Sock Girl

Alice was like any other sissy girl.

A lover of being dressed up and serving her Owner, ensuring her Owner had lots of pretty things and anything that kept her denied long enough to cause frustration. In short, pretty slutty, with a loveable nature.

It seemed like any other day for her. Sat at home working whilst the news played the same items over and over in the background.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alice caught a picture of a derelict building.

“…another case of bizarre laundry related incidents…” the cute presenter said stood in front of a derelict building. “Twenty people in this area have now had washing stolen, and returned to them cleaned. But, with the threat that they do not let them get that dirty again or he will kill. The perpetrator, dubbed ‘Washing Machine Man’ by the police is still at large.” The camera panned out slowly showing:

“Oh jeez,” Alice said, turning to giving the cute presenter full attention.

“Washing Machine Man was this time, caught on CCTV, and the police encourage anyone who recognises him to come forward.”

A grainy image appeared on the screen. A man in his thirties, with a spin cycle logo on his t-shirt and a mask covering his eyes. He looked mean.

As a sissy sub, who adored feet, Alice couldn’t get her around why someone would want things like that clean? She’d lived in the fetish world long enough to know that subs and fetishists preferred things of a dirty nature. Not washing-machine fresh! He’d only dabbled in Madame’s worn socks, but knew of many others who loved panties, tights… anything that had been worn.

Her phone buzzed and she looked at the message – it was from Madame – her Owner.

Seen this on TV?” the message said.

I know. Who would do this?” she replied.

My little sissy couldn’t live without my smelly socks could she?

No Madame.

Alice put the phone down and thought about it. Here was a man who wanted everything clean? It didn’t make sense. She looked more intently at the image and something clicked in her psyche.

Was that… no? It couldn’t be.

Alice shook her head and tried to get back to work – the nagging thought that she recognised the man.


An hour or two later, Alice sat back satisfied with another uninspiring day in front of the keyboard. Only happy in the knowledge that the money would buy Madame something nice. She leant back in her chair, and saw the grainy image of this man Washing Machine Man on the screen. She grabbed the remote and paused it. And stared.

It was him. She was 90% sure.

She picked up her phone and messaged Madame. “I think I know who he is,” she sent.

Being decisive was hard, but Alice felt a calling. She sat and put on her highest heels and totted to the door. Weeks of practice had helped her perfect strutting down the street perfectly and indiscernible as a woman on the street.

She caught the reflection of herself in the mirror. Wine-red hair. Red dress. She looked hot. Like, seriously hot.

Not getting carried away, and stopping herself from taking a selfie, she started the walk to town.

It was a small market town. A few shops, and coffee place had pulled people to them as the bustled outside and enjoyed the sun.

Alice pretended to not hear the cat calls and whistles from men and women as she made her way to the last coffee shop on the street.

Inside it was dark. Everyone outside in the sun. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust. They quickly focussed on the man behind the counter. Mid thirties. Stocky. The clean-guy.

She strode up to the counter. “Vanilla soy latte please,” she said smiling the man, who nodded and started making. “How’s your day?” she asked lightly. She thought about holding her hands up to mimic a mask across his eyes but decided against it.

“Good thanks,” he replied happily.

“Have you seen the news?” she made conversation. “This man stealing and returning laundry all clean?”

This was greeted by a stony silence for a moment. “I have.”

“Very strange isn’t it?”

“Not really,” he said mixing the drinks together. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

“Yeah, but why do it?”

“Don’t know,” he replied putting the takeaway cup on the counter. “I guess he thinks there is nothing like a proper wash. That everyone doesn’t realise the smell they have. Water cleansing the clothes off there sin. Their smell…”

“I quite like dirty socks,” she replied. “Love them on my Owner. They always look so perfect.”

The man smiled. “That’s nice, but if that we me,” he stopped. “Or him, I’d have them washed. 60 degrees. Clean and fabric conditioner fresh.”

Alice was taken aback and didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you,” she muttered as she left.


That night Alice struggled to sleep. She tossed and turned all night. Not because of the chastity device, denying her any pleasure. But because of the thought that man, would want to wash Madame’s socks. His face was burned into her brain, rather than the nice subby thoughts she wanted.

Alice had spoken to Madame earlier, telling her everything about the man. They both agreed something needed to happen.

If he had his way, Madame’s socks would be washed. Anyone with a dirty clothes fetish would be screwed. Everything clean. Nothing dirty. A nightmare world.

“But what can I do?” she wondered and her eyes fell on the wardrobe. The door was slightly ajar and a pink PVC outfit seemed to catch a breeze invitingly. She looked over at her dresser, the blonde wig and a packet of socks in zip lock bags she’d been allowed from his Owner. And a plan started to form.

If she wanted to stop Washing Machine Man from ruining the fetish worn-lovers community, she’d need to act. The police were no good. But how?


The next afternoon, she dressed up. It came naturally to her now, but she took extra effort in trying to hide the usual classy girl, and turn her into something else.

The first thing on was the collar. It gave her a buzzy sub feeling as it tighten around her neck, marking her as property. It was followed by pink stockings and bra. She looked in the mirror and smiled. So much pink – no one would know her. Next she pulled on the pink dress slowly. The blonde wig looked perfect on her – her styled to look like Daenerys from Game of Thrones. She pulled on some PVC pink knee boots and smiled. This would be the perfect disguise. Normally, she’d be seen in the red wig. No one would recognise her in the blonde. The last item she placed in her bra – something she always did to give her the appearance of breasts – the zip locked sock bags.

Her phone was next to her and she typed a message to Madame.

I’ve gotta do something. I’ll message you later.” she wrote.

A reply came in seconds.

We can take him down.”


Twenty minutes later, Alice was waited in a shop doorway near the coffee shop and watched him come out. Her plan was simple – follow him back to her lair and then take action before anyone else got hurt.

As she followed she noticed him silently hating everyone around him. If people got too close they’d get a growl or told to ‘fuck off” especially if there was any trace of dirt or smell about them.


Eventually the man stopped outside a house. Alice had managed to keep up despite the boots and the potential noise they’d make trailing someone. Luckily it was dark and the man seemed to be preoccupied.


This was it. Where he lived.

She picked up her phone and text Madame.

Within seconds the phone rang. Madame’s voice filled her ears. “You’ve found him already?”


“Good girl!”

“Thank you Madame,” Alice beamed. “I need your help. Bring your dirtiest pair.”

“That’s like weeks old…”

“I know.”

A short while later, Madame appeared. She looked fabulous in an outfit Alice had paid for, and wore leather ankle boots.

“What’s the plan?” Madame asked.


Jeff, was a grumpy fucker. The news had called him Washing Machine Man. If only they knew. All around him, were washing machines. All makes and models. All on spin cycles from people’s laundry he’d stolen because they didn’t get it quick enough. Machine Man, sat in his front room. He hated his job. Serving coffee to the great unwashed. None of them knew how many germs could be on clothes.

He heard a bang and looked around – in the basement? Where he kept his disguise?

Jeff shot down the stairs and was shocked by the sight.

A blonde haired sissy was on her knees sniffing the socks of a Domme in front of her. The sock sniffing was intense and then the sissy did something, she shuddered. “Oh fuck….Be cool,” she muttered and moaned.

“What the…?” then he spotted it. All over his cleaning supplies and floor. Sissygasm. “What are you doing?” he yelled.

“Leaving my sissygasm all over your cleaning products,” the sissy said taking another deep inhale of the sock, “all from the perfect smell of 22 day old socks.”


Alice smiled and buried her nose deep into Madame’s socked feet. Taking in the aroma of feet she’d described on many occasions as perfect. Feet that smelled perfect, no matter, what, but especially so, in well worn socks.

Washing Machine Man was fucked. He stared at the sissygasms now knowing what to do. Alice could feel him counting them – ten so far – all over his beloved cleaning products. Alice expected his next move, as he darted towards Madame and her.

Alice stood, a little unsteadily – ten sissygasms had taken their toll but she still stood tall. She grabbed the zip lock bag of socks and drew one out and threw it at Washing Machine Man.

It hit him square in the face. He was startled. The perfect smell of Madame’s feet hitting him in the face. But because he wasn’t cool, he fell backwards hitting his head hard against the stares. He was out like a light.

In the background Alice could hear police sirens drawing closer.

Alice got back to her knees in front of Madame. “Please may I lick up my mess?” she asked coyly.

“Of course you can,” came the smiling reply.


The next day Alice turned on the news, feeling good about herself. On the television, the presenter from the other day was talking. Alice reached and turned up the volume.

“… and all we can say is thank you to this duo who stopped these fires. The police said they found a sock left on the scene. Do we have a new superhero?” he paused for effect. “If we do, I say bravo. Sock Girl.”

Alice leant back and smiled. “Sock Girl, I can live with that.

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