The Unexpected Journey of a Martial Arts Dominator - Parts 1-8

[krtft]

Part 1

As soon as he awoke, Jason was already in a bad mood. He started stretching and made up his bed. It's been quite a while that the dojo closed and competitions cancelled. They said he was an excellent instructor, but nevertheless they couldn't keep him on, even for online classes. Without friends or family to rely on, he was at a loss about how to keep the lights on.

To make himself forget his worries for a while, he opened his Instagram account. All of the posts were just him dutifully practicing and stretching. Nothing special, nothing fancy. But this time, there's something different that caught his eyes. There's a message notification. He never had that before. He opened it. Username anonkarate111 said "Hi, nice kicks. Do you make custom videos?" It's unlike Jason to reply to anonymous strangers on the internet, but he is heavily strapped for cash.

As Jason stared at the message, a mix of curiosity and apprehension coursed through him. He tapped his fingers on the phone, his thoughts racing as he considered the proposition. Making custom videos? It wasn't exactly the path he had imagined to support himself, but desperate times called for unconventional measures.

With a sigh, he typed out a cautious response, his fingers dancing across the screen. "Thanks for reaching out. What kind of custom videos are you looking for?" He hesitated for a moment before pressing the send button, wondering what he was getting himself into. The seconds that followed felt like an eternity as he waited for a reply from this mysterious anonkarate111.

A few heartbeats later, the notification pinged again, signaling a new message from anonkarate111. Jason's pulse quickened as he opened the message. "I'm looking for videos of your feet, especially while you're practicing your kicks and stretches. I'll pay generously for each video."

Jason's eyebrows furrowed as he read the words, a mixture of disbelief and incredulity flooding his mind. Feet videos? It seemed absurd and almost surreal. His martial arts skills were his pride and identity, and now they were being reduced to something so bizarre.

He chewed on his lower lip, torn between his financial desperation and his sense of dignity. After a moment of contemplation, he responded, his words tinged with a hint of defiance. "I appreciate the offer, but my focus has always been on martial arts itself. I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with making videos of just my feet."

He released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and waited, his gaze fixed on the screen as the seconds ticked away. The ball was now in anonkarate111's court, and Jason's future hung in the balance as he grappled with the consequences of his decision.

The reply from anonkarate111 came quicker than Jason expected, their words concise but persuasive. "I understand your hesitation, Jason. But consider this – your talent deserves recognition, and this could be a way to showcase your unique skills in a new light. Think about the possibilities and the financial relief it could bring. I'm willing to pay handsomely for your videos."

Jason leaned back, staring at the screen with a mix of conflicting emotions. Could he really compromise his principles for the sake of financial stability? The rational part of his mind battled with his pride and integrity. He imagined the bills piling up, the looming uncertainty, and the weight of his circumstances pressing down on him.

With a heavy sigh, he typed his response, his fingers moving with a mixture of resignation and determination. "I'll admit, I'm in a tough spot right now. Let's discuss the details, but know that I don't want my identity be known."

As he hit send, a sense of both relief and unease washed over him. He had taken the first step into a territory he never thought he'd enter. The decision had been made, and now he could only brace himself for what lay ahead.

The screen remained silent for a moment before another message from anonkarate111 appeared. "Your privacy is important, Jason. I respect that. Let's proceed with discretion. I'll send you the details and payment information through a secure channel. Looking forward to working with you."

Jason's heart raced as he read those words. He couldn't believe what he was about to do, yet there was a strange mix of relief and anticipation building within him. He had just taken a leap into the unknown, trading his pride for financial relief. He felt a twinge of guilt, as if he were betraying his true passion, but he couldn't deny the practicality of his decision.

As he stared at the message, his mind whirred with thoughts of the future. He would have to find a way to compartmentalize this part of his life, to ensure it didn't tarnish his reputation as a martial artist. But for now, as the weight of his circumstances loomed large, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope that this unconventional path might just be his lifeline.

With a heavy sigh, he leaned back, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. It was a new chapter, one he had never anticipated, and only time would tell where it would lead him.

[mrnonsense76]

Interesting premise: i can't wait to read more of this story!

[krtft]

Part 2

"For now, I just want a video of you doing butterfly stretches, hurdler's stretches, half-split stretches with th camera focusing on the outstretched foot, frog split stretch from behind, and face-level front and side kicks."

After creating the requested video, Jason carefully reviewed the footage before sending it to anonkarate111. He couldn't shake the unease that had settled in his gut. The act of recording those movements felt like he was casting a shadow on everything he had worked so hard to achieve as a martial artist.

With a sigh, he attached the video and typed out a professional message. "Here is the video as per your request. Please find it attached. I look forward to receiving the agreed-upon payment."

The minutes ticked by, and an incoming message from anonkarate111 appeared on his screen. His heart raced as he opened it. "Impressive work, Jason. Your kicks and stretches are exactly what I was looking for. You have a unique quality about you. I'll be in touch soon with more requests. Keep up the good work!"

Reading those words, Jason felt a mixture of relief and disquiet. The praise for his skills was overshadowed by the odd nature of the request. It was as if he had become a performer, showcasing only a fraction of his abilities. His sense of self-worth clashed with the mounting payments he was receiving.

As days turned into weeks, he found himself checking his messages more often, wondering when anonkarate111 would contact him again. Late one evening, a new message from anonkarate111 appeared. "Jason, I've got another idea for a video. I want you to show kicking that realistic looking dummy you martial artists use. What do you call it? B.O.B?"

Despite the unease gnawing at him, Jason knew that his financial situation left him with little choice. With a heavy sigh, he set up his recording equipment once more, positioning B.O.B., the lifelike training dummy, within the frame. He adjusted the camera angle to capture the scene as best as possible. As he stood there, ready to perform, his mind raced with conflicting emotions.

Taking a deep breath, he launched into the routine. His kicks were precise and calculated. He did it like in his own daily routine, but this time the camera was pointing squarely at B.OB.

After completing the routine, he stopped the recording and reviewed the footage. It was undeniably powerful, a visual representation of his inner turmoil and the strength he possessed. He sent the video to anonkarate111, a mix of reluctance and resignation settling over him. The payment came shortly after, a reminder of the transactional nature of their arrangement.

Anonkarate111's message arrived not long after. "Impressive work once again, Jason. Your dedication shines through in every movement. Now, I have a new request for you. I want you to do a video with B.O.B., but this time, I want you to channel your aggression. Imagine B.O.B. as your enemy, not even a sparring partner or mere opponent. I want you to deliver an aggressive monologue as if you're vowing to crush it with your feet. Show me your determination, your fire."

Jason read the message, a knot forming in his stomach. The thought of venting his frustration on B.O.B. felt strange and unsettling. He had always been taught to approach his training with respect and discipline, not with anger. But the allure of the payments and the promise of financial relief tugged at him once again.

He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. His mind was a battlefield, torn between his principles and the urgency of his circumstances. He typed out a response, his apprehension evident in his words. "I'm not sure about this approach. It goes against the core principles of martial arts that I've always followed."

The reply from anonkarate111 came quickly, their words persuasive and calculated. "I understand your concerns, Jason. But think of this as an outlet, a way to channel your emotions and overcome your challenges. It's about showing the world your unwavering determination. I believe in your talent, and I'm willing to pay generously for your commitment."

As he read those words, Jason felt a mixture of reluctance and temptation. Anonkarate111's arguments were compelling, and the financial relief was a constant lure. With a sigh, he gave in to the persuasion, his resolve weakening. "Alright, I'll give it a shot. But just this once."

As he set up the recording equipment once again, his mind raced with conflicting thoughts. He knew he was crossing a line, but the weight of his financial burden pushed him forward. With a deep breath, he began the routine, his movements charged with more energy. He feigned a monologue but it sounded clunky, almost half-hearted. He's not used to put on a show. He could hype himself to fight an opponent in the ring, entering "The Zone", but to purposefully titillate an audience? Hardly.

After finishing the video, Jason's phone buzzed with an incoming message. He glanced at the screen, a brief joy came as he saw the name – his girlfriend since middle school. He opened the message, unprepared for what it contained. Her words hit him like a punch to the gut.

"I'm done with your money mess, Jason. Found someone who's not a total screw-up. He's got it together. Maybe you should learn a thing or two."

Her words stung, a mix of rejection and humiliation twisting in his chest. But it wasn't just the breakup; it was the way she used his weaknesses to cut him down. To add insult to injury, she sent a photo of herself all over his childhood rival. She'd also decided to cross state lines to live with him, leaving him truly alone at the town.

Rage flooded through Jason like wildfire, a jumble of emotions boiling over. With a determined fury, he deleted the video. Setting up again, his trembling hands mirrored the turmoil within. This time, he pictured B.O.B. as the smug face of the son-of-a-bitch who took the last person dear to him – the embodiment of his rival and the guy who'd torn his heart out.

His movements became a furious dance, a display of anger and determination. Each kick and stomp became a blow against the hurricane in his chest. His footwork was his outlet, and each hit was a scream against the pain.

As he hit B.O.B., he imagined it was his enemy – a living symbol of his hurt. His words matched his strikes, a mix of taunts and threats. His voice dripped with venom.

*Aggressively bouncing to and fro around B.O.B on the balls of his feet*

"Thought you'd just walk in and take it all, huh?

*Front Kick to the Midsection*

"Grab what's mine and parade like a winner?"

*Front Kick to the Face*

"Well, guess what?"

*Roundhouse Kick until B.O.B. topples over. Foot in a bladed position set against the neck*

You're just a leech.

*Knee retracted, then the foot launched against the neck until it touched the floor*

"Think you're hot, huh?"

*Standing astride the head with heavy steps. One leg then slowly raised above the face*

"I'll show you."

His kicks echoed with anger, each stomp releasing his pain. The aggression in his moves matched his fury. Not satisfied with the stomps, he got B.O.B standing again. He poured his hurt into every blow, releasing the agony he felt.

His voice growled, interspersed with grunts as he let loose on the dummy. His fists clenched, teeth grinding – his words a mix of ferocity and scorn. The monologue was like a rhythm, each word beat matching a kick's impact.

With every powerful kick and stomp, he imagined he was striking back at the man who'd unknowingly hurt him. His strikes grew more aggressive, fueled by his emotions. He channeled his frustration, hurt, and anger into each hit, finding relief in the blows.

The kicks and stomps built, a crescendo of emotion and movement. The sounds filled the room, a symphony of fury and release. With each strike, he felt freer, as if the blows were breaking his emotional chains. As a final move, he stepped back away from the camera and launched himself into a double-legged scissor kick. Each foot moved towards and touched each other, crushing the B.O.B. head in between.

Finishing the revised video, he watched it back, his breath heavy, his body drenched. He'd channeled his storm into this performance, releasing his pain on the dummy. He sent it to anonkarate111, a mix of exhaustion and release washing over him.

Surprisingly, anonkarate111's response was glowing – he doubled the payment, praising Jason's raw display. The intensity he'd poured into the video seemed to resonate, and he was rewarded for his emotional performance.

With the bonus and the chance to express his feelings, Jason felt a strange liberation. The rage he'd let out on B.O.B. was a release, a way to free himself from the turmoil. A wall of his reluctance toppled. He's more embracing of this now.

[krtft]

Part 3

Jason had grown accustomed to this unconventional arrangement, a peculiar dance between his financial needs and the videos he created. After a series of exchanged messages, he decided to ask anonkarate111 for something different this time – money to purchase heavier weights for his workout set. The idea formed in his mind, a vision of himself sculpting his body into something more powerful, more imposing. In doing this he's following what heartbroken lads by failed relationships are now wont to do: numbing the pain with radical weightlifting.

He typed out the message, his fingers moving with a mix of determination and anticipation. "Hey, I've been thinking about upgrading my workout set with some heavier weights. I'm talking 10 kgs, 20 kgs, even 50 kgs. I want to craft myself into a hulking Hercules, you know? Plus, the stronger legs and feet would mean more impactful kicks, making the videos even more spectacular. What do you think?"

Minutes passed as he awaited the response, his mind buzzing with thoughts of how this could benefit both his physique and his videos. It was a strange realization – how the videos, once a source of unease, had now become a driving force for his transformation.

Finally, the message from anonkarate111 appeared on the screen. "Interesting idea, Jason. You're right – a more muscular frame and harder kicks could definitely add to the appeal. Let me think about it for a moment."

After a few minutes that felt like an eternity, another message popped up. "I can help, but not with all of them. I'm willing to fund a pair of 10 kg and 20 kg weights for you. But for the rest, have you considered expanding your reach? Selling your videos to a broader audience, particularly those interested in your unique skills?"

Jason's mind whirred as he read the message. The idea of expanding his reach had crossed his mind before, but he had hesitated, unsure about venturing into unknown territory. However, the prospect of obtaining the heavier weights was enticing. He imagined himself lifting them, feeling the strain and the growth with each repetition.

He typed his response, his fingers tapping out his thoughts. "Alright, I'm on board with your suggestion. Let's start with the 10 kg and 20 kg weights. And I'll seriously consider the idea of reaching a wider audience. But I want to hit a personal record first with these new weights."

With that, he hit send. 

[krtft]

Part 4

The next day, Jason was poised to embrace the dawn with his early morning jog around town, the parks, and the woods. An idea crossed his mind as he stood at his doorway, his sneakers waiting by the threshold. "Why don't I go barefoot from now on?" The thought wasn't entirely novel; he had experienced being barefoot outdoors during martial arts demonstrations in parking lots. But this time, the idea came as a natural confluence of his circumstances and his training.

He'd spent years practicing and instructing martial arts barefoot, honing his techniques and mastering his moves. His feet were already well-trained and accustomed to various surfaces. Their muscles well-developed, their tendons had the tensile strength of steel. So, extending this practice to his daily routine seemed like a logical progression – a way to further ground himself and enhance his connection with his environment. Perhaps, to also sculpt them into even more brutal weapons. After all, he had showcased his feet in videos for anonkarate111, so why not take it a step further? Someone had already found his feet appealing enough to pay handsomely for them – the more brutal and aggressive, the bigger the pay. This could be a chance to sculpt them further – make them more muscular, more potent, and more resilient. Rougher, tougher, dirtier. Dripping with rawness.

Jason glanced at his sneakers and then down at his feet, flexing them, wiggling the toes. There was a certain allure in the notion of feeling every nuance of the ground beneath him, in experiencing the world more directly through his feet. It was also a small rebellion against the artificiality of modern life, a way to reclaim a primal connection that had been dulled by the cushioned soles of shoes.

He slipped his sneakers back into the closet, the decision made. From now on, he would jog barefoot everywhere, every time. The pavement, the gravels, the grass – he would feel them all against the soles of his feet, embracing the rawness of the experience.

As he stepped outside, the cool ground met his feet in a way that was both familiar and revitalizing. He padded along the path, his feet finding purchase on the different surfaces – the hardness of concrete, the occasional pebble that demanded his attention, the tickle of grass as he veered off the sidewalk into a park, the unevenness and sharpness of rocks.

His feet were well conditioned, but still not impervious to the jaggedness of nature or manmade structures. But the beating of his feet against difficult surfaces at full speed did not deter him, the opposite in fact. The brutal punishment of his workouts with the additional weights he'd bought with anonkarate111's money had not completely covered over the stinging pain of his breakup. 

He jogged every day. Days turned into weeks. Calluses had thickened and darkened even further. The soles more leathery than ever. The muscles bigger and even more pronounced. Gravel no longer registered in his sensation, they get crushed under the strike of his feet. Many a martial artist had inverted big toes - bunions - and the other toes scrunched up together despite practicing their arts barefoot, his were now in full alignment and spread out, making them look even bigger, more imposing. They were also now dexterous and prehensile, had stronger grip strength. His legs already had incredible reach due to years of stretching and performing high kicks, now he could use the feet at their extremities like hands. Even looked a bit like additional pairs of hands in feet form.

The route took him into a wooded area, where the ground shifted from pavement to uneven dirt paths. He adapted effortlessly, his feet adjusting to the changing landscape. It was as if his soles had become finely tuned instruments, capable of reading and interpreting the earth's contours. He jumped high, up into the trees, and traversed the obstacle course like Tarzan - an act he could do since some time along his barefoot progression he decided to add barefoot parkour into his repertoire. And just like Tarzan, his leathery feet could slide across the branches and suspend his entire bodyweight even when further burdened by the momentum of his rapid aggressive movements.

With each step, he felt a surge of determination. He wasn't just running to strengthen his body; he was running to reclaim his agency, to turn the pain into power. His bare feet were his instruments of transformation, tools that would shape his physical and emotional strength. And of course, a means to earn multiples more cash.

He finally reached the end of his jog, his heart pounding and his feet slightly dirty from the journey. He stood still for a moment, relishing in the sensations coursing through him. The cool breeze against his skin, the gentle burn in his muscles, the satisfying fatigue that came from pushing himself.

[mrnonsense76]

Please, continue it. I'm very curious to know what is going to happen

[krtft]

Part 5

Not long into the barefoot running routine, about a few days in, Jason contacted anonkarate111 again. He'd made up his mind: he'd go for a wider audience. The hitherto only customer of his suggested he take a few promotional photos and a short clip with his face blurred. He agreed. For this occasion he chose to wear his old gi, he got an intuition his audience would appreciate the gritty look of the frayed ends of the pant sleeves and the off-white worn out color and texture. The smaller size would also reveal half of his calf muscles, the expanse of his chest, the bulge of his arms and thighs. Little by little, following input from anonkarate111, he had learned to objectify himself; to sell the image - and reality - of a powerful imposing young man, able to manhandle and destroy. He learned to shoot close-ups of his brutal tough-looking feet from pictures and clips of equally brutal-looking specimens provided by anonkarate111 as examples.

  

 

He learned to internalize this. Every few hours every day repeating in his head the mantras affirming his strength and power while flexing his muscles from the thighs to the toes. 

*Flexing the front muscles of his lower leg, bumping the floor with his heel*
"Yeah, like sledgehammers. One strike of this bad boy *boom* brick turns to dust.

*Curling his foot inwards, the bottom muscles of his feet bulge by flexing*
"Feet like fists, bet these nasty fuckers can punch anyone to KO."

*Flexing his toes*
"Tough little fuckers, bet they can choke a man or break through a rib, yeah."

When the time to prepare the promo material came, he set the camera low down a stair step at an angle to show his entire body but the neck. He put on the chosen gi, looking even more worn out by a full week of continual use without washing, posing with his arms crossed in front of his chest, bulging the biceps and triceps. Then with a stomping pose. Then away from the camera with the heel aimed at camera. The perspective was changed to horizontal with the floor. His foot stomped down in front of the camera with a kiai (martial art shout) followed by slowly contracting his toes, veins that criss-cross the feet and tendons that radiate from the base of the shin to each toe emerge from under his skin. Set higher and at faster frame rate to enable slow mo, the camera aimed at the head of B.O.B capturing the bottom of Jason's foot impacting its nose at full speed front kick. Then the meaty and bony blade of his foot connecting with B.O.B's throat. Finally, with B.O.B lying on the floor, the same fast frame rate captured the entire surface of his foot stomping the B.O.B's head flat to the floor.

He sent them for anonkarate111 to curate, and waited for the result.

[krtft]

Part 6

 

The first post Jason made in his fandom account after his feet - and the rest of his body - had reached their peak muscularity and toughness was shot at an abandoned middle school building. It had been closed a few years ago, even before the pandemic, due to poor performance and dwindling funding. He had good reason to choose this eerie location; it wasn't just the perfect backdrop for his feats of strength, but it also held a dark place in his past. You see, he hated that school.

Years ago, that middle school had been his personal hell. The pranks and psychological bullying were relentless, and the teachers seemed oblivious to the torment he endured. Only his martial arts became his refuge, forcing them to keep themselves at bay from him. Yet even sharing the same space as them was a torture. No wonder the place had to close with the caliber of human beings it had to contain. The only upside he had was that one time he knocked down one of the bullies after they had unadvisedly taunted him to fight - and laughed at him when he took of his shoes and socks. He finished the fight by smugly rubbing his barefoot in his face, blood trickling down his nose after that; hitherto the only such assertion of dominance in his life. Oh and, the girlfriend, of course. But that one's marred by the recent memory.

By this time Jason had become even more adept at making these photos and videos. He had even asked anonkarate111 to fund a new camera with even sharper resolution and high frame rate as well as remote-controlled positioning. Every movement calculated. Every shot designed to capture the overall scene and then slow-moed and cropped to add scenes focusing on the action of his feet. 

Jason stood in front of the camera, his powerful physique barely contained by his old, frayed gi. The eerie silence of the abandoned middle school building hung heavy in the air. With a cocky grin, he stretched his massive arms overhead, his biceps and triceps bulging with each movement. His chest expanded, revealing a network of veins that snaked across the expanse of his torso. He went down in a split.  Stretching towards the camera in a pancake position, the double mounds of his powerful glutes peaked over his flattened back, covered  the gi that he had overgrown. A pair of hurdler's stretch then he directed his attention to the camera.

Teasingly, he leaned toward the camera, his piercing blue eyes gleaming with confidence. "Wanna bet I can trash this place?" he quipped with a smirk. Without waiting for an answer, he exploded into action. His right leg shot up, executing an outward crescent kick that landed with a thunderous crash against a nearby locker. The metal caved in with a deafening boom, echoing through the desolate halls. Jason's foot returned to the ground, but he wasn't done yet.

In a seamless motion, he cocked his foot back into chamber position, showcasing the incredible flexibility of his well-trained limbs. With lightning speed, he unleashed a low side kick, targeting a lower locker. The locker door crumpled under the impact, denting and warping as if it were made of paper. Shifting his stance, Jason faced an intact, locked locker. He raised his leg high into the air. He initiated an axe kick, bringing his heel down with bone-crushing force. The kick busted the locker's locking mechanism upon contact, and the door swung open as he retracted his foot. With astonishing agility, Jason's toes found purchase on the door's edge. His toes clenched and yanked it off its hinges effortlessly. As the camera zoomed in, it captured the sight of his foot pressing down on the yanked door. Setting it on the floor, he began to roll it, exerting pressure akin to how strongmen roll frying pans with their hands. It was a mesmerizing display of power and dexterity.

At a new setting, the camera's focus revealed a classroom door as the next target. Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting eerie shadows on the dusty floor. Jason's high front-kicking foot suddenly emerged from the other side. The glass covering the door's window suddenly burst into a cascade of shards. His foot withdrew, and then, like a battering ram, his back-kicking foot crashed into the wooden door. The impact was so immense that the door splintered in the middle, sending fragments flying in all directions. Chunks of wood rained down around the camera, and the once-sturdy door hung in tatters. Not content with merely breaking it, Jason unleashed a barrage of kicks. The door could withstand no more punishment and collapsed into a heap of shattered wood. A section of wall was his next victim. Front kicks and donkey kicks first cracked the layer of paint and plaster, then the brickworks until they fell apart in chunks, leaving a hole.

Having repositioned the camera setup yet again, he then swept all the debris to a central location. His tough feet treading on a mosaic of concrete, brick, glass, and splinters. He gathered these remnants of destruction. Then, with deliberate force, he stomped on them, shattering them into even smaller pieces. His feet, formidable tools of destruction, then began to grind the debris underfoot, kneeding them like a baker with the subtle flexes of his feet, reducing them to harmless fine dust.

The abandoned middle school became an arena for Jason's incredible display of strength and precision. At another location, the camera captured him as he approached stair rails and steel conduit pipes. These cold, unyielding obstacles beckoned him to test his might against them. With a running start, Jason launched himself into the air, his body soaring in a graceful arc. His powerful legs executed a series of flying kicks, each strike aimed at a different target. Each strike dislodged the respective object from its place. His strong legs transitioned into relentless stomps and kicks aimed at the steel pipes. The once-rigid structures rang as if to beg for mercy, but Jason's determination knew no bounds. One by one, they yielded to his might, snapping into two or flattening into slabs of twisted metal. It was a symphony of destruction.

In a playful mood, Jason made his way to the former cafeteria. He couldn't resist the urge to make some playthings for his powerful feet. With a mischievous grin, he picked up a few steel utensils and grabbed them with his toes. Then he went with the manipulations. The steel utensils seemed to dance aroudn his thick strong dexterous toes, twisting and contorting under his control. There was no resistance; the utensils yielded to his strength and dexterity. Some snapped like twigs, while others twisted into odd shapes.

As the grand finale approached, Jason's body glistened with sweat, his muscles pumped and pulsating from the exertion. He stood in the center of the abandoned school's hall, his upper gi soaked and clinging to his imposing frame. With determination burning in his eyes, he peeled off his gi shirt, revealing a torso chiseled with muscle. The camera captured every detail, from the definition in his abdominal muscles to the veins that snaked down his biceps. His upper body was a testament to the hours of training and dedication he had poured into his craft. In a dramatic display of strength, Jason picked up a flattened pipe, its resistance barely a challenge to him now. He placed it across his shoulders, his arms bulging as he gripped the ends. Slowly, with unwavering determination, he began to bend the pipe. His muscles danced beneath his skin, going red with the effort. As the pipe curved under the relentless force of his might, Jason let out a primal roar that echoed through the empty halls of the school. He warped it into the shape of a horseshoe.

Winding down the video's climax Jason sat himself down to the dusty floor. He extended his legs in front of him, offering the bottom of his feet to the camera's unblinking eye. Despite the relentless onslaught of destruction, his feet remained undamaged, uninjured. Dirt and dust clung to his soles, evidence of the chaos he had wrought upon the abandoned school. A few shallow, bloodless scratches marred his soles. But those imperfections only served to highlight the incredible power within.

With a cocky grin, Jason began to flex his feet, making the skin of the sole wrinkle and the muscles bulge. His toes clenched and unclenched like the jaws of a predator. The camera captured every detail, every sinew and contour of his extraordinary feet. "See that!" he boasted to the camera, his voice filled with pride and arrogance. "Tough fuckers, aren't they?" His feet, his most formidable weapons, remained unscathed, a testament to his mastery and strength.

 

[krtft]

Part 7

As Jason continued to monitor his growing subscriber base, a peculiar phenomenon began to unfold. Among his viewers, about 20% emerged as the most dedicated and obsessed contingent. Their infatuation with his karate feet went far beyond what Jason could have imagined.

At first, Jason hesitated, unsure of how to handle this newfound adoration. Tentatively, he decided to test the waters. In a bold move, he made a post asking for financial support to cover his daily needs, expecting a few generous responses. To his surprise, these ardent fans not only stepped up but showered him with funds, more than enough to meet his daily requirements. They were eager to provide for him, to ensure that he could focus on his training and content creation without any financial worries.

Emboldened by their devotion, Jason pushed the boundaries further. He propositioned his most loyal followers with an offer that left little to the imagination – the opportunity to purchase his worn, sweaty underwear. While this may have seemed audacious to some, his dedicated fans eagerly seized the chance to own a piece of him, no matter how intimate. At a mark-up price, at that. More expensive than the equivalent brand fresh from the store.

It amused him to no end how a man could be so servile, abasing themselves to another man purely by what seemed to be lust. His inhibition towards direct and unabashed domination collapsed. A barrier not many muscle dominators were willing to do. Just a few months ago, he would have felt the same feeling as Nick's Strength and Power, a personality he once studied. The man had been comfortable enough with sharing videos of him flexing and bragging, until he became unnerved as fans requested to be stomped under the full weight and power of his leg muscles, to lick his feet, to see him crush bugs. So unnerved and disturbed he became a bodybuilding reporter instead. He erased all his contents, until only a footage of him explaining himself to his erstwhile fans was left, uploaded by one of them. Instead of freaking out like his study case, he developed a type of contempt, a protective contempt towards the pathetic, but not above using them to his own advantage. A kind of twisted quid pro quo.

You know what, why can't some of them be trusted to be in his immediate vicinity? To share spaces with him. To witness in flesh and blood his admittedly incredible athleticism.

This was his second proposition: the opportunity to serve him in a more personal capacity. A handful of chosen individuals were granted the privilege to do his chores, tending to his daily tasks while being in close proximity to his powerful legs and feet. They were to pay a fee, instead of him paying for the service. Divulging his address without his consent would be met by lethal response. No photographs or videos were allowed, and revealing Jason's identity was strictly forbidden. Jason made it clear that any violation of these rules would result in punishment from his muscular legs, a threat that both thrilled and terrified his devoted followers.

The first "man" to ever come offered to wash his clothes. As Jason came home from jogging, he found the creature on the floor sniffing at his dirty laundry. He kicked him until he was sprawled on the ground and proceeded to press his foot in the man's face. The veins grew angry as he increased the pressure. "Better straight from the real thing than that, but do your duties straight away okay?" He requested in mock politeness. The last words accompanied by the flexing of his foot, squeezing the face that had offended him like a slightly sturdier sponge. Jason then departed and went upstairs, leaving the servile creature hyperventilating with butterflies in his stomach. He continued the chore with slightly trembling arms.

[dominantmusclemaster]

It appears Jason has finally discovered his true self. Will be interesting to see how far he takes it.