Hey everyone. Once again, this is the second installment of a sock fetish story. I'm moving the story along. I feel this part is a bit wordy, but necessary to build up the story as more installments are planned. Please don't hesitate to contact me at tubesocklover@yahoo.com. I am easy to talk too!
The next morning I woke and reviewed my experience from the night before. How had laundry day been so arousing? I wasn't certain, but was again excited. The tube socks I wore the night before slouched lazily on my feet; their elastic long since gave up trying to hold on. As I looked at them, my cock twitched, already hard from my usual morning erection. The faint sweat stains and permanent discoloration from everyday life aroused me. I plodded to the bathroom and handled my business, then moved on to the kitchen. I was aroused by the socks on my feet, occasionally glancing down at them as I prepared a protein shake and put the coffee on. The LED readout on the machine read 7:27. I returned to the remaining plastic bags of laundry in my living room and began sorting. I purposely tried to ignore the used socks in each bag; determined not to get distracted and ruin my early start. Furthermore, I should be able to make it to the laundromat early, but expected a long stay once there. Not only that, but I had at least 5 loads of laundry by my count. I reused the plastic bags and loaded the sorted clothing into each. Finished, I put some slide sandals onto my socked feet, athletic shorts and shirt from yesterday and prepared for the loading phase of my chore.
I grabbed 2 bags and headed to my car, noticing I'd barely have enough room. Cars had been a hobby since I could drive, and the car I'd kept before selling the rest before the move was a silver 1995 Mercedes-Benz SL500 roadster. Cabin and baggage space was in short supply. Shuffling and unloading some items to make space was necessary. I loaded 2 bags in the trunk and the rest in the passenger compartment. It was a hot day in June, probably mid-eighties by the feel of it. Good thing I hadn't showered yet, as I was already sweating from both the unloading and reloading. Returning inside, I stripped down and turned the shower on. Sitting down and slipping the tube socks off my curiosity got the best of me and brought the now twice worn socks inches from my face. The tangy scent wafted up and immediately had my full attention. They didn't stink exactly but had the musty smell of use and the material felt damp with fresh sweat combined with the smells of old fabric. I thought briefly about wearing them again before washing them, but gave up on the idea, determined to get ALL the laundry done on my trip. My cock was hard, but I forced myself to hop in the shower without acknowledging it. I showered, had a quick shave and noted I'd need to shave my body hair soon. I dried off and considered my remaining clean outfit choices.
A pair of black chino shorts and basic gray t-shirt was the most respectable I could muster. Fastening my belt, I considered my footwear. I wasn't super concerned; especially to go to the laundromat. The remaining pairs of socks were few; most of them bore sports team logos, not for any Pittsburgh teams either. A basic pair of thick black cotton crew length Hanes that would probably be too hot for the weather. Various pairs of black, brown, and navy dress socks which would look improper. Finally, a white crew length pair of socks that had twin stripes, one blue and one red at the top, and "Fuck it" scrawled across the wide ribbing. I'd barely worn them as they were fairly new. Thinking they fit my current attitude, I smirked as I sat down on my computer chair to put them on. Sliding the cool cotton ribbing onto the end of my toes, I noticed my arousal. I pulled them on and adjusted the arch support and blue tipped toes and heels to their appropriate positions. Pulling them up to mid-calf and scrunching their height to just below my calf muscle; I walked over to my sneaker collection. Over a dozen pairs of high top sneakers of various brands. Glancing at my socks and back at the shoes, my choice was made. I lifted a pair of classic red high top Converse Chuck Taylor's from the shelf, feeling they would accompany the rebelliously striped socks quite well. They were well-used, faded and permanently darkened in some spots. I lifted one to my face and inhaled, the light smell of used canvas hit me and I inhaled again. I wondered how they would smell by the end of the day. Furthermore, I noted the dirty insole from over a year of sweaty concerts, festivals, backyard parties, gym workouts, and everyday life. Placing them on my socked feet I loosely tied them and moved to the kitchen to collect my watch, cell, wallet and keys.
It was even hotter than a half hour before, humid with barely a cloud in the sky. Stupidly, I realized I should have lowered the windows on the car to let the heat out. The black leather interior was baking. A bead of sweat ran down the back of my neck immediately. This would surely be a top-up trip with the ac on high. I fired the GPS up and started driving. Despite the ac on high, the dark interior was taking a while to cool, sweat was collecting on my t-shirt in small patches. My feet were sweating profusely, and I could feel my socks sliding around inside my chucks as I manipulated the clutch and throttle. I opened the windows, hoping to be dry by the time I arrived. The drive was going slowly, which wasn't helping the airflow. Eventually, I hit an open stretch and the wind partially did its job. I reached my supposed destination, but didn't see a sign. On a side street with no real commercial spaces, I double-checked the address. I creeped down the street until I stopped in front of the correct number which belonged to a three-story house on a corner. A faded 2 foot wide wood sign hung from the side "Laundry" with an arrow in the lower-left corner. I left the car at the curb and hopped out to investigate. My t-shirt had somewhat dried, but it didn't matter once I stepped fully into the sun once again. The sign was over a door on the side of the house. Not sure what to do; I knocked and waited. Nothing happened. I sheepishly tried the brass knob, and it turned freely. Inside was a short, worn concrete landing that ended in a flight of stairs. The bottom was lit, so I descended. The small basement was decently lit and empty. The aged black and white checkered tile floor gave the room a retro feel. A kaleidoscope of over under washer dryer combos of different brands and colors lined the rear wall. A quarter machine stood directly to my left. To the left of the washing machines was an old style all metal vending machine with 5 options I couldn't make out from across the room. The basement area was clean enough. An old clock radio sat on the basement window sill and was currently playing Rod Stewart's "Young Turks" at a moderate volume. The time read 9:07, I checked my watch and found it to be correct.
Stepping back out the door at the top of the stairs, I was hit with a blast of humid heat which also proved the basement was at least cool. I hurriedly grabbed the first plastic bags of laundry from the front seat and made my way back inside. Another trip and I had all the bags in the basement. I opened the closest bag and was hit with the classic dirty laundry smell. The bag was full of dark clothing. My hand came upon a black adidas crew sock, one of my gym session socks. I paused and studied it. Before going too far, I glanced around the room to make sure there were no cameras to take in my actions. Seemed clear. The sock was dried somewhat stiff and I could see small amounts of dried sweat come off in tiny dust clouds as I moved it around in my hand. I lifted it to my face. I could smell the inside of the adidas trainers I had worn to the gym. The knitted interior was supposed to be more breathable but the socks themselves were polyester, and while they were "sweat wicking" I was now noticing that I had sweat even more than usual while wearing them. The faded marks at the toe tops were very distinct. The smell had a sharpness to it that wasn't there on the other socks, followed by the staleness that's inside a pair of well-worn shoes. The three white stripes that ran the length of the sock bottom were tinted with a faint patina of dirt. My cock was stiffening against my zipper. I stuck my hand inside the sock and brought it closer to my face. Remembering I'd shut the door and would clearly hear someone enter, I began rubbing myself through my shorts with my other hand. The thick material of the khaki shorts hindered me somewhat, but I kept going. Massaging my shaft, which was now pressed flat between my pelvis and the shorts. The sock smell continued to arouse me and I rubbed harder, trying to defeat the thick material of my shorts. I considered unzipping my fly, but though that was too far. I stopped my torture and removed the sock from my hand. The smell, however, remained for a second or two.
The last item in the bag was a thick knee-high black tube sock with three white stripes across the top. I'd worn them one of the last times I went rollerblading in the hotel parking lot. They'd been through the war. I wore them at night around the house and occasionally in the garage with shorts in the fall. The white stripes had some oil transfer from laying on my garage floor. The cotton heel showed a light gray color from the sweat inside my rollerblades and the material was thinner than the rest of the sock. I lifted it to my face and inhaled. They smelled mostly of rubber and dried sweat, vinegary in nature. I repeated my previous behavior and rubbed my cock through my shorts for an agonizingly long time. The pre-cum had made its way from the tip of my cock and was now making the inside of my shorts fairly wet. I continued to inhale the unique scent my socked feet had made inside my skates. Suddenly, the door at the top of the stairs opened. I briefly panicked and tossed the black tube sock into the machine and tried to play it cool. My cock quickly deflated, a stream of pre-cum making its exit from the end. Soon, footsteps descended the stairs behind me. I didn't turn; deciding to act like I was busy.
"Oh hi!" came an upbeat female voice from the base of the stairs. Still facing the machine, I turned my head and glanced over my shoulder and making eye contact, replying, "Hey, how are you?" And went back to facing the machine. "I'm doing well. As well as someone who has to do laundry can be doing". I gave a polite chuckle and replied honestly, "Oh, I know the feeling". The conversation ceased, and the room filled with the sounds of a sliding laundry basket and was followed by recent acquaintances footsteps back up the stairs. I moved toward the coin machine and my cock unstuck itself from the pre-cum on the inside of my shorts, bringing back into focus what I had been doing just moments before. I deposited a $5 bill and the quarter machine protested at first, then finally accepted the bill and spit the quarter equivalent into the metal tray. Walking back to my machine of choice, I glanced down and noticed a faint circle of pre-cum that had lightly seeped through my shorts. I made a mental note to not make my inevitable future conversation a close one, at least for the first few minutes; briefly noting reasons why people wore underwear. I deposited the quarters the wash required and made a deflating realization. I had forgotten to bring any of the other required items for doing laundry: detergent, softener, dryer sheets etc. All back at the house. I said a 4-letter word aloud and glanced around. My eyes fell on the old vending machine I'd noticed when entering. While walking over to it, the upstairs door opened again and feet loudly descended the wood stairs. The machine advertised detergent and all the things I needed. I dug out some quarters, "STOP!" a shout from behind. I turned and looked at her, holding another laundry basket. "It will just take your money. There was a sign on it, but it must have fallen off." I shrugged, "Figures. I forgot all the stuff I need to actually clean clothes. This isn't my usual routine." She studied me for a second. "I kinda thought you were new around here. Not many people whenever I've come here. My machine likes to be picky. Sometimes it runs, sometimes it doesn't. So, here I am. I have a whole bottle of detergent; help yourself." I considered this. I had multiple loads to do and didn't really want to use up all that detergent when it wasn't mine. "You know what, ill just hit the closest store and buy some. I have more than one load to do." She looked over her shoulder while loading one of the other machines. "Look, ill tell you a little secret. I borrow this detergent from work, so its no sweat off my back. Use as much as you want." A mischievous grin spread across her face after she emphasized "borrow". I nodded and said, "Fair enough." returning an acknowledging grin. She turned and continued loading.
I got my first look at her without being a creep. About 5'7" she was cute with light-brown eyes, a pert mouth, fair skin with light freckles, a roundish ass that partially filled out the modest black sweat shorts she was wearing. Her tits were proportional if somewhat small, hiding behind what looked like a women's low cut undershirt with a black sports bra clearly contrasting underneath. She was trim. The build was one I suspected came naturally. Her legs were defined, but not like those of a committed athlete. Maybe one who spent an hour or 2 exercising each week or walking frequently. I paused at her footwear. Black knit Nike low cut sneakers with white bottoms that had seen a rough life. The once white doles were now a brownish gray color. She had paired these with socks that were equally worn. White at one time they were now faded to a more light gray color that probably came from frequently being washed with darker colors or heavy use. They appeared to actually be much longer, but were haphazardly scrunched down to mid-calf height. Soccer socks. It was a sexy casual look, and my new infatuation made me wonder how they smelled. She turned suddenly and I glanced away. She handed me the detergent and I commenced to unceremoniously dump some in the dispenser and start the machine; wondering if she saw me staring at her feet. "I'm Kelsey, by the way." "Kelsey, thanks for the detergent. I'm Jake". Repeating her name back was a trick I'd learned after being horrendous at remembering names. "Again, not a problem". "You just finish a game or something?" She looked at me quizzically, and I gestured to her footwear. The Nike logo was now clearly visible on one of the folds once she was facing me. Definitely soccer socks. I mentally noted they were probably nylon. Nice and sweaty in those worn sneakers. "Oh, nope. Just another laundry day. I seem to always end up running out of socks and these remain. They were part of a costume from years ago but I like them so I keep them." I was getting excited. I paused and chose my words so I wasn't giving away my obsessions. " Interesting, I found myself in a similar position this morning." She studied my footwear, a white tipped finger coming to her chin; I could tell she was stringing me along, knowing I wanted her approval. Finally, "Hmm, I can dig it. I'm a huge fan of chucks too. I don't own the red ones, though. The "fuck it" part is a nice touch and the colors...so patriotic of you. I'd say your shoe and sock combo is way cooler than mine." I laughed as the red, white and blue theme hadn't occurred to me. "I hadn't thought of it that way. I can say I'm definitely a fan of the long socks though. I could feel my face get hot after i said it. It was an odd statement to a total stranger. "Oh really? How so? Is it a thing?". She had backed me into a bit of a corner. "Sure, It's a thing. We'll leave it at that." Adding a smirk to the end of my statement and wrestling back some control of the conversation. She laughed at me but i saw her cheeks redden slightly. She turned and busied herself with more laundry.
A bit of time passed and "Thunder Road" played into a set of commercials before the DJ came back on and started another song, Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here". I'd been browsing my phone idly, sitting on one of two worn wood church pews that were placed in the center of the room. Kelsey spoke up, "I'm going to go up and smoke a cigarette, ill be back." I glanced up and watched as she pulled a pair of black and white Puma slides from a basket and dropped them on the tile floor. What she did next made me glad I was sitting down, leaning forward with my elbows on my thighs. Placing toe to heel, she slipped off the beat Nike's one at a time to reveal socked feet that were lightly stained in certain spots. The arch support band was a slight yellow color from years of sweat and dirt exposure. The dri-fit text was faded and worn. The orange L and R were no longer bright. My cock received a sudden rush of blood and I could feel it brush down the inside of my thigh as it hardened. I was staring. As she lifted her socked foot off the floor and into the slides, I could see a faint condensation marks on the piece of black tile floor where her socked feet had just been. She looked up and caught me watching and I looked away quickly. "No worries, enjoy!" I said, finding no other quick responses, my face feeling hot. She had definitely noticed my ogling. She turned her back and walked to the stairs, I couldn't help but look at her socked feet, the heels permanently gray from years of rubbing the inside of athletic sneakers perfectly complimenting the sloppiness with which they slouched down her lean calves. I would have gotten down and smelled them if she'd have given me the chance, but it was all fantasy. The upstairs door closed and I was once again alone. Her Nike's sat several feet in front of me, one of them laying on their side. I could see through the foot opening the white Nike log on the insole, stained with the years of abuse and sweat. I realized her plan was probably to wash them. I only had one shot.
I moved quickly. I picked the sideways shoe up and lifted it to inches from my nose, the still tied laces tickling the top of my hand. The inside carried a slightly dank, humid puff of air to my nose. The smell reminded me of corn chips, vinegar. Not super strong, but enough that it aroused me. The inside was still damp with sweat. My cock raged against the tough fabric of my shorts, and I couldn't help but think I wouldn't have this chance again. I glanced at her laundry baskets and found the first sock i could, a gray crew sock; "Hanes" on the bottom of the foot. It was very soft cotton. Slight discoloration from use, a light brown on the bottom. The heel and toe were tipped a fuchsia color. I sniffed it and didn't really detect anything but the common smell of used laundry. It added to my arousal nonetheless because it was hers. Setting the shoe down, I quickly unzipped my fly, letting my engorged cock stand to full mast. I returned the sneaker to inches from my nose and set the sock back in the basket. I returned to my laundry and fished one of the white tube socks with blue stripes that I had worn just hours before. I slid it on my cock, the head picking up the sensations of the cotton fabric and sending waves of pleasure through me that made my knees shake. My swollen head had stopped just below the last of the three stripes. I wrapped my hand around my member and began pumping slowly. Pre-cum dribbled into the sock and began to amplify my pleasure. The smell of Kelsey's feet wafting into my nostrils from her sneakers was too much to bear, and I could feel my balls tightening to a quick orgasm. My hand quickened its pace, moving swiftly to a very fast rhythm as the tube sock moved over my rod with it. I pictured her worn white Nike soccer socks slouched around her calves and the marks of wear and use, as well as her nice legs and shapely ass. I envisioned her socked feet on my shoulders, cock buried to the hilt inside her soaked pussy as my face was buried in her used socks, breathing in her musty odor. Furthermore, I imagined her straddled over my face wearing the same outfit she currently wore; bottomless while I swallowed her flowing juices. I couldn't take anymore, and my cock let loose its first spurt of a load that lasted 9 agonizingly pleasurable spasms and sent shivers through my body as I stood with her sneaker pressed to my face with the other hand. The tube sock was now tortured and wet, soaked with my load. The ribbed top stretched and disfigured from the brutally quick fucking I had just subjected it too.
I quickly realized that I was probably out of time. I dropped the sock back on top of one of my laundry bags and it landed heavily with cum. Quickly I replaced the sneaker as I heard the door at the top of the stairs open. A quick panic set in as I mentally checked if everything was back as it had been. I quickly zipped my shorts back up and sat, acting like nothing had happened. Kelsey returned from up top, and I realized as she returned to her baskets that I had dropped her gray Hanes sock into a different basket than I had taken it from. I hoped she wouldn't notice. Kelsey moved a load from the wash to the dryer and turned to the basket in question. I watched her pause, consider, then move the sock from one basket to the other. Close. She had noticed, but I told myself she'd just as soon think it her mistake. The light scent of smoke hit me, which wasn't bothersome. She didn't strike me as a smoker. I'd dated girls who smoked and was never bothered by it. "So tell me, what's there to do around here?" She turned, "Honestly there's plenty, the most annoying thing is no 2 things are close together, there's about 9 bars and restaurants in a 7-mile area, but they're all quite far from one another. Just an example. What were you looking for?" I considered that saying I was looking for spots to meet someone was probably a bad decision, so I kept it vague. "Just somewhere to hang and meet people in the area. No real plan." She nodded. We bantered back and forth in causally prodding conversation as the machines hummed loudly, and the radio played Fleetwood Mac's "Go Your Own Way". I kept glancing casually at her socked feet as we chatted and didn't think she thought anything of it or even noticed at all. I wanted to smell them so bad. Shove them in my mouth and run my tongue over them until they were soaked. In the back of my mind, I calculated I would never be here again. The machines would be delivered to the house and I would never have a reason to return to the laundromat. I segued this thought into silently steeling myself to ask for Kelsey's number as the conversation continued. We talked much over the next hour, sitting the usual distance two strangers leave between one another. Kelsey crossed her legs at one point and her sock and slide covered foot was closer to me than ever. I snuck glances from time to time. My recent release quickly being erased by more pent-up tension. I imagined I was getting whiffs of their scent, but knew the faint sour smell was probably a product of my longing.
There was a silence in the conversation and I let it hang to see if it would get uncomfortable. It didn't, at least not for me. I figured I'd take the step and asked "So any plans this weekend?". Sensing the symbolism of the question, Kelsey's body language changed, and she replied "Nope. You?" "Nah. We should do something together. You can show me around a bit." She made eye contact and I met her gaze with one that told of my non-platonic meaning. "Sounds like a plan." She played casual, but I knew I had probably surprised her a bit. We exchanged numbers and more details about our living locations. She was actually a few miles in the opposite direction from the laundromat. Kelsey gathered her now clean laundry, the freshly washed Nike's on the top of one of the baskets; still drying. We said our goodbyes with an open-ended "Talk to you later" and she made her exit as I watched her dirty slide and socked feet make their way to the stairs and ascend. I heard the door close and I was again alone, wondering what would come next. I did notice I had left the soaked tube sock on top of the trash bag it had been stored in; perfectly in plain sight. The stretched out three striped top pointed towards the ground and there was a thin drip of cum running a few inches down the side of the plastic bag. Had she noticed? Kelsey's back had been to my laundry bags; so I figured not. I set to finishing my laundry, all the while researching on my phone where we should go when we met up next.
To be continued....