Foot Smelling Stories Novels & Stories

I watched their bloody feet close the distance. I heard the whistles from the other men. My chest wanted to rip out of my body as much as I told myself I was ready. Large, dirty, and bloody feet stopped right before me. I kept telling myself to hold it together and it was all that clouded my thoughts as I pinned those feet down. I couldn’t tear my eyes away, them suddenly my pivot point. “What do we have here?” “That smell. I have smelt it before.” Another said in excitement.

With Conrad’s physical capabilities, he was less tired than he was stuck. All of a sudden, a rancid odour attacked everyone’s nostrils. Some even gagged from it. Even Angie’s eyes watered. What was that stink? It was horrifying that they could smell it through their masks. Everyone looked around while waving their hands, trying to locate the source of the stink. Fumes rising from the bottom of their boots caught Angie’s attention. She raised her foot up and realised that the soles were corroding away. /It didn’t get this bad in the book./

“Jungle foot.” “Huh?” I look at him quizzically. “Jungle foot, or foot rot. It’s from wearing your boots too long and sweating. Our soldiers in Cambiador get this when we go on ruck marches, and they can’t shift.” “Doesn’t their counterpart heal them?”

Stephan gazed at me for a full minute, then his eyes travelled to my legs which I was trying to move to take off the pressure. “Come on.” He led me through the throng of guests and through the glass garden doors. We walked through the rows and rows of flowers till the music was just a faint whisper in our ears. I shrugged out of his arms and hurried towards a loveseat arranged before a wide sparkling pool. “Oh, that feels nice!” I breathed as I kicked off my shoes. “It's one thing after another with you. How can't you cope with wearing heels?” Stephan whined. “You know, I grew up with monkeys and never had a chance to learn. I'm not putting them back on.” I stated.

You'll be sorry if Wren and I miss the bonfire festival in Xenas. A squishy noise sounded as he kicked the sack, and his shoe sank into something disturbingly soft and sticky. Startled, he yelped and yanked his foot back in horror.

"I don't know." "That bastard said because his left foot was different from a normal person’s foot. He was born with 6 toes. And the socks were especially made for him by his dead wife. He couldn't bear to discard them... I used to think he was an honest person. But now I find that he has really been good at pretending. Maybe her wife's death is related to him." When Jean heard this, she suddenly felt a gush of biting wind rise from the soles of her feet.

Her high heels were really tall, and he truly felt sorry for her. He had attended several dinner parties before, and by the end of the night, what he heard the most were the complaints from the female guests scattered around, saying, "My feet are killing me."

“Hmmm!” His other hand let go of mine and then proceeded to massage the top half of my foot, ensuring to get behind my ankle, my Achilles tendon, and even the arch of my foot. Before long, my toes started curling, and the aching in my foot had disappeared, only for him to move to the next foot and begin the torture again. “So, if you didn’t buy the flowers,” he said. “Who did?” “Mom told me someone… I didn’t really hear the name, but it sounded familiar. Bethany?”

One of the men who took me by force from the basement to the hall quickly spoke. But I don't want to focus on what he's saying. Even more so with the unfamiliar scent that was starting to enter my nostrils now. Not the fishy scent of blood, but something much stronger, like a blend of coffee and vanilla. I ventured to lift my head and looked at the pair of shoes with blood stains. 'Mate....' My inner wolf whispered in my mind.

I suddenly wondered what Ricky thought about it and how he'd react once he realized what was going on. I shuddered every moment my footwear shimmied through the chicken poop while we were cleaning it up. I could still see the others experiencing the same issues as me, and I held out hope I'd be able to thoroughly clean my boots before it was best to move. Because I'm not carrying chicken poop around with me, and I don't have any more footwear to change at that point in time. In only a pair of yeasty shoes, I couldn't certainly assist save the world.