Office Foot Slave

It was Troy's third month of work, and he was pretty full of himself by now. He was young and ambitious, and was already bored by his current position. What he really wanted to do was take over Jake's job. Jake was his immediate supervisor, an attractive, well-built man in his early 40's who, despite his appearance, never seemed to do any work. In fact, in all his time at the company, Troy almost never saw Jake outside his office: did this man do any work?

Troy knew he could do good things with the department, get himself better and better positions in the company, and make lots and lots of money. He had scheduled a Friday morning meeting with Jake's supervisor, Mr. Scarpelli, and was going to present his plan for improving the department's productivity. Troy knew it was only a matter of time before Jake got bounced and he took over, and he smiled as this thought passed through him, staring at his reflection in the mirror as he got ready for work. This was Troy's first job out of school, but his ambitious streak was nothing new. He started out as a nobody on the college crew team, but had become co-captain by senior year.

He was still in fantastically good shape, and came to work early each morning to do a work out in the company gym. He finished today's work out and took an invigorating shower. After tucking in his blue, button-down oxford (the shirt emphasized the dreamy blue hue of his eyes, which he knew turned everyone on), he combed back his dirty-blonde hair, thinking to himself: you are one powerful and sexy motherfucker.

There was usually no one in the office by the time Troy arrived, so he was a little surprised to see the door to Jake's office cracked open. With gym bag in hand, Troy quietly sat down in his workstation and turned him computer on. He wanted to avoid any contact with Jake right now; he especially didn't want to tip him off about his upcoming meeting with Mr. Scarpelli. But two minutes after he arrived, he heard the familiar "beep" of his speakerphone, followed by Jake's gruff, low-key voice.

"Troy, this is Jake. Could you come to my office a moment." The last statement was phrased less as a question and more a demand. Troy sighed to himself and hit the response key.

"I'll be in in a second." Troy knocked on Jake's door and quietly walked in. The room was unexpectedly dark; all the blinds were closed, and the only light in the room came from the banker's lamp on Jake's desk. Jake was more formally dressed than usual; he was wearing a finely cut, grey pinstripe suit with a powder blue shirt and emerald tie. Troy thought he actually looked pretty sharp; he caught himself wondering who Jake's tailor was.

"Have a seat," Jake said, pointing to the chair in front of his desk. Jake was sitting in a leather high-backed chair on the other side of the desk; the desk was finely polished walnut; the light glinted off its surface. As Troy advanced to the seat, Jake got out of his chair and walked to the door.

"No, no, sit down," he Told troy, again gesturing for him to sit down. As Troy took a seat, he heard Jake shut the door with quiet firmness, and then heard the door's deadbolt lock turn.

"We want some privacy in here," Jake explained.

"What did you want to see me for, Jake?" a slightly exasperated Troy asked. Jake returned to the desk, but instead of taking his chair, he took a seat on the edge of the desk, just to the side of where Troy was sitting. They were only about a foot apart at this moment. Jake's left thigh was hitched a little higher than the other, and Troy could see the strongly compact energy of the man beneath the pinstripe suit. Troy let his left foot dangle in the air; he was wearing a pair of shiny and expensive-looking black leather loafers (hand-cut?, Troy wondered: Italian?), and fine (almost sheer) black ribbed socks.

"I wanted to talk with you," was Jake's only response.

"About what?" Troy asked.

"You just work out?" Jake responded, a non sequitur that momentarily confused Troy.

"Yeah. Every morning." Troy could heard Jake take a heavy sniff.

"You use -- what is that? Irish Spring?" Troy was somewhat flabergasted by this point, but he had to admit the guy knew his soaps.

"Yeah," Troy responded. Jake smiled.

"I like Irish Spring. Especially so fresh in the morning like this, you know." Troy fidgeted a little: what was this guy talking about? At the same time, though, he felt a little jazzed by the attention: maybe Jake wants me, he thought. All the same, Troy wanted to put things back on track.

"What did you call me in for, Jake?"

"I want to see if you got what it takes."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you got what it takes?"

"What're you talking about?" Jake smiled, and shifted a little on the desk. He moved his right shoe over to the left, and forced the heel of his left shoe off his left foot. Troy's senses were instantly aroused; the smell that emerged from the shoe was more sour than he would have expected; it smelled like a sock that hadn't been changed in a week! Jake let the shoe dangle in the air for a few moments, and then let it gently drop into Troy's crotch. The fully exposed sock was even sharper smelling, and even though the sock was black, Troy could see the contours of Jake's foot within it. The foot and sock smelled pretty foul; instead of recoiling, though, Troy felt even a little more jazzed by the aroma. It was kind of sickening, but the very fact of its sickness -- well, he couldn't explain it, but the very fact of its sickness made it kind of hot.

"Do you got what it takes?" Jake asked.

"What -- I still don't -- I still don't know what you mean."

"You can leave right now. This is one sick-assed smelly foot. You probably want to leave. You can leave if you want to. But do you got what it takes to stay?" Troy smiled.

"Yeah -- sure -- I can -- I can put up with this."

"Because you like this smell." Jake lifted the foot closer to Troy's face; his big toe was just about an inch away from Troy's nose.

"Because you want this smell." Troy was silent; but, despite himself, he felt the truth of what Jake was telling him. Jake touched the tip of Troy's nose with his big toe. Troy could feel the texture of the sock; it was matted, as if it hadn't been washed in a while, and a little moist.

"Tell me you want this smell." Troy started breathing a little heavier; he couldn't control himself; he now had a full erection, and wanted release.

Jake maneuvered his toe closer to Troy's nostril.

"Tell me you want this smell. I can take it away anytime I want to. Tell me you want it, or I'll take it away."

"I--" Troy stammered. He couldn't bring himself to say these words. But Jake knew he would; Troy was his from the moment he decided to stay in the room. But Jake wanted to move on to the next phase of Troy's conditioning, so he decided to speed things up a little bit.

"Okay -- clearly you don't want this smell anymore." Jake moved his foot away from Troy's face, and pretended that he was going to get up from the chair.

"Please--" Troy said.

"Please, I -- I mean, I--"

"Well, I have other business to get to, so if you wouldn't mind leaving my office--"

"Please, sir, I want the smell of your feet. Please."

"Tell me you need it."

"Yes -- I need it." Jake smiled. Phase one was over; it was now time to begin phase two. But he believed in rewarding his slaves every now and then, and Troy would be no exception.

"You should feel good that you admitted your need. Now be a good boy and do what I tell you."

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written by nikewhite