Once again it appears that misfortune continues to single out Petey, a man who wants only to please but who does nothing but offend. Last we saw him, Petey had been mistaken for a bank robber and punished for a crime he didn’t commit. In this tale, Petey is once again the victim of mistaken identity, but this time it’s the criminals who mistake him for a man of importance.





It was cold when Petey woke up on the wood floor of an abandoned room. It was dark, too dark for an ordinary evening. Either there were no windows or the windows had been boarded over.


His body ached and as he attempted to reach for his leg, it became clear why. His wrists had been tied together in front of him, as were his ankles. No amount of struggle could loosen the rope; movement only tightened the knots which dug into his flesh.


Feeling his bare buttocks on the cold floor produced the next revelation. He was naked. All but for the dress socks which had adorned his feet. What had happened? He remembered his job interview, which had gone incredibly well. But the rest was a blur.


A throbbing pain in his head was a clue. Had he been knocked unconscious by a blow to the head. He’d been walking down the alleyway to his car. Had he reached his car. He didn’t remember.


Petey attempted to move by throwing his body from one side to the other. He rolled onto his back and than let his legs swing to the floor again. But his feet hit what must have been a cabinet or table before finding the floor. The collision punctuated the silence; and then silence returned. Petey hearing nothing but the throbbing of his heart beat.


And then there were footsteps, growing louder as they approached from downstairs. From the sound of it, they were heavy booted feet. They stopped; and a door swung open, casting a light into the room, unfurnished but for several chairs and a table.


Heavy boots slammed into the floor. The jingle of a chain scraping a light bulb was soon followed by a click as light filled the darkened room.


Petey gazed beyond his naked body, past the raw skin on his ankles to the owner of the boots.


A woman, wearing what appeared to be army fatigues and a tee shirt, chuckled to herself as she observed Petey. Suddenly conscious that she was gazing at his bare ass, he attempt to swivel his lower torso away from view.


The woman laughed some more. “Well, mister,” she said with a raspy voice. “Seems like you finally decided to wake up.”


“Where am I?” asked Petey.


“Assuming you play ball, think of it as a little trip. If you don’t play ball, why don’t we just say you’re in hell.”


“What do you want?”


“Just can’t believe anything bad could happen to you, huh” remarked the woman with a smile, her arms folded over her chest.  “Your Daddy makes the money and you enjoy it. Well, time to share the wealth.”


“I don’t have anything. Maybe a thousand in my account. You can have it. Just please let me go.”


“You’re offering me a thousand?” she asked. “A thousand fucking dollars?”  Taking Petey by surprise, she fell to her knees near his face and grabbed him by the hair, holding his head inches from the floor.” She was pulling hard, and Petey could do nothing but beg her to let go.


“We’re already making the arrangements, you fucking asshole. I don’t care about your money, just your Daddy’s.  You can just lay there and feel sorry for yourself, for all I care. When he pays us, we’re outta here.”


She dropped his head, letting it slam into the floor.


“My father doesn’t have anything. But I’ll give you what I have.”


A booted foot pressed into his head.


“Shut up before I shove my foot in your mouth,” she bellowed. Petey shivered in silence.


The woman grabbed a chair and sat on it. With one booted foot, she pushed him onto his back. She quickly extended her feet and crossed them over his chest.


"You feel like scum now?" she asked with a smirk. "You're not even good enough as a place to rest my feet. Guys like you ... thinking you're better than everyone else. Hope you like how it feels." She seemed satisfied.


"I haven't done anything, but if you need money, maybe I can help." Petey's intentions were good despite his awkward circumstances.  But his good intentions were getting him in trouble.


"Don't you know when to shut up? We don't run around town all day, trying to find you and then when we do, have to haul your ass out here and put you in here. "


"There must be a mistake."


"Shut up or I'll put a sock in it." She paused for a moment, pondering something, before a mischievous grin began to form.


"Maybe it's time for a little pay back. You know my father got laid off from your company two year's ago, after working him to death for thirty years. Use 'em and drop 'em. Now we'll see who gets the last laugh."


She raised her boot and held it over Petey's face. "Lick it. Now. And tell me you're sorry."


"But I didn't do anything."


She pressed her boot down hard over his mouth. "Do it or you'll wish you were dead."


She kicked him softly in the nuts, enough to knock the wind out of him. "Next time I'll kick 'em hard."


Petey licked the dirty boot and apologized. "I can't hear you." He apologized again. Satisfied, she pushed his head before returning the boot to his chest.


"Now some payback for being on my feet all day having to kidnap you and watch over you while the others get the cash." The woman bent over and began to untie her boot laces.  "Just to humiliate you a little more, because you deserve it."


With a groan, she pried off her boot using Petey's face. It fell to the floor with a thud, but before he could turn his face away, the woman jammed a damp , warm sock foot onto his face, scouring it with the rough sock material.


The stench was incredible. She must have been wearing the same socks for days or rarely took off her boots, because the odor was overpowering, like old rotten shoes and sour milk. He turned his face, but she used her other booted foot to turn his face upwards so she could manipulate his nose with her crusty sock toes.


"Hate being at the wrong end of the abuse? Stinks doesn't it," she remarked with a chuckle.  "Go ahead, have a whiff of defeat. Get it, de feat. "She laughed at her own corny joke. But Petey wasn't laughing.


He couldn't speak, what with her large size 10 sock foot working its way over his face, her toes grappling with his nose, inflicting their foul, stale stench upon his nose. It was nauseating, but the more he struggled, the more it amused her.


"Please," mumbled Petey. "Don't do this. It's horrible."


"I thought I told you to shut up," she replied. "Remember what I told you?"


Without hesitation, she grabbed hold of her damp sock and peeled it off, dangling it over his face. She held a soiled size 10 calloused foot over his face, her thick toes wiggling as if taunting him with the unpleasantness to come. Petey saw her toes approach until the warm, sour stench of her toes trapped his nose.


He opened his mouth to breath, but as he did so, she stuffed the crusty sock into it, laughing at the brilliance of her trickery. "I warned you. Now suck on that while you smell my foot."


The pungent, vinegary taste of her sock was nauseating, but he couldn't spit it out. Her sole covered his mouth while her dirty toes wiggled overtop and under his nose.  "Now maybe you'll get an appreciation for those who work for a living. I'm on my feet at the factory all day so don't be surprised they stink."


With her warm toes curled over his nose, Petey had no choice but to take deep whiffs of the sickeningly-sweet stench, and the cheese from under her dirty toenails. The taste of her dirty sock didn't help much either, nor did her mocking laughter. "Stinks down there, doesn't it," she said with a chuckle.


Minutes seemed like hours, every whiff of her pungent foot odor, sickening. He didn't even realize she'd taken off her other boot when the sharp, ripe stench of a warm, sock foot covered his nose. He felt like coughing, but her feet clamped his face still. Noticing the sock begin to slide out of his mouth, she used her heel to grind it back in. "You're not finished yet, asshole."


Damp sock toes played with his nose, the hot sour stink of unwashed socks still overwhelming. And then the door creaked open.


"What's going on, Mona?" asked a woman with a slight Puerto Rican accent. Wearing sweats and a jacket, the other woman approached.  Her black hair hung in a pony-tail which dangled as she peered over at Mona's handy-work.  Not seconds after seeing Petey with a dirty sock in his mouth and a pair of dirty feet over his face, did this woman double over with fits of laughter.


"Trust you to come up with a cruel and unusual punishment," she said, pinching her nose and stepping back.


"I'm going to have him clean 'em too. Figured I'd make him useful."


"You're disgusting," added the second woman with a laugh. "I love it."


Another woman emerged. "Chris?"


"I' m here, Ros," answered Chris, still laughing at Petey's predicament.


Ros, slightly overweight, with short dark hair, jeans and sneakers, peered over. "I don't believe it."


Mona seemed pleased with herself, kneading her sock toes into Petey's face. "You've got an audience now. Smell my feet."


Petey had to breathe, after all, and took a long breath. Still putrid.  Chris and Ros dissolved into fits of laughter.


"You should try it," said Mona. "You know what a scumbags he and his father are.  He's going to learn he's no better than us before we let him go. Barely fit enough to lick my stinking feet clean." She turned to the others. "Any word from the others?"


Chris shrugged. "We'll see." "We're waiting for his Dad to respond. They'll call when they get the cash." She turned to Petey. "I still can't believe you made him smell your nasty feet."


Mona peeled off the wet sock and cupped her warm, dirty toes over Petey's nose. "Smell my feet, asswipe." Petey took a breath. The sour stench was turning his stomach. He turned away but it was no use. Her agile, sweaty feet grappled with his face and slid over it, easily holding him in place.


"Want to try?" asked Mona.


"I hate the bastard, but not that much," replied Ros. "You never let me take off my shoes. You sure you want me to do that?"


Mona wrinkled her nose. "We'll make an exception this time."


Petey turned and noticed a pair of scruffy-looking Puma's to his right. She didn't appear to be wearing socks. He moaned his objections, but couldn't articulate anything. He couldn't stomach another pair of smelly feet on his face.


Mona yanked the sock from his mouth. "What?" she asked.


"Please. I'll do what you like. Just don't make me ..." Mona quickly stuffed the fresh, crusty sock into his mouth with a giggle. The others laughed.


"Your father'll give us what we want. You're here to have fun with, foot licker."


"You're wicked," remarked Chris. "But I'll do it, if Ros does it. My feet stink, but  I'll do it. Never had a guy sniff my feet before. Might be fun.” Chris laughed.


Mona slapped him in the face with a bare foot, jamming her cheesy toes up his nose, before pulling them form his face and standing. She offered Ros the chair.


Ros, giggling like a schoolgirl, gazed at Petey, the sock still in his mouth, and laughed. "I can't believe I'm doing this."


Using one foot to pry off a sneaker, Ros extending her size 11 foot, speckled with shoe dirt and caked in stale sweat, and pressed it onto his face.  It was a sharp, pungent smell, like rotten sneakers and old sweat socks., overpowering and distinctly cheesy, like Parmesan. It was a wide foot with meaty padding at the balls and heels, and she knew just what to do with it, curling her grimy toes over his nose.


"He's smelling my nasty feet, "she remarked, resting her other foot on his chest.


Ros slid her grubby toes just under his nose, resting them there long enough for him to take a few nauseating whiffs from under her nails. She just laughed as she tried new positions, pressing a heel under his nose and sliding her foot all over his face.  "Smell my  feet. Ohh, they smell bad." The others laughed.


The other two women were enjoying Ros' enthusiasm, sliding his nose between her toes and then clutching at it, ordering him to take deep whiffs. It wasn't long before the other sneaker fell off and a freshly foul, sweaty foot joined the other one, vying for control of his nose in a frenzy of stinky toes. Her big feet slid over his face, controlling it utterly, manipulating and rocking it back and forth.


Then with a giggle, Ros retrieved her scruffy sneaker and turned it over onto Petey's face. He could see the dark imprint of her heel inside the opening before she fitted the shoe over his nose.


"And I thought I was cruel," laughed Mona.


The stench of her rotten sneakers was more than he could bare. He struggled to push himself away, but Ros simply giggle, bending over to hold the shoe tightly in place. "Happy sniffing," she remarked.


It was an acrid stench which filled his nose, making him dizzy. The stink of fresh Parmesan and shoe rot consumed him; and as he could feel himself losing consciousness, Ros removed the shoe.


"Almost lost him there," replied Chris. "My turn." Chris, wearing ratty running shoes without socks, grabbed a chair and placed her size 8 feet onto his chest. She pried off a shoe and before relishing the cool air on her hot toes, pressed them onto Petey's sweat-soaked face. The sharp, sour stench of her feet was too degrading, especially as she was grinding her sweaty foot over his nose and laughing.


Holding her own nose, she commented: 'Damn. Those are nasty." The others laughed. But Petey had no choice but to inhale the sharp stink of days-old foot sweat and sneaker. There was dirt between her toes, which he could see whenever she raised her toes to find a firmer hold over his nose, pressing the ball of her foot over his nose and ordering him to "smell those stinking feet."


With both bare feet, she rubbed copious amounts of pungent foot sweat all over his face and covered his face with them. But she was restless.


"I want him to worship these dirty feet. I want him to lick 'em clean and thank me."


Mona laughed. "And you were saying I was cruel for suggesting it."


Gazing at her dirty feet, Petey shuddered at the thought of cleaning the filth and sticky sweat from them. But Chris wanted some foot worship.


Yanking the sock from his mouth, she quickly pressed her grimy heel over his mouth. "You can start by licking those clean."


"Do it, or I'll smash your balls, "said Mona.


Petey remembered the blow to his crotch and opted for the lesser of two evils. His tongue reluctantly found the hard flesh of her heel and slid over it. But she pressed her heel into his mouth until his entire tongue was covered with her heel. The salty, sour taste was awful; he could feel particles of dirt in his mouth as he began sucking on the heel.


"This is so disgusting," giggled Chris. "I don't believe we have this guy licking my dirty feet." It took several minutes of sucking and licking to get her heel clean before he began work on her wrinkled soles, quickly moving on to the filthy, rubbery ball of her foot before she plunged her dirty, cheesy toes into his mouth and ordered him to suck them clean.


"Get between the toes." He was close to choking on her toes which wriggled inside his mouth, but he did as she asked, sliding his tongue between her toes and sucking on the grainy, bitter flesh. He didn’t want to think about where her feet had ben or what he was eating from between her smelly toes. He just did as he was told.


His fears were confirmed when the second foot, just as dirty and pungent-smelling as the first was presented to him. “Start at the heel, fucker,” ordered Chris. It took ten minutes to lick her sweaty feet to her satisfaction before she stood up, letting Ros have a seat.


Ros raised one of her big, calloused, filthy feet over his face, cupping her toes over his nose for a few more whiffs before ordering him to “lick my nasty feet clean.” Before long, he was sucking the toughened flesh of her heel and licking the dirt from the creases on her soles. Plunging her unwashed foot into his mouth, she wiggled the toes of her other foot just above his nose. “Sniff and lick.”


She squeezed his nose with her cheesy-smelling toes and ordered him to clean between her sour-tasting toes, which barely fit into his mouth.


“I love it,” remarked Mona. “That’s what he deserves … a dirty foot in hismouth. Hope it tastes good.”


Petey moaned his objections, Ros’ foot wedged into his throat; and the others laughed.


“Now thank me, and I’ll let you clean my other foot,” she asserted.


He hesitated, but long enough for Mona to send a foot into his crotch. He gasped and thanked Ros for her feet.


“Now clean this one.” Another filthy size 11 foot reached for his mouth, toes first. “Lick my bare foot, scum.” He extended his tongue so Ros could slide her dirty foot over it, eventually plunging a heel into his mouth and ordering him to suck.


Mona was watching, eagerly waiting her turn and taunting him. “How’s that taste, foot licker. Now finally an occupation worthy of you. Pity you can’t do this for the other women at work.”


It wasn’t long before Mona resumed the position and raised a foot over his face. Her foot was filthy after walking barefoot on the floor. Petey’s evident disgust at her dirty wrinkled soles amused her. “Not up to it? Well, don’t worry. Just open your mouth an I’ll do the rest.”


Mona laughed as she thrust her dirty toes into his mouth, wiggling them eagerly. “Now give me some quality sucking and I want those feet spotless. You’re incompetent, but I’ll make you a good foot licker if it’s the last thing I do.


Like Ros, she curled the sweaty toes of her other foot over his nose while filing his mouth with the toes of the first foot. The combination of sour foot odor and bitter, salty foot sweat and dirt was making his stomach hollow. If only he didn’t have to breath in the pungent stink of unwashed, sweaty feet; it was bad enough he had to lick them.


“Why don’t we keep him/” suggested Chris. “Then we’ll have our own foot licker. To live and breath our stinking feet.”


“We can keep him as long as his father doesn’t pay us.


Having said that, Mona grabbed her sock, draping the toe end over his nose began squeezing it with her bare toes. The humiliating stench of unwashed socks filled his senses.


‘Stick out your tongue,” she ordered. He did so and Mona began slide the length of her long, calloused foot over his tongue, from heel to toe, before pressing her dirty heel over his mouth. ‘Suck it.” He did, and for the next ten minutes devoted his efforts to licking and sucking the dirt from her soles and toes, occasionally using his teeth to scrape them clean.


The women giggled and joked with one another, unable to erase the smiles from their faces. It was a mixture of disbelief that some guy was actually sniffing their stinky toes and licking their dirty feet, and amusement at deep-throating his mouth with their feet.


It wasn’t long before the three of them sat about him, each of them with a foot sliding over his face, pinching his nose, jabbing into his nostrils and pushing into his mouth. It was a free-for-all and, once again, Ros placed her rotten sneaker over his nose, as did Chris.


Petey had overcome the disgust and given over to it. He licked when commanded, sucked when ordered and sniffed when ordered to do so.


And then a cellphone began to ring. The women jumped to attention, almost nervous as Chris scrambled for the phone. “Hello?” she said, the phone to her ear. As she listened, her expression changed, registering shock and dismay. “What?”


Without saying goodbye, she let her arm go limp, the phone still in her hand.


“What?” asked Mona. ‘What happened?”


“We got the wrong guy.”


Petey was relieved. No maybe they’d let him go.


“How? I’ve seen pictures. He was right where they told us he’d be.”


“The father says he just spoke with his son and he’s not paying us a red cent.”


“It is him. It has to be.”


There were footsteps on the stairs and then the door swung open. Two women, both in army fatigues and tee shirts, entered the room. “You idiots,” bellowed one of them. “That’s it. It’s over. It’s fucking over.”


“But it’s him,” said Mona. Look at him.”


The new arrival gazed at Petey. “It does look like him. But what’s your dirty sneaker doing on his face?

Petey shook the shoe off, letting it fall to the floor.


“Just teaching him a lesson,” explained Mona. “Putting him in his place.”


“It does look like him,” remarked the other arrival. “What if he was fucking with us. We should call his bluff.”


The first woman found Petey’s discarded suit pants and reached into a pocket. Pulling out his wallet, she glanced at the photo i.d. Her eyes widened in horror.


Mona and Chris joined her. Mona seemed equally shocked by the photo. “Peter? He looks like him but …”


“We’re cooked.”


“I’m sorry, Isabel,” said Roz. “I thought …”


“Forget about it,” said Isabel, shaking her head. She then slammed a booted foot into the wall. “I just wanna kick something. Damn it.”


“What do we do with him?” asked the other woman, turning him over with her work boot. Noticing the other three were barefoot, their shoes laying about, she raised her eyebrows. “Seems like you lot were up to something kinky.”


“Oh, just having a little fun with him, Maya” explained Mona.


“We made him smell our feet,” said Roz with a giggle. “He cleaned mine … with his tongue.”


“Is this funny,” asked Isabel. “We just blew our chance for a million dollars and you’re laughing.


“What can we do now?” asked Chris.


An angry Isabel approached Petey and slammed her boot onto his chest. “Who is this guy?”


“Nobody,” replied.


Isabel kicked him in the chest and pressed the toe of her boot against his chin. He cringed from the pain.


“Please. Please. Don’t kick me.”


Maya approached, slamming a foot against his leg. “We’ll kick you if we like. What the hell were you doing there? Talk about wrong place a the wrong time.”


“It’s his fault,” said Mona. “He tried to trick us.”


“I didn’t, he said feebly.”


Maya kicked him again, pressing her boot up against his crotch. “Shut up.”


Isabel pressed the dirty sole of her boot against his cheek. “Tricked us?”


“At least we have a foot licker.”


“Lick my boot,” ordered Isabel, eliciting giggles and titters from the others.


Isabel, her boot still on his face, took a seat, as did Maya.


“So you rubbed your nasty feet in his face?” asked Maya with a smirk. “Poor fucker.”


“Poor guy?” asked Isabel. “He’s the one who screwed us up.” She slammed a foot into his stomach. He doubled over with pain.


She began to unlace her boot. “So what do you do with him? Stick your feet in his face?”


“Just make him smell them,” explained Mona,  “and then he’ll lick them too.”


“Incredible,” remarked Isabel. “What a dirty job,” she added, laughing for the first time. “Maybe I do feel more sorry for you than us.”


Isabel kicked off her boot, revealing a bare foot covered in shoe dirt and glistening with sweat. The hot rush of odor filled the air as Isabel flexed her toes. “Woosh, they reek,” said Isabel with a laugh.


‘Well, footboy. Let’s see if you’re good for a laugh.” Having said that, Isabel slammed her hot, sweaty foot onto Petey’s face, curling her toes over his nose. Pinching her nose, “I really feel sorry for you.”


Petey tried to breath through his mouth, but there was no point. The smell was sharp and musty, the sweet-sour stink of unwashed feet which she rubbed into his face with considerable enthusiasm. “Well, let’s hear you smell ‘em.”


Feeling Maya’s boot between his legs, he took a deep breath and then another. It was nauseating. The stale, fetid  air permeating his nasal passages and making him dizzy.


As Petey took another breath through his mouth, Mona reached over, her hand over her nose, and jammed her crusty sock into his open mouth. “Now he has to sniff.”


Isabel laughed as she continued to let her toes squirm and play over his nose. “Have a good whiff. Go on.”  Petey inhaled and everyone laughed.


Isabel continued to chuckle as she watched him inhale her foot odor, breath after breath, sometimes sliding her dirty, unpedicured toes over his nose and sometimes thrusting them under his nostrils.

“This is for fucking things up for us and getting in the way,” explained Isabel. She kicked him again before slamming her foot over his face, grinding them onto his nose as if squeezing a grapefruit. She was rough and seemed to enjoy dishing out as much pain as humiliation. “Pretty ripe, huh?” she added with a chuckle.


“I still can’t believe the poor fucker is actually smelling my dirty feet. How pathetic. Look at him sniff them. I haven’t had a chance to wash for days and I've been on my feet all the time. Woosh.”


Another boot fell to the floor and, shortly, another foot, damp, warm and pungent-smelling slithered over his face. The ball of her foot thrust against his nose, she ordered him to “Smell them. Smell those stinky feet.”  With her toes clamped over his nose, she grabbed the sock with the toes of her other foot, pulled it form his mouth and pressed her toes over his lips.


“So now can I have him lick them?” Isabel was like a kid experiencing a new toy.


“Just push them in,” answered Mona. Isabel did just that, sliding her filthy, sweaty feet into his mouth. They tasted awful, bitter and sour, but his tongue was thrust up against her toes. He had to taste them.


“Suck my dirty, sweaty toes,” she commanded as she wiggled them inside his mouth.


And so Petey cleaned one foot and then another, licking the dirty crevices of her wrinkled and greasy soles, scraping the dirt from her hardened heels and feeding on the lint and toe jam between her cheesy toes. Isabel was an eager recipient of Pete’s attentions and enjoyed slapping his face with her bare feet from time to tape.


Maya had already kicked off her boots, flexing her dirty sock feet, before Isabel had even finished. With on slimy set of toes in his mouth, Maya introduced her rancid, sharp stench of her damp sock foot to his nose. He lurched with shock form the smell, making everyone laugh.


Isabel kicked him. “Don’t bite me, just suck.”


Maya’s musty sock toes curled over his nose and she ordered him to sniff. “Maybe a little satisfaction for this fuck up.”


“I think we should keep him,” remarked Isabel. “I just love it.”


“Yeah, my feet smell disgusting,” said Maya. ‘And he’s sniffin’ em’. Too funny.” With one  of Maya’s dirty dark socks in his mouth, Petey was sucking on the dried sweat and stench of rotting boots while she cupped her dirty bare toes over his nose, forcing him to breath the stale air.


Before long, it was a free for all, Ros, Chris and Mona sliding their feet over his face and body along with Maya and Isabel. Toes slithered into his mouth to be sucked upon and thrust against his nostrils to be sniffed.


Time passed, and the women remembered their predicament.  But what happened to them doesn’t concern us here. Suffice it to say, they went back to their factory jobs. No one ever suspected their attempt at blackmail.


As for Petey, the women decided they wanted to keep him. He spent the first night, tied naked to a bed until they could decide his fate. Satisfied they had enough information about him, they agreed to let him go. But they’d blackmailed him, warning him that if he didn’t come back to do their feet, they’d make his life a living hell. Petey knew they could and would.


The women wanted his continued services, and only a week later, paid a visit. As before, they rubbed hot sweaty, stinking feet over his face, forced him to sniff their cheesy toes and compelled him to lick their dirty feet. “He’s our footboy now,” was the oft-heard remark as one by one, stinky toes found his nose. Poor Petey had done nothing wrong, but what a terrible price to have paid for being unfortunate.































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