Locker Room Feet

Locker Room Feet

By @Ted_Subby on FetLife, e-mail address nrjb2@yahoo.com.

Please check out all of my stories at www.assdisc.com.

Synopsis: I am assaulted in a locker room and forced to worship college guys’ sweaty feet. (Author note: in my lifetime I may have fantasized about this scenario one or two times … err, I mean one or two hundred times … or more! lol) Codes = M+/m, feet, non-consensual/reluctant.

This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.5/ or send a letter to:

Creative Commons

171 Second Street, Suite 300

San Francisco, California 94105

USA

I have always hated locker rooms. I am not athletic and I have always felt uncomfortable and inferior in physical education classes being with other guys. I used to look down at the ground at their feet so that I could avoid eye contact.

So it was a bit ironic when 20 years later now that I am in my 30s I found myself going to the guys’ locker room Thursday afternoons when I would take the short walk home from work to enjoy the end of soccer practice at the local community college. I wasn’t interested in soccer but I found that I wanted to catch a glimpse of the guys’ feet as they were changing clothes in the locker room. I was very careful about it because I know how it would seem, and a few Thursdays I never did catch much of a glimpse but usually my visit was worthwhile, albeit there was always quite a bit of distance from where I would casually stand. I never told anyone about this because it’s a bit embarrassing.

I say “was” because of the incident which happened one day. I guess I hadn’t been sleeping well because I didn’t hear the two guys sneak up behind me as I was catching a nice glimpse of another guy’s bare foot.

My wrists were grabbed suddenly and a hand was pressed against my mouth. I was no match for the strength of the guys holding me so after initially struggling I just allowed them to maneuver me into the center of the locker room as they told the other guys on the team that they had caught me. Apparently, I had been seen before and this attack had been planned.

I felt very vulnerable. Would they beat the crap out of me? Should I beg for mercy once the hand is removed from my mouth?

The guys were whooping it up laughing as I was easily dragged to the floor face up on my back. I was being set in position for something and I almost began to shake in fear. The hand was removed from my mouth and a guy’s sock, sweaty from soccer practice, was shoved in my mouth.

I admit to experiencing some attraction to guys’ feet from my school days experience in locker rooms but I never wanted to be attacked like this or experience such humiliation. I did not have a choice, though, as my wrists were pulled apart and held down while a guy sat on my legs to hold me down in a spread Y position on the floor.

I managed to calm myself that they would not kill me, though the thought did enter my mind, but I worried that they could really mess up my life for good with torture or just punching me in the stomach. I dearly wanted to pull my hands to cover my stomach and crotch but was helpless to do anything. I felt almost sick.

One guy set a chair to straddle my upper torso as he sat above me. He looked down on me and said “So you like our feet, huh?” which brought about laughter from another of the guys nearby. I was mortified, completely humiliated at being forced into the light like this. I felt my face flush with embarrassment as the guy smiled at me from above.

To my horror he said “Well, we’re going to give you what you want. How do you feel about that?” With a sweaty sock in my mouth I couldn’t respond and I was too afraid to speak anyway as he lifted his right foot and began to unlace and remove his tennis shoe. The laughter I heard seemed to be from a great distance while the face of the guy sitting above me seemed to be inches in front of me. I couldn’t believe that this was happening to me.

In horror I watched as the tennis shoe was turned sole upwards and placed firmly against my face, with my nose sealed inside the shoe. My senses were overloaded with humiliation as I smelled the sweat of the inside of his tennis shoe added to the taste of a sweaty sock and the sounds of derisive laughter all around me. Someone said “Take a good whiff” before his laughing interrupted what he was going to finish saying, and being unable to breathe through my mouth I had no choice but to smell the inside of the shoe in compliance.

After probably just 30 seconds the shoe was thankfully removed from my face but it was replaced with the socked foot of the man sitting above me. While the ball of his foot pressed the sweaty sock further into my mouth, his socked toes were covering my nose as I tried not to inhale and I could feel the dampness of his sock. Someone pinched my nostrils together and for a moment I was thankful not to be subjected to the foot stench but after several seconds I realized that I needed air and then several more seconds after I began to struggle my nose was freed and I deeply inhaled sweaty foot smell, to the accompaniment of loud laughter from the men around me.

This was worse than any nightmare I had. I always had a fear that I would be discovered but the fear seemed irrational as I would never talk about my desires with anyone and I thought I was being careful when I would steal glimpses of feet, often with sunglasses on. But I was wrong and I was paying for it now. I didn’t think I could survive this incident and I wasn’t even aware enough to be thankful that the torture was not physically painful.

The guys were not done with me, though, not by a long shot. After several deep breaths of smelling the guy’s sweaty socked foot, he lifted his foot off my face and pulled the wet sock out of my mouth. I regained my senses a bit and noticed that I was surrounded by probably a dozen guys standing around enjoying my humiliation. Then I saw the man sitting above me peal the sock off his foot and begin to move his bare sweaty foot onto my face. I panicked and began to thrash around. My legs were firmly held down but I was able to free my left wrist and tried to push it against the bare foot above my face but my arm was quickly grabbed and held firmly down in place. I then couldn’t move even one bit other than my head so I turned my head to the side to avoid the full effect but the upper part of my nose was grabbed and my face was tilted to face upward again, forcing me to my inevitable fate.

The man above me placed his sweaty bare foot right on my lips and the side of my nose, with his toes resting against one of my eyes. And I do mean sweaty since it was right after soccer practice. There was more snickering around me and I tried to struggle again but I literally couldn’t move any part of my body one inch. I had no choice but to suffer feeling and smelling the sweat from the man’s bare foot in my face.

It all felt like it was in slow motion. I just wanted the ordeal to end so I could go crawl into a ditch somewhere but time dragged very slowly and I felt every bit of sensation and humiliation in agonizing detail. Several seconds later as I was trying to cope with one foot in my face the man above me placed his other foot on the other side of the front of my face and my upper nose was released by whoever was holding it so that my face was held in place by a pair of large sweaty feet pressing down.

I felt that this was the lowest moment, being literally under a guy’s sweaty bare feet, and things could not get any worse. But I was wrong. The man began to move his feet against my face to rub the sweat into my cheeks and then he moved one of his feet so that the ball of his foot was rubbing its sweat against my lips. My mouth inadvertently parted from the physical pressure and I even felt his foot scrape against my teeth before he resumed just resting his feet on my face again as he talked with the other guys.

I spent the next couple of minutes with my face simply serving as a footrest as the guys were talking about how much they enjoyed seeing my predicament. I was still overwhelmed with humiliation and didn’t hear everything they said until the man above me said “Yes or no?” to which a few of the other guys responded yes. The man above me lifted one of his feet off my face and for the first time in the past few minutes I felt cool air where sweaty foot had been but then I was hit with a slap of humiliation so hard that at first I could not believe what I heard.

The man above me said “Stick your tongue out and lick my foot.”

After a second or two I realized that he did actually say that. No. This can’t be happening. I can’t do that I just can’t. I did not beg out loud but my one eye which was not covered by the other foot looked at him pleadingly. Please I’ll do anything, please don’t make me lick your foot. And not in front of a dozen guys laughing at me!

It was no use and I knew it would be no use to beg. I had to do what I was told or else the ordeal would never end.

I regret doing what I was told. I should have resisted and made them force me. They probably would have backed down and I could have regained a small bit of my dignity. Or if they did force me then at least I would have survived with some of my pride intact. But I did not resist. I have no excuse for obeying his command. I am truly ashamed and humiliated every time I think about this incident, which is often, especially as I go to bed each night.

I stuck my tongue out. I should have at least closed my eyes to brace for the impact of humiliation but I didn’t even do that. I watched as he lowered the ball of his sweaty foot onto my tongue and swirled it around so that I licked the sweat from his foot. I distinctly remember the laughter from a dozen guys all around me and the sound of laughter will haunt me probably for the rest of my life. Apparently, me licking a sweaty foot was the funniest thing they had ever seen because their laughter lasted a long time as that sweaty foot was rubbed onto my tongue, all the way from the heel slowly up the lower arch and side to side to cover every square centimeter, then the upper arch of his foot was rubbed all over my tongue. I tasted every bit of sweat and obeyed the command to swallow from time to time. The memory of the taste of his sweaty foot is still in my mouth, despite using mouthwash at least 5 times a day.

I still hadn’t experienced the worst part. The man sitting above me saved the best for last, apparently by design. He tilted his foot forward and inserted his big toe in my mouth, telling me to suck his toe and greeted by more laughter. I did not actively suck his toe until he began to press farther down my tongue than I was comfortable so to avoid choking I closed my lips around his toe and pushed my tongue against it. I could feel every ridge of his big toe on my tongue.

I had a nanosecond of gratitude as he removed his big toe but it was replaced by his next two toes and I was told to suck on each of his toes. And for the finale I was commanded to make sure to lick the sweat and lint between each toe as he moved his foot back and forth to allow me access to each area between his toes.

As soon as his toe began to enter my mouth my head was filled with a rush of humiliation and I heard laughter ringing in my ears the entire time until his toes were removed from my mouth, at which point I could hear that the laughter had stopped. I actually felt a bit of elation with only one foot resting on my face and my tongue free from the touch of his foot, like I could finally breathe again and I had made it through my ordeal.

But it was delusion as this was just the beginning. After all of the horror I had been through already it was just the beginning!

I guess I should not have been surprised when I was made to lick the man’s other foot. It was another few minutes of excruciating humiliation as I licked every bit of sweat from the sole of his foot and licked carefully between each toe. I heard laughter throughout those few minutes even though I do not believe the guys nearby were laughing any more.

I made it through and was filled with gratitude once the man stood up from the chair and my ordeal was over. I started to get ready to move my wrists for when they would be released.

When the next guy sat in the chair above me, I cried. It felt like the worst moment in my life. It was not sufficient for me to endure horrible public humiliation under the sweaty foot of an arrogant young man, but I knew that I would be spending a lot of time licking sweaty feet. And I simply broke down and cried.

In my world, human beings have empathy for each other. When someone is hurt people try to help in some way and they feel bad for each other. I live in a wonderful world where people care about each other’s well-being. This was another world, one in which guys love to humiliate other guys as much as possible. And these soccer guys apparently had saved up their humiliating treatment all for me.

They laughed as I cried. Some of them were laughing so hard that they had to leave the area or fall to the ground to regain their composure. One man said that his sides hurt so much he felt like he would collapse. And the man above me just quietly laughed as his eyes met my crying eyes. I don’t think I will ever forget that moment of acute humiliation burned into my memory.

I was an automaton for the remainder of the ordeal, and my crying subsided after a minute or two. This guy had me suck the sweat out of his socked toes and then had me spend several minutes sucking his bare toes, and I only had to give a quick lick to his soles.

The next man had me smell his socked foot and then his sweaty bare foot for several minutes as some of the other soccer team members started to get bored and check their smartphones or talk about other things. Apparently the next guy’s activities were more interesting as he put his socked foot across my throat to threaten to choke me. A part of me wished that he would choke me because I was feeling so terrible but another part knew that he just wouldn’t go through with it. Still, I did not appreciate the added attention from the spectators.

As I was licking the sixth guy’s foot, there seemed to be talk of a plan but I could not concentrate on it. By this time the sheer horror of the ordeal was settling down and I was simply feeling humiliation with a focus of just trying to make it through, but I was unsuccessful in trying to distract myself with other thoughts which were unfortunately always focused on the foot in my face.

Apparently the plan being discussed by some of the members of the soccer team was affirmative to be implemented and after I was finished being forced to worship the eighth guy’s feet the plans were put into motion. The ordeal had already lasted about 45 minutes but it was not yet done. A sock was placed in my mouth and I was lifted by a few guys and carried into a small room to be pinned on the floor again. The doors to the room were closed and another chair was set to straddle my abdomen, facing my head.

The setting was much more intimate as there were only three guys so I hoped that the level of humiliation would be less but I was wrong. One guy held my wrists against the floor above my head while another sat on my legs, mostly similar to the situation in the main locker room, and the third guy removed his tennis shoes and socks to place his sweaty bare feet in my face, but then something different and unexpected happened. Something truly horrible.

My pants were unbuttoned and my zipper was lowered. My pants were then forcefully pulled down to expose my briefs. I was in shock. There was no way this could be happening. Please just kill me now. I can’t take this. As my underwear was very slowly being pulled down my shock was replaced by despair and complete humiliation. Under one guy’s bare feet and pinned down while another guy violated me, it was too much. I cried again, sobbed like a baby.

The man’s sweaty feet started rubbing my tears and his sweat all over my face as I felt the first touch of fingers on my limp dick. I managed to put up an effort to fight back. I could not struggle much physically but mentally I tried to will myself not to react to his touch on my dick. There was no way in hell that I would be coaxed into feeling good while being assaulted. But I am not sure what happened. One moment I am filled with anger and defiance and then the next moment I was nuzzling up against the four feet which were resting against my head, not only the two soles from the guy sitting above me but also the two bare feet caressing the side of my head from the guy who was holding down my wrists. I think in retrospect the caress on my dick felt good because of my reliance always on self-pleasure, and never having been with anyone. This was the first time I had ever been given pleasure and despite the situation, or perhaps helped by the contrast in the situation, it felt good. It felt amazingly good.

So I finally gave in and the defiance turned to pleasure. In my haze of pleasure not only did my erection grow to full but I felt that I was living out a dream of being smothered in bare feet on my face and sides of my head. So I nuzzled my lips against their feet and allowed myself to enjoy the experience.

And the guys themselves didn’t seem as harsh as the ones in the main locker room. There was no laughing and with their coaxing words they seemed to genuinely want me to feel pleasure. I felt safe with my head encased by their four feet and I could feel that it would not be long for my erection to climax. At times the feet on top of my face would move around so that I was getting enough air and I even longed for them to smother me. As I got closer to climax the feet did smother me and I stuck my tongue out and inhaled at the same time. At that moment my climax occurred and I held my breath as I spurted into the guy’s hand, once, twice, three times, within just a second of each other, four, five, six, and one last time.

I was spent, emotionally and physically, and moaned contentedly while nuzzling against the feet in and on the side of my face. I had never felt as happy as right now. The feet on my face had moved slightly to reveal my face again and this time I looked up and saw a fourth guy in the room. He was pointing a professional-looking video camera right in my face, apparently having filmed the entire session. And he was smiling.

As it says in the popular song, another man might have been angry while another man might have been hurt. But even though I knew the potential consequences, I continued to have a loony smile on my face and nuzzled further against the bare feet next to my head.

The chair was lifted and set aside and my wrists and legs were no longer held down. I was finally free. I was given several paper towels which I used to clean myself off and then I sat up and pulled up my pants and underwear. Two of the guys helped me stand up and one asked if I was okay. I tried to say yes but I could only just nod and smile in gratitude. As I zipped up and buttoned my pants, one of the guys tapped on the video camera and said “We will call you” and I replied “Yes, thank you.”

I was allowed to walk home, still in a daze, where I collapsed on my couch and slept for a couple of hours.

Even as I thanked them for video-taping my humiliation I knew that blackmail was going to be part of my life. After my nap, I realized that the ordeal could cost me money, my career, or anything else these guys wanted and late that night I cried myself to sleep.

It is now one month after the incident and I am thankful that ruining my life was never in these guys’ plans. They have required me to write this detailed report with several re-writes to bring out the whole truth. And they require me to report that for the past month I have been required to service their feet for hours every Thursday night after soccer practice. Each week I remove the guys’ shoes and worship their sweaty socked and bare feet as they stretch out their legs while watching the weekly sports show on TV. It isn’t exactly a labor of love because this is too much humiliation for me but I admit that each Thursday night when I get home, I lie on the floor and fantasize about the first incident as I masturbate to climax.

The guys have talked among themselves about training me to be a footboy, a guy who needs feet in his face in order to feel sexual pleasure. I really don’t want to be dependent like that but I guess I should be thankful that I might get any attention at all. Actually I am thankful that I went through the best and worst experience of my life one after the other and that it will apparently not cost me my career or any money. The guys are fun to be around and I must admit that I have grown to enjoy worshipping their sweaty bare feet, despite the intense humiliation. And that is the honest truth.

Word Count = 3,950

See all my stories at http://www.assdisc.com.