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“Hey, you’re open,” I said as I entered the door
of the shop.
The small bell that clanged against the door announced me to the
owner, who was seated behind a desk working at a laptop. “Yes,
c’mon on in, please,” he replied. As he stood up he
added, “I’ve been in New England on a buying trip all
week. I just got back in at noon today and thought I’d open
up for at least part of the day. You caught me digging out of a
backlog of e-mails.”
It was 5:50 p.m. and the posted closing time on this gentleman’s
shop was 6 p.m. “Hey, sorry to get here so late in the day,
but I just was swinging by on my way home, I said, adding, “I
came by because I heard you have a vintage clothing section.”
“Yep…I have some great stuff in stock just now. I’ve
got some good looking vintage bowling and Hawaiian shirts that just
came in—and a great tux that looks like it would be your size.
44 long—about a 32 inch waist, right? You probably could wear
it without any alterations.”
I acknowledged that he’d sized me up right and then I learned
that he’d learned to size guys up when he sold men’s
retail clothes for most of his career before opening his antiques
shop. He was a very handsome, tall man, with blue eyes and thick
and curly salt-and-pepper hair. He had a moustache and beard and
was hairy all over--judging from the thick chest hair that showed
inside the top of his shirt. He was in a button down shirt and slacks
with tassel dress shoes. His sport coat hung over the back of the
chair where he’d been seated.
“Actually, it’s kind of odd, but I collect vintage men’s
socks—do you carry any of those?” I asked.
“You’re in luck,” he replied coming toward me.
He was taller than I first thought, at least two inches over my
6-foot-frame. “I just brought a nice little selection in from
home. They’re in the back office and not even priced yet.”
He stopped on his way walking toward me and pointed at the door
to the shop.
“Hey…would you mind if I go ahead and lock the door
and put up the sign to let folks know I’m closed for the day?”
he asked. “I’m beat after traveling all week, so I’m
making you the final customer for today.” I agreed and quickly
offered to come back another day if that was better for him. “No…no
problem at all. I’m glad to help you out and I really think
you’ll like my selection.”
He pulled his keys from his pocket as he walked to the shop’s
door and locked it from inside. He flipped the sign over so that
the “Closed” sign showed through the door. Off went
the lights in the front of the store with the flick of a switch.
“Sorry for the darkness in here, but I’ve had folks
try to knock down the door to get me to reopen if they see lights
on,” he explained as he walked toward and then past me in
the dim light created by the last rays of the evening sun streaming
through the door. “Come on back to my office.”
This shop was located in a great revitalized area of the city, but
the economic downturn had forced the closing of the coffee shop
on one side and a dry cleaner on the other. I asked if there were
any prospects to reopen those shops as we walked toward a door marked
“Private.” “Not likely in the next two years,”
Using keys once again retrieved from his pocket, he used one to
open the locked office door. “So…tell me about this
collection of yours. What do you like about vintage socks?”
He opened the door to reveal a small room that resembled an efficiency
apartment, complete with a small kitchen and washer/dryer combo,
a table that doubled as a desk, an armoire and a full-size old iron
“I just like the way they look and feel,” I replied.
“I think they look sexy.”
“I agree,” he said, smiling. “My name is Gary,
by the way,” he said, extending a hand to shake mine.
Although I told him my name was Jake, I did not reveal that I had
a raging fetish for any kind of dress socks and that my cock was
starting to stiffen at his agreement about socks being sexy. I also
didn’t tell him my fantasy of being made to serve an aggressive
verbal sock guy with strong foot scent. That was truly too odd to
tell anyone and best managed as a personal fantasy.
“Damn,” he said suddenly. When I asked what was wrong,
Gary replied, “I’ve got to apologize, Jake, but I just
remembered that the socks I brought in before my trip need to be
laundered,” he said walking toward the washer and dryer combo.
He grabbed a laundry basket off the top of the clothes washer. “I
keep a washer here to clean blue jeans and other washable stuff
to get them ready for sale. If you want to pick the pairs you like
from the basket, I can get them cleaned and ready for you to pick
up by tomorrow.”
He explained a great coincidence: he liked vintage socks, too, and
had collected them for years. He had at least 150 pairs at home
and that he added more whenever he could. Occasionally, he would
bring in pairs to sell once he’d enjoyed wearing them for
“I hope that’s okay with you that I’ve worn these…I
figure that most folks realize that ‘vintage’ means
pre-worn,” he said with a wink. “I brought these in
before my trip but never got a chance to wash them. I apologize
again because this isn’t usually how I present my wares to
the buying public.”
He set the basket of rumpled nylon socks in front of me. Although
I wanted to bury my face in the pile, I asked, “So I should
just pick the ones I like?”
“Right,” he said. “You may want to match them
up first and make sure there are no runs or holes in them.”
I dumped the socks onto the table that also served as a computer
desk in the office, sat down in the chair and then sorted the socks
into 16 pairs.
“You know, you have to be careful not to launder them too
often—that’s where they get damaged. And never dry them
in a dryer, just let them hang dry,” he said.
I picked four pair from the 16. There was an olive pair with embroidered
diamonds down the side. A burgundy pair with cream-colored stripes.
A brown plaid pair that was really cool. And a pair of thin gold
nylon socks with contrasting black toes and heels.
“You’ve got good taste, Jake” he said. “You’d
better check to make sure they don’t have any holes or snags.”
He leaned against a counter and watched me as I pulled each of the
socks over my hand, spreading my fingers to check for flaws. My
cock grew hard in my suit pants as touched each dirty sock. I wanted
to sniff each one. I managed to hold them close enough to sniff
them, but made it look like I was just inspecting them closely.
Then, I had an idea.
“You know, Gary, it’d be no problem for me to wash these
myself at home,” I said, hoping he’d agree. “Why
don’t I just pay you for them and head out so you can relax
and enjoy the evening that’s ahead of you?”
“I suppose you’d want a deep discount on the price since
some of them still probably smell riper than hell even after a week’s
airing out,” he laughed.
“No,” I smiled, “the scent adds ‘provenance’
to these socks. It proves they were well-worn--and obviously by
a great guy.”
He looked at me intently and then with a playful, evil grin said,
“You like that scent?”
“I….uh….” I stammered, “no, I just
“Because if that’s the case,” he quickly added,
putting his hands in his pockets and pulling up his slacks with
an evil grin, “you should get a whiff of these.” He
exposed some of the sexiest socks I’d ever seen: navy thick-and-thins
with white pin dots down the side. They looked incredible with his
burgundy tasseled slip-on shoes, which were at least size 12s.
“These are some of my faves,” he said. “and they
hold scent like crazy.” I was mesmerized looking at his dress
shoes and socks. And he knew it. “That actually could be a
dangerous thing, since I forgot to pack any other socks, so I’ve
worn these for four days straight on my trip. I kept thinking I’d
rinse them out since I have a bit of a foot odor problem, but there
never was time between late nights and early mornings on this trip.
I felt sorry for the guys standing in front and behind me in line
at airport security today…they both winced and kept their
distance after I took off my shoes.”
I don’t know if he could see me quiver. I tried to steady
my voice and said, “Aw…they can’t be that bad.”
“Yeah, actually, I think they are,” he said. After a
pause, he added, “Hey, want to make a little wager on it?
I bet you couldn’t go five minutes with my socked toes directly
under your nose without flinching or turning away.”
I was dreaming. This was a conversation I only had in fantasies.
“What do I get when I win this bet?” I said with a laugh.
“A year’s membership in your free sock-of-the-month
“I can make that happen…IF you win this wager. But let’s
talk about what happens when you lose” he said with a slight
sneer in his voice.
“What do you mean?” I questioned.
“Let’s say you flinch…and you will, my friend.
Then what do I get? I’ll tell you what I want and then you
decide. I think it’s hot as hell to have that kind of power
and control over a guy—to be able make him respect my socked
feet,” he said grinning, “so I’d have you for
a couple of hours this evening to train you on how to honor my feet.”
“This is too easy,” I boasted. “I could do two
hours without flinching. If I do that, I think I should get your
whole collection of socks.”
“You’re pretty cocky, Jake, but I’d be willing
to take that bet, too. But you just made the stakes a lot higher,”
he noted. “If you flinch or turn away any time during the
two hours, your ass is mine to sock torture every Sunday from 5
p.m. to midnight for the next three months. We’d do it here
in the shop after I close on Sundays. I’d then spend every
week getting a pair or two of raunchy socks ready to train you as
my sock slave.”
I looked at the sexy socked feet on the hot guy standing in front
of me…then at his smiling face…and again at the shoes
and socks he was wearing. “Gary…I’d be willing
to make that bet.” And we once again shook hands.
Within five minutes, I found myself lying under Gary’s desk/table
on a small padded mat like those that float in a swimming pool.
I’d been allowed to remove my suit coat and my tie. I had
reluctantly agreed to have my wrists restrained to the table legs
to prevent me from pushing his socked feet away. He said it was
only fair, since his entire collection of socks was at stake.
Gary left and retrieved his laptop from the front of the store and
returned to the office. I could hear him lock the door from the
inside the office using his key and then open a drawer in the armoire,
I thought, and drop the keys in it. I couldn’t exactly see
the drawer where he hid the keys.
He kneeled down and the next thing I knew I had a piece of duct
tape covering my mouth. “I had to grab my laptop and the duct
tape from up front. The tape’s to ensure there’s no
mouth breathing on your part.” He laughed at the obvious concern
in my eyes. Then he proceeded to clip a webcam under the table’s
edge and focus it on me to “document this wager” for
his records. “I have a couple of sock buds who I may invite
to watch online when we meet for one of our Sunday sessions after
I win this bet,” he said confidently. I began to struggle
against the restraints that held my wrists, but Gary just laughed
and told me to keep squirming because the activity would eventually
just make me breathe harder and deeper. I knew he was right, so
I tried to calm myself.
“Yep…I can see you on my screen now,” he said
calmly. “You look comfortable, but that’s about to change.”
With that statement, he planted a dress shoe on either side of my
head. Honestly, I could smell his rank socked feet within his shoes
as soon as they were close. I wanted to stroke my dick so badly,
but couldn’t. Gary reached down and slipped both heels from
his shoes and the sharp smell of mansweat and leather was released
in full force.
“I told you I had a foot odor problem,” he laughed.
My eyes darted to his feet that now were slowly crossing my cheeks.
“Ready or not….” His flexing toes converged on
I tried to hold my head still, but within four minutes I jerked
my head to one side to get fresh air. I had to. The sweaty, stiff
toes of one sock followed my nose and guided my head back to center
with gentle force. I felt like I was going to pass out the smell
was so intense.
“Welcome to Sock Hell, Jake. You’re mine now, buddy.
I hope you don’t have to be anywhere for dinner, because you’re
here for the next few hours.” I made a muffled cry for help
through the duct tape. Gary told me to yell all I wanted because
no one could hear. No one was anywhere near us.
I looked up to see Gary unzip his pants. He pulled out his cock,
pulled one of his worn socks from the table, slipped the sock over
his dick and slowly began to stroke.
“Let’s see how many of these socks I can fill up tonight
during your first training session, boy. And, of course, I’ll
expect you this coming Sunday at 5 p.m. for our first long next