Chapter 7:
It’s been a while now since you were kidnapped by Bob. You were still tied to the foot of his bed, choking on his pungent socks. He’s used your mouth as a hole many times since your capture, and the sour taste of his semen still clung to your mouth. It was salty and ripe, and every now and then, drops would ooze from the roof of your mouth, still tender from the forceful shoving in of socks, and would drip onto your tongue, drowning your taste buds. You’d think you’d have gotten used to it by now, but you haven’t. Each drop still makes your tongue tingle, and your mouth gag. You shake your head frantically, but you know there’s nowhere for it to go but down your throat. You hate your predicament, and try to speak out, but Bob doesn’t care. He’s too busy punishing his son Shane for misbehaving again to care about you. He only visits you late at night to ease his tensions, and to laugh at your bound and gagged state.
You turned your head as much as you could, it’s difficult due to the harsh roping around your neck and spine, but you want to get a layout of the room. You still think you can escape, how pathetic. Although, delusions can sometimes serve a purpose.
The room is large, lots of dark woods and rugs. It has a warm look with the furniture, lots of autumn colours, however you feel far from cosy. To you, this room is nothing but a torture chamber dressed up as a palace. You’d feel far more at home in Buffalo Bill’s oubliette, or the Tower of London, for they are both upfront with the horrors that go on there. This place is a malevolent liar.
The familial appearance to the room covered most of the horrors, but there was one thing that couldn’t be hidden. As much as one could try to hide it, no-one could mask the stench of Bob’s foot odour. His feet stunk, and that stench was everywhere. Most importantly, it had a room of its own: The closet.
Behind glass doors that acted as a mirror, a strong smell bubbled in the dingy prison. It was humid and far reaching, the smell burnt nostrils and sent out the strongest of foot lovers gagging from the powerful reek. The smell sat at the edge of your nostrils, guarding you while Bob was away, watching over you, forcing you into submission.
You felt lost and alone at the top of Bob’s three story house, like you were closer to being furniture than a person. No-one other than Bob knew you existed. Well until today that is.
You heard talking from the hallway outside the room, and you wanted to make your presence known. What if it was Bob? He’d only make your gag thicker if he heard you. You quietened down to avoid a third sock in your mouth.
The noise got louder and louder as the person got closer and closer. Eventually you realized the voice wasn’t Bob’s, only it was someone else. The voice sounded a bit higher and less booming than Bob’s. Definitely someone younger. Could it be his son? Your eyes beamed bright and open, and your ticket to freedom was near. You shouted into your gag, and muffled as loud as you could. You pushed pashed the foul taste of smelly socks, foot odour, and cum to get your voice heard. You haven’t shouted this loud in your life before. You yearned for freedom, and you made sure you were going to get it.
Someone heard you, the door creaked open with the turn of the screw, and silhouetted into the doorway, was Bob’s son. He seemed taller, darker, and more mysterious in the lighting. A large footstep crossed the boundary into Bob’s room. You could make him out more clearly now. He wasn’t as tall as in the doorway, he looked teen-ish aged, and you could make out his dark hair, gelled and styled obnoxiously. A snigger emerged from the boy’s face. You tried to turn your head to get a better look at him. You could make it out just enough to get a clear picture.
Shane sauntered into the room, steered his way to the bed, slipped off his shoes, and slouched into the bed. He kicked his feet high into the air and pressed them atop of one another. He smirked and looked you in the face, before giving you a grinning smile of sadism. You could already tell that the principle of like father, like son was held in high regards here.
(Shane's sneakers - Imagine the horrors that lie in there)
Used to the constant torture, at this point, you just sighed into your oversized gag, and thought to yourself: Just get it over with!
Shane started talking to you, casually as if you were a close friend. He introduced himself to you, told you about himself, which went on for quite a while. How can someone be so self-obsessed you thought? He eventually moved to a more pressing subject: You.
There was a constant underpinning of sarcasm when he spoke to you, a sadistic undertone that erupted into laugher when he began asking you questions, knowing full well you was in no position to answer them.
This was far too funny he thought. He decided to have some other kinds of fun with you, and he shuffled further down the bed, pressing his yellow (formerly white) socks all over your face. The smell wasn’t too bad far away, just a sour odour, but up close, you felt like he was smearing pickled onions all over your face. It was bitter and foul, and reeked to high heaven. You tried to move your head away, but he traversed his other foot to the back of your head, cupping it, and pressing it further into the rancid sock.
His next topic of the one sided conversation was to talk about his feet, his foot odour, and such. He let loose a stream of uninvited anecdotes all about how he has the smelliest feet in his high school. Every time they hazed a nerd, they used his socks as the perfect gag. Whenever they decided to humiliate someone who lost them the game, they’d use his gym bag to submerge someone’s face into. He told you about the time when they tied someone up, taped their mouth, shoved their head into his gym bag, and zipped it up around him. They left him there for 4 hours while they had practise, telling coach he was feeling sick, so he had to take some time out, not much of a lie really. By the time they let him out, he had vacuum sniffed all the sweat from the bag in order to avoid passing out, and that had made his face green for a week after, and all he could smell for a month was the harsh vinegary smell of Shane’s foot odour. That made you want to throw up. If this was bad, imagine that form of torture.
Shane began to laugh at that, enjoying your discomfort towards the story. He decided to think up another story. He decided to mention his current socks. Apparently, he has worn them for 9 days at this point. The washer has broken so he decided to re-wear them to avoid a strain on the machine when it’s back up and running again. Although, he thought of another fun idea: What if he used you as his personal washing machine till that one gets fixed?
This made you almost throw up into your mouth. He then remarked that if you do a good job, then he’ll just use you full time. It’s better for the environment anyway. He smirked at that comment, finding his tawdry justifications the peak of comedy.
He moved further towards you, and looked you in the eye. Oh god this is it!
(Shane and his smelly socks that are going to gag you!)
He ripped off the muzzle as fast as he could, then peeled off the tape, laughing at your pained recoil and wincing sounds you made. He pulled out his father’s socks, they still smelled. Pretty foul still actually. He threw them to the floor, and pressed your jaw down, ripping your mouth apart so he could stuff those pungent wads into your mouth.
The taste sent you into a disgusted frenzy. They tasted like rotten stilton that had been marinated overnight in malt vinegar. You coughed and gagged, he laughed and grinned. Once both were inside, he made a scathing comment, similar to down the hatch, there you go. Tastes good, does it?
You mumbled back, but before you could finish, he told you to shush. He slapped the old tape back on, and looking at the peeling edges, he left to fix something else over your face.
He came back moments later with multicoloured tape. He thought he’d bring some pizazz to this situation, brighten the mood a little bit. The tape was barbie pink, and he used lots of it around your face. Once it was done, and your jaw felt fused shut, he drew a pair of lips onto your mouth, and kissed your gagged face.
He burst into laughter, and you could hear the sounds of a phone camera going off. What was he going to do with that? This sent you into a panicked flurry, but before you could mumble a response, he left the room, slamming the door shut. The absence of a goodbye, like you were inhuman, left a bad taste in your mouth….although that could be the socks.
You slumped back into the stress position you were tied into, and got yourself as comfy as can be for the long haul. You were going to be here a long time, you thought.
Then the unthinkable happened, you heard crashing noises from downstairs, and Shane shouting like a little girl, terrified. The noises downstairs were loud and abundant. The noises then travelled up the stairs, and you began to feel a little fear. Your palms were sweaty. Are these robbers? Your eyes widened. The door was practically ripped open.
Standing into the hallway, looking in, was a trio of men: Nick, Zack, and Mitch.
Ahh shit, here we go again!
(I hope everyone likes this chapter, sorry for the delay. Chapter 8 will be up by the end of this week I'm certain. If you want a hint to what might happen in that chapter, I'd suggest: read Punishment for Speeding by
@socjuc It's fantastic!)
@bondagefreak @Sockgaggedman @socjuc @squirrel @Stormee @OrdinaryWorld @Red86 @Wedgieboy69 @Msueta@2 @Bradstick @Socksbound @
Thanks for the shout out that you and @bondagefreak sent.
