In a lively university town, two roommates shared an apartment that perfectly reflected their contrasting personalities. Ethan, tall and self-assured, radiated an air of undeniable superiority. His pride and wealth were on full display through his vast collection of Jordans—hundreds of pairs, from the legendary Jordan 1s to the coveted Jordan 13s. Each pair was more than just sneakers; they were a symbol of his power, wealth, and impeccable taste.
Liam, on the other hand, was quieter, introspective, and often felt lost in the world around him. Though he came from a wealthy family, he spent his parents’ money on just one thing: expanding Ethan’s already impressive Jordan collection. To Liam, these sneakers weren’t merely footwear; they were sacred, symbols of Ethan’s dominance.
Liam’s life had always been marked by a sense of aimlessness. He wandered through each day in search of something—a purpose, a direction—until he found himself orbiting around Ethan. Ethan’s presence anchored him, and the Jordans, which he dutifully maintained and admired, gave him something to focus on. But it wasn’t until that morning that Liam fully understood how much his place in Ethan’s world was tied to the sneakers. They weren’t just shoes to him. They were his compass.
That morning, Ethan stood by the window, staring out at the city as Liam quietly went about his morning routine. There was a nonchalance in the air, as if the day ahead was nothing more than another opportunity for Ethan to assert his control.
“I think I’ll go to the café today,” Ethan said casually, stretching and breaking the silence. “Get some air.”
Liam nodded, not needing to be told anything more. The suggestion was a command, and Liam knew he would follow without question.
Ethan paused, casting a glance at his massive collection of Jordans. His eyes swept over them, stopping at the Jordan 1 “Lost and Found.” The choice was made, and he spoke flatly, as though it were nothing more than a detail to consider.
“I want to wear the Jordan 1 ‘Lost and Found,'” Ethan said, his voice carrying the quiet authority that Liam had come to know so well.
The words hit Liam like a quiet shockwave. His heart quickened, and for a brief moment, he felt that familiar sense of being lost again—a feeling he had known all too well before Ethan entered his life. But in that moment, as Ethan decided to wear the Jordan 1 “Lost and Found,” something clicked inside of Liam. He wasn’t lost anymore. The “Lost and Found” Jordans weren’t just sneakers—they were the very essence of Ethan’s dominance. They symbolized everything Ethan stood for—control, perfection, and power. For Liam, these sneakers weren’t just about fashion or status. They were a reminder of his place. It was in that moment that Liam realized how much he had come to depend on Ethan and his sneakers, how deeply they represented Liam’s position in Ethan’s world. They weren’t just a pair of shoes; they were his connection to Ethan, and in many ways, the key to his own existence.
Liam’s mind raced, but his body moved automatically. He knew his place. As if on instinct, he crawled to the shelf lined with Ethan’s countless pairs of Jordans, each pair more prestigious than the last. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the Jordan 1 “Lost and Found”—the pair that symbolized everything Ethan stood for. It wasn’t just a sneaker; it was power, it was dominance, and for Liam, it was a connection to Ethan that he could never escape.
Liam lowered himself to the ground, his eyes fixed on the sneakers, as he carefully balanced the “Lost and Found” on his head. The sight of the Jordans, their red and white panels gleaming in the light, sent a wave of anticipation through him. Ethan, standing still, was already waiting. Liam didn’t need to be told what to do. He crawled forward, placing the sneakers gently at Ethan’s feet on Liam’s head.
Ethan, as always, wore his Jordans loose—the laces dangling carelessly, a hallmark of his effortless, untouchable style. The sneakers were never meant to be tied in a conventional way. They were a statement of dominance, of control. Liam’s fingers brushed against the laces, but he didn’t tie them. Instead, he ensured the shoes fit perfectly, adjusting them with delicate care, knowing that the looser, more casual fit was what Ethan preferred.
Once the shoes were on, Ethan stood up, his presence commanding the space around him. He didn’t speak; he didn’t need to. With a simple glance, he directed Liam to follow.
“Let’s go,” Ethan said, his tone final.
As they left the apartment and made their way through the city streets, Liam felt the weight of the day’s journey settling in. He wasn’t just following Ethan. He was following his purpose. The Jordan 1 “Lost and Found” were more than sneakers—they were a declaration, a reminder of Liam’s place in the world. His gaze remained fixed on the red and white sneakers with every step Ethan took.
Liam had spent so long searching for something, feeling lost, adrift in a world that never quite fit. But in Ethan’s presence, in the way Ethan wore the Jordans, Liam had found something. His purpose. His place. It was simple and unquestioned. He was meant to follow Ethan, to serve, to worship. And in the “Lost and Found” sneakers, he had found not just a pair of shoes, but a beacon guiding him through his existence.
When they reached the café, Ethan made his usual confident stride toward a secluded outdoor seating area. Without hesitation, he climbed onto the backrest of a plush couch, leaving the Jordans to rest on the seat below. From this position, he was untouchable. His dominance radiated effortlessly from him.
Liam followed, placing a tray of sandwiches on the table and sitting quietly beside Ethan’s Jordans. Just being near them felt like a blessing, a reminder of his purpose in Ethan’s world. As he sat there, Liam couldn’t help but feel that familiar sense of submission—the same submission that had been ignited in him the moment he first laid eyes on Ethan’s sneakers. His place was always to serve, to follow, to worship.
Ethan glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “You hungry?” he asked, his tone casual but laden with a subtle command.
Liam nodded eagerly. “Yes, I am.”
Without waiting for further instructions, Liam sat back, hands folded, eyes downcast as he waited patiently. He was like a dog at its master’s feet, waiting for the moment when Ethan would allow him to act. He knew his place. He knew that the simple act of eating was not something to be done without Ethan’s permission. The power dynamic between them was always clear, even in the smallest moments.
Ethan’s gaze lingered on him for a moment, a quiet smirk still on his face. He then stood up and, with a swift movement, stepped onto the table, his Jordans landing heavily on the wooden surface. The sound of his sneakers hitting the table was unmistakable, and for a brief moment, everything around them seemed to freeze. The patrons of the café exchanged looks, unsure how to react to the audacity of it all. But Ethan was unfazed. He looked down at Liam, who remained seated, his eyes locked on the sneakers, watching as Ethan shifted his weight and pressed the Jordans down into the sandwiches.
The bread crumpled beneath the weight of the sneakers, and the fillings—mustard, lettuce, tomato, and sauce—oozed out in a messy, grotesque display. The sight of it, the sound of the squelching food, made several patrons grimace, but to Liam, it was thrilling. Every part of him longed to witness the desecration of those pristine sneakers. The Jordans were no longer perfect, and that imperfection felt like a deeper connection to Ethan—his power was not just in the shoes themselves but in what he could do to them, and what he made Liam do to them.
Without thinking, Liam dropped to his knees, his movements fluid and practiced. The world around him faded, leaving only the sneakers and his task at hand. He leaned forward, his face close to the table, eyes focused on the soles of Ethan’s Jordan 1 “Lost and Found.” The once-pristine sneakers were now a battlefield, crushed and smeared with sandwich remnants—mustard, sauce, and bits of lettuce.
Ethan stood silently, watching with a faint, satisfied smirk. He could feel the power of the moment—a complete control over Liam, who had always been so obedient, so eager to serve. His eyes flicked down to the sneakers, then back up to Liam. Ethan’s mind was calm, a sense of quiet satisfaction washing over him. This was his domain, and Liam’s submission was the proof of his dominance. The act was a simple one, but in the mundane destruction of food, Ethan saw the perfection of his control. Liam was more than just a servant in this moment; he was the very manifestation of Ethan’s world, shaped by the sneakers, shaped by Ethan’s will.
Liam’s focus remained on the Jordans, as Ethan’s voice broke the silence, cold and commanding. “Eat.”
Liam obeyed without hesitation, leaning in closer. His lips brushed against the red soles, a soft, tentative touch as he tasted the first remnants of mustard. The sharp tang of it flooded his senses, a bitter reminder of his role. He tasted the sharp bite of the mustard first, mixed with the lingering saltiness of the sandwich’s sauce. The combination was foul, yet to Liam, it was part of his submission—a symbol of his place beneath Ethan.
Ethan’s gaze never wavered from Liam. A quiet pride filled him. This was how it was meant to be. He enjoyed watching Liam in this position—humble, devoted, and willing to debase himself in whatever way Ethan saw fit. As Liam licked the sandwich remnants off the soles, Ethan felt a deeper connection to the power that flowed from him. It was effortless. He had created this world, and Liam was caught in it, unable to escape the gravity of Ethan’s presence.
Liam took another slow lick, his tongue brushing against the rubber tread, feeling the remnants of the sandwich fillings stuck in the grooves. The creamy mayo mixed with the faint bitterness of the lettuce, both clinging stubbornly to the rubber. The sandwich’s textures—soft bread now soggy with sauce, lettuce now limp and lifeless, meat that tasted like it had been discarded, worse than dog food—melted into his mouth with every lick. The crunch of the bread, now crushed into the sneaker’s grooves, added an unpleasant but compelling texture. He could taste the smoothness of the mayo and the faintly bitter bitterness of the tomato, all mixed with the dirt from the street, grinding into his tongue as he cleaned each inch of the sneaker.
Ethan watched with an unspoken intensity, his mind wandering just briefly to how easily Liam had slipped into this role. The act of eating from the soles wasn’t just physical; it was symbolic, and Ethan felt the weight of that. Liam was so eager to please, so desperate to align himself with Ethan’s world. The thought pleased him. This was who Liam had become—a reflection of everything Ethan had built. His sneakers, the Jordans, were just the beginning of the power he held over Liam.
A darker thought crept into Ethan’s mind as he observed Liam, I wonder what it would feel like to smear even more… perhaps some crushed sandwich all over his face. Make him truly wear the mess he’s cleaning. No, maybe that’s for later. He’s already so deep, but I could push him further…
Liam’s mind raced, but the feeling of each taste brought a sense of humbling clarity. The mess on the soles of Ethan’s Jordans—mustard, sauce, lettuce, tomato, meat—wasn’t just food to him. It was a declaration of submission. The more he licked, the more humiliated he felt, but each bite—each cleansing stroke of his tongue—was a reaffirmation of his place beneath Ethan’s power.
Ethan took a deep breath, reveling in the quiet dominance he exerted. He could see how much it affected Liam—the way he sank deeper into his role, into his submission with every lick. Ethan’s sneakers were no longer just sneakers. They had become the key to Liam’s existence. The power, the control, all of it settled into the soles of those sneakers. It was intoxicating.
The bread and the sauce left a lingering, salty taste on Liam’s tongue, each bite less appetizing but more necessary. He traced the edges of the tread with his tongue, scraping the last bits of sandwich from the ridges of the soles. The sandwich was no longer just food; it had become a ritual, something to be consumed as proof of his devotion. As he continued, his face flushed with a mixture of shame and intoxication, the task becoming an inescapable part of his submission.
When Liam finished licking the soles clean, the mess was still visible, though far lessened. He reached for the napkins on the table, the soft paper crinkling in his trembling hands. Slowly, he began wiping at the Jordans, removing the final traces of food and grime. The task was meticulous, almost reverent. But as he wiped, Ethan remained standing on the table, his presence towering above Liam, watching with a quiet smirk.
Liam paused, feeling the weight of Ethan’s presence above him. He didn’t dare lift his gaze but instead continued his work, his hands shaky but determined. Once the sneakers were spotless, Ethan’s smirk widened. Of course, Liam’s face had low priority compared to the Jordans. Without any command, Liam took the same napkin he’d used to clean the soles and wiped his own face, removing the remnants of mustard and sauce that had splattered onto him during the task. His face flushed, the humiliation thickening the air between them.
Ethan’s smirk grew a little wider as he watched. Liam’s devotion was unquestionable, and Ethan reveled in it. He was the one who had brought Liam to this point, and in this simple act of eating the crushed sandwich, he saw the depths of the control he had over him. This was his power, this was his world, and Liam was there, kneeling before him, cleaning the mess from his shoes as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
With every bite, Liam felt more deeply the weight of Ethan’s presence—felt it more as a part of him. The Jordans weren’t just shoes; they were a symbol of everything Ethan stood for: power, dominance, control. And as Liam wiped the last remnants of food from his face, he felt, for the first time, that he was truly found—no longer lost, but completely absorbed in his purpose.
As he licked the soles clean, his face flushed with a mixture of shame and devotion. The sandwich remnants and street grime were absorbed into his mouth, each taste an undeniable mark of his devotion. When he finished, the Jordans were as clean as they could be, though still marked by the chaos Ethan had created.
Ethan’s gaze rested on him, and for a moment, there was no expression on his face—just a silent acknowledgment of the task completed. The power dynamic remained unspoken but undeniable.
The two left the café shortly after, Ethan striding ahead with his usual air of dominance, while Liam trailed behind, eyes once again fixed on the Jordans. As they passed the graffiti-covered wall, Liam couldn’t help but notice the words: “Know Your Place,” “Bow Down.” The messages now felt like a reaffirmation of his purpose. He had found his place beneath Ethan, and in the Jordans, he had found his purpose.
For Ethan, the day was nothing more than another display of dominance. For Liam, it was another day of devotion—both to Ethan and to the sneakers that symbolized everything Ethan had given him: purpose, direction, and the overwhelming need to serve.
