Smelly Foot Stories Novels & Stories

"Of course I do. My ribs hurt for a week." "You were so small," he mused. "You were standing there with one shoe off, staring at that dog like you were waiting for it to give you directions." I remembered the smell of the dog. It was a heavy, sour reek—not like a wolf, but like something that was rotting while it was still alive. White foam had been dripping from its jaw, bubbling on the cobblestones. I’d been cornered. I’d lost my slipper in the mud two blocks back, and my bare foot was freezing. I had begged the dog to spare me, but it was too crazed to understand basic communication.

Chapter 2 Sophia’s POV “The sound of a deep voice like yours sometimes. The way fabric rubs right against my clit when I walk. Even the smell of clean male skin or aftershave. It’s humiliating. I feel like such a fucking freak.” “My last doctor just gave me antidepressants and said it was all in my head, just anxiety. But it’s not anxiety. It’s like my pussy has a mind of its own and it wants cock twenty-four seven.” “I wake up soaked and aching every morning, I go to bed soaked and aching every night, and in between I’m fighting the urge to grind against anything I can find just to get a little relief.”

“And I hate coming to this place too. It’s always so irritating and smelly.” “I can smell why.” I nodded. My sensitive nose itched at the heavy, damp, and icky smell. It was like something had died in the water, and though its dead body had been removed, the smell still clung to the air. My eyes twitched, picking up the movements of small, four-legged creatures roaming about. After a few more minutes of walking through what I suspected was an underground tunnel, we stopped, and the sound of knuckles hitting a door echoed through the empty space.

She likes to tell me stories or how pretty I am. The other thing I notice is the smells. Besides the medicine and antiseptic smells, I notice a dank, mildew, old blood and dying flesh smell. I am not in a hospital obviously. Have I been sent to the dungeons already? Have all these people been sent to the dungeons with me? Did they do something to anger Alpha Thomas? I need to wake up but no matter how hard I try to open my eyes they just won’t obey. I try to move my toes, nothing. I try to move my fingers and they won’t listen. This is so frustrating and tiring.

My breath hitched in my throat as the darkness of the 7th floor truly showcased itself to me, I am not only referring the little light which could be seen dangling from the ceiling, but the sick feeling which clung to each wall. The smell alone from me simply standing in the elevator made me want to vomit, the stories regarding the flooding of the cells I was seeing first hand may not have been stories after all, the portent smell of stagnant water mixed with the unmissable smell of death and faeces even had the King screw his face up a little placing his hand to his nose as though that would offer some kind of blockade.

Then they made us kneel in the big shower area. All three of them pissed on us, hot acrid streams hitting my tits, my big belly, my face. The strong smell rose up as Mom and I opened our mouths and swallowed what we could, coughing and crying but so turned on. We licked each other clean after, tongues sliding over wet piss-soaked pregnant bodies. We went back to the table dripping under our dresses. The smell of sex and piss probably followed us. People stared hard. Victor left a huge tip and we walked out slow, cum running down my thighs with every step.

I could go home and nurse the blue balls I was given that morning. The first thing I did was go into the bathroom. After grabbing my lotion, I froze. Sitting there on the counter were two small, pink socks. I could tell by the dirty imprints in the toes that these were used. They were Siri's. She was a slob, so there was no surprise. I picked them up and went to toss them into Siri's bedroom. Instead, I looked at the toe imprints and felt a stirring in my underwear. I pulled them slowly to my face. By the time they were three or four inches away, I could smell the rank smell. I had mentioned my foot fetish, right? Well to me, this was the equivalent of striking gold. Smelly socks worn by som

In the end, readers are crazy for being readers in a world where words flow down the monosyllabic drain of unculturedness. * This is a chronicle that I love, from the time when Bia was still married and she would gossip to me over the phone. Added a dash of comedy. I burst out laughing every time I read it! almost divorce "Your fart is so stinky!" ― And by any chance, is there a smelly fart? “There are the not-so-overly-stinky ones. You look like you died inside, you're rotten! Go to the bathroom or I'm going to pass out.

He walked to reach us and as he got nearer his physical appearance change. I smell something. The ghastly smell of decayed body, slight smell of rotten eggs and it was the stench that I first associated with farts: thick, phosphorus. I imagined I could almost see the swamp green of it like the grief had a way of making the smell worse. I smell death but I couldn’t bring myself to tell a soul. So, I keep quiet. I looked at each of the passengers and they are looked anxious and puzzled and seemed to be in confused about something.

My fucking ass was walking for miles in the pouring rain, in a general direction that I wasn’t even sure was the right way. The smell of wolfsbane was enough to make me feel like I was being poisoned. I’m pretty sure there was more water in my waiters than on the fucking ground. When I got my hands on James, I was going to strangle his fucking ass. My socks were wet, my feet were cold and the water that was collecting made this walk ten times harder.