At his feet, his sub knelt on all fours, the damp earth pressing into their palms and knees. Their breath came in shallow, reverent gasps, eyes fixed on the ground, where the herringbone pattern of Kratos’s Jordans left faint imprints in the soft soil. The sneakers, with their visible Air unit in the heel, seemed to carry the weight of his authority, each step a deliberate declaration of dominance, amplified by his 6-foot frame and 195-pound physique.“Lower,” Kratos commanded, his voice a low rumble, like thunder rolling through the clouds above. His sub obeyed instantly, pressing their chest closer to the ground, their body trembling with anticipation and submission. Kratos stepped forward, the sole of his Jordan 4 pressing firmly into the small of their back. The textured rubber outsole gripped their skin through the thin fabric of their clothing, a reminder of his control. He shifted his full 195 pounds onto them, the Air unit cushioning his stance but doing nothing to lessen the intensity of his presence. The sub’s arms quaked under the pressure, but they held firm, driven by the need to please their Master.“You exist for this,” Kratos said, his tone laced with dark satisfaction. He adjusted his stance, the black accents of his sneakers catching the dim light as he pressed harder, forcing his sub to crawl forward on hands and knees. The grass was slick beneath them, each movement a struggle, a testament to their devotion. Kratos’s jeans swished faintly as he moved, the denim brushing against itself, a soft counterpoint to the sub’s labored breathing. The Military Black Jordans, pristine despite the damp terrain, seemed to revel in the act, their sleek design a perfect extension of Kratos’s unyielding dominance, his 6-foot frame casting a formidable shadow over the scene.The park was silent, save for the occasional rustle of leaves and the sub’s muffled gasps. Kratos’s weight bore down relentlessly, his sneakers leaving fleeting marks on their back as they crawled, inch by inch, across the clearing. The clouds above thickened, casting deeper shadows, mirroring the intensity of the scene below. “You’re mine,” Kratos growled, stepping off briefly only to place one Jordan-clad foot on the back of his sub’s neck, pinning them gently but firmly to the ground. The cool leather and suede pressed against their skin, a tactile reminder of his power, magnified by his 195 pounds of disciplined strength.The sub’s fingers dug into the earth, their body trembling with a mix of strain and surrender. They craved this—craved the weight, the control, the unapologetic strength of Master Kratos, whose 6-foot stature and muscular build made his dominance undeniable. His Jordans, with their clean lines and bold contrasts, were more than footwear; they were symbols of his authority, each step a deliberate act of ownership.Kratos leaned down, his voice a whisper now, dripping with command. “Keep crawling. Show me your place.” The sub complied, dragging themselves forward, the damp grass staining their knees as Kratos followed, his 6-foot silhouette looming, one foot occasionally pressing down, guiding their path. The Military Black Jordans gleamed with quiet menace, their high-quality leather and suede unmarred by the park’s terrain, a testament to their durability and Kratos’s meticulous care.As the first drops of rain began to fall, Kratos stood tall, his 195-pound frame and 6-foot stature framed against the stormy sky. His sub, still crawling, felt the weight of his gaze as much as the press of his sneakers. The moment was theirs alone, a private ritual of power and submission, sealed under the clouds and marked by the unmistakable presence of Master Kratos’s Air Jordan 4 Military Blacks.
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