As the passengers of the plane bustle around with their luggage, the Granger family finds a row of seats and settles in. Hermionie's feet were really beginning to heat u in the thick white socks, a development that you were made painfully aware of as her strides bounced you around her dirty sole and the warming fabric threads imprisoning you in the hot brown shoe.
You slowly gather your wits about you after the tumultuous ride to the plane inside the young witch's sock, feeling relieved that the chaos was over.
But your relief was short lived.
As your eyes pan upwards in the dim light from the tiny holes in the girl's sock, filtering through the sweltering air of the loafer. The sight that greeted you nearly made you scream - Hemione's monolithic toes were silhouetted in the dim light, innumerable ridges thrown into deep contrast by the light. They reared above you like fleshy towers, several ridges glistening with fresh perspiration from being trapped inside the hot brown loafers. a film of grime was visible as light reflected off newly dripping beads of sweat, surely unnoticeable to the regular sized inspector, but all too visible to you. As the little witch nervously fidgeted above you, her rank toes came down like a crashing tidal wave of smelly foot.
The fleshy behemoth of her big toe came on one side, the dirty flesh of her second toe on the other. Before you lay a glistening pit of lint and dirt, the soft crevice between the girl's two largest toes. And then, they clasped around you, shoving your face into the moist skin, crushing the air out of your lungs with soft but massive flesh. The calloused ridge of her big toe dug into your skin as bits of grime and beads of sweat covered you. Your nose burned as the hot stale reek of girl feet was pressed into your face. The digits started to contract rhythmically, massaging you into the skin on all sides, relieving some of the little witch's tension at your unknown predicament.
If she only knew you were trapped inside her smelly socks, the uncomfortable heat rising and rising as her sweating soles heated up the loafer like the world's worst smelling sauna. The toenails rasped against the fabric as her toes worked you deeper into the hot darkness like a puppy with a chew toy.
"Something wrong, Hermione?" Her mother asks, concerned.
The toes close like a vice, trapping you in a fleshy cocoon that gets slick with nervous sweat. You scream and get a mouthful of foot flesh.
"N-no mother!" Hermione stammers. "J-just a nervous flyer, that's all."
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