In the dimly lit basement of the school, where the scent of damp concrete mingled with the faintest hint of chalk and youthful ambition, Hüseynağa found himself kneeling before Əkbər, his heart pounding with a cocktail of fear and desire. The 20-year-old, with his shy demeanor and introverted nature, had always harbored a secret yearning for submission, a longing to be utterly dominated. And Əkbər, with his rugged features and a presence that commanded attention, was the epitome of dominance.
Hüseynağa's voice trembled as he uttered the words that would seal his fate, "Please, Əkbər, make me your slave."
Əkbər looked down at him, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes reflecting the power he knew he held. "You think you can handle being my foot, urine, and sex slave, Hüseynağa?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "You're nothing but a pathetic worm begging for my attention."
Hüseynağa's cheeks flushed with humiliation, yet his arousal grew at Əkbər's words. He nodded, his gaze fixed on the floor, unable to meet Əkbər's piercing stare.
"Speak up, slave," Əkbər demanded, his tone sharp.
"Yes, I can handle it. I want to be yours completely," Hüseynağa replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Louder, worm!" Əkbər's hand struck Hüseynağa's face with a resounding slap that echoed through the basement.
"Yes, I want to be yours completely!" Hüseynağa shouted, his voice cracking with need.
"Good. Now, crawl to me," Əkbər commanded.
Hüseynağa obeyed, his movements slow and deliberate, his body aware of every cobweb and stone on the cold floor. He reached Əkbər's feet and pressed his face against the leather of his master's boots, inhaling the scent of authority.
"Lick them," Əkbər said, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down Hüseynağa's spine.
Hüseynağa extended his tongue, tasting the salt and grime, relishing the degradation. His hands, trembling with anticipation, reached for Əkbər's belt, fumbling with the buckle, desperate to please.
"You're a filthy little thing, aren't you?" Əkbər said, grabbing a fistful of Hüseynağa's hair and yanking his head back. "You live for this, don't you? To be used and abused by someone as powerful as me."
"Yes," Hüseynağa hissed, his eyes rolling back as Əkbər's other hand unzipped his pants, releasing his erection.
"Open your mouth," Əkbər ordered, and Hüseynağa complied, his lips parting in submission. Əkbər thrust into his mouth, claiming it with the same authority he exerted over Hüseynağa's will.
As Əkbər used his mouth, Hüseynağa felt a warmth spreading through his groin, the heat of arousal mixed with the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes. He was nothing more than a vessel for Əkbər's pleasure, and the thought only fueled his desire.
When Əkbər finally released, it was with a guttural roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the school. Hüseynağa swallowed, his throat constricting around Əkbər's shaft, milking every last drop.
But the adventure was far from over. Əkbər pushed Hüseynağa onto his back and straddled his face. "Now, worship me as I relieve myself," he commanded.
Hüseynağa's heart raced with a mix of trepidation and excitement as the warm stream hit his face, marking him as Əkbər's property in the most primal way possible. He opened his mouth, tasting the bitterness, feeling the weight of his surrender with every drop.
Finally, Əkbər stood over him, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You're mine now, Hüseynağa. My footstool, my urinal, my whore. And I will use you as I see fit."
In that moment, Hüseynağa had never felt more alive, more complete. He was exactly where he belonged—underneath Əkbər's boot, a willing participant in their sordid adventure, ready for the next command, the next degradation, the next exquisite surrender to his master's will.
