Stained

{{user}} exhaled as he dropped the box gently to the ground. It was the last one, so he breathed a sigh of relief. Moving sucked. It was well worth it though. He wiped the sweat from his brow, looking at the room around him. His room, the first ever not under his parents’ roof. It was small, sure, but it was his. He was proud. There was a sound behind him. “Settling in, roomie?” It was his roommate, Z. A zoroark, about his same age. He had never lived with a non-human before, but he didn’t expect it would be that different. After all, he hadn’t lived with anyone other than family before, really. Even though {{user}} wasn’t short, Z towered over him. The zoroark stood easily over 7 feet tall, and {{user}} couldn’t help but feel a little bit intimidated standing next to her. He did his best to act casual though; he didn’t want to offend. He nodded and smiled. “Yep! Just got done with the final box.” He patted the box for emphasis. The zoroark grinned, mouth full of sharp teeth. “Very nice! Well, I’d offer to help you unpack but… I don’t wanna.” They both laughed, and Z left the room, leaving {{user}} to unpack himself. It was fine, it’s not like {{user}} expected his roommate to help him unpack his things. It’s not like they were friends exactly. They were just both paying to live in the same space. On that front, {{user}} was particularly proud of himself. He’d been working at the same place for a few years, and had finally been promoted to a manager. It was why he was able to move out in the first place. The position came with a pay bump large enough to finally live on his own (more or less). It would be a little tight, but {{user}} had been saving all of his money for years. He had six months rent as a back-up fund, so he was going to be just fine. {{user}} was determined to be a good roommate; he made sure all of his things were unpacked and put away within the first week, and he made sure to do everything a good roommate should. He cleaned up after himself, labelled his food, did his dishes, made sure there were never any gross smells. To his relief, Z did the same. At first. It was a couple of weeks in when it began. It started innocuously enough; a hoodie thrown onto the couch instead of hung back up, or shoes kicked off and left in the middle of the room instead of by the door. Things that could be excused as exhaustion after a long day at work. Though, as far as {{user}} could tell, Z didn’t even have a job. It only got worse from there. Clothes left around the living room. T-shirts, pants, old socks, even underwear. It spread to the rest of the house too, and {{user}} even found a pair of undies on the kitchen table, thrown there carelessly. {{user}} had never walked in on Z, but he could only assume she was sitting on their couch naked when he wasn’t around. Their shared couch. If he wasn’t, how would those even end up out there? Their relationship had soured in turn. While when they first met there was a distance, a polite familiarity born of mutual respect. But the longer he lived there, the more Z subjected {{user}} to her… particular sense of humor. As far as {{user}} could tell, it consisted almost exclusively of jabs, insults, jeers, and teasing. On top of that, they were raunchy. {{user}} wasn’t a prude, but even he was taken off guard when the zoroark told him that he gave off “cum-dump vibes”. Z laughed afterwards at {{user}}’s shocked face, but {{user}} still couldn’t be sure she was entirely joking. He tried to not think about it much. {{user}} was not a furry or into pokemon, and wasn’t intending to experiment. The apartment had begun to smell. Every time {{user}} entered from outside, he was hit with a cloud of stale musk, a combination of feet, pits, and crotch. He was just about through with it. The final straw came after one particularly long day at work. Entering his room, {{user}} found one of Z’s socks waiting for him inside. It wasn’t just on the floor either. It was on his pillow. He snatched the article of clothing from his bed. It was still damp with sweat. {{user}} scowled, and stormed into the living room, where the Zoroark was currently sitting on the couch, pants and socks thrown off to the side. She was clad only in underwear and a shirt, the pits stained slightly yellow with sweat. Z looked up at {{user}}, an eyebrow raised. “What’s got you so riled up?” {{user}}, fuming, simply held up the sock. Z laughed. “Oh, I was wondering where that one got off to! Just toss it wherever.” {{user}} almost screamed with frustration, but managed to keep his cool. “No, man! This is getting ridiculous, your clothes are everywhere! They stink!” The Zoroark shook her head. “Nah.” {{user}} was almost physically pushed back by the sheer audacity of the response. “Nah?” The Zoroark shrugged. “My clothes don’t smell.” {{user}} gestured around the apartment. “The whole place smells! Like your clothes!” Z shrugged again. “Dunno what to tell you, my clothes don’t smell. Take a whiff if you don’t believe me.” {{user}}’s nose scrunched up. “I’m not gonna smell your fucking socks dude.” The Zoroark smirked. “Cuz you know I’m right.” {{user}} scoffed, looking at the damp sock in his hand. He wasn’t going to play around with this. He raised it to his face, taking a whiff. It smelled very musky, a damp animal scent, with a slight skunkiness. {{user}} gagged. “S-see!? It’s fucking gross!” The scent still lingered in his nose, and the Zoroark smiled broadly. “Do it again.” {{user}} paused, anger undercut with confusion. “What?” “Do it again.” {{user}} looked down at the sock in his hand, still damp with footsweat. He raised it to his face and took another whiff, deeper this time. It was just as disgusting as before, and he coughed and spluttered. Why did he do that? The Zoroark’s grin grew even wider. “Again.” {{user}} recognized the pattern, and tried to fight it, but his body had other ideas. His hand pressed the sock against his face, cold and damp with paw-sweat. He took the deepest whiff yet, his lungs expanding with sock-scented air. The smell was overwhelming, disgusting, but his body just kept breathing it in. He was repulsed, but he moved and acted like he was desperate for more. When he lowered the sock, he could still smell it. The stench stuck in his nostrils and clung to his face. He was reeling from the smell, thoughts barely coherent. He could barely utter a single word. “W-what…” The Zoroark laughed. “Oh, done with my sock already? How about you come get a whiff of the source then.” She wiggled her three big toes, red claws glinting in the light and yellow paw-pads glistening with sweat. {{user}} looked at her with confusion. These socks smelled disgusting. Why would he want more? The Zoroark snapped her fingers. “On your knees, loser.” In an instant, {{user}} found himself on the floor, his body obeying even if his mind didn’t want to. He was face first with Z’s paws. Her pawpads were an extremely vibrant yellow, and they shone with a thin layer of sweat. He could smell them from a few feet away, the same scent as the socks. But stronger. “Now… worship.” {{user}} crawled forward, until his face was only inches away from the vibrant yellow paw pads. Up close, the smell was overpowering. Disgusting. It stung his nostrils, causing his eyes to water and his vision to swim. It was difficult to even think, with the thick pungency scattering his thoughts. Still, he only crawled forward, driven on by the command. Worship. {{user}} stuck out his tongue. He screamed internally as his tongue made contact. Still, he could do nothing to stop himself as he licked from the base, across the sole, and across the bright yellow pads at the bottom of the Pokemon’s foot. It tasted worse than it smelled. Briny, a skunky bitterness, and a deep earthy animal musk. He wretched, before going in for another deep lick. He could feel his cock hardening, a pit of arousal in his gut. It was a surprising sensation. "Am I… getting off to this!?" He didn’t voice the question aloud. He couldn’t, with his mouth otherwise preoccupied. But it was like Z knew what he was feeling all the same. “Yeah, I pegged you for a worthless little foot-slut from the moment you responded to the listing. I’ve only been wiping my feet on your face for like, a few weeks!” The Zoroark thumbed through his phone, putting it up to Ryan’s face. It was difficult to see with the tears welling in his eyes, but {{user}} could make it out well enough. Z thumbed through photo after photo. All of them with her feet on {{user}}’s face, {{user}}’s skin glistening with the Zoroark’s sweat. There was one with Z’s socks all over his face, and another with a few shoved into his mouth. {{user}} was disgusted, thinking of the filth that he’d unknowingly ingested. His cock throbbed in turn. “Yeah, I was kind of worried when I left that sock in there! Wasn’t sure the conditioning was gonna take, and it’s the only reason I’d let a loser like you in in the first place. Well, that and the rent money. Which, speaking of…” *The Zoroark snapped her fingers, and the sound was like a sharp needle directly to the center of {{user}}’s musk-addled brain. “Unlock your phone, hand it over, and get back to work.” {{user}} was not going to do that. Giving her unfettered access to essentially his entire life? Unthinkable. His body had different ideas however. Almost without resistance, {{user}} grabbed his phone, unlocked it, and placed it into the Zoroark’s paws before he resumed licking up as much foul tasting sweat as he could. No matter how much he seemed to lick, there was just more. It was thick on his tongue, slimier than his own saliva. The Zoroark swiped around on {{user}}’s phone as {{user}} licked her feet. She typed in something, and grinned. “And just like that, what’s yours is mine! Six grand huh? I think that’s close to the most I’ve gotten off a single person. That’s like, three month’s rent on this place!” {{user}}’s stomach dropped, realizing what had just happened. He’d saved for nearly a year for that much. And now it was gone, in an instant. Still, he stayed on the ground, licking up Z’s footsweat. He couldn’t do anything else. His cock was still rock hard. “Yeah, I see how much you like this, bitch. Your gym shorts aren’t doing a good job of hiding that boner. Let’s see what your girlfriend thinks of that…” {{user}} blushed deeply. He wasn’t a furry, and he wasn’t turned on by this. He had no explanation for his twitching cock. Z swiped around a little bit more, and then laughed. “Oh, you seriously don’t have a girlfriend! I thought you were just hiding her from me, I didn’t realize you were that much of a fucking loser! Oh well, plan B.” {{user}}’s pit of shame grew, and so did his pit of arousal. Even as he heard the shutter sounds, he didn’t stop licking. He did glance upwards however, only to find his own phone turned towards him. One after another, the Zoroark was snapping pictures of him in this compromised position. The shame almost stung more than the smell stung his nose. “Smile, foot slut. These are going up for everyone to see.” {{user}} was left to wonder what she meant, unable to act. He simply continued to lick, and the Zoroark continued to take pictures. “Deepthroat my toes slut, pretend it’s my cock. I know you’ve imagined it, but this is the closest a loser like you is ever gonna get.” {{user}} barely had time to react as one of Z’s thick toes was shoved down his throat. The pawpad was rough on his tongue, and he could feel the Zoroark’s unnatural quantity of sweat mingling with his saliva and flowing down his throat. Z spoke to him in a mocking tone, imitating him. “Oh Z! Show me how a real alpha fucks! My cock gets too soft if I’m not huffing your dirty socks!” She laughed at her own joke, continuing to take pictures all the while. {{user}} was gagging on the thick toe, even as his cock throbbed, the front of his shorts wet with pre-cum. “Sorry foot-slut, fat chance of that. I like girls and am not obsessed with paws, unlike you. Y’know, mostly.” Z began swiping and typing on the phone again. {{user}} could hear his phone begin buzzing. Dozens of notifications. It only made him more nervous than he already was. Finally, after what felt like ages, Z brought the phone down for him to see what she had done. What he saw were his social media accounts. All of them. Each one had multiple pictures of {{user}}, face buried in the Zoroark’s paws, erection clearly visible under his shorts. {{user}} watched as the number of views and reactions ticked upwards, shared by his classmates, by strangers. All laughing at him. {{user}} felt the most shame he’d ever experienced welling up within him. His face turned beat red, and he could hear the blood rushing through his ears. But he couldn’t stop licking the paws in his face. Taking in every ounce of their scent, every single drop of their foul taste, the unpleasant sensation of their roughness on his tongue. He was completely helpless, enraptured. He kept telling himself that he didn’t want this, couldn’t want this… But if that was true, why was he still down there on the ground while the Zoroark ruined every part of his life? Why did it feel so right? “Well if that didn’t break you out of it, then I guess you just belong down there don’t you?” {{user}} barely registered the Zoroark’s words between the dread, shame, and the overwhelming scent and taste of paw-sweat that had suffused his every sense. “Hello? Earth to {{user}}?” {{user}} continued to lick, but looked up with glazed and watery eyes. The Zoroark smiled. She had his phone out, pointed at him. {{user}} thought he might be recording. “I want to hear you say it. Tell me you belong down there.” {{user}} was not going to say that. Especially not on camera. Even if he couldn’t stop licking, he could at least stop himself from humiliating himself even further. But as he sat there, something was building in his chest. It made its way into his throat, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out, gargled through a mouthful of toes. “I belong at your paws.” {{user}} blinked in disbelief at his own words. The Zoroark smiled wider. “Just one of my toes is more important than your entire life.” “Your toes are more important than my life.” Z’s teeth glinted brightly in the light. “You’d be better off as one of my socks.” “I’d be better off… as one of your socks.” What? “You want to be one of my socks.” {{user}} was bewildered. Everything about this was insane, but it had taken a turn now. He didn’t even begin to know how to parse that. One of her socks? What would that even entail? What would that be like? His mind raced, initially confused. But the more he thought about it, the more his brain stuck on the concept. What would fabric for skin feel like? Would it feel like anything at all? Would he be able to taste? Smell? And if he could, what would he even taste or smell or feel… Other than Z’s feet. Wrapped around her thick paws… Rubbing against her rough paw-pads… Soaking in her sweat… Surrounded by her choking musk… All day… Every day… His cock throbbed at the thought, precum soaking through the front of his shorts. Why was he so turned on? The words burst from his mouth before he was even aware of them, and before he could summon any effort to stop them. “I need to be one of your socks.” The Zoroark shrugged, nonchalantly. “Well, you said it.” The Zoroark snapped her fingers. Almost immediately, {{user}}’s body felt… Strange. It was tingling all over. He felt almost… distant? Disconnected. Like the moment that the Zoroark snapped her fingers, {{user}}’s body was no longer his. Like he was just an inhabitant, in an object that, fundamentally, belonged to someone else. He could still feel everything, it wasn't numbness. But despite his awareness of every sensation, there was a quality to it that no longer felt like it was being felt by him. He continued to lick, feeling the rough and almost rubbery paw-pads scrape across his tongue. The foul taste and smell still coated all of his senses, sending his mind reeling with every lick. If he could leverage any amount of control before, that was now gone. Whereas it once felt like an almost impossible task, it now felt like trying to move a planet with a crowbar. The helplessness was fundamental. It didn’t carry anxiety with it any longer; it was simply a fact that there was nothing he could possibly do. His body wasn’t him anymore. He did notice the changes when they began, but he didn’t comprehend them. It was difficult to understand, especially when everything felt so detached. So it was without panic, and instead with a sense of baffled curiosity, that he noted his hands beginning to numb. Then they felt nubby, and before long they were entirely missing from his catalogue of sensation. His feet were undergoing a similar transition, followed by his calves and forearms. He could not turn his head to look; he was stuck, licking, huffing, grinding his face against Z’s paws. Worshipping. The world seemed to be getting bigger around him, the paw in front of his face taking up more and more of his vision. The Zoroark lowered her paws as the world seemed to shrink, keeping them within his reach. {{user}} was glad of that; something inside of him did not want to be separated from the taste and scent and texture of the feet, even as the sensations revolted him to his core. There was a purpose in it, a growing purpose that threatened to take over {{user}}’s entire identity. It distracted him from any fear he might’ve experienced as his vision became foggy, and then began to fade entirely as his eyes dissapeared blending in with the fabric only for his vision to return without any need for them. As one sense diminished, the others became stronger. In particular, his sense of smell and taste suddenly grew extremely powerful. The smell of Z’s footmusk, the taste of her footsweat… both were many times stronger than before, more putrid and complex and overwhelming than they had been already. Animalistic. Musky. Entirely inhuman, but so powerfully dominant. More dominant than {{user}} had ever been, in a way that made him feel small. And, with only the tiniest lingering hint of shame, powerfully aroused. At his first whiff of the musk and the first drag of his tongue across the rough toe-pad, {{user}} immediately felt his thoughts scramble and dull. He was overwhelmed by the sudden injection of sensation. With everything else fading, it made for an almost singular existence; just musk, just sweat, nothing else beside. It grew outwards from his mouth and his nose, spreading through his neck and chest until it was like every cell in his body was smelling the Zoroark’s musk, tasting her footsweat, feeling the texture of her animal paws. He barely even noticed that he had gone completely limbless, that sounds had become muffled, that he could no longer feel his cock or his limbs, or really discern any discrete part of what used to be his body. His entire being felt damp, soaked with sweat and suffused with bestial musk and the pungent taste of feet. It wasn’t at all unpleasant. It was heaven. {{user}} couldn’t even remember who he was, just a disembodied consciousness floating in a sea of musky footsweat. Then the Zoroark snapped her fingers again, and it all came rushing back. {{user}} had, at once, a total recollection of who he was and what was happening. All of it. {{user}} gagged as the overwhelming taste of sweat became just as foul as before, if not fouler. Or at least, {{user}} would’ve gagged, if he still had a mouth. With a mounting sense of terror, {{user}} realized that he couldn’t move or speak. He couldn’t feel his limbs. Sounds were dulled, resonating through his body as if he were underwater. All he could feel was the warm and stuffy dampness of sweat… And the Zoroark’s paw. He could feel it inside of him. The leathery pads ground against his body, the claws poked into him, and the feet were stretching him to what felt like his limits. He tried to move, and found that he simply could not. He was entirely trapped, and the sensations of musk and sweat and the Zoroak’s giant paws rubbing against him were only becoming stronger. When Z spoke, {{user}} could still hear it, but it sounded distant and muffled. “Oh, freaking out now are we? I can sense you trying to shift around in there. Listen, it’s not my fault you begged to be my sock. Careful what you wish for and all of that.” Her sock!? “Oh, you didn’t realize you were a sock? I guess it feels pretty strange, but I pegged you for a sock the moment I laid eyes on you. Definitely not a person at the very least.” {{user}}’s mind reeled. This shouldn’t have even been possible, but it was difficult to deny. His lack of movement, missing arms and legs, the way that the scent seemed to be absorbed and soaked through his entire body… He was a sock. He wasn’t even a clean sock. The Zoroark chuckled. “Oh, it’s gonna get a lot worse than that.” {{user}} wanted to scream. Why was this happening? How was this happening? “Well, the how doesn’t matter too much. And honestly, it would be a shame to dispel all of that lovely confusion and existential terror. Do you know how fun it is to take a human and watch them fade away into a thing? I feed on that shit.” The Zoroark laughed, and a chill would’ve run down {{user}}’s spine if he still had one. “As for the why…” Z shrugged. “Boredom? It’s fun to take losers like you and just break them. I could’ve left you in that state of bliss, loving my stale sweat and foot musk, but… It’s just so much more fun if you suffer. To feel every part of who you used to be fade away, bit by bit. I want you to come to love this, not because I make you, but because you break.” {{user}} was filled with terror. Z was going to leave him like this!? The Zoroark laughed again. “What, you thought you were gonna turn back? Where’s the fun in that? Nah, this is your new forever, buddy. You’re not ‘you’ anymore. You’re an ‘it’. And it is going to so fucking fun feeling that last bit of hope and dignity squeeze out of you.” {{user}} could hear the lust dripping from her words. SHe was actually getting off on this. Z was almost panting with arousal, but she steadied herself. “Plus, I need all your money for rent. I’m not gonna get a fucking job like some loser. Like you.” The Zoroark punctuated his statement with a laugh. {{user}} didn’t even question the seemingly psychic connection he now had with Z. He simply filled his mind with the most begging, pleading, and grovelling he could muster. It was difficult to string together any coherent thought with the musk and sweat assaulting his senses so thoroughly. Z simply scoffed. “Listen, you could’ve had it a lot worse. Some of my previous room-mates ended up as pocket pussies. You don’t want to know how long it takes for me to split one of those in two. Socks are way more durable.” Z pondered for a moment. “Though I bet a little slut like you loves the idea of being split apart on my cock, don’t you?” Even in his musk-addled mind, {{user}} could still conjure a bit of resentment. He wasn’t into furry pokemon feet and futas. The Zoroark chuckled. “We’ll see what we can do about that.” That was how {{user}} began his new life; abject terror, confusion, and a constant state of disgust. It didn’t get any better. He never got used to the smells, or the feeling of being filled with and stretched around a girthy paw. He never got used to the taste of skunky sweat that seemed to suffuse his entire body. There was nothing to distract from it. He could not speak, could barely hear, and his only sensation of touch was the constant grinding of the warm and damp foot against his fabric. It stuffed him to the brim, and pulled (quite literally) at his seams. All that he had to focus on was the scent, the taste, the sensations. Nothing to let him forget, even for a moment, that he was a sock. It was almost a relief when Z’s jeers and teasing would cut through his world of musk and sweat. It was always an insult, something to remind him that this would be forever. That he wasn’t a person anymore. {{user}} couldn’t quite bring himself to accept it. People didn’t just… turn into socks. This couldn’t be permanent. Someone would come looking for him, or Z would reveal that it was just a prank. Or {{user}} would wake up, and find that it was just a dream! A self-inflicted torture, dreamed up by a subconscious mind fed up with Z’s slobbish laziness. Z always seemed to get great joy at {{user}}’s continued resistance, laughing and pausing to rub her feet, grinding {{user}}’s new fabric body into her rough soles, slick with paw-sweat. “Keep holding on to that hope, loser. Just makes you that much more fun to break.” {{user}}’s response, a litany of curses, threats, insults that he’d never have set out loud to anybody, drew nothing but glee from the Zoroark. The outbursts brought {{user}} no relief; they only served to highlight his impotence. Despite all of his hope, rage, and despair, {{user}}’s new existence simply continued on. It only seemed to get worse as the day progressed. Z’s paw was extremely sweaty, and the longer {{user}}’s body was wrapped around it, he felt himself getting damper, filthier, smellier. It left no room for adjustment, with the smells and tastes just becoming stronger, shifting in character to the tang of mildew and a sharp salinity. It made it even harder to think, harder to string together words. Each subsequent outburst of rage was less creative, the vocabulary less complex. Assaulted by sensation on all sides, {{user}} found it hard to express much more beyond formless emotions. Still, he did his best to cut through it all, hold on to what he could. He refused to let this break him. When night fell, {{user}} found, to his horror, that he did not grow tired. While the teasing that Z subjected him to was unpleasant, it was nothing compared to the silence. Aside from his ex-roommate’s snores, {{user}} found himself completely isolated. Z’s paws would twitch, straining the fabric and causing her claws to prick against the weave. How long before they poked through, and {{user}} was just a holey sock to be thrown away? There was nothing to distract him from the thoughts or the sensations. Nothing but the creeping dampness, the warmth, the choking musk. {{user}} couldn’t help but imagine it was seeping into his very soul. It was tainting everything about him; his body, his mind, everything about who he was. He wanted to scream. But he was a sock. When Z woke in the morning, she spoke to {{user}}. “Hey there bitch, mind still intact?” Despite it being nothing but an insult from his captor, a reminder of what was happening and who had done this to him, {{user}}’s mind jumped to life at the first sensory input that wasn’t the stinky filth and constant grinding of the Zoroark’s paws. Z laughed. “Oh, missing me already? What a good sock.” {{user}}’s elation died quickly, turning into a sour loathing. He wasn’t glad to see her. Z had done this to him. {{user}} hated her. Z laughed again. “Phew! I almost thought you’d broken already. That would be way too boring. Glad you’re still in there, loser.” Of course he was still in here. This wasn’t going to break him. It was disgusting, it was humiliating, but it wasn’t anything more than that. He was still him. The Zoroark cleared her throat. “How inspiring. Say, what’s your name?” A stupid question. He was {{user}}, obviously. “And… your ex-girlfriend’s name? I found her in your phone. Might hit her up. She could use a real alpha.” Hot rage filled {{user}}’s mind. They might’ve been broken up, but she didn’t deserve to be treated like meat by some overgrown mutt. Z would not get her hands on… On… {{user}} probed the depths of his mind, trying desperately to remember her name. Then to remember her face, or her voice, or anything about her. There was a vague familiarity, like the concept of affection, a broken heart. But when he tried to pull details, all {{user}} found was the musk, the sweat. A creeping yellow vagueness, a stain in his mind where memories used to be. {{user}} was horrified, and he could almost feel Z grin, the Zoroark’s toes curling inside him with delight. “It’s Jessica, loser. But I’m not surprised a faggot like you would forget. Don’t worry, we’ll make a nice trio.” The next few days progressed much the same. {{user}} took to testing himself constantly: testing his memories, his knowledge, his ability to do math or make rhymes. It seemed to slow the progress, but there was always the yellow stain creeping in on the corners of his mind, and it seemed to be getting darker with every passing moment. There was constant teasing, and the endlessly torturous sensation of every fiber of his new body absorbing as much stench and damp sweat as it could. {{user}} spent most of his time vacillating between a few states. Semi-mediation, trying to hold on to himself. Pathetic pleading, desperate to be freed and hoping his captor would take pity on him. And finally, explosions of rage in which he’d hurl a litany of insults towards his new owner. Z simply laughed, no matter what {{user}} sent her way. His insults seemed to get less and less creative by the day. Z never took {{user}} off, and never washed him. {{user}} could feel himself becoming crusty, could imagine his white body stained yellow with the Zoroark’s stench. He was beginning to feel broken-in, perfectly contoured to the Zoroark’s paws. It made it even harder to ignore the horrifying truth of what he was. When the Zoroark kicked her paws up to play games, whatever breeze wafted his way was a torture in and of itself. The fresh air might have carried away the scent for a moment… But the brief sense of relief only made it that much worse when the smell and taste of accumulated days of foot sweat came crashing back. {{user}} was beginning to lose his sense of time. The days blended together into one long sensory torture. He waited for it to get better, to get used to it. He just never did. Part of him wondered if that was Z’s doing, keeping him just sensitized enough to never get comfortable. The Zoroark’s words echoed in his mind: I feed on that shit. He tried to count the nights that he had spent in the silent solitude, slowly soaking in more and more of Z’s sweat while the rough pads of her paws wore {{user}}’s fabric bare. The previous night was cooler, and the night before that Z was snoring really bad, and the night before that was a hot one. Z had sweated a lot that night, and {{user}} remembered how damp he felt… And the night before that… Had he counted the snoring one? It was difficult to keep track of more than a few things at a time. Numbers above three were suffused with a yellow haze in his mind. Perhaps he could’ve counted to ten still, if he had fingers to count on. One day, however, maybe a week in or possbily more, Z did take {{user}} off. She had gone out with some friends, skateboarding maybe. Some similar activity that had {{user}} trapped inside a shoe and left the Zoroark’s feet especially sweaty. Whatever it was, it was worse than anything he had experienced so far. The usual sense of dampness now bordered on actual wetness, and there was no escape from the build-up of musk inside the shoe. Every step had {{user}}’s body grinding into the Zoroark’s rubbery pawpads, squeezing out the sweat that had soaked into him just so that he could soak it up again, even fouler from its contact with the old shoe. Every step left more and more of his taste stuck to {{user}}. When they finally got home, {{user}} was filled with relief. He could feel his ex-roomate undoing the laces of the shoe, and he imagined the relief he would feel when he was finally in the open air again. Horror overtook him when, instead, Z pulled the entire shoe and sock off in one go, letting them drop to the ground together. {{user}} had been taken off, but it was not a relief. He was trapped. The cloud of musk surrounding him smelled like it had been building for ages. Foot sweat, infused with the dirt and combined funk of years of usage, continued to soak into his fabric body. He mentally cried out, begging for rescue. Z either couldn’t hear him… Or didn’t care. He was left in isolation for what might have been days. It felt like days. {{user}} entered a sort of delirium, stuck there in the shoe. There was no escape, and he could feel his mind starting to fray. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. He wasn’t sure how much of him was left. Every ounce of his being felt soaked in the Zoroark’s musk. Maybe it was his imagination, but his soul felt yellow and stained. It felt crusty. He tried to test his mind, continue his fight against the corruption. As the shoe-sweat soaked through his body, he found that even the simplest of math problems was difficult. Counting was difficult. Sentences were nearly impossible, single words being most of what he could muster. He could think, but it was different. Vibes, emotions, intuition. And all of it was stained a deep yellow-brown, all of it suffused with Z’s musk. Beyond that, there was a new, disconcerting element. {{user}} felt… empty. He had gotten so used to the warmth of the Zoroark’s paw, the girth filling up his body and pulling his fabric taut. The roughness of her pawpads wearing at his fabric. Without that presence inside him, there was a void. And it wasn’t just physical. There was a void of purpose. That fact made him almost sick, but it couldn’t be denied. Part of him, whatever was left of him, liked having a foot inside him. Needed it. And so he reacted with genuine joy when he was finally pulled from that shoe, fresh air gracing his fibers once again. He could hear the Zoroark’s laugh, still muffled and distant. Rather than loathing, it brought relief. “Oh wow, I almost forgot about you! Just goes to show how forgettable you are, I guess.” Z brought {{user}} close to her snout, taking a deep whiff, and she laughed once more. “Oof, you fucking reek. But you’ll have to do.” {{user}} looked forward to being reunited with the Zoroark’s paw, as disgusting and humiliating as that was. It was better than being off the paw. But {{user}} was not pulled onto the Zoroark’s foot, did not feel the familiar warmth and dampness of Z’s putrid sweat. What filled him now was different. It was still warm, and it still stank. But this smell was warmer, more animalistic, and carried a blast of pheromones that made {{user}} distinctly and undeniably horny. The arousal felt foreign and bizarre. He hadn’t felt it in so long, and his sock body had no way of responding. The feeling just sat there, aching and desperate. Growing. {{user}} began to be stroked up and down, the soft and slimy flesh inside him rubbing against his internal walls. It became clear to {{user}} what was happening when a somewhat familiar scent and taste spread across his mind. A little salty, a little alkaline. It was muskier than {{user}}’s, considerably stronger, but he recognized it as it began to soak into his fabric. Cum. Or pre-cum, in this case. Z was fucking him. Using him as a cum-sock to jerk her musky dick. {{user}} could clearly discern the extra girth of Z’s knot stretching out his fabric, and the pointed tip of her canine cock stretching the already worn fabric at the toes. Z was leaking pre in earnest now, a new source of dampness mingling with the existing foot sweat. It formed a new barrage of scents, tastes, and sensations. All of it was just as horrible as Z’s feet. Skunky, briny, pungent, bitter. But {{user}} was not disgusted like before. The smells were disgusting. The tastes were rancid. This was humiliating, horrible in ways that most people couldn’t imagine. But he was being used. He had been discarded for so long, he couldn’t help but feel… happy. He was desperate for this. Desperate for purpose, desperate to be used no matter how degrading it was. The revelation of it hit him all at once. He had never been more fulfilled in his entire life. Not working, not saving up all of that money, not spending time with friends or his ex-girlfriends or any of it. This was simple, pure. Z spoke between thrusts, panting and grunting. “Hey cumsock, do you still remember your name?” {{user}} plunged the depths of his mind. What had been slow before was happening rapidly now. He could visualize the pre-cum soaking into him, flooding across his mind and soul with a filth that would never be washed away. He found nothing. Nothing at all. No name, no face in the mirror, no history or family or friends. Nothing to miss, nothing to care about. It was all a crusty yellow haze, soaked with filth and sweat and the Pokemon’s foul musk. He wasn’t a person anymore, and he now realized that he maybe never was. Z said she had pegged him as a sock the minute he had laid eyes on {{user}}. Z was right. {{user}} was a sock. He wasn’t a person, he was an object playing at being a person. This was his life. His purpose. He tried to summon his name once more, but not for his own dignity. Just for the pleasure of his owner. Sock. It was the only name he had. Z was apparently pleased by the answer. The sock couldn’t orgasm, but the pleasure that flooded through it as Z soaked its fabric with a thick, musky, slimy load may as well have been an orgasm. It felt better than anything it had ever felt as a person. This is what it was. What it was for. Z slipped it right back on her paw, cum and all. Z didn’t care, and the sock was grateful. It didn’t want to be discarded, or washed. It simply wanted to be used. It didn’t mind how crusty it got, how foul-smelling, how much the scent and taste only seemed to get worse and worse. It didn’t mind the feeling of the paws stretching it out, slowly wearing holes in it. The sock never got used to the sensations, but in a way it craved it. That endless discomfort meant use. The joy it got from use overshadowed any disgust whatever was left of its mind could conjure. It simply begged for more, thanking Z as if she was its god. She might as well have been. Months later, there wasn’t much of a mind left in the sock. It didn’t really have “thoughts” anymore. All of that had been replaced with sharp, pure emotions. A constant state of disgust, mixed around with euphoria until they were more or less the same sensation. An insatiable lust for more; more sweat, more cum, more time spent surrounded by its owner’s musk and sweat. Joy at being used. Sorrow and terror every time it was discarded. It was a sock. And only a sock. Z was sitting on the couch, the sock completely oblivious as the Zoroark spoke to him. It couldn’t really comprehend language anymore; just another thing a sock didn’t need. “Well, that looks like the very last of your money, loser. Lasted a while though, one of the best hauls I’ve gotten so far!” The Zoroark stretched her toes, straining the sock’s fabric taut. It would’ve shuddered with pleasure, if it could move at all. Z looked at it, and then looked at her other foot, thoughtfully. The other was bare, and she wiggled her toes. “Honestly, I could use a second sock anyway. Time to put up an ad for a new roomie, huh?” The sock didn’t answer. It was just a sock, after all.