Women’s Underground (Part IV)

Women’s Underground -part IV (Jessie’s Story)

By Bryon

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That night, Jessie told Simon the story of the first smelly foot revenge squad ever formed.

"It happened about a year ago," began Jessie. "Charlene called a bunch of us together to meet with a client about forming a possible revenge squad. I’d done a bunch of them before. Mostly just gang up on a guy, kidnap him, strip him and humiliate him a bit. Or we’d just rough them up. But to be roughed up and stripped by a bunch of girls would always be pretty humiliating."

"Anyway, this assignment was going to be quite different. There were seven of us: the stronger more sporty ones. And we sat around the table waiting for Charlene to bring the client in. And when she did bring the client in, I wondered who was the boss: Charlene or the client. This woman took charge almost immediately. She knew what she wanted and she had a precise notion of what we had to do."

This client was called Miranda, and, as it turns out, she had a bizarre nickname. Stinkfoot, or so I’ve been told. But judging from the beat up old canvas shoes she wore, I could see why. She must have had those same sneakers since high school. She was pretty and almost seemed too nice to say some of the things she did. But she rallied us in a way no one had ever done."

Charlene addressed us first. "Now I’ve called you guys here because we have a peculiar, but I hope fun, mission ahead of us. naturally, she wants us to humiliate a man, but she has a rather hilarious idea about how to do it." I remember how amused Charlene seemed and we were anxious for her to come to the point.

"I’ve invited you guys -- Jocelyn, Gina, Pauline, Tracy, Jessie, Viv and Angela -- because you’re all pretty athletic, strong, sporty girls. You work out ...are always active. But most importantly, I know that others have sometimes remarked that your feet have been smelly."

We were all a bit surprised to hear such an accusation, and we denied the charge, instinctively. "What are you talking about," asked Gina, perturbed by Charlene’s remarks. "Who accused us?" added Jocelyn. "Probably Erica ... she’s always had an overly sensitive nose. The bitch." We were defensive; no one likes to be accused of being smelly.

Charlene attempted to reassure us. "No one accused you of anything. I just make it a point of knowing things. But all of that’s irrelevant. You’re here to help out the client, and I believe you’re the women to do it."

And that’s when Miranda took over. She glared at us like an army sergeant about to command his troops. It was weird but inspiring.

"I want revenge," she began. "I want revenge for a small thing, but a great thing to me. I’m being courted by a man, not much older than myself, but loaded. he throws money at me, complements me but ... and this is a big but ... he keeps telling me I have smelly feet. He’d refuse to suck on my toes because he told me my feet were too stinky."

Some of the girls tittered at this. It was funny, you had to admit. Charlene told us to stop laughing. But Miranda reassured us by smiling with us. She was being tongue and cheek.

"But feet smell," added Gina. "Doesn’t this guy realize that?"

"Exactly. Besides, I don’t like having someone telling me how to live my life or how fragrant my feet should be. They’re my feet, and if I want them to be stinky, then they will be stinky. Feet smell. Why should I be embarrassed if my feet stink?"

Some of us applauded her.

"So I’m using his money to pay you guys to give him a massive dose of stinky feet. I wanted some women with big, sweaty feet. Charlene tells me none of you have smaller than a size 9 shoe?"

We turned to each other and smiled. Some of us giggled to ourselves at Miranda’s words. But I was putting two and two together. I’d heard about the legend of Stinkfoot. I knew her name was Miranda and that she often wore old sneakers without socks. This must have been another one of her pranks.

"I want you to do this. Take him by surprise, kidnap him and do whatever you do to take him under your control. take him somewhere private, strip him and humiliate him however you like. But I’m paying you to making him smell your feet. I want you to rub the sweat from your feet all over his face. I want him to smell your sneakers and your gym socks. I want him to sniff your sweaty toes. And I want you to laugh and have fun doing it to him."

We were still speechless but then Gina spoke up. Gina always embraced a new form of humiliation. "So ...wait a minute, you want us to just rub our stinky feet in his face and force him to smell them. We don’t have to wash our feet first. Wouldn’t it be humiliating enough just to have a bunch of women rub their feet in his face?"

"No, I want your feet to be absolutely stinky."

"Fair enough," commented Gina with a smile. The rest of us continued to titter at the audacity of the plan.

"One more thing," proceeded Miranda. "I’m giving you three days notice not just to plan the abduction and all the other things you arrange. I want you to make an effort to get your feet and stinky as possible. Try not to wash you feet. Wear the same socks until then. Wear sneakers without socks. Just do what you can to build up a strong foot odor to assault him with."

"How can I go till then without washing?" asked "I work out a lot and I like to keep clean."

"She’s paying us quite well," explained Charlene. "You’ll be compensated."

"Well," offered Miranda. "He’s paying you quite well."

We all laughed at the brutal honesty behind this statement. We quite liked her and we more than happy to oblige by getting our feet sweaty and smelly for the humiliation.

"Just do your best," added Miranda. " I understand if you can’t go without washing until then.

"You could probably still wash you face and hair," commented Charlene. "Or your upper body if you do it right."

"Don’t worry," remarked Gina. "I won’t wash my feet. They’ll be pretty rank on Friday, especially after two club team soccer practices and tennis. "

Miranda then explained in great detail how she wanted the evening to go, and how we would use our smelly feet to humiliate him. We were all ears. The naysayers were soon won over and we were all enthusing about how much fun it was going to be.

"I spoke to her after the meeting because I wanted to talk to this Stinkfoot legend myself. I approached her and said "I just have to ask ..."

"Am I stinkfoot," was her frank reply. She locked me in her gaze.

"Well, that’s not what I was going to ask, but ... I was wondering that as well."

"Miranda broke the tension by laughing; I joined her. "Well, it’s true. I am ... but some of the stories aren’t always true. And they never tell my side of it."

"well ... if you told the stories ... then we’d learn the truth."

"No ... only my side of it. I’m just having a little fun, and no man has ever been hurt or emotionally scared from the experience. I just give them a vivid memory, one they can’t brush aside. We should always have fantastic memories, even if the memory of having dirty smelly feet rubbed in your face doesn’t seem that pleasant."

"You really like getting your feet smelly?" I asked.

"yes, I do. Because I always get a chance to compel a man to smell them and lick them. It’s easy to manipulate men. I do clean my feet, and I take good care of them. I even paint my nails. But I wear ratty old shoes, sometimes for long periods of time. Now, it’s impossible for me to get rid of the cheesy smell, which is fine by me."

"I heard a story about some guy getting imprisoned by a bunch of girls at a soccer camp. Petey I think his name was. They kept him there for days, forcing him to smell and lick their smelly feet. I heard you had something to do with it."

"I’d love to have been credited for that one; but the official story makes no mention of me. I’d already influenced the counselor with my stories when I worked there as an instructor. Some of the girls knew about my escapades and I suppose they finally had a chance to act out their desires. I’d left by the time the poor guy walked into this trap. I just sowed the seeds."

"This is great," I said. "I mean I was always amused by the stories, and thought it would be fun. But I figured it wasn’t real ... that these were just the imaginative flights of fancy. But I always thought it would be cool if these women were really humiliating these guys with their stinky feet. I think it’s great that I’m going to be one of them."

"I only wish I could inspire more women to take charge and rub their smelly feet in men’s faces," mused Miranda.

"But you’ve done so much. Just keep doing whatever you’ve been doing. Big things always start small."

"Well ..." added Miranda, embracing me with an arm, "have fun on Friday ... and get him good."

"You bet we will," I answered as I bid Miranda farewell. yes, she’s real and she’s just a woman who enjoys having a little power over men. But what woman doesn’t?"

So the seven of us made our preparations. We followed him to and from work, got used to his routine. But Miranda was making it easy for us. She’d designed a ruse to trick the guy into an alleyway where we could easily collect him and draw him into our revenge squad van. She’d sent him an anonymous note from a woman who allegedly wanted to meet him behind a store for an illicit rendezvous. Knowing what a sleazebag he was, she knew he’d make an effort to be at that precise spot. And he was; right on schedule.

For days we’d been making every effort to get our feet stinky. I wore the same old tennis shoes without socks, in the tradition of Miranda. Others wore the same socks or pantyhose, or went days without washing their feet. With each approaching hour, we got more and more anxious, anticipating the moment when we were finally going to get our stinky toes sniffed by some dickweed of a guy.

Four of us lingered in the van, which we’d parked to one side of the alleyway. The others lay hidden from view, ready to converge upon him at the appointed time. Gina, in charge of the squad, gave the signal, and we started the van up. We reversed it in the direction of the startled guy, while the others sprung up from behind a dumpster, wearing face masks. We opened the back of the van, hopped out and quite easily mastered him. He must have been far too surprised to know what to think. We just threw him into the car and hopped in after, shutting the van door after us. We sped off, proud that we’d pulled off the capture so speedily and so slickly. He was ours.

The guy must have bee in his late thirties; he was a business man ... real smart looking. He kept asking us what the hell was going on. But everytime he spoke, one of us just slapped him in the face and ordered him to shut up. Viv and Tracy tied his hands behind his back while Gina approached him, grabbing his face fiercely with her right hand.

"No questions, alright?" she hissed. Oh, it was so much fun intimidating men like this. Nothing seemed to frighten them more than a group of angry, slap-happy women. "We’re just going to teach you a little lesson. And if you shut up, you won’t get hurt. We’re just being paid to humiliate you a bit, and that’s what we’re going to do? We’re going to humiliate you in ways that only woman can."

But the guy didn’t know when to shut up. He was more anxious than ever, inquiring as to what we were going to do to him. A hard-fisted punch to the face from Angela silenced him though.

We arrived at our destination, and blindfolded him. It was the wherehouse, of course. the Most discrete place of all. The guy -- David I think his name was -- was stunned, as if he’d lost the use of his legs. We had to drag him inside and into the room where we were going to play with him.

We threw him into the room and laughed at him as he skidded along the floor, his arms still tied behind his back. We taunted him, mocked him and prodded him with our feet. We slapped him in the face and pulled him around by the hair. The usual physical humiliation.

I must admit, though, that we were a bit rough with him. Most of us were a bit cranky because Friday afternoons are usually reserved for working out and team sports (some of us jogged and others played soccer and volleyball); and we still felt icky from not having washed ourselves. We all wanted to bathe; but the desire to have some raunchy good fun with this guy was too great. We were going to make him smell our feet before we even thought of cleaning ourselves.

And then we untied his arms. Perhaps he thought we were going to let him go; but we’d only just begun. We had to untie him to remove his clothes. Viv pushed him to the floor with one of her boots while the others threw themselves on top of him. Tracy deftly removed his dress shoes and socks, while Jocelyn, Angela and pinned him down to prevent him form squirming too much. He was threatening us, telling us that if we didn’t stop we’d be in big trouble. Gina just slapped him hard in the face, and I think that shut him up. "Shut up while we strip you."

Pauline and Viv unclasped his pants and slid them down his legs while Gina tanked his shirt over his head. Viv made for his briefs and tugged at them, pulling them to his knees. He was tossing around so much, his cock was slapping his inner thighs. It was hilarious, watching him struggle to maintain his dignity after we’d pulled his pants down to his ankles.

We giggled amongst ourselves as we removed the clothing from his body. Angela and Pauline came over with the rope and, being adept at the art of tying up a man, tied his wrists together and ankles together in under a minute. We then dragged him by his feet over to the sofa and chairs and left him there as he squirmed to get free. It was hopeless; he was out of his league, and there was no way he was getting out of those restraints. We just chuckled to ourselves as we watched this naked man try to stand.

When he glared at us and ordered us to let him go, Gina took control of the situation. "You’re telling us what to do?" she asked him. She then pressed her sneakered foot over his face and pushed his head towards the floor. She then pressed her other foot over his chest in a gesture of triumph. "We’re in charge here; you’re in a female controlled building and we call the shots."

"You’ll never guess why you’re here," remarked Gina. The guy said nothing. "What would you think if I told you you’re going to smell our feet?"

The guy cocked an eyebrow. "Stop this."

Gina called for the duct tape and one of us handed it to her. She then tore of a piece and roughly affixed it to his face. David moaned but to no avail. We just laughed at his predicament, contemplating what he was in for.

"And what if I told you our feet stink to high heaven?" added Gina with a chuckle. "You’re nose is going to spend an awful lot of time wedged between our stinky, sweaty toes. Why? because you’re a stinker."

David must have finally believed her because he moaned insistently. He would have been begging us to stop this silly game. But we weren’t going to stop, not before we had some good, clean raunchy at his expense.

"So who’s first?" asked Gina.

Pauline, a tall, muscular woman who played volleyball and jogged on a pretty regular basis, stepped forward in her sweats and her ratty old sneakers. "I won the draw. He’ll do my smelly feet first."

We cheered Pauline on as she took a seat near David’s head and clasped his head between her sneakered feet. Using his head to pry off one shoe and then the other, she lifted her size 10 feet up and pressed them onto his face. he groaned and struggled to push her feet off his face, but Viv slid her booted feet under the chair and held his head in place between them.

Boy, did Pauline’s sock feet stink. From the moment she pried of her shoes, we knew that David was going to have a rough time of it. It was great. He was exerting himself in his vain attempt to escape that he was exhausting himself; we could hear him take in sharp gasps of air and we knew how much that musty air must have stunk.

Once she had her fill of rubbing her rank sock feet over his face, she peeled off her socks and slid her dirty bare feet onto his face. They were solid feet, but most of us did have solid almost sculpted feet. Her feet must have been pretty sweaty because it looked like his face was glistening with sweat. Unless he was really sweating.

Pauline was enjoying this because she kept wriggling her toes, as if taunting him that she could rub her feet over his face and he could do nothing about it. She scrunched his nose between her toes and usually kept it there so he’d have to sniff the stinkiest part of her feet, the crease between her toes and the ball of her foot. "How’s the air down there, "I remember Pauline saying. We laughed at this. "You know, I’d usually be disgusted if my feet smelled this bad," remarked Pauline. "But I’m enjoying this too much to care. " She wriggled her sweaty toes over his face and brushed them up against his nostrils, as she ordered him to take great big greedy mouthfuls of the odor. He had no choice, and we heard each sniff. For added humiliation, she slapped his face a bit with her stinky feet and while clutching his nose with her toes, shook his head about roughly. She relished the freedom, as we would all do.

Most of us had been wearing sneakers; but half of us chose to wear the same sweat socks for days while others opted for wearing their sneakers without socks. I was one of the women who figured that wearing them without socks for days would really make for a powerful odor. And it did.

I was next. And I knew how smelly my feet were because I’d put on my sneakers that morning, and it was disgusting. My sneakers were moist from having worn them all day before, and the odor took me off guard. I remembered thinking how much fun it was going to be to inflict this on some guy.

And here I was, his head between my feet. I used one foot to pry off a shoe. My feet were warm and sore and I recall how relieved I felt to feel the cool air on my soles and toes. I wriggled my toes and then prepared to plant a foot on his face. I was excited.

Then I smelled it. It was potent and pungent; it was a foul smell and it was the smell of my unwashed, sweaty feet. I almost felt a bit embarrassed; but David’s look of fear and nausea thrilled me too much. I couldn’t resist.

I pressed my foot onto his face, letting his nose slip between my toes, and tightened my grip, the underside of my toes pressed against his nostrils. "Smell my stinky feet," I ordered. I wriggled my toes a bit while I used his head to pry off my other sneaker. Another hot rush of odor.

I heard him moan and I knew he objected to the foul stench I was assaulting him with; and when he attempted to move his head away, Angela and Viv pressed his head in place with their dirty sneakers. I had too firm a grasp on his face with my toes for him to escape the smell, and, like he others, I just worked my sweaty, stinky unwashed feet into his face, paying special attention to his nose, of course.

And while others teased me about the stink, I reveled in the unbounded freedom I’d been presented with. I could rub my sweaty feet all over his face and rub my toes over his nose. When I told him to sniff, he did. But he didn’t have much choice.

And then I changed the position of the chair so I could have him sniff under my toenails. I wriggled my toes, just like Pauline, as if to tell him "look how much fun this is making you sniff my toes."

Inspiration came and I grabbed one of my sneakers; I held it over his nose and made him smell it, just as I made you smell my sneakers. he was struggling with the stench, but he wasn’t going anywhere. he was breathing in nothing but the ripe stink of my running shoes and it was hilarious. This kind of raunchy humiliation was so easy and yet so fun. Degrading for him but exhilerating for us.

Noticing that my heels were slightly dirty, I figured I should have this guy clean our feet as well. So I yanked off the duct tape.

He howled with pain but before he could say anything, I pressed my sweaty foot onto his face and told him to start licking it clean. Others were applauding my fiendish ingenuity.

I had only to inform him that we’d be more than happy to kick him in the balls if he refused. The threat did the trick because when I pressed my dirty heel into his mouth, he began to lap at it with his tongue. "Suck on it," I ordered. "I haven’t washed my feet in days and they’re dirty." And he sucked on my heels.

I enjoyed the heel licking so much, I had him lick the oily sweat from the rest of my dirty, smelly feet. It was amusing watching him cringe at each taste of my sour, sweaty feet. And I compounded the humiliation by pressing the toes of one foot over his nose to be sniffed while he sucked on the thick, slightly calloused padding of the ball of my other foot.

I think I’d inspired the others to be more inventive because from then on, everyone got their feet licked and toes sucked. Those of us with ratty old sneakers made him sniff them; and more then several pair of crusty old seat socks were dropped onto his face and rubbed over his nose. We reveled in the opportunity to humiliate a man with our foot odor, and put him through his paces.

Viv, the only one of us wearing boots and not sneakers, then stepped forward to take her turn. "Do you like Parmesan Cheese," I remember her asking David. "I hope so because my feet smell like Parmesan." Her playful remarks elicited theatrical groans from the rest of us. And we cheered her on as she pried off her boots to reveal two reddened, moist looking size 10 1/2 feet and long, wriggly toes. She’d been wearing her boots without socks.

Within seconds I could smell the full onsluahgt of her ripe, stale, cheesy foot odor; I backed away, as we all did, but I was transfixed by the sight of Viv slapping her sweaty feet onto his face and sliding her toes over his nose and mouth. "Smell my feet," she told him. We were all quite adept at telling him what to do, from licking our feet clean to eating the specks of dirt from between our toes to sniffing the odor from our toes.

"I think someone forgot to wear her odor eaters, " remarked Tracy with a laugh. We all joined in he merriment.

Once Viv had her dirty calloused, sweaty feet licked all over, the rest took turns humiliating him with their foot odor and having him endure the tangy, bitter taste of their foot sweat. Jocelyn, Gina, Tracy and Angela each yanked off their running shoes and joyfully rubbed their foot sweat into David’s face. We laughed and enjoyed every minute of what must have been excrutiating stink torture for him. We knew just how malodorous our feet were, and what he must have stomached. ANd never was a revenge scene so fun as this one.

I remember when Angela took her turn, and boy did her feet smell; and they were big too: size 11. She curled her sweaty, grimy toes over his nose and then made the most hilarious remark. "I think someone’s got a nasty case of stinky toes on the nose," she exclaimed with a chuckle. We all laughed at this. "Open your mouth," she ordered. She slid the toes of her other foot inside and hen remarked; "And a nasty case of dirty toes in the mouth. Not much you can do, I’m afraid." We were all laughing so hard it hurt. "They say it’s like cheese popcorn," added Gina. Oh, we were having too much fun with this whole smelly foot torture.

Some of us plugged our noses with bits of tissue paper because the accumulated smell of our stinky feet was too much to bear. We were thorough, and I’m sure Stinkfoot would have been proud. And when we clothed him and dropped him off, blindfolded, back in the alley where we nabbed him, we knew we’d done a marvelous job. It was a most excellent revenge.

We didn’t hear from Miranda, but Charlene spoke with her to inform her of the amazing success of our mission. Apparently Miranda was pleased to hear the raunchy details, but she had no doubt that we’d give David an intense and humiliating experience. I wonder where she is now.

I only wish we had more assignments like that one. It’s been far to long since we’ve had a chance to humiliate a guy with our foot odor. Thank god you came along. I think we’ll make a concerted effort to do more forced foot smelling and licking from now on.

And so Jessie concluded her story, but not before reattaching an old sneaker to Simon’s face and wishing him a pleasant night. The stench of her rotting sneaker precluded the possibility of sweet dreams, but he did manage to sleep despite the odor.

In the morning, Jessie returned Simon to the Collective where she fed him fruit with her smelly feet. The girls who worked there had him rub their feet and suck on their toes, before he was placed in the waiting room for the clients who arrived in the afternoon.

Simon would be the first human foot rest; positioned under the sofa with only his head and shoulders visibly, his face next to a sign which read as follows: "Feel free to use this boy’s face to rest your tired feet." And women were more than happy to do so; they needed no prompting. Women of all ages responded to the invitation with giggles and laughter, eagerly kicking off shoes to press warm, sweaty feet onto his face. Toes -- some of them merely stale and sour smelling, and others sharp and cheesy -- were clenched over his nose.

Simon had become the first foot boy, the first of several who would provide services as part of the Women’s Footrest, an offshoot of the Womanize Collective. At the footrest, women could have their feet worshipped and appreciated, no matter how smelly and dirty. It was a service which many of the regular clients took to quite readily; and sweaty foot worship would eventually become one of the most requested services.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. It’s Simon’s weekend which concerns us here. Poor SImon, who lay immobile most of the afternoon as woman after woman rubbed sock feet, stocking feet, bare feet in his face. They were strangers, women he’d walk by in the street. And yet here he was, his nose wedged between their sweaty toes. And they were highly amused.

Simon made no objections and sniffed when ordered to do so, licked when commanded. Toes were shoved up his nostrils and down his throat, but he said nothing. He merely earned the admiration of women like Jessie and Gina who were actually quite motherly to him (as long as he did as he was told).

And then the girls reminded him of that evening, of his assignment at the sorority house. The array of foot odor which awaited him would be the culmination of his extraordinarily bizarre and smelly weekend among the women of the Women’s Collective.