The attic was a bare expanse of wood and dust, its slanted ceiling pressing low, lit by a single bulb swinging from a cord. On the floor, flat on his back, lay Theo, his arms and legs spread wide, secured to rings bolted into the planks. He was a gay slave, transformed into a human shelf for his master, Julian, who stood above him, barefoot and commanding.

The Shelf’s Purpose

Julian paced around Theo, his feet leaving faint prints in the dust. “You’re my shelf, slave,” he said, his voice sharp and deliberate. “You hold what I give—piss, feet, obedience.” Theo’s chest tightened, the weight of his role settling over him like the attic’s stifling air.

As a gay man, Theo had sought a deeper surrender, and Julian had crafted him into a gay slave, a vessel for his desires. Now, bound to the floor, he was less than human—a shelf, a tool. “Yes, Master,” he rasped, his eyes fixed on Julian’s feet.

“You’re my slave,” Julian said, stepping closer, his toes brushing Theo’s chest. “And I’m your master. You’ll take it all—starting now.” Theo nodded, the ropes biting into his wrists, a physical echo of the obedience he’d pledged.

The First Offering

Julian stood over Theo’s torso, his stance wide, and unzipped his jeans. “Hold still, shelf,” he ordered, and Theo tensed, his body rigid as a warm stream began—piss, sharp and steady, cascading onto his chest. He was a gay slave, and this was his duty—to bear his master’s mark.

“You’re mine,” Julian said, his voice calm as the liquid pooled on Theo’s skin, trickling into the crevices of his ribs. “And I’m your master. A shelf doesn’t flinch.” Theo fought the urge to squirm, the heat and scent overwhelming, but he stayed still—obedient, a human shelf for Julian’s will.

The attic’s silence amplified the sound, a rhythmic patter against Theo’s flesh. He was a gay man, yes, but here, he was more—a slave reduced to an object, his suffering a gift to his master. “Good,” Julian murmured, stepping back, his feet now wet with stray drops.

The Feet of Command

Julian wiped his feet on Theo’s stomach, the rough soles scraping against the damp skin. “Clean them,” he commanded, pressing one foot to Theo’s lips. Theo opened his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick the piss and dust from Julian’s toes—he was a gay slave, and obedience was his craft.

“You’re my slave,” Julian said, his foot heavy against Theo’s face. “And I’m your master. Serve me like the shelf you are.” Theo worked diligently, the taste bitter and sharp, but he savored it—a mark of his submission, a ritual of feet and piss that bound them.

The ropes held Theo fast, his body a platform for Julian’s dominance. He was a gay man transformed, a slave who’d become a shelf, and Julian’s feet were his altar. “More,” Julian said, switching feet, and Theo obeyed, his tongue tracing every curve, every callus.

The Test of Endurance

Julian stepped back, surveying his human shelf, then straddled Theo’s chest, his weight pressing down. “You’re thirsty?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. Before Theo could answer, another stream came, this time aimed at his face. He was a gay slave, and suffering was his purpose.

“You’re mine,” Julian said, the piss warm against Theo’s lips, his eyes shut tight against the flood. “And I’m your master. Take it—shelves don’t complain.” Theo swallowed what he could, the rest dripping down his cheeks, a testament to his endurance, his obedience.

The attic spun, the weight and wetness a crucible for Theo’s resolve. He was a gay slave, a shelf for his master’s desires, and Julian’s feet hovered above, ready to claim him again. “You’re holding up well,” Julian said, stepping off, his soles leaving faint imprints on Theo’s skin.

The Obedience Deepens

Julian knelt beside Theo, his foot pressing against Theo’s throat—not hard, but firm. “Worship it,” he ordered, and Theo turned his head, kissing the arch, the heel, every inch he could reach. He was a gay slave, and his master’s foot was his shrine.

“You’re my slave,” Julian said, his voice softening with satisfaction. “And I’m your master. You’ve taken the piss—now honor my feet.” Theo’s lips moved reverently, the ropes straining as he stretched to please, the taste of Julian mingling with the lingering sharpness on his tongue.

“Good shelf,” Julian murmured, lifting his foot to trace Theo’s jaw. Theo shivered, his body marked and claimed, a gay man reduced to this—a slave, a shelf, obedient to the core. The attic’s dust settled around them, a quiet witness to their ritual.

The Night’s Reward

Julian stood, untying Theo’s wrists and ankles with slow, deliberate care. “Up,” he said, and Theo rose to his knees, his body slick and aching but alive with purpose. “You’re my shelf,” Julian said, pulling him close. “A gay slave who’s earned his place.”

Theo leaned into Julian, the warmth of his master a balm after the cold floor. “I’m yours, Master,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but steady. Julian nodded, his hand firm on Theo’s back. “You took it all—piss, feet, obedience.”

The bulb swayed above, casting shadows over the rings, the ropes, the damp spots—relics of Theo’s service. He was a gay slave, a human shelf forged in suffering, and Julian’s approval was his crown. They sat together, the attic’s silence a cocoon for their bond.

The Dawn of Duty

As morning light pierced the attic’s small window, Julian stood, his feet bare and commanding still. “You’re my gay slave,” he said, his voice a vow. “And this shelf is mine—ready for more.” Theo nodded, the marks on his skin a map of his night, his obedience a thread in their tapestry.

The day loomed, but Theo felt no dread—only pride. He’d been a shelf, taken piss and worshipped feet, all for his master. The attic held their story, its beams a frame for their dynamic—a master and his slave, united by a ritual of surrender.

Julian led him downstairs, the world below waiting. Theo followed, his steps light despite the ache, knowing he’d return to the attic, to the floor, to his role—again and again, a gay slave forever bound as Julian’s human shelf.