Oh, Miranda Stinkfoot, what has become of you? Where are the feet that made men delirious? No man who has ever felt your sweaty size 9 1/2's slither and slide over his face has ever been left unaffected. No man who has inhaled the mighty stale odor of your feet has ever been able to forget. For all the men who've ever been forced to smell your stinking feet, you've truly made an impression.
Perhaps you're nothing more than a myth, a fiction told to appease our dark desires. Or perhaps you're a tale founded in truth, for that, some of us may hope. Or perhaps you're a told told of many women, the names long forgotten, the personalities fused to become one woman, larger than life.
For our purposes, we'll assume that you're more than just a fiction, and that you are a woman who has inspired other women to make footstools of men, to turn men into stinky foot-smelling, dirty foot-licking footboys, ever thankful for the warm caress of a cheesy pair of sweaty female feet on their faces.
Oh, but one more thing before I begin. I want to take a moment to place Miranda in perspective, timewise. Based upon all accounts, I can safely draw the following conclusions about Miranda Stinkfoot.
Born in the summer of 1969
"Trick or Treat" in 1983
College 1987-1991 (track team and soccer)
"Lockerroom Prank" 1987
Pledge Alpha Phi
"Sorority Hijinks" 1988-1991
1991 work at summer soccer camp. Recall Petey?
"Biker Chicks" 1991
Pursue acting; work as waitress
"Diner Story" 1993
"Camping Trip" 1995
"The Surprise" 1996
"Office Boy - The Beginning" 1998
Moves to another ad. company
Visit Woman's Collective. See Woman's Collective Part 4
and inspires Ladies' Footrest
So now this brings us to our next installment in the Stinkfoot saga, which takes place during her early advertising agency days, perhaps in 1998 or so. As we shall see, this takes place at the same agency featured in Office Boy, only this story serves as a prequel of sorts, taking place before the ever restless Miranda left the company, the second agency she worked for (the first being the setting for The Surprise). Once again, we see Miranda's dangerous influence over other women at play. In this table, the poor victim is a new co-worker by the name of Jon.
It was Jon's first day as a proofreader at the new job when he detected the faint but unmistakable odor of smelly feet. We worked in close proximity to two women, Rachel and Miranda, two copywriters; but they appeared far too clean to be the source of such a pungent stench. Jon tried to ignore it but the odor lingered well into the afternoon.
On the second day, Jon was once again introduced to the musty foot odor. Where was it coming from? Then as if in response to his unspoken question, Miranda flung one of her feet onto the desk and and then another, no more than six feet away from his desk. She was wearing light-colored tights, the soles soiled and worn, a hole revealing a portion of a big toe. Dirt outlined the imprint of her feet.
Her legs crossed before her, Miranda nonchalantly wiggled her toes while giving her work her undivided attention. The stale smell which had invaded his nostrils the previous day suddenly intensified, becoming more pungent, sharper. Jon turned to Rachel to see if she'd just registered the same foul stench, but Rachel, not more than eight feet away from Miranda's smelly feet, appeared to be unfazed, busy typing away at her computer. How would she not notice a powerful odor like that?
Uninclined to say anything, Jon covered his nose with his hand and attempted to return to work. But the smell of her dirty feet was impossible to ignore, even with a hand over his nose. Jon glanced over to Miranda. She was smiling at him.
"Hope my feet aren't bothering you?" she asked, clearly amused.
Jon, caught off guard by the question, stammered a response. "Hmmn? Oh no ... not at all."
"So then you don't mind me airing my feet out here do you? They get so hot and sweaty in my boots.I apologize for the smell but Iím a hard working woman."
"At least I don't take my shoes off at work," interjected Rachel, still busy typing.
"You wouldn't dare," replied Miranda with a laugh.
"Well, maybe I should," said Rachel with a smile, turning away from the computer. "You don't seem to mind stinking up the place."
Rachel pulled a chair back and swung her feet onto the desk just has Miranda had done. She was wearing a ratty pair of sneakers without socks.
"I dare you to take them off," declared Miranda.
"Oh, yeah?" mused Rachel. A moment passed before she used one foot to pry a sneaker off and then another, revealing her sweaty, reddened soles. She wiggled her toes.
"Now that feels much better," said Rachel as she leaned back in her chair.
A hot rush of musty, rank foot odor surged up Jon's nostrils. It was the stench of old sneakers and aged sweat. He shuddered with disgust and instinctively covered his nose.
"Now see what you've done," remarked Miranda. "Now the new guy has to smelly your stinky feet too."
"Sorry for having feet," remarked Rachel as she heedlessly stretched her feet before her, wiggling her toes sensuously.
A couple of the other women -- Roberta and Kathy --in the office approached, sporting broad grins.
"Trying to scare off the new guy?" asked Roberta. "He's the only male working here.
"I don't think he cares for Rachel's stinky feet," said Miranda.
The topic of conversation was embarrassing Jon. It was hard enough to endure the smell of their smelly feet without having to be asked his opinion on the matter.
"I hope he's not going to complain," said Kathy. "You remember what happened to the last guy who complained about Rachel's feet?"
"You'll never guess what we did," said Miranda to Jon with a knowing wink. Jon smiled blankly and shook his head. He was afraid to find out.
"Well, he was kind of insulting about it ... saying her feet were foul and disgusting. So rather than let Rachel feel bad, we just helped her get a little payback for the rude comments about her feet. Call us sensitive but we canít tolerate a man telling us our feet stink, as if a woman wasnít permitted to have stinky feet."
A tense moment passed before Kathy burst into laughter, shortly followed by a few of the others.
"Well, we made him smell her sweaty feet ... up close," remarked Miranda with a laugh. "Her feet were so sweaty they practically stuck to his face."
Jon's smile vanished. Was this some kind of joke?
"We held him down on the floor so Rachel could do her thing," continued Miranda. "You know, rub her nasty feet all over his face. We even put one of her dirty, crusty socks in his mouth to gag him just to make sure he was smelling her nasty feet. he must've smelled her feet for twenty minutes or so."
"He squirmed like you wouldn't believe," added Roberta. "But there were enough of us to hold him there until Rachel finished. Boy, was he furious.
"The moment we let him go, he cussed us out, called us bitches ... well,
that did it,' continued Miranda. "So we got some rope from my car, and tied
him up. This time we were really going to teach him a lesson for being so
ungentlemanly and do a number on him."
"Then we made him smell everyone's feet," added Kathy with a giggle. "We raunched him pretty good."
"He must've been smelling our feet for about two hours or more," explained Rachel. "But I wasn't the only one with ripe feet," she added, placing a hand on Miranda's shoulder.
"True," replied Miranda. "My feet stink. But I made him sniff them real good. Right under my toes. he deserved it though. He acted as if we didn't have the right to have sweaty feet."
Affecting a whiny voice she said "oooh, your feet stink.""Yeah, well take this," she added holding out her foot.
"But if you washed them more often and changed your tights, your feet wouldn't be so smelly," offered Roberta.
"Yeah, whatever," replied Miranda.
"So my advice ," said Kathy. "Don't criticize the way Rachel's feet smell unless you don't mind letting her use your face as a footstool. And that goes for Miranda as well."
The others broke into laughter; and observing Jon's look of apprehension, laughed ever harder.
The women dispersed, leaving Jon to ponder the meaning of the conversation. Miranda and Rachel, their dirty stinking feet still resting on their desks, busied themselves with their work. So Jon, in an attempt to also give work his undivided attention, covered his nose with his hand and turned to his computer console.
For the remainder of the week, it was business as usual. Jon adjusted to life at the new office. He'd even begun to develop something of a crush for Miranda, despite the nauseating odor of her feet. It was as if she, along with Rachel, flaunted their foot odor, as if it were a status symbol. Strange.
He wanted to sit closer to Miranda, come to know her better. But the very thought of getting any closer to her raunchy foot smell turned his stomach. Regrettably, six feet was as close as he wanted to get to her ripe "dogs." So he would chat with her from a distance.
He dared not mention anything about her feet, should that story about forced foot smelling be true. Heíd heard about raunching but wasnít familiar with it. He wouldn't risk offending either Miranda or Rachel.
And if the smell got too much to bear, he would either cover his nose or take a walk. The smell was the only drawback to the entire situation, so he was willing to let it go and avoid a potentially unpleasant predicament.
On one such walk, Miranda, now wearing a pair of high heel loafers without pantyhose, approached him from behind.
"I hope you're not trying to get away from my feet," she asked with a smile, taking him completely by surprise.
"No. Not at all. Just ... restless."
"Me too," she replied. "You know, Jon, we're having a party here after work. Just some of the girls. I'd love for you to join us. It would be nice to have a little testosterone around."
Jon was flattered to have been personally invited. "There were some errands I needed to run, but that can wait, I guess."
"It's Friday, after all. Have a little fun. Besides it would be nice having a man around at one of our office get-togethers."
"Happy to oblige."
"You're a nice guy, Jon. I mean you haven't even said anything about my feet. You haven't even made a face."
Jon didn't know what to say.
"So, you'll stay?" she asked, sidling up to him seductively and giving his arm a squeeze. "Keep a girl company?"
"Yes, of course."
Miranda beamed before turning and walking away.And so the work day drew to a close and most of the employees at the ad agency went home, all but for Jon, Miranda, Rachel, and several other women from the department including Kathy, Alissa, Roberta, Tara, Gwen (the department head) and Natalie, another executive.
A wine bottle was opened, food was ordered and the group began to talk and laugh. It was a chance for everyone to come to know Jon, so he fielded questions from all of them.
"Boxers or briefs," asked Kathy with a giggle, causing Jon to blush.
"Alright," said Miranda, coming to his rescue. "Enough questions. Next you'll be asking him if he's circumcised or not."
The others laughed at this.
"Inquiring minds want to know," added Kathy, still amused by her recent line of questioning.
"It's time to play a game," said Miranda, walking to her desk and opening a drawer. "Twister, anyone?"
Everyone cheered as she brought out the plastic game board and unrolled it onto the floor. "Who wants to play with me," she asked.
Jon was about to spring forward, a ready and willing volunteer; but, just then, pried off her loafers with her hands and jumped onto the plastic sheet with her bare feet (flecked with chipped black nail polish). As the hot pungent scent of her sweaty feet found his nose, he turned away.
'I'll play," declared Rachel, bouncing up from her seat, kicking off her sneakers and stepping on the game board. As Miranda and Rachel paced about the plastic sheet, their feet stuck to it. They had to peel the plastic from their feet every few seconds.
"Those feet are rank," remarked Tara holding her nose. "I'm not playing until you put your shoes on."
"Same here," added Roberta, looking equally disgusted. "I'll use the spinner," she declared, taking it in her hand and then taking a seat nearby.
"You don't wear shoes," said Rachel.
"Fine. Suit yourselves," said Miranda. "You don't have to play. At least
Jon doesn't mind the smell. He'll play." Miranda gestured him over with her hand.
Jon hesitated, but he couldn't refuse her. Unable to think of a decent excuse, he stood up and approached the game board. As he took off his shoes and stepped onto the board, he was engulfed by the heady, stale aroma of unwashed feet. He tried not to breathe through his nose but the smell always managed to penetrate his nostrils.
As Roberta spun the wheel, the game begun. And one by one, the three players occupied places with their feet. By the third round, the game become more acrobatic, and first Miranda and then the others stretched to place their hands on circles.
"Rachel. Red," barked Roberta. Jon, on all fours, glanced about the board. The only available red was just in front of him. And shortly, Jon's fears were realized. Rachel slid her greasy, reeking foot into the very spot, barely a couple of feet away from his face. She flexed her toes.
"Jon. Blue." Jon had to move a hand from one color to another further away. Extending his reached forced him closer to Rachel's smelly feet. The cheesy, sour smell was sickening and we was trying not to notice it.
"Miranda. Green. "
Well, it only got worse because Miranda then slid her pungent -smelling foot onto a spot just next to Rachel's foot, and perilously close to his face. But it was her knee which she'd placed on the sheet, not her foot, which lay suspended about six inches from the floor, and perhaps about twelve inches away from his face.
"Can I use my knee?" She asked.
"I guess so," was Roberta's reply. The others seemed to be amused by something because he heard a few half-stifled giggles.
Miranda wiggled her sweaty toes, apparently oblivious to their proximity to Jon's face. He could not help but gaze at her wrinkled dirty sole which occasionally came dangerously close to his face. She'd been wearing those tight high-heel loafers all day without pantyhose, and so her feet produced a pretty sharp and musty odor.
"What's so amusing?" asked Miranda.
"Oh, I just hope your feet are clean," replied Tara. "For Jon's sake." More giggles and vocal laughter.
Miranda turned, noticing how close her foot was to Jon's face. She chuckled. "Oh, they stink. But Jon doesn't mind that." Having said that, she playfully brushed her smelly upturned foot against his face. "He's sweet."
A few of the women groaned in mock disgust at Miranda's forward gesture.
Jon stomached it but still said nothing about the unsavory smell.
A few more rounds took place and Jon, encouraged to use his face on one of the available spots, did just that. He figured by pressing his face against the plastic, he would no longer have to smell the heady foot odor. But another move compelled him to twist to his side.
Two more rounds. "Rachel. Blue." Rachel brought one of her stinking bare feet onto a post adjacent to his face. With only her heel on the mat, she held the sole of her foot towards his face, flexing her grubby toes. Jon was close enough to make out the hardened flesh on her heel and a few specks of sneaker dirt on the ball of her foot.
There were a few chuckles form the others. And even when Rachel slipped, bringing her foul foot within a hair's breadth of his face, he said nothing. Accompanied by giggling, she returned her foot to the proper space.
With Jon's turn, he was forced to leave another spot vacant directly in front of his face.
Miranda's turn came. And, once again, Jon's worst fears were realized. She brought her sticky, smelly foot into the mat just in front of him. But her position forced her to place the top of her foot on the mat, leaving the slightly soiled sole of her foot within inches of his face.
Jon struggled to turn his face away, but he couldn't. He then noticed Miranda's toes sliding ever so slightly closer to his face. Quite unawares, he caught a quick whiff and was stunned by the sheer power of the abominable smell. It wasn't so much the nature of the cheesy odor but the strength of it which threw him. Her sweat glands in her feet must have been working overtime.
Whether by accident or not, Miranda's foot quickly slid over to his face. Her toes wedging themselves just under his nose, which he'd been resting against the floor. She wiggled her toes, one of them brushing against his nostril. Believing this to be no accident, he raised his head.
"I can't do this. Your feet stink."
The laughter suddenly broke into a series of "uh oh's" and concerned "ooohs"; as if Jon had just insulted Miranda. But he was just speaking his mind. It wasn't fair to torment him like this. He had to say something.
Miranda, visibly tensed, stood up. "Is that so?" Rachel stood up as well.
Miranda then climbed on top of Jon, pushing him onto his back. She sat on his chest.
Jon, not thinking he was in any danger, attempted to treat the situation as an occasion for good-natured ribbing. "There's nothing wrong with having smelly feet."
"Oh," said Miranda glaring at him forbiddingly. Rachel, smiling, crouched down near his head.
"So they stink, do they?"
"Well, they're not so bad."
"So they don't stink. Well, which is it? Or will you have to smell them again?"
Miranda gave Jon no time to answer before raising one of her bare feet and pressing it onto his face, sliding her toes over his nose and squeezing.
"Here. Have another whiff."
The others were laughing and had already crowded around.
Jon pushed her foot from his face, practically forcing Miranda to lose her balance. But just as he attempted to push her off of him, Rachel grabbed his hands and two of the others threw themselves onto his legs. Someone else grabbed hold of his head.
Miranda, evidently put-out, positioned herself on his chest and raised both of her stinking feet onto his face. She began to slide her moist, warm sweaty feet all over his face. "I don't like people telling me my feet stink. And if I want to rub my feet in your face, then thatís what Iím going to do."
The others cheered her on. "Give it to him," he heard, as well as. "Rub them all over," and "Make him smell them."
"Now smell my feet, and when you're done, you'll apologize and tell me how fresh they smell."
With her dirty toes clenched over his nose, she pressed the ball of her foot up against his nostrils.
Rachel, holding his arms out above his head, slid her feet along his face and placed them onto his shoulders. Not only was he being directly assaulted by Miranda's pungent, sour feet, but he couldn't mistake the ratty sneaker stench of Rachel's unmanicured size 9 1/2's.
Try as Jon might to throw these women off him, he couldn't. There were too many. And they laughed at his futile attempts to avoid the humiliation of having a woman rudely rub her rank feet in his face, sliding her toes against his nostrils.
"Let's get the rope, and do this properly," suggested Miranda. Within seconds, someone tossed her some rope which she then tossed over to Rachel. She also handed some rope to someone behind her. "We'll tie him up near the table legs over here and there. He'll be spread eagle. Then it'll be easier to make him smell our feet."
"Our feet," asked Tara with a chuckle. "You mean you want us to rub our feet in his face too?"
"Don't you want to?"
"Sure. Why not?" There were cheers. "It's just some good, stinky fun."
Rachel was busy tying rope around his wrists. "Great, So he can smell my feet. That'll be interesting. Hope you can take it."
Tara was more laughter as the women proceeded to attach his arms and legs to the tables.
"Hey Kathy," asked Rachel. "Want to see if he wears boxers nor not?"
"You mean take his pants off?" asked Kathy.
"How else do you expect to find out?" Rachel's explanation was followed by hooting and whistling. "We should let the executives do the honor of pantsing him."
Gwen stepped forward and smiled, as did Natalie.
Though Miranda continued to torment Jon with her cheesy feet, sliding her dirty, wrinkled soles over his face and unmercifully wiggling her stinking toes over and under his nose, he couldn't help but overhear this new brand of mischief. How could they want to humiliate him like this? He was determined to get free.
Jon jerked himself free of Miranda's feet, throwing Alissa from off his chest. But the women were too quick for him, throwing themselves upon him and drawing the rope tight about his wrists and ankles. It was a struggle, but despite Jon's strength, he was no match for seven determined women.
"Stop it," yelled Miranda as she attempt to hold his head still with her feet.
Miranda used her feet to hold his head down to the floor, covering his face completely with her sweaty size 9 1/2's, while Rachel and the others pulled the rope around the table legs, stretching him such that he could barely move. Even shaking his head was futile because Miranda held onto his face tightly with her feet. There was nothing he could do to prevent Miranda from cupping her toes over his nose, practically sticking them up his nostrils.
"You're not going anywhere," explained Rachel, slightly out of breath. "Just for that, we're going to strip you naked." More cheers.
He could feel hands grabbing at his pants, and when Miranda's feet weren't covering his eyes, he could see Gwen and Natalie gleefully unzipping his pants and sliding them down his legs, to the merriment of all. "Briefs. That's new."
"Want to see if he's circumcised or not?" asked Rachel with a chuckle.
Apart from the whistles and catcalls, nothing more was said. Gwen, the head of the department, took the liberty of completing his humiliation by grabbing hold of his briefs and yanking them free of his waist. "Circumcised. Just as I thought," declared Kathy.
The room erupted into raucous laughter and cheering as Gwen brandished his underpants in the air. But then it all went dark as Miranda's heels pressed into his eyes sockets and her toes clenched hold of his chin. He breathed and was reminded that this woman was casually rubbing her pungent, cheesy feet into his face. He couldn't imagine a more humiliating fate, but there was little he could do. As Miranda ordered him to "smell my stinky feet," and "Sniff harder," he could do nothing but obey.
Rachel took Jon by surprise by sitting atop his chest. He gasped for air, and breathed in a huge noseful of Miranda's heady foot odor. It was a sickeningly earthy smell, of fruit and cheese. And with Rachel on his chest, each breath was a struggle. Every breath intense. "You're going to smell our feet until you stop complaining and learn to take it like a man," was Rachel's explanation.
He detected the smell of rancid old sneakers, and then the explanation came to him. He could feel Rachel's warm toes brushing against his cheek, just as Miranda was pressing her toes over his nose. Rachel's warm, slightly calloused feet slithered over his mouth , and it was then that the full impact of her sour, vinegary feet hit him. Miranda pulled her feet away to allow Rachel to press her stinking toes up against Jon's nostrils. He could feel her toenails scrape against his nose.
Just then, Rachel rose into the air and then pushed herself onto his chest, causing him to gasp for air again. Jon breathed in hard, and was nauseated by the sharp, cheesy stench from under Rachel's toenails. Rachel rubbed in the humiliation by wiggling her toes and then clutching hold of his nose with one set of dirty, grubby toes. "have a good whiff of those," said Rachel, jumping up and down on his chest as if she were riding him. And as Jon's intake of breathes grew audible, the others began to chuckle.
"Damn, he's really smelling them," said Kathy.
What with Miranda's and Rachel's feet on his face, it was a full bouquet of foot odor, like dry sweatsocks and well-worn shoes and especially old foot sweat. It was so intense, he could feel his eyes beginning to water.
"Someone give me something to put in his mouth," asked Rachel as she let her toes play over and under his nose, and giving him ample opportunity to sniff under her unpedicured toenails.
Kathy giggled as she began to roll her tights off. To everyone's amusement, she dangled them over Jon's nose, the toe ends brushing against his nose. Rachel and Miranda easily held his head in place, as Kathy scrunched up her tights and then pressed them over his nose.
Taking a whiff herself, Kathy wrinkled her nose. "Ooh, they stink," she declared. Everyone laughed. "Well, you've been wearing those hose all week," added Miranda.
As Rachel jumped onto his chest again, Jon involuntarily opened his mouth. And as he did so, Kathy took her smelly tights and stuffed them into his mouth. Everyone cheered. But try as he might, he could spit them out, especially with Rachel's foot over his mouth.
"Now it's time to do some serious foot smelling," remarked Rachel as she returned her toes to Jon's nose as did Miranda. Two pairs of feet slid and squirmed freely over his face, alternately giving his nose affectionate squeezes and ordering him to take a deep breath. Oh, he couldn't imagine who had more disgusting-smelling feet, Miranda or Rachel.
"Who's next?" And so Kathy took Miranda's place, eagerly pressing her warm, sweaty and calloused size seven's onto his face. The odor wasn't as potent as Miranda's or Rachel's but it was a cloying and sickeningly pungent aroma, more subtle but just as foul. And one by one, Tara with her size 10 stocking feet, Roberta with her size 7 1/2 hosed feet, Gwen and her sweaty bare 9 1/2's, Alissa and her size 7's and Natalie and her size 8 1/2 took turns rubbing their stinking feet into his face and having Jon breath in every pungent inch. The women laughed and took pleasure in forcing him to sniff under their toenails, and to smell inside their reeking sneakers and high heels. Stockings and socks were rubbed in his face, and dirty, slimy toes clutched at his nose and wiggled against his nostrils.
Jon was humiliated but there was no more fight in him.
"O.K. Do you want to go, Jon?" asked Miranda. There were protests from the others. "No, not yet,' said Tara who was just then playing footsies with his much abused face. "We're just getting started."
"Tell you what, Jon. If you can prove to us that you're sorry for being ruse and if you're willing to do as you're told, we'll let you go."
Jon couldn't imagine what Miranda had in mind, but all he wanted to do was leave, to push these stinking, cheesy feet off his face and get the hell out of there. He was willing to do what it too, and nodded accordingly.
Miranda, smiling, pulled the tights from his mouth and tossed them aside. "Now be a good boy and lick my feet."
Miranda held her dirty, wrinkled sole over his face; and as Jon contemplated the dirt on her heel and on the ball of her foot, his stomach began to turn. As if smelling her
ripe toes was bad enough, now he'd have to taste them?
"If you want to bring this to an end, I'd suggest you start licking."
Jon swallowed and mustered up the courage to begin the unappealing chore. He couldn't bare to look at her filthy feet, so he closed his eyes; and as Miranda pushed the hardened flash of her heel against his mouth, Jon began to lick. They were sour, vinegary and tart; but it wasn't the foul taste so much as the fact that he was licking someone's dirty, stinking feet which humiliated him the most.
"Taste like they're well past their sell by date, huh?" remarked Rachel with a chuckle. Others mirrored her amusement.
"Now that's how you treat a man," explained Miranda. "Make him lick your dirty feet clean." Others applauded and cheered.
Jon attempted to ignore the remarks; he just wanted to go home and the sooner he licked her feet clean the sooner he could leave.
It took Jon ten minutes to lick and scrape off the dirt from the soles of Miranda's smelly feet; and despite the fact that he'd licked every vinegary inch, her feet still smelled strong.
Miranda's feet were soon replaced by Rachel's oily and grimy bare feet; and once again he began the arduous chose of licking the heels and the soles and in between the toes. As he sucked on the balls of her feet, the sour, acrid aroma of sneakers was overpowering. She laughed and told him exactly where to lick: "Suck on my heel," "In between my toes," "keep licking, they're still dirty."
And so one by one, the women took turns, some of them sliding their dry, musty stocking feet into his mouth and others their filthy feet. "Nothing beats a good foot licking," remarked Alissa as she relished getting her toes licked and her heels sucked.
An excruciating hour passed, and Jon was degrading himself without even realizing it. He was simply following orders and the women thrilled at having him obey every one. "You're doing a great job," said Miranda. "We didn't expect you to be so obedient, but you've earned your freedom. I forgive you for telling me my feet stink. Just donít do it again."
At Miranda's request, the women reluctantly untied him; but he lay there, his pants around his ankles, unable to move. He'd been smothered by stinking feet for hours and now it was over.
"If you want to stay, we'd be more than happy." Others cheered.
Jon surprised himself by not moving, and as Miranda returned her smelly feet it his face, sliding her toes over his nose, he took a deep intake of breath. He didn't mind it anymore.
Miranda grinned. "I think we made a footboy of him, girls." The others cheered.
"Our first footboy," declared Alissa. "Now we can start that footclub, and invite our friends over for some raunchy good fun."
"Yep," continued Miranda as she affectionately rubbed her feet over Jon's face, "things are going to change around here. Now that we have a man who knows his place."
Jon found something in being the center of so much attention; and it was such an intense experience, smelling so many stinking, rank feet that to leave now would be as much of a shock as it was to have the first malodorous foot pushed onto his face. The women removed his clothes, pulling his pants free of his feet, and began to rub their feet all over his body. Feet slithered up his legs and over his chest. And women fought for the honor of sliding Jon's nose between their toes.
And it was in this fashion that a foot club was born; and Jon became the first official footboy, or office boy as he was called. The rest is history.
And so, until we hear from Miranda Stinkfoot again, she passes once again into myth.