The doorbell rang and Dr. Winston pulled himself out of his cushy recliner, making sure to hit pause on his TiVo before he got up. On the way to the door, he grabbed a plastic bowl full of candy and pulled up the hood on his dark cloak. He could hear feminine giggles outside, although they seemed a bit too old for trick-or-treaters.
He opened the door and his suspicions were confirmed: a pair of college co-eds dressed in outrageously inappropriate costumes held out bags expectantly. “Trick or treat, smell our feet!” they sang through fits of laughter.
Suddenly, a falling sensation wracked his body, and he involuntarily fell to his knees even as the laughter seemed to intensify around him, as if he was at a loud concert. After a few rapid, panicked breaths, Dr. Winston clambered to his feet, only to be met with what appeared to be a pair of tremendous black pumps. His eyes scrambled upwards, and he began to sweat despite the brisk fall air. What he saw defied reason: a titanic blonde dressed in some black lingerie that was apparently supposed to double as a “sexy cat” costume looked down at him with a mirthfully wicked expression. At her side towered a brunette, this one dressed in a red “devil’s” costume, an outfit once again consisting of some appropriately colored lingerie and little else.
“What’s going on?” demanded Dr. Winston, trying to keep the apprehension from his voice.
His question only elicited a peal of booming laughter. “Oh wow he sounds like a little cartoon!” giggled the blonde.
“Come on, let’s take him inside,” urged the brunette as she laughed. Dr. Winston didn’t need a breathalyzer to know that both of these girls were intoxicated.
Before he could so much as flinch, a tremendous hand took up his entire field of view. He quickly found himself encased in a prison of warm, slightly moist flesh. Violent G-forces sent his stomach squirming as he felt himself being lifted high into the air.
“What about all of this candy?” he heard the blonde ask.
“Just put it back into the bowl and leave it there, so the other trick-or-treaters won’t bother us. They’ll know to just grab a few and go on to the next house.”
The clicking of his captor’s red boots on the hardwood floor signaled their movement into his house. One gut-wrenching descent later, Dr. Winston found himself on the white carpet of his living room, confronted by two colossal pieces of scarlet female footwear.
“Trick-or-treat, smell my feet!” called the brunette down to him. Twisting his neck upwards, he tried to get a good look at his tormentor: she was a very pretty co-ed, with a look of smug self-assuredness that he quickly recognized. Her name was Lacey Carlisle, and she was one of his students.
Dr. Winston heard the door slam, and moments later Lacey’s partner-in-crime joined her. He didn’t know the blonde’s name, but he had definitely noticed her strutting around campus, usually with a bevy of suitors at her beck and call.
“He doesn’t look like he’s gonna be able to take off your boots, Lace,” said the blonde, munching on a piece of chocolate she had pilfered.
Lacey gazed at him hard, as if just noticing him for the first time. “You’re right,” she agreed after a few seconds. “He’s way too small for that.” With that, she plopped herself down on the couch. Of course, from his low vantage, Dr. Winston couldn’t tell that she was merely making herself comfortable. To him, the sudden movement of her bus-sized leather seemed decidedly aggressive, and he fell backwards in reflexive fear.
This didn’t go unnoticed. “Aw the little guy is already scared of your big ol’ feet,” laughed the blonde. He looked up at her, his face burning with embarrassment while his fight-or-flight reflex kicked in. To his bewilderment, she appeared to be taking a video with her phone.
“What are you doing?” he shouted, temporarily putting aside the more obviously important questions – like how they had shrunk him.
“We’re pledging at Tri-Delt this semester, and our pledge mission was to go to our least favorite professor’s house and make him…”
“Smell our feet!” both girls shouted with glee. Dr. Winston watched with growing apprehension as Lacey removed her boots, tossing them carelessly aside, all the while eyeing him with malicious delight. Immediately, he felt waves of heat wash over him, followed closely by the sour fragrance of her foot sweat. He coughed involuntarily.
“You didn’t wear socks?” asked the blonde. “Oh that’s just evil!”
“I know,” crowed Lacey. “I’ve been getting these bad boys nice and fragrant for our little professor here. I haven’t washed my feet in a week!”
“Even after cheer practice?” The blonde’s incredulousness grew. Lacey nodded. “Well I didn’t do anything like that… but I’ve had these old pumps since before high school. They’ve gotta be pretty disgusting.”
“We’ll have to ask him whose feet smell worse,” said Lacey with a grin. Both of them looked at him expectantly, the blonde clearly still video-taping. “Well go on,” ordered Lacey. “Get sniffing.”
“Wait, you can’t do this!” he protested. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ll – ” Dr. Winston’s diatribe was cut short when he felt a massive weight pressing into his back, shoving him forward with ease. A frantic glance backwards revealed that the blonde’s years-old pump was the culprit, forcing him towards the creamy feet of his student. Before he knew it, he found himself pressed up against the red toenails of his captor. Of course at this intimate range, and at his diminutive size, the smell was shockingly unbearable. His eyes literally began to water as the smell sent him into another fit of coughing.
“Oh my God, your feet must smell really bad,” commented the blonde. “It looks like he might actually die.”
“Well then I guess I’ll win by default,” Lacey said smugly. Before he could protest, he felt two walls of soft flesh squeezing his head on either side, like an iron maiden made of pink mattresses. The sheen of sweat coating her skin – normally inconsequential – soaked his clothing and hair, covering him with her putrid, swampy fluids. He struggled to catch his breath as the motion of her toes became more violent, and his efforts to get oxygen resulted in him swallowing some of the salty perspiration. He almost vomited right then from both the taste and because the grim reality of what he had just ingested sickened him.
“Are you getting all this, Bridgette?” Lacey asked, revealing the blonde’s name.
“Of course, babe,” she replied, “but can I have my turn now?”
“Okay, one sec.” Suddenly, the pressure on either side of his head doubled. “Hey, Dr. Dipshit,” said Lacey, her tone switching instantly from playful wickedness to something more sinister. “You get a good long whiff of the stink between my toes, got it?” Traumatized and fearful, Dr. Winston did as he was told, inhaling breath after breath of her repulsive feet. “That’s good. Okay, girl, you can have a go,” she said, her voice changing back immediately. Dr. Winston fleetingly wondered if she had a psychotic disorder.
For a brief respite, Dr. Winston sucked in fresh air – but it was over all too soon as two new feet slammed down in front of him, eager to humiliate him further. This time, however, there was an extra player: Dr. Winston watched in fear as Bridgette lowered one of her black pumps down to the floor beside him, laying it on its side so that he could presumably be granted access to its disgusting confines.
“You’re gonna put him in there?” asked Lacey. “Now that’s evil.”
“I actually got these at a thrift store,” explained Bridgette conversationally even as her toes shoved him towards the opening of her shoe.
“Really? You found a pair of Salvatore Ferragamo’s at a thrift store?”
“I know! They were such a steal. I’ve worn these things so many times, it’s amazing that they haven’t fallen apart.”
“Oh my God!” gasped Lacey.
“What?”
“I just realized something: if you got those shoes at a thrift store, just imagine how many times other women have worn them. This will be a real treat for our professor!”
“Oh my God you’re so right!” Throughout their conversation, Dr. Winston struggled futilely against the inexorable push of Bridgette’s toes pushing him slowly, even theatrically towards the lip of her pump. Eventually, however, his trip came to an end. “In you go!”
One final shove sent him tumbling into the pump, and when Bridgette presumably set the pump back upright, he continued to tumble all the way down into the toe section of the designer shoe. The smell intensified instantly. The stench and heat put Lacey’s feet to shame – how could her week long effort compare with years of female foot sweat and stink?
Dr. Winston hadn’t gotten his bearings when Bridgette began putting her foot into the shoe, blotting out the light like an eclipse. Her tremendous toes floated above him before settling on top of him like the world’s biggest marshmallow – a sweaty, smelly marshmallow.
“How does it feel to be inside of a cute college girl’s heel?” asked Bridgette with an infuriatingly self-satisfied giggle. “I bet it stinks like hell in there!”
For his part, Dr. Winston tried his best to endure the smell and heat and now the pressure that all contributed to his profound discomfort and humiliation. He couldn’t remember ever having wronged Lacey in any way that would warrant such awful retaliation (he was done wondering how he ended up at this size). He had always considered himself to be a fair and benevolent professor; and as a relatively young professor, surely he had more fans than the stodgy, tenured types. Apparently none of that mattered. He would have to endure this disgusting ordeal and hopefully the two girls would let him go – he shuddered to think of what else they might do. While it was difficult to remain clear-eyed about his predicament, Dr. Winston hoped that the girls wouldn’t go too far – they easily could if they so desired. He was helpless in the face of their mind-boggling size.
“I can’t tell if he’s actually inhaling in there,” complained Lacey with a pouty voice.
“Me neither,” said Bridgette. “Hey Dr. Winston, give my feet a little lick, that way I know you’re really showing my feet the appreciation they deserve.” She pushed down on him to emphasize her point, easily forcing the breath from his lungs. He immediately began running his tongue along the underside of her toe, trying his best not to gag from the offensive taste. His prison trembled. “Oh, I feel his little tongue on my toes,” said Bridgette with a husky shudder.
“I bet he’s really suffering. I got a whiff of your feet just now and I almost fainted,” confessed Lacey. “You definitely won that contest.”
“Thanks, girl,” said Bridgette, affecting a confident voice; but if the increased moisture was any indication, the remark must have struck a nerve. No girl wanted to be told she had smelly feet, Dr. Winston mused fleetingly. “Why don’t we put something on the TV?” she asked, perhaps a little too quickly.
“Good idea,” agreed Lacey. “Can you grab the remote?”
“Yeah,” said Bridgette. Dr. Winston felt his prison shift again, followed by a spike in pressure as her foot pressed down – was she walking?! That would kill him! Furious, Dr. Winston wondered how she could be so careless even as he began seeing spots in his vision. He couldn’t believe he was about to be crushed beneath this air-headed blonde’s disgusting foot. His last sensation was a combination of Bridgette’s sweat sliding down his throat, the stench of her toes invading his nostrils, and the weight of her body crushing his with the most inconsequential movement.
…
Dr. Winston woke up on his recliner with a splitting headache. Light shone through the window, and a morning talk show played on his TV. Also, something smelled truly awful.
Despite his pounding skull, he dragged himself out of his chair, only to collapse on to the floor in a heap. His whole body felt like it had been run through a trash compacter – and his Halloween get-up certainly smelled like it too.
Halloween! It had been Halloween last night… the last thing he remembered was giving out candy – what had happened to him? He felt like he had taken a roofie. Looking at the clock on his VCR, he saw that it was almost 10AM – he had a class to teach!
Forcing himself to action, he hastily grabbed his messenger back and rushed out the door onto campus, heedless of his disheveled appearance. He knew that his class would be sparsely attended – it being the day after Halloween and all – but he expected a few of the more academically-minded students to show up.
As he rushed to his building, he saw something he didn’t expect: Lacey Carlisle and a blonde friend who he recognized but didn’t know heading to school as well. They spotted him and immediately hid their smiles behind raised hands.
“Dr. Winston, you know it’s not Halloween anymore, right?” tittered Lacey. To his dismay, she actually wrinkled her nose; the smell – whatever it was – must be worse than he thought.
“I know,” he sighed as he fast-walked to class. “I guess I must’ve had a rough night – I can’t remember a thing.” He scratched his head and looked down, a bit embarrassed. There, he spotted a pair of black pumps that the blonde was wearing. For some reason, the well-worn footwear instilled a feeling of deep apprehension in him.
“What are you looking at, Dr. Winston?” asked the blonde with a smile.
“N-nothing,” he stammered, not understanding his sudden fear. “I have to go.” With that, he broke into a half-jog, leaving the girls behind. When he reached the door to his building, he threw a glance backwards. Lacey and the other girl were looking at something on a phone. When they spotted him watching them, they began to laugh uproariously.
Inexplicably but profoundly unsettled, Dr. Winston ducked in through the door.