I was swiping through Tinder at the physical therapist's office when my name finally got called. I didn't hear him at first, but when he cleared his throat and said it louder I looked up.
Listen, I'll never claim to have perfect gaydar, or to be able to pick out a closeted fag from a mile away. Honestly, I try not to judge and to just mind my business. The prospect of getting it wrong simply isn't worth it for me. But sometimes, sometimes you just know. And looking at my physical therapist for the day I just knew.
Not just that he was gay. But that he was a faggot. What's the difference you scoff? But we all know the difference. See, your average gay guy has at least a modicum of self-respect. They want what any guy wants, they want respect, they want their dick sucked, they want love, maybe a family and all that heteronormative good jazz; they just also like sucking and getting fucked. But you know, respectfully. Sometimes.
A fag though? They want to be used above all else. They crave humiliation. Sure, way down on their list of priorities MAYBE there's a desire for love or appreciation, but being used- roughly and thoroughly- is at the very top. And respect? Don't make me fucking laugh.
"Yup, I'm Robbie" I say standing up. We make eye contact. He's got cute green eyes. They'd be even cuter if they were filled with tears from choking on my dick. I give him a nice firm handshake and he lets out a little gasp. The handshake goes on for an awkward length of time. "And you're... Mickey" I say reading his name tag.
"Aw- sorry, yes, yup sir, that's me, well Michael really but Mickey's fine, you can call me whatever you want." I can see him cringe a little bit, embarrassed at his rambling, but personally I'm ecstatic. Considering what I'm here for I'm guessing this fag is gonna be so easy. "If you wanna follow me through here we can get started. Yup straight through here, and then you can have a seat on the table there." There are a few other patients and therapists milling about the gym. Mickey seems to have collected himself. We'll see how long that lasts. "So what brings you in here today Robbie?" I take a breath.
"Well, I'm a pretty active guy, been working out and playing sports since I was 12. I've been getting this really bad, like, tightness in my foot sometimes lately, and it's killer, so my doctor said PT was probably a good first step." Mickey is typing away at his computer completely focused, not looking at me. Question is, is he just reading what he's typing on the computer, or is he purposely not looking at me?
"Foot pain?" He says. Eyes are still glued to the computer.
"Yup." "And is this pain worse in the morning or at night?" He's not typing anymore but he's still staring hard at the computer screen. "In the morning." "And which foot is it?" "Actually both my feet hurt Mickey." Now dear reader, you might have noticed earlier I said my foot, singular, hurt. And that's true. What I'm doing now is called "lying." And the lie has the intended effect. Mickey continues to stare at his screen, as if it will somehow give him the strength to be professional when all he wants to do is drop down and kiss my feet until they feel better. Again it's up to me to break the long silence.
"Well Mickey, you got quiet on me, what's up? Am I dying?" He lets out a nervous chuckle. "No no, nothing like that, sorry got lost there for a minute. Sounds like a case of plantar fasciitis, no big deal, and your doctor is right, usually we can treat it with some physical therapy and it'll resolve itself."
"Sweet, then let's get started, what's first?" I swear I hear Mickey gulp. He takes a breath. "Well, typically the first step is for me to... assess the tissue." "Okay. How do you do that?" I ask feigning ignorance; I want to draw this out. He looks back at the computer. "Well, typically I'd have you take off your shoes and socks and off, and then use my hands to kind of assess the tissue." "Oh, so like a foot massage," I say innocently. He swallows and looks at me. "Yeah, kind of like that." I nod kicking off my shoes smoothly and then take off my socks. I look back up at Mickey.
And any doubts that he was fag evaporate. He STARES at my bare feet with his mouth open, eyes tracing, or I guess "assessing" every inch of them. I sit back so that my legs are straight and my feet are dangling off the plinth. I let him perv out for a few seconds before clearing my throat.
"Is there anything else you need from me before we get started?" My voice startles him out whatever trance my feet put him under.
"No, no, sorry just, distracted today." He pulls up a chair. Now I've had PT before and when they work on my foot they normally keep the table kind of low. so that they're looking pretty much straight downward while working on my feet. Mickey? He presses a button and the table lifts UP so my feet are much closer to his face than they need to be. His eyes lock in on the left one, and he touches it, not with the care of healthcare professional, but with the reverence of a down-bad hungry foot fag. I have to hold back a snicker; instead I clear my throat. Again he snaps back to reality.
"So, ahem, how's this feel for you Robbie?" "Feels fine so far Mickey, pretty light, you can go a bit harder if you like." His eyes light up. He applies some nice, firm pressure to my feet, and I let out an "involuntary" moan. Mickey practically beams. "How's that feel for you Robbie?" "It feels fucking great Mickey." He smiles as his hands work out the kinks in my foot. That's the other thing about fags. They LOVE providing pleasure like no one else. I mean yeah I enjoy going down on a girl and hearing her moan, or hearing a guy moan like a slut from the pleasure my cock in his ass gives him, or if you're gay you might like when guy let's out a "just like that" when you're blowing him, but we don't LIVE for it the way a fag does. A fag is a people pleaser taken to the extreme, it NEEDS to please. I'm pretty sure if a fag died it would want to be reincarnated as a hot guy's fleshlight, so it could do nothing but please cock for all eternity.
Mickey hits a good spot, and I let out a soft "fuck," and then give him a sheepish look. "'Excuse my language." "No worries, glad it's feeling good," he says, all smiles. "I did have a question though. I see the other therapist over there is working on a foot too, but she's wearing gloves. Any reason you're not?" Mickey's face freezes as his cheeks turn red. I can practically hear the gears start turning. I know the reason he's not using gloves. He's perving out on my feet and wants to feel them, skin on skin. I watch him squirm for a minute. "Well, I-uh, that's Melissa over there, and well typically therapists have their own way of doing things and, well, typically I actually prefer no gloves so that I can get a better feel for the tissue." "Oh so like the gloves get in the way a bit? That makes sense." Mickey nods, clearly relieved I've bought his reasoning. For the next few minutes of the massage he makes a conscious effort to be more professional, making a bit of small talk. But his eyes find themselves locking onto my foot again. He moves almost imperceptibly closer. I feel just a slight bit of air against my foot.
Is he fucking sniffing it? In public? He glances at me, I pretend not to have noticed, and then he glances around the gym. Everyone else is busy, involved in their own routine. Apparently this is all the go ahead he needs. He leans back in and sniffs again a little bit harder and lets out a quiet almost inaudible sigh.
Faggots man. There's nothing like them. I let him enjoy his private perv out for a minute or so before I make my move. I take a quick peak around the gym and make sure no one's looking and then when he leans in for another sniff I place my big toe firmly against his lips parting them just a bit. He looks at me startled.
"Lick" is all I say. And he fucking does it. He doesn't look around to make sure his colleagues can't see what a perv he is. He doesn't glance to make sure another patient doesn't catch him in this unprofessional, humiliating position of having another guy's foot in his mouth. He just presses his tongue against the bottom of my toe and licks, like a good boy.
The sight of it, him staring up at me wide eyed with my toe lodged between his lips is too much. I laugh out loud. He snaps out of his foot trance, pulling away just in time as some of the heads in the gym turn toward my laughter. Not the smoothest thing to do in this situation I know, but the idea of someone being so pathetic they'd risk their job and the respect of their coworkers to spend a second licking a guy's big toe was too much. My cock hardens in my shorts as Mickey starts to stammer:
"I-uh, I dunno what, uhm, I'm sorry Robbie, I-" "Hey Mickey," I say, cutting him off. "I feel a bit exposed out here. Do you mind if we go into one of those private rooms over there?" I say gesturing toward them. "I, uhm, well typically we use those rooms, if like a female patient wants some privacy or if an exam or evaluation is being done-" "Isn't this supposed to be an initial exam? You're supposed to be assessing my feet right?" His face turns an even brighter red. "Well, yes but-" "Great! Grab my shoes and stuff for me, will you bud?" I hop off the table and walk into one of the exam rooms, trusting that Mickey will follow, and he does of course, closing the door behind us. "I'm sorry Robbie, I dunno what happened, really I-" "Oh really? Because it looked to me like you were perving out on my foot, sniffing it and everything, and then I shoved my toe in your mouth, told you to lick, and you did it like a good boy? Sound about right?" I didn't think the fag's face could get any redder, but I was wrong. And were those tears welling up in its eyes? "Robbie, please, you can't tell anyone, I apologize-" "Relax, bitch. Here's what's gonna happen. I'm going to let you perv out on my feet, kiss and lick them and suck my toes, and if you do a really good job maybe you'll earn something even better," I say gesturing down to the now obvious big bulge in my gym shorts. Mickey gulps again.
"Robbie I can't, this is my job, it's unprofessional I-" he starts, but I grab one of my gym shoes, grab him by the hair and drive his face into so his nose is as close to the insole as I can get it. "Just fucking breathe it in fag," and he takes a downright gigantic inhale and moans like the slut he is. "Go ahead boy. Straight from the gym. A nice sweaty stench for you to fill up those faggot lungs of yours with. Way better than fresh air ain't it fag?" He moans louder this time taking another breath. I jerk him away from the shoe by his hair and he looks a me with a daze looked. Then I spit on him and he moans again.
"So like I said, you've got two options here Mickey. Either I can sit down on the table and you can massage my feet with your hands, "professionally," give me some exercises to do, and I can be on my way. Or you can give worship them with your tongue the way they deserve, and maybe earn a shot at the greater prize," I say placing his hand on my tented shorts. He gasps and his hand begins to fondle the length of my bulge.
"What will it be Mickey?" "I'll worship you," he says softly. "What was that?" "I'll worship you," he says louder. I raise my eyebrows. "Kinda sound like you're doing me a favor. Kinda sounds like you don't really wanna." For once Mickey is quick on the uptake. "Please sir, let me worship your feet, and this big cock. I need to worship them. Please sir." "That's more like it bitch." I take a seat on the table. Mickey pulls up the desk chair, but I stop him. "No Mickey. Desk chairs are for respectable professionals to use when treating patients. You're a fucking faggot risking everything to lick a guy's sweaty dirty feet while your colleages are just a door away. Get out the fucking chair, and get on your knees where you belong." "Yes sir. You're right sir," he says hurriedly sinking to his knees. He brings his face closer to my feet and takes a deep breath and sighs. "May I get started sir." "Sure fag." He gets to work. He starts on my toes, and fuck does his wet tongue feel good against them. He runs his tongue between them and I let out an actual involuntary moan this time, and he wraps his lips around them and begins to suck.
"Fuck," I respond wriggling my toes in his mouth, and rubbing my cock through my shorts. He pulls off and goes at them with his tongue again, firm yet desperate strokes, eager to lick the salty sweat off of them. "Put all of my toes in your mouth and look at me fag," he obeys eagerly, opening his mouth as wide as possible, lodging my toes in it as far they'll go, sucking and slobbering in them and then looking at me with those big eyes. Fuck it's too hot. I pull my shorts and underwear down far enough so that my cock is free. Mickey lets out a gasp, taking in the sight of my over 8 inch cock standing at attention. Randomly my mind goes to a national geographic style narration: "Here we see the faggot, previously enamored with the Alpha's feet, now entranced by the sight of the of the Alpha's thick, veiny cock."
And entranced is exactly the word. Mickey leans in toward my cock, but I push him away. "Not yet boy," I say, holding my cock in my hands. "Back on my feet." He gives a small whimper but dutifully returns, now licking my feet in earnest. He licks them both from heel to toe, then places each big toe in his mouth and starts sucking and licking like a fag possessed. I sigh and wrap both my hands around my cock, one top of the other, and then begin to jerk. I hear Mickey let out a "fuck me" as a I start to pump, slowly at first, and then faster, in time with his wanton worship of my toes. I feel my orgasm building.
"Beg me to let you worship my cock you worship my feet you fucking queer." Mickey of course obliges immediately. "Please sir. Please can I worship that big cock," he licks in between my toes again and I moan. "Please sir, let me worship that huge alpha cock. I can make you feel so good sir, please?" I pump my cock harder, locking eyes with him. And then maintaining eye contact with me, he places my toes in his mouth, and, now muffled, begs "please sir, I live to serve feet and cock. Please let me serve your cock."
I immediately let go of my cock, because those words could have sent me over the age. My body feels alive and electric, my ego inflated to sizes no cock will ever reach. I had planned to try to take this slow, let him worship my cock, a bit before railing his throat, but I need to cum NOW. I stand up and take a step toward him, him kneeling on the hard wood floor with no care for his own comfort like a good selfless fuck toy. I grab him by the hair, spit on him and say "open up bitch," but there's no need, because the faggot is diving on my cock, the way a fat bitch dives into a pint of Ben and Jerry's. He goes too far, hitting his gag reflex and begins to pull away, but what the fuck do I care about his comfort? I hold him in place by his hair, pinning his head against the exam room door. The door shakes just a bit as I begin fucking his throat, turned on beyond belief.
"Fucking take this cock faggot. Gag on it. Get it nice and sloppy with that throat slime. Fuck yeah. I could pound this throat for hours. Who cares if you need to breathe? What's more important? Breathing or my pleasure fag?" I pause my assault on his throat, looking down at him. I was right. His eyes are much cuter when they're filled with tears. He answers with my cock in his mouth like a good slut: "Your pleasure sir." "Good boy," I say, sliding my cock back down his throat, taking nice long slow strokes now, allowing him to catch his breath a bit.
"You know I wasn't exaggerating. I could let you worship me for hours. Treat that mouth of yours like it's my personal fleshlight, and edge myself for as long as I wanted. And you'd let me wouldn't you fag?" He moans on my cock and nods. I continue: "But I'm a nice guy, I know you've got other patients, so I'll make you a deal. You beg for me to cum and I'll feed you a nice big load, and you can get back to working and pretending you're a man and not a human fleshlight. Deal?" He nods again, tears streaming down his face. I pull out of his mouth.
"Oh look at the little fucking queer cry. He's so happy. Let me wipe those tears with some of that throat slime from that wet mouth of yours. There we go, that feels good, saliva and tears across your face that's hot, you like that don't you fag?"
"God, yes sir. Your dick against my face feels so good. I want your cum so bad. Thank you for using my throat like a fleshlight sir. It feels so good being put in my place. Please feed me your cum, or cum on my face, or wherever you want sir, please just cum. I need it. PLEASE. I live for your cum!" He dives back on my cock, this time voluntarily taking it all the way down his throat. He pulls back up leaving just the tip and his mouth, looks me in the eye and whispers "please feed me sir."
Fuck. He's got me figured out. I'm so close to nutting, but thankfully I have fantastic self control. I start fucking his face, not going all the way any more, just shoving about half of the shaft in his mouth and then pulling back to the tip, over and over, looking up at the ceiling feeling the high of orgasm approaching. I look back down and his eyes are still on me, taking in the sight of this young muscle jock, using his throat, and as our gazes lock I can hear his muffled pleading around my cock.
"Please cum sir. Please feed me. Please cum sir. Fill me. Please feed me. I need your cum. Please feed me DADDY." And that does it. Hearing someone older than me call me "daddy" and beg for my cum, makes my ego balloon, and there's no holding back my orgasm now.
I grip his hair even harder, my thrusts definitely causing the door to rattle now as the glorious climax hits me like a tidal wave. The situation, his words, and the wetness of his tongue pressed against the middle of my shaft causes rope after rope, after rope, and shot after shot after shot, of cum to rocket out of my cock, filling the fag's mouth with more cum than its probably ever had to handle (thank hyperspermia lol). He gags and chokes as a powerful shot hits the back of his throat, or maybe goes down the wrong tube causing him to cough, but what do I care, I'm in pure ecstasy feeling his throat and mouth spasm around my hard still firing shaft. Distantly some part of me realizes that it'd be problematic if the fag passes out, so I look down and pull out, firing the last couple shots on his pathetic face.
"Fuck, look at you. A hard working professional. A grown ass man with a doctorate. On your knees. Covered in a fucking gross mixture of your own tears, throat slime and a 23 year old's spit and cum." Mickey just sits there breathing heavily, his face and eyes red with exertion, face drenched in sweat and the aforementioned cocktail of bodily fluids. I sigh, giving my cock another tug, and then pull up my shorts and underwear, and put on my shoes and socks.
"You risked your job, your career, the respect of your peers all to worship a stranger's feet and dick. And it was worth it for you wasn't it fag? Because now you get to spend the rest of your day with my cum in your belly, and the knowledge that you're a good boy." Mickey nods slowly, still dazed.
"I thought so. Now what do you say fag?" He swallows and bows his head. "Thank you sir." I give his hair a ruffle. "Good boy."
The end. I hope you enjoyed my fantasy. Feel free to shoot me a message with feedback or suggestions for future scenarios (though I have plenty in mind).
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
