Research Group
by jaked1961@hotmail.com
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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.
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