Track Team Terror
-by Solestruck

During college, one of my friends invited me to come with him to a party at the house of a friend of a friend of his girlfriend in a wealthy area of New York so that he would not be the only guy with his girlfriend and her friend’s friends. It’s a little convoluted but for background, I will lay it out in this one paragraph. The girlfriend’s friend’s friends were all members of the same track team that was going against another team for a cross country meet near one of the girls’ home. This girl, Kim, and some of her team mates were going to make a long weekend of it and have a little get together at her house while her parents were at their other home in Miami. Dan’s girlfriend apparently knew one girl, Sally, from when they were younger and their families lived on the same street in North Carolina. This old friend Sally moved away, but spent a semester three years earlier at the same college as one of the track team girls, Kim, who lived in the house. Sally had called Kim because she had a field hockey game against her former college that weekend, and Kim told her about the get-together. Since Sally knew that Dan’s girlfriend went to school about 90 minutes away from there, she asked Kim if a few more guests were OK, and Kim was cool with it.

Anyway, when we got there, it was a beautiful spread, huge house on top of a hill with a private drive, with tons of bedrooms and bathrooms. Three floors plus a posh basement rec area with its own second kitchen and bar. He and I got there early, which his girlfriend thought we would since the girl who lived their was coming with her friends were coming right from their meet. She had left a spare key for Sally, who at the last minute notified Dan’s girlfriend that she could not make it, but she notified her where the key was so she could relay it to him, since he and I were tasked with supplying some food as our contribution.

He and I had started having some drinks, watching music videos on their huge TV and just hanging out. We had gone ahead and brought munchies (pizza, chips, pretzels, Chinese food, etc), and bought beer, wine coolers and some hard stuff with mixers for the party. We had also mixed up a mean sangria punch. I hoped that since they were althletes, they might be a nice looking lot. The girls all arrived from their meet about 90 minutes or so later and we already had a nice glow on.

My hunch had proved correct since they were all athletic, in shape, with nice trim, toned bodies. There were eight girls in addition to Dan’s girlfriend. They were in a little of a haggard condition since they came right from their meet, but there were no ugly ones, and I like the just-worked-out, healthy, athletic look anyway. They just joined right in with us without showering or prettying up since they were ravenous after the athletic event. For simplicity’s sake, different names have been assigned for purposes of this recollection.

They all seemed to be pretty cool except for one girl named Christine and her friend Beth. Christine was about 5’10” with dirty blonde hair and green/blue eyes. Very attractive, and with a great figure noticeable through her lycra pants. But she was stand-offish and little bitchy, no doubt stuck up as a result of her well above average looks and figure. Beth was not quite as offensive in the personality department, but still no delight to hang out with. She had that same attitude when introduced as if to convey the impression that she thought it really was your pleasure and privilege to meet her. Beth was a little better looking than Christine, but much shorter at only 5’1” with a very thin frame. It was immediately noticeable that she had tiny hands, wrists, waist, neck, ankles, feet. She had dark hair, with a darker complexion indicating perhaps some Latin-American blood, and gorgeous cat-like eyes.

I met them in the kitchen when I briefly left the table to get another drink. When I came up to them to introduce myself, Beth did not bother to put her drink down to shake my offered hand and just chuckled, made a face like “Who the hell is this guy?” and looked at Christine who smirked. Seeing no need for their conceited, snobby attitude, I just said, “No need to be a$$holes, I was only trying to be polite.” I did not bother to offer a hand to Christine, who then said, “This was a private conversation, and we’d like to keep it that way.” A little red in the face from unnecessary rejection when I was not even trying to make any moves, I started to leave the kitchen, and heard Christine say “Loser!” as I was walking away but only a few feet a way. She knew I would hear it. Very pissed off and with a strong buzz going, I muffled back the C word, and heard her ask “What did you say?” As I exited the kitchen I replied, “Nothing, you hag!” and turned into the family room.

Most of us, except for Christine and Beth who kept to themselves in the kitchen, were sitting around a coffee table in the enormous family room playing some immature drinking game. I was on a couch between to girls, Debbie and Diane, and there were as I recall three chairs around the table, two of which were occupied by Dan and his girlfriend. Two other girls, Terri and Tiff, were sitting on the raised back part of the couch behind the two girls on my flanks, since it was a deep couch and the three of us sitting on the regular cushions on the lower part were perched on the edge playing our game.

Another of the girls, Kim who was sitting across the table in one of the three chairs, and I were flirtingly trading sarcastic barbs, saying to each other, “You suck and I am awesome” every time the other one screwed up, and then laughing our asses off. She was the least attractive of the bunch with 7 of 10 average looks, but had a great track toned figure like the rest. Another tall girl named Kathy was also across the table, standing next to the chair occupied by Kim.

Christine and Beth were not at the table at the time this little friendly back and forth started with me and Kim, and had migrated from the kitchen about 30 minutes later, after Dan and his girlfriend had already departed to go to a hotel about an hour away. Since Sally had cancelled, Dan’s girlfriend figured she had little reason to hang out with a bunch of people she did not know. Dan apologized since he had dragged me along so he would not be alone with a bunch of girls he did not know, but he also had needs since he and his girlfriend went to different schools and did not see much of each other. Since I was already there, with a buzz going and working a nice rapport with Kim, I took it in stride.

Since I had driven us all the way there, Dan apprised me that he would just have his girlfriend drop him at the train on Sunday, and would not need a lift back. So I bid him off, realizing I would be on my own. Since Dan’s girlfriend’s friend who was the direct link had just called to cancel at the last minute, it kind of left me as a true odd man out.

When Beth and Christine migrated in, Christine took the seat right behind me on the back of the couch between the other two women, Terry and Tiff, who were sitting high up on the couch back. Kathy took one of the chairs that Dan and his girlfriend had been in and Beth took the middle chair directly across from me.

The girls were for the most part all wearing what they had on at the meet which was a variety of lycra stretch pants, sweat pants and those canvas-looking warm up pants that often come with matching jackets and make a swishing sound as the thighs rub past each other. Most of the other girls still had on some type of athletic sneakers from the meet. But a few including Christine had ditched their running sneakers and their socks. Christine had on a pair of thin white slip-on sneakers that looked like Keds and were well-worn, such that the white was discolored from sweat continually soaking through them. Tiff, sitting to Christine’s right on the couch back had kept her socks on but had slipped into a pair of backless sneakers that looked like Skechers. Terry, off to Christine’s left, was also sockless, and had on a pair of thin-soled, sleek, form hugging Diesel slip-ons mostly white leather with a little canvas.

Just as I returned playful fire at Kim with a “You suck and I am awesome,” Christine, ignorant of the whole friendly back and forth between Kim and I, felt the need to jump in the mix. From where she sat behind me, with a drink in one of her hands and a plate of munchies in the other, she sort of kicked at my rib, stomped on my upper thigh with her ked-like sneaker and told me to “Shut up,” and added “Don’t talk to her like that.” A little pissed off and with a little alcohol-induced bravado, I immediately swore at her and then told her, “We are having our own good time here, so why don’t you take a hike and go back in the kitchen with your rude a$$hole little friend.” Groping for more ammo but lacking much of it due to the intimidation of Christine’s good looks and being outnumbered 8 to 1, I stupidly added, “ . . . and take a shower while you’re at it! You stink.”

She then stomped my leg again, harder this time, causing me to spill my drink on the table. With my beer balls on, I threatened, “Don’t touch me with your stinky feet again or you will be sorry.” With her hands full and trying to balance, she tried to kick me from where she sat behind me and slightly off to the left, with the inside of her left foot so that the sole would hit me off the face. The kick missed and her foot just waved but by my face. I too had a drink in one hand and a plate in my other hand, which had chips and a big mound of runny salsa. Not knowing that the miss was unintentional, I figured I now had the upper hand since after my threat she did not actually touch me again, so in an emboldened fashion I triumphantly responded to the missed kick with “Keep your filthy, stinky shoes out of my face or I will stuff them up your ass.”

She must have put her plate and drink down behind her on the high counter opening into the kitchen, because the next thing I knew, she suddenly pulled my torso backwards with her left hand, threw her left leg over my chest and with the other hand shoved the opening of her sneaker sideways over my mouth and nose and pressed hard. I was off balance, still trying to prevent my salsa or drink—which were now over the expensive couch—from spilling. The sudden cantilevering back of my torso caused my butt to slip off the edge of the couch. In that predicament, I could not fight back. My hands were full, and having been bent back, I could not reach the table to free my hands of the drink and plate of wet food. I could not use my legs which were under the expensive glass coffee table. I soon noticed that the foot on the leg she had thrown over me was bare. She had used the weight of that leg to help forcefully recline my torso and pin me back almost flat. She then pressed me the rest of the way down back with the bottom of her left foot on my upper chest, still pressing the shoe over my breathing passages with her right hand. She stepped on my right bicep with her right sneaker and moved her left bare foot to my left bicep, pinning my in a crucifix-like pose, while I still struggled to balance my plate and drink over the plush couch.

I had no choice but to stay their in front of everyone else mangled backward in that awkward position, balancing the drink and plate so as not to spill it on the expensive couch, with her sneaker pressed over my mouth and nose. It certainly did smell like a well-worn shoe that she had often worn barefoot and sweat in. I noticed that her pungent foot smell had against my will given me an instant involuntary erection straining against my jeans, which I hoped was not visible through my jeans.

Two of her friends were laughing since it was a pretty good attack she pulled off to put me in my place. Neither Debbie nor Diane on my flanks offered to help hold my drink or plate. Right after pinning me back, she the asked Tiff to step on my right arm with her left foot, and asked Terry to step on my left arm.

After what seemed like an eternity, she scornfully in a mocking little girl voice repeated my words, “Don’t touch you with my ‘stinky’ feet or I will be sorry. Hmm. Keep my ‘stinky’ shoe out of your face or you will stuff it up my ass.” She continued, “Well now my ‘stinky’ feet are on you, and my ‘stinky’ shoe is in your face, and there is not a damn thing you can do about it.” She continued, “You said I would be sorry. Gee I don’t feel sorry.” She asked her audience, “Do you girls think I look sorry?” With her shoe orifice pressed over my air passages as an involuntary breathing apparatus, I could not even verbally defend myself and just had to endure the abuse and continue to breathe air that had first passed through the filter of her accumulated, dried foot sweat that was caked into the sneaker. I continued to get aroused against my will.

Beth immediately replied from across the table, “No, you don’t look sorry to me, but he looks ridiculous.” Three others laughed and I think two others also answered in the negative to Christine’s question. Tiff, sitting to her right said, “That is sooo nasty. Those old things are disgusting. You have worn those every day with no socks for the last three years.”

Egged on by alcohol, anger and the support of her audience’s laughter, Christine continued, “You called my feet and my shoes ‘stinky’, so how do they smell now that you are getting a good whiff?” With that she pulled it off my face for a moment so I could answer. Mostly out of anger at being publicly humiliated, I reflexively replied, “Get that smelly thing off my face you fu#4ing cu—“but was cut off as she roughly replaced it there and said “Wrong answer,” then started laughing with her friends.

Christine then used the sole of her right sneaker to press on the upturned sole of the (removed) left sneaker. Now the opening of the removed left shoe pressed down even harder over my mouth and nose. This way Christine would not have to lean over to hold it there with her hand. The innersole felt damp with sweat and reeked of her foot sweat. This had to be a shoe that she must have really worn every day with no socks on a year round basis. She announced to the others at the table, “He will be skipping a turn or two in the game until he realizes that my shoes smell great.” More laughter.

The added weight of her leg pressing down on the shoe forced the back of my head to sink a little between the seat cushions. Her left foot was till on my left upper arm, and Tiff and Terry were still pinning my arms with one of their sneaker-clad feet. They carried on the game and their conversation without me. After about ten minutes, my back was aching. She finally removed the sweat logged, smelly sneaker again and said, “How do my shoes smell?” Knowing what was in store for any other answer, I replied “OK, Great.” This was followed by a louder chorus of laughter from the other tipsy girls. Debbie, sitting next to me said, “I can smell those from here, so you have one F-d up sense of small buddy!”

Since I had been broken and given in, I thought she was going to let me up at that point from this embarrassing situation, but apparently egged on by the laughs and her limits enlarged by the booze, she then added, “Do you love that smell?” I lied out of embarrassment and said, “Not really, now cut the @#%$ you cu%$.” She immediately switched the grip on her shoe, and slapped me hard across the face with the sole of the sneaker, saying “The C word is very offensive. I suggest you don’t call me that again.” I felt my face redden from the sting and from the embarrassment. She then slapped my face again with the sole of the shoe, and continued, “And that’s the wrong answer” once again pressing the opening of the worn smelly slip-on ked sneaker back over my mouth and nose and firmly securing it with the sole of her right shoe again for another prolonged direct hit of her foot scent. More laughter from the other increasingly tipsy girls.

Beth chimed in, “You just don’t know when to quit.” Debbie sitting beside me glanced down at my shoe-covered, reddened face underneath Christine’s sneaker, then looked up at Christine and said, “Every time you take it on and off his face, the stench wafts up at me. Either keep it there or get it the hell out of here.” Diane, on my other side, countered, “Actually, I prefer you just put it back on your foot because your feet stink too.”

I could not believe that given my predicament with the shoe imprisoning my mouth and nostrils, they were actually arguing about inconvenience to themselves by the smell of Christine’s feet. Now in addition to my back, my elbow joints and wrists were really hurting since no one was lending me any assistance with the plate and drink I was balancing. She was pressing so hard with the weight of her leg that the wet, sweat soaked innersole was right against my lips and starting to crush my nose a little making it tougher to inhale the contaminated air. I parted my lips to try to make it easier to breathe since a panic reflex at the breath deprivation had caused my heart to beat faster. But the weight pressing the soaking wet innersole down on my mouth just resulted in me sucking some moisture from the innersole into my mouth. I could taste the strong salty flavor of her foot sweat. Christine continued, “The correct answer is that you LOVE that smell.” More laughter increasing in volume as inhibitions withered from the alcohol.

After carrying on for another 15 minutes or so chatting, watching MTV and observing the five girls who continued the drinking game without me while I struggled to breathe and involuntarily ingested Christine’s foot sweat as my only nourishment, Christine finally removed the damp, sweaty sneaker from my face again, and asked, “Now let’s try this again, do you love the smell of my feet?” Anticipating the inevitable laughter, but wanting to bring this all to an end to avoid further pain and humiliation and oxygen deprivation, I was prepared to tell her whatever she wanted to hear. I reluctantly admitted, “Yes, I love the smell of your feet.” Delighting in the increasingly hearty laughter that immediately erupted, no doubt spurred on by alcohol, Christine said, “I’m sorry, I did not hear you, say that again a little louder.” I repeated it louder, “I love the smell of your feet.” They were all in stitches laughing and Christine was glowing like a comedian in command of the room, loving the attention. She milked the scene for all it was worth interrogating me more aggressively and causing my member to stiffen further, “So my feet are not filthy or stinky, right?” I gave the mandatory reply, “Yes.” Egged on by fits of laughter by the girls, she rolled on with her confirmations, each followed by more fits of group laughter and the correct answer she was looking for from me: “They are fresh and clean and smell wonderful, then?” “Yes.” “Not dirty, stinky or filthy?” “No.” “Do you think they are pretty?” “Yes” “Beautiful?” “Yes.” “And you really, truly do honestly love how they smell?” “Yes.”

She then replied, “Oh well in that case, have a little more,” and this time pressed the arch of her bare left foot right over my mouth, snugly up against the tip of my nose. At the same time, she placed the sole of her right foot still in its sneaker across my eyes and forehead, leaving my nostrils as the only part of my face uncovered to breathe in air that carried with it the scent of her foot since her arch was touching my nose. I don’t think any of the other girls saw that coming and they were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

Eventually recovering from laughter, the comments started to roll in. Kathy, sitting across the table said, “Oh, Chris that is disgusting. You did not shower this morning even though we went out clubbing last night, then you ran the road race today and you didn’t even shower after the meet.” Diane chimed in as well, “That is gross.” Tiff said that her side hurt from laughing so hard. The added weight of both feet on my face resulted in a further depression of the back of my head into the couch cushion crevice up to just behind my ears which had left my face almost flush with the horizontal surface of the couch and prevented me from twisting my head at all. I wondered if I would have been better off if my ears were covered so I would not have to endure the sound of laughter.

I was stuck there pinned under her feet sideways across my face for another five or ten minutes, my arms out side ways behind Debbie and Diane, pinned by Terry and Tiff and still struggling to balance my drink and plate of runny salsa with my wrists. The weight of my legs and hips was pulling my buttocks toward the floor, but the full weight of her pinning my face to the couch prevented my buttocks from reaching the floor. As a result, my back was arched in a terribly uncomfortable position.

For about 15 more minutes, they all carried on drinking, chatted about school, the track meet, the videos on TV and other stuff as if I was not even there, and the other five girls seated directly at the table (Debbie, Diane, Kim, Kathy and Beth) kept playing the game. Christine eventually lifted her feet off my face and said “I almost forgot about you. Looks like you have a nice sneaker tread on your forehead. I think I can even make out the logo from the bottom of my shoe.” The others peered over and laughed.

While talking, Christine removed her remaining sneaker from her right foot, and Diane interjected, “Put that thing back on, your feet stink.” Debbie made motion to wave the smell away with her hand and said “Whew”. Christine nevertheless continued, “How are you doing down there anyway?” I heard myself reply, “You realize that once I get up, you are dead meat you fu#*ing—.” I was again cut off mid-sentence before I could swear at her, when she quickly shifted slightly to her right so she was directly behind me, and immediately stamped her right bare foot squarely on my face, interrupting me with, “Well in that case, I better keep you there until you have a change of heart and learn some manners.” This was rather ironic since it was her and Beth who displayed the lack of manners when I tried to introduce myself earlier.

I noticed that her right foot was hot and moist with sweat since it was freshly removed from inside her sneaker. It was so slimy it even slipped off my face and she had to replace it. Kathy added in again, “I would hate to trade places with him, your feet stink.” Beth chimed in, “Sucks for him. Maybe he should learn some manners.” Diane, sitting beside me, said “He may disagree and say he loves them, but I can smell your feet from here.”

Christine then re-adjusted herself so that both of her bare feet were parallel on my face so that her heels were on my forehead, her big toes on my lips, her other toes pressed into my cheeks, and the balls of her feet crushing into my cheeks just outside my nostrils and partially pinching my nostrils closed. Christine was leaning all her weight forward with her elbows on her knees which were pressed together. Fortunately, the bridge of my nose and my eye sockets were spared due to her high arches. They all carried on for what seemed like 20 or 30 more minutes, and the weight was really starting to hurt my face. I think her shoes or feet had been in my face one way or another for well over an hour. I had almost grown immune to the scent of her sweat. They just continued to carry on talking about everything and drinking and the five girls around the table, two on the low part of couch and three in the chairs, playing the game we hard started earlier.

All of a sudden, I heard Terry off to my left who was sitting beside Christine on the couch back say “Hey watch it!” Apparently, my exhaustion had resulted in the dish tipping and some of the salsa pile running over the edge. I heard Beth say, “Nice save.” Terry had used quick reflexes to kick the toe of her free left foot under the edge of the dish, tilting it back level and preventing a disaster on the nice couch. Christine ordered Debbie and Diane to take the plate and drink out of my hands.

Terry angrily commented that I had also spilled a little salsa onto the top of the toe of her “brand new” white sneaker and “ruined” it. Beth felt the need to chime in again, “Make him lick it off!” Kim, sitting across the table finally spoke up in my defense, albeit a little late, and said, “Don’t you think you are starting to overdo it a bit.” But Christine must have liked the idea since she pulled her feet off the top of my face, turned the soles in and pressed the soles onto my cheeks, leaving my face exposed and my head in a foot vice. At the same time, she turned her head left to Terry and said “Well?”

I tried to protest, arguing Christine should lick it off since she was the one who pinned me here with the dish in my hand, and that Diane and Debbie were to blame to since they could have taken the things out of my hand at any time. This was futile though. They were friends and team mates, and the odds of them turning against each other on my behalf were slim and none. Besides, Christine was kind of a leader and I could tell that the others tended to follow her directives. Right after I spoke, I also realized that the wisest approach would have been to offer to clean it with a towel or buy her a new pair. By arguing that someone else should lick it off, I had basically conceded that it was appropriate to have it licked off.

It seemed like my attempt to turn her against her team mates helped sway Terry to join more actively in the abuse. Terry shrugged and twisted her hips to her right so she could present the inner front top part of the toe of the shoe to lip mouth. The Diesel sneaker was pristine white except for the salsa spill on the toe. She pressed the front tip with the salsa onto my lips, and started laughing. I at first resisted, trying to twist my head but it was locked in Christine’s foot vice. Christine squeezed hard with her thigh muscles and ankles, so the balls of her feet pressed hard my cheeks hard into my teeth causing my mouth to open. Terry just pressed harder until my lips could not take being crushed against my teeth any longer. I could not turn my head because my cheeks were clamped in Christine’s foot vice. I gave in and licked at the stain.

Debbie, Terry and Christine were all transfixed watching me lick Terry’s sneaker. Then they broke out in laughter. Kim said, “I can’t believe you are making him lick your shoe.” Christine defended Terry saying, “Hey, he ruined the sneaker, he should have to clean it.” Kim realized that with alcohol playing a big role, she was not going to win the argument and reverse what was becoming a crowd behavior. Diane, on my other side, said “I think I would rather lick that than get anywhere near Christine’s feet.” Christine flicked her off the head and threatened her, “Keep it up and you’re next.”

Terry lifted the shoe off my mouth, pulled it off her foot, inspected it, and with a really pissed off look said, “It is still stained, he just smeared it.” Her foot was till hovering near my face and I could smell her sweat, which was mixed with a new leather smell. Her feet were beautifully shaped. Trying to be helpful, Kim said, “A little club soda will get it out,” as she passed a little mini-bottle of club soda over that was already open for topping off her punch. Terry leaned sideways a little so the sneaker was not over the couch, and slowly drizzled club soda onto the stain. It fizzed a little as it continued to pour and soaked through the little bit of canvas that was designed into the stylish leather sneaker. My left and right arms were still being pinned by Terry and Tiff.

Terry, not being the brightest bulb, then looked around stupidly, holding the shoe up as if not knowing what to do with it and not wanting to put it on, now that it had club soda poured into it. As if reading Terry’s mind, Beth opened her obnoxious little mouth and suggested, “Put it in his mouth and he can suck it out.” Terry in a happy go lucky fashion leaned over, inverted it so the top of the shoe was toward my tongue with the sole toward the roof of my mouth, and pushed it past my lips with no resistance from me.

I wondered if the girls caught on that I had an erection, since any normal man might have gone to greater lengths to resist a girl trying to shove her sneaker past his lips into his mouth. Terri was a stunner. Very blond hair, blue eyes, about 5’6” with a top notch tight toned figure, but not really my type since she seemed like a bit of an airhead.

Once Terry had manually inserted the front end of the sneaker into my mouth, Christine ordered, “Suck the liquid out of that. If the canvas is stained, you are going to buy her a new pair.” To that Beth, Tiff and Kathy roared with laughter. It seemed like everyone else was getting drunk and had lost site of all bounds of decency. I was the only one who had not been able to have a sip of alcohol for an hour or more while they were pounding drinks. In the time since my confinement and forced respiration of Christine’s foot scent, I recalled Kim, Kathy and Beth each making a run to the kitchen to get the girls another round. The only liquid I consumed now was as a result of being force-fed some of Christine’s fresh foot sweat from her innersole and the club soda I was sucking from Terry’s Diesel sneakers.

Terry, who seemed the drunkest, needed little egging on and pressed on the heel of the sneaker forcing it into my mouth to the maximum. Christine pressed her feet harder into my cheeks, and said “Come on, suck! I want to feel those cheeks moving in and out.” More out of shock from the multi-sided attack and the barrage of orders, and the pain, I started sucking and swallowing. There was not much club soda in there, but I was sure I had gotten it out. Every girl was roaring at Christine’s last order. I tasted not only leather, but began to taste foam rubber innersole as the air was sucked through the fabric into my mouth. I think they all were laughing at this point. I had not exactly envisioned a night with the women’s track team where I was the brunt of the evening’s comedy. Egged on by the crowd, Terry began to pump it back and forth and then just rammed it as far as it would go into my mouth which made me feel like I could not breathe and stretched my lips to capacity.

Eventually, Terry pulled her sneaker out of my overstretched mouth and inspected it. A look of surprise came over her face as she said, “Wow, you do good work. The stain is almost completely gone.” Christine immediately added, “Wow, that is impressive, maybe you can try to get these whiter, and she pushed one of her slip-on sneakers past my lips and into my mouth, which again for some reason offered no resistance. This brought more laughter from the group and another grotesque sound of disgust from Diane. I again worried that maybe I should have resisted and wondered if I was giving away the fact that I was strangely and uncontrollably aroused by this gang foot abuse. Tiff offered her opinion, “There is no way those things are coming clean.” Christine responded by looking at my face which was stuffed with her sneaker and said, “Well let’s give it a try. You get these clean and I will let you up.”

For the next 30 minutes or so, Christine kept ordering me to suck her shoe harder, periodically withdrawing it, inspecting it and then commanding me to stick my tongue out and lick it. She made me lick the tops and the soles. Despite her sadistic enjoyment of it, the others grew accustomed and began to converse about other topics and the drinking game continued with the original five girls, still minus the sixth player who continued to be detained. Christine eventually compared the two sneakers and claimed that I had restored one, getting it a little whiter, and that the sole I had licked for the past half hour was “definitely cleaner.” She then held the two soles up for the group to inspect. Kim resignedly said, “You’ve lost it, Chris.” Christine just ignored Kim and repeated the whole degrading process with the other shoe. When she was done, she asked aloud, “Does anyone else need their shoes cleaned?”

At first, I was relieved that no one accepted. Luckily, Beth had gone to the ladies room or I’m sure she would have been first in line. But then, to my surprise, Tiff used her right leg to continue pinning my right arm, pulled off her left backless sneaker, held it up to Christine and, as she handed it to Christine for inspection, said, “Maybe I should give it a try, what do you th—.” Overcome with frustration at yet another member of the pack going on the offense, perhaps using bad judgment, and despite being in no position to argue, I interrupted her and said, “Come on, gimme a fu$#ing break here. Don’t be an as$hole. I don’t want—I am not licking anymore frigging stinky godda~ned track whore sneak—.” But I was abruptly cut off as Tiff quickly and angrily pressed her left foot right over face covering my nose and mouth. She had a surprised look like she could not believe I would be dumb enough to now insult the whole team even after all the abuse I had taken. I think she also just had a hair trigger temper because she was getting drunk. Her sock was soaked with sweat. She slid the foot back an inch or so, cupped under my nose with her toes of her socked left foot and squeezed my nostrils forcing me to breathe through the sweat-caked sock. Tiff then asked me with clenched teeth, “’Track whores’, eh? How’s this for ‘stinky’? Take a hit off this!” Debbie, Diane, Terry and even Kathy erupted in laughter. Christine laughed so hard that I could feel the reverberation of her abdomen contracting right though the soles of her feet into my cheeks. Tiff’s sock reeked with her all day, road-race foot sweat.

Kathy chimed in and said, “Tiff that is just plain wrong. You wore those socks to practice all week and ran in them today.” This was the strongest, most pungent thing I ever smelled. Tiff replied, “Hey I only do laundry on Sundays, I don’t have time during the week.” Beth backed her up and said, I do the same thing, I wash them once a week.” Tiff kept her socked foot there wriggling her toes over my nostrils for 5 more minutes, after which she finally lifted it, and said, “I was on the fence until ‘track whores’ but you made up my mind.” With that, Christine and Tiff forced me to lick Tiff’s skechers all over including the treads, administering them to my mouth with their hands. Then, repeating the phrase “track whores” over and over, they likewise forced me to lick the entire surface of both of Terry’s diesel sneakers, soles and all, while they were still on her feet.

Then Beth passed her sneakers across the table, saying “Christine’s ‘little a$shole friend’ would like her shoes cleaned, please.” Before those got to my lips, I said, “My tongue is too dry, I need a drink.” Christine said, “I am not letting you up yet.” I pleaded that I really needed a drink. Tiff, whom I had pissed off, said “I have an idea.” I replied, “Fine, anything, I just need liquid, my tongue is dried out and getting raw, it can’t take any more.” She asked Debbie get her a cup half full with water, slipped off her backless sneakers again, peeled off her sweaty, wet socks, stuffed them into the cup, then leaned over and used one hand to help Christine’s feet pinch my cheeks to pucker open my mouth. With the other hand, she deposited her socks and poked them down until they were completely tucked into my mouth. Beth shrieked with laughter. Debbie turned her head away and said, “I cannot watch this, this is really gross.” Kathy added, “I will be surprised if that does not kill him.” Having no other choice, I sucked on Tiff’s socks for all I was worth, swallowing a concoction of her foot sweat dissolved in water. Diane said, “That is disgusting.” While I was sucking this foot sweat brine out of Tiff’s sock, Tiff exclaimed, “Hey this will save a bunch on laundry, and it is environmentally friendly.” Tiff then removed her socks from my mouth, and Christine ordered, “OK, back to work!”

I then had to lick Beth’s sneakers clean which really pissed me off since I was really repulsed by her personality and attitude. Kim declined to offer her sneakers, triggering some ribbing for “sticking up for her ‘boyfriend’.” Kathy was easily persuaded to go along with the group, after a little cajoling, so I had to tongue clean her shoes too. But Debbie and Diane, despite a lot of persuading by Beth, Christine and Tiff, each said that I looked like I could use a break. I said “Thank you, it’s nice to know that some of you are not assholes like Beth and Christine.”

Christine said, “You have got to be kidding me. If I did not know better, I would swear you are actually enjoying this. You have to be enjoying this. You just keep on asking for more.” She then forcefully planted both feet parallel on my face again. My erection started throbbing again. This time her feet must have been there for at least another 45 minutes, probably more like an hour, because I heard at least a dozen music videos in the background and the girls in the chairs across the table each made two more runs to get additional rounds of drinks. During this time, for the first 30 minutes or so, Christine was frequently rubbing the slimy soles of her feet back and forth in opposite directions on my face as if my face were her personal foot rag.

I could not see most of the time, only when she rubbed them to the outside a little on my cheeks, but I could feel her staring down at my face. And every time I opened my eyes, she was looking down at me with a smirk. It was almost as if she was catching on that I was getting strangely aroused. In the earlier abuse, she just went ahead chatting as if I was not there, but now she was staring intently, watching, perhaps wondering why I was no longer struggling and why I kept needlessly making antagonistic remarks that would surely draw more foot abuse.

After that half hour of wiping her feet all over my face, Christine started grabbing, squeezing and playing with my lips with her long toes. She must have wondered why my lips offered no resistance. She was rhythmically grabbing and releasing my lips with her toes, and every third or fourth squeeze, she would periodically pause on the release, delaying the return of her toes to my lips. Each time she did this little trick, I felt my lips involuntarily pucker out as if yearning for her toes to return and continue to manipulate them. She continued to observe my mouth’s reaction to the absence of her toes and my lips obvious and uncontrollable desire to make contact again with her bare toes. After fifteen minutes of this, I heard her chuckle and then say “Hmm” as if to indicate that she were satisfied with that theory. I felt a harder surge of blood in loins.

She then adjusted her feet and began cupping her toes over my nose, splaying the toes out again and closing them. This continued for the next 15 minutes or so. During this time, I noticed that I had involuntarily been regulating my breathing so that I was exhaling through my mouth as her toes splayed out away from my nose and inhaling through my nose when she cupped the toes back tightly over my nostrils. If I were not trying to sniff her feet, shouldn’t it have been the opposite? She had to have noticed, since she was drastically slowing the toe splays down then speeding them up, as if to study my reaction. I noticed that I was speeding and slowing my breaths so that I always exhaled through my mouth in the absence of her feet and would only inhale when her toes were in contact with my nostrils. Even though I realized that I had somehow been hypnotized and re-programmed to sniff only that air which had first been filtered by her toes, I felt powerless to stop it. Again, I became aware of a very powerful erection that was pulsating. She continued this little test for about 15 more minutes, at the end of which she snickered and I heard her say “Mmm-hmm.”

When she finally lifted her feet off my face, Christine was looking down at me through her knees with a smirk, a knowing smirk, as if she knew that I was turned on by this and was only putting up a false show of protest. Terry and Tiff were still pinning my forearms down with their feet. My back was still painfully arched with my torso pinned on the couch and my buttocks hanging toward the floor, my legs still outstretched under the couch. Christine calmly and loudly asked for the benefit of her audience, “Now have you learned some manners and can you promise that if we let you up, you will behave yourself, not call anyone that foul “C” word or any other name, and not threaten me or anyone else?”

Having smartened up a little, I did not swear or yell, knowing it would just result in her feet being stamped back on my defenseless face which was already very sore and raw from being slapped, stomped on, foot-smeared and bearing much of her weight for over an hour. I calmly replied. “Yes, I will not use that word anymore and I will not hurt anyone.” Maybe out of a no longer subconscious desire for more of her shapely feet, I heard myself continue, “But your dirty, ugly, filthy feet do absolutely stink though and I very much would appreciate it if you please got them the hell out of my face.” Perhaps I went a little overboard.

I heard Beth say, “Ohhh, you just don’t know when to shut up.” Christine smirked and with a knowing look like she now had definitely confirmed her suspicions, asked, “You were almost free, why did you have to insult me when I was about to let you up? You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?” Not waiting for an answer, she continued, “I don’t think my feet are ugly.” She asked her audience, “Do you think my feet are ugly.” I heard a variety of no’s and umm-umms from the other girls. She went on further, “I think my feet are better looking than your face.” As she said this she lifted her right foot up and hovered it over my face as if to allow me to compare the bottom of her foot to my face. She went on, “An hour or two ago, you told me in front of everyone here that you thought my feet were ‘pretty’ and you even said they were ‘beautiful’. It seems like you have contradicted yourself.” Her foot was till hovering there, so I could see all of the detail in the sole and the bottoms of the toes.

She then reasoned, “Besides, a little while ago you told me in front of everyone here that my feet smelled ‘great’ and that you ‘loved’ the smell of my feet. We all heard you say my feet were ‘fresh’, ‘clean’ and smelled ‘great’ and ‘wonderful’ and that you ‘really’, ‘truly’ ‘honestly’ loved the smell of my feet.” Building the trap that I had walked into with my antagonism, she calmly went on in a triumphant tone, “Now you call them ‘dirty’ and ‘filthy’ and say they ‘absolutely stink.’” She continued setting the trap, “So, be honest with me, are you 100% sure that they now are dirty, filthy and stink?” Seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, I said, “Yes, believe me I am sure.”

She then moved in for the coup de grace, “So just over an hour ago, you declared that my feet were ‘fresh’ and ‘clean.’ And you admitted that my feet smelled ‘great’ and ‘wonderful’ to you. And you admitted that you ‘really’, ‘truly’ and ‘honestly’ ‘loved’ the smell of my feet. Well, I rubbed my feet all over your face for the last hour. So my feet have been nowhere but on your face for the last hour. Since after being on your face for an hour, they are all of a sudden ‘dirty’, ‘filthy’ and ‘stinky,’ well then your face must have gotten them ‘dirty’, ‘filthy’ and ‘stinky.’ So maybe you should lick them clean because the ‘dirt’, ‘filth’ and ‘stink’ obviously came from being in contact with your face. I think it’s only fair, don’t you?”

I felt my cheeks get all hot with embarrassment. I also felt my erection throb against the fabric of my pants, thankful I was wearing jeans and not sweats, or shorts or thin cotton slacks. I was in quite a pickle here. I knew there was no debate. On the face of it, her argument was 100 percent logical. Even though I was kind of forced to say those things to avoid having my face stomped again, I did in fact make those statements which I was now contradicting, and on some level there had to be some truth as evidenced by my state of arousal. I also realized I was in no position to refuse. If I said “No” then she would force me to do whatever she wanted anyway. If I went along with it, then I looked like a fool.

She painfully went on, taking an informal poll of her inebriated followers, “Am I making sense here? Didn’t you all hear him say a little while ago that my feet were ‘fresh’ and ‘clean’, confirm that they smelled ‘great’ and ‘wonderful’ in his opinion, and then admit that that he ‘loved’ the smell of my feet—Correction—that he ‘really, truly and honestly’ loved the smell of my feet?”

There was unanimous consent from the entertained team mates who had taken on a gang mentality, and I noticed they all sounded officially very drunk. Kim corrected her but was not much help, saying, “I believe he first said your shoes smelled great, and that he loved the smell of your feet.” Christine replied, “I don’t think so, I think he also said my feet smelled great, fresh and clean after that, but even if that had been the case, my shoes smell like my feet, so if he likes the smell of my shoes then he likes the smell of my feet.” Kim conceded, “You do have a point,” and could not help but laugh with the others. Kim had now succumbed to the booze and the peer pressure, and finally sold me out like the others. I could not believe they were matter of factly debating this. This was absurd. It was supposed to be a party with me hanging out with some good looking babes having a few drinks.

Christine said, it is settled then, and proceeded to lower the hovering foot to my lips. I did nothing and she slapped at the side of my face with her sole, then tapped my lips twice with the ball of her foot and her toes, saying “Come on let’s go! Get that tongue out and working. Clean YOUR ‘dirt’, ‘filth’ and ‘stink’ of my ‘beautiful’ feet. I can wait here all night. So you’re better off doing it now and getting it out of the way.” I started to lick the sole of her foot, and heard Tiff and Terry who had the bird’s eye views next to Christine on the couch back, make guttural noises of disgust.

Even though she had totally broken my will, dominated me and imposed her will over my own, she felt the need to continue her painful degrading diatribe for everyone else’s benefit. “You said you thought my feet were ‘pretty’ and ‘beautiful’ so you should not mind licking them.” She must have wanted the others to know what she had discovered. She went on, this time twisting the words I had earlier uttered under duress so that she could further enlighten the others as to what she herself had deduced through careful observation, “In fact, you admitted that you were in love with my feet, and since that is the case, you can look at this as getting some action.” The girls all continued to laugh. Her expert psychological manipulation was getting me more and more aroused.

Since I had consumed nothing but foot sweat for the last 2 hours, my buzz was fading and my revived senses noticed that as they got more intoxicated, the TV volume had gotten turned up, and the five girls in the drinking game were pretty much tuned out and talking the loudest. Christine was the least drunk of the crew, partially because she was tall and could hold it, but partially because she had slowed her pace since she was so enthralled in her rising awareness of my seeming willingness and actual desire to be subjugated under her feet.

She must have noticed that I had involuntarily began lapping away more eagerly and with passion and dedication. As if reading my mind, she eventually started popping her toes into my mouth to be sucked and tongued one by one. I could not really control myself. I was sucking and licking as if I really were making love to her feet, swirling my tongue around her toes. The salty taste was actually quite arousing. She was transfixed watching, smiling as she observed my lack of self control. “That’s it, French kiss my toes.” Only Terry heard it and leered over, but she did not say anything. Through the noise, Christine leaned over so only I could hear, and said, “I think you love this.” She whispered, “I bet you even have a hard on.” I said nothing but could not look her in the eye. Luckily, Deb and Diane, who were the only ones within earshot, were so loaded that they were oblivious.

After I had licked and sucked every square inch of her feet and had had toes plunged in and out of my mouth at her whim for what seemed like another 30 or 45 minutes, Christine said, “Ah, that actually felt pretty good after a road race, but I think you have had enough enjoyment.” She then told the gorgeous Terry that it was her turn. With her feet, Christine forcibly rotated my head 45 degrees toward Terry, and without any resistance or protest, I began lapping at the soles of Terri’s right foot since she immediately extended it to my face. I noticed again that her foot was beautifully shaped with an arch so high that even the outer edge of the sole was arched. As I worshipped Terry’s feet, Christine, lifted her own foot up to her own face, sniffed and said, “Oh my God, he actually did clean it. You actually ate my foot sweat and licked the smell right off my feet.”

After about 15 minutes of having her right foot serviced by my tongue, Terry slurred, “I want you to French Kiss my toes too,” and pushed her big toe into my mouth. This time the others did hear and started laughing. I started swirling my tongue around Terry’s gorgeous toes. Unlike Christine’s toes which had no polish, Terri’s toenails were painted a light metallic blue. Kim said, “Don’t you think you have taken this far enough?” Christine slapped her down, asking her, “Why are you such a buzz kill? Do you really still want to hook up with foot-breath here?” At the coining of the nickname foot breath, they all roared with laughter. Kim had no reply, but Christine could not control her mean streak and had to continue to beat her down, “You know, Kim, since he just made out with my feet for an hour, if you make out with him, you will essentially be making out with my feet. Do you just want to cut to the chase and switch places with foot-breath here.” The other girls again laughed their as$es off.

While I was licking the first of Terry’s feet, Christine had taken a bathroom break. When she returned, Terry switched feet. Terry rotated her hips around to her right so she could have the left foot licked from a frontal angle with upward tongue strokes toward the toes. This also allowed her to look directly into my face as her feet were worshipped by my willing mouth. Terry’s feet did not taste as strong as Christine’s and I found my erection getting even stronger since Christine had forcibly rotated my head to look right at Terry as I tongue washed her feet. Terry was a knock out. Christine continued to throw painful barbs into me, as she nudged Terry with her elbow and said, “I think he is getting into it.” I pretended I did not hear that or Terry’s retort, “Hey whatever floats your boat.”

After I had thoroughly worshipped every square inch of Terry’s other foot and made out lovingly with each of her toes, Christine again used her feet to forcibly rotate my head 90 degrees in the other direction, so that it was 45 degrees off the vertical pointing toward Tiff, to whom Terry gleefully announced, “Your turn.”

Tiff wasted no time at all. Copying Terry to get a full on view, she rotated her hips over to the left, and as she lowered the first foot to my mouth, she said, “Well if we are ‘track whores,’ I guess this makes you a foot whore since you are making out with our feet.” Again the girls broke into fits of laughter. That comment must have really gotten to her. She seemed to enjoy narrating, “That’s it lick the bottom of my foot. Now run your tongue in between my toes and get the lint from my socks out. Swallow it.” Christine interrupted her, “Take it easy girl.” Tiff’s feet were the raunchiest. They were so smelly and salty that I was not even as aroused as before, even though her feet were thin and pretty and her tiny toes were beautifully shaped and painted a sexy red.

While I was licking Tiff’s feet, Terry had to take a bathroom run. Prior to Christine’s run, only Debbie, Diane and the three girls in the chairs had gotten to take bathroom breaks since the other three on the couch back were busy pinning my arms. They of course covered each other’s shifts on my arms since between them there were six feet to restrain my two arms, only one of which feet was in my mouth at a given time. Eventually Tiff switched feet and continued her play-by-play orders for me to continue my foot slavery on the other foot. She delighted in telling me that she had not showered since the previous morning, after which she worked out, walked around town, went out clubbing, slept, woke up, ran a road race and then had the same already dirty socks on for the last twelve hours since waking up this morning. She also took delight in reminding me that she had worn the same socks all week to practice.

It seemed like I had been licking and sucking on feet for over 90 minutes if not two hours. My pain receptors had tuned out and grown numb to the back pain. Finally, Tiff removed her second foot. I just wanted to get up. Tiff said she wanted in on the game and had to pee. Kathy agreed to switch seats with her, so Tiff could sit at the table and play the drinking game which involved two decks of cards. Kathy relieved Tiff in pinning my right arm, and Christine said, “Hey, while you’re here, you might as well have your feet washed by our team foot whore.” More throes of laughter at my expense.

Kathy, who was before a neutral party, had long since succumbed to the peer pressure and the inhibition-lowering effects of a losing run in the drinking game. She wasted no time in untying her sneakers, which also smelled, and then peeling off her sweaty socks. She then presented her feet one by one, and I once again offered no resistance, and was perhaps a little too compliant, since Christine was not clamping my cheeks anymore and there were no spoken commands. She must have noticed this because she was staring again, with that knowing smirk, and commented, “Oh, that did not take much coaxing.” I avoided her gaze and that of Kathy and just stared at Kathy’s feet as I worshipped them.

Kathy was a very pretty brunette with bright green eyes and chiseled features. She was second tallest in the group after Christine, with a very thin but well muscled physique. She had bigger calves and thighs and arms that had more meat too and her feet seemed like about a size 8, as compared with Christine’s longer ones that seemed like size 10 and Terry’s beautiful little feet which seemed like a size 6. Even though she was an obvious workout buff, I was pleased to see that her feet were well manicured with a French Manicure polish job that looked brand new. Maybe that is why, despite lacking the presumptuousness of Christine, she did not feel the least bit self-conscious about putting her unwashed feet to my mouth.

Like the others, Kathy had her feet completely washed by my mouth and made sure that I sucked every toe. I dutifully French kissed each toes without being asked to do so. Perhaps another dead giveaway for Christine who continued to stare and smirk and snicker, make little affirmative sounds like “Mmm-hmm,” and nod her head like she knew my secret.

When Kathy eventually removed her second foot after her feet had been thoroughly bathed by my tongue, Christine, presumptuous as usual, said, “Since he is out of the game, I want in, in his place.” She stood up, climbed down forward and sat on my chest, her feet planted on either side of my legs, and her coccyx pressed just below my chin so I was staring up her back. Tiff was already in the drinking game, having taken Kathy’s place in the third chair opposite the couch. I tried to politely protest, saying, “Hey, come on, you can let me up now” But Christine, supremely confident that I really did not want to be let up, twisted her torso around, grabbed one of Kathy’s socks and forced it into my mouth, saying “Put a sock in it foot breath.” My arms were still pinned by Terry and Kathy and Christine was sitting on my chest. She kept her hand there for a second so I could not spit it out.

Even after she took her hand away and went into the game, I just laid there obediently and without the least bit of struggling, while they all chatted and the game rolled on with only Kathy and the Terry not playing. Terry was mainly watching videos, and Kathy was just conversing with the occasional curious glance at me in my ridiculous state with her sock in my mouth.

After about 15 minutes under Christine’s lovely rear end, I heard Beth say, “Hey, it’s my turn to have the team foot whore lick my feet, but I have to pee first.” I could not stand Beth. She started the whole thing with her God’s-gift-to-men, my-shi#-don’t-stink attitude when I tried to introduce myself. Her good looks and sexy little body notwithstanding, I was repulsed by the thought not of being humiliated gain, but being humiliated by her. I spit out the sock, and started to say, “No fuc#ing way I am going to—“ but was cut off as Christine, having no self esteem issues whatsoever, reflexively flexed her thighs lifting herself up and back just enough inches to land her crotch right over my mouth. The movement was so instinctive, quick and imperceptible that only Terry and Kathy, those with a line of sight to what happened, ended up laughing.

Morphing a common one liner used to cut people off mid-sentence, Christine then yelled over her shoulder, “Talk to the ass, foot boy, cuz the face ain’t listenin’.” Terry and Kathy laughed even harder. The others laughed at the hilarity of the phrase but still had not noticed that Christine was sitting on my mouth. I could barely get any air. My mouth was sealed off under her lycra-clad ass, and the tip of my nose was pressed into the lycra that stretched across the top of the valley of her ass cheeks. Fortunately for me she was leaning forward to play because if she leaned back, or moved back one inch, all breath would be cut off. As I now began breathing in air filtered by the lycra covering her ass, I noticed that her crotch smelled like a mix of her private areas and sweat. Kathy again scolded her, reminding her, and for that matter everyone else, “You have not showered since yesterday.” Christine responded, “His problem, not mine.” Terry and Kathy, still the only ones in on the humor laughed again at Christine’s quick wit and total self-confidence.

When Beth returned about 2 or 3 minutes later, she hopped up on the couch back, saw just my eyes sticking out from under Christine’s ass, lifted her hands to her face and in a surprised tone said, “Oh my God, why is his face up your ass?” With that the others were clued in and had to look over, after which they all began laughing again. Christine lifted up her bottom off my mouth, and I defiantly said “I am not licking Beth’s f—“ and immediately Christine’s crotch returned to my mouth. She replied to Beth, “Does that answer your question.”

After a slightly longer stretch of about 5 or 6 minutes, no doubt drawn out to allow me to reflect longer on my answers, Christine again lifted her ass off my face and said, “Have you had a change of heart?” I said, “Absolutely not, I will not—“but Christine ended that sentence by placing her ass back over my mouth, this time saying, “By the answers you’re giving, you must really like the smell of my ass.” I felt my erection come back as she perceptively zeroed in on her power over me and exercised it. This time she sat there longer. The drinking game continued, as did the chatter, with Terry, Kathy and Beth looking down from the couch back cracking jokes and waving at me.

After what seemed like a 10 more minutes this time, Christine lifted her ass off my mouth again and said, “What’s it gonna be?” Even though I knew that Christine would get her way and would eventually bend my will to her own, I still could not relish the thought of being subjugated to that little bitch Beth and said, “Beth is a snobby, stuck up little as$hole, and I will not—“ but I was cut off again by Christine’s lycra-covered ass taking its rightful place on my face. This time she interrupted me with a patronizing school teacher tone and corrected, “No, that is not the answer I was looking for. Perhaps you need a lesson. This is an as$hole. This is my a$shole. My as$hole is on your face. I know you love it there since you keep asking for more. Maybe in a few more minutes you will be well enough acquainted to the scent of my ass so that even a dog-brain like yours can tell the difference between Beth and an as$hole.” I was getting painfully harder down below.

This time she sat there for 15 minutes and even wriggled a little side to side and back and forth, drawing laughter from the trio on the high back of the couch each time she said, “Boy, my ass is itchy.” During this time, she also unbuttoned the top few buttons of my cotton short sleeve shirt, exposing the middle of my chest. She used her thumb and the side of her forefinger to grab and yank on my chest hairs, at the same time saying, “What’s with all this chest hair, you should shave this, it looks like a f@#*ing throw rug.” I could not scream and could only muffle “Ughh-mmm” into her ass,” which prompted some laughter.

Finally, after this long stretch, she lifted her taut ass off of my face again so I could gasp in a big breath. She then gave me an ultimatum, “You have two choices, Beth’s feet or no air,” and she promptly lowered herself back down, this time just a smidge further back so my nose was really in her ass. I head to struggle to get any breath at all from where my nose was lodged in the crack of her behind. I fell silent, just staring up her backside, trying to slow my breathing and not panic, but things started to get blurry around my vision and go black. I was losing consciousness—‘Is this what it feels like to die?’ I wondered to myself with what little mental awareness was left waning. She stayed there only until I heard Kathy urgently say, “Chris, he is passing out.” Terry whose reflexes were not as quick, a second later said, “He’s out cold!”

Christine quickly lifted her ass off my face again, and said, “What will it be?” Before I could answer and as my senses were slowly returning realizing what a close call I had, she said, “Think carefully, because next time I will sit there until you pass out.” Completely broken once again, I said, “OK.” She replied “OK, what?” I clarified, “OK I will do it.” She probed further, “OK you will do what?” Frustrated and scared of more breath deprivation, I cried, “I will do whatever you want.”

She was obviously ticked off that I pushed it this far and required her to sit on my face that many times before succumbing to her will. She continued, “I need to hear you say you will lick Beth’s feet until she is satisfied.” They all started laughing again. I said, “OK, I will lick Beth’s feet until she is satisfied.” I could tell she enjoyed toying with me to her friends’ amusement. She continued knowing exactly where to stick the needles, “Let’s drop the ‘OK’ since it makes it sound like you really don’t mean it. I want to hear you say that you really want to lick Beth’s feet.” Frustrated I did not immediately respond, and she said, “Fine, have it your way,” and started to lower herself. I quickly said, “I really want to lick Beth’s feet.” They all roared with laughter at the sentence, showing their total amusement at Christine’s ability to control me and make me do anything she wanted.

Christine relished in my degradation, and felt the need to continue, “Gee you hesitated there, and did not sound very convincing. This is your last chance or its lights out. First, I want to hear you apologize to Beth for calling her an as$hole and a bitch, tell her that you are the a$shole, and that you are not saying this against your will. Then I want you to say, ‘Beth, I want to make it up to you by cleaning your feet with my mouth.’ Then I want you to say, ‘You are not the bitch, I am the bitch. I am your little foot bitch.’ Then you will tell her ‘I love the smell of your feet. I really want to make out with your feet and French kiss all of your toes because it really turns me on. I know I am not worthy but may I pretty please sniff and lick your feet and suck on your toes. I would be honored if you rubbed your feet on my face. It would be my privilege to have you rest your feet on my face.’ And I want you to say it like you mean it. I know you love my ass, but stop staring at it. I want you to look Beth in the eye the whole time and say it like you mean it, loud enough for us all to hear it. It’s either her feet or my ass. Do I need to sit on your face again until you pass out?”

I noticed that Christine’s on target pronouncement of my innermost secrets had given me a painfully strong, throbbing erection that felt like it was about to let loose right in my pants. Thankfully, the others were in the deepest, hardest fit of laughter they had been in all day at the extreme Christine had gone to in my group humiliation. Powerless to stop it, I felt my whole pelvis beginning to rhythmically contract. Realizing it was over, suffocation or immediate unconditional compliance, I cried, “No, please,” as the laughter subsided. Christine sat back down high on my chest and concluded, “OK, let’s hear it then and it better sound sincere.”

I stopped staring at Christine’s ass, and looked at Beth, whose expression revealed that after being twice called an a$shole and a bitch, she was absolutely thrilled that I would be humiliated at her feet and subjugated to her whim. Lying there pinned by three women, I tried as best I could to remember the exact order of the mandatory speech, realizing that this was Christine’s ultimate score, forcing me to say things that she figured out were true.

Loud and clear, and while looking her in the eye, I said, “Beth, I am sorry for calling you an a$shole and a bitch. I am the as$hole. I am not saying this because Christine asked me too. I really mean it. I want to make it up to you by cleaning your feet with my tongue.” Huge laughter began to punctuate each sentence, forcing me to pause so I could be heard. I continued, “I am your little foot bitch. I like the smell of your feet. I really want to make out with your feet and French kiss each of your toes because it really turns me on.” Loud shrieks of laughter followed. Being forced to utter this part of the confession had pushed me over the edge and I felt myself ejaculating in my pants without even being touched. I continued as the uproarious laughter subsided, doing my best to control my voice as my manhood continued to have a powerful drawn out orgasm, “I know I am not worthy but may I pretty please sniff and lick your feet and suck on your toes.” The cathartic sexual release continued as I confessed further, “I would be honored if you rubbed your feet on my face. It would be my privilege to have you put your feet on my face.”

Everyone except Christine and Beth were in stitches laughing again as I reiterated such a ridiculous string of sentences begging Beth for the privilege of worshipping her feet and professing my desire to do so. I could not believe that Christine had brought me to orgasm just by her masterful psychological domination over me, using only words, and never making any sexual contact with my organ. Since she was facing forward looking down, I wondered if she noticed what was going on since my hips must have bucked a little. Fortunately I had dark jeans on.

Beth’s cat eyes never left mine, her face was glowing with satisfaction, and exhilarated at her vindication, she triumphantly replied, “Apology accepted.” She then removed her sneakers and pressed her damp, sweaty socks right onto my face, saying “I will grant you this privilege. Take a big sniff.” The rest of the girls continued to laugh at this bizarre scene. She was the only one wearing black socks. Even though I had already climaxed, I continued to be hard as rock. The girls went back to playing the card game and talking while Beth rested her royal feet on my face, and I breathed in her week’s worth of track practice foot scent.

After about 15 minutes, Beth peeled off her own socks to reveal a set of dainty, tiny, tanned feet that have to be smaller than a size 6. Her toes were painted a dark brown with a maroon tint to it. They had a scent that continued to arouse me against my will, and they had some black lint from the socks between the tiny toes. She then began rubbing them back and forth on my face, commenting, “Since you said you would be honored if I wiped my feet on your face, here you go.” She rubbed them back and forth for what seemed like 15 minutes. During this time, Kathy asked what the black marks were on the tops of her feet. Beth replied that they were stains from the new leather shoes she wore clubbing the night before. Terry commented, “He did just say he was going to ‘make it up’ to you by cleaning your feet with his tongue. He did a hell of a job on the stain on my shoe, and Christine claimed that her feet were clean as a whistle when he was done.”

After rubbing the sweat from her feet all over my face as if I were her personal foot rag, Beth reminded me, “OK, you begged me to sniff, lick and suck them, so I am granting your wish.” I did not hesitate and passionately made oral love to Beth’s dainty little feet. She sadistically peppered in instructions, like “Eat the lint balls out like you did for Tiff.” The she periodically inspected the bottom, ordering me to focus on the ball where the dye from her leather shoes the night before had bled into and stained the callous. She made me lick and suck until the leather dye stains were removed from top and bottom. She then concluded, “OK, you said you wanted to make out with my feet and French kiss my toes. Now is your chance to make your move, you stud.” With that there was more laughter. I eagerly and passionately French kissed each of her toes, so much so that she said, “Maybe you were telling the truth. You’re really going at it. Maybe Christine was right.” Terry and Kathy laughed.

When she grew bored of having her feet licked, she placed her feet back over my face as if I were her personal foot stool. For an hour or so, they all chatted and carried on as if I were not there, even though Terry and Kathy were stilling pinning my arms and Christine was still using me as a seat, her lovely ass parked right on my chest and backed up to my chin. During this time, my post climax erection faded and I noticed that I had an incredible urge to pee.

Beth eventually got up to go to the bath room again. I was able to convince Christine to let me up, using polite and respectful language, since I was near to peeing my pants right there, and nobody wanted a mess.

END OF PART ONE

A fine story. His eventual unwanted submission to Beth was great. I shall be on the look out for the later chapters.

This is what I want to see!

Good stuff and do go on.

Now that the "team foot whore" is broken in, shouldn't he begin cleaning Christine's sweaty ass? I doubt that just rubbing it in the slave's face was enough to satisfy a Bitch Goddess like Christine.

Also, do any of the girls' sneakers have removable insoles? They must need cleaning too, after a long road race.

More, please...

awesome story . love the whole part about her cupping and splaying her toes.

I want to bump this story because it is so great like all Darrio stories and I hope he comes back soon with continues or new!!

All these Darrio stories being bumped up but not his MASTERPIECE?

COME BACK DARRIO!