"That's acceptable. Maybe there's hope for you, yet," Victor said as he patted Warren on the head and tousled his hair.
Victor threw himself down on Warren's bed like he owned it. He grabbed a pillow and partially propped himself up on one elbow so he could watch Warren worship his socked feet.
Warren went to town on them. He sniffed the wet cotton from every angle. He rubbed the feet against his cheeks and rolled his head back and forth. Whiff after whiff of jock sweat filled his nose. It made his head swoon.
Victor flexed his leg muscles and admired the shape and strength of his own calves. He slapped Warren's face playfully with his damp socks.
The foot-slave buried his face between the two socked feet. He felt their warmth against his cheeks. Warren rubbed and massaged his
