Date: Fri, 29 Jun 2007 17:34:47 -0700 (PDT) From: Toby Tyler Subject: Seventh Grade Foot Slave Chapter 5 Seventh Grade Foot Slave By Toby Tyler tobyt_yler@yahoo.com This is my first story. If you like it, have any comments or suggestions, you can email me at tobyt_yler@yahoo.com. Chapter 5 One day Brad stopped letting me lick his feet. I didn't know if he was starting to get weirded out by the whole thing or if he enjoyed making me wait and beg for it. I'd take the phone into my room and call him every day. "Hi Brad, it's me." "Oh, hi." "Can I come over today?" "What do you wanna do?" He liked to play dumb. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe lick your feet." "You wouldn't want to do that. They're looking really disgusting these days. I don't even bother scrubbing them anymore. Toenails are getting long, too. Nasty." "I can chew your toenails for you. I'll make them really nice and short.." At this point in the conversation I would take my cock out and start stroking it. I never told him I was jerking off, but he probably figured I was. "Why would you wanna do that?" "Because I love your smelly feet and I want to make you happy by cleaning them with my tongue." "You're a real sicko. If you wanted to make me happy, maybe you should stop bugging me." "Please Brad, please let me lick your feet again. I miss it so much." "Oh really? What do you miss about it?" "I miss eating all the crud in between your toes. I miss lying on the floor while you stick your foot in my mouth and see how far you can shove it in. I miss nibbling the peeling skin on the soles of your feet. I miss the delicious taste of your sweat after you've been playing basketball with Tony and Danny. I miss the smell of your sweaty feet mixed with the my spit, and the way you used to rub it all over my face." Brad didn't say anything. "Please, Brad? Just this once? I'll do anything you want me to. Can I come over?" "Nah. I've got stuff to do." "Like what?" "Homework." "That's okay. I'll do all your homework for you if you put your feet in my face again. I'll even clean your sneakers with my tongue. Get them nice and white again. Even lick all the gunk out of the treads." "You know what, Toby? You're a real freak. Ever think of getting some help?" "No, Brad. I'm begging you, please, just this once!" "Nah. I don't want you to come over." "Uh, Brad?" "What do you want, foot freak?" "Brad, if I can't come over, will you do something for me?" "Maybe. If you ask nicely." "Brad, can you please please please give me some more dirty socks?" "You're being greedy. You should be happy with all the socks I gave you for your birthday." "Yeah but-" "But what?" "Well, they've kind of lost their flavor. I need some new ones." "Did you sleep with them on your pillow, like I told you?" "I did the first few nights, but then I had to stop. They smelled so strong my whole room stunk in the morning. It smelled just like a locker room. My mom even came in with some room spray, it smelled so bad." "What do you mean, it smelled so bad?" "I mean it smelled great, to me anyway. I loved it. But my mom kept complaining and wanted to go through my room to find out where the smell was coming from." Brad laughed. "I had to put them back in the Ziploc, then I had to double bag them and hide them in my closet." "Well, then. They should still be fresh. What are you complaining about?" "I told you, they lost their flavor. I sucked all the sweat off of them already." "I can't believe some of the things you put in your mouth. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" "Shut up!" "That's not a very nice way to talk to me. Especially when you really want something from me. Apologize!" "Brad, I'm really sorry I told you to shut up. I didn't mean it. Please forgive me." "I might." "I'm sorry I was such a smart mouth. I'm the one who should shut up. Maybe you should shut me up by gagging me with a nice, soft cotton-" "Nice try, sock sniffer." Things went on like this for over a month. I kept calling him, and he kept giving me a hard time. But he never hung up on me, and he clearly enjoyed tantalizing me. I was secretly hoping that he was letting his feet and socks get really funky for me, and that I'd end up having a marathon toenail-biting session sometime soon. Eventually I stopped my pleading phone calls. I had pretty much given up hope. Fall turned to winter, and I felt I had pretty much moved on. But my memories of Brad's feet still fueled my sexual fantasies, and I clung to those faded grey tube socks like a security blanket. A few days before the Christmas break, I found a surprise waiting when I got home from school. My mom told me, "Someone left a package for you on our doorstep. I have no idea who it's from. I put it on your bed." I ran to my room, desperately hoping to find more of Brad's smelly socks. There was a cardboard shoebox on my bed. I wasn't waiting for Christmas to open this one! Inside was Brad's favorite pair of worn-out, ratty Nikes. Immediately I stuffed my nose in one of them and inhaled deeply. Then I noticed a little note folded neatly and stuck in the toe of the sneaker. I pulled it out and unfolded it gingerly. It read: MERRY CHRISTMAS TOBY. YOU ONCE TOLD ME THAT YOU'D EVEN CLEAN MY SNEAKERS WITH YOUR TONGUE FOR ME. WELL, START CLEANING. DON'T STOP UNTIL THEY'RE SPOTLESS, THEN SHOW THEM TO ME. IF I THINK YOU DID A GOOD JOB, MAYBE WE CAN TALK. I got to work almost immediately. The sneakers were really filthy, and it took me about a month and a half of hard work with my tongue to get them anywhere near clean. I would spend a good amount of time every night jacking off as I gave the dingy white leather a good tongue polishing. And I wouldn't just do it when I was jacking off. If I was bored or needed a break from my homework, I'd take some time to give a sneaker a few licks. I always had to have a glass of water nearby because the licking would use up all my spit. First thing in the morning, before I brushed my teeth, I'd spend a few minutes in bed licking away. They were definitely getting whiter, but it was hard work. Then the sneakers would go back in the shoebox under my bed, along with my collection of Brad's old socks. Brad made it clear that he wouldn't talk to me until I presented him with his nicely cleaned sneakers. I knew they'd never look like new -- they were cracked and ripped and worn -- but if I could get them to look halfway decent he might talk to me again. I thought about cheating. I wanted to just throw the sneakers in the washing machine, but every time I tried to do that I changed my mind, knowing that Brad would be pissed if he figured out I had done that. I thought about using Chlorox to whiten them, but was afraid he might smell the bleach. Finally I was finished. Now I could take them to Brad, and if he was satisfied, he might let me lick his feet again. To be Continued