CHAPTER 307 - IMPENDING DOOM
Tuesday, May 26 (9:10 PM)
"Ugghmmph! Ugghmph!" I screamed, shaking my head no over and over in a desperate attempt to let my captors know I was in distress. I struggled in vain to protest through the puke-inducing sock plugging my mouth up and tried my best to formulate some sort of comprehensible plea from beneath my speech-impeding tape muzzle.
I wanted to let the armoured sentinels know that the shoes they'd fished out from the main entryway weren't normal, and desperately wanted to inform them of the fact that those battered sneakers had spent a decade being worn by a man with a clinically-diagnosed foot-related disorder.
In my panic to notify my captors of their mistake, I drew a single laboured sniff through my heavy-duty breathing filter and was immediately punished with the unspeakably rotten stench escaping from my husbandly Master's not-so-distant basketball shoes. Tears instantly welled up in my eyes as I coughed and gagged on the revoltingly putrid smell.
I loved my boyfriend. Loved everything about him; from his fiercely overprotective nature to his highly attentive and hyper-dominant personality. His touch was soothing enough to make me melt and his body was tremendous to the point of filling me with fear. Just the sight of him coming into bed at night - strutting into the room with only his boxers on - was enough to make me all jittery. I was head over heels for the man, and still regularly experienced awe and disbelief at the fact that he had chosen me as his mate. Nick wasn't just a tremendously hulking, dominant guy. He was the absolute Boss of bosses. And yet, for reasons still unknown to me, he saw fit to keep me as his personal consort and fill me up with superior Hoffmann seed on a near-nightly basis.
Even taking into account his rough edges, his crude behaviour and his sometimes brutish personality, I was beyond blessed to have him. His footwear, however, was a totally different matter.
Nick had a very severe condition; one which had been plaguing him since his early teen years. His foot odour was inexplicably potent and the smell produced by his soles was unnaturally foul. Even the daily use of his anti-fungal prescription creams and the implementation of a strict sock-changing regimen wouldn't have protected me from his indescribably pungent ailment.
His soles were freakishly oversized. Their incredible length was somewhat reasonably proportioned to his mountainous 6ft4 stature, but their width and the fatness of his toes was quite grandiose, to say the least.
The odour they gave off was virtually unmatched and the reek coming out of his work boots and decade-old basketball shoes was beyond the point of puke-worthy.
While I found the acrid cheesiness of Zack's foot odour insanely distressing and feared Shawn's socks even more than my boyfriend's, no one was cursed with an irksome ability to stink a room up quite as fast and as bad as Nick could. You could wash his massive soles with a soapy sponge, scrub the cracks in between his uber fat toes, and then have him sit down in front of the TV for a while...only to have his feet stink the room up just two or three hours after they'd been washed.
I realise that on paper this may sound kinda hot, but I assure you, when you're living it day in and day out, it starts getting old real fast.
The only reason why our place didn't permanently reek of foot odour when Nick was home came down to the fact that he pretty much always had his bad boys on. Basically, the only time those morbidly decrepit basketball shoes were kicked off was to shower and sleep. While it's true that I was somewhat grateful for the protection they afforded me, the mere thought of getting up close and personal with them was distressing enough to send even the most resilient of foot odour fetichists scurrying away in a frenzied panic.
Accidentally catching a whiff of the putrescent fumes coming out of them when I took them out of the closet upon Nick's arrival from work each evening was already bad enough. But having to actually take sniffs of the rotten odour festering inside their chasm-like maws was something out of an Alfred Hitchcock horror movie.
I hadn't sampled the full potency of my boyfriend's shoes since that initial ride to Brad's cottage almost ten months ago, and I sure as hell wasn't looking forward to drawing laboured sniffs from out of them now!
I was quite literally screaming for help and choking beneath my foul sockgag when the devilish vibrating knobs resumed stimulating my engorged crotch and roaming across my body. I wasn't screaming for my captors to stop, mind you. I was screaming for them to toss my boyfriend's putrid shoes away. My eyes were watering over from the stench and my pleas for mercy were growing more panicked by the second.
Still, the impossibly burly masked sentinels paid my desperate screams and protests no heed. They just ran their high-powered wands atop my aroused body and watched as I drew sniff after sniff through the heavy-duty filter adorning the front of my breathing unit.
*KKKFFFFFFT. HHFFFFFFF*
*KKKFFFFFFT. HHFFFFFFF*
*KKKFFFFFFT. HHFFFFFFF*
*BBBVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV*
An exasperated and somewhat relieved whimper finally escaped my gagged lips when a set of large fingers made contact with my bulging erection. I was overjoyed beyond words when those same gloved fingers took hold of the small zipper that constituted my crotch access and began slowly and dramatically pulling it down.
My six-inch hard-on immediately sprung out of the darlex body sack; bobbing up and down as though possessed with a mind of its own.
A shiver ran down my spine and my thighs quaked with envy when the sensual embrace of leathery digits reached into the sleepsack's crotch access and pulled my hairless nuts out. The diminutive access was then partially zipped back up, and my throbbing erection grew even angrier as the opening closed in and tightened around the base of my engorged appendage.
With my cock and balls now fully exposed and with the rest of my body still trapped inside the maddening prison, I felt more vulnerable than ever.
Words cannot adequately convey the sheer mixture of panic and dread I experienced when the behemoth on my left pulled his torturous wand away from me and extended a hand to grab one of the vomit-inducing basketball shoes he'd fished out of my boyfriend's entryway closet.
The brute's breathing became erratic and I could tell from the way he handled the monstrously worn-out trainer that he wanted nothing to do with it. I couldn't blame him. I didn't wanna have anything to do with it either!
Unfortunately for me, the menacing goliath had other plans...for both myself and his unlucky accomplice.
I watched as he brought the shoe up to his unsuspecting counterpart's inhaler and watched as the wand-wielding leviathan whose sock I was sucking on gagged and broke down into a series of heart-wrenching coughs. The poor sentry batted his associate's hand away and seemed greatly destabilised by the impossibly foul reek now lingering inside his gasmask.
His breathing grew ragged and the sound of his heavily filtered coughs soon filled the dimly-lit bedroom.
*HFF. KKKFFFF. KFFF. HHFF*
*KKKFFFF. KFFF. HHFF. KFF*
As embarrassing and as irksome as Nick's dreadfully fearsome foot odour was, I had absolutely no qualms about seeing it imposed on those who were deserving of serious punishment. Wait a minute. Scratch that. I didn't only not have qualms about seeing it imposed on others...I found it fuckin' hot!
Seeing the masked sentinel choke and gag on the unbearably rotten stench of Nick's giant shoe just filled me up with pride. Pride at the fact that he'd just caught a whiff of my own husbandly boyfriend's shoe, and pride at the fact that the colossal muscle-god whose foot odour he'd just choked on was the same beefy hunk injecting his fertile seed inside me each night.
I remember being filled up with that same sense of pride upon seeing Jeremy gag on my man's smelly jock-pouch a few nights ago, and experienced that very same rush back when Nick had wrestled Brad down and gagged him with a raunchy sock back at the country cottage last summer.
That being said, under any other circumstance, the spectacle of the cheesy-footed leviathan's revolted reaction would've been a cause for celebration. But only for the briefest of moments did I allow myself to draw any satisfaction from it.
'Yeah! Choke on that, you big oaf. That's my boyfriend's shoe you're sniffing.' I silently cheered, my throbbing boner bobbing left and right as I saw the faceless goliath clawing at his own gasmask in a desperate attempt to escape the putrid fumes now festering inside it.
Had it not been for the sight of the shoe-wielding behemoth finally turning his attention toward me, I would've undoubtedly cherished the moment for quite a while longer.
Alas, the heavily sickened sentinel on my right eventually recovered from his traumatising encounter with my Master's shoe, and before I knew it, both he and his masked companion were looming menacingly over my terrified face.
*KKKFFFFFFT. HHFFFFFFF*
*KKKFFFFFFT. HHFFFFFFF*
*KKKFFFFFFT. HHFFFFFFF*
Gargantuan gloved hands took hold of my rubbery head, forcing me to watch as the freakishly gaping and morbidly putrescent maw of Nick's colossal basketball shoe came down.
This was it, I knew.
This was the end of me.
Death by my own boyfriend's unbearably putrid foot odour.
But as Steven said that the foot shape is not the same as Nick's I remained puzzled. I think we all know that Steven knows Nick's feet. They are practically his second home and I think he could even find them in a room of 10 men blindfolded and with his hands tied behind his back! So he knows what's up!
! I am glad to finally be on point with the main story of the main alpha, the silencer of thinks, the king of socks and word and, most importantly, the creator of Zack 
And you know [mention]bondagefreak[/mention] is stealthy strategic.... 