(Don’t know whose page I got the pic from.. if you know please DM me so I can tag them.)
The ropes bit deep into Liam’s arms and chest, coarse hemp digging into the black sleeveless shirt with the green dinosaur on it. He’d fought hard when they first grabbed him—elbows, knees, a desperate twist that almost got him free—but the man in the black mask had been ready. Stronger. Meaner. Now Liam was cinched tight to the wooden chair, wrists already going numb behind the backrest, ankles lashed to the legs so hard the wood creaked every time he shifted.
Kenneth crouched beside him, black gloves flexing as he lifted the old Reebok higher.
The voice was muffled, flat, coming from behind the featureless black fabric that covered every inch of his head. No eyes, no mouth—just that smooth void and the smell of latex and sweat underneath.
Liam shook his head hard, the backwards black cap shifting on his scalp. “Fuck you—get that away from—”
A gloved hand clamped the back of his neck and shoved. The dirty white sneaker slammed against his face. The sole pressed flat over his nose and mouth, warm and rank from hours of wear. Liam tried to turn away; the hand only pushed harder. Thick rubber and fabric filled his vision. The sharp, sour stink of foot sweat and old leather flooded his nostrils.
He held his breath until his lungs burned.
Kenneth waited. Patient. When Liam finally gasped, the air he dragged in was pure shoe—hot, humid, thick with the musk of a long day on someone’s feet. His eyes watered. A low, helpless sound escaped him against the rubber sole.
“That’s it,” Kenneth murmured. “Breathe it in. You’re not going anywhere. This is yours now.”
He worked methodically. Every time Liam’s lungs demanded air, the stinking sole was already there—pressing hard, sealing off everything else. Kenneth controlled every single breath. He would hold the shoe away just long enough for Liam’s chest to hitch and panic to set in, then slam it back over his nose and mouth the instant Liam tried to inhale. Clean air was never an option. The only air Liam was allowed was the thick, sour funk of Kenneth’s feet: the sharp salt of dried sweat, the warm rubber, the darker musk that lived deep in the insole.
“This is what you need,” Kenneth whispered while Liam was forced to inhale through the filthy rubber. “This smell. It’s better than air. Better than freedom. Your body already knows it. Feel how hard you are under those ropes? That’s not fear anymore. That’s recognition.”
He switched shoes without warning, pressing the matching left sneaker over Liam’s nose and mouth the second the younger man tried to suck in a clean breath. The stench was even heavier, more concentrated. Liam’s protests grew weaker, turning into muffled whimpers that vibrated against the rubber. Kenneth’s gloved fingers stroked the side of Liam’s head almost gently while the shoe stayed clamped in place, only lifting it when Liam’s struggles began to slow from lack of oxygen—then immediately forcing it back the moment Liam’s lungs seized and he tried to breathe again.
“You’re going to crave this. When I’m gone you’ll still smell it in your head. You’ll get hard just thinking about dirty shoes. About my feet. You’ll start hunting for it. Old sneakers in the laundry. The bottoms of boots. Anything that reeks of a long day. And every time you catch that smell you’ll remember who put it there. Who made it yours.”
Hours blurred. Kenneth rotated the shoes, sometimes pressing both at once, sometimes forcing Liam’s face down into the open collars so the damp fabric filled his mouth and nose. He made Liam lick the dirty insoles between the forced breaths, praising every reluctant stroke of the tongue. Whenever Liam tried to turn his head away, Kenneth simply waited until the need for air overrode pride, then shoved the shoe back into place and held it there until Liam had no choice but to breathe the stink deep into his lungs.
“Good. Deeper. Let it rewrite you. That clean air you keep fighting for? It’s nothing. This is what your lungs want now. This is what your cock wants. You’re not a man who got tied up. You’re a man who belongs to this smell.”
By the time Kenneth finally set the shoes aside, Liam’s eyes were glassy and unfocused. His breathing stayed shallow and fast even without the rubber against his face, as if his body was still searching for the scent. Kenneth crouched in front of him, black-gloved hands resting on Liam’s bound thighs.
Liam’s voice came out raw and small. “…I need it.”
“I need… the smell. Your shoes. Your feet. I need them.”
Kenneth nodded once, satisfied. He left the dirty Reeboks sitting open on Liam’s lap, the stink rising steadily into the captive’s face, and stood.
“You’ll stay like this until it sinks all the way in. When I come back, you’ll beg for them without being told. And you’ll mean it.”
He walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. Liam sat alone in the chair, ropes biting into his arms, the two filthy sneakers resting heavy against his crotch. The thick, sour odor filled every breath he took. He tried not to inhale too deeply at first. Then, slowly, he stopped fighting it.
And started breathing deeper.
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