The Sock

She opens the door, and nervously shuffles into the changing room. Her tits are crammed into a pink sports bra so tightly that you couldn’t help but hold a hope that one of her ample breasts would pop out. She was still biting her lip, in a way that radiated the image of her as a sole packless gazelle in the middle of the Serengeti. And her eyes?

Once they spied your dirty stinky sock, they were locked.

“Ah, I thought it was you,” You lower your foot to the ground and stand up. “This wasn’t in the bag, but I thought you might enjoy seeing it.”

“Look..” she turns her head away, but her eyes don’t move with it. “..I just want my bag back. You said you have it right?”

“I did.” You say, taking another step closer. She takes a step back towards the wall.

“Look. The socks in there…” she began.

“You stole them from the boys locker room.” You say confidently. “I understand. You just couldn’t help yourself.”

“It’s not like that…” she pouted, sniffing the air involuntarily. “Look. Look. Just give me my backpack alright? And...uh, don’t go spreading lies to campus security.”

“It’s right here.” You reach under the bench and grab the backpack and hold it up. For a brief second she manages to look away from your sock, though even the backpack can’t hold her attention away from it for long. Once her eyes refocus on the sock, you toss the backpack at her. She only barely catches it, scrambling not to drop it in midair. While she’s distracted you take another step closer.

When she turns back to face you, your sock is hanging only a few inches from the top of her nose. Her eyes go wide, and her mouth opens in a gasp. Her tongue hangs slightly, wet and hungry. A second later she bridges the gap, and leans her face against your dirty sock. She rubs the tip of her nose against it, letting the strong masculine stench fill her nostrils. Her long wet tongue rolled out of her mouth and pressed against the sock’s surface, letting the salty sweat from it linger on her tongue.

Too your deep satisfaction, you hear her loudly moan into the sock’s surface.

“You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone. My name..” you go on, “is Pit. What I do is help friendly fetish minded folks such as yourself get hooked up with the stuff they long for. You don’t need to steal socks from the boy’s locker room. If you want to hear more, I know a way to make sure that you never run out of smelly pungent guys clothes. I’m the best man on campus”

For the most that was true. Well, except for a few minor details. Like the fact that all things considered you were probably at best the fourth or fifth best fetish dealer on campus. Or maybe the fact that you’d only started doing this about three months ago in order to have money to support your own...interests.

“So?” You let go of the sock. She scrambles to catch it, and then reapplies it to her face with both hands. Your eyes glance down to her sports bra, which now sports a pair of two hard nubs poking out, **** for freedom and attention. “Want to hear more?”