I became a slave to my wife last night. It began when I was forced to smell her sweaty feet.
Angelina, my wife of eight years, has always known about my smell fetish. She found out about it on our first date. I'd invited her back to my apartment after the movie we'd been to see. One thing led to another, as they say, and we ended up naked and in bed. Before long, she was laying on her front, and I had my nose rubbing across her toes, sniffing the dirtiest feet of my life, and massaging the biggest hard-on, too.
I'd noticed Angelina in the college library. Or, should I say, noticed the smell of her feet? She'd been reading at the opposite end of this table to me. Her scent, even from the distance of about twelve feet, was strong. I looked under the table and saw that she wore a pair of battered old Nike sneakers and white socks that too had seen better days. She caught me looking and gave me a mean stare. I raised my hands and mouthed, "I love it." She looked confused for a moment and then gave me a wry smile. Before leaving for a class, she came over to me and told me to pick her up at seven. I was taking her on a date.
Back in my old bedroom, sniffing the dirtiest feet I'd ever had the pleasure to sniff, she said to me, "So, you like feet or smells in general?"
"Both," I told her.
Since then, for eight years of marriage, I had enjoyed sniffing Angelina.
Something happened recently, though. This time, instead of wanting to sniff her, I was forced to smell her sweaty feet.
Unknown to me, Angelina had been secretly learning all about alternative lifestyles, including the relationship between a Mistress and her slave. Angelina was learning how to make me her slave husband. When she had figured it out, her plan fully formed, she put it into action.
A week went by and Angelina had not bathed. Not so much as stepped twelve feet near a bath or shower. Another week went by and still she had not bathed. Angelina is a housewife so, not having to go out to work, can stay at home and be as stinky as she likes. Now, I love body odors. Smell fetish is my number one turn-on. But after a month of not bathing, Angelina stunk bad - so bad, in fact, even I - who had always adored her stinks - could not bare to even be in the same room as her. The stench of her feet, vagina, ass and armpits was immense. It literally took my breath away. And, not only had she not bathed, but she had no changed her clothes or underwear in a month, either!
I came home from work last night. Angelina was waiting for me in the livingroom. Standing there and waiting with a stern look on her face.
"Don't you dare make eye-contact me with, pig! Get on your knees and bow your head!" she said.
I stood there gobsmacked. She snarled at me, turning her beautiful face into something ugly, scary.
In a moment, I was on my knees, head bowed.
She came over to me and stood a foot from my kneeling face. I raised my head enough to see her stinky feet in those black high heels she'd been wearing for a month. Then she spoke.
"Pig, things are going to change around here. From tonight on, you are my slave husband. You will do everything I tell you. And why? Why, because you are beneath me. You are nothing. You exist only to serve me, your Mistress. Now, you can start doing as I tell you by sniffing my dirty feet. It turns me on to see you sniff my stink and hate how bad it smells."
I looked up at her and pleaded with her: "Please, Mistress. I'll do anything you say, but I can't sniff your feet right now. I just can't. The smell is too much. Even for me, too much!"
"Do it, pig!"
I had no choice. I knelt at my mistress wife's feet. I removed her black heels. The smell, once the heels were off, was intense. I gagged. I choked. I pleaded with her once last time. I knew it was futile, but I figured I would try, nonetheless. She would not budge. I looked at those pretty feet of hers, clad in nothing but black stockings, and stinking to high heaven. Forced to smell her sweaty feet, I bent down and pressed my nose to her toes . . . and inhaled deeply. The smell almost made me pass out. Almost. But something strange happened, too.
I began to grow hard! Even though the smell was immense, the blood flowed to my member, so much so it actually hurt. I reached into my pants and released the biggest hard-on I had ever had. I was thick, veined, and close to climax. Angelina saw it and began to laugh.
"You will be easy to control, slave, " she said. "Your Mistress will vary rarely was because she knows how much you love her stinky feet. I am going to force you to smell my sweaty feet every day. And even though the smell makes you gag and choke, you will grow hard, and be like putty in my hand."
The she thrust her foot hard in my face and reached down and ripped off her stocking so the naked flesh of her foot was bared and pressed onto my face. The smell filled my head. I knew I would not be able to wash her foot stink off for weeks - maybe not ever. She forcefully rubbed her foot on my face and then I felt a climax rise in my loins. I came hard and Angelina's laughing spiraled higher and higher.
At that point, I knew I was to be her slave for life.