Room Service

I've always sucked at deadlines. I only had two days to finish my assignment, but at least the pressure was keeping me focused on my work. I was so lost in coding it took me a few seconds to notice someone was knocking at my door. When I realised, I knew who it had to be: my friend Alex. He always dropped by my room around five o'clock.

I saved my workspace, sighed, and unlocked the door. We lived in a shared uni flat, and things had disappeared from rooms before; plus I like my privacy. He came in and plopped himself on my bed, looking tired, and I sat back at my desk, looking for some quiet relaxing music to play.

"So how was your day?" I asked. "I was doing my functional programming assignment. Was it tough?"

"No worse than usual, really," he said. "I'm just tired of doing the same every day. Users never learn."

Alex was studying computer science, like me, but he was taking a year in "industry". What a joke. A year of working for next to nothing was more like it. He needed the money, though, and I guess the experience would come handy, but he was starting to lose his patience with it all.

He sighed as the music began to play. "That's nice," he said. He took his shoes off, letting them drop on the floor, picked up an extra pillow I kept for him on the nightstand, and lay down with his head at the foot of the bed, resting his stockinged feet on my own pillow.

"I think I'm going to take a short nap," he said, as I finished fiddling with the media player. "You're not going to get a lot of conversation from me today," he said. "Now quit screwing around and come do your part."

I never stopped feeling embarrassed about it all, even though it had become almost a ritual for us. He'd come to my room practically every day, make himself comfortable, and I would help him relax. That's what I told myself about it when I felt ashamed. It was just a friendly favour. Ok, perhaps a very close-friendship sort of favour, but nothing more. To be fair, Alex was pretty nice about it, and mostly let me live with my illusions, though we both know there was more to it than that. I had become so conditioned that I was already hard.

I sat at the head of the bed and placed my pillow on my lap. Alex was pretty particular about how he wanted things, and he had trained me well. He stretched a bit, and dropped his feet on the pillow.

"It's nice to get room service like this," he said, making me blush, as I began to give him a foot massage.

"You know what's the best? It doesn't matter how busy you are, or what you're doing, or how sweaty or dirty or smelly my socks and feet are. You'll be there to rub them for me, won't you?" he said, smirking. "You really know your place now. Do you remember how hard it was to convince you at first though? It wasn't easy to show you where you belong."

I tried to smile, but I felt all mixed up inside. I felt so ashamed of how I let him treat me, of what I felt when he treated me that way, and today he wasn't going to let me pretend it was just a minor thing. Sometimes, especially when he was tired or frustrated, he liked taking it out on me, and though I couldn't say it was easy, part of me loved to be his figurative punching bag. I just looked down at his feet, hoping he'd soon get tired of talking.

"I'm talking to you, pet," he said, grinding his right heel on my cock, which made me squirm. I loved when he called me names, and hated it in equal measure. If only I could be strong enough to either accept what I had become, or break out of it...

"Of course I remember," I said, speaking softly. "I don't think it took you that much work, to be honest."

"More than it should have. You can be such a stubborn thing, when we both know this is the best that has happened to you, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," I said, and the worst was that I knew I was telling the truth.

*****

I met Alex online, on IRC. If you haven't heard of it, it's a chat network where lots of computer people talk technology. Of course that's not all there is to it. There are lots of social channels, and IRC friendships can last for many years. We met there when we both were fifteen, and were delighted to find out we lived in the same town, though we didn't attend the same school. That's how we ended up going to uni together, sharing a flat. At the time our friendship was close, but nothing exceptional. Nothing like what we have now. I don't know if there was a moment when things began to change, but this is how I remember it.

After we got our student loans, we tried not to go crazy with the money. We heard of a guy who managed to spend ten grand in a month, doing nothing better than drinking and living it up. Still, we couldn't avoid making some purchases; entirely justified, of course. I got my new desktop machine, and there was something to say for having a powerful one for development. Eclipse can really bog you down. Alex had a pretty recent one, though, so he got himself a TV. We soon join the club of TV licence dodgers, like all self-respecting students.

Because of the TV, I ended up hanging around with him a lot. We'd often watch the telly, have a takeaway, maybe drink some wine, or vodka, and talk shit late into the night. The introductory courses were pretty easy, so we had plenty of time, and it became so much of a habit that I occasionally ended up sleeping there. Don't get me wrong: we just slept. We were two close friends, and when I was too drunk or tired to get my arse back to my own room, we didn't see anything wrong with using the bed. It was definitely wide enough, which is a rare treat in student flats.

One night, we'd been having more wine than usual, and I asked Alex if I could crash there. He said it was fine, as I expected, but he told me he found it a bit cramped when we slept together. He had a sleeping bag, but I really didn't want to lie on the floor, and in the end he let me stay in bed, but only if I slept head to toe. I joked a bit about his foot odour, but what was I going to do? I guess I could have wobbled my way back and slept on my own bed, but it never even occurred to me.

I woke up very slowly, from a strange dream. I had a slight headache, and Alex's bare toes where in my mouth. I couldn't remember how they got there, and I felt pretty embarrassed about it. My cock was hard, but I didn't give it any thought, as I'd just woken up and it was normal. I tried to quietly remove Alex's toes from my face, but his legs and feet were pretty heavy, almost like he was keeping them there on purpose. In the end, I moved my head, and managed to free myself from them, though not without feeling them slide over my tongue. The least I was expecting was hearing Alex laughing.

"Man, you've been sucking my toes for the whole night, you just couldn't get enough of them," he said. I felt awkward as hell, and didn't even know if he was making things up or if I'd really been sucking on his toes.

"I was asleep," I said. "Shit, if you were awake why didn't you just move them out?"

"I did, the first five or six times. But then I decided if you really wanted to suck on them I didn't mind. I mean, it's not like it hurt me or anything, or even you. It was so funny, though, feeling you rubbing your face all over my souls, groping for my toes. I didn't know you had a thing for cheese, man."

"Yeah, yeah; very funny," I said. I got out of the bed, and promised myself it would not happen again.

*****

"Give me a foot rub, man."

"What?" I asked. We had just finished eating our pizza, and were watching TV at Alex's place. I was sitting at the foot of the bed, looking at the TV, and Alex was poking my leg with his toes.

"You heard me, man," he said. "It's rent for letting you use my TV. Come on, you spend more time here in my room than in your own. I should get something out of it."

"No way, Alex," I said. After having accidentally sucked his toes, I wasn't going to give him more reasons to think I liked his feet, even if, perhaps, deep down, I did, just a little bit. Since that time I had been coming to terms with the fact that I really did like him. I kept this to myself, though, and didn't even always admit it in my own mind.

"Why not? It's not like you even mind. Seriously, you've even put them in your mouth, so what's a little rub between friends?"

"I was drunk that night," I said, sighing. "Will you stop bringing that up?" It had become his favourite way of teasing me, and it was all the more effective because I was so confused and ashamed about it.

"I will if you give me a foot rub," he said smiling.

"Ok, fine," I said. "I guess that makes it worth it. I look forward to not hearing about that shit again."

Before I was done speaking, he stretched his legs and placed his bare feet on my lap. "More rubbing and less yapping, boy," he smirked. I was going to hate this.

I started massaging him with my fingertips, hesitant and awkward at first. I'd never give anyone a massage, not even a girlfriend, and now I was doing it for a guy. Not any massage, either; a foot massage. I actually enjoyed it, though. There was something calming and pleasant about doing it. The texture of the foot felt soft and slightly sticky on my hands, probably from Alex's sweat. I also liked doing something nice for him, though I wouldn't admit it, and it felt good to just obey him and do what he wanted.

I was so concentrated on rubbing his feet that it came as a shock when he moved. He turned around, lying on his side, and I came back to my senses.

"So, are you having fun?" he asked when I saw I had been startled. "You've been rubbing my feet for three quarters of an hour, without saying a word. I knew you wouldn't mind it." He was right. I had found it delightful, and I was hard again. "Do go on, you can rub them until I fall asleep." He sounded like he was doing me a favour.

"What makes you think I want to slave for you like that?" I asked, annoyed, but conscious that I really wanted to do it.

"It's up to you. I'm going to sleep. If you want to stay and rub my feet, stay; if not, good night."

Of course I stayed.

*****

It only got worse. Every time I went to Alex's room I ended up doing something for him. It wasn't always foot rubs, either. Sometimes he made me pick up after him, do his wash, clean up the room, or anything that came to mind. At first I tried to resist, but he would bring up that drunken night again, and I often ended up obeying in the end. It got so bad I stopped visiting. We'd still have meals together in the common room, but I would avoid going to his place. I must admit he never brought this kind of thing up in public, which I was very grateful for. I would have burned from embarrassment.

What I couldn't deal with was how much I missed doing these little things for him. I felt divided in two: one half of me wanted to be strong and proud, and to stand up to Alex, and the other half wanted to crawl to him and grovel like a lapdog. I couldn't even pretend that I didn't feel these things anymore, when, most of the time, I ended up masturbating to scenes with him, remembered or imagined.

One day, we were together at the common room. He'd been out playing football, and I had cooked some noodles. The place was empty, and it was already dark outside. After we ate, we lay on the sofas, and talked about this and that for a while. I loved that about him, he always had conversation.

"Smell my feet," he said, breaking the silence.

"What are you on about?" I asked.

"You know you want to," he said. His trainers were propped on the armrest of the sofa, and he wiggled them pointing them at me.

"Don't be ridiculous, man. I thought we were done with that childish stuff." It was the best I could come up with.

"Listen, if you don't do it now, I'll never let you do it," he said.

"Wonderful! I really don't think that's much of a loss." But of course I did.

"You're so silly sometimes. Don't you remember that night? I know you want to, you know you want to. Just come and do it."

"Alex, we're at the common room. You told me you wouldn't talk about that in public."

"Are you afraid someone will see us? Is that it? Let's go to my room then," he said, and got up from the sofa.

"No, that's not it; but I don't want you to talk about it in public," I replied.

"So come to my room and we can discuss it in private." He crooked his finger, and something in me responded. I sighed, got up, and followed him. As we got in, he made sure to lock the door, and it made me feel safer.

"Ok, smell my feet now," he said, sitting on the bed.

"I was serious, man. Don't you see that's messed up? I'm feeling incredibly awkward around you because of all this stuff. Can't you give it a rest?" I sat by his side, and he took a few seconds to think.

"Look. I understand you feel awkward about it, but I'm sure you like it. I'm one hundred percent sure. You're just having trouble letting go. So I'm just not going to give you a choice about it. We're going to make a bet, and it's going to decide this one way or the other, for good."

"I'm not sure-". I tried to talk but he cut me off.

"Yes, I know. That's precisely it. You're not sure, and I'm not giving you a choice here. We're going to do this thing and tonight it's going to be decided." He looked so certain, so confident. I wanted to kneel at his feet and beg his forgiveness for being so difficult, but I couldn't let go. He was right.

"It's going to be like this," he said. "We're going to sleep head to toe once more. If by the time we wake up tomorrow you haven't played around with my feet, then I won't ever bring this shit up again. If, as I expect you to, you end up pigging on them for the whole night, though, I'm not going to take more of your bullshit. You're going to become my little plaything. I'm going to have you servicing my feet whenever I want, and you're going to just take it and thank me for it. And if you don't I'm going to punish you, and I'm not going to take no for an answer. got it?"

Wwat could I say? If he was right, and I couldn't keep myself from his feet, he had a point: I might as well admit to it and make it fun for the both of us. And he was giving me an opportunity to prove that he was wrong, and that I could stand up to him and leave things the way they were. If I didn't take him on it, I'd be pretty much admitting I couldn't control myself. "Got it."

We both got naked, and got into bed. He lay the normal way, and I lay head to toe. I thought he was going to make it difficult by teasing me, rubbing his feet against my body, or shoving them on my face, but he didn't. He was so convinced that I was completely, utterly, madly and uncontrollably in love with his feet that he just lay there, knowing I couldn't resist. Time slowly drained my reserves of self-control, and knowing that I could touch him whenever I wanted, and just give up and let myself be what I was meant to be, became more and more attractive. It didn't take half an hour before I started rubbing his soles.

To his credit, he wasn't mean about it. He just said "I knew it," and let me lose myself in the task.

"Smell my feet, pet," he commanded, and I buried my face on his sweaty soles, sniffing his manliness. "Good boy," he said, and I could hear his pleasure. "Enthusiastic and eager to please, that's how I like you." I just moaned and massaged his feet with my whole face, feeling their oily, sleek texture. "Give my feet a bath with your tongue," he demanded, and I complied.

We had so many firsts that night. I gave myself to him completely, with no reservations. He made me lick every part of his body, and allowed me to wank under his large soles. They surrounded my cock, so big and powerful, and I creamed all over them. Of course, he smeared my own semen all over me with his feet, including on my hair and face, and made me lick them clean. That broke my last resistance to him, and I called him master, weeping and kissing his toes, so happy to have found my place.

*****

"Yes, what would you do without me?" said Alex, as I rubbed his feet through his thick, sweaty socks. "It took a while to prepare you, but in one night you were ready to devote yourself to my service. Now I don't even have to bring you to my place. This room is practically mine. I don't own it, but I do own you. I use it to store my stuff, to keep my dirty clothes, and your pillow," he said rubbing his feet on it, "spends more time being trodden down than under your head."

"Don't be mean," I whined. "I remember it perfectly well."

"I'm sleepy. So how about you take off my socks? Yes, very good, slowly, like that. Now I don't want to hear more prattle from you, so just give them a sniff-there, nice, isn't it?-and put them in your mouth. Give them a wash while you give me my afternoon nap foot massage, and remember, if I wake up and you're not doing your job, there are going to be consequences. Man, it is so good to have room service...," he said, and yawned, as I rubbed my tongue against the rough texture of his sweat-sodden socks, and chewed on them like a happy puppy, swallowing his manly essence and scent, knowing the lint between his toes would become a part of my body, a true privilege for a bass plaything like me, unworthy to lick his footprints. It is so good to give room service.