Dominated by my Ex and his Boyfriend

Taylor’s foot descends on me, a giant dominating his small slaveboy prey. I feel his toes crunch around my nose, trapping it, claiming it, owning it. All I can breath was the stench of his stale, dry foot smell after a day of going out. Rubbing against my ear are the white toes of the long other boy’s foot, not puncturing into the drum, just wafting against it, teasing it. On the floor, laid down, head against the couch- all I can see, in the moments in which I briefly open my eye, are the dark leg hairs, ankle and side of my ex-boyfriend’s foot. All I can hear are the soft noises of kissing, and the menacing chuckles of my ex and his new boy when they look down at me.

This story is a work of fiction. All characters are older than 18. They have fun having gay sex. If gay sex is not allowed in your country, you should consider moving to another one. The characters are not having safe sex, please use condoms while exploring your sexuality. As always, I look forward to your comments and suggestions. Thank you for choosing to read my story and I hope you enjoy! You may contact me at , also if you have your own story. Please send to this email , or click SUBMIT YOUR OWN STORIES! at the top right corner of HOME SCREEN. Also, If you include your name. I will give credit as due, otherwise, it will read as – Read By: Bobby Newberry. THANK YOU for helping to build Gay and Nerdy Archives Library of Erotic Stories and more. Note: We do not own these stories, only share. If you believe this story should not be here. Email and explain. If so, we will fix this mistake.

I met Taylor during the summer. It was at a park. I was fishing. He was strolling by with some friends when they’d noticed me. I felt a small rock fling against the back of my neck. I turned around, and one of his tall, lanky friends looked at me and called me a name. I hadn’t made it out in my confusion, but Taylor and the rest of his friends laughed. “What a cutie!” another one exclaimed. “I bet he’s a sub,” another thought. Taylor was silent, just looking at me with a sort of grimace. He and his friends eventually sat down at a bench not too far from me, talking, laughing, being silly. I went back to my quiet fishing game, not paying attention to much of what they were doing, just hearing the sound of their nuisance. Another rock came. This time it skid across the pond before me. “Missed!” someone yelled. I didn’t want to pivot my head to give them the satisfaction of my attention. I just barely turned it so that I could see from the corner of my eye. Taylor, sat on the bench closest to me, was hunched outward with his arm down in the position as if he’d just thrown something. His friends were chuckling, but he just kept the silent grimace, a hawk-eye stare right at my being. Taylor noticed me turn around. I began to hear footsteps behind me. Taylor curled up on the bank beside me. I first noticed his tan legs and dark beautiful leg hairs, the tan wide feet and dark flip-flops, before I saw him in his fraternity tank top, his beautiful face and gorgeous midnight black hair spiked up in this dorky but cute looking faux-hawk. I was intimidated by his confidence, his looks, his pizzazz, I felt vulnerable. “You’re cute,” he told me firmly, still grimaced. I hesitated for a second. I shyly responded “Thanks…” and turned my head back toward my fishing. He looked out onto the pond with me. His friends goofing around back at the bench.

We began to converse, a minute, ten minutes, and hour, two hours. His friends had left him to talk to me, not wanting to stay so long. He was funny, cute, charming. He was a quiet sweetheart with a stern facade. He asked if I would want to meet him again. We met up a Dunkin Donuts’ a few weeks later, after more conversation and obviously mutual sentiment we went back to his house, his “chambers”. We tried watching Netflix, but five minutes was just too long for me, I went in for the kiss with the boy I already knew was taking me down a path of obsession. His arms dove around me, squeezing me into his broad, masculine build as his tongue ravaged down into the depths of my mouth and throat. His legs wrapped around mine, choke-holding them into position so that I became an immobile piece of meat for him to prey on. For the moment he had dominantly subdued me to him physically, but throughout it all, I knew he had already subdued me sentimentally, and there underneath the strength of his strong arms, legs, his 5’10″ broad build, I couldn’t feel more at home, more belonged, more owned. He graced my ear and face with that forceful tongue of his, at the end of it all he lovingly called me his puppy, and said that I was to be his.

I certainly was “his”. To this domineering, stern, masculine sweetheart, I soon became his tender, lowly slaveboy whom he cared for much. I obeyed him almost religiously, and spent most of my life at that point serving him as my master. He’d collar me and chain me to his chair, where upon it he’d sit majestically as if it were a throne. He would hold me down on the floor, face up and grind his wide size 12 feet into my face after a long day of work or sweaty workout at the gym. He’d then tug on my chain to get me to kneel where he’d hold his feet to my face and tenderly yet domineering ask me to lick up his soles, suck on his big toes and then lick in between them all as he watched me with his beautiful Italian eyes and pitch black hair, masterfully smirking at me. After he was satisfied he’d usually force my head onto his then throbbing cock, an average lengthened but impressively wide six inched “italian sausage” with an even wider mushroom head that intimidated me greatly before I was forced to eat it. I’d usually rim him, he’d sit on and crush my face so that all I knew was his powerful ass that would humble me into tonguing it, trying to penetrate it, but not being strong enough. He’d also have me body worship him, tug on my chain around his body to lick up his muscles, armpits, and every body part he felt at the moment deserved a bath from my tongue. I was his seemingly worthless tool meant to exist for his pleasure. He cared about me early on, but within a month he became tired of me. I was too nice, too quiet and boring. I often found him on grindr and other sites flirting with other, hotter, more promiscuous, model-esqe boys. He later said that while my act was good, I was boring and not nearly attractive enough for his standards. He also was consistently mad that I didn’t let him fuck me, being a virgin, I wanted to take my time. He subsequently dumped me. Within a week I found pictures of him online with his new boy, a tall six-foot twinky model, the type he loves. He seemed sassy and frankly mean, the type that would think I’m a loser. His pictures were series of selfies in a shallow, promiscuous model poses that I even found somewhat sexy. Taylor didn’t want the quiet, boring, shy slaveboy, he wanted the semi-famous, pompous and nasty, flexible twinkboy that would serve him and make him feel popular as well.

I felt utterly stepped on, but there was nothing I could do about it but watch it unfold before me. It’s been a week and Taylor texted me earlier tonight that he was sorry, and wanted to hang out to make it up, and maybe get back together. He knew I struggled with the idea of losing him. We sat on his couch and hugged, cuddled for a bit. He insisted that I make dinner. In the kitchen I worked on a nice tender chicken with some sautéed asparagus and squash on the side, he used to love my cooking. As I was preparing the food to be served I heard the doorbell. “Just keep cooking,” Taylor instructed me as he got up from the couch to answer it. “Hey sexy,” he said the guest. I then heard a nice welcome smooch. It was the new boy. He came in a black and grey checkered trench coat that he just dropped on the ground. “It’s okay,” Taylor said, “the other one will pick it up for you.” Taylor took his new boy to the couch and they sat down, plopping their bare feet up on the coffee table. “Did he finish our food yet,” the new boy annoyingly whined in his European accent. “It’s coming now boo,” he assured him, “Isn’t’ it?” he yelled out to me. I brought the plates with their silverware to Taylor and his new boyfriend, my face must’ve expressed death. Taylor told me to pick up the coat and put it nicely on the rack, and give the sleeve a kiss when I finished. I did so as I began to tear up, water running down my check immensely. I kissed the sleeve. “Pathetique!” snapped the boyfriend. “Come back here, before the coffee table.” I walked over and stood before them, cuddled on the couch. “This is Nicholas,” there was a stress on the ‘as’, “my new, sexier, better boyfriend.” I began to cry a little harder, quietly but louder. He continued, “I thought of way where you can still see me, for us to be back together, on my terms though.” I gulped and cried in a mix of fear, jealousy, envy, hate. I thought I was going to almost collapse. Nicolas saw the pain in my face and laughed, “How pathetic is our slaveboy?” he said rhetorically in his condescending European accent. After a pause, Taylor continuing to look at me, he spoke, “Chris,” he addressed me, “I think you should kneel.”

I feel weak, trembling my legs slowly descend. They collapse from the trembling. I find my face before the big feet of Taylor and Nicolas. Taylor’s, the size 12s I already knew, and the larger, Doc Marten boots of Nicolas. “Remove Nicolas’ shoes.” Taylor instructs. I unlaced the tops of his boots, slide them off one by one, looking at the tag in them, ‘US size 13′ and placing the boots gently beside. Nicolas stared at me with a contemptuous smirk, “and my socks,” I slowly undo his long, colorful striped socks, place each one carefully in his boots. I just barely am able to turn my head back up before I am tossed a collar with a chain. Taylor held the other end. “You know what to do.” I embarrassingly fasten the collar about my neck, crying, miserable. As I did such Taylor moves the coffee table aside and out-of-the-way. He and Nicolas scoot in for a kiss. Holding their dinner plates with one hand, they hold hands with the other as they make out. Taylor takes his big arm and holds it around Nicolas’ skinny waste the way he used to hold it around me. Their feet interlock on the floor and rub against each-other. In the corner of his eye, Taylor sees that I am done enslaving myself into the collar, he tugs it, and I am dragged onto the floor, he kicks my head to position it upright so I look at the ceiling.

Taylor’s foot descends on me, a giant dominating his small slave boy prey. I feel his toes crunch around my nose, trapping it, claiming it, owning it. All I can breath was the stench of his stale, dry foot smell after a day of going out. Rubbing against my ear are the white toes of the long other boy’s foot, not puncturing into the drum, just wafting against it, teasing it. On the floor, laid down, head against the couch- all I can see, in the moments in which I briefly open my eye, are the dark leg hairs, ankle and side of my ex-boyfriend’s foot. All I can hear are the soft noises of kissing, and the menacing chuckles of my ex and his new boy when they look down at me.

Taylor continues to waft his foot up and down my face, stretching and mushing it like I was a clay to be softened out. Nicholas’ foot started to climb my face, and soon i felt them meet the opening of my lips. I knew what to do. I cried accepting this proposition. I had already begun to open up my mouth for Nicolas’ big toes when Taylor broke the kiss to say “Why don’t you lick our feet? It’s what you’re here for.” Nicolas was turned on and impressed at the control his new dominant boyfriend had over me as he bobbed his toes in and out of my mouth. Taylor, in a gesture of power, smushed his foot on top of Nicolas’ so that I became towered by two big feet, that of my emotional rival to whom I was becoming ever more inferior by the licking the grime of his toes, and to the dominant master, who ruled us both. It was a hierarchy of power: Taylor as the emperor, his new boyfriend as his lovely prince, and my monarchial superior, and me at the bottom of this caste-system, full of inferiority and social worthlessness as the foot-licking slave.

My neck was tugged on by the power of Master Taylor’s chain and his worked out biceps, my head however immobilized by the toe licking of one masters big foot and the downward force of another, pain ensued. Taylor moves his foot to my neck, holding the collar in place. His other clamps my forehead to the ground so my head couldn’t bob up as he tugged on it. He awards Prince Nicolas free range of my face. My tongue out, his size 13s drag up and down over my mouth, my tongue eating the musty stench of my rival’s boot-trapped feet of a stylish European model. More pressure was applied by all feet until it felt as if a boulder had rested upon my face. All this while he victoriously makes love to the boy who ripped my heart out. I am dominated. My humanity is obliterated from existence as I become an anomalistic fiend, captured by dominant poachers to use for their sexual service, and yet, I begin to enjoy it.

Minutes later, the same pressure on my face, I am still licking the same toes and soles of Nicolas that didn’t seem to become any less sweaty. Taylor drags the coffee table back over, ending the long make out, trapping me under the coffee table. Taylor moves his feet up onto it, Nicolas following, their feet interlocking and caressing each other, footsie. “Get up!” Taylor yells. I move out of the table, Taylor brought my leash up and tugs me back into their feet. My tongue bathes their toes and soles as they played footsie together, pick up their plates and begin to eat dinner. As they eat and watch TV, Nicholas leaning on Taylor’s shoulder, I suck multiple toes at a time, three from Taylor, three from Nicholas, them constantly being shoved in and out of my face, constantly replaced by other ones. Saliva droops from their toes, down their sole and onto the table. Taylor keeps choking me with the leash, a sign to open my mouth so more toes could fit. In and out and between the toes I began to lick them all. “That’s right bitch.” Taylor said. Nicolas chuckled. FInally the stale smell of Taylor’s feet and the musty smell of Nicolas’ was removed, their feet caked in the saliva of the bitch they now own.

They finish dinner, put the plates on the coffee table, and move it aside once more. I can see that both of their cocks were hard and throbbing in their pants. Both unbuckle and lower their pants to their feet, kicking them off. Taylor with the familiar girthly cock, and Nicolas with the impressive, hard, easily 8 inch cock. He smirked at me knowing I had a small cock and would feel ever more inferior that I had been successfully replaced. “Com’ere” Taylor gestures with the tug of a leash. My head is plunged down Master Taylor’s, my mouth becomes filled with the cock of my true Master, my mouth truly fills in all directions by the length and width of his cock just like it used to be. He grabs my hair and pulls me in and out. I lathe my tongue around it so he feels more pleasure, he moans and Nicolas visibly starts to get jealous. Nicolas grabs my hair, pulls me off Taylor’s cock and shoves me down his. I choke and gag like never before as 8 inches of dominance are launched into my throat, around it, down it. He does it again. I feel sick. Taylor now grabs me and pulls me back onto his. He begins to thrust his in and out, up and down, jabbing my throat who must fight a one-sided sword fight. I start to choke and gag and spit up saliva all over his cock. He enjoys the defeat of my system to his powerful head, but yet proceeds to slap me anyway for being to weak. Not just a slap, a complete windmilled rocket to my face. My face blood-red, I begin to cry again as now Nicholas pulls me up onto the couch on his cock. Taylor takes off my pants and underwear and begins to smack me whenever I gag on his 8 inch. I try my hardest to take it, it’s not gradually going into my throat, it’s a dangerous and painful series of full-blown thrusts. I’m starting to hate it, and I spit up again. This time Nicolas delivers an equally painful smack, “Bitch!”, so hard that it throws me onto the ground.

My cheek rosy red, I am on the floor looking up at two angry, dissatisfied masters. My head below Nicolas’ feet, he grinds them into my face violently, and I began to lick them as best as I could. Taylor uses his feet to crush my cock. “Look at that small pathetic cock, Nicolas.” Nicolas looks and chuckles, “haha what a loser.” “He’ll never be anything worthy like you are boo.” Taylor added. “You worthless piece of fuck, this is why you are licking my feet.” Nicolas added in his accent. “All boys with small cocks will have an equally tragic fate,” Taylor began to explain to me, even though my face was dominated by Nicholas’ toes, “a small dick means you are worthless, you are barely a man, barely even a boy, you cannot perform the same as can the well-endowed, the blessed, such as Nicolas and myself. Therefore, your existence will always be far inferior to ours. Not only are we owed such respect anyhow, but it is our right to claim you, to own you, to put you at our feet and penises for you to please. You will soon understand your place.” I shook my head in a ‘yes’ the best that I could, terrified, crying, dominated by Nicolas’ feet.

In the moments of vision I had, from the gaps in between Nicolas’ wafting toes, I could see Master Taylor stroking himself slowly and steadily. My leash is tugged on again. “Get up!” Taylor yells again. I stand up. Taylor comes around to my back, and with the force of his powerful hand and arm, bends me over. He pushes me so that my head is against the back pillow of the couch. Nicholas gets up, removes all his clothes, as does Taylor. My shirt is also removed. Taylor grabs the chain, and pulls me up so my ass is at his cock. He grabs my cheeks and squeezes and Nicolas turns around and positions his ass to my face. He extends his cheeks. Taylor pushes me in and I am in the dark world of Nicolas’ seemingly perfect ass. “Lick!” Nicolas bitches. My tongue licks up and down, I feel his anus at the end of my tongue. I lick as well and as hard as I could. Taylor then fastly and painfully thrusts his cock into mine. His mushroom head leaving its mark with echoing pain. He lets it sit there for a second after the penetration, my ass licking becomes slow from the distraction. “I own you.” Taylor announced, “Now don’t you dare stop licking!” I lick faster and harder as Nicolas moans in pleasure, I can even hear the likely smirk of superiority, the happiness and power rush he received from subduing a romantic rival to nothing better than his ass-licker. I continue to lick up his ass while Taylor begins thrusting, slow at first, breaking me in, and picking up speed as it becomes easier for him. Faster and faster, it becomes so hard to lick at a fast pace after the sensation of Taylor’s domination of me, the feeling of his pelvis beating against my ass cheeks, and the feeling of his member dominating my system. Faster and faster, increasingly pleasurable. Taylor’s thrusts continue to force my head up Nicolas’ ass. I lick ass for minutes as I keep being pounded. Nicolas then turns around. Taylor continues to pound. My head is grabbed and shoved onto the 8 inch cock. All my will power in this is eliminated. Taylor thrusts me onto the base of Nicolas’ shaft over and over. I gag and gag until I spit up within myself. Back and forth I am rocked into the big cock by Taylor’s even more powerful cock. I have become a sort of seesaw, a helpless rag doll for the play of my big masters. I learn to handle the cock in my throat. It gets even faster and fasters, I hear moaning from masters, stronger and stronger, moans that become almost yelps until I feel a rush of cum pool my ass, shots of cum fire down my throat, one second, two seconds, three seconds a continuous rush, the ecstasy they are experiencing must be beyond their ability to comprehend. I swallow all the semen that leaked into my mouth. Nicolas, still with his cock deep in me, pets me on the head with a smirk of domination. Taylor withdraws his cock and sits back onto the couch. Nicolas pushes me off.

They begin to kiss and make out and push me down to their feet. Taylor, still holding the chain, pulls my mouth on their toes, fighting their way into my mouth as they passionately make out. My tongue carves in between their toes, licking the new grime and sweat that was built up during the movement of the sex, especially from Taylor and his thrusting. The salty flavor of taylor’s wide feet tastes good, like it used to. Nicolas’ feet too, not as sweaty, have a taste I’m growing to love. Over the course of the last hour or so, I have grown to feel into my new role. As they embrace each other harder in their make-out, Taylor drops the chain. They move their feet up. Taylor has one foot on my cheek, another low so his toes are by my mouth. Nicolas has one foot on my other cheek, the heel of the other directly under my nose, the arch of his curling up my face where his toes ultimately rest at the top of my head. My tongue is lapping up and down left and right, twirling and loathing to cover the toes and soles of my new master. The chain has fallen, but I only lick harder. According to my masters, this is my proper place in life. According to me, this where I belong.


Written by: Bobby Newberry

Picture: Google+

More to come! Let me know what you think and don’t hesitate to comment me ideas of what you’d like to read next. Thanks for reading, I hoped you enjoyed it.

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2 Responses to Dominated by my Ex and his Boyfriend

  1. Rhydian Morris says:

    I want a bitch to try DAT wid me de fuck slap I would’ve given them would instantly make them run for the door

  2. Rhydian Morris says:

    I want a bitch to try DAT wid me de fuck slap I would’ve given them would instantly make them run for the hills.

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