by Tom Mark
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“Fuck you, you son of a bitch!” The young man’s eyes were filled with hate and contempt. Trying to maintain his dignity in his restrained position was difficult, but his determination not to acquiesce to the evils to which his captors would soon subject him was strong. He fought the pain formed from his stretched body and desperately avoided contorted facial expressions, but to no avail.
Jack Freeman smirked casually at the young man before him, menacingly twirling a long feather between his cruel fingers. “That was definitely the wrong thing to say,” he replied. Being Head Disciplinarian at the Northern Prison, Freeman was not the sort of man that appreciated being taken lightly. He knew that feather had not even begun to torment its victim, and had many, many special techniques of executing the most unendurable tickle torture to demand respect.
The young man was actually only a boy of 19, but had fought bravely as a soldier before finally being captured by the Bilmods. It was a Bilmod custom that prisoners of war undergo three to five mandatory interrogation sessions within the first several days of entering the prison to find out what they knew. And Freeman was well aware that this hunky boy before him knew more than he was letting on. But although he was the son of a high-ranking officer in the Serantine army and privy to much information, he had heard there were others who knew more. He wanted what information he could get out of this boy, but also to find out how he could get in contact with others, who were even more knowledgeable about the war secrets he needed.
“Name?” Freeman asked.
“Fuck you! I don’t know anything! You’re wasting your time!”
“Well,” replied Freeman with a long sigh, a comic attempt to feign disappointment, “even if you don’t know anything, I wouldn’t say I’m wasting my time. It’s such a pleasure when I get a stubborn inmate like you, who’s determined not to spill the goods. I like to see how much of a reaction I can get and how long I can make the suffering last.”
The boy was becoming noticeably nervous as he listened to Freeman’s threats of abuse. And seeing that he was fastened into a chair with his hands suspended in the air and his socked feet extended before him through a set of tightly locked stocks, he was quickly awakening to his dire situation and need to cooperate. The air in the dank room was icy, and his naked torso quivered, reminding him that his sparse clothing, consisting only of a pair of boxers and ankle socks, would not fight the chill. Yet the cool air did not prevent tiny beads of sweat from forming on his forehead underneath his short, brown hair.
“Who knows, boy? Torturing you might turn out to be amusing. Just look at your muscles. Man, you’re a fucking sexy boy to toy with.”
“Kiss my ass, you fucking pervert!” The prisoner blushed and turned his head. His voice softened; he did not whimper, but his tone became obsequious, all the same. “You know you can’t get away with torturing me.” His voice, still soft and deferent, quivered from fear of endless pain.
Smirking once again, Freeman approached him, examining his night’s entertainment more closely and touching the thick muscles on his upper arms. “Why can’t I? Who will ever know? You’re just a toy, my sex slave. Even if I don’t get any information out of you, I’ll still get a turn on.”
“What? Are you some kinda perv? You get off on torturing boys? You’re a psycho freak, you know it?”
Freeman stared directly into his captive’s eyes never once dismissing the smirk from his face. He was already noticeably aroused, as the challenge of punishing a prisoner into submission always excited him. This punishment would be no exception. What innocence! The boy had no idea what was going to happen to him. Freeman feasted on the fear in the boy’s eyes, fear he could not hide, regardless of his relentless effort.
“You might say I’m a ‘perv,’” he replied beginning to slowly walk in circles around the boy, examining every exposed inch of his still trembling body. The smooth flesh enticed him. The savage temptation to begin playing with that body and forcing it into a squirming frenzy was almost impossible to resist. But he did. The end result would only be sweeter for waiting. The games he would play with the boy’s mind, games he had played so many times before and knew well how to play, would menace the half-naked form before him and exacerbate the cruelties that would soon ravage him. “I have many sexual interests,” he continued as he walked and stared. Pausing right next to the boy’s head and torso, his face neared that of his prisoner, his lips but half an inch from the boy’s right ear. Freeman’s warm breath tickled that ear, the venom dripping from his speech as he added, “But right now, you’re it. I’m gonna make you beg and squirm from torture like you never knew existed.” Resuming his sauntering turns around the restraint device, Freeman could feel his warm cock harden as the anxiety that flaunted itself on the boy’s face augmented. “Now, I wonder if those tootsies sticking out of the stocks are as beautiful as the rest of you,” Freeman stated nonchalantly as he approached the boy’s feet. The captor’s sexual malevolence radiated from him and pierced his victim’s soul. “Let’s find out, shall we?”
“No,” the boy replied shaking his head half from nervousness caused by his feet’s sensitivity, half from his desperation to avoid the unendurable torture he knew Freeman was capable of. “Please! Don’t take my socks off!” The boy’s body tensed, his breathing growing faster and deeper.
“I repeat, what’s your name, boy?”
“Fuck you Sir! It’s Chris Adams.”
“Ah, your feet are so soft and vulnerable.” Freeman lightly brushed his hand against the bottoms of his captive’s socked feet. The prisoner jolted and filled the air with a boyish giggle. Betraying his ticklishness and cursing the unfeeling restraints, his feet failed in their struggling attempts to escape the torture. As if bowing before their captor and begging for mercy, his toes curled to beseech him. Those helpless digits could not understand the cruelty Freeman displayed, and almost visibly wondered why he would so maliciously mistreat appendages so seemingly insignificant. The boy took some comfort from the socks which temporarily covered his feet, and hopelessly prayed his tormentor would change his mind, have mercy on his wretched feet and toes, and decide not to drive his body into a mad fury.
To the tickle slave’s horror, Freeman took his hands and reached underneath both of his ankles, tucking his evil fingers underneath the boy’s socks and threatening the still unknown flesh hidden there. The boy, paralyzed with fear, watched as his tormentor slowly moved the edges of those socks down his ankle toward the base of his foot and painstakingly exposed inch after ticklish inch of the soles of his bare feet. As if relishing the moment of conclusion to a great mystery, the socks passed his ankles, exposing the knobby bones and pink flesh on the sides, and approached his heel where a slightly darker color manifested itself. Narrow ankles led to wide heels, which then meticulously led to high arches, a strong, fat, fleshy ball on each foot, and then ten long, crooked, thick, toes - the epitome of perfection.
Though Freeman did not openly expose his lust, his mouth watered secretly as his own horny desires commanded him to impose insufferable torture on those two flawless specimens forced by restraint to endure any whimsical evil he chose to inflict. They implored him to burden those ten naughty toes with mercilessly ticklish stimulation impossible even for the greatest stoic to ignore. His cock stood at attention as he pondered where to begin.
“We can put this off if you’re willing to give me some information, Chris,” Freeman said, the smirk still planted on his face. The boy’s eyes were wide, full of terror, as he slowly nodded and unfalteringly watched the feather pointed at his bare feet. This boy could not escape; he would suffer. The question was, how long could he stall his captor? “So you’re going to be a good boy now that your socks are gone and you know I mean business, eh?”
Once again, the boy’s eyes still fixed on the heartless instrument of torture waving in front of his toes, he nodded his head. “Yes Master.”
“In the brief years you’ve spent as a young soldier in the Serantine military, what would you say your most interesting experience has been? I want to know the culture of your people, what makes them tick. I want to know everything.”
The boy listened intently to the question but never once moved his eyes from the feather, as if watching an angry wasp hovering in front of him. He knew the sting would come, but when? His master quickly grew impatient and waved the feather closer to the boy’s fleshy soles until the very tip barely scraped the edge of his heel. “No, pleeease! I’ll tell you!” His master grinned as he discreetly adjusted his growing cock while lifting his eyebrows to let the boy know he was interested.
“Our military focuses on discipline. All the boys start training at a very young age so that by the time we turn 18, we’re able to serve in the army, navy, or the cavalry. I begged for the army or the cavalry because I knew what the guys in the navy had to endure.”
The intrigue showed clearly on Freeman’s face as it lit up with interest. “So the boy’s in the navy have it the roughest? Why is that?”
“Punishment is the key motivator in our military. The navy has the worst punishments and conditions of living. When you start out in the navy, you’re sent out on a ship to train for three years. During that time, you’re not allowed to wear a shirt or anything on your feet, unless there’s danger of frostbite. A lot of the boys’ skin gets scorched in the sun or chapped in the cold. They have to do the worst work on the ship. They have to scrub the decks on their hands and knees with brushes. Sometimes there are foreman that stand over them with a whip. But I’d take the whip any day compared to what they can do to you if they’re real mad at you.”
“Well, since we’re talking about the navy, what can they do to you if they’re ‘real mad at you?’”
“Every Monday they have Punishment Call where all the boys that’ve broken the rules during the week get what’s coming to them. The captain of the ship serves as the judge and can decide whatever punishment he wants the boys to receive. Usually it’s a bunch of different things, but it always involves torture. But not normal torture. The navy is brutal!”
“Hmm. Go on.”
“The boys that get assigned to a particular torture are sent to a designated room below in the ship. There are usually five or six guys in one torture room at a time. There’s also one torturer assigned to each boy, and one of the captain’s assistants supervises. The guys are restrained in a number of ways, but a lot of times their hands are tied above them with some rope while they’re practically hanging, their bare feet barely touching the floor. They’re left like that for a while, and then just when they’re out of it, the torturer goes up to the boy and jabs him in the side, mercilessly tickling his ribs. The torture has been known to last as long as three hours with occasional rest periods if one of the guys has really pissed the captain off. And it’s almost impossible not to break the rules cause they’re so strict.”
Freeman noticed the boy was relaxing now as if enjoying talking about other boys’ torture. He thought Chris was becoming too comfortable and started moving the feather toward his bare feet again, which caused the boy’s eyes, once again, to widen. He slowly shook his head, and the tiny beads of perspiration continued forming.
“Are the punishments the only reason you didn’t want to go into the navy, boy?” asked Freeman as he lightly ran the feather over the boy’s soles for two or three seconds causing him to wiggle his feet and fan out his toes.
“Noooooo, pleeeease!” he begged. “I’ve got more info for you!”
“All right.”
“There’s more than just the punishments on the ship. A lot of times the higher ranking officers are real pervs. I don’t get it, but a lot of ‘em get off on the guys’ feet. They’ll go into the barracks late at night and play with them, and none of the guys ever say anything cause they get tortured enough as it is. They’ll go and wake up one of the guys while the others pretend to sleep, hoping they won’t be next. Then the officers start nibbling on their toes and licking their soles. But some of the guys like it and get off on it, too. So a lot of times, the officers’ll take one of the barefoot boys with a foot fetish into another room deep in the bowels of the ship where they’ll play with their feet for hours and hours. They rub oil all over the boys’ bodies, sometimes two or three at a time. Then they make the boys lick each other’s feet and even massage them with their cocks. Every now and then one of the guys will get so horny he’ll spew all over the other guy’s feet.”
“Yes, boy, but that hardly seems like anything to be deathly afraid of.”
“Well, a lot of the guys are more afraid of the punishments than the foot thing. Of course, that’s why they have to go barefoot, cause so many of the officers like seeing beautiful boy feet all the time. But another thing they do is take the boys deep into the ship and force them to worship the officers’ feet. They remove their boots and their smelly, sweaty socks and make the boys kneel on the ground. Then the officers sit in a stool and shove their feet in the boys’ faces and make them lick their toes and massage them with oil. The officers really get a kick out of that, so to speak. But some of the guys even get off on it.”
“So how do the officers decide who will worship their feet?”
“Well, a lot of times it’s used as one of the punishments. So a lot of the guys will break the rules on purpose hoping they get to worship the officers’ feet. But there’s no guarantee. If the captain is feeling cruel, he’ll order the boy tickled instead. And that’s not all. If the captain is real mad with the boy, he’ll even order the officers to mercilessly tickle the boy’s feet. And their methods are pretty ruthless. They have lots of scientific ways of making the guys go out of their minds with the torture. They’ve got special ways to make feathers and even injections they can give the guys to make them extremely ticklish for several hours. A lot of the boys go into convulsions and end up in tears from the terrible torture.”
“I understand your brother is in the navy, isn’t he?”
“Yes Master.”
“What is his name and how old is he, Chris?”
The captive silently glared at his interrogator. He was determined not to betray any secrets that would put his brother in danger, but Freeman was unmoved. He turned and walked toward the bare feet of his new slave and terrorized them with his feather. The boy gritted his teeth, desperately squinted his eyes, and threw his head back waiting for the torture.
“Please Sir! Jacob, Sir! He’s 20, just a year older than me!”
“What ship is he on, and how long has he been there?” Freeman asked slowly moving the feather over the boy’s sensitive soles.
“Nooooo! Please! Two years, Sir! Aaaaaaahh!” He squirmed and writhed as much as his restraints would allow, but Freeman was relentless. He knew he had the boy right where he wanted him.
“What ship boy?” demanded Freeman as he increased the pressure and speed of the feather’s cruel touch.”
“He’s on the Orderian! The Ordarian! Haaaa! Haa! Aaaaaaagh!” “We have the information, General. Soldier 717's name is Jacob and can be found on the Orderian. We already have a spy on that ship in the higher ranks.” Freeman paused to listen to general’s response before grinning as he twirled the feather in his hands, the object of his captive’s humiliation. “We should know something in a few days. I’ll give you a full report in 48 hours.” Then Freeman pressed another button on the device and laid it aside.
“Fuck you! If you do anything to hurt him, I’ll kill you!”
“Well, maybe you will,” Freeman responded laughing. “But not today. Today I’m going to watch your body squirm some more.”
“What? You got the information you wanted!” he screamed. “Please!” he continued as the happy interrogator once again approached the boy’s bare feet with his feather. “Don’t torture me any more. Nooooo!”
“Maybe next time you won’t be so cocky, boy. And then torturing your pathetic toes won’t be so exciting,” he said, once again waving the feather in front of the boy’s feet.
“Pleeeeeeeeease! No! No more! You son of a bitch!” Stop! No!”
That night the prisoners in the nearby cells did not sleep for the boy’s desperate cries.
PART 2
Sergeant Matt Johnson was a handsome young man of 22. He had average length blond hair that was neatly trimmed, and he was slim but somewhat muscular. That night he wore his regular military uniform with long leather boots. He had served his miserable time as an intern in the Serantine Navy and had been promoted within the last year. His own government would owe him much for the hell he had been through, but at least now he was able to reap the benefits of being the one in charge. Working under his supervision were twenty young, barefoot interns on the ship to which he was assigned, the Orderian, that he could ultimately command as he pleased. But at that moment pleasure was the last thing on his mind. He had much work to do.
The interns were already in their quarters asleep - or pretending to be asleep. But peaceful rest was often impossible anytime they heard boots stomping on the deck; they knew at least one of them would be used as a sex toy that night. So they shut their eyes and lay on their sides facing away from the wooden door that led to the bowels of the ship, the only barrier that pretended to protect them from torture and sex use - and what little protection it provided.
But one young intern lay awake hoping the cute Sergeant Johnson would come in and rouse him from his sleep. He had longed to have the sergeant's sweaty feet shoved into his face, to be forced to lick his soles and suck his toes. Many nights, at the risk of being accused during the weekly Punishment Call, he had lain awake and jerked off at the fantasy of being the sergeant's sex toy, his foot stool, his slave.
And often he wondered if he had ever caught the sergeant's eye. Up to that point, he had never been the object of his sex play. But standing at attention on the deck in the mornings as he waited for his orders to do the cruel, menial tasks constantly assigned to the poor, barefoot intern soldiers, he occasionally caught the sergeant glancing down at his bare toes pressed firmly into the uncaring, freezing wood of the deck. Anytime he thought the sergeant was looking, he would always do something to try to arouse his interest. Sometimes he would fan his toes out or press them even more firmly into the wood pushing the blood to certain areas of his toes and creating contrast colors of white and red. If the sergeant ever stopped to examine the boy, he would do something, anything, to break a rule in hopes of getting caught and being "forced" to worship the sergeant's feet or getting his own feet worked over. Up to that point, however, his efforts had been futile and had only earned him the various less pleasant tortures, which always left him screaming and begging for mercy. But the cruelty never deterred him; he continued breaking rule after unreasonable rule. The boy's name was Jacob.
He was a sexy boy of 20, carrying himself well with excellent posture and beautiful, curved biceps. His chest muscles were taut and thick. His legs were strong and muscular as well, and his abdomen was flat and betrayed the well worked muscles beneath. His face was youthful and angelic, often causing the cocks of the officers that looked upon it to stir whenever he smiled or laughed. His goatee was well trimmed and that, along with his short brown hair, brought out his entrancing brown eyes. The gods created physical perfection the day he was born.
Everyone found it interesting and unusual, perhaps even disturbing, that the young sergeant had not already abused his power to enjoy this young, sexy intern. After all, it was his exclusive (yet unwritten) right to use his interns as he pleased. Jacob was the best of all of them. And even more, he obviously wanted to be used. But the sergeant had his orders, and they didn't come from the Serantine military. Johnson had served the Bilmods since he was a boy of 16, and now it was his responsibility to collect some vital information from this boy whose father was so important in the Serantine Army. He had only that morning received the orders, though Jacob had for a long time been suspected of having a great deal of information that the Bilmods coveted. It was an amazing and relieving coincidence that his brother was tortured into giving the Bilmods his name and location, as it was not known until then that Jacob's father was so powerful in the Serantine Empire. This was understandably a carefully guarded secret, as Jacob's father didn't want him treated differently than his comrades during his internship. When he finished, of course, his father would see that he was well taken care of and offered a post he deserved as the man's son. But training was training, and no one could sugar coat that regimen, as it was vitally important to teach the young man the discipline the Serantines believed in so strongly.
Jacob's excitement intensified as he heard the young sergeant's footsteps grow louder and louder until looking over the edge of his cot he could see the shadow of a man standing outside the door. His heart raced that night as it had so many other nights when the sergeant visited the boys. He longed to be the one, the toy, the slave to abuse that night. He longed to be punished by his master, this sexy young sergeant, who would command him to remove each of his boots with his strong arms and hands, and then get on his knees and slowly tear his socks off with his teeth like a dog. His body tensed and then shivered slightly at the thought, his own arousal tormenting him. He wanted the sergeant to deny him his orgasm until he could stand it no longer and then pour himself all over his master's feet, and lick the creamy substance from between his toes.
The talking outside was audible but unintelligible. Yet Jacob knew what was being said; it was the same thing said every time the young sergeant had a notion to play with one of the boys' feet or force his feet on him. The usual lies were told that the sergeant was checking on his interns before retiring. The lie would be taken as what it was - a lie - but would be unquestioned as the other officer walked away smirking to himself. Then the sergeant would come in and choose his slave. God, Jacob wanted to be that slave tonight!
"Good night, Josh," said the sergeant as he slowly creaked the door open, allowing him to peer in. Jacob shut his eyes enough to make the sergeant think he was asleep, but left them open enough that he was able to see the sergeant staring at him. Jacob was fixated on the man's beauty and longed to be the object of his cruelty. He was mesmerized by the superior's sexy uniform, the dark green military garb all the officers wore - and the boots. He adored the sergeant's boots. Jacob was aware the sergeant knew that he wasn't asleep; his body was too tense and he was too excited to hide his restlessness. Yet he kept his eyes half closed and watched the sergeant approach his cot and tower over him with a merciless expression of cruelty that caused Jacob to want to cum right there.
"Jacob," the sergeant whispered.
Pretending to be roused from a deep sleep, Jacob batted his eyes several times before allowing himself to appear fully awake. "Yes Sir?"
"Come with me, boy. We have some business to take care of."
"Yes Sir," said the excited young man as he quietly got out of his cot wearing only a pair of tattered boxers.
"You don't need any other clothes, boy. Come with me."
"Yes Sir," said Jacob again, excited by the embarrassment of his rock hard cock poking the cloth of his boxers.
The two sneaked out of the interns' quarters and walked for what seemed a long time deep into the innermost parts of the ship. Down long corridors they walked, almost marching in step, the sergeant and his boy. The startled Jacob looked around him in bewilderment from time to time, as he heard the screams of victims' torture, guilty of some minor infraction. Lanterns hung on the walls, but little light guided their steps. Finally the two arrived at a dead end and turned to face a small door on their right. Sergeant Johnson removed some bulky keys from his pocket and started to unlock the door when Jacob timidly asked, "Sir, are you really gonna let me have it?"
The sergeant smirked but did not answer. He opened the door in front of him and led his captive inside. Again there were lanterns on the walls that lit the room, small and dank in and of itself. The musty odor nearly overcame the boy, but his excitement kept him going. In the center of the room was an armchair. The sergeant closed and locked the door behind him and walked over to that chair, dragging his boy by the hand. Casually seating himself in the soft, blue, velvety recliner, he reached his hands down to his boots as he stretched himself. Jacob's erection was more than noticeable, but the sergeant said nothing. The boy shivered for a moment in the cold that touched his almost completely bare body and he licked his lips as he watched the sergeant slowly unlace his left boot.
"I know you want to take this boot off of me, boy. I've heard you talking in your sleep."
"What the fuck?" exclaimed Jacob, turning red from embarrassment. "Yes, Sir," he said as his breathing became heavier. He walked over to the sergeant who held his leg out and waited for his boy to remove the boot. Jacob grabbed the leathery boot and started to take it off.
"Not yet, boy. My boot is awfully dirty. I think you need to clean it a little with your tongue."
Jacob was ecstatic. He knelt to the floor with his feet behind him and his toes curled underneath, exposing his fleshy soles, and the sergeant longed to see his foot slave from behind. The boy put his lips down to the sergeant's boots and lightly kissed them before letting his tongue out of his mouth and licking them clean, inch by inch. He started with the toes and then ran his tongue down to the sergeant's heel. The boots started to glisten with the boy's saliva.
"Yeah, boy. My boots are really starting to shine now that you're licking ‘em like a dog, you piece boy meat!"
Jacob looked up at his master, but did not dare put his tongue back in his mouth. He just continued licking like a good slave boy.
"Are your boots ready to come off, Master?" he asked.
"Yes slave," said the sergeant once again sticking his leg out and waiting for the boy to comply with his orders. First the left, then the right came off. All that was left were the sergeant's dark, sweaty socks that stuck to his feet and showed every contour, every toe, both heels - all in their perfect shapes.
The sergeant wiggled his toes in front of his drooling slave's face as the boy reached down and massaged his cock. "Do you want these sweaty feet in your face, boy?" he asked.
The slave continued his dog-like panting. He didn't know how much longer he could hold off without spewing all over the sergeant. "Please Sir. Put your feet in my face. Make me your feet's slave boy, Sir."
The sergeant continued wiggling his toes in the slave's face, tormenting him, before finally shoving his toes in front of the slave's nose. The sweaty stench of the sergeant's feet in the boy's face was almost more than he could stand without shooting his load. The boy took in the aroma and then opened his mouth and let the man's feet covered in the dark, sweaty socks enter. His tongue moved all over them and his teeth lightly nibbled the appendages. The boy took turns with each foot, first caressing one with his tongue, then massaging the other with his hands and his cock. He picked the sergeant's feet up and held them right next to each other with his strong hands. He let his tongue come out of his mouth and barely touch the sergeant's right heel before slowly moving upward and stroking his soles, the balls of his feet, and finally his perfect toes. He put his nose in between the soles of each of the sergeant's feet placed together perfectly like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Breathing in through his nose he let the strong man scent enter his nostrils and pleasure him as he stroked his cock, trying to avoid releasing the milky substance within his balls.
"Please Sir. Can I take your socks off? I wanna see your manly bare feet in my face, Sir."
"All right, boy. Take off one of my socks, but leave my toes covered."
"Yes Sir," replied the happy slave as he gratefully complied and slowly pulled down the sergeant's left sock exposing a sexy top and heel, and then the sweet sole of his foot. The slave longed to see the sergeant's quintessential toes and put the bare appendages in his mouth. He longed to feel the fleshy digits as he ran his tongue over them. He knew the sergeant would soon grant him that privilege. Even with his master's sock still partially on his foot, Jacob gained pleasure from sliding his tongue all over the sergeant's heel and sole. He was obviously slightly ticklish because as Jacob ran his tongue over his master's foot, the toes wiggled. The sergeant lay back in ecstacy as the boy serviced his feet. He let his head roll back and he, too, breathed heavily.
"Take my sock off, boy, and service your master's feet properly!" commanded the sergeant.
"Yes Sir!" exclaimed the delighted slave, who immediately obeyed and pulled the sock off the sergeant's foot solving the mystery of what lay underneath. His toes were neither long nor short, but perfectly groomed. He fanned them out and softly pinched the boy's nose with two of them, forcing the slave to smell the manly pungency in between. With his nose in between two of the sergeant's toes, he was able to stick out his tongue and touch his master's sole, tasting his saltiness and causing his toes to squirm on the boy's face - a privilege the boy had only dreamt of.
"Please Sir, let me take off your other sock and satisfy you like you deserve," the boy supplicated, his eyes pleading his master for pleasure and relief. He sat and looked up at the sergeant like a dog begging for a biscuit and put his hand on top of the sergeant's bare foot.
"Take if off boy," he said before pausing briefly, and then continued, "with your teeth."
The boy stroked his cock again and let his teeth grab the very end of his master's sock. Pulling it off would be hard since it was still stuck to the man's feet with sweat, but Jacob was more than happy to try, even if it took a long time - and the greater the delight if it did. With his teeth, he began to tug on his master's sock. It wouldn't budge, so the boy took his teeth and lightly tugged at different points on the sock where it was stuck to his master's feet. Once again the sergeant wiggled his feet and toes from the slight ticklish sensation until his slave had unstuck the sock and begun tearing it off. Once again, as had happened with the sergeant's left foot, each inch of his right foot was slowly revealed in its own turn. Jacob begged the sergeant with his eyes to let him orgasm, but he knew that he must wait. Only the sergeant could give him permission to do that.
Now both of the sergeant's feet were exposed, the boy's two masters that would control his mind. The sergeant moved his feet all over the boy's face, allowing him to lick them whenever one happened to pass by his mouth. Suddenly, the sergeant pulled his feet away from the boy, whose kneeling body fell on his hands. He looked at his master with a hurt expression.
"What did I do to displease you, Sir."
"I know who your father is, and I know that you know a lot of things that even I don't know as an officer. I want to know where the Bilmod soldiers are held as prisoners of war."
"Sir, but how did you know?"
"Do you want to orgasm tonight, or do you want a chastity belt? I can arrange it, boy."
"No," said the young intern with an expression of terror. "Please. They're held at Adeltine in the third sector, Sir. They're kept as sex slaves and sometimes tortured for information."
"Where in the third sector, boy?" he shouted.
"They're on Urasha Mountain, Sir. They're held in a keep there."
The sergeant smiled and stuck his feet back out to let the tortured slave continue licking them. The boy caressed, licked, and sucked the sergeant's toes before massaging his cock and releasing his load all over his master's feet, just as he had always fantasized.
"Lick it up, boy," commanded the sergeant. He had had his pleasure for the evening and gotten the information he needed, and the boy didn't even know, nor did he care. After Jacob had finished licking up his own cum from the sergeant's feet, his master put his socks and boots back on and escorted the boy back to his cot. The boy was in a state of dreamy ecstacy and didn't even realize he had given away vital information to the enemy. Thus, Sergeant Johnson walked away from the interns' quarters and quickly went into his own chamber where he found his hidden communication device and contacted his superiors. Little did either of them know, a Serantine spy had been watching the entire ordeal.
