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Daniel seemed to be a great guy.
We’d chatted several times on My Friends’ Feet site and he seemed to understand exactly what I wanted from a dress sock top. Sometimes in online role plays or on the phone he’d play the executive’s role expertly…the taunting suit-and-tie guy with some well-worn nylon socks to be serviced.
Sniffing or worshipping socks had been my passion for as long as I could recall, and the desire had grown stronger as I now had reached my mid 20s. The Internet had given me the chance to connect with others who understood, for which I was thankful.
After we’d talked 10 or 11 times, Daniel asked me how serious I was about playing out my fantasy. I said that he’d help make me very ready (hoping he might be flying through and staying at a hotel in my hometown). I was disappointed, instead, when Daniel suggested that I call a local number in my town and ask to speak to a man named Philip. Daniel instructed me to tell Philip I was being referred for a URC study. Daniel then allowed no questions. He asked me to trust him.
Although I feared Daniel was giving me the brush off, I dutifully made the call the next day. Philip seemed equally pleasant as Daniel when I called. When I mentioned URC, he asked if I could hold for a second. Instead of hearing Muzak, I heard him lay the phone down and walk to the door of his office. I heard him instruct an assistant to prevent any interruptions, and then I heard the click of a door shutting.
A few seconds later, Philip said, “Your name was Trey, right?” I replied that it was. He explained briefly that Daniel was a leader in a group named URC. The name would be better explained to me later.
“ Since Daniel has referred you, I assume then that you have a dress sock fetish. Is that correct?” I stammered for a second, and then admitted the fact. “Are you submissive or subservient, Trey? What I am asking is this: if you had concerns early in a sock session with a dominant dress sock top, would there be a problem if he forced you to continue?” I assured him losing control to such a partner was lifelong fantasy. He laughed reassuringly and told me that my replies told him that things were looking good for both me and for URC at this point.
He then told me he needed to ask some additional questions to see if I qualified to participate. “First, are you opposed to restraint? For example, handcuffs or other restraints have been employed by URC on some study subjects. Also, worn socks may be used as gags held with duct tape to silence study subjects. Does either statement pose a problem for you?” No, I said. “Trey, are you opposed to or offended by strong foot odor? Definitely not.
“ We’ve been looking for someone like you from our area for quite a while, Trey,” Philip said. He took my telephone number and said he would get back with me soon. A week and a half went by when, mid-afternoon, my cell phone rang at work. “Trey…I have good news. URC is planning a meeting in two weeks on Tuesday evening. Would that work for you?”
Two weeks later, I found myself driving through the gates of an upscale neighborhood to an address there at 5:30 p.m. I was nervous…a bit edgy. I’d not slept well the two nights before.
I was met at the door by a butler. He invited me in and offered me a drink, which I took but couldn’t seem to force down, even though my mouth was dry. I waited alone in a paneled library for about 15 minutes. The butler then invited me to follow him downstairs to the lower level of the house. Instead of being invited into a room with Philip, the servant showed me into a small room with floor to ceiling mirrored glass on one side and painted gray walls on the other three sides. In the mirror’s reflection I saw the butler quickly shut the door I’d just walked through. I then saw that there was no handle on the inside.
“ Good evening, Trey.” It was Philip’s voice through a speaker in the ceiling. “Sorry for making you wait. We were just discussing with Daniel some of your sock preferences.” Instantly, my cock throbbed at full mast inside my briefs. Daniel was there. But so was Philip. My heart raced and my stomach flipped. Then, a small hinged panel at the bottom of the door opened and a basket slid quietly through it.
“ Trey, I need you to follow my instructions, son. First, to remove your shoes, then your belt, coat, shirt and tie, and pants. Leave your socks, underwear and undershirt on for now, please. Once you have the items off, fold and place them in the basket. I did as instructed, and the basket retracted.
“ Turn around for me a couple of times, Trey, will you? We’re viewing you through the glass wall in front of you. Great, son…that’s just fine. Now remove the undershirt, briefs and socks.” The minute Philip completed his last instruction, the basket slid again into the room—and into it went the rest of my clothes. The basket disappeared again. I now found myself naked in front of what I first thought was a mirror, only to learn it was a window for Philip and Daniel on the other side. I felt really exposed and vulnerable, which is what I suspect they wanted. I then heard a voice—perhaps two voices—I’d not heard before speaking in the background. Daniel and Philip were not alone.
A moment later, a Ziploc bag with a pair of rumpled and obviously worn socks slid into the room inside the basket, along with a roll of duct tape. Philip asked, “Trey, I don’t think I need to explain what’s next on the agenda, do I?” I shook my head. “First, tear off a piece of duct tape that will be long enough to cover your mouth. Just stick a small part of one corner to the wall to your right” The r-r-r-r-r-i-i-p-p-p-p-p-p of the tape unrolling echoed in the room. “Good, son. Now, you get to open a gift from Daniel. How does that sound? Your dick is telling us that it sounds great, Trey,” Philip said while the sounds of other men’s laughter in the background came through the speaker.
“ Now, Trey, pick up that Ziploc bag and hold the top of the bag just below your nostrils. Ah…wait. We forgot one important thing we do for all our study subjects.” I then heard a buzzer. A second later, the basket returned with a bottle of 12-hour nasal spray. “This will ensure you get the full benefit of our study, Trey…so use it.” Two misty blasts up each nostril later, I deposited the bottle in the ever-appearing and again disappearing basket.
“ Now back to Daniel’s gift. You see these ankle-length, olive green socks in the bag. Daniel wore these little ribbed nylon beauties for the last four days just for you, Trey. He even ran in them about an hour ago, so they should be…well…just right for our purposes. His goal was stimulate your sense of taste. That’s only one of the senses we’re about to assault, son.” Again, men’s laughter over the speaker.
“ Trey, open the bag now,” Philip instructed. I pulled the sealed strip of the bag apart and winced at the first sniff. Louder laughter boomed. “I see these agree with you, Trey. Now, pull one out and insert it all—the Goldtoe first—into your mouth, son. That’s right. Now close your lips, boy, and then seal your mouth with the strip of tape.” I obeyed, noting that in the course of his last statement, the word “son” had changed to “boy” immediately after the sock gag was inserted.
It was as damp and salty a taste as I’d ever experienced. It felt strange to have my mouth crammed with some guy’s nylon sock. I had fantasized about it, but never done it. “That’s a quite mouthful, boy,” Philip laughed, “And you look about the color of Daniel’s sock. I’m just glad now that he didn’t gag you with one of his navy blue OTCs.”
At that second, a pair of handcuffs appeared in the sliding basket. “Here’s where you lose all ability to control what happens to you, boy. You can put the cuffs on yourself, or I can put them on for you. If I put them on, however, your time as a study subject will be increased by a couple of hours,” Philip said. Since I was uncertain about what any part of this study would entail, I knelt down, put the cuff on one wrist.
That’s when Daniel—the first time I’d heard his voice since our last call—said, “Wait, boy. Don’t put the other cuff on yet. We want your hands cuffed behind you, not in front. You can’t do that for yourself. You did well by putting the cuffs on one wrist. You passed a minor test and saved yourself a couple of hours in sock hell. These guys gathered tonight have been working for the last several weeks on getting some ripe ones ready for you. My cock stood at attention.
“ Now I have another test for you.” A blindfold appeared in the basket. Daniel ordered, “Put it on.” I paused for a moment. “What is it, boy?” I felt dazed—too little sleep and too much fear. “What is it Trey? Do you want to stop and not do this?” Daniel asked. I again paused and then nodded my head. It had been fun, even exhilarating so far, but I wasn’t really ready to go as far as I’d said in the call to Philip. There was silence for about 90 seconds.
When the speaker in the ceiling went live again, I heard laughter again. “Well, boy,” Daniel scoffed, “You just got the two hours of torture you had saved yourself added back to your session with that decision.” At that point, the door opened and the butler entered, grabbed my uncuffed wrist, pinned me to the wall and cuffed my hands behind me. Then, he retrieved the blindfold from the basket and applied it. I heard him bend down and pick up the Ziploc bag.
The butler then stood close behind me as we both faced the one-way glass. I then felt his erect penis through his trousers and heard the bag crinkle as he removed the remaining damp olive sock. I heard him sniff in my ear as he reached around and grabbed my cock. As he did it, he pulled me closer and slightly thrust his pelvis up and down several times between my buttocks and whispered tauntingly, “We’ve got to finish getting you dressed for the party.” He then pulled the olive sock slowly over my cock, adjusting it so my balls filled the sock’s dampened heel when he was done.
“ Bring him in,” Daniel’s voice ordered.
I was moved to a room where I heard all the voices in person, not over a speaker. Once there, I was made step down and then to kneel on a slightly padded surface. My ankles and knees where secured. Hands grabbed my hair—not painfully but forcefully—and pulled my head straight up. I then felt a wide, padded collar put around my neck. Finally, I felt two surfaces come together around my neck—like a pillory or stock from where early criminals were exhibited and punished—but this one was parallel to the floor, not perpendicular. It was then that my blindfold was removed.
I quickly realized that I was kneeling in a hole or trench. Below me was a turntable of some sort because it twisted slightly, but I could not move it more than an inch either way. My head protruded through a hole in the middle of a small table surface covered with tufted leather upholstery. It must have looked like an ottoman, with a head—my head—sticking up in the middle of it. The collar I wore turned very easily, so I could look around…frightened.
What I saw when my vision cleared were six suit-and-tie businessmen who, with drinks in hand, were beginning to be seated at chairs around the leather-padded surface. All were 45 to 55 years old…actually, one guy looked to be about 60. One was Middle Eastern, one Japanese and the other four were white. Two wore moustaches, four were clean shaven. When each was seated, he would put his feet up—ankles crossed—on the ottoman. Because the surface was about four to five feet in diameter, I soon found myself surrounded by the dirty and well-worn soles of dress shoes.
However, the chair directly in front of me was empty. “Don’t worry, boy. Marcus just went to the bathroom,” someone said. At that moment, the door shut and a seven foot, shaved-head, salt-and-pepper bearded African American man walked to the ottoman, sat down, and crossed his ankles directly in front of me. Everyone laughed as my eyes must have widened as the soles of his huge shoes came to rest about four inches from my face. I saw on his shoe sole next to the heel the small embossed number 15, and realized I was staring down a pair of size 15 shoes. “They’re all yours, baby,” Marcus whispered. I checked and all were wearing either ribbed nylon socks of varying lengths and colors. Marcus, however, wore a sheer pair of black TNTs.
“ Well, how do you like it so far, boy?” Philip asked. “I should tell you that you really are part of a study tonight. Since you called me, everyone in the URC—or Underfoot Research Corporation—has been wearing their socks for a certain number of contiguous days. Your job tonight will be to figure out—from the strength of the scent—who has worn their socks the longest. You’ll also be then blindfolded for a second session and you’ll have to identify everyone only by their scent. Every correct guess shortens your time here by 10 minutes…but each wrong guess make you stay an additional 20 minutes. So, it’ll pay you to guess well…or to guess wrong if you’re enjoying yourself.”
The Japanese man taunted, “It’ll be just what you wanted, boy, and you’ll be able to watch it all later on the videotape we’re making that’s focused on your face for the whole kinked-out session. How does that sound?” The voice belonged to Daniel.
Shit, I was being videoed…I was panicked. “We find that all of our study subjects are much more willing to come back for future sessions if they know we might share their tape with a boss or loved one. They come whenever we call…and now you’re part of that fraternity,” Marcus added.
I struggled against my cuffs beneath the ottoman’s surface to get loose, but the effort only made me breathe harder. “Look, slut, there’s no escape and no calling for help. You agreed to all this two weeks ago. Now shut the fuck up and take it like the sock pig that you are,” the Middle Eastern man said, grazing my cheek softly with the edge of a loafer with a hole worn in its sole. He put the hole just over my nose’s tip and wiggled the ball of his foot, which I could feel though the rubber shoe liner. Then, he turned his foot slightly and flipped his heel off and on quickly. I tried unsuccessfully to escape the vinegar-like stench. He laughed, and one of the group members let out a low whistle…as if he’d caught a whiff, too.
I was told by Daniel that one member of the study group had worn his socks every day for one week, the shortest term of wear. One had done 10 days…another two weeks. One wore his 18 days, one 21 days. I then learned that one sock master (which I was to call all of them when I was allowed to speak) had been wearing his for one month…and another had worn his socks for six weeks.
Marcus stretched his legs and flexed his ankles, so the toe of his left shoe brushed against the tip of my nose. “So, boy, guess who drew the longest straw and gets to go goes first?” he growled and locked his gaze on me. He crossed one leg at the knee and unlaced the expensive black patent leather and reptile-skin brogue he was wearing. Then, he unlaced the other. “How many days have I worn these for you, boy? Can you guess? These 11-year-old shoes get them ripe pretty fucking quick, as you’ll soon find out.”
He placed his huge unlaced shoes—still on his feet—just in front of my face. Using the ottoman surface for friction, he loosened and slipped the heel out of both shoes. Marcus then leaned back in his chair and stretched his long legs so that his ankles now hugged my head at my ears. With me in a TNT headlock, he snarled. “You listen carefully, pig, to my shoes as they come off. That’s the last sound you’ll hear before these nasty, funky socks rape your virgin nostrils during this part of the sock ‘orientation.’”
I felt the hot, silky, damp texture of Marcus’s socked heels first graze both earlobes and then start to cross both my cheeks with the goal of meeting at my nose. The approaching smell made my eyes water. Marcus laughed cruelly and Daniel said, “Oh fuck yeah, man.” Then I heard Marcus’s shoes finally tumble off his feet and land with two thuds on the top of the leather ottoman. He smiled at me as he stuck the big toe of both his feet in my ears for a second as his feet now hugged my immobilized face. By that time his size 15 heels already had reached my nose…then came his arches…and then came the ball of his foot and his toes.
No one heard my muffled cry for mercy over the group’s laughter and cheers for Marcus’s technique.
