Female feet don't smell...

I was at an after party with only a few other people. My company for the evening had left while we were still at the bar, but I had fallen into conversation with some other people, and when someone invited to everybody an after party I just joined up. The main reason for joining them was of course a very hot girl who was part of the group. I had not yet been able to speak to her, but I thought it might be easier in a less crowded place.

The party was held in a big flat. The girl and another girl, both long haired blondes, soon went into a TV room while the others stayed in the kitchen. I followed the girls. The only furniture was a two seated couch and a foot stool. The girls were seated in the couch, which left me with the stool. They were discussing hair products. I was looking for an opening in the conversation, but they didn’t give me one. They were quite ignoring, and I felt had to say something or leave the room.

“So are you girls hairdressers or something?” I blurted out, knowing it was a stupid remark. All girls are interested in hair. The pretty girl looked at me briefly, then rolled her eyes and said “No.”. She turned back to her friend and kept talking. I was about to leave when she interrupted herself and said that her feet hurt. She pulled off her stilettos and put her feet up on the low coffee table, stretching her legs out. She was wearing dark, shiny stockings or pantyhose. “Mmm, that’s better.” she said, wiggling her toes. “I hope my feet don’t smell?” she asked her friend. “It’s funny how they tend to smell more when I’m wearing nylons. Is it the same with you?” “Oh yes,” the other girl answered. “It’s definitely worse. I wouldn’t dare to take my shoes off now. But your feet are smaller than mine, so they probably smell less”. “Don’t worry” I said, grabbing the opportunity to both have an opinion on the topic and to say something flattering. “Women in general sweat a lot less than men do, especially through their feet”, which I knew was true because I overheard it once in a shoe store. “Men’s feet stink like rats, but women’s feet have almost no odour whatsoever”. “Is that so?” the pretty girl said indifferently. The other girl tried to explain: “But you see, there is something about the nylon fabric. Maybe it’s the plastic quality, that it doesn’t breathe like, say, cotton  does.”  “Yeah, well. That doesn’t make much difference.” I said. “If there isn’t much sweat there in the first place, then what harm can the nylon do.” The pretty girl looked slightly annoyed. “You’re pretty sure about this, aren’t you?” she said. “Well, yes.” I said, trying to look cool while feeling a bit nervous about her. “Well, we do have an available sample right here, so maybe we should find out?” She said, looking first at me, then at her friend.

She lifted her foot and held it in the air. “What do you think” she asked me, “can you smell it?” “No.” I lied, feeling a hint of the vinegar-like odour. She moved the tiny and beautifully curved foot closer to my face. I could see a spot of sweat on the ball just below the reinforced toe part. “Still nothing?” she asked. “No.” I insisted. “Gee, I think he is right” she said, turning to her friend. “Because I’m a woman, my feet actually don’t smell at all!” Her friend laughed. “And now?” she said mock seriously as she placed her sole flat on my face. “I wasn’t able to say much. The smell was intense, almost making me dizzy. “Look at him!” her friend laughed, “That frown says it all. Stinky!” “I believe so.” the pretty girl answered. “Quite an expression you have there.” She removed her foot. “What do you say?” she asked me. “Do female feet smell after all?” I tried to maintain my dignity. “Well, up close like that of course it is noticeable, but…” Oh, you’re such a dork.” the pretty girl said. “Excuse me?” I answered. She ignored me and went back to discussing the hair products with her friend.

I wasn’t going to give in. “So if you’re not hairdressers, then what do you do?” I asked. “Look, can you leave us alone?” the pretty girl said. “Why?” I answered. “Because we are trying to have a fucking conversation here!” she almost shouted. “Is that so hard to notice?” “No, but I thought I might join in.” “Yeah, but that isn’t going to happen, is it?!” she said harshly. .She turned to her girlfriend again. I began to feel like a loser and thought that if I hadn’t been drunk none of this would have happened. But I was drunk and I still couldn’t bring myself to leave. I couldn’t get much lower anyway. “Look, you’ve got really nice hair…” “Shut the fuck up!” the pretty girl yelled. “Hey, I’m just trying to be nice here…” I said, “Yeah, but the thing is, you’re not very interesting:” she said. “Just because you are smarter than me…” I said. “Hey!” She shouted. She put one finger across her lips, indicating for me to be quiet. Simultaneously she lifted her leg from the table again and put her foot back on my face. “This is how interesting you are to me. Like dust on the ground. Get it?” She put her other foot on my shoulder. “Now you can stay here with my foot in your face, or you can leave. It’s up to you.” “Trudy, my god, what are you…” her friend started, looking like she didn’t know whether to laugh or be shocked. Trudy cut her off. “Obviously he doesn’t comprehend any other way. Anyway,  he’s not bothered by the smell, so I guess he’s only problem is that he looks fucking stupid with a foot in he’s face. Actually, the fact that he claims female feet don’t smell pretty much goes to prove that he is a moron. Feet are stinky by definition. Everybody knows that. Well, what were we talking about?”

They went back to the hair products again, Trudy acting casual as if I wasn’t even there. Her friend a little more tense. I was paralysed and didn’t know whether to stay or leave. Her sole covering my mouth and nose. I could breathe well enough, but it felt like my only working senses were smell and vision, while the rest of my brain had stopped working. With every breath her foot smell was heavy inside my head. Held in that position, I was forced to keep looking directly at her. The dark nylon encased leg stretched out in a straight line from beneath my eyes down to her crotch. Her lifted legs had made her short skirt slide above the midst of her thighs. I could almost see beneath it, into her crotch, but tried to keep my eyes elsewhere. I focused on her leg, and despite her cruel behaviour I found I wanted to stroke and caress it. After what was probably  just a few minutes but to me seemed like an hour, she switched her legs between my shoulder and face. Shortly afterwards, she said: “If you are going to stay, why don’t you hold my feet up. Go ahead.” Despite the alarm signals in my brain about my manhood being flushed down the drain, I noticed my hands coming up supporting her heels. She crossed her legs at the ankles, with one foot firmly against my face, the other a little to the side. They continued chatting.

Then after a while, without a word to me, Trudy withdrew her feet and put her shoes on. As they got up and left the room, Trudy said: “That‘s the most pathetic thing I‘ve ever seen. Even if I was into men, he would be totally worthless.” Her friend giggled.