When I was a kid, my favorite time of the day was when my dad came home from work. Even at a very early age, I would get excited whenever I would hear Dad's car pull up the driveway. Every evening, when my old man came home from work, he would immediately kick off his shoes and walk around the house in his socks till after dinner. Once the dining room table was clear and Mom began her nightly chore of cleaning the dinner dishes, Dad would retreat to the living room with his evening paper. It was then that I would fetch his slippers from his bedroom, a ritual that I throughly enjoyed every evening. By the time I returned to the living room, Dad had already settled into his leather chair, his socked feet propped up on the ottoman.
"Thanks Son," Dad would say. I'd sit on the floor right next to his feet and watch as he put on his slippers. "Ahhh...those slippers feel good tonight. Your old man's been on his feet all day." I would always smile when Dad said that, which was every single night, for as far back as I can remember. Back then, I never realized what exactly made me so excited to see my dad walk through the front door. But, one day, I would come to know why. And this is where my story begins.
The morning started like every other day. Mom called for me to come down for breakfast. Still wearing my sleeping attire which was a t-shirt, white briefs and white sweat socks, I threw on a pair of cotton shorts and slowly made my way into the kitchen. Dad was seated at the breakfast table, dressed for work in suit and tie, already starting his breakfast of dry toast and black coffee.
My dad was a big man, 6ft 2, with thick dark brown hair which he kept cut short and a neatly trimmed beard framed the outline of his manly face. Whether he was in a suit or shirt and jeans or even in his robe and pajamas, Dad always looked handsome.
"Morning Son," Dad said through the newspaper he was reading.
"Morning Pop," I answered back as Mom placed a hot bowl of oatmeal in front of me. "Oatmeal again?" I protested.
"It's good for you Stevie," Mom pointed out. "Now, hurry up and eat it before it gets cold."
God, how I hated when she would call me Stevie. I was 16 now, practically a man. I was known as Steve by my buddies and I wished Mom would call me by that name too.
I took my spoon and pushed it around the thick sticky hot slop that was in my bowl. Normally I like Mom's oatmeal but this morning, I wanted a man's breakfast, not hot cereal. That's for babies and little kids.
"Why can't I have a breakfast like Pop?" I argued.
Dad pulled down a corner of his newspaper and shot a disapproving look in my direction.
"Because you're 16 years old and boys your age eat oatmeal for breakfast. When you become a young man like me then you can have a man's breakfast. Now, I don't wanna hear another word about it, you understand me, Son?"
"Yes, Sir," I murmured. I knew from the tone of Dad's voice that it was pointless to continue the discussion.
"Honey, it's almost 8 o'clock. You don't wanna be late for work. And Stevie, finish your oatmeal so you're not late for school." Mom always knew how to keep her men in line.
Dad took one last sip from his coffee then took off to get his work shoes. All this time, his feet were inside his bedroom slippers. When it came to his feet, Dad liked to feel comfortable so he would wear his slippers to breakfast and slip on his work shoes just before heading out the door.
As I was busily finishing my breakfast, I watched Dad as he sat down on the kitchen chair and removed a slipper from his socked foot and covered it with a shoe. He repeated the act with his other foot.
"Steven, do your old man a favor and put my slippers in my bedroom, please".
"Sure thing, Dad," I shouted, sounding a little too eager.
Dad's bedroom slippers were an old pair made of soft black leather, size 12 since Dad had very large feet. They were an opera style slipper which meant that they had a back to them that covered the heel. The sole was pure leather as well and I loved the sound they would make whenever Dad scuffled across the hard wood floors.
As I picked up the old pair of slippers, a faint hint of foot odor hit my nose and I instantly had a strange feeling throughout my entire body. I brushed it off and quickly carried Dad's footwear to my parent's bedroom, tossing them to the floor on Dad's side of the bed. I stood there for a few seconds, wondering how the insides of Dad's slippers would smell like. And before I knew what I was doing, I picked one up and placed the opening directly over my nose. Again that wonderful aroma of foot stink struck my nostrils, only much stronger this time. I took in one deep breath and instantly had that weird stirring inside of me. Next, I took my fingers and buried them deep inside the slipper. I could feel that the nylon foot padding was damp from Dad's sweaty feet. I took my fingers up to my nose and whiffed. The smell was so intoxicating! It brought me into a dream like trance, so much so that I lost sight of everything. I needed to smell the inside padding one more time and brought the slipper up to my nose again. It was then that Dad came into the room. I quickly dropped the slipper and I can feel my face becoming flush with guilt and embarrassment. Did Dad catch me sniffing his slippers, I wondered.
"Better get a move on young man or you're be late to school for sure." He ordered, grabbing his watch from the top of the dresser.
"Eh, yes sir," was all I could say. As I hurriedly walked past, Dad gave my bottom a firm but playful spank with the palm of his hand. "Get to school, buddy," he said with a smile.
The school day went by in a blur. While the other kids were learning about history and math equations, my mind thought about Dad's slippers and how wonderful they smelled. But, most importantly, I thought about how I was going to relive the whole experience again. As soon as I got home, I headed to my folk’s bedroom. As usual, Mom was busy in the kitchen, so I didn’t need to worry about her catching me in the act. There they were…Dad’s beautiful leather slippers, just as I had left them this morning, right beside the bed. Quickly, I scooped up one of the slippers and buried my nose deep into its inside. I took a big whiff and was immediately intoxicated by the stench from the damp nylon padding that had cushioned Dad’s sweaty feet so many times before. Again, I had that same queer stirring inside of me, and before I knew what I was doing, I had my hand rubbing my crotch. I knew if I had continued, I would surely shoot my load…not that I didn’t want to, just not in my parent’s bedroom. So, I carried the slippers into my room and after locking the door, I lied down on the bed, unbuckled my belt, unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them down. Afraid of being completely naked, I kept my underpants on, and freed my cock from the side. It was already stiff and as I ran my fist up the shaft, my fingers grazed the head and there was a wetness of precum. Without wasting any more time, I once again sniffed Dad’s one slipper and I had the other one gently rubbing my hardened cock. The soft leather against my stiff cock only made the experience that much more intense. I slowly moaned and let out a gasp. Wads of warm cum squirted, landing on the front of my t shirt.
“Stevie!”
Damn! It was Mom calling me.
“Your father’s home early so we’re gonna go out to dinner tonight,” Mom yelled up from the stairs, “Get yourself ready to go.”
I grabbed some facial tissue from my end table and cleaned up my mess. Then, after changing my shirt and pulling my jeans back up, I started heading to my folk’s room to return the slippers. I was just about to walk through the doorway when I spotted Dad sitting on his side of the bed. Luckily, his back was facing me so he didn’t see me standing there. My face went hot and flushed. Did he even notice that his slippers were missing? I had no time to think about it now. I dashed back into my room and stashed the slippers under my bed.
“Hiya, Son”, Dad greeted me. “Whatcha doing, sport?”
“Oh…I uh…I was just tidying things up. You know how Mom gets on me when my room is a mess.”
Dad laughed. “Well, you about ready to go?”
“Yes, sir”, I answered.
Dad was still standing in my doorway as I walked by.
“Hey, Son…have you seen my slippers?”
My cheeks began to feel warm again and my tummy had an unsettling feeling.
“Umm…your slippers?” I asked him, shyly.
“Yes, my slippers. The leather ones I wear every day after I get home from work”. Dad replied. “I thought I remembered seeing them by the bed this morning before I left for work.” His tone of voice was strange, as if he knew where they were all along.
“No, Pop. Can’t say that I have”, I lied.
Just then, Mom relieved some of the tension. “Honey! You about ready?”
“We’re coming, dear”, Dad answered his wife. I left my room and walked down the stairs to meet Mom. Dad followed soon after and we were off to the restaurant.
To be continued…
