The boy is sitting, wrists bound tight behind his back, ankles tied together so he can’t move an inch. Dressed in gym clothes, his body still carries that fresh, masculine scent of sweat and effort — the kind the Master loves.
The Master steps closer, calm and in control, eyes locked on the boy’s socked feet. White cotton, slightly worn from training. Without a word, the Master kneels and brings them close, breathing him in, letting the tension rise. The victim flinches through his gag, half nervous, half thrilled, knowing he’s completely exposed.
The socks come off slowly. The Master takes his time, revealing those bare, warm feet that twitch under his touch. He smells, licks, tastes — owning every reaction. The bound boy can only gasp behind the gag, trapped between embarrassment and surrender, unable to hide or resist.There’s no escape here, no pretending. Just the sound of breath, rope, and quiet pleasure as the Master enjoys what’s his.