The Reluctant Master
by Nutherlover
My name’s Declan, twenty-two, blond, slate-gray eyes that always look like they’re sizing up trouble. I’m toned enough to pass for someone who works out, even if I don’t. Tariq always said I moved like a guy who didn’t know his own strength — lanky, loose, unpredictable.
Tariq was eighteen, built like he’d been carved out of stubbornness and summer heat. Six feet tall, tobacco-brown skin, shoulders that made every T-shirt look like it was trying too hard. He had this way of looking at me like he was trying to figure out what made me tick, like I was some busted machine he was half tempted to fix.
One of the things he liked was feet. My feet were a size 13 (11.7 I/29.7 cm) and they sent Tariq’s foot fetish craving off the chart. He was also into something a little weirder: somnophilia. In other words, he liked to worship my feet (suck my toes, lick my soles etc.) while I was unconscious.
Yes, really.
I’d actually go as far as to take a couple of tablets of Midazolam (a strong, fast-acting sedative), knock myself cold and let Tariq have his way with my feet while I’m passed out. Really.
Tariq and I were good together — weird, sure, but good. Two people who didn’t fit anywhere else, somehow fitting with each other.
But the day I told him about MY fantasy, everything shifted. The air got heavier, like the room was suddenly too small for both of us.
He stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Man… all that slavery roleplay stuff? It’s just weird to me.”
“Because you’re Black?” I asked, stupidly, like I didn’t already know the answer.
“That’s part of it, yeah.”
“But I’m the one playing the slave,” I said, like that fixed anything.
“It still makes me uncomfortable.”
I felt something twist in my chest — frustration, embarrassment, maybe both. “Come on. We’ve tried your stuff. You could at least try mine.”
He gave a sly smile. “You try MY stuff because, after you wake up, I fuck you like a sewing machine until you pass out all over again.”
“True enough, but this is something personal that I’ve always wanted to. Come on! Next week is my birthday … this could be an early present, ‘Riq! And again, I’d be the slave and you’d be the master…”
He looked away, exhaled hard through his nose. The kind of sigh that sounded like it had weight to it. “It’s not the same, Declan.”
“Why not?”
“Because history doesn’t hit you the way it hits me.”
The room went quiet. Not peaceful quiet — the kind that buzzes under your skin, the kind that makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something sharp.
I didn’t know what to say. I just stood there, feeling the distance between us stretch like a crack in concrete.
Finally, Tariq rubbed his face and muttered, “Alright… alright. Let’s give it a try.”
But his voice didn’t sound like agreement.
It sounded like surrender.
And that was the moment I realized our strange little world wasn’t as simple as I thought
Still, it wasn’t long at all before we got undressed and down to S & M business. My master was wearing a black speedo which purposely revealed just how big his unit was.
I knelt on the floor next to Tariq. My new master was idly stroking my blond head while deciding what he was going to do to me.
For dinner Tariq ate barbecued ribs at a table while I ate beef scrap in dog dish while kneeling naked on the floor. Well, almost naked. I was wearing a collar and a leash.
I nuzzled Tariq's knee. And he yanked on my leash to pull me close to him.
My Master then pulled his cock out of his speedo. It was big, black hard and already glistening with pre come. It was much darker than the rest of his body. This had fascinated me since the first time I’d seen him naked. He smirked at me. "Do you want this, boy?"
"Y-yes Master Tariq. I want it. Please give me your dick." I tried to take the cock into my mouth but Tariq kept pulling away—taunting me.
"I don't know if I believe you, boy. if you want it, then prove it by telling me you’re a worthless pale-skinned tiny-balled little faggot so stupid that, if brains were leather, you wouldn’t have enough to make a saddle for a flea an—”
I frowned in outrage. “Hey, there’s a line, T!”
“You wanted to play this game, Dec. Don’t punk-out on me now!”
And he shoved his cock right into my mouth.
I sucked on it tenderly, keeping eye contact with him because I knew this would turn him on even if he didn’t say it. It wasn’t long before I started feeling dizzy from pure bliss. Eventually I felt the cock in my mouth pull away and felt his cum shoot all over my face. Once the last drop hit me, he smiled devilishly.
“Are you about to pass out? Good! Play dead!”
“Huh?”
“Play dead … like a dog.”
“But I—”
“Boy, pretend to pass out before I hit you upside the head with this dick and KNOCK you out! Uh, your Master has like, you know, spoken an’ shit….”
“Well, this is a kind of a sneaky way to indulge in your own kinks, but—”
“Declan!”
“Okay. Okay, Master!”
And with a lot of dramatic theatrical flourish, I pretended to get overwhelmed with dizziness and collapsed limply to the floor.
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…!!!!”
I remained still on that floor while Tariq knelt and started licking my big bare feet. I “played dead” and just lay there as if I fainted, got knocked out or died.
I’d gotten to be really good at pretending to be unconscious, but it wasn’t long before the pleasurable sensation truly began to make my head spin. Soon Tariq was thoroughly licking my feet while I lay there REALLY fading in and out of consciousness. And when I wasn’t half fainting, I tried to fight off the laughter… but It was as if his tongue was the most ticklish-inducing things I'd ever felt! Soon I couldn’t fake being passed out anymore. I mean my Master’s warm, wet tongue vacillated across my soles, lapping again and again, stimulating me mercilessly. Tariq went about tongue-bathing my feet as if he were on a mission and the act was driving me into spasms.
I blacked-out for a second, Tariq used that secondto seize my right foot and began to lick the sole wildly. He sucked my toes, moving his tongue between them and getting the sweet taste of each toe. He licked hungrily under my toes, inserting his tongue between the undersides of them. I giggled, indicating the very ticklish spots. His tongue darted wildly around the bottoms of my sensitive digits, savoring the taste. Then he shifted to my arch and I giggled. My size 13 feet were pretty soft and smooth. He kissed the tips of my toes, sucking each one individually. I uttered a barely audible moan in appreciation of my Master’s ministrations.
He lifted my left foot to his lips to suck my toes. My other foot was in his lap and was dutifully teasing his big, throbbing cock. I rubbed my sole slowly back and forth over the bulbous tip, clearly sending chills through my Master’s unit as he dutifully made oral love to my other foot. I ran my left foot back and forth over the underside of his dick and teased the glans and head with my toes … Toes that were getting wet with pre-cum. So, my Master lifted my foot from his lap and sucked my now wet toes . . . tasting the slightly salty juices that had dribbled from his own engorged penis.
Then he paused to grab the duffle bag full of bondage/s & m paraphernalia he’d purchased for this occasion.
I didn't speak or offer resistance as he tied my ankles--in fact I held my bare feet together cooperatively while he bound them. I was simply submitting to my Master’s will—allowing my hands to be tied as well.
Tariq’s big, tobacco brown hands roamed all over my body. He’d always liked the smoothness of my pale skin, and--to be honest--I really enjoyed the feel of his strong, massaging hands. I lay upon the carpeted floor, lying on my bound hands, and looking up at the hot brawny black stud who was subduing me. He stroked my thighs and calves while I lay there ...on my back with my penis dribbling precum shamelessly.
My Master paused for a moment, clearly contemplating what he was going to do next. I waited, wiggling my toes nervously.
Tariq reached down, and his big index finger brushed along the length of my instep.
"Hehehehe, that tickles, master!!"
Tariq’s index finger's pressure increased just enough to make my foot jerk and wiggle almost spasmodically. I began to giggle harder.
"Hahahahaha, p-please master, hahahaha, oh gosh that tickles, oh hahahaha hahaha.."
Now my Master pulled my toes back a little, and started scratching his nails along the entire length of my very ticklish soles.
I erupted into a full-scale belly laugh, "NOOOOO . . . Aghhh-hahahahaha, nooo HAHAHAHAHAHA . . . STOPPP!!!"
My Master’s fingers scratched along the base of my wiggling toes.
"WAHHOOOOO!!!! PLEASE MASTER!! IT TICKLES, hahahaha, it TICKLES!!!, HAHAHAHAHAHA, HAHAHAHAHA!!! PLEEEEZE, STOP, MASTER!!! hahahahahaha, WAHHOOOOO!!! hahahahahahaha!! NO MORE, hahahaha, not my toes, please!!!!"
Tariq only paused for a moment, and I nearly fainted with terror when I noticed that my Master was now armed with a toothbrush—a well-known instrument of tickle torture.
But before he employed the use of it, Tariq took the time to gently kiss each of my toes and down my feet and around to my insteps. I giggled and cooed like a happy baby. He then spread each of my toes and licked and blew the tender spaces between them. He licked and kissed my feet, then caressed and massaged them. Laughing uproariously, I threw my head back in shear spiritual bliss. I strained desperately at my bound hands and ankles, gasping for breath between every jarring laugh. Tariq then spread my tender toes apart and brushed in between them vigorously with the toothbrush. I shot my load--feeling hot wet cream splash every which-way just before I passed out cold!
From what I was later told, Tariq took advantage of my unconscious body the way he’d always had; By moving his face closer in between my soles in order to lick them all over again. When I began to come to, my Master was sniffing—deeply inhaling the odor of my feet and verbally declaring that the sweaty fragrance was overwhelming his senses. He moved his nose up and down the smooth bottoms of my feet, tickling them and forcing me to bend my toes and wrinkle my soles in an attempt at minimizing this new tickling stimulation. I began to giggle like crazy—my wrists and ankles unconsciously struggling against the nylon ropes that bound them together. Escape was useless, of course. Tariq pressed his lips against my right sole and took a deep breath—smelling my bare feet some more. Then he extended his tongue to taste the salt of my sole once again.
“That feels incredible, Master!” I exclaimed truthfully. “This entire experience felt incredible. And not just because I was conscious enough to enjoy most of it this time …”
“That’s good to hear, slave … Because we’re about to do EVERYTHING all over again!”
I fainted upon hearing that.