It's officially socks in bed weather

Did you publish this knowing that your worshippers would further debase themselves by fantasizing about self-pleasuring and climaxing inside one of your castaway socks, left on the floor? Do women enjoy torturing those men who worship every inch of their bodies? 

I am locked in a long abandoned utility closet Ms. Rey discovered in her apartment building.  I have been in that closet for 3 weeks now.  Naked except for an aroma casket hood.  After your workout at the Equinox around the corner you cool down on your walk back and of course, I hear you, as I know your gait, when you exit the elevator.  I hear your key in the lock and then feel your hands near my neck, releasing the bonds that keep me eyeying the floor.

 

'Time to change your socks' you say sweetly.  You unscrew the canisters containing your last workout socks and exchange them with the new freshly unfresh socks.  Day in day out I can only breath through articles of your clothing.  I have not drawn a breath for weeks now that wasn't through your sweatiest gym socks or your panties.

 

As you lock the newly filled canisters you pat my head and say 'There you are sweetie, all freshly unfresh for you - breathe me in loser boy'  You giggle and lock the door.

See what I mean?