![]() I couldn't help myself masturbating with all that sensual inspiration I came in a pair of my own socks less than a minute after I started stroking.Įven as I recalled those early minutes of self-discovery and satisfaction, I heard a set of keys jingle against the lock of my apartment door. I was hooked by all the odours, but the foot sweat turned me on the most. With an eye on the entrance the whole time, ever wary of observation and ridicule, I went around the change room sniffing at the armpits of t-shirts, the crotches and ass-creases of underwear, and the socks and shoes collected under the benches. ![]() There were no lockers it was an honour system change room, where you changed and left your clothes on the benches, trusting them safe from your neighbour. I remembered being alone in a men's change room many years back and inhaling the male scents of the place. My fascination with men's feet went back to the change rooms of high school and extra-curricular sports. I smelled and licked at the bundle of Ben's socks in the laundry basket, recalling the instance when I first realized I had this peculiar foot fetish. As the title suggests, there is an extended scene of foot worship fetish in this story if that's not for you, feel free to just scroll on.
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