Tag: foot worship

Simon had had it with the fucking renovations that were taking place in his office building. Sure, it was noisy and distracting, there was crap everywhere, but he fucking hated having to be around a bunch of sweaty workmen, most of them smelling like week old BO and stale cigarette smoke, and he wasn’t shy about letting his disdain show. In fact, by the end of the first week, he’d berated every workman on the project, and they had all had enough of it, and so the next week, a new guy was working as well.

He was supposedly a specialist brought on for some special electrical work, but Simon had this uneasy feeling all day that he was being watched, and every time he felt it he was around the new guy, and it was starting to creep him out. Worse, all day long he had been feeling hornier and hornier, with no explanation whatsoever. It was almost time to leave for the day when he finally gave in and slipped into the bathroom, locking himself into one of the stalls and pulling out his cock to jack off.

However, it was less than a minute later that the door opened, some heavy boots trodded in and another guy sat down in the other stall. “Took you long enough, Simon,” the man said, “Still, we can have some fun now, eh?”

Simon couldn’t stop stroking his cock, when some wave of energy slammed into him–

Si sat down on the gravel, his back against the hot pipes, warm from the sun. Working outside in the summer heat all day, working up a powerful sweat. He lifted an arm and took a whiff of his pit stink, his cock hard in his filthy jeans. He groped it through the denim, stiff with cum from the hundreds of loads he’d shot into them over the last few months–perfect time for a wank. Still, his pits are good, but what he really wants–

Simon ripped his hand away from his cock, gasping for breath. “What the fuck! What the hell was that?”

“Ha, I knew you would be a tough one. This will be fun. Go on, keep stroking–I know how horny you are.”

Simon tried to get up from the toilet and get out of the bathroom, but his arm brushed against his rock hard cock and he gasped, his hand moving against his will, gripping the shaft, stroking–

Si, licking his lips, unknotted his heavy work boots and yanked them off, taking a moment with the second one to shove his face in the neck, smelling the hot leather, the stench of his feet. He gave the side a lick, tasting the grit of the job site, gnawing on the sole, still massaging his cock in his jeans. He was leaking, a stain growing to one side of his crotch. Still, he wanted a proper wank, and he undid the fly and pulled out his thick, seven inch shaft, giving it a few pumps, feeling his thick, overhanging foreskin slide back and forth over his sensitive head. He pulled it all the way down and collected some of his cheese on his grimy fingers, licking it off–

“No–oh god, no!” Simon said, yanking his hand off and gripping the side of the toilet.

“Ha, what a champ! So strong willed, but you’re close, aren’t you, Si? Go on, keep jacking.”

“Please…please don’t, I don’t…” Simon whimpered, his hand creeping back around his cock–

Tasted so fucking good, but his favorite part–he slid off his sock, soaked through with his sweat, he could smell it from a couple of feet away. He smothered his face with the damp fabric, running in across his face, feeling it scratch against his stubble, his smooth head. So fucking close now, he bit down on the sock, sucking his sweat out of it, feeling the orgasm building, and he blew his load all over his greasy tanktop with a loud moan. He sat back, relaxing in the sun, content, before putting his boots back on and getting back to work with his mates.–

The worker got off the toilet and went to the stall next to his, and with a little work, managed to get the lock undone. Sure enough, the stall was empty, and smiling, he left the building, certain that Si would enjoy his new life.

The Seventh Day of Christmas

“Ok, what the fuck? Who in the hell actually asks for socks and underwear for Christmas?” Santa said and he leaned over Edgar’s bed. Edgar was in his late 20’s and had always been sensible and pragmatic, and it had served him well so far. Waking up, he stared up at Santa for a moment, before reaching over and grabbing his glasses from his nightstand and turned on the light. When he could actually make out the figure looming over him, that’s when he really freaked out.

“Oh shit, what in the hell are you doing in my room!”

“I’m Santa Claus–I can go wherever the fuck I want, and you still didn’t answer my question–why in the hell did you actually ask for socks and underwear? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“But…but I do need socks and underwear…”

Santa rolled his eyes and looked around the room. The whole place was perfectly organized and tidy, and Edgar looked like he took good care of himself. He wasn’t muscular, but just healthfully slim, and aside from his eyesight there wasn’t anything wrong with him. Santa scowled–how fucking boring. “Well, I don’t know why you need new underwear…I was under the impression that you still loved your old underwear…”

With a wave that knocked away Edgar’s covers, he saw that a few bits of clothing had magically materialized on his body, and looking down at them, he shuddered. They were definitely underwear and socks alright, but not the kind he was used to wearing. It was a ribbed tank, a jockstrap, and two calf length athletic socks, and they were all filthy. The tank was nearly brown and felt kind of crispy, the jock felt like it was actually wet, and the soles of the socks were so filthy they were almost black with his big toes sticking out of the end of both. “What the fuck? These aren’t mine!”

“Sure they are,” Santa said, “You’ve been wearing them for about nine months straight–sleeping in them, working out in them–yeah, you’ve been working out a lot in them, haven’t you, Edge?”

Edgar felt his body start to heat up, his muscles tensing all over his body as they started to swell in size, he groaned in pain, and soon, the underwear that had all been quite loose on him was looking too tight, the tank stretched across his thick pecs and unable to hide the bottom of his abs, the jock elastic cutting into his waist, the pouch distended with  a nearly ten inch cock, the socks stretched to the limit against his size fourteen feet. Something between a week and a half of stubble and a short beard spread across his face and neck, and his hair looked like it had been shaven off recently as well, but had partially grown back in. He reeked of sweat and cum, and it was so fucking fantastic…Edge pulled the tank up to his nose and took a deep sniff off the month’s old cum, piss and sweat, and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction.

The room around Santa had changed as well, reeking of stale air and the stench of men, and we went over and sat down on the weight bench, hauling off his boots, showing off his own filthy socks, and Edge leered at him, before getting down on his knees, shoving his nose into the sole, licking at the grimy fabric, massaging his hard cock through the pouch of his nasty jock. He was already leaking cum, like always, but he lived on the edge–his goal was to never cum more than once a week, just hover on the edge, filled with horny energy, and workout all day long, smearing his precum into his underwear, rehydrating with his piss, and occasionally he would blow a huge load all over himself and sleep, before doing it all again.

Santa had laid all the way back on the bench now, and Edge had his socked feet in the air, his tongue rammed as deep into the old man’s filthy shit chute as he could get it, grinding his cock against the bench. He was so close! He couldn’t stop himself, and he shot all over the bench with a loud groan, Santa stroking himself off to the sounds of Edge’s satisfaction, and then he tucked the nasty muscle ape back into bed, and slipped out of the room. He wouldn’t be needing new underwear for a good long while he figured, and maybe next year Edge would ask for something better.