As my mother inserted her foot into the wool sock and stretched the footwear tight against her skin, I found myself pressed back into her sole yet again.
My face was buried in her hot skin, and I turned my head to breathe. Though the pressure was much less intense, I still found myself unable to move. The rough fibers rubbed against my back and buttocks, and my chest heaved in and out against her foot. My penis was hard; I just hoped I could mantain my composure so as to keep any additional punishment out of my mother's mind.
She then lowered her foot and placed it inside the shoe. As she wiggled her toes and foot into the tight space, I once again found myself sandwhiched between her skin and the shoe, with a thick layer of sock seperating the two. She wasn't using "Crush Weight" this time, merely content it seemed to let her foot rest inside the shoe until the "temperature and moisture" readings had been acheived.
Oxygen was at a premium inside that space. I soon understood that deep breaths would only make my situation worse, so I practiced short inhalations followed by even shorter exhales. How long the air would last--I didn't know. I could only pray that her foot and sock would get hot and wet enough before all air dissapeared.
Though the tight, dark, muffled confines made any movement impossible, I still wanted to laugh. Who would have ever prayed that their mother's foot, while placed on top of them, would get hot and wet as soon as possible?
And so, time passed. With it, the temperature around me increased. I felt my skin break out in a layer of sweat, and the air around my face and skin was laden with thick moisture as my mom's foot began to lightly prespire. After a while, my sweat was more than matched by the continous, salty sweat of my mother's sole. It bathed my body, from head to toe, and I shut my eyes tightly to keep the burning moisture out.
The sock surrounding me began to absorb some of the sweat, and the fabric grew damp and finally became soaked, caking to my back like a wet towel wrapped tightly about me. As I breathed harder, I couldn't stop my mom's foot-sweat from getting inside my mouth. And, despite Lindsay's warning, I was unable to avoid swallowing some of it. I felt the liquid slide down my throat and into my belly. Nausua began to set in, but I fought the feeling back. Surely this was almost over?
More time passed. Sounds outside the sock were totally cut-off. My mom occasionally shifted her foot inside the shoe, and I got the feeling, based on how relaxed her sole was, that she was reading or filling out paperwork. I could feel each of her heartbeats pushing blood through her skin, and with each subtle shift of her foot, individual muscles inside her foot. No one had ever been this close to his own mother before, I surmised, save pre-birth.
The temperature increased yet further. I tried to wiggle, hoping that the slick conditions might allow some more freedom of movement. I found that all I could muster was a small wiggle back-and-forth near my crotch. Doing so, I soon discovered, awakened the feeling inside my penis. My erection was certainly real, and I pondered how such a depraved situation could have possibly excited me. Was it the domination? The maternal power over my helpless body? Simply the aroma of a sweating female?
Whatever the cause, I kept wiggling my member against my mom's sole. Lindsay was right--the only way I was going to pass time here was to find some kind of pleasure in it. As sick as that thought was, I knew that if I ejaculated on my mom's sole, amidst all this moisture, she would never know.
Guilt was overriden by desperation; I was desperate to make time go by quicker, and to satisfy the urges growing stronger within me with each passing moment. I wiggled faster and faster, pressing my member deep into the sweaty, swollen skin. My mom must have noticed the new movement, for a sudden wave of fresh pressure was applied to my body. After a moment it abated, and so I began again, this time trying to keep my movements less noticable.
I tried not to picture my mom's face; her short, blond, spiky hair; her red lipstick; her miniskirt; her lightly tanned skin; her wonderfully pedicured toenails; her total oblivious knowledge of my plight.
Instead, I just focused on the foot and sole around me. The odor had long since passed into something that was now a part of my very soul. The sweat was lubricant; the pressure the neccessary friction; the situation the motivation. With a final lurch, and putting all restraints aside, I ejaculated on my mom's sole. Again and again I freed myself, trying to keep my movements small and undetectable.
Finally, I finished my passion and relaxed. More guilt swept over me, but I pushed it aside just as quickly as it had arisen. My body was now at peace with the current situation. Taking the first deep breath in a long time, inhaling my mom's odor, I lay in place and absorbed the torture.