by MHeis
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I had a good friend through junior high and high school named Matt. He was a year younger than me, and what most people would call "cute". He was pretty much a jock - he played basketball, baseball, and was on the wrestling team at school as well. We were best friends - always spending the night at each others house, always hanging out after school. We did a little more than that though too...
We were in his basement wrestling around one day (we thought we were WWF guys or something - always trying to do the moves we saw on TV) when I got him in a head scissors. He was pretty well trapped. I saw his high top Nike sitting next to us, and grabbed it. I opened the laces up and placed it over his nose and mouth. He started to thrash around, yelling through the shoe that it stunk. Well that little incident planted a seed.
For years we messed around with sneakers and socks. As he got into high school, he started wearing his short white socks for days at a time. Even through basketball practice and wrestling practice. He would tell me that guys in the locker room at school couldn't stand to be near him when he took his shoes off after practice because the smell was too bad. He would spend the night at my house, and sleep in the floor of my room. Once he took his Nikes off, the smell would become overpowering. I'd be asleep, and all of a sudden he'd pin me down on the bed with Nikes or filthy stinking white socks in hand. He would press the socks over my nose and mouth, forcing me to smell 3 or 4 days of sweat. I would always act like I was disgusted and that they smelled bad. I'd even try breathing through my mouth to keep from smelling them. So he would simply stuff one sock into my mouth and gag me, then keep the other sock over my face, or get a shoe and tie that around my head.
He started wearing the socks even longer - 5, 6, 7 days at a time. And we'd go through the same routine every night - play basketball for a couple of hours, so he'd get all sweaty. Then we'd go to his basement, start wrestling around, and eventually he'd pin my down with his knees on my shoulders. I'd try to get up, or comment about being able to smell his feet from where I was. He'd whip off his nasty Nikes, and press one over my face. I'd try to breathe through my mouth, and he would immediately shove a dirty wet sweaty sock into my mouth. Then he'd put the hot Nike back over my face and force me to smell the fresh foot odor. I would act like it was "knocking me out" and eventually just lie there motionless, "unconscious".
That gave him the idea to play a kidnapping sort of game. From then on, he'd call and see if I was home by myself. If I was, he would pretend to be a burglar or kidnapper. I'd be sitting in my living room, and he would come into my house, socks in hand. He would usually have on a ski mask, his school leather jacket, a pair of tight black leather gloves, and his Nikes (sometimes with socks on, sometimes sockless so they would really smell). He would come up behind me and and stuff the sock into my face, sort of like chloroform or something. I'd struggle hard, but eventually fall unconscious.
One night when he did it, he threw me into the floor, and I was unexpectedly being tied up. He pulled my hands behind my back, and I heard duct tape being unrolled. I was kind of freaking out, because this wasn't usually part of our little game. But I knew it was him, so it was OK. He taped my wrists tightly behind my back. Then taped my ankles together. He rolled me over and I could see him in his ski mask and gloves. He said "I've had these socks on for 9 days now - you're in trouble." He crammed one into my mouth, then took a short piece of tape and sealed my mouth shut. He spent at least an hour torturing me with another dirty sock or his stinking Nikes, forcing them into my face making me smell them.
We had a lot of fun. It was never sexual - he got off on torturing me and being in control; I got off on his sweaty, always smelly socks and sneakers. We've parted ways since then, and I wish I could have those socks and sneakers back.
