A new fictional story based on trampling and domestic service.
If you like being trampled, and like the idea of doing chores for your Master, this is for you.
If you don't like verbal humiliation, especially the 'f' word, this is not for you!
**********
I had often used online personal classified sites, with varying degrees of success. I would post ads seeking to serve guys and their sneakers, whether it be sneaker worship or trampling. I had a fairly narrow and specific set of interests that often hindered my ability to meet suitable guys. For example, trying to find guys to trample me through 'normal' apps such as Grindr was almost impossible. Thats why I liked these classifieds, you could usually find someone for whatever specific 'unusual' thing you wanted, even if you offered a little money. No, especially if you offered a little money. I wasn't a finsub by any means but I figured it was money well spent if I got what I wanted. Money meant they got something out of the arrangement too. I didn't have to suck or fuck, just give them some money in return for what I wanted.
After many years of this and being immersed in the online world of fetish, I got to the point where I had acted out a lot of different sneaker worship and trampling scenes. Don't get me wrong, this was fun and hot and I really enjoyed recalling all of those sessions, but I was feeling adventurous and it was time to try a slight twist on what I liked. I had heard of many different fantasies that I didn't think I would ever get into, but now one or two of them were creeping into my desires. My idea was a combination of a few things I had come across online. I was inspired by some of the BadMasterBoys videos but also the idea of being a domestic slave for an appropriate Master. I had seen a slave on Twitter doing this for his Master. Doing chores for him around his house, cleaning and tidying, laundry.. basically whatever the Master desired. If I could somehow find the right guy for this it would be amazing.
So once again I returned to the classified sites. I posted my ad, as per usual, looking to serve a guy's sneakers and be trampled underneath them. What I was offering in return was to clean and do any chores around the house. I kept the ad brief, but made it clear I am up for any task they see fit to give me.. as long as I am degraded and treated as a total slave in return. I could not offer any sexual services, I did not want to see them with their clothes off. But I was hoping they might be somewhat sadistic as a bonus, and enjoy trampling me and treating me like shit underneath their sneakers. I figured I could go into detail about my fantasy if the right guy turned up. To my surprise, that very same day, he did.
Marko responded to the ad with a brief but promising message. He was European, tall with size 12 feet and 85kg. He was open minded and really did not want to have to clean his apartment, he emphasised that heavily. Over the course of a few days we emailed back and forth, talking about details of what we both wanted and each of us trying to figure out what the other's boundaries were. At one point he sent through his instagram account and when I looked it up my jaw dropped. He looked like a model. Beautiful face with blue eyes and toned body, and even better.. plenty of photos in his profile that showed off his feet and sneakers. I felt like I had won the lottery before even having met him. As with most guys I had met in this way, I was a little dubious if he would actually trample me well or not. Too many times guys had said they would, but when it came to it, were too overly worried about me underneath. A total mood killer for me. I clearly explained to him what I liked and he said he was fine to do it, but I still had a feeling maybe he just really wanted a cleaner. Boy was I wrong.
He worked from home and said I could come around any day that suited. We agreed on a Wednesday afternoon and before I knew it I was driving to his place. He lived in an apartment block on the city fringe with incredible views. I parked in the visitor parking underneath, and he buzzed me up to his level. I walked along the hallway towards his door, full of nerves and excitement. We had already discussed in detail what would happen, and I hoped it all went just as planned. Before I could even knock on the door, it opened before me and there he stood, in gym clothes and a pair of worn black Nike Frees. I stepped inside and the door closed behind me. I barely had a chance to survey the apartment before he barked at me.
"Get on your knees, faggot."
I dropped my bag and body to the floor, getting on my hands and knees. He walked past me to his couch, sat down and propped those incredible sneakers up on his coffee table. He snapped his fingers at me.
"Crawl here, now. You are going to lick these dirty sneaker soles clean. That is your first task."
I willingly obliged, eager to taste those soles and get rid of any dirt from his treads. My dick was hard and my heart was happy, I already had a feeling this was going to be an incredible session. I licked those sneakers soles so hard my tongue hurt. They were more worn than I first thought. The taste of dirt and rubber was heaven. There was no way I was going to get these looking pristine clean using just my tongue, but I was going to try my hardest to do so. I didn't care if my tongue was raw for weeks after. He could feel it working hard through his soles, but he didn't seem to be pleased. Occasionally I would steal a glance at him, and his steely blue eyes were staring at me with a look of disgust. I genuinely felt like he thought I was a piece of shit, and this excited me beyond words.
I continued to lick his sneaker soles and after a good 10 or so minutes he seemed satisfied. He snapped his fingers at me to get my attention.
"Ok faggot, as discussed, now we begin. I have made a list of all the chores you are going to do for me today. This list may change as the afternoon progresses of course. You are not allowed to refuse any of these things, and you are not allowed to leave until I am satisfied with the job done. I don't care how long it takes you to do."
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir" the first words I had uttered since arriving.
"I have not cleaned this place for weeks, and that was before I saw your pathetic ad online. I will read this list out to you and you can refer back to it as you go, making sure not to miss anything off. You don't need to do these in any particular order, but you do need to do all of them."
He begins to read off the list as I take the opportunity to continue licking his sneaker soles.
Wash and dry all the laundry in my laundry basket.
Fold all the laundry neatly once clean and dry.
Make my bed.
Vacuum and mop the floors.
Rinse any dishes in kitchen and put into dishwasher.
Wipe kitchen benches and cupboard doors removing all marks.
Sweep balcony.
Clean windows.
Bathroom deep clean. Scrub shower, basin and cupboards.
Tidy anything else that looks messy.
"So, where would you like to start faggot?"
I take the list and look at it again. There is a lot to do, but thankfully his place is not too big so I feel it is achievable. I figure the laundry is the best place to start so I can do the other tasks while the washing machine does its thing.
"Sir, I'll start with your laundry first if that's ok and your bedroom."
He nods, putting his Nike sole straight in my face and pushing me away.
"Well get to it then.." dismissing me with force, and settling back into his couch to relax for the next few hours.
I began my tasks quickly. The washing is on within minutes, and I begin tidying his bedroom. It is not too bad really. I took the blankets off the bed and pull the sheets tight, tucking them in firmly and neatly. I really wanted to impress this guy and hope that he is happy with my work. Once the bed is made I straighten his belongings on the bedside tables and dresser. Opening the blinds I surveyed the windows to be cleaned later on. There is a bin with some discarded rubbish nearby. As I bent down to pick this rubbish up I heard something from behind me.
"Think fast faggot!"
Before I could even turn around I feel his sneaker connect with my back, kicking me hard from the side. We had discussed this in the email and I knew it was coming at some point, but it still took me by surprise. He was brutal and it hurt like hell. Grabbing my side I fell to the floor, on my back, and he towered above me, still with that look of disdain in his eyes. Either he was a really good actor or he genuinely thought nothing of me. I didn't have time to think about this any further, because he had stepped up onto my chest full weight and was standing there both feet, surveying the room. At this point I had only just noticed that he had changed into a pair of Nike 270s. That would help explain why the kick hurt so much. He must have been pleased with the progress so far, as he granted me one of my treats that we had agreed on.
"Fag, I know you have that bottle of poppers in your pocket. Pull it out now, and take 2 big deep whiffs, 1 from each nostril."
He hopped off me momentarily to allow some full breaths. My dick leapt in anticipation. I opened the bottle and did as ordered, already becoming light headed from the first whiff.
"Take a 3rd whiff, for good luck."
I breathed in for a 3rd time as far as my lungs would allow, then quickly put the lid back on and lay back down, my body already feeling whoozy from the rush. Like a dream, he stomped up onto my chest and stomach and started marching in place, hard. As he continued I was feeling euphoric and silently thanking whoever invented poppers. Of course, I enjoyed trampling without it, but if you've never tried it while being trampled you simply have to. He was still marching with his sneakers facing sideways, but turned so that the toes pointed up to my head. With one sneaker on both sides of my chest he started to jump while looking down and assessing whether I'm handling it or not. At least, that's what I thought he was thinking.. but as I started to struggle and groan under his hard jumps I noticed he was smiling and didn't really care at all. The effect of the poppers does not last long and I was soon struggling and in more pain. He pushed my head to the side with his sneaker, and stepped on the side of my face full weight. There he stayed for a minute or two, then it all abruptly ended. I watched as his sneakers walked away from me back to the living room.
I lay there in a daze, but then saw his head poke back into the room. He was frowning.
"What the fuck are you doing laying there faggot? You're not here for your pleasure, you've got cleaning to do, hurry up."
This snapped me out of my dream, and I got up unsteadily. Right. What was I doing? Rubbish. I picked it up and put it in the bin. Realising I should empty this bin I took it through to the kitchen and emptied it into the main bin. Still in a slight daze I started to rinse the dishes and stack the dishwasher. I cleared the benches away ready to be cleaned.
"Sir, where is your vacuum cleaner?"
He doesn't even look up from his phone, but points towards a cupboard near the door.
I go over to the cupboard, opend the door to retrieve the vacuum - but a bunch of stuff fell out instead.
"Oh, while you're at it - organise that fucking cupboard faggot. Forgot about that one."
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir."
It is overflowing with stuff. I pulled everything out, and realised this was a bigger job than it looked. It took me 20 minutes to organise everything into piles and use the boxes inside the cupboard to carefully stack everything back into place. With it all neatly organised he could now easily access his vacuum, not that he probably ever will with me around, I think to myself. I pulled it out and brought it around to the kitchen, thinking to start the vacuuming there. Before I could start this though he is snapping his fingers at me again.
"Oi faggot, I have another treat for you. Get over here and rub these feet. I'd call it a chore but you'll probably enjoy this too much to call it that."
I noticed he had taken his sneakers off, and was sitting there with his Nike crew socks propped up in my direction. I dropped everything and raced to his feet immediately. I sat down on the floor so his feet are level with my face, noting that this feels so right, and begin rubbing and massaging his socks. Do I dare to sniff them? I realise we had not discussed this exact scenario, but he is very open minded after all. I decide against it without asking first.
"Sir, may I please sniff your amazing socks? Please Sir."
He chuckled for a moment, hesitating.. leaving me hanging.
"Spoken like a true faggot. You really know your place huh? How long have you waited to serve someone like me?"
"Well Sir, I've had some amazing sessions in the past but nothing quite lives up to you and this experience so far."
He nodded, pleased with my response.
"Go ahead, sniff those socks. Maybe my sock stink can be your new poppers."
I inhaled deeply and the smell was incredible. Still rubbing his feet as best I could, I took in the musty foot odour and enjoyed the moment knowing it wouldn't last too long. His socks were not rank, which is perfect for me. They had just the right amount of foot smell for it to be a turn on and not disgusting. I have big hands but his big socks still looked massive as I rubbed them from heel to toe, alternating between using my palms to apply squeezing pressure and my fingertips to press into the soles. I noticed he had closed his eyes and was enjoying it.
"Fag, this is one of the best foot rubs I have had in some time. I would like it to keep going, but you still have a lot of work to do. We will revisit this either later on or another time. Now get back to work."
Reluctantly I returned to the kitchen and began vacuuming there. Slowly I worked my way out into the living room, first cleaning under the dining room table and the entrance. Then I inched closer to the couch where he was still sitting, feet on the floor and engrossed in his phone. He ignored me the whole time, not looking up once. Beneath the couch was clearly in need of a vacuum but his feet were in the way and he is not moving. I continued with the other parts of the floor until I was nearly done and had no choice to come back to the couch to complete the room. He knew what I needed to do, but left his feet where they were. I turned the vacuum cleaner off and get onto my knees once more.
"Sir, please may you lift your feet up so this faggot can vacuum underneath them."
"Oh you need my feet moved do you? Move them yourself faggot."
I didn't even hesitate, the chance to touch them again was a treat. I carefully lifted his left foot up and placed it on the coffee table. I did the same with the right foot, and they are back up where they were before with my face buried in them. I resisted the urge to sniff them again, and quickly vacuumed the floor. With that room done it was just the bedroom to go and I start to head there with the vacuum but he started to protest.
"Uhh... faggot. Aren't you forgetting something here?"
I paused, unsure for a second, and then realised he was wanting me to lower his feet back to the floor. I smiled inwardly. Fuck, he is really good at this humiliation game too. I carefully lowered his feet back to the floor, and feeling brave I look up at his face as I bent to kiss his right foot. He just shook his head and kicked me in the face. That was my cue to 'get back to work'.
Once I had done the bedroom I could hear the washing machine beeping, signalling the laundry being done. I pulled it all out and start to load it into the dryer to begin the next process. I was not concentrating and did not hear him come up behind me. He grabbed me from behind and brought one of his sneakers around in front of me. While still holding me he shoved the sneaker over my nose and I am forced to breathe through it for a couple of minutes. Of course, I put up no struggle and enjoyed the beautiful smell from his sneaker. His face was close to the back of my head and he spoke into my ear while there.
"How you liking that smell faggot? I know this sneaker smells bad. It's probably too good a treat for a piece of shit like yourself. Big breaths, come on. Really take that all in. Tell you what, I have an idea. Get down on the floor right here now."
I was in heaven before he even stood on me. Is this guy for real? What good did I do in a previous life to deserve such luck?
"Now. Get that little bottle of magic out again faggot. Take some big whiffs once more."
I do as I'm told, happily. My face turned a different shade of red and he could see that the poppers were working. Once I had exhaled them all out he shoved the shoe over my face and nose, lodging it there in place before jumping up and landing on my chest. With the sneaker over my face I can't quite see what he is wearing this time and the soles felt different. I later learned they were a pair of Nike Air Force Ones, and they felt amazing. He could hear my muffled struggles as he trampled my chest and stomach hard, occasionally stopping to put pressure on the sneaker over my nose. This was to ensure any breath I could manage during the onslaught was 100% filtered through his smelly sneaker, and not fresh air coming in from the sides. Now, I was hard through all the action so far involving anything with his socks, sneakers and trampling, but by this stage my underwear had started to fill with pre cum I was so horny. It was like he could read my mind and he stepped on my crotch for the first time, pushing my dick down and crushing it under his weight. It felt so good to be treated like this under such a guy. The trampling continued and he was getting more confident with it, not only jumping on me but bouncing and stomping on places he knew were getting sore. Was he a mind reader? I already knew I would be submitting to him again, or at least hoping he would allow me to do it again.
Reality soon hit again, and I was back into the chores. Even more motivated to do a good job, in the hope that he would give me another treat of some brutal punishment beneath his weight and sneakers. I found the mop and bucket and began to mop the kitchen and living room floors. This time he was laying on his bed so I didn't have to worry about moving his feet or interrupting his relaxing time. I got this job done fairly quickly, and began emptying the dirty water out.
"Hey FAGGOT.."
I heard him calling from the bedroom, so I dropped everything and quickly went to see what he needs.
"I've got another task for you. While that floor is drying, you're going to walk down the road to the supermarket and pick me up a few things. Here is a list of what I want. Mostly all the heavy stuff I can't be bothered carrying myself. Now that I've got you, I won't ever need to."
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir."
"And don't even think about driving there.. you're to carry it all back. Bags are in the kitchen, be sure to grab them on the way out."
He handed me his swipe card for the building, and I scurryed out. In the lift on the way down I quickly checked my face for any marks. I looked fairly ok, he has not caused any marks or bruises of concern. Not yet, and not to my face anyway. Who knows what my chest looked like underneath my t-shirt.
The supermarket was pretty close so there was not much of an effort to get there. Driving would probably have been a bit silly. I realised I hadn't looked at his list and as I'm walking through the building doors I realise there is quite a lot of stuff he wanted. Perhaps driving would have been easier after all. Instead of grabbing a basket, I grabbed a trolley, and began the process of trying to find items in an unfamiliar store. 15 minutes later I am at the checkout and filling at least 4 bags with heavy items. I hope the bag handles don't break on the way back. He will kill me. I wonder what the punishment would be if they did break? I made my way out of the building and struggled back to his apartment, my hands and arms hurting with the load. I decided that today is not the day to test his punishment, it might be a better experiment once I know him a little better. I reached his door and struggled with the swipe card, making it into the kitchen and plonking everything down on the bench with a sigh of relief. He hadn't moved from the bed.
"You can pack all that shit away too while you're at it faggot" he called from the bedroom.
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir" I responded back, happy to be of service.
Once all his groceries were packed away I went back to the list to see what was next. The dryer was still running so I thought I would tackle the balcony. This shouldn't take me too long. I began to sweep up the leaves and shake out the doormat. How funny, a doormat cleaning a doormat. I noticed some of the plants in his outdoor pots had a few dead leaves, so I tidied these up as well, wondering if he would notice and if it would earn me extra trample credits. I heard him come out of the bedroom, he was on the phone to someone and was slowly approaching me. It did not sound work related as the conversation was quite friendly and relaxed.
"Yeah I'm just relaxing at home, decided to take the afternoon off. Oh yeah? I could be up for that later. No plans."
I continue cleaning and all of a sudden he is right behind me, sneaker pushing me to the floor once more. I panicked slightly, wondering if anyone could see what is going on from a different balcony, but it was too late to protest, he was already standing on me full weight and deep in conversation with whoever is on the phone.
"Funny you mention that because I've got a cleaner here right now doing some work for the first time. Yeah I decided to treat myself and finally get one, you know what my place was like.."
He looks down at me and smiled. I smiled back, enjoying the feeling of another pair of sneakers.. this time Nike Vapormax, a brutal sole, digging into my body. He motioned at me with his free hand to take whiffs of my poppers. Without hesitating I grabbed it out and he was kind enough to step off so I could inhale deeply. As soon as I was putting the lid back in, he was up onto my body. As my head started to swirl and I feel that familiar intoxicating rush of the poppers I hear him continue to speak.
"He seems to be doing a good job although he's clearly a bit of a loser. I don't think I'm even going to pay him, no matter how good a job he does. What can he do about it? Nothing. I bet he'll even come back a second time just for the honour of cleaning for me."
As he's saying this he's not even looking at me, looking out to the view and laughing, enjoying the air and the view. Because he's concentrating on his conversation there are no jumps but I am not disappointed. He is grinding those hard soles into my body, and wiping them as if I were the doormat I cleaned just moments ago. In my high state I couldn't care less who sees me in this position, and clearly he didn't care either. I thanked him silently every time he scraped that shoe on me, while he laughed and joked with his friend about me. Oh fuck, Sir. THANK YOU Sir, please, hurt me Sir. He was so cocky about it and being ignored like this underfoot was one of the hottest experiences I had had to date. My dick was throbbing in my pants but was very obvious for anyone to see. He stomped his right foot down onto and started grinding those unforgiving treads in once more. It was such a perfect mix of pleasure and pain that I had zoned out from the conversation, but now I could hear that it was coming to an end.
"Alright mate, thanks for the call. I'll see you there tonight yep. See you."
He put his phone in his pocket, looked down at me and laughed.
"You really love this don't you? You're even more pathetic than you look, faggot."
And with that he pivoted on his sneakers, making sure his left foot painfully twisted my nipple hard on the way, then stepped off me and back into the apartment. Without looking back he snapped his fingers at me, signalling me to continue my work.
Next up was the kitchen. I dutifully sprayed the bench and cupboards with product and scrubbed them clean. They had not had a good clean in a while and came up very well. At one point near the end Mark came into the kitchen to fetch a drink from the fridge.
"Wow fag, this is looking good."
He opens his can and takes a swig. I could have fetched that for him, he didn't need that sort of hassle.
I continued scrubbing and then out of the blue he kicked me hard in the thigh. It really hurt, more than I think he intended. Fuck that is going to bruise badly.
"Thank you Sir."
"You're welcome, faggot."
He kicks me again, and again. I curled up into a ball on the kitchen floor, trying to shield myself from the kicks. My legs and arms were getting hammered and scraped, he was still wearing those mean Vapormax. It's like he was doing some sort of kickboxing workout with me in the kitchen. After what seems like forever but in reality was only a minute or two, he stopped to catch his breath. He took another swig of the drink and extended his sneaker out at my face.
"Lick it. Use that fucking disgusting faggot tongue of yours to lick these incredible soles."
I stick my tongue out and lean forward, but he pulls the sneaker away, just out of reach. I look up at him and he's smirking at me. I crawl forward a tiny bit more to reach, and he pulls away again. I sigh, and lean forward much further, only to have the shoe slammed in my face and he pushed me all the way back to the corner again.
"There is to be no sighing or any noises that make you sound ungrateful when you're here serving me, you got it faggot? You don't know how lucky you have it, I bet there are thousands of fags in this city who would love to be in your place." He's not wrong.
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir. I am very honoured and grateful to have met you. It won't happen again Sir, I'm very sorry Sir."
He kicks me one last time.
"Lift your face up faggot."
I tentatively lifted my face and looked up to him standing over me. He bent down and spat right in my face. I recoiled as the spit ran into my eye and down my face.
"Don't you dare rub that off faggot. You continue your work wearing my spit on your face."
"Yes Sir, thank you for spitting in my face Sir."
He took his drink and headed back to the living room, slipping his Vapormax off and propping his feet up on the table. Flicking the TV on he ignored me as I finished the kitchen off and began on the windows. My arms were now quite sore from the kicking and it hurt to be scrubbing the windows, but there was no way I was refusing a task. Even if I might have enjoyed a punishment for doing so, I wanted to impress him and desperately wanted the opportunity to come back again to serve. I did all the windows except for the living room, leaving that one till last. I can see he has pulled his shoe rack over to the couch and was inspecting some of the sneakers on it. Or is he working out which ones to abuse me with next?. As I finished off the living room windows he threw a sneaker at me, hitting me square in the back.
"Bullseye. Turn around faggot."
I turned, just in time to receive another sneaker thrown at my chest. I flinched. Unsure what to do, I stood there awkwardly like the loser I was and watched him laughing at me, continuing to throw sneakers. One nearly hit me in the face and this set him off laughing even harder.
"Alright alright, enough fun. Bring those sneakers back to me now. It's time for you to clean some more soles with your tongue."
He pulled out a pair of really worn Adidas NMD. I was surprised to see anything other than Nike in his collection, but happy as I loved NMDs. The soles are really thrashed, almost worn through.
"Sniff your faggot juice and then start cleaning this right away."
He put them on his feet and propped them up on the coffee table again. I pulled my poppers out and inhaled deep once more. The rush was a welcome distraction from my tongue which felt quite raw now, having licked his sneaker soles plenty of times today. I licked frantically, knowing there was no way I could get these clean either, but hoping that he would be satisfied with the job. I glanced up to see him on his phone, seemingly unaware of the faggot at his sneakers whose pulse was racing hard and head in a whirl. The effect wears off fairly quickly as usual, and I calm down while still licking away, making sure to lick the sides of the soles as well.
"I think next time I might dirty up a pair real good for you huh fag. Some nice caked on mud for your mouth. That would be a nice reward for a faggot like you, wouldn't it?"
Fuck he is good.
"Yes Sir, thank you Sir, I would really love that Sir" I grinned.
He picked up a sneaker by his side and slapped my face with the sole, effectively wiping the grin from my face. No words were spoken, but I knew not to grin again.
At this moment the dryer started to beep. His clothes were dry. He just looked at me and raised his eyebrows.
"Excuse me Sir, while I fold and put away your laundry."
After folding all the laundry I worked out where each bit of clothing lived and neatly packed them away in his wardrobe and drawers. They could really use a tidy up too, maybe that could be a job for next time. I was pondering this as he walked into the bedroom with the list. He inspected where I had put everything away and said nothing, so I assumed I had got it right.
"You've been here long enough now faggot, I have plans tonight and I want you out of my sight soon. There's just the bathroom to go and I want that spotless."
He threw some rags at me and went back to the couch. I had been dreading the bathroom. It was the dirtiest room of the apartment. The shower and toilet were dirty with grime and looked like they hadn't been cleaned in months. I had happily cleaned the rest of the place, but I hesitated before starting the bathroom. Oh well, this is what I signed up for. I scrubbed the shower first and it took me a long time. Those tiles cleaned up well but it was harder to shift the dirt from the grout. No matter how hard I scrubbed they still looked dirty. I hoped that he wouldn't be disappointed in me for that. I cleaned the mirror and vanity next, making sure the taps sparkled. Then it was the toilet and floors to finish. I had worked up a slight sweat with all the scrubbing. Just as I was nearing finishing, Mark walked in and saw my hard work. He was very impressed but he did not give any hint of that to me just yet.
"You finished yet faggot? What is taking you so damn long, you know I have to leave soon."
"I'm so sorry Sir, this took me longer than I thought. I hope you are happy with the clean now Sir. If you allow me to come back Sir it won't take me so long to have it clean for you. I can maintain this easily after a good deep clean."
He smirked. He knew even before this faggot arrived that he had him hook, line and sinker. This faggot was now his to own and use on demand as he pleased. There would be no need to pay for a cleaner. Hell, the fag should really be paying him for the privilege to clean this place.
"Shut up faggot, I need to piss. Lay down in front of the toilet."
Shocked, I lay down on my stomach. I was not into piss play and this was not something I had ever tried before. I hoped none of his piss would go on me, but I was just the bathroom mat for him and sometimes that might happen. He stood two sneakers planted firmly on my back, and there was a pause of silence before the steady stream of his piss tinkled into the toilet water. I couldn't see it but he was smiling while looking down into that clean toilet.
"Get rid of those cleaning products and put all rags into the washing machine. Wash your hands, clean yourself up and then get to the living room. You can now have your final reward."
He washed his hands, flicking the water at me afterwards before going back to the couch. I quickly did as he asked, my heart beating faster with excitement. When I got out to the living room, he let me choose what pair of sneakers to be trampled in. I was feeling quite sore and hadn't been trampled in the NMDs yet, so I chose those.
"Lay down on the floor there, in the doorway between here and the bedroom."
I lay down, face up this time, and watched as he walked over to me in those worn NMDs.
"You've done a good job today fag, so as agreed, I will allow you one last trample scene before you leave. I suggest you start sniffing those poppers right now."
The familiar rush took over my head and body as I lay back down and shook with anticipation of him on me. The poppers always helped me to feel even more submissive and in this moment I totally surrendered my body to him and his weight, ready to accept anything that may happen to me - good or bad. He stepped up onto my thighs and marched steadily forward onto my chest and stomach. By this point I am in ecstasy as he stomped and trampled recklessly all over my front. The NMD soles were flat and relatively easy, but the way he pummelled them into my body made me feel totally worthless and extremely contented all at the same time. He got into a familiar rhythm with his stomps and begins bouncing and jumping too, using the door frame for balance but without easing any weight off me. This continued for 10 minutes or so, up and down my body with some nice crotch trampling as well. My dick can hardly contain itself much longer and he can sense it.
"You can jerk off faggot, I'll allow it. You deserve this. But first, one last whiff of those poppers."
I took some strong whiffs from the bottle, and lay back down again, this time pulling my dick out. He stomped hard back up onto me and jumped repeatedly on my chest. It was scary how ferocious he got with those jumps, but it pushed me to the edge nonetheless. I was sure my chest was going to be heavily bruised but in the moment I could not care less. Just as I was getting close, I turned my head to the side and he saw that as in invitation. Stepping with both feet and full 85kg weight he stood on my head and within seconds I shot a huge load all over my stomach. I was shuddering from the orgasm and still reeling from the effect of the poppers. He got off my head and immediately threw tissues at me.
"Clean that mess up RIGHT NOW faggot, and get the fuck out of here."
I was a mess, physically and mentally. The poppers had still not quite worn off and I was in a bit of a daze trying to clean the cum off me. He was not satisfied with my progress and started kicking me repeatedly in the arms and legs until I got up.
"Move it faggot, I said GET OUT."
I stumbled to the bathroom to get rid of the tissues, and stumbled back, clumsily gathered my belongings and walked towards the door. I tripped over and fell near the door, which made him sigh in frustration. He came over and grabbed me, pulling me up and turning me to face him. He wrapped one of his strong hands around my throat and choked me. He spat in my face one last time and then smirked at me. He has such a great smile.
"You will be coming back next week, same time Wednesday. Now walk back to your car with my spit proudly on your face and show everyone what a good faggot you are."
He opened the door and I attempted to thank him for what was one of the most extreme, and extremely satisfying, sessions of my life. But before I could do that he had shoved me out the door and slammed it shut. I was exhausted, sore and spent. As I walked back to my car with his spit fresh on my face, I knew deep down this was going to be a long and wonderful arrangement.