Monday, June 18, 2012

Weirdest Chick Ever

Weirdest Chick Ever
by Amber K

Jack, Bill and Eddie had been drinking for the better part of three hours.  Eddie's living room had taken on the blurry, smoke filled visage of a dive pool hall on 42nd Street.  Cards were their initial plan, Black Jack to be precise, but the dirty jokes and raucous conversation had won out around 11:00 PM or so.  Soon the cards were laying forgotten amidst particles of corn chips, pulverized nuts and mini-pools of beer on the make-shift card table.  Bill lit another cigarette still laughing from Jack's last joke ... something about a one-eyed leper and a gay insurance salesman. 
                "OK, guys, so who was the weirdest chick you've ever gone out with?"
                "That'd have to be your Mom, bwana,"  Eddie announced with his trademark braying laugh that sounded like a cross between a rabid monkey and a donkey with laryngitis.  A spray of beer erupted from Jack's nose and mouth as he joined Eddie with his own deep belly laugh interspersed with a few hacks and coughs as he tried to clear the beer from his lungs.
                "Hardy Har, dipshit," Bill retorted, "I'm serious, who's the weirdest chick you've gone out with.  I mean weird in bed ... not that she liked Aba or something."
                Eddie was trying hard to stifle his giggles, but Jack seemed to sober up momentarily.
                "Sara Parks,"  Jack finally said with confidence.
                Eddie was still trying his best to get his laughter under control, but he still managed to bleat out "who?" in between his snorts and whistles.
                "Sara Parks," Jack repeated.
                "Never heard of her," Bill said sounding intrigued.
                "You wouldn't ... it was at USC."
                Still laughing, though calmer than before, Eddie whipped his mouth on his sleeve, "So what was her deal?"
                "Calm down man, you look fit for a heart attack," Bill scolded.
                "No shit man, your face is as red as my aunt Sally's ass."
                "Suck it," Eddie replied but was finally able to stifle the abhorrent giggles.
                "So you were saying, 'Sara Parks'," Bill said as he offered Jack another beer.
                "Ya, she'd have to take the cake as far as weird in bed goes."
                "Do tell," Bill said with a grin.
                "She like it in the ass or something," Eddie quipped, "like your Mom?"
                "Oh boy here we go again," Bill said shaking his head as another fit of laughter overtook Eddie.  "Enough with the damn Mom jokes, Ed, its getting stale, man.  I wanna hear about this Sara Parks chick."
                "You seemed to think it was funny a minute ago,"  Eddie said looking wounded.
                "Funny then, old and tired now.  Just can it, man."      
                "Sorry guys," Eddie whispered dramatically.  "Well, Jackie, spill it."
                Jack took a swig from his beer and lit another smoke.  "I was seeing this girl on and off for the first three months of my freshman year.  Eventually she transferred to another school and I  eventually hooked up with her roommate."
                "Smooth … that's the Sara chick?"  Bill interjected.
                "Ya, that was Sara.  Anyway, she was an English Major and dragged me to a lot of spoken word crap and poetry readings.  We'd catch a few shows, have some coffee ... you know, the normal stuff.  A bit of touchy feely and a kiss or pat on the butt here and there ... nothing major.  It was getting pretty old after awhile.  I mean, she wasn't a goddess or anything, but she had some long-ass legs and a rack that made your eyes cross.  I wanted to dip my wick something fierce, but it didn't seem like she was all too hip to the idea, dig?
                "So one night, we're out grabbing something to eat, I think it was In and Out Burger or some shit, and she tells me that her phone jack keeps pulling out of the wall.  She'd moved out of the dorms into some slummy little place that was basically falling apart.  Anyway, she said it was making the phone cut off and was really starting to suck.  I told her I'd fix it if she wanted.  So she gives me one of those 'oh, you're so sweet looks' and come next Saturday I'm laying on the floor next to her bed smoothing plaster into this big-ass hole in the sheet-rock,"  Bill took another swallow of his beer and continued.
                "So I'm laying there on the floor and I keep catching a whiff of something gross.  Its only every-so-often, but it was really starting to bug me.  I sniffed at my hand and then under my pits, but I couldn't find it. It was really nasty and sour.  After a bit I realized it was coming from under the bed so I stuck my hand under there and hauled out a sock.  Kinda on instinct I sniffed the thing, ya know?  I don't know how long this chick had worn that sock, but it was the nastiest foot-stink I'd ever smelled."
                "Yuah," Eddie barked, shivering for emphasis.
                "Ya, no doubt ... it was some sick shit," Jack affirmed. "I then remember that Amy, that was the chick I dated before Sara, told me that Sara's feet always stunk up their dorm room and Amy always made her put her shoes out on the window sill.  After sniffing that sock I finally got what Amy was on about.  Amy was a complainer so I always chalked it up to that ... but I think she really had a legit gripe with this one. 
                "So anyway, I sniff this sock right, and I hear Sara make this little gasping sound from behind me.  She'd gone to get us something to drink and I guess I didn't hear her get back.  So she's standing there in the doorway to her bedroom, holding a beer in each hand, and her face is totally flushed.  I knew she'd seen me sniff the sock so I thought she was embarrassed.  I mean I was kind of embarrassed myself, ya know?"
                "So what did you say," Bill prompted.
                "I don't really remember.  It was some lame sounding shit like 'sorry I thought I smelled something, duh'.  So anyway, she just looks at me really weird and asks me if I still wanted a beer.  So I finish up the job and knocked back a few with her.  We watched a movie, don't remember what, but she sat closer to me than usual and started feeling on my leg.  Her hand kept getting closer to my wad so by the end of the movie I was rock hard.  I mean balls aching hard."
                Both Bill and Eddie when in rapt attention, both waiting for the big bomb whatever it might be.
                "So finally she feels it.  Her hand kind of bumped it and I thought she was going to get freaked out or something, but instead she starts rubbing it through my jeans."
                "Right on," Eddie blurts.
                "So the next thing I know, she's got it out of my pants and giving me this awesome handjob.  She's kissing my neck and tonguing my ear and stuff.  I've got a handful of those jugs of hers and I'm totally about to cream.  Then she starts whispering how much she wants me.  I'm thinking, fuck ya, finally, ya know?  So we start to get naked and I'm just gawking at her body ... it was totally righteous ... more than I thought it would be.  Then came the freaky shit."
                Bill and Eddie leaned forward, their beers forgotten much as the cards had been.
                "She looks at me all sly and says, 'You can smell them if you want' I didn't know what the hell she was talking about and by that point I really didn't care.  All I said was 'sure' and kept starring at those giant tits of hers.  So she lays back on the couch and I start closing in for the kill.  She puts her feet up and I get a whiff of those monsters.  I don't think she saw, but I know I must have made a face to scare the devil.  They reeked and reeked bad.  I mean, she had pretty feet I guess, as far as feet go, but Christ on a pogo-stick they stunk!"
                Bill and Eddie groaned and shivered in unison.
                "So then I figure that she was talking about her feet.  She wanted me to smell her fucking feet!"
                "Oh bullshit," Eddie yelled.
                "I'm serious,  that's what she was talking about.  She starts laying this trip on me about how much it would turn her on if I smelled her feet.  How she'd always dreamed and fantasized about it.  I figured then that she thought I was smelling her sock cause I liked it or something.  So she says that she wants to watch me jack off and smell her feet."
                "No way," Eddie barked again ... then after a pause, "Did you?"  Jack looked kind of sheepish before responding.
                "Well, what would you do, man.  I mean, its just smelly feet, right?  At least that’s what I was thinking ... and if it got the chick going, then so what.  I wanted to fuck her bad, dude.  If that was what it took to wind her clock, I was all over it, ya know?
                "So I take my cock and started jacking off, right ... I put my face on her feet and made real sure not to breath through my nose.  Her soles were all hot and damp and my eyes actually started to get a little watery.  I act like I'm smelling them and liking it and kept jacking my cock just waiting for the word, ya know?  Then she says all moany like "I want to hear you sniffing ... pleeease!'."
                "Oh shit," Eddie giggled.
                "So I gotta do it or I don't get any, right?  I take this loud-ass sniff and I swear I nearly passed out.  Her feet were so fucking funky I couldn't believe it.  They smelled like nasty old corn chips and rotten old boots.  Kinda smell makes your knees want to give out.  So I keep sniffing those rank feet and jacking my cock.  Its all I can do to keep it hard ya know?  Then she starts moaning like a demon and I see she's frigging herself.  She's getting totally hot, which makes me get crazy all over again.  I start really huffing at her feet, it was hell for me, but it was really getting to her.  She was getting really wild.  She starting using both hands.  Had a couple fingers up her ass and a few in her puss, really going to town on herself. 
                "Then she starts yelling 'smell my feet, daddy-o, smell my stinky feet til you cum'. 
                “Daddy-o?”  Eddie giggled.
                “Ya, daddy-o or just daddy, I’m not sure.  I told you she was into all that beat poetry crap.  She could have been laying the beatnik jive on me I guess … either that or some repressed incest weirdness … So anyway … I can tell she’s totally out there now, so I just slammed my cock in her pussy and started pumping away without so much as a Mother-May-I.  She slammed those nasty feet back on my face and I was forced to start smelling them all over again.  After a minute or so I was starting to think I wouldn't make it.  I mean, those nasty things were making me totally light headed.  Then she grabs my stick really hard and stuffs it right up her ass."
                "You're making this up," Eddie yelled.
                "I swear ... it happened just like that.  One minute I'm fucking her cunt, the next she has me root deep in her ass!  I'd never met a girl who’d let me do that before … and I didn't even have to beg and plead for it.  Her ass was tight as you’d want and I would have blown my load right then if it wasn't for those stinky-ass feet all over my face.  She would rub them back and forth and other times just rest them on my face with my nose buried in her toes.  I could see bits of gunk and toejam in there and I knew there must have been a bunch smeared on my cheeks.  Then she starts yelling 'cum on me, motherfucker, cum on me while you smell my stinky feet, cum all over my tits, you sonofabitch!'  and shit like that.  She was fucking loud about it too.
"The problem was I couldn’t cum.  The smell of those feet of hers were just too damn strong and nasty.  I couldn’t get past it.  I mean, I was turned on as hell, but grossed out at the same time if that’s possible.  Well, I guess I know its possible because that’s what was happening.  My balls were aching something fierce.  There wasn’t much that I wanted more than to cum right then when she was shouting at me.  I thought of every nasty thing I could think of.  I peered through those toes but couldn’t get a good look at her.  I wanted a view of those tits to push me over the edge, dig?  But every time I moved my face away to have a peek, she’d pushed them right back in place forcing me to endure that hardcore, nasty foot stench. 
“After a while, I think she could tell I wasn’t gonna cum yet, so she pushes me onto my back and climbs on, my cock pops right into her asshole again and she starts bouncing.  I think, finally … I’m gonna bust my nut in her ass … but no suck luck.  The problem was, she grabbed one of the socks she’d just taken off and pressed it over my nose.  With her other hand she covered my mouth so I couldn’t breath except through my fucking nose.  She starts chanting ‘sniff sniff sniff’  with each bounce on my cock.  That sock smelled ten times worse than the one I found under the bed.  Her feet kinda had that really stankin’ corn chip smell, but her socks were pure feet and vinegar.  Kinda like those Salt and Vinegar chips ya know?  Except with nasty feet mixed in too with that same kind of musty shoe/boot smell.
“After a while of that hell, we were back up with me on top again and her feet back in my face.  It was then I decided that her feet smelled way worse than the socks.  She kept yelling for me to cum and I figured I had to and soon!  Then I just kept repeating to myself, ‘I’m fucking this bitch in the ass, I’m fucking this bitch in the ass and she’s liking it’.  Then finally I feel that bubbling feeling and I knew I was gonna cum even with those smelly feet all over my nose.  I pulled out of her ass and started spitting jiz all over.  It went on her tits and on her belly and all over her face.  I came hard and long.  I felt like damn Peter North.  No shit.
“After I came I got as far away from those feet as I could.  I could take it since we were getting it on, but as soon as I came I was set to hurl if I had to take one more sniff.  She just lay there on the couch with this little smile on her face rubbing the cum around on her stomach.  Then the bitch says ‘so were they nice and stinky?’  What the hell was I suppose to say?  I just said ‘Ya they really reeked’.  She just laughed and kept on smiling at me.  Then you know the most fucked up thing?”
“What?”  Eddie and Bill said almost in unison.
“She knew I wasn’t into smelling those nasty feet from the get go.  Ya, no shit, man.  It was all a bunch of crap … she was fucking with me the whole time.  I mean, she was telling the truth that it got her off … but what she was really getting off on was the fact that I had to smell her stinky feet in order to get some!”
“How the hell did you find that out?” Bill asked.
“Cause she fucking told me, that’s how.  Right then, with my cum still drying on her face.  She knew I hated every minute of it … and that’s what turned her on the most.  Hearing me sniffing away at her nasty feet.  She got me all hot and ready cause she knew I would do just about anything to fuck.  She’d been playing me since the beginning.  My ex had told her how horny I get and she brewed the whole thing up back then.  She also said that she got turned on by stinking out Amy when they were roommates.”
“Christ man, what did you do then?”  Eddie interrupted.
“What do you think I did … I called her a fucking lame-ass cunt and started getting dressed.  She just lay there on the couch, naked, cum drenched and laughing at me.  Then she starts sniffing at her own feet and frigging herself again.  Asks me if I wanted another go if you can believe it!  I got out of there as fast as I could.  Man ….”  Jack took a deep breath and a long drink of his beer.  Her put the empty aside and reached for another one.
“So is that it,” Eddie asked breathlessly.
“Shit man,” Bill said incredulously, “isn’t that enough?”
“Actual that’s not it,” Jack murmured.  “She had me really fucked up after that.  That night I got home I scrubbed my face like a sonofabitch.  I couldn’t get that reek from her feet off my skin.  So I’m laying there in the dark trying to go to sleep and all I can smell is her nasty feet.  Then the worse part is I start getting hard again.  That stink just reminded me off her tits and those legs and what it felt like to be fucking her tight little asshole.  Next thing I know is I’m jacking off.  For the next year or so, every chick I fucked who’s feet had even the slightest smell, I’d get all crazy on them and fuck the shit out of em … rough like.  Then I’d cum like crazy like I did that night with Sara.  Now isn’t that fucked up.  Everytime I start dating a chick I’d catch myself wondering if they had stinky feet.”
There was a long pause.  Breaking the uncomfortable silence, Bill said almost apologetically, “Well, I guess she really did a number on you, man.”
“Yep,” was Jack’s only comment.
“So what happened to her … Sara I mean?”  Eddie felt he had to know for some reason.
“What happened to her?”  Jack seemed reluctant to answer. “Well … after a year or so, I went and gave her a call again … hooked back up for a time.”
“You what?”  Eddie said in total amazement.
“Ya … we fucked on and off for the last two years I was at USC.  Her feet seemed to get more foul each time.  She made me do the weirdest shit, but in the end I always came like crazy.  No bitch has ever made me cum like her.  She even fucked me in the ass while jacking me off once, of course I had to smell her crusty old socks while she did it.”
“Awww … you fucking queer!”  Eddie shouted.
“Shut up dude,” Bill snapped.  “So, Jack … are you still into the whole stink feet thing  … I mean … well?”
Jack didn’t answer, he just took another swig of beer and lit another smoke.  “I told mine … now its somebody else’s turn …”

The End

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Amber Tamblyn and her homeless slave

Amber Tamblyn and her homeless slave  
By Author Unknown


Amber Tamblyn was walking home from shooting the latest episode of Joan Of Arcadia, when she saw the bum. He was lying in the gutter, his face in the scum trickling down the drain. Amber was wearing a long velvet jacket, a shirt with ‘Barbie Is A Slut’ written on it, tattered jeans and a pair of old sneakers that she had owned for years and refused to get rid of. She wasn’t wearing any socks.
She walked over to the homeless guy and looked down at the pathetic heap. She nudged his head with the toe of her sneakers.
‘Hey,’ she said, ‘Hey, fella, get up.’
The bum stirred briefly, then stopped moving again. Amber didn’t like to be ignored, but she bit down her anger and only gave the bum a small kick in the ribs.
‘Hey! You, I’m talking to you!’
The bum looked up at her and squinted at her through dirt-encrusted eyelids.
‘Hi,’ Amber said, brightly. ‘Are you hungry?’

Half an hour later, the two of them were in a fast food joint, the bum gorging himself on the fatty food put before him. Amber watched him in quiet disgust. When he had finally finished his fourth course, Amber asked him:
‘You got no place to stay?’
The bum shook his head emphatically.
‘Don’t talk much, do you?’
The bum shook his head emphatically.
‘Hmmph. Well, we can’t let you spend the night in the gutter, there’ll be a storm tonight. Come back to mine.’

The bum looked around the tastefully decorated apartment, completely oblivious to the contempt his hostess obviously held for him. He walked into the centre of the room, looked around and wiped a tear from his eye. Amber told him to go and take a shower, he stank.

As the bum got out of the shower ten minutes later, he noticed his clothes were gone. He timidly peered out from the bathroom doorway. Amber was sat on the sofa, watching TV and drinking a beer.
‘I threw your clothes out,’ Amber said, without looking up. The bum was shocked, and didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to wear?
‘It’s to make sure you don’t go wondering out,’ Amber said, still not looking at him. ‘You’re going to help me with a few things.’
The bum was uncertain about this, but the girl had been very kind to him so far, for no apparent reason, so he accepted this as simply part of the young stranger’s hospitality.
‘First off,’ Amber said. ‘Take the trash out to the alley.’

The bum stood shivering and terrified in the alleyway behind the apartment building, naked and still wet. He looked around him, scared of being discovered by someone who might have him arrested. Why had she not given him anything to wear out here? Not even a coat. The bum put the garbage bags in an already existing pile, and hurried up the stairs, praying to not be seen. When he got to Amber’s door, he found it locked. He knocked cautiously. There was no reply. Was this the right door? He was very uncertain, scared and cold. He knocked again, louder this time. The door opened slowly, Amber looked at him without really seeing him and turned, walking back to the sofa.
‘Close the door, it’s cold,’ she said.

Three and a half hours later, Amber’s apartment was spotless. Not a speck of dust or dirt could be found. The bum was drained completely. He sat in the middle of the kitchen floor, a mop still in his hand, still naked. Amber hadn’t moved from the sofa. She yawned and stretched her arms and legs. She was sleepy from watching the bum clean her apartment, she’d go to bed soon, there was only a few other things to do.

Amber clicked her fingers. Moments later the bum appeared at the arm of the sofa, still crouched.
‘Everything done?’ she asked.
The bum nodded. Every little thing on the list she had demanded of him had been done. From arranging her cutlery in order of size, to cleaning her toilet – all naked.
‘Everything done?’ Amber asked again.
The bum nodded, this time a little unsure. Amber sighed loudly, raised her legs a few inches in the air and rolled her feet around her ankles and few times.
‘Everything done?’ she asked again, more sternly. The bum swallowed, not sure what was required of him. There hadn’t been anything else on the list, had there? Amber’s sneakers rotated inches from his face. He decided to take the initiative, and began to undo the laces.
For that he received a kick in the cheek. ‘Clean them,’ Amber said. The bum hesitated. What with?
‘Lick them, I walked though dogshit a few hours ago. I don’t think I got all the bits in the treads. Come on. What are you waiting for?’
The bum couldn’t believe what was happening, what had he done to deserve this? Had he offended this girl in some way? The right sneaker moved towards his face. He held it by the ankle, slowly sticking his tongue out. And then he began to lick. He could taste the @#%$ on the tip of his tongue. Suddenly, the four burgers he had had earlier that day wanted to come up and say hello. His stomach churned, but he continued. Why was he doing this? What was possessing him? This girl, years younger than him, was treating him like, well, a dog would be a generous description. He continued licking the @#%$ from the soles of her sneakers, moving his now dry tongue through the treads, collecting the mud and @#%$ on his tongue. And all the while, the girl was watching TV. Not even looking at him to make sure he was doing the job. He felt sick, with the taste and with himself.
After both sneakers had undergone the same treatment, Amber indicated that he was to continue doing what he had originally tried – to undo the laces. He did each quietly, trying to glance up and catch her looking down at him, but she didn’t. She still hadn’t bothered to look at him.
When both sneakers were undone, Amber without a word stuck the heels of each on his lower jaw and used his mouth to lever them off. The smell was instantly in his nostrils, how long had she been wearing those old things?
Her bare feet glistened in the glow of the TV in front of his face. Her toenails were covered in the remains of green nailpolish, and between her toes – he could feel his stomach churn again – was thick muck, brown and wet.
‘Hands and knees’ Amber said. Without thinking, the bum leant forward and assumed a dog position. Amber rested one foot on the back of his neck, he could feel the moist heel on his skin, while her other foot dangled in front of his face. Amber picked up the remote and changed the channel to the news, wasn’t that election today? Or was that yesterday?
‘Come on, start licking.’
Although he had been more than half expecting this to be his next task, part of his brain had been praying that it wouldn’t be the case. Now it had been confirmed, he felt a whimper form in the back of his throat. Fourteen hours ago, he had been rummaging in a bin for breakfast, but he’d never felt as worthless or as pathetic as he did now. His tongue hesitantly peeked out from between his dry lips. He gulped and closed his eyes. And touched the heel with his tongue.
Although it was infinitely less unhygienic than the dogshit, it tasted a thousand times worse. Sweat that had formed hours ago in those filthy sneakers and had hung in a thin film over her feet was now being collected on his tongue, the salt hurting his tastebuds. He licked and licked Amber’s foot, swallowing layer after layer of sweat and dirt, dead skin cells and fragments of material that had rubbed off of the inside of the sneaker onto her foot.
He licked her heel, her instep, sole, and finally, between the toes, removing chunks of filth from the crevices and sucking it down his throat. And after a never-ending hell of licking and sucking her hideous-tasting unwashed foot, he had to start on the next. And throughout the ordeal, not once did he see his tormenter even glance in his general direction.
At long last, both feet were licked totally clean, the only wetness left on them being his own saliva. The TV went off abruptly.
‘Go to the bedroom and lie on your back next to the bed.’

As he lay thinking and pitying himself in the dark, Amber entered the bedroom. She walked through the door, headed for the bed and stepped on his legs, walking the length of his body in three steps. And then she began to undress. He felt her bare feet pressing onto his chest, making it painful to breathe. She took off her shirt, then lifted one leg to begin taking off her jeans. He felt the pressure of her entire body concentrated on one foot crushing down on his stomach. She pulled one leg out of the jeans and put her foot back down, this time on his face. She lifted her other leg, his skull screamed in pain as her whole body weight forced down on his face. The jeans came off completely and both feet were on his chest.
She removed the covers, stepped off of him, got into bed and said:
‘Get out.’

That night, just a few metres from where Amber Tamblyn lives, a naked bum was arrested and thrown in jail. The next morning Amber woke up and watched the morning news. She saw a story about a naked homeless man near her apartment. She watched the footage of the policemen beating him with nightsticks to get him into the squad car. She furrowed her brow slightly. That guy looked familiar somehow… oh, well. Now, where were her old sneakers?

Biker Bitch

Biker Bitch
By Toesuckr

This happened recently to me.  It was a Thursday night when a work buddy and
I went out for a night ride on our large, cruiser-style motorcycles.  He has
a black Victory and I have a black, 1520cc, six cylinder, Honda Valkyrie.
It was about 11pm when he remembered that a local bar was hosting a bike
night.  There were approximately one hundred bikes in the parking lot and a
great deal of activity.  The competition and judging had already concluded
and the nighttime idiots and barflies were just beginning to file in.  We
played pool for an hour or so when my buddy decided to leave for home as we
both had work the next day.  I on the other hand, had noticed a very heavy
woman (500 - 600 lbs) by the name of Jimmi (I heard someone call her that
outside, over a conversation about her bike), loaded with tattoos, long,
stringy dark hair and a black spaghetti strap, tight fitting top, sitting in
a dark corner booth and raising a little hell, so I decided to hang for a
little while longer.  What captivated me about her was that I spied her
unshod right foot sticking out, over the end of the bench seat that she was
sitting in.  Her bare foot was almost cartoon-looking as it was very large
and calloused.  The toes were very plump and in the dark, it appeared that
her sole might be stained but I couldn't be sure.  I wandered close by her
table to catch a glimpse of the top of her toes.  As I passed by the table,
I saw a snake tattoo that wound around her ankle with its head poised on the
top of her foot, and she coincidentally pointed her toes which gave me a
brief opportunity to view the top of her toes.  I saw long, dirty, unkempt
nails with traces of polish and I noticed a thick, gnarled, woody, misshapen
nail on her big toe.  I distinctly smelled the pungent stench of her foot
mixed with a bit of body odor as I passed by, that caused me to gently
wretch into my throat which I discretely choked off with a swig of my lager.
I quickly stole a peek at her face and recognized her as one of the bike
contestants that I noticed outside as she had her head upturned to the
ceiling, with her snaggle-teeth visible in her agape mouth as she let loose
a huge belly laugh.  Outside, she had been wearing boots and sweating
profusely in the heat of the setting sun.



As I was leaving the vicinity of her table, I heard keys briefly jingling,
coming to an abrupt stop behind me, followed by a low, raspy-voiced request,
"Hey Sugar...would you do me a favor?"  I feared that Jimmi was talking to
me and I almost kept walking, feigning deafness, but her request sounded
genuine and the Good Samaritan in me turned around to ask, "are you
referring to me?"  She smiled a large gnarly grin and pointed her dirty
forefinger directly at me and proceeded to waive me toward her with her
finger as she qualified, "Yeah Honey, I just dropped my keys and you can
tell by looking at me that I don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of
getting under this table to get'em.  Would you get my bike key?"  I slowly
ambled toward her and placed my bottle on the table.  I quickly glanced at
that fat calloused foot again as I gently filled my lungs to hold my breath
against her body odor.  I ducked down and on all fours and began to crawl
under her table to get her keys, picking up greasy floor grime on my palms
and knees along the way- -I was thoroughly grossed out.



Suddenly, something in the dark clocked me square in the face, causing my
head to rise sharply into the underside of the table top.  My head was
racked in pain, causing me to see bright stars.  Then I felt a very heavy
weight on my back.  I heard Jimmi grunting and giggling at the same time.
It occurred to me that I was being setup as my dizziness cleared and I found
that Jimmi had kicked me in the face with her booted left foot and then
brought her foot under me to hook my right arm just above the elbow.  She
then brought her bare right foot down hard on my back to cave me to the
floor, pulling in on her left foot to twist me onto my back.  She was a very
large and powerful woman and had no trouble putting me right where she
wanted me.  Once I was on my back, she stepped on my forehead with her
booted foot and the tread hurt me terribly.  She stopped and asked me, "How
are we doing down there, did you find my keys yet?"  I responded, "Your boot
really hurts."  She quickly followed with, "Well then, you had better get
started unlacing my boot . . . quickly now, before you are wearing my tread
design on your forehead like a tattoo for several days."  I lifted her pant
leg and felt for the knot at the top of the boot.  Her leg was wet with
sweat.  I unlaced her boot in record time as my forehead was killing me.
She said, "Hold my boot still."  I held it still while she drew out her foot
and then kicked the boot aside, placing her very wet, rank, fetid, socked
ped directly onto my forehead.  Her foot sweat immediately began to run in
rivulets down the sides of my head.  The smell was truly horrible and I was
becoming ill.  She put her right bare foot down, heavy across my mouth.  Her
pudgy foot and plump toes were very well padded and she had no trouble
sealing my mouth so that I was forced to breathe out of my nose.  She said,
"I saw you eyeballin' my foot and I can spot a foot licker a mile away.  So,
you must be in heaven, eh?  I saved you the trouble of having to ask me out.
How do my feet. . .", she placed her wet left socked foot over my nose,
stretching her sock covered toes over my nostrils so that my breath had to
come and go from between her big toe and second toe, and then finished her
sentence, "smell, like roses? Ha ha."  It smelled of death. . .it smelled
wrong and I began to wretch uncontrollably.  She took her right foot and
kicked me with her heel, right in the ribs saying, "Don't you dare insult me
or I'll kick your face in.  I saved my feet just for you, you lucky dog, ha
ha."  When she kicked me in the ribs, I lost my breath and began breathing
very hard through my mouth to catch my breath.  Jimmi promptly replaced her
foot back over my mouth, her fallen arch effectively blocking my airway.  I
started breathing very noisily through her toes, wondering if I would pass
out from lack of oxygen or from the fetid stench between her toes- -her
stench burning my lungs.  It was a smell I knew I would never forget, just
like the smell of a skunk or decomposing road-kill hangs with you for life.
She raspily stated, "Just to let you know, it's true what they say about fat
women- -they can't reach their feet.  My feet haven't been washed since my
last pedicure, several months back.  I hope the flavor is to your liking, ha
ha.  Take my sock off with your teeth."  She tapped my lips with her
dripping socked toes to signal me to open up.  I begrudgingly opened enough
that she jammed her foot deep into my mouth and said, "before you do, suck
on my sock and release my flavor you lucky dog.  Oh, and I don't want to
feel you swallow."  She wrapped the toes of her right foot down across my
throat to feel if I swallowed.  I sucked and sucked until I felt a small
puddle of her garlic-cheese flavored poison collect in the back of my
throat.  I was thoroughly appalled and strangely turned on by the wrongness
of the act and began to sport a hard-on.



Jimmi's friend Steph came to the table and sat down across from her, quickly
shed her clogs and put her bare feet on me too.  Steph put her left foot on
my manhood and giggled to Jimmi, "You were right, I can feel that he's got a
thing for your feet."  Jimmi laughed, "No surprise, I'm giving him a shot of
my foot juice right now.  It's been aging like a fine wine for quite a
while, ha ha.  Say foot licker, how's about you remove that sock now?
Remember, no swallowing."  I couldn't swallow anyway, she had my Adam's
apple forcefully trapped under her toes.  Steph bore down on my mound.  When
she suddenly discovered that my hard-on was listing toward my left pocket,
she jammed her foot into my left pocket and began to abuse my cock by
curling her toes and jamming her long toenails into it painfully.  Then she
twisted and rocked her foot to accentuate the pain.  I worked my tongue
against Jimmi's sock to get it to a point where I could bite it without
biting Jimmi's fat toes.  Jimmi responded by spreading her toes and widening
the gap between her big toe and second toe and then ground them against my
tongue.  I bit down and then tugged her wet sock off.  I could tell that I
had ruined the sock, biting a hole in it, but somehow I knew that Jimmi
wouldn't care.  When her sock was removed, she kicked the sock aside,
wrapped the toes of her left foot back over my nose and then put her right
foot up over my lips again.  Then she said, "No swallowing, I want to dip my
special toe into my wine."  She dropped her right big toe below the other
toes and pressed hard against my lips.  Then, as I opened my mouth, it
occurred to me that she was referring to her toe with the misshapen, woody
toenail.  Her toe went deep, her thick twisted toenail scratching the roof
of my mouth all the way to my throat.  When she had reached the back of my
tongue, she pressed down upon my tongue, triggering the gag reflex that
doctors hit with a tongue depressor.  I gagged, opening up the rear of my
throat which she interpreted as an opportunity to push deeper.  Against my
best effort, I swallowed the sewer water that I pulled out of her sock and
felt green as though I had just swallowed juice from a cigar.  In my
disgust, I reflexively clamped down on her huge, kielbasa-sized, calloused
toe and began sucking heavily.  Steph continued to abuse my hard-on by
grinding her heel against my balls.  That was not called for and truly
captured my attention until my tongue came in contact with Jimmi's gnarled
toenail.  Curiosity worked my tongue over the nail, again and again, as my
mind plotted the detailed topography of that misshapen abortion of a
toenail.  I worked my tongue under the nail to which Jimmi cooed in a low,
manlike guttural fashion, "oooooh, damn boy, that feels great."  She
withdrew her toe just enough to force the others into my mouth and then
demanded, "clean the rest too. . .their due for a good cleaning."  She was
right.  Her fat toes were pressed tightly together and I struggled to get my
tongue between them.  Once I was successful, I worked my tongue thoroughly
to obtain all of the months of dirt and grime that was so firmly seated in
between her toes.  The taste was deplorable but I was so turned on by the
crime of this carnival wannabe's power over me.  The slime and grit was
thick between her toes and it grated between my teeth.  When I had completed
both feet to her satisfaction, she tilted my head back by her toe-grip on my
nose and then mockingly ran the toes of her right foot across the underside
of my chin as though trying to make me swallow everything that she offered
me.  Then she said, "There, now you have had everything a man could want, a
nutritious meal and a fine wine to go with it, not to mention a bit of
entertainment to go along with it.  By the looks of it, you enjoyed Steph's
massage- -you stained your pants.  We'll be here next week at this time if
you decide you want a second date.  Now put my boots back on and give me my
keys."  I hunted for a moment and found the keys.  I backed out from under
the table and gave her back her keys.  I had floor dirt all over me and my
pants were indeed very stained by a large, eight inch wet spot.  Jimmi said,
"Say thank you since I bought your dinner."  I said, "Thanks."  It felt like
everyone at the bar was staring at me and I am quite convinced that they all
knew.  I must have been at Jimmi's feet for an hour and a half.



Even in the wind on the bike ride home, I could easily smell and taste
Jimmi.  I stunk.  Even after a shower, I needed to wear a cologne as a
feeble attempt to mask the stench.  Jimmi did succeed in changing the way I
view morbidly obese women though.

Tree-Sitters

Tree-Sitters
By Amber K

Dillon Grover had been with the Humboldt County sheriffs’ department less than a year.  He was twenty-nine... a tall man with a muscular build.  In his youth he’d spent many a summer rock climbing and repelling on the cliffs in Trinidad and other hot spots up the coast towards Crescent City.  His experience with belays, pulleys and advanced climbing techniques landed him the odious job of dealing with the tree-sisters on Pacific Lumber Company’s land.
            The tree-sisters were activists there in protest of the lumber company’s policies.  Dillon didn’t care much about the politics of the matter, he just knew that the “activists” were trespassing and breaking the law by camping out in the treetops on PL’s land.  Spiking trees, firebombing and intimidating the family members of loggers was another tactic employed, but on the large Dillon dealt solely with the tree-sitters and road blockers.  Basically his job was to climb the trees, handcuff and secure the tree sitters and bring them to the ground safely.  The risks were high.  Despite the fact that most of the kids were peaceful in their own way they most certainly did not want to be removed from the trees. 
            As with most activist groups, a large portion of the kids were made up of college students, some drops outs and others actively enrolled in school.  Their professors, mostly liberal activists themselves, allowed the students excused absences from their class to take part in the protests.  The bad seeds in the group were lunatic fringe crazies, transients and junkies with nothing better to do than thumb their noses at “the man” by taking part in the protest.  Those freaks were the real danger.  You never knew when one of those chuckles-heads might pull a knife.  Confronting a violent tree-sitter a hundred feet or more in the air was not something Dillon much enjoyed.
            Other than the danger element, Dillon’s other point of contention was the smell.  The activists on large were present day “hippies” and that meant dirty and smelly.  Dillon always thought it was a shame to see such pretty girls covered in dirt, their hair ratted into foul looking dreadlocks and their complexions marred by their massive intake of drugs.  Of course their appearance was nothing compared to their ever present reek of unwashed skin and scented oils.
            In the realm of smelly hippies, the tree-sitters were by far the worst in the realm of unpleasant body odor.  Sometimes the kids would be held up in the various trees … which they all gave names such as Luna, Goppi and so on … for weeks or more.  Their fellow conspirators would send up buckets with food, marijuana and various sundries … but not once did Dillon see a bar of soap in the loot.  Grappling with a smelly, dirty college kid, to secure their hands behind their back on a rickety platform, was nauseating at best. 
            Saturday the 13th was when it all came to a head in the worst way.  On a whim, Dillon decided to make a check on another grid of the timber company land.  Mostly it was to get away from the line of yelling activists on the side of the road.  Being called a “pig” twenty times a day got old quick.  The section of road Dillon chose was quite and rather peaceful.  He was in fact about to turn around when he heard the sound of music coming from somewhere up ahead.
            Pulling to a halt beneath a cluster of old growth redwoods, Dillon leaned out his window to see the now familiar platform and blue tarp a good seventy feet up.  The platform itself spanned between two of the larger trees with the tarp enclosing the sitting area as a half-assed kind of roof.  With a sigh, Dillon put the Ranger in park and pulled out his clip board to note the location on the grid sheet. 
            As soon as the engine was quieted he could hear the music more clearly.  It sounded like the Grateful Dead song “Truckin’”.  Over the indistinct music Dillon could hear what sounded like a group of girls giggling … most likely in the process of smoking weed.  Dillon shook his head and noted the location.  Making sure his side arm was securely holstered, Dillon climbed from the vehicle and looked up, hands on his hips.  For an instant he saw a begrimed forehead topped with ropy dreads peer over the edge of the platform.  A moment latter, three gobs of spit descended … one spattering on the hood of the Ranger, the other flying a bit south and the third squarely nailing his shoulder.
            The girlish giggling rose in volume as Dillon fumed.  It wasn’t the first time he’d been spit at but it was the first bit of saliva to actually make contact.  The faint scent of marijuana was now easily detectable and Dillon easily spotted the thick gout of smoke billowing from above.  Checking his belt pouch to verify that it was filled with the plastic zip-ties used to secure the ankles of the activists he headed for the back of the Ranger.  It was a measure of Dillon’s anger that he failed to follow procedure and announce a climb.
            With a yank he pulled out his gear, loping the heavy bundle of arborist rope over his shoulder.  Slamming his safety helmet on his short cropped hair, Dillon marched to the base of the nearest tree.  With a heave he hurled the throw-weight, attached to the end of his line, a good fifty feet up to a stout branch.  The throw-weight descended bringing the other end of the rope with it.  Dillon tied his magnus hitch, hooked the carabiner to his figure-eight and quickly began his ascent of the redwood.  With Dillon’s strength he had little need of a prusick loop when using the double rope self-belay system; hand over hand he left the forest floor.
            Dillon reached the branch over which his rope hung with little more noise than a cat burglar.  Securing himself with his feet between two of the trees he tossed the weight up another ten feet to a branch directly beneath the platform and once again moved upward at a steady pace.  Stopping just short of the platform Dillon took a moment to catch his breath.  The female voices drifted down from above.
            “I wonder if he’s gone yet.”
            “Fucking fascist …”
            “See if his truck’s still there.”
            “No way, you look … I don’t wanna get shot.”
            “He’s not gonna shoot you, dumbbell.”
            “If you wanna know so bad, Flower, you look.”
            Dillon saw the top of a girl’s head peek over the opposite edge of the platform.  With a jerk she leapt back from the edge.  “Motherfucker’s still there.”
            “What’s he doing?”
            “I didn’t see him … just the truck.”
            “It took those fascists long enough to find us … I told you we should have done it closer to the road.”
            “Do you think we’ll get on the news?” one of them tittered excitedly.
            “Probably …”
            “That’d be too cool!”
            “SAVE THE TREES!  DEATH TO PALCO!”  Dillon jerked with the suddenness and volume of the girl’s shouting voice.  Deciding it was high time for the extraction he began to tie off a safety line.  It was then that he realized he’d never radioed in for back up.  If he happened to fall … Dillon shuddered.  Best not to think on that. 
Reaching up with a gloved hand, Dillon grasped the edge of the platform and hoisted.  For a second he spied the four girls.  They sat in a circle facing each other in the center of the platform … one of them cradling a bong.  He opened his mouth to announce their arrest when the girl closest to him glanced down and saw him.  With a high pitched shriek of surprise she flinched away.  Dillon saw the sole of her heavily treaded hiking boot streak towards his face.  The impact was only a grazing blow but enough to knock his helmet off and dislodge him from his precarious perch.  The edge of the platform rushed away as Dillon plummeted backwards.  He had only a second to thank the powers that be for remembering to tie a safety line, and in the same thought praying that it held, as the back of his head struck something hard and the world was swallowed in blackness.



          

Dillon drifted back into consciousness and was aware that he was hanging from the safety line.  He felt a tugging, almost as if he was being lifted up.  Then his vision grayed out.  When his eyes flickered open again he was laying on his side.  He could feel the course wood of the platform on his cheek and absently mused over the hypocrisy of these activists who live in wood houses, made protest signs out of wood and paper and built wood perches in trees to protest timber companies.  His thoughts were fuzzy, but he heaved a sigh of relief that the safety line had held.
            Thinking to make an assessment of his condition, broken bones and the like, Dillon tried to flex his arm and realized he was unable to move.  Thrashing a bit he discovered his hands were bound behind his back with what felt like his own plastic zip-ties …his ankles as well.
            “The fascist’s awake.”
            Dillon tried to twist his head to see the speaker but found himself unable to do much more than writhe.
            “So, Pig, give me one good reason why we shouldn’t just kick you over the side.”  Dillon felt a booted foot pushing against his bottom.  His body rocked dangerously close to the edge of the platform and for a second he could see the ground seventy feet below.  He was still a bit groggy and it took a moment for him to form the words in his head to speak.  He was about to tell the four girls that this ‘wasn’t a game’ and that he was ‘an officer of the law’ … that was when he realized his mouth was taped.
            “Spray him with his own pepper-spray,” he heard one of them chime merrily, “right in his fucking eyes!”
            Dillon began to wonder if this group was simply a group of college kids, as he had first surmised, or if they were part of the nuttier clan of activists.  If he’d been mistaken as to their type, he could easily find himself plummeting to certain death.  His chest felt tight and he immediately had thoughts of his wife and two year old son.  Anger tried to bubble to the surface, but his son’s face continued to take precedence and it was all he could do not to weep.  Were trees really this fucking important?  Further still, was a bunch of freaks trespassing in a tree worth never seeing his son again?  Then the anger did come, blotting everything else out.  Who the hell do these girls think they are?
            With a grunt and hitch of his shoulder, Dillon flipped himself around to face the four girls.  The effort caused his vision to blur and his head throbbed painfully.  They all jumped back from him, their backs slamming against the bulk of the tree framing one side of the platform.  All of their eyes were suddenly wide with fear, though they suppressed it quickly enough.  He could tell they weren’t the type to dump him over the edge.  Just college kids after all … filthy as fuck, but still just college kids.
            Dillon moved his lips trying to loosen the tape on his mouth but found it was wrapped around the back of his neck.  It wasn’t coming free anytime soon.  Unfortunately his lips got in the way of gnawing through the tape which left him the only option of waiting to see what would develop.  There was no way to take control of this situation.  He fixed each of the girls with a flat stare to let them know the kind of man they were dealing with.  Once again he found himself wondering why such obviously attractive girls would let themselves go in such a way.  At least three out of the four were attractive under all that grime.  The forth was rather homely.  He knew ugly was what they were all going for.  For some reason they thought looking like cave women meant they werenatural.  If dirt and stink made something natural than Dillon figured they’d accomplished their ends.
            Going in a line from left to right:
The first girl was a blonde and the tallest of the bunch; her heart shaped face was framed by hair matted in the ever popular dreadlocks.  Her eyebrows were peeked giving her an almost elfish look.   She wore a pair of grimy corduroys, a loose tie-dyed blouse and no bra.  Dillon could see the tips of her nipples poking through the thin material.  It was the kind of bust line that might encourage a lusty comment of “nice tits” by any self respecting construction worker.
The second girl sported a pair of enormous breasts held at bay by a tattered Phish shirt.  Her long brown hair was tangled and dirty but dread fee.  She wore a pair of hiking shorts and incongruously her legs were shaved, albeit filthy.  A pair of Birkenstock sandals adorned her dirty feet.  Her toenails looked to have been painted not long ago, though the red polish was wearing off.  
The third girl was the most striking of all.  Even with all her filth, Dillon would have been easily aroused if not for the situation.  Her face was perfect; she couldn’t have been much older than nineteen.  Her hair seemed to be a light brown, but with her braided dreads tied back in a ponytail it was hard to say for sure.  Her boobs were equal in size to girl number two yet much more visible and buoyant… encased in a man’s white under shirt (popularly referred to as a “wife-beater”) those tits of hers were a vision to behold.  Her jugs strained at the confining cotton; her generous cleavage heavenly exposed in the low cut front.  The fleshy sides of both breasts were visible at the arm cut-aways at the sides of the shirt; in fact they were nearly falling out of the thing.  Her tits appeared to be clean and creamy aside from a small dirt smudge at the point her cleavage began.  The undershirt was definitely cut for a man’s form but did wonders for hers’.  A pair of dirty bell-bottom jeans, covered with a variety of colorful patches, clothed her long legs.
The forth girl paled in comparison to the rest.  Her homely face was sulky and her lips thin.  Her hair was red, short and spiky.  A few freckles dotted the bridge of her nose.  She looked to be the oldest of the group … maybe in her mid twenties. Her upper body was rather spindly and flat-chested though Dillon could tell by the look of her hips that she had a big butt.  She was essential dressed like a man with a thick work shirt, Ben Davis pants and heavy shoes.    Dillon decided on the fly that she was a lesbian. 
            “Who said you could look at us, Pig?” the homely one sneered.
            Mentally Dillon gave each of them names: Tie-dye, Birkenstocks, Boobs and Ugly.
            “Answer her, fascist!”  Birkenstocks demanded.  With a push from the tip of her sandal, she nudged Dillon’s chin.  The aroma of her unwashed foot assaulted his nose and Dillon coughed behind the tape.  The stench was heavy and all feet.  The harsh reek felt like it was apt to seer his nose hairs if nothing else.
            “What … my foot stink?”  Birkenstocks laughed and nudged his chin again.  This time her toes were even closer to his unprotected nose and she wiggled them for emphasis.  The toenail of her big toe tickled the very tip of Dillon’s nose.  The stench was intolerable.  Wet leather, sweaty feet … like vinegar and bad cheese.  Dillon hated the smell of unwashed feet and being forced to endure this bitch’s foot reek, despite her good looks, was humiliating at best.
            “Doesn’t look like he likes that much … do you, Pig, huh?” Tie-dye laughed.  Boobs and Birkenstocks joined in but Ugly just glowered.
            With the toe of one sandal, Birkenstocks kicked off one shoe and then the other.  The bare soles of her feet were now visible to Dillon.  Whilst her toes were filthy, her soles looked a bit cleaner, but the sheen of sweat spoiled the thought of them being any more washed.  Bits of gunk from her sandal stuck to her slimy soles.  Without much preamble she spoke: “Try this out, fascist!” and plastered her feet over Dillon’s face.  He felt her toes curl down over his check and forehead and the smell quickly overwhelmed him.  Despite knowing there was a certain death drop only inches behind him, Dillon began to buck uncontrollable in his bonds.  He caught brief glimpses of her thread woven anklets through the gaps of her toes.
            “Grab him or he’ll fall off,” Birkenstocks said between peels of laughter.
            Dillon felt hands grabbing him and dragging him away from the edge.  Someone sat painfully on his hip and another straddled his shoulder.  While he was held down, Birkenstocks rubbed her smelly feet all over the exposed skin of his face, concentrating mainly on his nose.  Dillon felt his nose pop between her toes occasionally, forcing him to sample the darker stench that lay in wait between the filthy things. 
            “That smell good, fascist?  You like my stinky feet?” Birkenstocks taunted.
            Dillon realized he could hold his breath but he’d soon be out of air and to what avail?  He’d have to smell the wretched girl’s feet eventually.  Fat chance of them giving up.
            “I think he should have to smell all our feet!  That’d serve him right.”  The voice came from the girl sitting on his hip.  He wasn’t sure but he thought it was Boobs.  After a moment of snickering, the feet came free of his face and Dillon sucked in as much fresh air as he could through his nose.  He could smell their sweaty, earthy bodies but that was nothing compared to Birkenstocks’s feet.
            A pair of hands griped his hair and turned his neck painfully to the side.  Tie-dye was staring down into his face with a leer.  “He’s kind of cute … for a Nazi,” she mocked.  Puckering her lips, as if readying herself for a kiss, she spat a spray of saliva in Dillon’s face.  With her hand she smeared it on his cheeks and brow as he thrashed about.
            “He is kind of a hottie,” Boobs said with a jeer.
            “Whatever,” Ugly protested.
            Dillon realized Boobs was pulling off her hiking boots.  She was barefoot beneath the heavy shoes and her feet looked just as sweaty if not more so than Birkenstocks’s.  He tried to voice ‘no’ but nothing came past the tape but a low moan.  “I think he’s ready for you,” Tie-dye said to Boobs as she dropped his head.  Dillon’s cheek bone slammed painfully into the platform.
            Boobs took a seat in front of Dillon and ostentatiously brushed shoe gunk from her feet smiling at him all the while.  “Chubby” was the best Dillon could think of to describe her feet.  She had broad pads and a high arch.  Her toes were short and tapered from big toe to little.  Despite the breeze ruffling the blue tarp overhang, Dillon could already catch a vague scent of the girl’s feet. 
With an “Mmmmm,” as if tasting something delectable, Boobs pressed her feet over Dillon’s face.  Unlike Birkenstocks, Boobs merely rested her feet without all the rubbing which Dillon soon realized was much worse.  While the feet of Birkenstocks had been moving, he was at least allowed brief sniffs of untainted air.  Boobs’s motionless feet were a vast torture.  His quivering nostrils sniffed at her soles.  His eyes immediately began to water and his throat to sting.  It was utter darkness beneath her feet.  In seconds his face began to sweat in tandem with the slippery soles and toes perched on his face.  He didn’t realize he was moaning until he heard Tie-dye comment on it.  Soon all the girls were laughing, though he was sure Ugly was still only brooding even if he couldn’t see her to be sure.
Unsure of how long the torment lasted, Dillon almost cried with joy when Boobs removed her stinking feet.  The forest air felt shockingly cold on his face, damp with her foot sweat.  It was a brief respite.  As Dillon’s nostrils constricted, hurriedly sniffing in as much fresh air as he could, he saw to his horror that Tie-dye was pulling off her boots as well to reveal a pair of huge, sweaty, bare feet.  He wasn’t one to match shoe size on sight alone, but he was nearly positive they were a size 11 if not 12!  The soles of her feet were pale whilst the tops were tanned a golden brown.  Her toes were all long and prominent; the big toe flaring to an impressively fat width at the apex of its girth.  “Hey you guys, sit him up,” Tie-dye said.
Boobs and Birkenstocks hoisted Dillon under his armpits and propped his back against the tree.  This nearly put him shoulder to shoulder with Ugly who quickly scooted to the far side of the platform.  Dillon tried to glare but no one was paying much attention.  He was still weak as a kitten from hitting his head and even without the restraints he wasn’t sure he could have stopped them anyway.
Tie-dye scooted her butt along the floor of the platform, moving closer.  Lifting her titan feet she eased her legs down until Dillon’s nose nestled into the hollow beneath her toes.  “Breathe,” was all she said.  As with the others, Dillon didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.  Again his nostrils flared pulling in the stink of unwashed and fermented girl feet.  With the other two, his eyes were completely covered by feet.  Tie-dye snuggled just her toes over his nose allowing Dillon to stare into her eyes.  He couldn’t remember a time he’d seen a woman so self-satisfied.
“Look at him, Anna,” Tie-die grinned, “he really digs my stinky feet … don’t you Mr. Policeman.”  So Boobs’s name is really Anna, Dillon mentally noted.  Not that it mattered.  Most of these kids all went by synonyms anyway.  “Anna” smiled back at Tie-dye and grabbed a handful of Dillon’s hair.
“Aren’t you just the cutest little thing,” Boobs simpered as she shook his head back and forth.  Dillon could feel the grime from Tie-dye’s feet embedding itself in his skin as his face smeared back and forth beneath them. 
“Oh Christ,” Ugly spoke up, “why don’t you three just suck his dick and get it over with!”
“Not a bad idea,” Birkenstocks quipped.
“Whatever,” Ugly said again with a pout.
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Birkenstocks smiled at Ugly, “you’re still my lady.”
Dillon shivered.  What a waste.
“Actually it’s not such a bad idea,” Ugly said thoughtfully.  All of the girls looked at her simultaneously.  “Pull his pants down,” she continued with the most wicked smile Dillon had ever seen.  That homely face was never meant to smile like that.
It was frightening how fast the other three girls reacted.  Tie-dyes feet vanished from his face and as one they attacked his harness and belt.  Within seconds his pants and underwear where yanked down around his ankles.  Dillon had never felt so utterly helpless in his life.  His penis and testicles where bared to these four girls and God knew what they were intending.
Dillon grunted behind the tape and tried again to unsuccessfully free his hands.  “None of that shit,” Ugly commanded.  Dillon thought he was fucked before … now he saw that Ugly held his Glock in hand.  The weapon wasn’t aimed at him, but the suggestion was enough to stop his resistance.  “Flower…you like those things, right?” Ugly asked with malice while gesturing at Dillon’s cock.
“You know I do,” Tie-dye responded with a genuinely lascivious leer.  It mattered little before to discover that Boobs answered to “Anna” and even less to find Ugly referring to Tie-dye as “Flower”.
Tie-dye got down on hands and knees and crawled towards Dillon dramatically.  Grasping his limp penis between her thumb and index finger she raised it to her lips and kissed the tip.  Dillon couldn’t help but jump.  Tie-dye shared a laugh with Boobs and Birkenstocks before turning back to Dillon, flashed him a wink and then devoured his cock to the root.  It was impossible not to gasp through his nose.  Her lips were like satin billows insistently pulling on his penis … her tongue running circles on the head … and all the while tremendous suction.  Dillon was unable to stop his eyes from rolling up in his head.
He could feel his cock beginning to swell.  Dillon tried to fight the erection.  Half of him wanted to let Tie-dye’s tongue have its way with his cock and the other half didn’t want to give these fucks the gratification of exciting him and having him in their control.
“Look at him … he’s fighting it,” Ugly said matter-of-factly.
“Hey, Pig, check these out,” Dillon heard Boobs breath in his ear.  His eyes flickered open to see her gripping the bottom of her wife-beater.  With a tug, the shirt came up and her titanic tits were released.  Her breasts looked full and heavy and no sagging to be seen; they stood at attention as did her silver dollar sized nipples.  Dillon couldn’t help but groan.  She shook her boobs from side to side and Dillon felt his cock jump in Tie-dye’s mouth.  Tie-dye pulled his cock out of her magical mouth long enough to mummer with satisfied pleasure and a hint of encouragement, “That’s it,” before she again began sucking like a woman possessed.
Dillon heard a similar groan to his own and noticed that Ugly was staring at the bare breasts as intently as he.  The look of lust on Ugly’s face softened her features a tad but not enough to add any additional beauty.  Slowly Ugly’s eyes roamed to where Birkenstocks was standing close by.  With a slow smile Birkenstocks returned the look of unadulterated passion and pulled her shirt up as well.  Ugly’s jaw dropped open in shock and was quickly filled by one of Birkenstocks nipples.  The shock wore off quickly enough and Ugly began to suckle.
Boobs began to rub her breasts up the side of Dillon’s face.  They felt like heaven.  Fighting his arousal was past his control.  Turning his head slightly to the side, Dillon could still see Ugly going to town on Birkenstocks’s breasts.  Her tongue flickered like a snake over the bullet like nipples.  Strangely, watching the homely girl so into sucking on a pair of tits was just as arousing as having Boobs pressing her jugs to his cheek.  It was hard to get a grip on what was happening.  Only moments before he was in the midst of an inhuman torture and now he was surrounded by a Caligulan orgy.
Ugly’s eyes opened momentarily and noticed Dillon watching.  It was too late to turn away.  “I think he’s enjoying this way too much,” Ugly sneered.  Dillon heard a clump and tried to rear back as a dirty looking foot wavered into view.  His head bumped into Boobs’s pillowy chest.  With nowhere for him to go Ugly’s bare foot settled firmly over his nose.  Her foot was thin like the rest of her, with long toes that clamped down on the bridge of his nose like stunted fingers.  Obviously they’d saved the best for last.
Ugly’s foot was by far the worst out of the group.  Its smell went well with her looks.  The dike’s foot reeked like old corn chips and soy sauce with a touch of damp, musty canvas.  As soon as she was satisfied that her foot was appropriately placed for optimal sniffing, she returned her attention to tonguing Birkenstocks’s nipples.  The other girls didn’t seem surprised by Ugly’s impromptu action, if anything Tie-dye began to suck harder and faster.  Dillon’s senses were scrambled.  Boobs reached down under his shirt and began to play with his nipples.
“God your foot really stinks, Carla,” Boobs said in a breathy voice tinged with laughter.
“Good,” Ugly mumbled around a mouthful of nipple and tit.
Dillon could do nothing but sit there and smell that horrid foot while receiving the best blowjob of his life while a filthy, juggy goddess tweaked and pinched his nipples.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ugly’s passionate licking of Birkenstocks’s breasts.  The scene was perfectly framed through her stinking toes.  Once placing her foul smelling foot on his face she had completely disregarded him.  Somehow that made everything even more humiliating … though his cock didn’t seem to mind. 
A few moments latter, Dillon felt his body tensing.  An orgasm was building and despite having to suffer the rank aroma of Ugly’s unwashed and sweaty foot he was going to cum bucket loads.  Dillon began to moan uncontrollably.
“Oh yeah … he’s gonna squirt,” Tie-dye announced as she began to jerk him off.
Ugly turned her attention back to Dillon.  “You’re gonnna cum when you’re smelling my stinky, dirty, nasty foot, you disgusting pig.  How does that feel?  I can make you do anything I want.  You have to smell my dirty foot and cum anyway.  Cum, pig.  Sniff my dirty foot and shoot your nasty load, you fucking pig.”
Dillon’s entire body was trembling.  The zip-ties on his wrists and ankles bit into the skin but he was completely unaware.
“Make sure he shoots on your shirt, Flower,” Ugly yelled the moment of Dillon’s climax.
Dillon’s eyes squeezed shut and then popped open as the first rope of cum shot from his swollen cock.  His eyes were still glued to Ugly who wore a smug look.  Dillon followed her line of sight in a daze as his cock continued to spit.  Tie-dye’s shirt was now covered in his semen.  She was giggling and titty-fucking his cock through her shirt.  A few ropes of jizz shot high enough to drip from her chin, but most of his load ended up pooling on her dirty shirt.
After what seemed like years the orgasm finally subsided.  Dillon felt utterly drained and barely twitched as Tie-dye sucked the last remnants of sperm out of his cock, now growing flaccid once more.
“Listen up, pig.”  Dillon groggily opened his eyes to see Ugly coming towards him.  She straddled him and sat down heavily in his lap.  His balls narrowly avoided being crushed, but her ass smashed down on his super-sensitive penis nonetheless.  Gripping his hair in both hands she pulled his face close enough to smell the pot on her breath.
“All that cum on Flower’s shirt is our ticket.  Remember how you goose-stepping Republicans nailed President Clinton?  We got your cum, pig.  Anything out of your mouth and we yell rape.  Got me?”  Ugly nodded Dillon’s head for him still gripping his hair.  “Now, you can arrest me and Anna.  Don’t look so surprised.  A protest ain’t nothing unless it gets in the news.  You make sure we have an audience, got me?  Flower and Tanny are gonna split before you call in the rest of your fascist brigade.  Just remember that we got your jizz, superman. ” Ugly grabbed hold of a corner of the tape on Dillon’s mouth and tore it free with a yank.  Dillon yelped in pain as a layer of skin pulled free.  Still mid yelp, his mouth was sealed as Ugly planted a mean kiss on his already smarting lips, crushing them back against his teeth.  She thrust her tongue roughly into his mouth and waggled it around with gusto.  Dillon thought he might sick up.  Finally she released his head by slamming it back against the tree trunk.  Dillon momentarily saw spots.
Boobs and Tie-dye were already gathering their things and starting the climb down.  Ugly sat Indian style across from Dillon watching him smugly.  Birkenstocks busied herself with gathering their belongings and donning a jacket and military green pants.





An hour latter a gang of shouting activist stood beneath the trees along with photographers from the paper and a few dozen sheriff’s deputies.  Dillon was slowly lowering Birkenstocks down in tandem with himself as flashbulbs flickered.  She occasionally shot smirks over her shoulder at him.  He knew Ugly was already in the truck … handcuffed and chanting her anti-establishment diatribe at full volume along with her cohorts.  It was certainly a spectacle to behold; just the way Ugly wanted it.
            She thought she had him by the balls with all that “we’ve got your jizz” nonsense.  Well, in truth she did have him by the balls … but not because he feared rape charges.  What kind a career would he have left to him if it ever got out that he’d spent two hours in a tree smelling the feet of four hippie girls and ending the afternoon with a blowjob and a cumshot straight out of a bad porn film?  Dillon was sure it wouldn’t help his marriage much either.  Though one thing kept bothering him as he ushered Birkenstocks into the back seat of the Ranger: How was he going to convince his wife to tie him up and let him smell her feet during sex?  It was hard to admit to himself at first, but he certainly had a taste for it now …. 

The End