Master Kratos emerged from his home gym, his skin slick with sweat from a chest day workout. At 6 feet tall and 195 pounds, his physique was a sculpted fortress—broad shoulders, chiseled pecs, and abs like polished granite, each muscle forged through relentless discipline. Shirtless, his body radiated raw power, his grey Jordan sweatpants slung low, accentuating his chiseled hips. His Jordan 4 Military White sneakers, pristine and commanding, amplified his dominance. According to sneaker sources, the sneakers featured a premium off-white leather upper, breathable quarter panel netting, and Neutral Grey suede overlays on the toe. Vibrant Military Blue accents popped on the molded eyelets, tongue tag, and heel tab, marked with the iconic “Nike Air” branding, a nod to Tinker Hatfield’s 1989 design. The polyurethane midsole, with a visible Air-Sole unit in the heel, and the herringbone-patterned rubber outsole, with its rough, textured treads, grounded Kratos’s every step with authority.
Kratos strode into the living room, the heavy thud of his Jordan 4s on the hardwood floor echoing with purpose. His handsome features—sharp jawline, piercing eyes—burned with an almost divine intensity, his dominance undeniable. Kneeling on the floor, head bowed, was his male fag, a 24/7 slave devoted to his service. At 5 feet tall and 142 pounds, the fag was a stark contrast to Kratos’s towering frame. Kratos’s 195 pounds of muscle loomed like a titan over the fag’s slight, wiry build, his thin white t-shirt clinging to his lean frame, emphasizing his fragility. The physical disparity was striking: Kratos, a colossus of strength, dwarfed the fag’s delicate submission, their dynamic a vivid testament to power and surrender.
Without a word, Kratos’s mood—dark and brooding after a tough day—charged the room. He stepped forward, kicking the fag’s face to the floor with his Jordan 4, the rough herringbone treads grazing his cheek with a stinging scrape. “I’m in a bad mood,” Kratos growled, his deep voice a low, commanding rumble. The fag’s face pressed briefly against the cold floor, his breath quickening, but he remained silent, accepting his role in their consensual dynamic.
Kratos loomed over him, planting one Jordan 4 Military White sneaker on the fag’s chest. The off-white leather and Military Blue accents gleamed as the rough herringbone treads pressed into the thin white t-shirt, the coarse texture abrading the fabric and leaving faint, scuffed imprints. The pressure sent a sharp pain through the fag’s chest, the treads’ roughness biting into his skin through the thin cotton. Kratos leaned forward, his full 195 pounds bearing down briefly, asserting his dominance. The fag gasped, his smaller frame trembling under the weight, the contrast between Kratos’s muscular power and the fag’s delicate submission stark and undeniable.
Kratos shifted, stomping hard on the fag’s abs, the rough treads of his Jordan 4 leaving scuffed, textured imprints on the t-shirt, the coarse sole scraping the fabric and skin beneath. He rubbed the sneaker’s sole across the t-shirt, treating the fag like a doormat, the Neutral Grey and Military Blue accents dragging across the cotton in a display of control. The fag’s body quivered, but he remained still, devoted to his role. Kratos then stepped onto the fag’s head, pressing the rough herringbone treads firmly against his scalp, the coarse texture grounding him in submission without excessive force. The pressure was intense, a physical reminder of Kratos’s dominance, yet the fag endured, his submission unwavering.
“Lick them clean,” Kratos commanded, his voice a cold, authoritative order. He lifted one Jordan 4, hovering the rough-treaded sole over the fag’s mouth, the Military Blue accents and herringbone pattern inches from his lips. The fag’s tongue darted out, lapping at the rubber outsole, feeling the coarse texture of the treads. Kratos kept one foot planted on the fag’s chest, pinning him in place, while the other hovered for cleaning. He swapped feet, ensuring both sneakers were licked spotless, the fag’s smaller body straining under the weight, his devotion evident in every careful stroke of his tongue. The contrast between Kratos’s towering, muscular frame and the fag’s slight, submissive form was a vivid tableau of power and surrender.
When the sneakers gleamed once more, Kratos stepped back, delivering a sharp kick to the fag’s face with his Jordan 4, the rough treads grazing his cheek. “Make dinner,” he ordered, his tone firm and unyielding. The fag scrambled to his feet, his t-shirt scuffed and marked by the treads’ imprints, and hurried to the kitchen. Kratos turned toward the bathroom, his Jordan 4s thudding with each step, his muscles flexing as he moved. He would shower, washing away the sweat of his workout, and eat the dinner prepared by his devoted slave, their dynamic as unyielding as the sneakers that symbolized his dominance.
Follow Master Kratos
Instagram: MasterKratos28
BlueSky: MasterKratos28
X: MasterKratos28
