Pete stood on the side of Sunset Boulevard, on the cusp of the dark alleyway he’d been instructed to wait within. The Sanguines were the gang to impress, so if he wanted in, he was going to do whatever was necessary. He’d fully expected to be a mule of some sort, likely bringing a nice bag of weed back from Tijuana up his butt. The intense California sun bore down on him, drenching him in scorching heat and an orange-hued light. Dusk was coming sooner rather than later, and he’d hoped that whomever was testing him would arrive before the streets got too seedy. How ironic…
Pete was not the type to join a gang. He was whiter than paper. Skim Milk was too spicy for him. He rocked out to Celine Dion in the car on the way to the location. He worked as an insurance adjuster, and that was “really exciting” for him. I could go on, as I have plenty more of these, but I’m sure you get the gist. After the sun had just begun to set, with the hazy, orange dusk painting the sky, Pete felt a sharp pain in the back of his head. His face became quickly introduced to the pavement, as a sneaker-clad food pressed down onto his back. Cricking his neck to look up at his assailant, he saw the smiling face of a ripped, shirtless latino man. His heavy, massive foot pressed gently onto his back, asserting his dominance. He knew the time for his initiation had come.
“Whassup gringo?” Pete opened his mouth to respond, but was met with a swift kick to the chin. “My name’s Rio, boy. Don’t forget it.” Rio’s thick hispanic accent tickled Pete’s eardrums, it was so sharp and alluring. He couldn’t get enough of the youthful, yet assertive voice. “Here’s what’s going to happen, pinche gringo: you’re gonna do what I tell ya to do, when I tell ya to do it, how I tell ya to do it, WHERE I tell ya to do it. ¿Entender?” Pete nodded in nervous agreement. “Good. Now get the fuck up and get on the bike.”
Pete brushed himself off, hiding the growing member straining in his jeans. Rio tossed him a helmet, and the both mounted the crotchrocket. Speeding down Sunset Boulevard on the back of a motorcycle with a bad boy stud was the dream Pete had imagined he’d experience. It didn’t matter how harsh Rio was with him, it seemed he already knew his place. Grasping the stud around the waist, feeling his sticky, warm skin… It didn’t matter what he was going to endure, this is where he wanted to be.
By the time they arrived in Hyde Park, he knew he was in with the wrong crowd for all the right reasons. Sanguines never had a shootout, nor were they particularly violent offenders, but they certainly were known for being a bit rough and tumble. So when they pulled up to the cheap house on the desolate looking street, Pete knew he had to be careful. This was far from the Avocado Toast and Coffee Shops of Venice Beach. Rio tossed his helmet into the chainlink-fenced yard, and grabbed Pete by the crotch, leading him into the run down pink stucco house. The interior was as disgusting as the exterior, stained carpet, holes in the wall… yet the furniture was clearly expensive, as was the 86 inch tv on the wall.
Pete didn’t have much time to observe his surroundings before Rio pushed him to his knees, as he took a seat on the leather couch. “Yeah boy, get on your knees. You’re gonna learn to love it down there. Take my shoes off.” Pete looked at the fresh Yeezy’s donning Rio’s feet. They were flawless. No scuffs, no stains, as if they were fresh out the box.
“Yes sir!” He chirped, and gingerly untied them. Rio leaned back with that same cocky grin. Pulling one off, it was clear these weren’t as new as he’d thought. The smell was impressive. Rio had worn them sockless in the California heat, so a wave of fresh foot stank wafted out of them. Before he could even attempt to deal with shoe #2, his face was met with the source itself. Rio’s sticky size 13 foot was planted firmly onto Pete’s face. This was not his idea of a good time, but for Rio, Pete would do anything. He had found his master, and for some odd reason, he felt a loyalty he’d never experienced before. He felt his nostrils being pinched in between Rio’s long toes, clearly being teased by an Alpha he’d always wanted.
“Ay, you got another one waiting, boy. No fuckin’ around.” In an attempt to impress his new master, Pete stuck his tongue out. As he tasted the salty, soft soles, something clicked in him… The taste was irresistable. The smell was irresistable. He couldn’t fight this intense allure from these feet. As he lapped up the stinking sweat from Rio’s feet, he had untied the second shoe, and the second foot was already rubbing the sticky sweat into his face. “Yeah, that’s right boy, lick them. This is gonna be your favorite place.” Pete felt hands around his neck, pulling him toward the end of the sectional. He was placed firmly, yet gently on the cushion, as Rio swung around to keep his rank feet in Pete’s face.
“Yeah boy, You’re gonna make sure my kicks are clean at all fuckin’ times, right?” Pete nodded and moaned, still lapping up the funk from between the toes. “I can see you’re comin’ along nicely, guapo!” Pete couldn’t see his skin tanning from beneath the meaty soles, nor would he be able to hear his swiftly changing voice.
“Ay, I want you to strip, boy. I wanna see what you got packin.” It was at this moment that Rio removed his still ripe feet from Pete’s distorted face. Pete shucked his white polo, boat shorts and loafers, standing before his master. He was nothing spectacular, and yet Rio stared at him as if he was the most expensive boy at the club. “Yeaah boy. I see somethin’ in there I need to bring out.” His foot was placed onto the crotch, rubbing the little bulge he sported beneath his whity-tidies. Pete could feel the dampness of foot sweat seeping into his underwear, and onto his erect cock. Yet, another sensation flooded his synapses: he felt himself grow even more. His head felt warmer, more snug, much more sensitive, and within moments a newly uncut, pierced cock sprang out from the briefs.
Rio laughed in affirmation, before placing his feet onto Pete’s gut. A kick to his abdomen rippled across his body, as whatever fat clung to his body liquefied, rushing to his pendulous balls. As he stood before Rio, he was a faceless, ripped mannequin. He was no longer Pete. He was nobody. He was an empty vessel, ready to have a new persona thrust within him. Rio knew this, and his new plaything had to be perfect. He sprang up off the couch, grabbing the pulsating cock. Rio slid his tongue into the mouth, and pulling out his own ample cock, docked with his creation. He pumped them in tandem as one appendage, while fondling his own musky balls.
The creation was getting closer and closer to completion, as pre spilled out of their overlapped foreskins. Rio laughed his trademark cackle and shot his load right into the creation’s cock. It slipped up the shaft, rushing throughout it’s body. Muscles bulged and facial features popped out, a mix of Rio and the remnants of Pete. As the two undocked, pools of cum splattered out onto their equally rank feet. The creation opened his now hazel eyes, empty and ready for orders.
“Ayyy, muy guapo. I like it.” Rio brought his new himbo footslave back to his own feet, forcing it to lap up every ounce of their combined cum from the stinking toes. “Yeah, now run into the bedroom. Find yourself some of my clothes from the dirty hamper. You’ll get my hand-me-downs, and you’ll love them. Isn’t that right Mateo?” Mateo nodded. Over time, Rio knew his abrasive, fun loving personality would rub off on his himbo soon, and he’d be an incredible addition to the Sanguines. Even if he was only there to worship Rio’s stinking feet, pits, and groin whenever he wanted. He was a prop, he was property, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.
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