“Awww cmon, boy. Don’t you worry,” I reassure him. “My foot’s not even the smelliest thing that’ll be in your mouth today.” I remove my still-damp soles from his face, releasing him from the air pocket of foot funk for just a second and hover my feet above his face. “You ready, boy?” I ask patiently. Before waiting for a response, I drive my toes downward, prying open his reluctant lips and pushing hard into his mouth. Upon hearing his surprise mingled with some choking sounds, I continue. “Thaaaaaaat’s right, boy. Take it nice and deep. I wanna dig a tunnel in your throat with my stinky jock toes.” They must have tasted pretty intense; even after I stopped pressing him, he continued to gag.

“Alright, boy,” I say, momentarily removing my toes from his mouth. “Time for some training. We need to open up that fag throat. Mouth open.” I proceed to work the boy’s mouth, putting in one toe at a time, often prying his lips with my fingers to make room for more. Eventually, I manage to fit all 5 toes on one foot inside and start to press again. He lays on the ground looking at me, waiting for some kind of confirmation that I’ll stop.

“Uh uh uh, boy,” I respond. “Your throat isn’t quite open for master. Lay back and relax. I’ll do the work.” With that, I press harder and harder, gently, yet firmly, until half my foot has disappeared down his throat, covering his nose with my toes.

He continues to lay there, eyes tearing, waiting my orders to spit them up; my foot’s so far down his throat he can’t even gag anymore. Finally, after pushing my foot farther down his throat than even I thought possible, I quickly pull out, and he takes in a huge gulp of air. Quickly, I cover his nose once again in my special fag-oxygen seal. A perfect big sniff of my stinky jock feet right after throat-fucking him.

“You’ve been doing pretty well, boy,” I say, patting him gently on the head as he continues to pant for air. “But your panting reminds me of something…” He looks at me confused. “You know, only dogs pant quite like you, boy,” I continue, “not people. Why don’t you get on all fours and show me how much of a dog you really are.” He slowly shuffles around on the ground and gets on his hands and knees.

“You know, pup, dogs love smelly things. Trash, sneakers, socks…” I continue. “Why not show me how big of a pup you are.” With that, I present him with my giant sole, wet with sweat and, now, his saliva. “Lap it up, pup,” I say maliciously. He begins to lick furiously, from sole to toe, sucking up all the sweat from my feet up till the toes. “Leave the toes a second, boy,” I command. “You’ll be taking care of those in a minute.” After a half hour of sole licking, I notice his stomach rumbling and I stop him.

“Awwww. Pup’s still hungry after that feast?” I say, mockingly. “No matter. Bring me a sandwich from the kitchen” After five minutes, the boy returns with a cold-cut sandwich in his hands and sits back on the floor, assuming it’s for me. “Oh no, kid. This is for you!” I say, “What kind of master would I be if I didn’t properly feed my dog?” I pull off the top piece of bread.

“Hmmm….although it looks like its missing some cheese.” I take the top slice of bread and carefully wipe it between my toes, so it collects the copious amounts of toejam and lint between. “Marinating all day, buddy. That’s some fine cheese for you.” Finally, I top it off with a big wad of spit right in the middle of the sandwich, and put it back on the floor, propping my feet up on his back as he kneels back down. “Eat up, pup!”