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Stupid faggot, when I let you massage my sweaty socked feet the other night it was only because I felt kind of sorry for you, talking about how it was a "need" and how you were going to die not being able to satisfy your "need." I had been drinking, I was barely listening to you and I thought I could get a good foot massage out of it. But I've been thinking about it and it's actually pretty pathetic. Your "need," your "passion" in life, is to massage and worship men's sweaty stinking smelly socked feet? That's really fucked up man. But you know what? I really like a good foot massage. And if you've got such a need for guys sweaty stinking socked feet, then you've got it. But it's on my time. Not your time. So when I come in and tell you to take off my shoes and massage my stinking sweaty dirty socked feet, you do it. No questions asked. I don't care if you've got something else to do or you're meeting someone at a specific time, you stop everything and you take care of my sweaty socked feet. That's your passion. I'm giving you a reason to live pervert. Now get going, massage my fucking sweaty stinking socked feet and kiss them too, thank me for being so nice to you.
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Fags living in free districts and/or in possession of E.Q.U.A.L paperwork must adhere to a wide variety of “free fag” laws such as free military quartering.
Military personal are eligible to apply for free temporary housing at a free-fag residence. Application deadlines vary in time, depending on rank, branch, location, and accommodations requested. Most applicants should send requests to direct supervisors at least three days before housing is needed. Those with unplanned housing needs—such as delayed flights—may request to be housed by the closest free fag from the nearest military base.
Most available fag homes are singles: one military personnel with a single fag. Military personnel may request food, services (sexual or not), entertainment, and more. Free fags already give a large percentage of their income to the government. If you are in need of finances contact your supervisor, rather than taking from your temporary residency. Most fags have a maximum amount of money and personal possessions they may own!
If you are currently living in temporary fag residency and believe your host is neglecting your needs or otherwise being a bad host, you are, of course, free to physically, mentally, or emotionally punish the fag. However, no permanent restrictions may be applied to the fag. If the fag is disobedient or incapable of obeying your odors, contact its correctional officer for punishment.
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My real estate agent told me he was ex-military. He was ripped and charming and insisted the value of the house near the fort was an amazing deal. I vaguely remember signing the E.Q.U.A.L. paperwork when closing on the house, but there was so much paperwork, I just signed form after form.
I should've known something was up when he insisted on stopping by later that day. When he did, he brandished the E.Q.U.A.L. paperwork and showed me the clause that said, "signature binds all homeowning faggots to continuous chastity, with the key holder and correctional officer being assigned by the military." Then he introduced my correctional officer and key holder, Master Sergeant Locke, who threatened my compliance or forfeit of my new home.
I panicked, but I didn't have any options. "I need to watch you put it on, faggot," he told me, referring to the chastity cage. The moment I handed him the key, he replied, "Good faggot. You'll learn, constant compliance will be much easier than resistance. Now, take off my boots."
That was all it took. The moment I freed his foot from the boot, my cage was straining and leaking. I'd been figured out. He made me massage his foot and demanded I learn my place, "Fag nose to Alpha toes. Good faggot." My eyes rolled back as he dragged his smelly foot down my face. "Get used to this. This is your future. Your profile is going live, and I'm titling it, 'Novice footfag - dominant guidance needed.' I'll be reviewing every piece of feedback while I twirl your key around my fingers. Better get used to degrading yourself, faggot."
Books666 and SubMouth28
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He doesn't let fags anywhere near His cock. He has plenty of chicks to take care of that. but He finds it funny to watch a pathetic queer loser slobber all over His feet after He's been walking around barefoot all day.
He’s even got the neighbors 23 year old son checking in with Him through text message several times a day to make sure His feet are clean enough. He usually just ignores the text, only responding when His feet are truly filthy; and in those instances the fag rushes over eagerly to devour the filth from the bottoms of His massive feet.
It all started as a joke. The little fag couldn’t stop staring whenever He’d kick His feet up on the porch, and the Man was starting to notice it. After noticing the fag’s staring a few times, the Man called out jokingly one tipsy night “why don’t you come over here and kiss them since you’re so captivated by them”
And the rest was history. He knew He had the bitch by the balls when he first walked up the stairs and leaned in to kiss His big, stinking feet. It wasn’t sexual for Him, but He did enjoy it in a non sexual way. Once the Man had the fag’s brain hooked on His feet, He ordered a small, cheap chastity belt off the internet and demanded the bitch put it on if he wanted to continue being allowed to worship. The fag, desperate to secure his place at His addicting feet, put it on without a second thought, and the Man kept the keys.
He never really told the fag, but He had absolutely zero intention of ever letting him free from his metal cage. It was so effortless, stealing the young fag’s sexuality from him at age 18, and then constantly dangling His feet in his helpless face. The bitch had asked a few different times to have it taken off, if only for 10 minutes, but the Man insisted that if He took it off He would have to move away and never let the fag see His feet again. He had complete control of his mind, making him stay at home living with his parents where it’s cheaper so that he could send more of his paycheck to Him. The fag lived on a very strict budget, ensuring that he could send as much money as possible to the Man next door who kept a close eye on his finances. It was the perfect win- extra money for doing nothing, the thrill of controlling another man, and there was something particularly amusing about watching his eyes glaze over whenever he would lick His feet. It was the only ‘sex’ the fag would ever know, and boy did he enjoy it!
The Man knew he would own this faggot for as long as He wanted to, and his parents didn’t seem to mind him living at home, so there was no foreseeable obstacle anywhere in the future. The Man smirked when His phone lit up beside Him on the table. “New Message from Forever Virgin”
‘Sir, may I please offer my cleaning services to You and Your perfect Feet?’ He clicked the reply button and lit up a joint, eagerly waiting for the sick little fuck to come in and serve his filthy purpose at the bottoms of His cruel and taunting feet.
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Your mother, who's a nurse, changed to the evening shift. So every day, whenever your stepfather came home after work, he'd make you get down on your knees, take off his shoes, and massage, sniff, and kiss his sweaty sock feet. He said he only acted like he was okay with you being a faggot in front of your mother, but really that he couldn't stand faggots. So he said he was going to treat you like one. And he said if you told his mother, he'd make sure you get kicked out of the house one way or another. He would make you run and get him beers. He'd have you call for takeout for him and make you pay for it out of your allowance. He either avoided you while you serviced his sweaty socked feet or verbally degraded you, calling you a good girl, calling you a faggot, calling you a dirty homo sock sniffer, and even more things that truly humiliated you and made you feel like shit. Once he even made you made you cry and he laughed at that. So that was your life. Everyday after school you had to come straight home and wait for him to come home from work. And every day you worshiped and massaged his sweaty sock feet. You couldn't go out with your friends. You couldn't have any activities after school. The five evenings that your mom was working at the hospital, you were his sock sniffing bitch. That was your life now.
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Grandpa caught me sniffing his big beefy feet.
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