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 through my profile. If you have a sock, boot, sneaker or other related fetish. I am easy to talk too!
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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".
