Josh’s trademark smirk spread across his handsome face as he looked down at Greg, who was frozen in the humiliating position he’d been forced to hold. The college guys on spring break that were filling the venue were leaning forward in their seats, eager for the next round of torment. Josh tilted his head, pretending to think for a moment, then bent down slightly, his voice dripping with mockery. "Hey, micro-fag," he said, nudging Greg’s cheek with his shoe. "You enjoying the game so far?"
Greg’s eyes snapped open, wide and desperate, his voice breaking into a shaky, gleeful scream. "Yes, sir! Oh God, yes, sir!" he gasped, trembling with humiliation and pure euphoria. The crowd burst into laughter, their jeers and taunts rising like a tidal wave.
Josh threw his head back, cackling as if he’d just heard the funniest thing ever, his free hand slapping his thigh for emphasis. “Fuck, Greg,” he drawled, shaking his head, “you’re living your best pathetic little life right now, aren’t you? Like, this is literally your peak, fag.”
The words oozed with teenage arrogance, with his voice radiating the kind of unapologetic confidence typical of an 18-year-old. The audience responded with louder laughter as Josh embraced the moment, visibly relishing the man’s humiliation.
Greg let out a desperate whimper, his voice trembling with a blend of shame and excitement. “Yes, Sir! Thank you so much! This game is making me so hard it hurts!” he squealed, his eagerness clearly evident and somewhat amusing.
The spectators burst into laughter again, their jeers and taunts rising to a deafening roar. Josh smirked, leaning down slightly for a better look at Greg’s pathetic state. He tilted his head, pretending to be confused as he glanced at the audience. “Yo, Greg,” he said, “you keep sayin’ you’re hard, but like… bro, no one can even see it. Your lil’ fag-clit’s too tiny to even count.”
Laughter, jeers, and shouts once more. Greg let out another whimper, squirming in place as Josh straightened up, shaking his head as if he was dealing with the dumbest thing he’d ever seen.
“Seriously, though,” Josh continued, pretending to be genuinely curious, "how do you even know you’re hard, faggot? Like, does it, I dunno, tingle or something? Or do you just close your eyes and imagine you actually have a dick or whatever?" The college boys were doubling over as Josh stood there. Greg could only whimper again, his face flushed with humiliation, as everyone hung on every word.
“Oh, man, I gotta say, I haven’t had this much fun in a while!" mused the handsome eighteen-year-old as he stepped closer to Greg, casually placing his foot on the man’s face as if it were the most natural thing—barely glancing down, as if Greg's head were a ball he’d kicked aside. “I guess, probably last year, at Thanksgiving, when my sissy cousin came out to the whole family,” he snorted. “My brother, my other cousin, and I took him out to the backyard, and... Well, let’s just say we explained in detail what we thought of him… by pissing on him…" The rowdy boys burst into laughter instantly. “And then we threw him in the pool…” Josh added, shifting his stance, his weight pressing into Greg’s nose and mouth.
“Anyways, how ‘bout you guys? Enjoying yourselves? How am I doing up here?” Josh asked, his tone confident and cocky. He clearly knew the answer; it was obvious, and the cheer that followed was loud and unanimous. Greg’s muffled squeal under Josh’s shoe only added to the intensity.
"Yeah, man, you’re incredible!" someone hollered. “You’re awesome, dude!" another shouted, "This is the best show ever!" someone else yelled out.
“Nah, YOU guys are awesome! You totally get this shit, and that’s fucking lit, bro! It’s not a given, I’m telling ya!” Josh replied, leaning down, pressing his weight into Greg’s face as he continued, the mic amplifying his voice to a deafening level. “This is the dopest show I’ve ever had, hands down!” Suddenly, Josh frowned as he realized something. His cocky smirk widened as he glanced down at Greg. “Wait, wait, wait—hold up! Are you for real right now? Are you actually licking the bottom of my shoe, faggot?!”
The room burst into laughter as Josh slightly raised his foot, revealing Greg’s tongue licking the sole of his sneaker. The slurping sounds blended with the audience’s jeers and cheers. Josh shook his head and said, “Dude, you’re such a pathetic little bitch,” teasing until the crowd sensed the utter worthlessness of the scene. Then he added, “But go ahead, keep going. Someone’s gotta clean the Cheeto dust and grime off these kicks, right? And honestly, you’re the most qualified for the job here. No cap.”
Everybody cheered even louder, their approval resonating throughout the venue as Greg’s embarrassment intensified. Josh looked down at him with a smirk and remarked, “Bet that tastes reeeeeal good, huh, fag?”
“Yes, Sir! It’s so heavenly, Sir!” Greg whined, without pause, his tongue flicking faster as he closed his eyes in both shame and ecstasy. The coarse feel of the rubber sole against his tongue sent electric shivers through his body, each stroke a reminder of his position under Josh’s foot, which felt just perfect. Josh was cackling uncontrollably while they all chanted, “Lick it! Lick it!” Their voices created a loud, overwhelming chorus.
Josh pressed his foot down harder, grinding Greg’s face into the floor while adjusting the mic in his hand. “Yeah, lick that shit! Show me how good a shoe licker you are, Greg! It’s evaluation time!” The audience loved it, especially when they noticed Greg’s tongue now working frantically, making him look like a starving beast that had never tasted anything more sacred. His pitiable face was now slick with spit and sweat. It was hilarious to watch, no doubt, which fueled the fag’s arousal. Josh glanced down, shaking his head in exaggerated disbelief. "Jesus Christ, this guy’s committed, bro! I gotta hand it to you, Greg—you really are the king of faggots." Josh raised the mic again, savoring the moment as the crowd started a new chant, “King of Faggots!”
Josh was on top of the world. He paused, glancing down at his shoe with playful surprise. He slightly lifted his foot, showing the sole to the audience—now spotless, shining with a perfect layer of spit. “Well, fuck me sideways,” Josh said casually, tilting his shoe for emphasis. “Check this out! My sneaker’s cleaner than a nun’s conscience. Who knew this faggot had a tongue that could polish like a rotary buffer? Gotta say I’m impressed!” The audience responded with loud laughter, mixing into a wave of approval.
Josh turned the shoe again, holding it up like a trophy, the spotlight highlighting the shiny spit. “Y’all see this? This is, like, professional work right here. I should start a side hustle—call it ‘Fag-Greg’s Tongue Shine.’ Extra slobber-polished soles in under five minutes—guaranteed, or your money back!” The crowd cheered loudly, pounding tables, loving the absurdity.
Josh turned to Tyler, one of the two straight legends hanging out on the side of the stage. “Yo, Ty,” he called out, “You’re the expert on shoe-shine faggots around here. Think I can make bank off this?”
The audience cracked up, their jeers bouncing off the walls as Tyler stepped forward. His broad shoulders cast a shadow over Greg’s trembling form. He crossed his arms, tilting his head as if seriously considering the question, before breaking into a wide, shit-eating grin. “Totally, bro! That little bitch’s a keeper!” he boomed into the mic Josh tossed his way.
The room exploded into laughter, the sound so loud it felt like the walls might collapse.
“And that, my dudes,” Josh said, his voice cutting through the chaos, “is why fags like Greg exist—to keep us straight guys entertained as fuck!” He punctuated his words by tapping the sole of his shoe against Greg’s face, each tap making a gross squelching sound as it mashed into the spit-slick skin.
Greg’s eyes fluttered shut, his lips trembling as Josh’s shoe smeared his own spit across his cheeks. The crowd broke into a loud, “Fag! Fag! Fag!” their voices rising like some kind of messed-up anthem.
“Yo, for real though,” Josh said, his tone dripping with that cocky edge, “what would we even do without guys like Greg? These homos are out here doing God’s work, man!” The audience howled, having the best time of their young lives. “You keep doing you, fag, cause we’re all having a blast here!”
Josh straightened up, finally lifting his foot, and stepped back to address the college boys once more. “Alright, alright,” he called out, his voice resonating above the noise. “Let’s get back to the game! We need three more straight legends—who’s next?” The audience buzzed with excitement, eyes fixed on the stage, eager to see who would step up to extend Greg’s public humiliation. Josh’s gaze swept across the room, settling on a young man near the front. He had bronze skin, slicked-back black hair, Latino features, and a confident swagger emphasized by his sleeveless shirt and cargo shorts. This guy looks promising, Josh thought with a smirk. “Let’s go with Mexico over there!” he announced, pointing directly at him. The crowd erupted with cheers as the young man stood up, flashing a cocky grin, ready to join in.
“What’s your name, man?” Josh asked as the guy confidently strode onto the stage.
“Leo,” he replied smoothly.
Josh tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. “And how old are you, Leo?”
“Eighteen,” Leo responded quickly.
“Alright, Leo, where are you from?”
“Miami, bro,” he answered, his Southern drawl charming.
“Hell yeah, Florida!" Josh exclaimed with that cocky swagger. “You gotta love it—sounds like they’ve got that whole ‘don’t say gay, don’t be gay, don’t even think gay’ law locked down, right? Honestly, that’s the kind of law we should spread everywhere. Am I wrong?” He said into the mic as the audience burst into laughter.
Leo’s grin widened as the energy in the room surged. “Hell yeah, bro! That’s the vibe,” he drawled, his Florida accent smooth and unwavering. “Keeps the fags where they belong, y’know? Like this dude right here.”
He turned his attention to Greg, who was still trembling on the floor. “Next up? Let’s make fag slavery a thing, like—official shit!” The rowdy college boys cheered and laughed as Leo pumped his fist in the air like he was launching a revolution. “Think about it, man—fags would love that! Finally, they’d have a legit reason to do what they’re meant to do: serve real men. No confusion, no wasted time—just letting fags be fags, 24/7. It’s genius.”
Everyone went wild, their laughter and applause feeding Leo’s confidence. Josh grabbed the mic, his smirk unmissable. “Yo, Leo! You’re onto something, man!” he declared, his voice booming over the noise. “If these sick faggots are already volunteerin’ to be slaves, might as well make it official, right?”
“Damn straight, bro,” Leo drawled, his gaze dropping to Greg with a mocking smirk. “Like, look at this dude—total fuckin’ loser, right? You think he wouldn’t jump at the chance to sign up for that? Shit, he’d probably throw more cash at it just to feel extra owned!”
The audience exploded again, some shouting, “He'd sell his soul!” while others clapped and hollered like it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. Leo shook his head, his grin sharp and unapologetic. “Facts, though, bro—these fag types, they’re born to be slaves. They don’t even need us to tell ’em; they just know where they stand. So why not just write it down on a fucking piece of paper? Let’s call it the Fag Rights Amendment: the right to get owned, the right to get used, and the right to stay broke as hell while they’re at it.”
The crowd ate it up, their energy electric as Leo basked in the chaos he’d created. Josh laughed, clearly impressed. “Bro, you’re a damn political genius! Leo for president!”
CJ and Tyler, standing off to the side, were in stitches. “Yo, Leo!” CJ shouted over the noise, giving him a thumbs-up. “I'd totally vote for you, bro!”
“Yeah, no shit, bro!” Tyler chimed in, laughing as he high-fived CJ.
Josh laughed, clapping Leo on the back as the room roared with approval. He then turned his attention to Greg, who was still sprawled on the floor, trembling and humiliated. “Yo, Micro Fag!” Josh called out, his voice booming through the venue. The room quieted, their eyes shifting to Greg as Josh smirked. “You’ve been real quiet down there. What do you think about Leo’s idea? You on bord wth the whole ‘fag slavery’ thing?”
Greg hesitated, his face flushing with embarrassment, but then he nodded eagerly. “It’s… it’s an amazing idea, sir,” he stammered, his voice barely audible over the silence. They went wild, their jeers and cheers blending together as Greg swallowed hard and added, “I think… I think it’s what we deserve.” Even talking about it was almost enough to make him climax. He had never been happier in his life.
The room exploded with hoots and applause, some guys shouting, “Hell yeah!” while others howled with laughter. Josh doubled over, clutching his stomach. “Bro!” he shouted through tears of laughter, pointing at Greg like he’d just delivered the punchline of the century. “This guy’s all in! He’s ready to sign up for faggot slavery on day one!”
Leo grinned, clearly loving the chaos. “See? I told you fags love this shit,” he drawled, his Southern accent thick and lazy. “That’s when you know it’s a solid plan.”
Josh wiped tears from his eyes, still laughing as he turned back to the crowd. “Alright, alright—let’s give it up for Micro Fag for being the most self-aware faggot on the fucking planet!” Everybody cheered again, as Greg squirmed on the floor, his humiliation on full display. "Alright, bro, you're up!" Josh said to the third contestant.
Leo stepped closer, looking down at Greg with a mix of disdain and amusement. Without warning, he began hopping on one foot, his sneaker landing directly on Greg’s dick with a thump that made him whimper loudly. The audience roared with approval as Leo hopped three more times on the same spot, each impact met with a sharp gasp from Greg. Then he moved to his stomach and chest, each hop drawing more tremors and whimpers from the submissive man beneath him.
By the time Leo’s foot crashed down onto Greg’s chest, Greg was trembling, his face flushed with humiliation, hands clenched at his sides, but a twisted happiness was clear on his face. The crowd’s laughter and cheers filled the room as Leo grinned, reveling in the spectacle.
Leo stopped hopping, now standing firmly on Greg’s chest. He shifted his weight slightly and began wiping his sneakers clean on Greg’s chest, grinding the rubber sole as hard as he could. Greg winced but remained silent, his eyes wide with a mix of pain and pleasure. Leo chuckled, “You like that, don’t you? You sick little fag.”
Greg nodded weakly, his voice barely a whisper. “Y-yes, sir… thank you, sir…”
The college boys roared with laughter as Leo continued to grind his shoe into Greg’s chest. When he reached ten, he began giving his reason.
“Let me break it down for y’all,” Leo said, his Southern drawl thick and his voice full of that arrogant Florida swagger. “We all know faggots like this bitch ain’t just trash—they’re straight-up subhuman. Like, think about it, bro—these freaks were born broken, their brains all jacked up from day one. They got no shame, no pride, nothing but this weird-ass need to get used and abused by real men. And honestly? That’s exactly what we gotta do.”
He paused, smirking down at Greg, who was still trembling under his sneaker. “It’s basically our duty to put these sick fags in their place—use ‘em, abuse ‘em, and make sure they know where they stand. ‘Cause deep down? They love it. They’re straight-up begging to be treated like the worthless scum they are. So why not give ‘em what they want, right? That’s why I’m sayin’ we should make this shit official, y’all!”
The boys cracked up again. Leo leaned down closer to Greg, his voice low and dripping with mockery. “You clearly love this, don’t you, fag? Admit it—you’re nothing without us.”
Greg nodded frantically, his voice barely audible. “Y-yes, sir… thank you, sir…”
Leo straightened up, his grin spreading wide as he addressed the audience. “Ya see that shit? That’s what I'm talking about, bro,” he said, casually gesturing down at Greg like he was pointing out a stray dog. “Like Josh said, these sick-ass fags are here for one reason: to entertain us real men. And it’s a damn good show, bro!”
Josh stepped forward, clapping Leo on the back with a grin that could cut glass. “Damn, Leo, you just rewrote the faggot handbook—brutal edition." The room erupted in laughter and cheers, its sounds echoing through the venue. Josh wasn’t finished, though. “Now, Florida’s finest, I gotta know—what was your first time like? I bet you got a story for us!"
Leo nodded, his smirk stretching wide. “Oh, I’ve got one, bro,” he drawled, radiating that Florida-boy confidence. His eyes sparkled with pride. “Back in eighth grade, there was this sissy fag who’d do anything to be around me. So, I figured, fuck it, why not put the freak to work, y’know? One day, chillin’ in the quad with the boys, I’m like, ‘Yo, watch this.’ I walk up to the fag and just hit him with, ‘I need you to do my chores today ‘cause I’m too busy playing Call of Duty.’ And bro, you ain’t gonna believe this—that little faggot didn’t even hesitate. He’s all like, ‘Of course, Leo.’ I swear, me and the boys couldn’t stop laughing—it was gold.”
Everyone cackled, feeding Leo’s energy. He leaned back, his grin sharp as a knife.
“So this fag rolls up to my crib, right? My room’s a straight-up war zone—clothes and trash everywhere, soda cans piled up, just a total disaster. And me? I’m chillin’ on my bed, Call of Duty on blast, snacks lined up, livin’ my best life. I don’t even look up, just hit him with, ‘Yo, clean my room. Throw the clothes in the hamper, then hit the bathroom.’ Straight-up giving orders like I’m the boss. And bro, you gotta see this—this little fag doesn’t even hesitate. No questions, no backtalk, just starts cleaning like it’s his damn job. Knew his place right off the bat.”
The audience roared with laughter, their approval thick in the air as Leo smirked, clearly enjoying himself. Josh clapped him on the shoulder, grinning like a shark. “Damn, Leo! You’re a straight-up natural. Florida’s finest for real, bro!”
Leo laughed, that cocky grin plastered across his face as he slapped Josh on the shoulder. “Thanks, bro!” he said, “So anyway, after the fag finishes up, he’s all like, ‘Leo, I’m done cleaning…’ And I’m just sittin’ there, didn’t even look up from my game, and I go, ‘Good, you pass. Starting next week, you’re comin’ Monday, Wednesday, and Friday when my mom is out. You’re cleaning my room, the bathroom, sometimes laundry or mowin’ the lawn—basically all the shit my mom’s payin’ me to do. Got it? Now get the fuck out.’ And bro, this lil’ fag? He just stands there for a second, then he’s like, ‘Uhm… ok, Leo, sure… three times a week… got it…’ And guess what? He actually showed up. Three times a week, like clock-fuckin’-work, he’d be at my door, ready to bust his ass for whatever I wanted. Me? I’d be laid out on my bed, headphones on, kicking ass with my homies online while he’s down there dustin’, vacuumin’, and scrubbin’ my piss off the toilet floor—like it was his goddamn life mission. Hell, it probably was! That’s how you know these fags are born all kinds of twisted—they ain’t right in the head, y’know? Certifiably broken.”
The crowd hollered its approval as Leo grinned evilly.
“Then one day, I come back from practice and this lil' fag is already there, cleaning my room,” Leo continued like he owned the place. “I was bored as hell, y’know? Decided it’d be straight-up hilarious to see how far this freak would go. So I flop down on the bed he just made, look at him all casual, like, ‘Yo, you should totally thank me for even lettin’ you be here, touch my shit, and clean up after me. Let’s be real—nobody at school even looks at you, and most dudes would’ve beat your ass by now for being a total fag. But me? I’ve been way too nice to you. Just sayin’.’” He paused, his grin sharp as broken glass. “And guess what? This pathetic little bitch goes, ‘Oh, yes, Leo! You’re right! Thank you, Leo.”’
Everybody obviously laughed again, roaring through the venue as Leo's eyes gleamed.
“But I wasn’t done,” Leo continued, “My cousin had told me about this fag he made kiss his feet in the locker room in front of the whole team. He even showed me a video, and bro, it was hilarious. So, I’m like, ‘Nah, buddy, you can do way better than that. I think you should kiss my feet this time and thank me again while you’re at it.’”
Leo let the tension build, the college boys in the room practically vibrating with anticipation. “And the bitch goes, ‘K…kiss your feet?’ And I’m like, ‘Yeah, you heard me. That’s the proper way to thank me, ain’t it, fag? You agree, right?’”
He paused, his grin sharp as a knife, watching the crowd eat it up. “And y’know what this sick fag did? He didn’t even flinch. He’s all like, ‘Uhm… yeah, Leo… okay…’ and then—bro—he did it. Straight up dropped to his knees and kissed my stinky-ass feet. I’m talkin’ full-on lips-to-toe action, like I was some kinda god he was worshippin’. Ain’t that somethin’?”
The spectators were clutching their sides, laughing as Leo shook his head in mock disbelief. “Like, who even does that?” he drawled, gesturing down at Greg. “Oh, wait—faggots do.” The audience roared with approval, fueling Leo’s confidence as he pointed at Greg, who squirmed under the spotlight. “Bro, I’m tellin’ you, these sick freaks live for that shit. They need to feel like the worthless trash they are. It’s straight-up pathetic… but yo, lemme be real—it’s also hilarious for us!”
The audience howled, some shouting, “What a loser!” Leo shrugged, grinning at their reaction. “And get this—that little fag’s still doin’ it. Five freakin’ years later. Every time he rolls up to clean my room, I’m just chillin’ on my bed, livin’ my best life, y’know? He busts his sad little ass, does all the nasty shit I tell him to, and before he bounces? He’s right back on his knees, kissin’ my feet, thanking me for lettin’ him touch my stuff. Every. Damn. Time.”
Among the laughter and jeers echoing through the venue like a tidal wave, Leo’s smirk was practically glowing in the spotlight. “But yo, bro, y’all gotta hear this part—shit’s straight-up wild,” he drawled. “Wanna know what this little freak did after high school? Bonkers levels of fag shit.”
The crowd was hanging on his every word. Leo’s grin widened as he continued, his tone dripping with amused disdain.
“On graduation day, right? The homo rolls up to me, all nervous and shit, and he’s like, ‘Leo… uhh… so I was thinkin’… maybe I could transfer to the same college as you?’” Leo paused, letting the absurdity sink in as the audience started losing it. “And then—yo, this is the kicker—he goes, ‘Cause I think I should keep cleanin’ your room… ya know, you’re gonna be busy with sports and everything, so… can I please keep doin’ it? I really want to.’”
Leo shook his head slowly, while the crowd roared with laughter. “Bro, y’all hearin’ this? This pathetic-ass fag was so obsessed with me, he wanted to follow my ass to college just to keep scrubbin’ my skid marks, washin’ my jockstrap, and throwin' away my used rubbers. Didn’t even have to ask him—he straight-up volunteered! Like, what kinda sick, twisted shit is that?”
Some guys in the audience literally doubled over, as Leo shook his head like he couldn’t believe it himself. “I mean, talk about dedication, right? Most people graduate high school, and they’re all like, ‘What’s next? My dream college? A fancy internship? Some big-shot job?’ Not this fag. Nah, bro, his whole damn plan was, ‘Let’s go wherever Leo goes and scrub his filth.’ That ain’t just commitment—that’s next-level obsession.”
Everyone roared louder, eating up every word. “So I’m like, ‘Yeah, faggot! You can follow me to college!’ And this lil’ freak? Bro, he’s so damn stoked, he’s practically bouncing off the walls. So I figure, hey, it’s graduation day—why not throw him a little bone?”
The audience leaned in further as Leo’s grin stretched wide. “I look him dead in the eye and I’m like, ‘Yo, since we’re on the topic, tomorrow night my parents are dippin’ outta town, so my boys and I are throwin’ down. We’re gonna be drinkin’, smokin’ weed, just chillaxin’, all that. And I want you there—not as one of us, obviously—fuck no. You’re comin’ as the maid. You can serve us drinks, grab snacks, cook for us, do whatever we tell ya, and when the place is trashed and we’re all tapped out and crashin’? You clean it all up. And bro, trust me, it’s gonna be a mess.’”
The crowd howled with laughter, some doubling over as Leo mimicked the fag’s reaction. “This lil’ bitch doesn’t even blink. He’s all like, ‘Yes, Leo! Thank you, Leo!’ Like, bro, he was living for it. Straight-up pathetic!”
“So now we’re both freshmen at Northwestern, right?” Leo started, his Florida drawl thick and in full display. “Three times a freakin’ week, this lil’ fag’s out here walkin’ his broke-ass self for half an hour just to get to my dorm. Like, bro, he’s stuck livin’ off campus like some damn peasant while I’m sittin’ pretty in the dorms.” He smirked, leaning into the mic, his grin sharp as hell. “Had to explain the whole deal to my roommate, and yo, y’know what? Dude was straight-up dyin’ when I told him about this freak. Started usin’ the lil’ bitch for everything too—first time he met him, bro! I mean, who wouldn’t? This fag’s so damn pathetic it’s practically a masterpiece.”
The boys cracked up again. Josh slapped Leo on the back, guffawing. “Leo, you’re a legend! I mean, who else turns their high school punching bag into a lifetime maid?”
Leo smirked, adjusting his hair, “It’s all about consistency, man. You break ‘em in early, and they’ll stick with it for life.”
Everyone cheered louder, some shouting out, “What’s his name?!” and “Bring him out!”
Leo held up a hand, his smirk sharp enough to cut glass. “Nah, nah, chill out, y’all,” he drawled. “Ain’t no need to see that mess. Trust me, you ain’t missin’ shit. That fuckin’ faggot ain’t even here. Told his sorry ass to stay put on campus for spring break, cleanin’ up after my boys. The whole fucking floor! Twelve rooms of pure straight testosterone! Bet he’s down there right now, scrubbin’ their floors, cleanin’ their shoes one by one, probably even licking 'em clean. How fuckin’ pathetic is that?”
Josh laughed, slapping Leo on the back with a grin that radiated pure teenage cockiness. "Yo, that's sick, bro!" he exclaimed, shaking his head in amused disbelief. Then he turned back to the audience. "Aight, my brothers—let’s hear it for Leo, the man who’s already got fag ownership on lock and probably gonna be president one day, right?"
The room went wild with cheers and whistles, as Leo raised a hand in mock salute. Then he smirked as he turned back toward Greg. “Almost forgot,” he said with disdain. He stepped closer to Greg, sprawled on the floor, and hawked up a thick glob of spit. Laughter roared through the venue as it landed dead center on Greg's face.
Leo chuckled as Greg stuck his tongue out and reached for his spit. "There ya go," he said mockingly before turning back to bask in the crowd's adoration once more.
As the rowdy college boys roared their approval, Greg lay there on the floor, his mind wandering while tasting Leo's precious gift. He couldn’t help but think about Leo’s faggot— whatever his name was. The thought of that lucky bastard cleaning up after Leo since middle school sent a shiver of envy through him. God, what a privilege, Greg thought, his chest aching with longing. To serve a real man like Leo, to be trusted with something as personal as cleaning his room, even back then—it was almost too much to imagine.
And now, with Leo in college and living with a roommate, that fag’s life must have reached a whole new level of bliss. Greg could almost picture it: the faggot walking into that dorm room, head down, ready to scrub floors, wash jockstraps, and pick up after two real men instead of just one. The thought made Greg’s stomach flutter with a strange mix of jealousy and awe. How lucky can one faggot be? he wondered, his eyes glassy with admiration. To have not just Leo but now his roommate using him, too—it was like winning the lottery for worthless freaks. Greg wished he could be in that position, begging for even a fraction of that attention.
Josh clapped Leo on the back again, laughing hard before gesturing toward CJ and Tyler, saying, "Take your place next to them. You've totally earned it!"
A massive round of applause filled the room as Leo smirked and sauntered over to where CJ and Tyler stood. He exchanged fist bumps with them, his Southern swagger on full display as he leaned against the stage wall, clearly enjoying the spotlight.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
