In the past, I found a thrill in sneaking into his bedroom while he was home and sniffing each of his shoes and slides, or putting my cock inside and feeling it becoming engulfed by the lingering warmth of his feet. Sometimes he’d stash his well-worn, sweaty socks inside his shoes; one wrapped around my cock, the other shoved up my nose. I'd inhale and allow the musky scent to fill me with lust. One final kiss on each of his sneakers, a lick inside his slides and I would leave his bedroom feeling reborn.

I would spend my previous visits to his home trying to catch a glimpse of his ankles, or the line of his socks, as he sat down or walked, because he never removed his shoes. It was a rarity; a hidden treasure. Occasionally, he’d pop only his heel out of his Nikes, and my cock would throb. Tentatively I would watch as Ethan nonchalantly massaged his ankles while watching T.V. after returning from the gym, his toes would squeeze against the roofs of his sneakers as he slid his other hand down his sock as far as it could reach. I suppose he never had a preference with sock colour - sometimes he wore dress socks (I would imagine his socks soaking up the sweat from his warm toes), sometimes Nike crew and mostly no-show socks. He wore the latter once, and I had visited at the perfect time.

I arrived at ten-thirty in the morning having driven for forty miles. After a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of plain white Nike ankle socks approaching the me: love struck. He opened the door, - wearing a damp black vest and skinny sweatpants with a towel wrapped around his neck - greeted me with a pleasant "hey!" and led me inside. I watched as his feet lifted off the ground, revealing the toe imprints on his socks, appearing stuffy and sweaty. He remarked about his "intense gym session" followed by "a sprint around the local park."

"Aching all over, man, sorry I'm in such a state. I just got in a minute before you arrived."

Aching all over immediately translated to "I need a massage", and just got in meant his feet were warm with sweat, his toes definitely damp and emanating a saltiness. Ethan gestured to me to sit down on the sofa, which had his gym sneakers placed directly beside; he sat opposite me, across the coffee table. He rested one leg on the other, the tips of his socked toes - which he flexed and opened - pointed towards me; looking at me; teasing me. The intensity of his workout was evident in the slight dirtiness of his socks - they appeared damp with a faint greyness outlining the shape of his toes, wanting to trace my finger over their outline and ardently admire. Still scrunching his toes, Ethan pulled his sock gently enough that it hung loosely over the top of his top toes by half an inch. Sucking the sweat from them would have been my greatest pleasure.

A conversation began - the usual: studies, social life, gym, general chatter. He asked, "drink?"

"Water. You're already tired, I'll save you the trouble: I'll go."

He slid his hand down his sock and opened his fingers to rest in the spaces between his toes before standing up, "Come on, you’ve come to my home, I insist!"

As he neared the kitchen I fixated my gaze on his running sneakers; I knew they were his running sneakers because I used to smell them in his bedroom, feeling their lingering warmth press against my nose. I shuffled to pick one up but jolted back when I heard, "water bottle or tap water?"

"Bottle, please!" I hadn't desired to be next to someone yet get rid of them so much. I heard his feet pap against his kitchen floor and immediately picked up his left sneaker and brought it to my nose and inhaled. I was intoxicated more than before , so much that my eyes rolled back and I let out a lustrous moan. Sucking on the cuff of one sneaker, I pressed the other against my groin as if I was being dominated and trampled. Keep the water bottle, Ethan, your sweat is my choice of beverage.

I heard his feet pap against the kitchen floor. I sniffed his sneakers as much as I could before placing them down and strategically using a pillow to cover my excitement. His feet slid as he walked across the kitchen tiles to the living area; I observed the way his toes flexed with a gentleness as he walked, one sock stuck to his sole and the other still loose. He placed my water on my side of the coffee table, stepping on my toes with his in the process. His sock was damp and incredibly hot, and I had to reposition my pillow because my throbbing cock knocked it away.

I questioned whether else was home, to which he replied "no" and nonchalantly propped his feet atop the coffee table. His soles were staring at me; his toes gently wiggling. I was already in love with his feet without seeing them, but in that moment I felt full of excitement at the symmetry of his toes, his perfect arches and round, bouncy soles. Ankles never get any attention, but I watch waiting to catch a glimpse of them as his sweatpants moved - and I did; bony and complimentary to his chiselled calves and thick thighs.

Ethan was now outstretched on the sofa, and started rotating his ankles, he sighed and scrunched his toes as they cracked.

"They tired?" I asked.

He grumbled and nodded his head.

“Massage? They say I’m quiet the masseuse.”

I didn’t know what I was expecting, but he agreed in a haste and immediately I got up and proceeded to wrap my hands around his thick calves and ankles. He was wearing white Nike no-shows that stuck to his ankles. I could feel the sweat of them transfer to my hand. Ethan sank into the sofa and stretched his feet out further as I, kneeling before them, pulled off his shoes.

His toes flexed. The dense smell of sweat wafted into my nose and grin formed on my face. He closed his eyes as I gently rubbed my thumb across his toes so I brought his sneaker to my face and buried my nose into it. It was damp yet warm, not pungent but sweet and intoxicating. My cock throbbed - ached, rather - in want of sliding through his soles, until:

"What are you doing?"

Funnily, I was still feeling his toes as he watched me: his sneaker in my left hand, my right wrapped around his foot. It was empowering, nevertheless, willingly submitting to his feet. It was erotic - and feeling the warmth emanating from his socked foot and seeping deep into my face was too priceless to feel embarrassed about. He was watching me, still, becoming more pensive as the silence ensued. Did I owe him an explanation to why his feet excited me? Not at all. I made eye contact with him, brought his sneaker to my nose and sniffed, this time moaning with ecstasy. Emboldened. Frankly put, I deserved to be in the company of his big feet and having them stare at me, almost teasing me and luring me to press them against my face.

Our eyes had locked. Albeit a clichéd way of explaining my passion towards his feet, his disposition softened and he wrapped his hands behind his head, smiling. He stretched his legs even further until his legs were wrapped around my neck; he pulled me closer until I had crawled onto the sofa. He wrapped his toes around my nose - sweaty, moist, warm - covered my face with his soles, slowly moving his leg until it was rested on my shoulder and I was sucking on his ankles. I bit my lip and tried worshipping his socks, but he pulled his feet back and tutted; like a typical straight boy.

"Let me tell you a story. You think I don't know how desirable these feet are when, in college, my roommate was desperate for them - like you - and massaged them, tickled them, sucked them and played with them? When we watched movies together, he’d massage my feet throughout, then pull out his cock and rest it on them. I don't think he paid attention to the movie - a shame because I always chose them. I'd prop my feet up to study and he'd just press his face against them and breathe and kiss. I loved it; loved how crazy they made him - damn, especially the socks. He kept my used socks wrapped around his cock. He'd come back from class, jump on the sofa and rub my socks over himself. At night, he would crawl into my bed and fall asleep with his head by my feet, his face planted in my soles, surrounded by my socks. I'd feel him kissing them and hear him moan through the night - he never slept. In the morning, I'd wake up and see him standing at the edge of the bed, his cock sliding between my soles; my old, unwashed socks in mouth. He felt entitled to my feet, like you."

I was in awe; spellbound. Ethan stretched his feet back to me, smirking, "they're still tired, though." He traced his soles across my thighs and flicked his toes on my cock. I grasped his feet dug my fingers deep into them, feeling them with lust and pleasure. His damp toes curled around my fingers.

Ethan began reciting his college antics again.

"He loved massaging my feet. I bartended every Saturday. 1am. Return home. Tired. Achey. Exasperated. My roommate always had his services ready."

Ethan picked up his left leg and pressed his foot against my chest, next to the other, before squeezing my right pec with his toes. I ran my fingers along his feet, lifted the cuffs of his sweatpants and clenched firmly around his ankles - sliding my thumbs into his socks - before releasing. He made eye contact. The eroticism was heightening with every gesture. With our eyes fixated, I took a whiff of his sweat which lingered on my hands. He smirked, and fell deeper into the sofa, a smile widening across his face. I was dazzled. Ecstatic. My heart was racing and beating against the sole of his foot. I continued massaging his ankles and wanted badly to make love to his feet.

I worked on his glutes, hamstrings and calves before finally kissing his ankles. They were wet too. I slid my fingers through his socks again and placed them in between his toes, which were soaking. I flexed his toes gently to crack them while sniffing his socks at his ankles. The scent was beautiful: manly, sweaty - almost salty and grassy. I brought his right, socked foot to my face, lining his toes with my nose, and inhaled. I inhaled and I inhaled and I inhaled, each breath simultaneously giving me life and destroying me; making me feel strong and weak for the delight of his feet. This time I inhaled again, and kissed his toes like a lover, my arms hugging his leg. His leg hairs rose, as did my cock; I sucked on his sock while sliding his left foot up my shirt. At this point, my face was buried between his soles. They smelled like home, truthfully. I felt solace being between his large, warm soles. I kissed his toes while massaging his ankles, then started sucking his socks until the sweat had lifted off them. Ethan was still in the middle of his fetish recital.

"So an erotically lit room. He made an event out of it, y’know? Candles, curtains; he would appear in just his briefs, looking elated. I'd jump onto the sofa and prop my feet on the coffee table. Roomie would kneel at my dress shoes, roll up my trousers and sniff my black dress socks at my ankles while massaging them. He'd take off my shoes and caress my feet with such adoration. My socks would cling to my soles as he slid them off.

Stop massaging for a second. Let's make this more vivid."

I stopped.

"Peel them off, slowly."

My cock throbbed with excitement. I pressed his feet against my chest as I leant over to pull his socks down. As I peeled them off, I kissed his ankles; thick, sloppy kisses to show my love and appreciation. The situation wasn't one-sided, with an angry, dominating 'alpha-male' but, instead, it was erotic and sensual. And his feet were definitely hot. I pulled off his socks I gazed, with love, at his bare soles; the symmetry of his toes, his perfect arches and soft heels. He flexed his toes, asked me to massage and continued his story.

"So, like you, he'd admire my feet before doing anything. Like a drug. I'd wiggle my toes before him and his mouth would open as he salivated and moaned, begging to feel my toes in his mouth and my soles to caress his face. He always massaged them first, though he was impatient. My dress sock wrapped around his cock, one foot being massaged while he sucked on and kissed the other's toes. His hips rolled rhythmically as he licked my soles from heel to toe. I liked teasing him. 'You like these feet, boy?' And he would respond - his voice hushed and sultry; I could hear his heartbeat - 'your toes are beautiful,' followed by a kiss, 'I love you,' followed by an ardent suck, 'they're perfect.'

Perfect they were. As he was speaking, I began sucking on his mouthwatering toes. The odour was rich and sweaty; his soles were warm against my face. I wrapped them around my head and Ethan pushed, before pressing his feet into my face as if I was his carpet. I inhaled again, and kissed his toes like a lover as my arms embraced his legs. His feet were pressed against my face. My eyes were forced shut by his toes. It was where I wanted to be. I kissed his feet, moved back to his ankles, kissed them, pecked along his calves up his hamstring and upper thighs. Now I was laying on the sofa, with Ethan's feet resting on my face.

"He loved feeling the lingering warmth of my feet as he slotted his cock inside my shoes. What he loved even more was these strong feet against his cock. After worshipping my feet until he was satisfied and they were covered in his slobber, I'd lie stomach-down on my bed as he slapped my soles with his cock. He'd squirt moisturiser on them and slide his cock through my arches and moan. He'd proclaim his lust over and over. He'd grab my dress socks and stuff them in his mouth as he fucked harder and harder, also grabbing my ankles until he exploded all over my soles."

Ethan's traced his toes over my face, rubbing them over my eyes, nose and across my lips, before his entire soles were clasped around my head. I smirked as he teased, trying to shuffle his toes back onto my face but he forced my head back down with his heel and held it there as his other foot slid through my shorts, my underwear, and onto my cock. It throbbed - ached, rather - but, resting between his toes, I felt giddy and hot; his sole bounced on my cock as he pressed against it rhythmically, constantly stopping so I didn't cum all over them too soon. He released his foot pushing on my forehead, rubbed it down my face and, finally, put them into my mouth. I savoured them and sucked, harder and harder as my cock was being toyed with, my tongue licking between his toes and down his arches. He laughed and closed his eyes as he enjoyed the tickling sensation across his soles; his toes widened and quivered as I slurped. Soon, he was sat on my cock with his toes covering my eyes, the insteps of his soles wrapped around my nose and his my heels resting in my mouth. His warm feet were slightly pungent, sweet and delicious as he caressed my face with them. Ethan picked up his white socks put one over my cock, the other he held in his hand and rubbed over my face and body, down my neck, over my nipples, up to my nose.

"All those times I came back from the gym he was there to massage my feet, said it gave him pleasure as much as it did me. He loved my ankle socks and feeling the fresh sweat against his hands and face. ‘Let me give you a massage,’ he’d say. 5PM. I’d lay down on the couch to take a nap, my feet resting on his lap as he massaged me to sleep. My naps were long and drawn out in the final year - you could tell I was ready to leave, but roomie could've done with an extra lifetime at my feet. My eyes would open for seconds, each time capturing him passionately kissing my tops, his nose planted between my toes, still massaging; he’d switch positions and lay at the other end of the sofa with my bare feet on his face, my sock wrapped around his cock. After an hour I'd awake to my feet dripping with cum, his hands wrapped around my ankles, holding them on his cock; my socks on his nose and a grin on his face, his hair tousled and sweaty due to the sheer rush."

At this point his feet were covering my cock. I could hear him grinning as he teased me. He used my precum as lube and alternated between sliding my cock in between his toes and rubbing press his soles on my cock. He scrunched his toes around my cock until he got a solid grip with his insoles and began slowly pulsing up and down. I brought his socks to my nose -- still warm and sweaty; still pungent. I sniffed deeply into them before letting them rest over my nose as Ethan fucked me with his feet. He lifted up his feet from my cock and pressed them against my face, moaning “fuck yeah” as I sucked all of his toes simultaneously. His breathing became heavy. He pulled his cock out his underwear, glistening with precum and twitching as I bit his soles, and began stroking it as positioned his feet back over my cock. His toes curled around my balls. I fucked his soles, again; harder and with each thrust Ethan groaned louder and louder. He crawled behind me and sat over my head, his toes still being fucked but, this time, his cock was hovering over my face.

"The last of my stories," he added, "is how I once did this exact thing to roomie. Nearing the end of college and I realised he had always treated himself to my feet - ’cause, y'know, entitlement - but I'd never treated him; never appreciated how good his tongue, nose and face felt on my feet for years. Our final weeks together were intimate. I’d put my socked feet over his cock as he slept, and he’d wake up elated and kiss them, repeating “dude, dude, thank you” over and over. Worship sessions - all night. I’d tease his cock and edge him for days, let him massage my feet and sniff my socks throughout the night, then let his blow his load all over them. He had all these requests: tickling, sniffing, foot play - even wanted to lick peanut butter off them. I’m sure he cried into my soles countless times, they ruled him. On our final night together, he worshipped my entire body and, for the first time, got a load of my cum all over his soles and face.”

With that, Ethan sat his balls on to my face and began masturbating to the rhythm of my feet sliding between his soles. It seemed like time stood still as I sniffed and sucked his balls; his toes clinging to my cock. He slotted the tip of his cock inside my mouth and, finally, cummed straight down my throat for a few seconds, then shuffled over to my feet and blew the rest of his load on them.

“Like that,” he said, “now let’s finish you off.”

The footjob was full of verbal teasing and slow, sensual strokes with his soles. “Let me hear you beg for it,” he commanded with a grin on his lips. And I, utterly helpless, my cheeks hot with lust, told him how much I wanted to cum all over his soles.

“Say my name.”

“Ethan!”

One last stroke, and my cum erupted over his soles and ankles as I let out an elongated groan of utter and immense pleasure. Ethan wiped his feet over my lips and ordered me to suck my cum off them. We both lay breathless, staring at the ceiling in euphoria.

“You want some coffee?” he asked.

“Sure.”