How My Best Friend’s Little Brother Turned Me Into a Foot-Fag

My buddy's little bro called me a foot-fag after discovering I had kept his dirty sweatsock in a ziplock bag, and manipulated my submission to his big feet.

My Buddy's Little Brother Laughed When I Slept Face Down on His Dirty Sweatsocks

I knew Mike since he was in high school. He was a the little brother of a close buddy of mine, a few years younger than us. When he graduated, Mike essentially became one of the guys, and went wherever we did. Mike was a baseball player, stocky and athletic, thick and rugged, with short brown hair. It didn’t do me any favors standing next to the jock. Despite me being about 2 inches taller than, I looked rather puny in comparison, despite being 5’9”.

My girlfriend, Lisa, was taller than both of us at 6’1”. She had long, curly blond hair that almost touched her 34c tits. Quite frankly, when she and I were together, it looked like a complete mismatch.

Lisa came with my friends and I to a keg party. She met Mike for the first time that night, and they spent most of the evening getting to know one another, talking over beers in front of the campfire while my buddies and I horsed around. At one point, I saw Mike and my girl sitting on the same chair. With little room for them both, she was almost sitting on his lap. I found this peculiar, because there were no shortages of places to sit.

Neither my girlfriend, nor Mike, budged when I walked towards them. Feeling awkward, I sat on the ground beside Mike’s legs. My girl and my buddy’s little brother continued talking to one another – sometimes even whispering to each other. They weren’t ignoring me, rather, they were just more interested in each other.

Mike was saying all the right things to her. I never made her nervously giggle the way she did with him. She tried to hide her laughter when Mike kicked his sneakers off and put his legs up on my shoulders. I had enough beers in me by that point that I didn’t even attempt to push them off me. Instead I passed out, using Mike’s big sweatsock-covered foot as a pillow.

Jock Dragged Me Home With My Girlfriend, Fucked Her While I Slept

I don’t remember much of what happened that night, other than my girl telling me to thank Mike for taking my drunk-ass home. She made it sound like he carried me, but from what my buddies told me, he gripped the back of my shirt and dragged me into the car with one hand. When I awoke, I noticed my girlfriend’s side of the bed was untouched. I assumed she slept on the couch, not wanting to sleep beside the inebriated mess that was her boyfriend.

Lisa apologized if Mike and her had made too much noise while I slept. Confused, she told me that, after Mike had carried (dragged?) me to bed, he stayed behind for a little while, hanging with my girlfriend on the couch outside my bedroom. I sat down the couch, and from the corner of my eye, I saw her panties between the cushion folds. On the right armrest, there were wet streams on the fabric. Looking down, I saw a dirty sock on the ground. I knew it was Mike’s sweatsock, recognizing the scent, remembering that my face was cheek to cheek with his foot before I passed out.

I reached down and grabbed the white sock, and used it to clean up whatever streams were on the armrest, but most of it had already bee absorbed into the couch. Distracted by the sweatsock’s scent, I took a whiff of it, though I’m not sure why. One sniff made me wide-eyed, like I just drank a jolt of caffeine. I put the sock in a ziplock bag and hid it in the drawer of my office desk. I’m not sure why I did that, either.

Lisa came home late the next night walking funny, like she had just stepped off of a treadmill. Apparently Mike surprised her at work, and the two of them ended up going back to his place. I didn’t want to intrude on the new-found friendship between my best friend’s little brother and my girlfriend, and quite frankly, I hadn’t want to bring her down – she was giddy since they met.

As she walked past me, I recognized a familiar scent, and realized it was the same one that came from Mike sweatsock. I saw her looking around the couch and when I asked what she was looking for, she said she dropped something when Mike had brought me home. She also told me Mike left his sock behind, and asked if I threw it in the laundry, assuming it was mine. For some reason, I lied and told her I didn’t see anything.

She knew I was lying, and I knew she wasn’t being completely honest with me. Mike was the unspoken common denominator between us. She smiled at me, and I opened my mouth. We both wanted to say something to one another, but for whatever reason, we bit our tongues.

When she walked away, I panicked, wondering what I would say if Mike came by looking for his dirty sweatsock. I questioned why I felt fear upon facing Mike, who was younger and smaller than me. I should have been ashamed of such a feeling, and yet, I couldn’t scrub the smile off my face. I felt like I was on the precipice of something, and I knew it was connected to Mike. I sat in my office chair, opened up the ziplock bag containing Mike’s sock, and buried my nose in the bag. The scent was still there, and the high it gave me was something no drug could ever provide. It smelled like he had worn them all day during a workout, playing baseball and maybe even his day job. They were new socks, still white and lint-free, but an entire day’s worth of hard-laboured sweat had turned the sole of the sock brown, maybe a little charcoal.

With the sock in my hand, I went online to creep Mike’s Facebook page. A photo of he and Lisa was front and center. He was looking at the camera, a smirk on his lips and a thumbs-up on his hand. The combination of how hot my girlfriend looked in the jock’s arms hypnotized me. I identified authority, assertiveness and superiority. I scrolled down and saw another picture of the two of them. This time my girlfriend’s lips were kissing Mike’s cheek. The scent of Mike’s sock in my left hand grew stronger. I zoomed in on my wipe’s lips touching Mike’s skin, unzipping my pants and taking my throbbing cock out.

A few minutes later, I cleaned myself up, re-bagged Mike’s sock, shoved it in my drawer and crawled into bed. When I snuggled up to Lisa, I felt her big rubber dildo near her legs. I could tell she had masturbated and passed right out. I marveled at how we both came in the same evening, in the same household, without each other. I wondered what she had thought about when she used that monster on herself, and pondered telling her about my fixation with Mike’s sock.

Later that day, I bumped into Mike at a grocery store. He could tell I was nervous around him while we made small talk. I invited him back to my place for a few beers. Mike kicked back and watched the game while I made him a sandwich, fetching him a new bottle after he polished off his first brew. Unlike me, Mike could hold his alcohol, and I found myself pissing every other minute from the half a beer I drank. On my fourth trip back – and I don’t know why I made this spontaneous decision – I grabbed Mike’s sock out of my drawer – still bagged up – and handed it to him. I told him he must have forgotten it the other night, ending my sentence with an awkward laugh.

I Used My Best Friend's Little Brother's Big Feet as a Pillow

Mike immediately looked at me with that smirk I was getting used to. His eyes suggested he had confirmed something he suspected about me. Mike threw the bag at my head lightly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head when I didn’t catch it. The kid didn’t ask why I had the sock in a ziplock bag. Instead, he got up, the smirk on his face still evident, slapped me cheeks a little, and told me I could keep the sock. I felt a sense of approval, like I had struck gold or earned a promotion of some sort. I was beaming, and I couldn’t explain why.

Buddy's Little Bro Blackmailed Me into Being his Foot-Fag

Then, something happened I didn’t see coming. Mike sat back down and put his legs up on my coffee table. He signaled for me to come closer with his index finger, and when I got close enough, he pointed down, towards his shoes. He didn’t say a word, and nor did I, when I instinctively dropped to my knees and began unlacing his sneakers.

“I didn’t leave the sock here accidentally, faggot.” Mike said as I unlaced his first shoe. He nodded to his other shoe, and I switched sides to unlace it. Mike held each leg up so I could pull his sneakers off his feet, laughing at me as I used all my strength to pull them off, falling on my ass the second time I did.

Mike Knew I Jerked Off Sniffing His Socks

“Drunk or not, I saw the way you were drawn to my feet at that party, dude.” Mike said, grabbing his beer and taking a swig, looking down at his socks. They were white, clearly a new pair that had been worn for a while, the imprints on the base of the sweatsocks suggesting he hadn’t taken them off in a while. The scent emitting from each pair was putting me in a trance-like state, though I as fully cognitive.

Buddy's Litte Brother Shoved His Dirty Sweat Sock in My Mouth

“With your girl in my arms, you came right over to us, right down to my feet, not even flinching when I used you as a footrest.” He said, shaking his head at me. Using my foot as a pillow confirmed to me what I had suspected all this time I knew you. You’re a foot-fag.”

“Mike, I don’t–” I tried to speak, before he shoved his foot in my mouth.

“Did I say you could speak, homo?” He said with a stern look. I shook my head no as he pulled his socked-foot out of my mouth.

MIke Threatened to Tell My Friends I Was a Foot-Fag

“Listen, don’t worry, it’s cool.” He continued, putting his hands behind his head. “I didn’t tell your girl your little secret, and I didn’t tell our friends. Your secret’s safe with me.”
“But Mike, I’m not–”
(SMACK!) Mike’s foot slapped my cheek harshly.
“You really want to play that game, dude?”

Mike Threatened to Tell My Wife I Masturbated With His Dirty Socks

“You wanna be my foot-fag, or not?” Mike perched up, his body language suggesting he was ready to walk out of the house. I panicked, not wanting him to leave. I shook my head no, eyes down, embarrassed and excited at the same time. Mike placed his foot under my chin to lift my head up, so he could look me in the eyes.

Jock Ordered Me To Take His Sweatsocks Off His Feet

“There’s gonna be some changes around here.” Mike said, slowly taking his sweatsock off and playing with it, tossing it from one hand to the other. I felt like a dog watching a tennis ball about to be thrown.

Baseball Jock Asked Me What His Sweaty Foot Tasted Like

“I’m gonna be spending a lot more time here. You’re not, specifically when I’m with your girl. You’ll do exactly what I tell you to do, and if you follow my rules, well…” Mike held up his dirty sweatsock and dangled it in front of my face. “…we’ll all be happy. Won’t we?”

I looked up at Mike and nodded my head in approval.

Baseball Jock Told Me To Lick the Stink Off His Big Feet“Who’s the boss?” He asked me, head cocked.
“You are.”
“You are, what?”
“You are, Sir.”
“Show me.”

Straight Jock Told Me to Suck His SocksI leaned over and hovered my face in front of Mike’s big bare foot sole. It was meaty, exactly what expect a jock’s foot to look like, and since he was short and stocky, it seemed even thicker. My eyes met his when my lips made contact with the base of his foot. His smirk turned into a grin, and his fist formed a thumbs-up in my direction.

Best Friend's Little Brother Made Me a Foot Fag

“Attaboy.” He said in approval.

Big Jock Humiliated Me With His Stinky Foot