Date: Sat, 14 Jul 2007 13:40:34 -0700 (PDT) From: Toby Tyler Subject: Seventh Grade Foot Slave Chapter 6b 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. If you have no interest in reading about boys with foot fetishes, or if it is not legal for you to read such material, leave now. Chapter 6b "Hey Brad," I exclaimed, eager to give him the news. "They're having a smelly sneaker contest at W. R. Colt Elementary! The grand prize is $500 and a new pair of sneakers from Footsie's Shoe Store!" "And why should I care?" "Well, I was thinking we could enter your sneakers in the contest! If you won you'd get a new pair" I explained. "If you did win, it would be nice if you gave me this pair" I added, hopefully, kissing the sneaker on his foot. "Fuck you." "Uh, Brad?" "Yeah?" "Would you like me to suck your dick again?" "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" "Yeah, I'd really love to do it!" I desperately hoped that Brad would let me suck his dick again. I couldn't stop thinking about the first time, and I really wanted to taste his cum. "Well, maybe I don't want you slobbering all over my dick. It's sticky and disgusting." "I could jack you off, and then eat all your cum so there wouldn't be a mess," I pleaded. "Wouldn't you like that?" "Would you just lay off, Toby? I said no and I mean no." "Well, if I can't suck you off can I bite your toenails for a bit? It's kinda boring around here and I'm looking for something to do." "You did my toenails yesterday. Look, there's really nothing to do around here today. I just wanna look at pornos and jack off. Why don't you just go home and do the same?" "Oh, come on, Brad!" I was getting really frustrated. "I offered to suck your dick and you'd rather just jack off? Can't I at least watch you and eat your cum?" "I want some private time." I picked up one of Brad's worn t-shirts off the floor. He had worn that shirt for a few days without washing it, and it had really begun to stink. I put it up to my nose. "Your shirt smells great," I told him. "Can I borrow it? I promise I'll bring it back tomorrow." "Okay, but if you get any cum on it I'm gonna be really pissed. That's my favorite shirt." I could see that I would get nowhere if I tried to convince Brad to enter his sneakers in the contest. I went home and jacked off while smelling the scent of brad's sweaty armpits on his shirt. While I was jacking off I kept thinking about how fun it would be to be a judge at the sneaker contest. Think of all the sneakers I could be smelling! As sheer luck would have it, Brad decided that week that it was time for me to take his Nikes home and lick them clean for him. He had completely forgotten what I had said about the smelly sneaker contest. I knew exactly what I was going to do -- enter Brad's sneakers as my own and try to win the prize. It was held on a Saturday, and I had to take a bus into Bridgewood, the neighboring town where the contest was being held. I felt a secret thrill to be wearing Brad's sneakers on my own feet. I knew he would be pissed off if he ever found out. There weren't a whole lot of people in the Winston Remington Colt School cafeteria to see the contest, but they did have a local TV crew there doing a `human interest' story to put on the news that night. They were interviewing the contestants. Most of the contestants were elementary school kids, but a few were high school aged, maybe even college kids. They all had nice, worn-out sneakers. The sneakers were tagged and placed in a row on a table. Several times I made it a point to nonchalantly pass by the sneaker table and try to get a whiff. There were too many people milling around, so I couldn't do what I really wanted to do, which was to shove my nose into every boy's sneaker on the table. I could tell the boy's sneakers from the girls's sneakers pretty easily by the color and style. I avoided the girls' sneakers, which I had no interest in. There were definitely some champion rotten sneakers on that table. I inhaled deeply as others around me coughed and gagged. The announcer was doing some theatrics for the camera. After about 15 minutes, the judges finally came on stage and inspected the sneakers, carefully sniffing them and taking notes like they were professional wine tasters. Then they announced the finalist of the junior division, for kids 5 to 16 years old. The junior finalist was an eight year old skater kid named Tristan Flamm. God, the boy was cute! Tristan's hair was dyed a whimsical shade of green, which added nicely to his skater style. I thought it was cute to see the kid get all excited, high-fiving his parents, jumping up and down and running to the table to get his trophy. The senior division finalist, for anyone 17 and up, went to a sweaty, obese video-store clerk named Milton Teele. Brad's sneakers, which I had registered as my own, received a respectable Honorable Mention, but no prize. Then the sneakers of the two finalists were placed side by side. The judges took about five minutes to decide who would be the champion. "The judges have made a decision!" The announcer announced. "The winner, the champion with the foulest footwear is eight year old Tristan Flamm!" Little Tristan was bouncing up and down again, and his family and classmates crowded around him and cheered. After the whole thing was over a small crowd formed around Tristan as a local TV reporter interviewed him for the nightly news. I listened in as well. "Tristan, you've been winning smelly sneaker awards all over the country for the past two years. So tell us, Tristan, what's your secret?" "I just keep wearin' em. Sometimes I wear em with socks, but most of the time I wear 'em without. And I never wash my feet. I wear the same socks until they fall apart." What an amazing kid, I thought. I had admired his sneakers from afar and would have liked to have had an opportunity to smell his feet up close. I would have especially loved to have had an opportunity to get my hands on that kid's socks. To be Continued