Slave Sucks Master’s Feet

Luca, the Italian Taskmaster – A Slave Gay Master Tale

Luca was a man of precision, an Italian leatherworker whose hands had shaped hides into art in the narrow streets of Florence. His workshop smelled of tannin and wax, a sanctuary of craft where he ruled with an artisan’s eye and a tyrant’s will. By day, he stitched boots and belts, his fingers deft and unyielding, his voice a quiet command to apprentices who scurried under his gaze. But when dusk painted the Arno gold and the shop fell silent, Luca’s dominion shifted—to a hidden attic above, where his true mastery unfurled.

Tonight, that mastery would burn bright. He climbed the creaking stairs, his polished boots echoing in the stillness, until he reached the attic’s low-ceilinged expanse. There, kneeling on a worn rug, was Matteo—his slave. A wiry man with olive skin and eyes that flickered with eager submission, Matteo had surrendered to Luca months ago, drawn by the promise of a bond as unyielding as the leather Luca tamed. The air thrummed with anticipation, a prelude to the absolute obedience Luca demanded and Matteo yearned to give.

The Attic of Submission

Luca stopped a few paces from Matteo, his boots gleaming faintly in the dim light of a single bulb overhead. He towered over the kneeling figure, his presence a quiet storm that filled the attic’s tight space. Without a word, he bent down and unlaced his boots, pulling them off with the same care he gave his finest work. The scent of leather and sweat wafted into the air as he peeled off his socks, revealing feet that were strong, calloused, and undeniably commanding—feet that had walked the cobblestones of Florence and now stood as pillars of his power.

“Look at me,” Luca said, his Italian accent curling around the words like smoke. Matteo’s gaze lifted, locking onto the gay master’s bare feet. It wasn’t just an unveiling—it was an invitation, a command wrapped in silence. A gay slave eagerly sucks his master’s feet in this kinky BDSM scene, and Matteo was no exception. His breath quickened, his lips parting as Luca flexed his toes, the movement a subtle taunt. The slave gay master dynamic shimmered in the air—a raw fetish act waiting to ignite.

Matteo knew the rules, the required positions Luca had etched into his soul. Kneeling, hands flat, head tilted just so—submission was a craft here, as precise as Luca’s stitching. The sight of those feet, arched and unyielding, stirred a hunger in him, a need that Luca had cultivated with the patience of a master at his trade.

The Worship Begins

Luca stepped closer, the heat of his body brushing against Matteo’s bowed form. He lifted one foot, hovering it just above the slave’s face, the toes curling with quiet menace. “You want this,” he said, his voice a low hum that vibrated through Matteo’s core. “Show me.”

Matteo didn’t hesitate. His lips pressed against the rough skin of Luca’s sole, a tentative kiss that blossomed into fervent worship. The taste of salt and leather flooded his senses, a gritty testament to the day Luca had spent shaping the world below. Each lick, each brush of his tongue, was a tribute to the gay master who owned him—a ritual of devotion that deepened their slave gay master bond. The master revels in the slave’s foot-worshipping obedience, and Luca was no exception, his dark eyes glinting with satisfaction as Matteo surrendered to the act.

“More,” Luca commanded, his voice a sharp stitch in the silence. Matteo obeyed, his tongue tracing the ridges of Luca’s arch, his breath ragged with effort. The attic grew warm, the air thick with the musk of dominance and submission. This wasn’t just pleasure—it was the oath of obedience Matteo had sworn, a vow to serve without question, to bend beneath the weight of Luca’s will. The gay slave sucked harder, his lips closing around a toe, a moan escaping as he lost himself in the raw fetish act.

A Master’s Pleasure

Luca shifted his weight, pressing his foot harder against Matteo’s face, pinning him to the rug. The gay master’s smirk widened, a rare crack in his stoic facade, as he watched his slave’s dedication unfold. He enjoyed this—the slow unraveling of Matteo, the way his eagerness grew more desperate with each passing moment. The slave gay master dynamic shone through every movement, a light that burned brighter with Matteo’s submission and Luca’s control.

“You’re good at this,” Luca murmured, his tone laced with approval as he pulled his foot back and offered the other. Matteo dove in again, his hands trembling against the rug, restrained by the unspoken rule not to touch without permission. The gay master’s feet were tools of dominance—broad, firm, and unyielding—and Matteo’s mouth was their altar. The act was degrading, humbling, yet it filled him with a strange pride—knowing he was chosen to serve a man so precise, so utterly in command.

Luca tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he studied Matteo’s work. “Deeper,” he ordered, and Matteo pushed himself further, his tongue exploring every curve, every callous. The attic seemed to shrink, the world narrowing to just the two of them—master and slave, locked in a dance of power and surrender. The gay master reveled in the control, his chest swelling with the quiet thrill of ownership, while Matteo’s obedience fueled the fire of their bond.

A Deeper Surrender

Time blurred as Matteo lost himself in the task, the taste of Luca’s feet a constant anchor in the haze of submission. The gay master stood still, his stance unwavering, though his breath grew heavier with each stroke of Matteo’s tongue. He wanted more than worship—he wanted to test the limits of Matteo’s devotion, to push the slave gay master dynamic into uncharted depths. With a sudden movement, he pulled his foot away, leaving Matteo gasping, his lips wet with effort.

“Enough,” Luca barked, his voice cutting through the fog. Matteo froze, his chest heaving, his eyes darting up to meet Luca’s. The gay master turned and strode to a wooden chair in the attic’s corner, its surface scarred by years of use. He sat, crossing one leg over the other, and pointed to the floor in front of him. “Here. Now.”

Matteo crawled forward, his knees scraping against the rug, until he knelt at Luca’s feet once more. The gay master leaned forward, his eyes glinting with intent. “You think this is all?” he asked, his tone deceptively soft. “You’re wrong.” He uncrossed his legs, planting both feet firmly on the rug, and gestured for Matteo to resume. The slave obeyed, his mouth returning to its task, but Luca wasn’t done. He lifted one foot, pressing it against Matteo’s shoulder, forcing him lower—a living pedestal for the my piss of dominance that flowed through every act.

The Mark of Control

Matteo’s world narrowed to the texture of Luca’s soles, the weight of his master’s foot a constant reminder of his place. The gay master shifted, grinding his heel into Matteo’s shoulder, leaving a faint red mark against the slave’s skin. “You’re mine,” Luca said, his voice a growl of possession. Matteo nodded, his throat tight with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration, the slave gay master dynamic pulsing through him like a heartbeat.

Luca pulled back, standing abruptly, his boots still discarded in the corner. He towered over Matteo, his shirt clinging to his frame with the faint sweat of the night. “Stand,” he ordered, and Matteo rose on shaky legs, his body marked by the hours of worship. The gay master gripped his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “You’ve pleased me,” he said, the words a rare gift. “But there’s one last step.”

The Final Trial

Luca had a final test, a finale ultimate examination to seal Matteo’s submission. He led the slave to a low bench against the attic wall, its wood worn smooth by time. “Lie down,” he commanded, and Matteo complied, stretching out on the cool surface, his heart pounding with anticipation. Luca loomed above him, a craftsman of control, his feet once again the focus of the scene.

He stepped onto the bench, planting one foot on Matteo’s chest, the other hovering over his face. “You’ll take it all,” Luca said, his tone leaving no doubt. He lowered his foot, pressing it against Matteo’s lips, forcing them apart. The slave’s mouth opened, accepting the weight, the taste, the sheer dominance of the gay master. It was overwhelming, suffocating, yet Matteo felt a clarity—a peace that came from knowing his role in the slave gay master hierarchy.

Luca shifted, grinding his heel into Matteo’s chest, leaving red marks against pale skin. “This is what you are,” he said, his voice a steady rhythm. “Mine to command. Mine to break. Mine to keep.” Matteo moaned, the sound muffled against the foot in his mouth, his body trembling with the weight of surrender. The attic seemed to pulse, the world shrinking to just the two of them—master and slave, bound by a fetish act as raw as it was profound.

A Bond Etched in Leather

When Luca finally stepped off, Matteo lay there, breathless and spent, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. The gay master stood over him, his feet still bare, his presence as unyielding as the leather he worked by day. He reached down, brushing a calloused hand against Matteo’s cheek—a rare tenderness that softened the night’s intensity. “You’ve done well,” Luca murmured, his tone a quiet reward. “But you’ll do better next time.”

Matteo nodded, too exhausted to speak, his mind reeling from the depth of their encounter. The slave gay master dynamic had carved itself into his being, a mark as permanent as the bruises on his skin. Luca turned away, leaving Matteo on the bench, a silent promise hanging in the air—there would be more nights, more tests, more chances to prove his worth under the gay master’s rule.

As the attic fell silent, Matteo closed his eyes, the taste of Luca’s feet still lingering on his tongue. He was owned, claimed, and utterly devoted—a slave to a gay master whose dominance was as precise as his craft. In that submission, he found a twisted freedom, a purpose that would carry him through until the next call to worship.

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