Jeff's dad muttered to himself as he felt a wave of odd feelings pass through his mind. He looks down, confused as he tries to remember why he entered the room, which had morphed into what looked like, a well used and well provided for study. He looked down at the sock and at his bare feet and suddenly remembered that he came in looking for his sock.
Jeff was flopped helplessly onto the bed again, and could do nothing but watch as his dad grabbed the other identical sock, pulling it over his wide, hairy foot and wiggling his toes. He would have screamed in protest if he could, but soon he was lifted and moved downwards, the massive shape of his dad's giant bare foot approaching as he felt his 'legs' stretched open. His dad's toes pushed forward, penetrating his body, the hard warm thickness of his own father's foot pushing up deep inside Jeff. He felt himself stretched and molded, his shape conforming to his dad's flesh, until he could feel the toes inside his head wriggling and making him move.
Jeff felt a heavy weight pressing down on him as his chest was pressed into the carpet. After the shock of being filled with his own dad's foot subsided, he got the chance to fully experience what being a sock was like. He could feel the warm strength of the foot inside him, like his whole body was hugging it tightly, but he couldn't move at all. He could still see, but from a worm's-eye-view, looking up into his dad's worried face far above. He could also still taste and smell; it was like his dad's toes were in his mouth, and the fleshy warmth of them was rubbing over his tongue. He would have shivered if he could, but he was trapped, force to taste his dad's foot and breathe in the scent of the older man's musk as his sweat soaked slowly into Jeff's cotton body.
Jeff's dad then proceeded to sit at his study for a few hours, just reading before he got bored and realized he had been sweating throughout the day. He put his large socked feet up on his desk.
Jeff mentally moaned with sudden pleasure as his dad stretched his toes, and wiggled them. He watched as his father's hairy hands moved down towards him, fingers and thumbs pressing down against him. He felt his cotton form squeezed against his dad's skin as he gave himself a foot massage, rubbing and stroking Jeff's skin against the sweaty flesh. The feeling was bliss. Each stroke and press flushed Jeff with arousal, and made his mind foggy and distracted. He didn't want this to end.
You were eighteen and a Jeff's best friend. The events that had occurred, had happened earlier in the morning before you arrived at Jeff's house. You knock on the door and you're invited in by Jeff's mother who seemed to have her memory intact as she remembered Jeff and told you, that he was in his room. You remembered Jeff's room like the back of your hand, and so you're surprised as you enter what is now Jeff's father's study and see his father, a masculine man with his feet up on the desk as he looks up and smiles at you.
"Heya sport, what can I do you for?" The dad says to you, smiling. You look at his socked feet and gulp.