GRANDMOTHER'S STINKY FEET
alien_ov@yahoo.com

When I graduated high school, I had already been accepted to attend a
small arts college in California in the fall.  I was looking forward
to the experience, and was surprised when my Mother revealed a
surprise to me.  To celebrate my college acceptance and my 18th
birthday, my Grandmother -- my Mom's Mom - had offered to let me
stay with her out on the west coast for part of the summer.  It
promised to make a nice change from another quiet summer in the
suburbs, so I agreed right away.  I was a little puzzled, though, when
Mom kept teasing me by grinning smugly and dropping vague hints that I
had an interesting visit ahead of me.

My mother had been fairly young when I was born, and her mother had
given birth at a relatively early age as well, so by the time I was
ready to set off to college, I believe that Grandmother might not have
yet turned 60.  She was still an attractive woman - she carried
herself well and paid attention to her looks, although her style of
dress was fairly casual.  She had short, dark hair with hints of grey,
high cheekbones, pale grey-blue eyes, and full lips.  She was tall,
with a soft, curvy physique.  Even as a boy I was not unaware of her
mature beauty.

Grandmother lived in a small town in the pacific northwest, surrounded
by trees, lakes, and rolling hills.  When I was a boy, the family
would take week-long trips to visit her once or twice a year, but it
had been several years since my last visit to her home.  I was looking
forward to the change of scenery and the atmosphere of the west coast,
and even the thought of two months staying with my Grandmother didn't
seem so bad.

Grandmother met me at the airport and drove me to her house, an hour
or so drive, where she had made all but final preperations for a
simple, elegant supper.  It was nice to see her, though she was acting
a little mysterious in a way similar to how my Mom had been - hinting
at quite a visit she had planned for me, and soforth.

After dinner, Grandmother sent me off to take a shower.  After washing
and towelling myself off, I returned to the guest bedroom to dress and
noticed my clothes were missing.  I called out to Grandmother a couple
of times, and receiving no response, wrapped a towel around my waist,
went looking for my things.  I walked down the hall and found the door
to Grandmother's bedroom (where I had left the rest of my bags) had been
closed and locked.  Puzzled, I walked downstairs, where Grandmother
sat in the living room, looking at me with a hint of a domineering
smile.

"Um, excuse me, Grandmother; I can't find my clothes," I managed
nervously.

"Come here," she explained in a voice that was both warm and
commanding, "and sit at my feet."  I didn't know how to respond, so I
began to do as she asked.  "Remove the towel," she added, just as I
was about to sit.  I blushed furiously, but I knew I didn't have much
of a choice, and did as she asked, making nervous motions to cover my
privates.  "Sit," Grandmother insisted, and I went down cross-legged,
naked on the floor.

Grandmother casually kicked off her black leather flats and placed her
wide, pale feet in my lap.  Her toenails were neat but unpainted.
"Smell.  My.  Feet." she pronounced, calmly yet imperiously, as she
raised the bare sole of her left foot until it was inches from my
face.  I didn't know what to think of this, but well, I didn't have
much choice in the matter.  Grandmother's feet STANK - they were
noticably sweaty and their thick, ripe aroma had already reached my
nose.  A humid heat radiated from her soles, making the cheesy,
pungent smell that much more intense.  There were also bits of grime
and dirt around Grandmother's toes, and her heels and balls of feet
were visibly dirty.  I wrinkled my nose in disgust, but passively
allowed Grandmother to bring her foot closer and closer to my face.  I
knew better than to disobey.

"SMELL.  MY.  FEET." she commanded again, more loudly, raising her
other sweaty, smelly foot and rubbing its damp, wrinkled sole against
my cheek.  Timidly, I took hold of her left ankle and brought my nose
into contact with the bottom of her foot - my eyes were already
watering from the force of her powerful foot stink.

"That's right," she prompted, "sniff my sweaty foot.  Breathe in the
smell of my tired old feet.  They get awfully stinky in those dirty
old shoes but you be a good boy and smell them for me."  As she spoke,
she pinched my nose between her first two toes, moist with stale
sweat, and lightly stroked around my mouth with the top of her other
foot.  She rubbed my nose between her first and second toe, and my
nose twitched as bits of dirt and toe jam tickled my nostrils.

"Smell between my toes," she gently instructed.  "My feet are hot and
tired and I know they stink, so you just get your nose in there and
smell my foot odor.  I've had those shoes for years and I know how
they make my feet sweat.  Smell every part of my foot, that's a good
boy.  Smell Grandmother's stinky old feet.  You can do it."  By this
point, she was vigorously rubbing the soles of both feet all over my
face, smearing me with sweat.  I couldn't escape the overpowering
stench of those feet - they smelled ripe and moldy and sour and bitter
all at once, and it was all I could do not to gag.

"Smell between each and every toe," she prompted.  She pulled over a
footstool and rested her heels on it, keeping her dirty, stinky toes
right at the level of my face.  She leaned over and spread the first
two toes of her left foot with her fingers.  "Get your nose in there,"
she laughed, obviously enjoying what she was doing to me.  "Smell
between your Grandmother's toes.  Sniff.  That's right, let me hear
you sniff.  Sniff my toejam, little boy, breathe it deep.  Smell my
toejam."  She raised her voice, urging me, grinning in wicked delight
at what she was putting me through.  I was a little scared, very
confused, but strangely excited, worked up into a fervor by
Grandmother's orders.  "Sniff harder!" she barked.  "When I tell you
to smell my feet, you do as I say.  My feet have been sweating in
those shoes all day and now I order you to smell them."  As she spoke,
Grandmother used her fingers to play with her toes, pulling apart her
toes and directing me to smell between each and every toe.  I was
painfully aware not only of her ripe, cheesy foot smell, but also of
the tiny flecks of grime and dirt that had become trapped between her
toes.  Her feet looked and smelled absolutely gross, and she knew it,
and she was absolute revelling in making me inhale breath after breath
of her disgusting foot odor

This ritual went on for some time - I did not understand how I had so
easily come under Grandmother's power, but there was no denying what
had just happened.  Grandmother was very kind and reassuring
afterwards, explaining that she would do nothing to hurt or threaten
me, but that it would please her very much if I continued to do as she
commanded.  I nervously bit my lip and agreed I would obey her,
surprised at my quick, heartfelt answer.  Grandmother smiled with
satisfaction and led me to her bedroom, where an air matress, blanket,
and pillow had been arranged at the foot of her bed.  The stench of
her sweaty bare feet still permeated the air very noticably.

"You won't sleep here every night," she explained.  "It's a treat you
have to earn."  She paused to smile at me meaningfully.  "In the
morning we can get you bright and early with some foot sniffing and
massage, and maybe show you around my shoe closet!  But first, how
about rubbing some sweet scented moisturzing cream into Grandmother's
feet?"

(to be continued?)