Chapter 23 - Uncle's Present
My captors spent the next couple minutes taunting and tormenting me, showing neither hint of mercy or compassion.
With my body immobilized, my mouth stuffed and my head movement kept to a minimum, I had nowhere no go, no way to escape my uncle Joe's cheesy, ripe foot stench.
All I could do was choke on my gag and take in whiffs of his big, smelly socked feet.
I was allowed a short respite when the movie came back on the screen and my uncle finally turned his attention away from me.
He just crossed his feet over my thickly padded chest and focused his gaze back on the TV.
I could still smell his ripe, sweaty feet...but it was nowhere near as bad as actually having my nose pressed under one of his soles.
I remained quiet, doing my best to avoid attracting any attention to myself.
Given the circumstances, I thought I was doing a good job at keeping quiet. But things changed again when the next set of commercials came on.
My dad unlaced his old work boots, the ones which he walked around in nearly every waking hour of every day and slipped his old jeans off.
The boots came off and so did the pants, leaving my shirtless dad only in his boxer shorts, sports cap and socks.
I watched as my dad crossed his hands up behind his head, exposing his bushy, untrimmed pits, and watched as he put his big, socked feet on the coffee table next to me.
It didn't take long for a very different
smell to start filling the living room.
This one was even stronger and cheesier than my uncle's foot stink...if such a thing was even possible.
Seconds went by and the stench got stronger and stronger, to the point where even my uncle complained.
"Dude!" he coughed, waving a hand in front of his nose. "Fuck! You need to wash your socks." he complained, visibly grossed out by what he was seeing and smelling.
My dad chuckled and smirked at his brother's comment, but didn't seem bothered by the fact that his socked feet were stinking the room up REAL bad.
This wasn't just your average guy's smelly foot stench though. This was a seriously strong, seriously putrid case of foot odour.
My dad had very big, very smelly feet, even more so than uncle Joe.
About a minute after my dad had slipped his boots off, I knew I was in serious trouble.
I just lied there, all bound up and strapped down in the super thick bag with absolutely nowhere to go.
I tried moving my head away, but the crazy amount of loft around my neck was keeping me front moving my head too much.
I wanted to get my head in the bag to escape the smell, but with the hood cinched tight around my neck, my head wasn't going anywhere.
I was left there, bound up, gagged and forced to inhale the very rotten stench that was quickly filling up the room.
My dad must've noticed my struggling and the horrified expression on my face as I was forced to endure the strong, cheesy smells emanating from both his and my uncle's filthy socks.
"What's wrong, son? Not enjoyin' your birthday present?" he asked, looking down at me with a cocky smirk on his face.
I knew my dad pretty well.
He didn't give a f*ck that I was bound up, gagged and literally choking on his incredibly potent foot odour.
Back when he and mum used to be together, she'd complain about it all the time, but he just didn't care and almost seemed intent on giving everyone a hard time by pulling his boots off and putting his socked feet up on the table while we were watching TV.
..." I grunted in frustration, fighting the urge to puke as the toxic fumes entered my flaring nostrils.
"I think we should change his gag. He's making too much noise." uncle Joe suddenly suggested, 'causing me to cry out and grunt anew.
"Yeah, I think that's a good idea." my dad said, slowly getting up off the couch. "Besides, it's getting late. We should fix his gag up for the night." he continued.
[/size]." I protested, not caring about how muffled up my screams were.
My uncle scooted forward in his seat to get a better look at my face as my dad crouched down and started undoing the knotted shirt behind my head.
The instant the shirt wad was pulled out of my mouth, I started coughing and protesting.
"Let me out! I don't wanna spmmmmphhhhf
!" I yelled out, right before getting my angry dad's big, construction worker hand over my face.
He slipped one hand behind my head, grabbed the back of my skull with his big fingers and clamped his other bare hand over my face, covering my chin, mouth, nose and cheeks.
?!" I yelped, both surprised and frustrated at having my own dad forcefully shut me up like this.
What the hell!?
I wasn't just a little kid throwing a tantrum. I was a fully grown eighteen year old. He couldn't just clamp his hand over my face like this and shut me up!
" I yelled out in his huge hand, futilely trying to break free.
My dad's big biceps were bulging as he kept my head and face in a vice-like grip.
There would be no getting out of this, I knew.
"Kid's got a loud mouth." Joe suddenly told my dad. "Think I got somethin' to fix that." he added, wiggling his big socked foot over my face.
!" I yelled inside my dad's huge hand, knowing full well what my uncle was getting at.
"What d'you think, boi? Wanna spend the night gagging on your uncle Joe's big, black sock?" Joe asked, still wiggling his toes menacingly.
I started yelling out, but not much was making it past my dad's handgag.
To make matters worse, it didn't take long for me to realise I couldn't breathe inside his hand.
His hand was big and thick. It covered my entire lower face, right up to the bridge of my nose.
..." I cried out, suffocating inside my dad's hand.
I could get some really minor sniffs in and out through my nostrils, but nowhere even close to what was required in order to remain conscious.
My arms were bound down super tight inside the incredibly thick bag and as if that what wasn't enough, my entire body was zipped up and strapped down to a camping cot.
Unable to bring my arms up, I tried yelling and crying out for mercy, but my dad seemed clueless about the extent at which he was smothering me.
!" I let out, in a desperate attempt to call for help.
"Quiet, son!" came my dad's annoyed response. "I don't care what you have to say. Your uncle's sock is going right in and you're gonna gag on it for the rest of the night." he growled.
I hated my dad right now.
Hated his big, manly hands. Hated his huge, raunchy feet.
Here I was, about to be gagged by with uncle's putrid, worn out sock and my dad wasn't even allowing me to protest or say anything.
"Haha, yeah. Cant wait to see him gagging on my foot cheese." Joe teased, using his gloved hand to peel his stinky left sock off, turning it inside out in the process.
To my mounting horror, the sock came off, revealing a huge, sweaty foot and toe cracks lined with particles of lint, dirt and hairs.
The sock smelled really cheesy and judging by the foot it had just been peeled off from, was probably filled with lint and toe jam.
Even as I lied there, whimpering out and suffocating in my dad's large hand, my eyes shot wide open at the thought of having that slimy, soiled-up sock in my mouth for the next ten hours or so.
"Yeah, that's perfect." my dad commended, agreeing with the gag and not caring about the fact that the sock was like...forty odd centimeters long. "Got a big roll of duct tape in the garage. Lemme go get it." he said, finally removing his hand from my face and getting up.
The instant the hand came off, I filled my lungs with air and took several deep breaths before coughing and sputtering out some form of protest.
The protest never came though.
Just as I was mouthing off my first word, a great, big, black leather glove clamped itself over my face.
"Enough, Kyle! You're NOT talking your way out of this." Uncle Joe told me, gagging me up and smothering me bad with his big, gloved hand.