The field was empty, the crowd and players gone, the sun blazing high in the daytime sky. Only Kratos and Jake remained on the dusty turf, the air thick with dread. Kratos, a 6-foot, 195-pound titan, loomed in his white Nike Mercurial Superfly CR7 cleats with a black swoosh, their Flyknit uppers and carbon-fiber soles crusted with dirt and blood from number 7’s face. His white Nike football socks, white t-shirt, and black shorts were stained with sweat, a mark of his dominance. Jake stood frozen, his lean frame trembling, trapped after failing to pay the $1,000 bet he’d started.
Jake’s voice cracked. “Yo, Kratos, man… now what?”
Kratos turned, eyes cold, a wicked grin spreading. “Now what? You do every damn thing I say, Jake. Fail, and I stomp you like I did number 7. I mean it, bro. You thought I wouldn’t know you had no cash? Don’t underestimate me—this is your punishment.”
Jake’s legs shook, fear pinning him in place. “Y-yeah, bro, okay,” he stammered, the image of number 7’s bloodied face seared into his mind.
Kratos stepped closer, towering. “Get on your knees. Crawl like a damn dog. Now.” His voice was a low, menacing growl, dripping with contempt.
Jake dropped to his hands and knees, pride crumbling, crawling across the dirt as Kratos laughed coldly. “Look at you, bro, scooting like a pathetic mutt. Thought you were tough, huh?”
Kratos planted his cleats in the dirt. “Open your mouth, loser. Lick my cleats. Show me how sorry you are for that stupid bet.”
Jake froze, stomach churning. “What? No way, man, I—” Kratos’ cleat lashed out, slamming Jake’s face with a crack. Jake crumpled, blood seeping from his lip, his head spinning with pain and shame. Kratos stepped over, pressing his cleat’s sole onto Jake’s cheek, grinding blood and dirt into his skin. “Still saying no, punk?” he sneered, leaning his full 195 pounds into it. “Wanna end up like number 7?”
Jake’s body shook. “N-no, man, I’ll do it.”
Kratos lifted his cleat, smirking. “Good boy. Start licking. From the toe.”
Jake leaned toward the blood-streaked toe, his tongue brushing it, the faint taste of leather and sweat hitting him. Kratos shook his head. “Nah, idiot. Start from the sole. Don’t make me kick you again.” Jake flinched, picturing another strike, and lowered his face to the gritty underside of Kratos’ left cleat. The sole was rough, caked with clumps of dirt, grass, and dried blood from number 7. The taste was vile—bitter earth mixed with a metallic tang of blood and a sour hint of sweat-soaked rubber. Jake gagged, his tongue scraping against the coarse texture, tiny pebbles catching in his teeth, the blood’s coppery bite stinging his taste buds. He moved to the right sole, the taste even worse, the blood thicker, clotting in his throat, making his stomach lurch with every forced lick. Each swipe was a humiliating surrender, the filth coating his mouth like a badge of defeat. “That’s it, bro,” Kratos taunted. “Clean ‘em good. You’re my cleat-licking bitch now.”
Kratos stepped closer, his grin turning crueler. “Not done yet, loser. Open wide.” Before Jake could react, Kratos shoved the toe of his left cleat hard into Jake’s mouth, the hard Flyknit tip jamming against his teeth, forcing his jaw open. The taste was overwhelming—gritty dirt, sharp blood, and acrid sweat flooded his senses, the leather’s rough texture scraping his lips raw. Jake gagged, his throat constricting as the cleat’s toe pressed deeper, nearly choking him, the metallic blood taste mixing with the stench of worn rubber. His eyes watered, panic rising as he struggled to breathe, the humiliation crushing him as much as the physical force. “What’s the matter, bro?” Kratos sneered, twisting the cleat slightly, grinding it against Jake’s tongue. “Can’t handle a real man’s cleat? You’re pathetic, licking my boots like the worm you are.”
Kratos pulled the cleat out, leaving Jake coughing, blood and spit dribbling down his chin. “Lie on your back, face up. Tongue out.”
Jake, shaking, lay flat, tongue extended, eyes wide with dread. Kratos dragged his left cleat’s sole across Jake’s tongue, the gritty dirt and blood smearing, leaving a rancid trail of filth in his mouth, sharp and metallic like a battlefield. The right sole followed, the studs scraping his tongue raw, the taste so foul Jake’s stomach heaved. “Taste that, loser,” Kratos sneered. “That’s what losing to me feels like.”
Kratos stepped onto Jake’s face, his full 195 pounds crushing down, the cleat’s studded sole biting into his cheeks. Pain exploded through Jake’s skull, a white-hot pressure that made his vision blur, his face throbbing as if it might collapse. The humiliation was worse, the powerlessness under Kratos’ sole choking his spirit. Kratos moved to Jake’s chest, trampling hard, the studs digging into his ribs, each step forcing the air from his lungs. Jake’s chest burned, his bones aching like they might snap, his pride shattered as Kratos’ weight pinned him. The trampling shifted to his abs, the cleats grinding into his stomach, a deep, bruising ache spreading, his body screaming as he struggled to breathe, shame drowning his mind.
Kratos stepped onto Jake’s groin, the pressure sharp and invasive, sending a jolt of pain through his core. Jake’s body betrayed him, a physical reaction stirring despite the agony. Kratos laughed cruelly. “Well, damn, Jake, getting hard from this? You’re a complete fag, huh? Horny for my cleats. Pathetic.” Jake’s face burned, humiliation crashing over him. He didn’t understand his body’s reaction, the confusion and shame twisting in his gut, making him feel smaller than ever.
Kratos slammed his foot onto Jake’s stomach, the full force driving a sickening crunch through his body, the pain sharp and nauseating, like his insides were collapsing. “That’s for thinking you could bet against me,” he spat. He finished with a swift kick to Jake’s face, the cleat crashing into his nose with a wet crack. Blood gushed, hot and thick, flooding Jake’s mouth with a coppery taste, his head spinning as pain and dizziness overwhelmed him. His nose throbbed, the skin split, the kick a final stamp of Kratos’ dominance, leaving Jake broken, his pride obliterated. “That settles your grand, bro. You’re done.”
Jake lay gasping, blood dripping, too broken to move as Kratos towered over him, his cleats glinting in the daylight.
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