Dirty Santa
by Goldtoejake

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Dan and I met on myfriendsfeet.com in the chat room. We lived in the same city and we’d met for coffee and played a couple of times, so it seemed okay when he invited me over for drinks with “a few friends” during the holidays.

He explained when he called to invite me that at all the guests would be friends who, like me, he’d met online. All were single men who were without families nearby and who planned to stay in town for the holidays. He explained that all invited were guys with sock or foot fetishes, or who were into tickling or control and punishment—all things Dan enjoyed and helped others enjoy.

He was amazingly handsome. Silver-haired, neatly trimmed moustache and goatee, hairy chest, and smiling steel blue eyes. Dan was late fifty-something, but he had the sex drive of a 19-year-old.

I had to work late so I was the last to arrive at the cocktail party that Friday night. There were seven other guys ranging from 25 to 45 at Dan’s home when I arrived. Everyone there was handsome and in great shape—just the type of guys that Dan liked, I noted. Most everyone was drinking wine or beer and I started to grab something from the cooler on the back deck, but Dan then announced that was time for his annual holiday toast.

About three minutes later, Dan brought out martini glasses filled with a drink called a “Holiday Surprise.” It was white and smelled like a mix of vanilla vodka and some white chocolate liquor.
Dan passed the glasses around, but there were only enough drinks for the guests so he grabbed a glass of wine and lifted it in a toast:

“We’re a special little fraternity this evening, those of us who enjoy feet and other fetish play,” he smiled and, with a wink, said. “May you all be as much of a gift to others as you have been to me this year.” With that, someone said “down the hatch” and everyone emptied their glass in a single gulp. Dan smiled broadly and then walked through the den shaking hands, kissing some of the guests and whispering in others’ ears.

I almost immediately started feeling dizzy. I hadn’t had time for lunch that day and thought I’d downed my drink too quickly. Voices around me quickly seemed muffled and I rubbed my temples walking—staggering was more like it—to sit down on a couch. When I finally was seated I noticed that the other guests were struggling to stand. One guy had his head down on the table and was asleep. Dan was helping another guy down the hall. I realized something was terribly wrong.

The next thing I remember was waking from a deep sleep. It was like a fog lifting slowly. Finally, my eyes focused. Sounds sharpened, too, after a minute or two. I could hear men’s laughter coming from behind the doors of a nearby room. I saw Dan standing above someone lying on the floor next to me. He was waving something under his nose…smelling salts, I guess.

I couldn’t move. My hands were cuffed behind me and my ankles and knees were bound with wide red ribbon tied in knots. My mouth was taped shut with green duct tape. I was naked except for a Santa hat on my head.

All the other guests from the cocktail party were similarly bound. We all were laying on the carpeted floor around the base of a beautifully decorated and lit Christmas tree in the center of a large room—“wrapped” like gifts. Our bound bodies were evenly spread around the tree base…like the sunbeams around a sun drawn on a page.

“I think you’re all awake now and the party can get started,” Dan said and then explained. “You know, I have men who pay quite a bit of money to secure an invitation to my ‘Dirty Santa’ party every year. They fly in from all over the world to come…or should I say ‘cum’?

“These men get very excited about the ‘gifts’ they get to unwrap and play with for a long, nasty, uninhibited weekend here at my private hotel and conference center. I’ve spent all year selecting you to be the gifts this year. In case you’re wondering, some of my friends helped me transport you here in vans. You’re on a secluded ranch about an hour from town.

One guy struggled to get loose. Dan laughed, knowing how tightly we all were bound. “None of you are going anywhere tonight or for the rest of the weekend…except upstairs to the rooms with my guests. You see, each room is equipped for your new Master’s pleasure. Those of you who like tickling will find tables to which you’ll be strapped.

“You BDSM boys had better steel yourselves up…the guys who flew in from Saudi Arabia have some interesting ways to make you suffer before you get fucked.

“And you sock guys, you are in deep shit. One of the Sock Masters from Atlanta here tonight has spent the last two weeks buying pairs of ripe, rank dress socks from homeless men,” Dan laughed.

There was a knock at the door. Dan went into the other room for a moment. There was laughter followed a moment later by a round of applause and cheers. Then, the double doors swung open and men began streaming into the room. The smell of cigar smoke drifted in with them.

My eyes must have been filled with terror because a couple of men pointed at me and laughed, whispering something to each other.

A moment later, an olive-skinned man dressed in full leather gear stopped and stood over a young man next to me who had a tag around his neck that read: “To Master Mahmood: Teach Me, Please-Slave Jeremy.” The man pulled a set of tit clamps out of a small leather pouch on his belt and knelt. He applied the clamps to Jeremy’s nipples. Jeremy could only emit muffled cries of pain through the duct tape gag. The Master untied the young man’s ankles and knees and placed a collar and leash on him. He jerked on the leash and ordered his new slave to stand and follow him. The men in the room applauded as the leatherman led Jeremy to the dungeon that awaited him.

From the corner of my eye I could see two men standing on each side of another victim. That young man had a feather in his Santa hat. He wriggled as one of his Ticklers pulled the feather out and brushed his nipples with it. “C’mon Aiden, your new Daddies want to show you new room. We think you’ll be tickled pink about it” the other man joked. Aiden tried to resist after his legs were unbound, but his captors easily subdued him and then led him away teasing him with their fingertips and the feather.

I was one of two young men left under the tree after six “gifts” had been claimed. Dan stood between us and said, “I have some sad news, guys. One of my guests is stranded at the Denver airport and won’t be able to get to my party this year, so one of you gets to go home early...after servicing me before he goes.

“However, the good news for this handsome Sock Master standing here beside me is that he gets to choose his gift, since you’re both sock fetish guys.” I looked at the man who stood next to Dan. He was easily 6’3” or 6’4.” Dark and clean shaven, he was handsome with huge hands and, I suspected, enormous feet. He was in a perfectly tailored business suit and was holding a briefcase. He looked as though he’d just left an office.

“So, M.C, which one of these gets to be your lucky playmate?” Dan asked. He towered over both of us and studied our faces for a moment, then he put his huge, heavy dress shoe in the center of my chest. Dan told him he’d made a wise choice.

A few minutes later, after I’d been escorted by Dan to my new Master’s room, I was rebound using a leather restraint system attached to the bed. My Santa hat was removed and placed atop one of the four bedposts. “In case you’re wondering, your Master’s nickname, M.C., stands for ‘Monster Cock.’ You should probably be very concerned,” Dan smirked.

Dan left and, after closing the door, M.C. began undressing. He stopped before removing his briefs or socks, but I could see even at this point that his nickname was well-founded.

M.C. walked to the bed holding the briefcase, which he unzipped and laid on the bed. He pulled out a Ziplock bag containing a pair of rumpled dress socks. On the side of the bag was written, “Alfred-2 months.”

“Dan tells me that you bragged to him that you’ve never smelled a dress sock that could make you turn away. He says you claim to have a ‘nose of steel.’ I love a challenge like that. For some reason, it makes me so horny to put a boy-bitch like you in your place,” he said and I could see his hand reach down and adjust his cock in his black nylon briefs so that more than just the head now extended above the band.

“I’ve built up a little collection of rank dress socks during the last few weeks that I want you to enjoy…as much as you possibly can,” he continued, tossing the Ziplock bag on my chest. “And each time you try to turn away, you’re gonna have to suck or fuck what I tell you to to suck or fuck…even if I invite some of the other Masters here from Dan’s party to play with us later. You’re gonna make me proud to be your Sock Master and Daddy. Do you understand me” he said threateningly as he pointed a finger in my face. I nodded and he laughed at the fear in my face.

“Good,” he continued. “Now, let me introduce you to Alfred, or should I say Alfred’s socks. Alfred loves to drink…and drink a lot. Let’s just say he’d give you the shirt off his back if you’d give him money for alcohol, or he’d give you the nylon dress socks off his feet. And that’s exactly what he did. I gave him a clean pair of socks to wear when I paid him for these, so don’t you worry about Alfred,” M.C. laughed, teasing my nostrils with a corner of the bag.

Fingers from both his hands found the edges of the plastic bag and he pulled the plastic zipper apart about an inch. “Now, bitch, let’s see you hold your head still when you catch a whiff of Alfred’s socks.” The odor—the stench—was unlike anything I could imagine. Despite any attempt at control, I immediately I tried to turn my head away. I couldn’t help it. The scent was that intense. “Aw…fuck, bitch. It’s not supposed to be this easy for me, ‘steel nose.’ This is one of the lighter scents I brought,” M.C. taunted.

“Now you have to suck me off…but don’t you worry, bitch. After you swallow my first load, I’m going to put old Alfred’s socks in a mask that will hold them directly over your nose. You can then smell nothing but his foot funk of his until I’m ready to cum again,” he said, standing and slipping off his briefs.

As he climbed back on the bed and straddled my chest, he laid the mushroom head of his cock on my lips. He then reached over and dumped about 20 more Ziplock bags from the briefcase, along with the double-strapped mask he had mentioned. “Oh, and you also have to smell MY socks, too, which I’ve worn two weeks for you.

“Damn, I love this party every year,” he said, then looked at me, “It’s gonna be a long weekend and you look hungry. Open wide.”