The next week, George showed up after work and made himself comfortable in the living room.
"Bring me a cold beer," he ordered casually, as he turned on the TV.
The football game echoed in the living room, as Ben meekly walked toward the kitchen in silence. Thoughts of the last week's moments crossed his mind: George, Phil and Mike sitting comfortably on the couch, their big legs spread as they watched porn and got their feet and cocks worshiped.
"There you go, sir," said Ben.
George grabbed the bottle from his hand and nodded in approval. He then snapped his fingers and pointed to his boots.
Ben promptly kneeled in front of them, removed them and started massaging the socked feet. He felt the warm, damp texture of the black socks on George's massive soles, and the familiar cheese stink took hold of his nostrils. He rubbed and worshiped the pair, as George quietly watched the game and wiggled his toes.
"Take them off," said George, without looking at him.
Ben obeyed, peeling off the socks quickly and releasing all the foot stench in the air. George sighed comfortably and spread his toes in front of Ben's nose. The masculine look, the strong scent, the warm and wet texture, it all caused an internal reaction. Ben sensed his heartbeat increasing and his dick stiffening.
"Start cleaning, foot fairy," George smirked and sat back, a hand on the back of his head, exposing his hairy armpit.
"Yes, sir, right away," said Ben, his voice shaking.
He lowered his head and tasted the addictive saltiness between the warm toes, becoming more and more familiar with it, to the point where he started craving it. George's toes possessed an exquisite flavor, a combination of all his masculine hormones, his pheromones, his unique essence.
Ben licked between each toe, sucking the jam carefully on the right and left foot, swallowing the sock lint, the warm dirt, the dead skin and everything else, a product of George's hard work. His tongue slid across the sweaty extension of George's soles, massaging the rough spots, rolling and scrubbing along, from the big ball of his feet to his massive heels, back and forth, until he lost track of time.
When they were finally fresh and shining, George looked down at him and grinned.
"Thanks, buddy. You know, it's been great owning you," he said in his casually manly tone. "You're a good foot bitch, doing exactly what you're told. I like this new version of you."
"T-thank you, sir..." replied Ben, looking up and enjoying the view between the large, hairy thighs and juicy torso. "Are we... are we still friends?"
"Hmm..." George seemed to think for a minute. "I guess so. We're friends in front of other people. But in private, I'm the man and you're my bitch."
Ben felt his face blush and the blood pump through his body.
"Is that alright?" asked George.
"Yes, sir, you're right," replied Ben, shaking.
"So tell me, why do you like my feet so much? What makes you get on your knees for them?" George inquired all of a sudden.
Ben thought for a while, trying to understand the way the felt. It was harder than he expected, since the experience was very new to him. His mouth opened and closed again, but no clear words came out.
"Come on, be honest," George encouraged.
"I... I think it's about power. I crave your power and physical strength, and worshiping the bottom of your feet is..."
"It's what?"
"It's a sign of reverence..."
George grinned wider and slowly nodded.
"So you worship my feet so much because you worship me... hmm, interesting," he said, while pushing his right sole against Ben's face. "Do you like how strong I am?"
"Yes, George, sir... you're big and strong, sir... but..."
"But what?"
"I'm ashamed to admit that. It's humiliating to be in this position..."
"I know. But I think you should embrace it," George shoved his toes into Ben's mouth and gagged him. "You can't get over it, so why resist? Embrace it, let it wash over you, get off to your own debasement..."
"Mmmph..."
"It's okay, Ben, there's nothing wrong with being a foot fag. You're not hurting anybody, so what's the problem? Just embrace your dumb feelings... and understand how lucky you are... to worship me."
Ben felt a fire in his chest, and the foot-worshiping trance consumed him.
"Yes, sir, I'm lucky!" he said, between kisses to George's soles. "Thank you, thank you..."
"That's it, accept it, you're my bitch now..." George chuckled.
"Yes, I'm your bitch now, serving your needs, doing whatever you want... thank you..."
"It's your destiny. You were born to serve me," said George firmly.
"Yes, sir, I was born to serve you. And you were born to rule," confirmed Ben.
"Yeah, good boy... From now on, you're my personal footboy, my servant, and you'll do whatever to make my life easier. I'm your boss, now."
"Yes, sir, boss... I can't resist..." Ben kissed the big soles profusely.
George chuckled and grabbed his right boot from the floor. He forced the opening against Ben's face, enveloping his nose and mouth, forcing him to sniff the interior of his damp sweatiness. He tied the lace around Ben's head, in a strong grip.
"Take off your shorts, and get on your hands and knees. I need to rest my legs."
Ben felt a quick slap to his naked balls as soon as he got into position. He squirmed and jumped a little, and the sound was muffled by the big boot. It took him a minute to notice George was tying the shoelace around his balls.
He whined as an interrogation, but George ignored him. The left boot was perfectly tied to the base of his testicles, pulling them down and stretching them uncomfortably. George observed the result and laughed openly at the ridiculous sight.
Ben blushed on all fours. With one boot attached to his face, and another boot hanging from his balls, he probably looked more like an object than a person. He felt the weight of the heavy calves on his back, as George crossed his legs on him and quietly watched the rest of the game.
He lost track of time again, but now things were less fun. The weight on his back became heavier the more he waited. His arms and legs started to shake, and he was forced to inhale the warm, sweaty breath inside the boot, until it started to affect his brain. The lack of oxygen was making him slightly dizzy.
The boot firmly attached to his balls was starting to pull too hard. The pain was getting more difficult to bear, but as George sipped beer and relaxed on the couch, a strange reaction happened. Ben's dick started to twitch pathetically in the air.
Ben stayed in that position for the rest of the game - until the very last second of it. The precum oozed out of his dick, a thin string which fell down and touched the floor.
George scratched his own balls and seemed unbothered. Until the doorbell rang.
"Come in!" he shouted.
