My Steamy Story: The protagonist: Caitlin (Kate) Smith is...

My Story Time:

I was just trying to get dressed for my 9 AM marketing lecture when Beth burst into my room, her long copper hair a mess and her face in a full panic. “Dude, emergency,” she said, clutching her phone. “I have zero clean socks. It’s a crime against footwear.”

I laughed, pulling on my own dark-washed jeans. “Borrow a pair of mine, you goblin. Top drawer.” I nodded toward my dresser. That was the last coherent thought I had as me.

The next thing I knew, my entire universe collapsed into a suffocating, muffled silence. My vision didn’t go black; it just… stopped. I couldn’t see, but I could feel in a way that was utterly alien. I was… flat. And folded. A soft, gray cotton landscape that was my entire body. Panic, cold and sharp, tried to spike through me, but it was immediately smothered by a bizarre, low thrum of warmth. It was a physical sensation, deeply rooted where my core used to be, a quiet hum of… contentment? No, that wasn't right.

Then the world shifted. A new, overwhelming sensation flooded my non-existent nerves. Pressure. A wonderful, defining pressure as something slid into me. Into me. My new form was being filled. It was Beth’s foot. I could feel every contour of her heel, the arch, the toes wiggling into the toe-box that was now part of my being. And with that pressure, the low thrum erupted into a shocking wave of pleasure. It wasn't like anything I'd felt before. It was a deep, submissive, degrading rightness. This was my purpose. To be worn.

The other foot joined the first, and I was complete. A single consciousness split between two socks. As Beth walked to class, each step sent a jolt through me. The friction of her skin against my cotton, the squeeze as her weight settled, the slight dampness of her warmth—it was all converted directly into a relentless, quiet arousal. My pussy, wherever it was now, would have been dripping. Instead, the pleasure was just… everywhere. A constant state of being used.

By the end of the day, the initial terror was a distant memory. The pleasure had rewired me. I wasn't Caitlin Smith, PR student. I was Kate, Beth’s favorite pair of socks. And when she tossed me into the laundry hamper, the sudden absence of her touch felt like the loneliest silence in the world. I didn't wish to be human again. I just wished to be back on her feet. Forever.