet became my life. I was raised without religion, but I had found my god, my salvation, and my eternity. No matter what happened, my master’s feet were number one and they alone were my source of happiness.
So I got up from my bed. I walked out of my bedroom and went across the small hallway to his bedroom door. I cracked open the door and crawled across his room to the foot of the bed. Lifting up the comforter and sheets I was greeted by the same great musty smell of his bare feet as they dangled off the end of the bed. It’s as if they were hands being held out to hold me. As I massaged and licked them I heard changes in his breathing.
The sun came up and Dierk’s alarm clock went off. He pulled the covers back. We looked at each other. He smiled and waved at me and I returned the wave as his two big toes were deep in the back of my throat. He reached up, patted me on the head and said with such content, “Okay boy, I need to get up.” Could it be that he actually appreciated my worshipping his feet? By the time he came back from the shower with the towel still wrapped around him, I had prepared breakfast for him. He needed the energy if he was going to be on his big, pretty feet all day.
While he ate I quickly cleaned any dirt that he would have gotten from the bathroom or carpet off his feet. Dierk has this rare condition called hyperhidrosis. It’s where your feet and hands are clammy and sweaty all the time. When walking across the kitchen linoleum floor or the bathroom tile, he leaves a footprint as if he had just gotten out of the shower. Walking across carpet made his feet take a lot of lint and dirt.
His feet are just far too perfect to have the slightest speck of dirt on them. Without saying a word he tapped me on the head. He handed me his dirty dishes. I dashed to the kitchen and dashed back. Next Dierk pointed to his closet. I picked out a shirt and a pair of pants. Then he clapped his hands and said, “shoes!” I crawled back into the room after I found his shoes. I gave my master’s feet one long last kiss before they disappeared behind a thick wall of leather.
I lay on the couch all day going in and out of consciousness eagerly waiting for the door to open and see my master return. I did nothing else all day except wait. Late in the afternoon I heard him turn the key. I jumped up from the couch as he turned the knob and came through the door. I fetched a beer for him before we played a little game. I pulled his shoes off, and he made me chase his feet around the couch on all fours. After a few laps I jumped over the couch almost hurting myself and wrapped my arms around his oak trunk legs.
“Good Boy,” he said as he pats me on the head, “You like that don’t you.” I resumed worshiping his for the rest of the night. It seemed like in no time he picked me up and carried me across the threshold to his bedroom. He slammed me down on the bed. Within seconds our clothes we were down to just our underwear. Dierk stood over me and moved his big puppies across my bulge.
“You got a pretty good bulge going,” he said as his feet started to pull my briefs down past my dick. “Wow,” he was surprised by my dick size apparently. “For someone who is real short you’ve got a great sized cock. It’s almost as big as you are!” I had never heard someone say that before, but then again I had nothing to compare it with since I had never seen another one until now. Either way next to Dierk’s foot my dick looked like a cocktail wiener (no pun intended).
With my volcanic bare cock fitting between his big toes, it did not take long until I warmed his feet with my white fizz. As I hoped he would, he rubbed his feet together and then placed them right over my nose so I could smell them and lick the cum off. He put his feet back on my dick and stroked until I fizzed again, and again. After the third cleaning, he got up and exposed his huge cock, “hey, Ryan, what do you think about that myth about guys with big feet?” If I wasn’t in heaven before I certainly was once I saw his cock. It had to have been a whole twelve inches long if not twenty. “Get over here,” he ordered grabbing me by the hair, and shoving his foot long sausage deep into my mouth. It barely fit it was so huge. He forced it in a few times causing me to gag.
Then he picked me up and turned me around. I thought that he might break his big cock if he tries to push it into my tiny virgin asshole. I don’t know how, but he did it, and I had never been sorer in my life the next few days. He climbed into bed, held me tight in his arms and kissed me on the forehead. Then when I woke again and saw that it was close to time for him to get up, I went at his feet again so that he could start his day right.
And every day since then I began the day and ended each day at his feet massaging, worshiping, and keeping them clean. I make sure he has a beer for when he’s thirsty and food for when he’s hungry. Since I cannot bear the thought of his gorgeous feet getting dirty, I do everything for him. I take his shoes off as soon as he gets home and I make every effort to make sure his bare feet never touch the floor. He stays reclined on the couch with his long legs dangling off the coffee table. I wait on him hand and…well you get the idea. About three or four days a week he likes to go for a run. He wants to put socks on even though I prefer that he not. Don’t get me wrong his feet smell pretty good after he jogs with socks on, but, am I in pure heaven when he jogs without them and he knows it!
I stopped doing all my doctorate research. I may not have the wall of Ivy League degrees that I’ve always wanted, but the pleasure of just one second at my master’s feet makes it all worth it. Yale gave me funding for three years to complete my research. They still gave me checks for my research and living expenses as long as once every six months I presented something that looked like a thesis. However, I spent every last penny on something far more important to my life. In addition to making sure my master has enough beer and food each month, I spend all that remains on lotions, oils, and anything else to treat his feet like the royalty they deserve. I have everything I need. Why would I need to spend any money on myself?
One year for either his birthday, or maybe it was Christmas I don’t remember, I decided to spend my last check on something really special. I bought him a footbath. I don’t mean that cheap kind on the shelf of Target or Wal-Mart. I’m talking the big professional kind like they use at the nail salons. Believe me it was not cheap. He was super excited when I showed it to him, but he insisted I take it back. He told me he does not need an expensive footbath since he already has the best footbath at home for free. I love it when he says stuff like that. This was about the same time that he took out all the carpet in the apartment and but in wood floor. So when Dierk has to walk across the floor and leaves a big wet foot print, I follow closely behind on my knees licking up his foot prints.
My master is always rubbing my head scratching my ears, my chin, and my belly. He gives me a cookie and tells me I’m a good boy for fetching his shoes, cooking his dinner, for keeping his feet clean and soft, and licking up his foot prints. I often feel like telling him how much I love him and appreciate him letting me be at his feet, but I do not need to speak to him. My body language, my smile, my eyes, and so much more do all the talking for me. I never feel worthy making eye contact with him, and I do not even feel worthy eating the same food that he eats. Instead I help myself to a bowl of dry cereal and some water beside the couch. Sometimes he’ll pick me up and lay my head on his chest, but I know and he knows I belong on the floor.
Around the time that my grant funding ran out, Dierk got a promotion at work. He ran the coffee shop where we met as manager for a little while until he made enough money to open his own coffee shop. In no time he owned and ran two and then three coffee shops. It meant a lot more time for him to be at work and I did not get to see him as often. However, the extra hours meant he would need me at his feet that much more.
It was also around this time that Dierk started hanging out with friends. He started playing basketball, football, and would bring friends over late at night for beers and pizza; his friends adore how I do everything for him with or without command.
I remember one time that one of his friends jokingly asked if he could “borrow” me and let me be his slave for a while. I did not want to, but I knew it was not my call. As I started to crawl over to his friend, I suddenly heard a roar, “No!” It was the only time I heard my master speak in such a tone. I crouched very low on the floor because I did not know what to expect next. “The little man belongs to me and no one else,” he said. Then he turned to look at me, “Ain't that right buddy.” His tone changed to that of one speaking to an infant, “You’re mine and nobody else’s aren’t you?” I smiled as he ordered, “Come over here put your face under daddy’s feet.” I crawled over to him. He placed his giant soles on my face, and I began nibbling on his toes. I didn’t deserve to be so happy.
