by Amber K.

Anita Downing was in her late thirties and of medium height, bobbed haircut, milky white skin and a body leaning towards the frumpy side. Her hips were broad to match her ample bosom and though the rest of her body was beginning to show signs of age, Anita still had pride in her legs. The only problem was that her legs ended in a pair of, what Anita thought to be, enormous feet. She was a size ten … sometimes eleven … depending on the shoe or boot. And it wasn’t that Anita had ugly feet, just large.

Anita’s mother had large feet as well, as did her grandmother. It was an unfortunate family trait that Anita, since the time of childhood, fervently wished could have passed her by. Size was one thing, but the most unfavorable characteristic that went hand in hand with the Downing women’s feet was the smell. No matter what shoes Anita wore her feet sweated copiously.

It didn’t matter the type of shoe … open toe, open heel …even sandals were out. Sandals specifically where problematic in that during the act of sitting and crossing her legs, the soles of her feet and toes would come away from the shoe causing a waft of pungent foot odor to be released into the room. The embarrassment of this, during a class in high school, ended Anita’s sandal and flip-flop days forever. Fortunately, she escaped public ridicule by complaining about the smell along with the rest of her classmates, bamboozling them into thinking she was just as clueless as to its source at they were. Thus began her secretive life concerning matters of her feet.

Anita’s late husband had suffered a car accident as a little boy, followed by coma, and never fully recovered his sense of smell. Whilst they were dating, Anita learned of this fact and immediately decided that if she were ever to be intimate with a man it would have to be someone with the selfsame characteristics. Luckily for Anita, her late husband Charles asked for her hand in marriage not a year later.

Despite the fact that Anita’s nose was filled with the stench of her own feet during their first sexual act on their wedding night, Charles was completely oblivious. Of course Anita nearly died of embarrassment the following morning when returning to their hotel room to fetch her sunglasses. Approaching the door and stepping around a maid’s cart, she overheard the maids inside the room complaining that the air smelled of rotten corn chips. Snatching her sunglasses from the counter she crept from the room, but not before catching a glimpse of the two Hispanic maids in the bathroom.

One of the women held Anita’s white leather pump, worn the previous night, and was waving it at her fellow maid in an attempt to force it onto her face. Both women where laughing hysterically. Anita was too mortified to confront them for the inappropriate behavior. As it was, it put a server damper on the rest of her honeymoon.

Anita and Charles had one child, a boy they named Donald. When Donald was seven, Charles was killed by a drunk driver leaving Anita to care for the boy alone as best she could. It was a trying time to say the least. By the time Don reached his fourteenth birthday, Anita was still a single woman … not having entertained a single date.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Anita had a large collection of varying types of pornographic movies, books and magazines hidden in her bedroom. Along with the contraband were several sizes of dildos and vibrator that were stored in the secret cache. This world of fantasy and pleasure kept Anita sane though antisocial.

The simple fact was that Anita couldn’t face being with another man. One excuse she told herself was that it would dishonor the memory of her late husband. The truth of the matter was far more petty but no less significant … her dirty little secret and shame … the smell of her feet. On several occasions Anita would wake from dreams of her feet. Dreams in which she was making love to a nondescript man who would suddenly realize how wretched her feet smelled. The man would grunt in disgust and bolt from the room leaving Anita crying on the bed desperately trying to wrap the bed sheets around her offending feet.

Even if she’d wanted to bring a man home, the state of Anita’s room was also a point of contention. She’d never mastered the art of housekeeping and was an insufferable slob. Dirty laundry would usually collect on her bedroom floor throughout the week. Subsequently, the scent of Anita’s dirty stockings and socks permeated her bedroom. Though Anita had for the most part grown used to the smell long ago, she knew it was there nonetheless, and forbade anyone entrance to the room including her son Don.

During her adolescence, when the first signs of the smell became horrifically apparent, Anita religiously washed her feet any chance she could get. Powdering her shoes, washing her stockings by hand … anything to combat the stench … but nothing seemed to ever work. Finally, one afternoon when it was just the two of them at home, her mother took her aside with a look of tremendous pity on her face.

“Anita,” her mother said consolingly, “you need to accept who you are. With all of this pattering around you’re just making things harder on yourself than need be and frankly I’m losing my patience as well.”

“You don’t understand,” Anita had declared tearfully, “I’m disgusting! You don’t know what its like!”

“Don’t I,” her mother had responded whilst simultaneously pulling off one of her house shoes. Still looking reproachfully at her daughter, Mrs. Downing held the opening of the leather shoe beneath Anita’s chin. Tremendous heat and moisture poured from the dark oval of tan leather along with a cloying stench of unwashed, ripe feet. Anita gagged on the rank fumes. As if her mother had not noticed the response, she preceded to place the shoe over Anita’s nose.

“Sniff now,” her mother had said conversationally.

Anita had moaned pitifully and rolled her red rimmed eyes but still the shoe remained until she made an audible sniffing sound. The burning pong of her mother’s feet filled her nose and made her head spin. Again she coughed and gagged and the shoe was finally removed. The smell had been much worse than her own feet, though in latter years the smell would come to accurately match and sometimes surpass the odor of her mother’s shoe that day.

“Now, I’ll hear no more of this self-pitying nonsense about my not knowing what you are going through. You will learn to live with it as did my mother and her mother before her. Unless you can find a way to change the way your body works you’re stuck with it, same as I.” Anita couldn’t help but feel that her mother had received some kind of sick kick out of making her smell the shoe. She was sure she’d seen a flicker of malevolent enjoyment in her eyes … though she’d never truly been sure about the memory and its accuracy.

From that moment on, Anita kept her feet hidden from sight … kept the stink a secret and was exceeding successfully in her mission … no one was the wiser; at least as far as she was aware.

Life changed dramatically for Anita one summer afternoon. Don had been out of school on vacation for two months, spending most of his days riding his bike or skateboard with his friends in the neighborhood. It left the house peaceful and quiet. Anita was still receiving a stipend from a lawsuit filed by her husband for unsafe work conditions a year before the car accident that killed him. Anita had no employable skills that she was aware of and the end of the lawsuit money was growing closer by the month.

A few months before the onset of summer, Anita had responded to an e-mail advertisement for making money out of your own home. She was soon thereafter pulling in meager funds selling nanny-cams over the phone. It made ends meet when there was an unexpected household expense or Danny had to go to the dentist. It wasn’t much but it was making the lawsuit money stretch just a bit further.

Unfortunately, Anita was required to buy a certain amount of the nanny-cam kits to start out the home business, three hundred to be exact. Those kits still darkened the garage in an ominous heap of Fed-Ex boxes as the end of summer neared. It’d been six months since she’d been able to park her car in the garage and the coastal weather was playing havoc on the paint job of her Lincoln.

A vague sense of unease had taken up residence in her belly. From time to time it would shift and slither like a lazy serpent. Since the beginning of the hot summer months, Anita sought solace in her collection of magazines and movies, making much use of her sex-toys … losing herself in hedonistic afternoons of bodily exploration and fantasy. From time to time she would make a few sales calls, but was usually half-hearted about the attempts. Soon she would escape back into her room to find solace in masturbating and daydreams.

Anita usually wore extremely thick ankle socks or house slippers to mask the smell of her feet from her own nose. The summer heat always made this practice borderline effective. At times the especially unpleasant scent of her feet would creep out from around the socks or slippers … soaking through the material… which was enough to break Anita’s lusty moods. It was on one of these specific days, where her feet were growing intolerable, that she turned off the movie she was watching and put aside her two dildos (one for her anus and the other for her vagina).

The bliss of orgasm was not to be had and for once Anita decided to do something useful with her free time. Pulling on some clothing, she made her way out back to the garage. After an hour of sweating and grunting, Anita had repacked all of the nanny-cam kits and stored them in the loft of the car port. Of course Donny had been asked to do it months ago, but then again he was just a boy and Anita found it hard to rein him in from play … especially over the summer.

She stood admiring her handiwork, wiping sweat from her brow. Her feet felt like they were on fire in her shoes. Her socks were positively squelching with foot sweat. Her mind half on a shower it finally occurred to her that she could finally park her car in the garage. With a self-satisfied smile, she did just that.

The house was wonderfully cool and peaceful when she stepped inside. Anita usually kept all the curtains drawn so the first floor had a cave like feel. With a sigh she journeyed into the kitchen for a glass of lemonade. After the drink it was definitely time for a shower. Anita trudged up the back stairs from the kitchen and headed into her bedroom.

Anita kept a special hamper in her bedroom for her clothing so as not to mix her socks and hose with any of Don’s laundry. Mostly her clothes never made it inside, but enough did so that the bin was filled to the top. Returning with her drink, Anita pulled off her shorts, panties, bra and T-shirt. As she pulled off the sweat soaked socks it was impossible to avoid the grimace of disgust that crumpled her features. Her feet and socks were absolutely foul beyond reason. The room immediately filled with the stench of her feet. Ruefully, Anita balled up the socks and dropped them into the hamper.

The master bathroom was Anita’s favorite spot in the house. She and Charles had worked tirelessly remodeling it. Beneath a faux stained-glass window was a carpeted bench built into the wall. After closing the bathroom door to keep the smell of those socks from invading the bathroom, Anita quickly filled a foot soaking tube with cold water from the tap and sat down heavily on the window seat to soak her feet and brush her hair before the shower. She added a few squirts of perfume and a dash of Epson salts to the small foot-tube and sighed with relief as her aching and burning feet entered the cool water.

One hundred brush strokes was still a habit from Anita’s days of waist length hair. It was a habit not worth breaking, in her opinion, since it afforded her a time to blank her mind and think of nothing. When her feet finally began to cool off she was on the thirtieth stroke. A sound from her bedroom made her prick up her ears. At first she wasn’t sure if she’d actually heard anything, but the sound came again and her heart jumped.

She knew Don was out with his friends and if he had come home he always shouted “I’m home!” the second he walked in the front door. Burglars then! House invaders! The hair on the back of Anita’s neck rose and her skin crawled. Another thump and she heard footfalls in the hall.

Grabbing a pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet, she crept out into her bedroom as quietly as possible. The door from her bedroom to the hall was ajar. She specifically remembered closing it. Her eyes strayed to her dresser and saw her purse lying undisturbed. If it were robbers, wouldn’t they take that? A strange sound she couldn’t make out was emanating from one of the other upstairs rooms. It sounded like it was coming from Donny’s room which was one door over.

Anita, clutching the scissors, donned her fuzzy robe and tiptoed into the hall. Sure enough, the door to Donny’s room was open a sliver and the sound was coming from inside. It was like a hissing sound …followed by a groan. Was it Donny? Was he hurt? Still cautious, Anita crept towards the partially opened door with her scissors held out in front.

Her heart racing, Anita poked the door with the tip of the scissors and slowly opened it to peer inside. Her breath caught in her throat and it took a moment to rationalize what she was seeing. Donald lay on the bed, naked from the waist down … his penis: fat, erect and tall. He was furiously masturbating with his right hand while holding something over his face with the left. The hissing sound came again and she realized he was sniffing. His sniff unconsciously made her follow suit and she was met with a hauntingly familiar scent … that of her own feet. It was then that she realized what he held to his face … it was the pair of cotton socks she had peeled from her feet only minutes ago.

NO! Her mind screamed. Her lips parted on the verge of screaming at him, but she couldn’t speak. Her mind raved. He’s smelling my socks! He’s smelling my feet! He knows my secret! Then the obvious finally sunk in. He’s smelling my feet and masturbating!!!! The next sniff she heard sent a chill down her spine. She’d never experienced anything like it before. It was acceptance. Someone actually wanted to smell her horrible, stench soaked feet! It was unreal!

She couldn’t help the smirk that twisted her lips. Then she remembered it was her son. Not just some person … but little Donny.

He moaned louder than before and his body jerked. With a few twitches and a shudder a jet of cum erupted from the head of his abused penis … arching into the air to land on his stomach. Another rope of semen followed to dampen his inner thigh. Anita gasped and quickly covered her mouth. Her eyes were glued to the spitting penis. She was frozen. Don attacked the sock with a series of frantic and deep sniffs as his orgasm reached it finale.

How long have I been standing here, her mind thought through a haze? He’s going to see me! Walking as quickly as possible, while not making any noise, Anita sought the sanctuary of her bathroom once more. No sooner had she shut the door that she heard Donny walking in the hall and into her bedroom.

After a moment of silence, Anita peeked out of the bathroom and noticed that the socks had been returned to their spot on the top of the hamper. Has he done this before, she wondered? He easily could have been doing this for years. Anita sat back down on the window seat and tried to relax by combing her hair. 31, brush, 32, brush, 33, he was smelling my socks, 34, brush, my stinky, horrible feet. He was sniffing my horrible feet, 35, brush, 36, brush, his cock was so big. I had no idea it was so big. My feet made him cum!!!!

It was no good. She couldn’t relax and she couldn’t forget what she had just seen. Disgusted and ashamed of herself, Anita realized that she was wet as hell and ready for more of her toys. He’s my son! How perverted can I be?

Anita heard the front door slam shut and knew he’d left the house. In a flurry, she turned back on her adult film and attacked her anus and vagina with gusto. The pent up orgasm came within moments … yet while in the thrall of her climax the vision of her son jacking off and smelling her sock played like a scene from one of her movies again and again in her mind.

Anita said not a word to Don about the incident. Days past and she began to wonder if it had really happened or if she had imagined the whole affair. It had occurred to her that Don had most likely come home thinking she was out and he alone in the house … since the car was parked in the garage and not out front where he was used to seeing it. Anita neglected to tell Don she had cleaned the garage and continued to park on the street. It was more unconscious than anything. She just didn’t bother to mention it.

She decided that he’d been coming home for these pit stops all summer whenever she went out for something. Things began to fit together … like her door not being shut all the way … or it being shut when she was sure she had forgotten and left it open. The idea of him sniffing her socks on a regular basis gave her that evil chill whenever it popped into her head.

Two weeks after the incident, Anita realized she was subconsciously planning something without actually mentally addressing it. For the last four days, she had worn the same pair of sock … something she never did. Her feet were more horrific smelling than they had ever been in her life. She was going to test her son to see how much he could take. It made no rational sense, but it was something she had to do.

Pulling the car around into the garage, Anita hurried into the house with a box under her arm. It only took a moment to set it up and she was ready. A nanny-cam sat perched on the top of his bookcase pointing down at his bed. The miniature spy cam was set beneath a model airplane sporting a thick coat of dust. Even if Don where to look right at the thing he wouldn’t see it, Anita was proud to realize.

She hurriedly plugged the receiver for the remote camera up to her VCR and clicked the TV on. The camera was set on its widest zoom position. Most of one side of the room was visible. Anita hit record on the VCR and went back into Don’s bedroom. She clicked the camera setting once and lay back on the bed making a jacking motion with her hand. She climbed up and set the camera to zoom 2 and repeated her performance. She did the same for setting three and four before returning to the VCR and playing the tape.

The first two settings were too far away. The third was just right, though a bit out of focus and the forth was too close … during the playback, on setting four, Anita’s hand left the screen with each mimicked masturbatory movement … not to mention the fact that her head was off screen. She needed to see the sock on his face and any expression he might make.

She hit record on the VCR again and scampered back into the room. Setting the camera on the third zoom setting she went about adjusting the focus in intervals holding her fingers up in front of the camera, each time she laid on the bed, for reference to the focus settings. On the way back to her bedroom to preview the tape and make the necessary adjustments, it finally hit her … exactly what she was doing. She had set up a hidden camera in her son’s room to catch him masturbating. She was willingly going to spy on her own son in a sexual way. Anita gagged. What the hell is wrong with me!

The front door slammed. Without thinking Anita bolted for her bedroom. She heard Donny coming up the stairs. Oh Christ … he’s going to come in here for the socks!!! Anita’s eyes snapped to the pair of socks she’d worn for the better part of a week sitting in plain sight on top of the hamper. The ends were crusty with dried sweat from reuse and turning yellow in spots. She skittered towards the bathroom just as she heard him in the hall. Her eyes caught the TV which was still on, prominently displaying his bed from the hidden nanny-cam. Diving onto her bed, Anita snatched the remote from her nightstand just as she heard him pause outside her closed door. Rolling to the side she wedged herself between the bed and wall … clicking over the coverlet with the remote as she fell.

“Mom?” Don was right outside the door. Did he hear me? her mind screamed. The door began to open and Anita heard the almost inaudible crackle of the static on the TV screen verifying that it was off. She almost heaved a sigh of relief, not knowing for sure if the remote’s infrared beam had found its mark.

“Mom?” Anita held her breath. She could hear Don step into the room. After only a moment her door slowly closed and she heard him thumping down the hall to his room. For a few minutes Anita lay stuck between the bed frame and the wall breathing heavily. She’d almost been caught. But then again … caught doing what? She was in her own bedroom for Christ sake! He doesn’t know what I was doing? But that wasn’t really it. It wasn’t a guilty conscience that caused her to dive behind the bed, she had to admit to herself, if he had seen her he wouldn’t have taken the ripe socks and he wouldn’t be sniffing them that very moment. Anita realized to even more dawning horror … she wanted him to smell her socks … she needed him to smell her socks!

The sniffing and moaning was soon coming through the walls and Anita began to pace. Should she peek again … could she run the risk of being caught? She would nearly be overcome with self-loathing for her incestual thoughts when another sniff and moan would send a new chill through her and dampen her already gushing vagina even more so.

She was on the verge of creeping down the hall from a look when … “What the fuck is wrong with me? The fucking camera …” Anita pushed the power button on the TV. The tube hummed to life and what she saw there made her knees buckle. The picture was crystal clear and in bright vibrant color. Her mind numbly recited her telemarketer spiel … “Full color and completely concealable!” Don again lay on his bed … this time, she assumed because of the heat, was completely nude. His cock looked even larger staring back at her from the 25 inch TV screen. It was his face that made her crumple to the shag carpet. His eyes were wide as if in shock … his hand, white knuckled, gripped the sock … pinching the material so the toe end was towards his nose. The nose itself was obscured beneath the puckered material pressed over it. His shoulders were shaking and the muscles in his right arm, ridged. His breaths came in short quick bursts … each one a sniff … pulling in the fetid odor of the sock.

Anita found her own fingers hungrily plumping her pussy before she realized what she was doing. It was too late to turn back now. Her fingers found her clit and blurred like the wings of a hummingbird. She watched as Don’s eyes fluttered closed. Is this it, she thought … is he going to cum … are we going to cum together? Then the sock came away from his nose. His lips were moving and Anita was sure he was whispering “Not yet … not yet” to himself. Her eyes caressed down to his bulging member. It looked painfully erect … the head of his cock was engorged and bright purple. He still held it in his fist thought he appeared to be rhythmically squeezing it instead of the jacking frenzy.

Slowly he raised the sock again to his nose and took a long shuddering sniff. He’s savoring the smell! Anita’s jaw dropped open. Even with everything that she had seen it was still a shock to be hit with the realization again … it’s the smell of my feet … how can he like it … how can he love it … how can it make him so fucking hard??!!!

Anita found herself in the hall and walking into Don’s bedroom. It was almost like a dream. Her body felt tingly from scalp to soles. Don’s eyes where still closed as she entered the room. He took another sniff. Anita sat on the bed without pausing and draped her legs across Don’s chest, setting her large feet unceremoniously onto his face. His eyes immediately popped open, taking in the naked visage of his mother sitting casually beside him. He struggled to rise and Anita pressed down firmly with her feet. Her hand groped sideways, her eyes still meeting those of her son, and found his still rock hard cock.

Slowly she began to rub the length of the shaft. She felt his body tense beside her. “Shhhhhh,” she said, “Just lay there and take it, no fussing.” His eyes were pure terror and some deep, hidden side of her reveled in it. “Shhhhhh,” she hushed him again. Then what she’d been waiting for … a slow intake of breath. The air tickled between her toes as he sniffed in. “Thaaaaaat’s it. Good boy. Smell momma’s stinky feet.” Don shuddered. His hands fluttered at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Occasionally they would creep up as if to touch her leg but then dart away as if burnt. Finally he extended them out and away from his body like Christ on the cross.

Slowly Anita began to move her hand faster. His sniffing became more erratic. His arms twitched. His sniffs became louder and louder. Anita spread her toes and his head jerked forward, thrusting his nose into the space. With her free hand she began to tickle his balls. The skin crawled and tightened until the hairs were standing straight out. He was going to cum.

“Shhhhhh,” she hushed him as her hand slowed down to a painful pace. “Shhhhhh….” His eyes again opened … the terror now replaced with pleading. “Momma will tell you when. You’ll have to wait a bit longer,” Anita smiled her most indulgent, matronly smile. A bit longer turned into an hour. Near the end his penis was a deep red … the head a purple so dark it was almost midnight blue.

Anita used every trick she could remember of pleasuring the boy’s father by hand. She knew all the places to press… all the pressure points to stay off the inevitable. She alternated speed and angle. Squeezing and twisting. After the first forty minutes tears began to leek from the corners of his eyes … but still Anita continued … he began to moan pitifully …. His chest shuddering with each sniff …. And still she continued mercilessly … dragging it out … making him wait … while she, for the first time in her life, watched her feet being adored and suffered.

Anita suffered herself as well. Her fingers itched to find the folds of her vagina … to press on her nub … to fuck herself silly. The room reeked of her feet and she no longer cared. The intense stench seemed to give birth to some cruel, dark side of herself she had never known. She felt powerful. She felt like a woman. Her breast felt heavy and full and pride swelled within her. Her free hand found a nipple. It was erect and she tweaked it … pinched it … twisted it … flicked it. Don’s eyes followed her manipulations. These were the breasts he suckled from, she thought. Now it’s a different hunger in his eyes. Is this so wrong?

Finally she allowed her hand to descend. She found an ever growing damp spot on Don’s coverlet. Her pussy was gushing. The moment she touched her clit she increased the speed of her hand on his raw penis.

In an overly loud voice Anita bellowed, “Sniff them, Donny, sniff my feet and cum. Smell my stinky, dirty, nasty, reeking feet and cum for your mother! Cum you dirty, filthy, perverted boy! Cum for Momma and sniff those feet!” Anita began to cackle uncontrollably as Don’s cum drenched her arm and hand. A few ropes shot high enough to hit her chin and pebble her breasts … and still she laughed. Her orgasm was a steady ship at full bore. Her body was tense and the climax rode the waves of her maniacal laughter.

Anita stood over the boy when the act was finished. His lean body was covered in a sheen of sweat. His eyes were closed and he lay gasping … his body aquiver. Anita noticed her stinky sock lying discarded near his face where he had dropped it. With her finger tips she pushed the crusted toe end under his nose and watched his body convulse … once … twice … as the smell of her feet again had its way with his nostrils. She leaned down and whispered in his ear before departing, “No one can love you like your mother.”

She left Don in a pool of their mutual fluids.

Hours past and Anita lay on her bed until the sun went down. She knew she should get up and make dinner for the two of them … but she was unwilling to break her euphoric state. Strangely she was untroubled by what she had done. Obviously, she thought to herself, it can never happen again. It was strange how disappointed that made her, but she knew it was the right thing to do.

A click and a whirring noise dragged her up from her reverie. It was the VCR on auto-rewind. Quickly jumping up she rushed over and clicked on the TV. Before the tube heated up she hit play on the VCR. The image of her son, sound asleep on the bed, appeared. Her stomach quivering, she hit stop and then rewind. After a few minutes of nervous tension she once again hit play. There she was … her feet covering her son’s face … her hand a blur on his cock as gouts of sperm sprayed in all directions. Her open mouth laughed silently on the screen.

Anita hit stop on the VCR and the room was plunged into darkness. The disappointment faded. She may not be able to do it again … but she had a way to relive it … again and again and again and again …. Her hand found her favorite toys and the remote and lay back on the bed. With the press of a button the TV again hummed to life and she watched herself enter the room … the shock on Donny’s face … the smile on her own … the vibrator plunged into her anus as her finger manipulated her clit with practiced ease. Anita had a new, favorite masturbation video.



  1. Thank you so much for adding this to your library.

    I’ve been hunting this story for far longer than I care to admit.

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