Mr. Colbert is Real
“Hi, Mr. Colbert. I heard you wanted to see me. Did you need me to pull the research for tomorrow's monologue, or is there something else you need help with?”
I’m standing at the doorway to Mr. Stephen Colbert's office. He flashes me a puzzled smirk and clicks his tongue.
“Forget the research for a moment and close the door. I’ve been reviewing your file, and I’ve noticed a certain... softness in your demeanor that I think we should address.”
I walked inside, and shut his thick wooden door shut. His office is filled with massive bookshelves and polished mahogany lined the walls. In the center of the room sits his desk, a sleek dark wood table with just a few papers and a pen set. I then respond to Mr. Colbert.
“What do you mean by a softness Mr. Colbert?
He chuckles.
"Oh, don't play the innocent, it's tedious."
Stephen didn't look up from his desk, his voice dropping into a lower, more commanding register. He leaned back in his leather chair, the expensive fabric of his suit stretching across his shoulders.
"The way you carry yourself, the way you look at me is a very specific kind of meekness. You're a bit of a sissy, aren't you?”
I’m shocked by his bluntness. I mean wasn’t Mr. Colbert pretty liberal, I never expected that type of language from him. With a careful tone I respond.
“A what…? I’m a bit shocked Mr. Colbert. I mean I have been staring at your shoes from time to time but that's it. I’m not a-”
Cutting me off he clicks his tongue again.
"Staring at my shoes, are you?"
Mr. Colbert smiles. He didn't seem offended; if anything, he looked amused by the admission. He slowly reached down and began unlacing his polished oxfords, the rhythmic click of the leather laces hitting the floor sounding like a countdown.
"It's a natural instinct, really. A little faggot like you knows exactly where he belongs, down here, looking up at a real mans feet"
He kicked the shoes aside and slid his socks off, revealing large, powerful, white bare feet. He crossed one leg over the other, wiggling his toes with a sense of absolute ownership. As his powerful toes wiggle I am mesmerized and frozen in place. I decided this weird day must be a result of drinking too much caffeine earlier. I decide to de-scalate the situation but can’t go against my nature.
“Wow your feet are huge, and so manly looking. I-I wait sorry I wasn't supposed to say that. I should get going sir.”
I turn around to leave quickly before I make a fool of myself any further.
"Going somewhere?"
Mr. Colbert’s voice snapped like a whip, cutting through the air. He didn't move from his seat, but the command in his tone was absolute, anchoring me to the spot. He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his mahogany desk and propping his chin in his hand, his eyes locking onto the trembling employee with a look of cold amusement.
"You don't just walk away when I'm speaking to you, you pathetic little faggot. Your interest in my feet tells me everything I need to know."
He shifted his position, extending one large, bare foot forward and pressing it firmly against my thigh, claiming the space.
"Now, get down on the floor. I want you exactly where a little fag belongs."
My breath quickened, and my heart felt like it was hammering against my ribs. The warmth of Mr. Colbert’s bare sole pressing into my thigh felt like a branding, much like cattle and their masters. I looked up at Mr. Colbert, seeing the absolute certainty in the man's eyes, and felt my own resolve crumble.
I then sank to my knees.
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Colbert let out a low, guttural chuckle. He didn't see me as his employee anymore.
"Look at you. Just a second ago you were trying to run away, and now you're exactly where you're meant to be,"
Mr. Colbert sneered, his voice dripping with a mixture of disdain and satisfaction. He slowly lifted his foot from my thigh and pressed it squarely against my cheek, pushing his head back slightly.
"A pathetic little faggot like you doesn't get to decide when he's done. You get to be useful to me. And right now, my feet are feeling the fatigue of a long day."
I felt like I was in pure ecstasy now and decided to release myself of any inhibitions.
“How did you find out I was interested in serving you sir? I tried so hard to fit in and not show it.”
Mr. Colbert laughed…hard.
"You think you were hiding it?"
He sneered, his voice dripping with a cold, clinical amusement. Then he pressed his bare sole harder against my face, grinding it slightly to make me feel every ridge of his skin.
"Your 'disguise' was transparent, you pathetic faggot. The way you flutter, the way you scramble to please, it's written all over your faggot face."
He withdrew his foot from my face, only to wiggle his toes provocatively right in front of my nose.
"The fact that you thought you could hide your nature from me is almost as laughable as your attempt to leave the room. Now, stop whining and start showing me how much a little fag appreciates a real man's feet. "
I didn't need to be told twice. The command acted like a trigger, snapping the last remnants of his professional composure. He leaned forward, his chest heaving as he lowered his face toward the expanse of Stephen's bare soles. As he got closer, the scent hit him—a potent, masculine mixture of expensive leather from the oxfords and the natural, salty musk of a man who had spent the day in high-end tailoring.
I began to sniff deeply, my nostrils flaring as I inhaled the scent of Mr.Colber’s bare feet. A desperate, guttural panting escaped my throat. I had a shortness of breath coming in like a rabid dog in heat. I was completely mesmerized by the sheer size and dominance of the big feet before me. His pale feet covered me like the moon casting its light over the night sky. Overwhelmed by a surge of submission, I began to press frantic, open-mouthed kisses across his arches and the smooth heels. My lips grazed the skin with a hunger that bordered on obsession.
"They smell so... so manly, sir!"
Mr. Colbert leaned back, his eyes half-closing in a state of smug ecstasy as he felt the wet, frantic heat of my mouth against his skin. He didn't move a muscle, allowing me to scramble and pant like a stray dog at his feet.
"That's it, you pathetic faggot," Mr. Colbert exclaimed.
He pressed his toes firmly against my lips before forcing his toes down my mouth.
"This is exactly what I needed. To feel a little fag's desperation against my soles is the only way to truly unwind after a day of dealing with the mindless audiences."
He chuckled, a cold, rhythmic sound that filled the quiet office.
"My wife is a dignified woman, but she's far too refined for this. She could never serve me with the raw, pathetic hunger that a faggot can. Now lick them clean you faggot foot licker!"
I let out a muffled moan against Mr. Colbert's smelly feet. He didn't hesitate as my tongue darted out to swipe across the broad, calloused surface of his soles. I felt small, insignificant, and utterly consumed by the task, my eyes fluttering shut as I focused entirely on the texture and scent of a real man’s feet, Mr. Colbert’s feet.
"Yes, sir... I'll lick them clean, sir," I whimpered.
I moved to the toes, taking each one into my mouth with a wet, sucking sound. Mr. Colbert let out a long, shaky sigh of contentment. He felt the wet warmth of my tongue swirling around his toes, and it only reinforced the natural order of things: a powerful man at the top, and a pathetic faggot at the bottom.
"God, you really are a thirsty little faggot, aren't you?"
He leaned back, pressing his heel firmly into the center of my mouth. I began sucking on his large white heels as he laughed at me.
"Look at you, panting and drooling over my skin. It’s almost poetic. A faggot who knows his place is the only kind of faggot that's actually useful."
He suddenly pressed his big toe deep into my mouth, pushing it past my teeth with a firm, authoritative pressure.
"Don't stop. I want every single inch of these soles glistening. Lick the spaces between my toes, you disgusting little faggot. Show me just how much you love being my foot-slave queer seat."
My eyes nearly rolled back in my head as the sheer size of Mr. Colbert’s toe filled my mouth.
"Mmmph... yes, sir, you own me, I love being your faggot foot lover”
Mr. Colbert threw his head back and laughed.
"Do you feel that, you pathetic faggot? That's the weight of a real man. That's the natural order of the world."
He grinded his salty, sweat-soaked sole directly into my open mouth, savoring the way I gasped for air around his skin.
"Being a real man means exactly this: stomping a faggot into the dirt and making him lick every drop of sweat off my feet. You were born for this, you little sissy. Born to be under me, born to crave the scent of my skin, and born to serve a master who finds you utterly repulsive yet useful."
He leaned forward, his blue eyes cold and piercing.
"Don't you ever forget it. Your only purpose in this office…your only value as a human being…is to be a foot-slave for a real man. Now, get back to work. Lick every single toe until they're glistening, you disgusting faggot!"
And that’s how I became Mr. Colbert’s personal foot slave.