This choice: Her foot starts entering the shoe again, planning on rubbing her toes against it • Go Back...Chapter #7Her foot starts entering the shoe again, planni... by: Sam Gamgee   Hermione squints oddly at the floor below, the stone tiles refreshing her hot feet as she rubbed them on the cool dirt under the library table. The young witch raises a brow quizzically, thinking she felt a bug or something tickle her toes. She shrugs, curls tossing about. With a slight crinkle of her nose, however, she makes and embarrassing realization. I can smell my feet from here! She thinks, blushing a deep red as she looks around the library for anyone nearby.Luckily for her, and Unluckily for you, there were no parties present to catch a whiff of the strong cheesy stench... except for you, who was about to get a front-row seat.
Hermione quickly rubs her feet on the stone tiles one last time, and lifts her pale feet above the sneakers once more. You mouth burns from the rancid taste of the young witches' toegunk, and it was all for nothing? she's decided whatever irritated her foot wasn't worth the embarrassment of revealing her stinky feet to the world, and slips one back in the tight sneaker to your left.
"N-no.. please don't.. no!" You manage to croak out as your world is blotted out by darkness and pressure, the toes clenching you to the ball of her foot as the sole dives down into the hot, musky darkness below. You curse your luck, as your face is jammed between the teen's wriggling toes, introducing you again to the gap between her biggest and second biggest digit, a brand new swamp of fermented foot-funk for your senses to endure. Hermione's sneaker is damp, and hot, and entirely impossible to fathom escape from as the teen's foot pins you between it's soft, dirty flesh and the worn-out, moist insole below. You shudder as Hermione's stale sweat beads up from the sneaker below to soak your back, but don't dare cry out for fear of the mess before you entering your mouth again.
The young witch adjusts her feet, entombing you in a dank, sweaty prison as the temperature rises, beads of perspiration already forming on her foot as she scrunches you into the sticky toes in the crippling darkness. She stamps her sole into the cobblestones below, pressing you down flush with the giving insole as her toes brush against the tip of her sneaker. Clearly you wouldn't be causing her much more discomfort, but she would be causing you plenty. As the young prodigies' sweat start to form on her toes above, you cry out in despair. What's a bug to do?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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