TEAMWORK

(written from the woman’s perspective)

Girls, I’ve got to tell you about a hilarious little incident that got a little out of control; and is still a little out of control. But I’m so glad it happened because it’s making my final year at college a year to remember (for me and my friends). Before the school term began, I decided to share an apartment with a friend of mine who graduated the year before.

This friend of mine happens to be a guy. I didn’t have a problem with sharing an apartment with a guy; and he seemed nice enough so I knew I could trust him. And everything went well, even though he made a habit of leaving the toilet seat up ( a pet peeve of mine).

Anyway, I play on the co-ed soccer team for the school and I love the game; I’ve played for years and I might go so far as to claim that I’m the star of the team. After all, I’m devoted to the game and with enough passion you can be good at anything. We just beat the pants off our most bitter rivals; but to stay in tip top shape we have to practice. We practice three times a week, and on Fridays we practice in the late afternoon for at least two/ two and a half hours. Needless to say, we’re exhausted afterwards, so on Fridays I invite my teamates to my apartment to hang out. Because my apartment is actually closer to the field than the locker rooms, which are on the other side of the school, we go straight to my place after practice. On average, about six or seven of them come home with me and I let them use my shower.

So, here’s the problem. My roomate, Brian, can be a real pain in the ass. When we arrive, Brian is usually preparing dinner for himself. We order pizza and kick back. Before we even turn on the t.v. and call the pizza guy, we kick off our shoes. It’s almost instinctive. It’s just great to be able to pull off our shoes and stretch our toes. And my feet are usually pretty sore after running around the field for hours, that I simply have to take them off. Now, whenever we take off our shoes, Brian throws me this look of disgust; and he’s even taken to remarks about the smell. He seems to think that women aren’t entitled to work up a sweat. And of course our feet are going to stink after practice. But it’s a good, honest smell. He invited a few of his friends from the baseball team recently, and when they took off their shoes he didn’t make the slightest objection. For him, It’s alright for guys to get sweaty and smelly but we women are suppose to smell nice all the time. I mean what an appalling double standard. And I know he disapproves of women playing sports; which really pisses me off. Personally,I like working up a sweat; it makes me feel so alive. But I don’t understand why Brian would make me feel ashamed of sweating.

Usually, Brian will just make a few remarks about the air getting really stale from the foot odor and he’ll wlk to his room. It doesn’t bother anyone else; but, afterwards, he makes me feel guilty about inviting my friends over and explains that he’s left with no choice but to leave. I tell him he doesn’t have to leave but he always reminds me that the smell of our sock feet is too much for him. I know he’s not bothered by the smell so much as the fact that women should smell at all. We’re supposed to mask the odor and keep the men from smelling it. He seems to think that we flaunt our foot smell, as if we’re proud of getting smelly and sweaty. But I tell him that it’s perfectly natural for us to sweat he tells me I’m too obsessed with playing soccer.

The others knew about my feelings towards Brian and were aware of my eagerness to teach him a lesson. I just wanted him to treat us like his male friends and not as fragile, fragrant-smelling objects. I wanted him to accept me for what I was, smelly feet and all. I guess I liked him but I just couldn’t live with a guy who made me feel like less of a woman because I played soccer and got sweaty and dirty. I wasn’t sure what to do but then I got my chance.

Brian was watching a hockey game when seven of us came back from practice. It was a matter of seconds before two of my buddies, Stacy and Nina, jumped on the sofa next to him and kicked off their shoes. Brian turned to me and wrinkled his nose. He seemed furious that we would interrupt him while he was watching the game. Ever competitive, I began to root for the other team, just to spite him. His team was up a point in the fourth quarter and so there wasn’t much hope of the other team winning; but it thrilled me nonetheless just to oppose him. Amy plopped down next to the three of them and slipped out of ehr shoes as well. At this point, Stacy, who was sitting next to Amy, turned to her, made a face, and told Amy her feet were really foul smelling. “When was the last time you washed those socks,” asked Stacy. Amy just laughed and said that these were her good luck socks and that she didn’t like washing them. Brian just gave me a look of despair, which was priceless.

Then I did something that would change the course of events irreparably. I bet him that the game would be tied two points a piece. Always eager to accept a challenge, especially when he thinks he’s ahead, Brian took my bet. He told me that if I lost I wouldn’t be able to invite my friends over on Fridays. Most of my friends were a little put out by that, not realizing until then how much he hated having us around. I then told him that if he lost he’d have to give us all foot rubs. The others smiled at this. Brian hesitated and extended his hand. He hadn’t even thought of the possibility of losing; he was too confident about winning to even imagine himself having to rub our sweaty feet.

Two minutes left to go and my team scored a surprise goal. Brian was in shock. The others cheered, oblivious to Brian’s discomfort at the unfortunate turn of events. As usual, Brian had been too sure of himself; and I had the satisfaction of proving him wrong. The buzzer went and everyone cheered again. Amy leaned over and threw her sock feet over Stacy’s legs and onto brian’s lap. “You can start with mine,” she remarked with a chuckle. Brian just brushed her feet off and stood up. “You can use the place on Fridays,” he said “but there’s no way I’m touching your stinking, sweaty feet. They’re rank and they’re probably all soaked with sweat.” “You can’t squelch on a bet,” Tasha declared and she stepped in his way. Brian just pushed her aside and walked towards me. I confonted him. “You lost fair and square,” I told him “and you owe each of us a foot massage.” Brian just looked at me and attempted to walk around me but I stepped in front of him again. Tasha and a few of the others stood next to me, effectively preventing him from walking to his room without pushing us aside. “Just try it,” said Tasha as she glared at him. Stacy spoke from the sofa and told him that Brian was no gentleman because he couldn’t keep his word. I would have told him he didn’t have to massage our feet if he’d been willing to keep to the agreement; but his unwillingness to do what he said he would incensed me. I was bold enough to tell him that if he didn’t rub our feet he’d be sorry.

He surprised me by laughing at me and trying to brush me off. I was a little surprised at his audacity considering that there were eight of us. Tasha surprised us by telling Brian that if he didn’t stay true to his word, that she’d make him sory as well. Katey, another one of my soccer buddies, backed her up and told Brian that if it shouldn’t matter how damp and smelly their sock feet were, a promise is a promise. She, along with her close friend Rita, backed Tasha up and promised to make things very difficult for him if he insisted on being a jerk.

By this time there were five of us — me, Tasha, Katey, Rita and Laura – standing next to Brian, and three others – Stacey, Amy and Nina — watching from the sofa. Things were getting pretty heated between Tasha and Brian. And when Brian told her to just try it, it happened. All hell broke loose. Tasha threw herself on him and the two of them toppled backwards onto the floor. She told Katey and Rita to help hold him down, Rita sitting on his legs and Rita and Laura holding his arms down. They held him pretty good, because he struggled and cursed and Tasha just sat on his chest, without any intention of leaving. He called Tasha a “bitch,” and told her he’d kick her ass.

“You want to play hard ball” said Tasha, “we’ll play hard ball; now we’re going to make you sorry.” The other three were already standing next to me and helping the others pin Brian to the floor. Most of us were laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, and at just how things had escalated in a matter of minutes.

“Have you ever seen Brian naked?” asked Tasha. I said no and laughed. She laughed as well. “Would you like to?” she remarked with a fiendish grin. The others were smiling too. I said nothing; and she turned to the others and said “let’s strip him for Anna.” I heared a few giggles, and before I could say anything, they’d got his pants around his ankles. Bran’s face was beet red and he just begged them to stop and to leave him alone. Brian struggled furiously but Tasha just teased him while the others got to work on removing all of his clothes. I knew it would be impossible to live with Brian after this humiliation but there was no stopping them; they had his shorts off and were laughing as they passed back and forth. Tasha then got up so they could pull off his shirt.

Tasha caught me looking at his cock, which, to everyone’s surprise, was getting hard. “Is is what you expected,” asked Tasha, “or were you expecting something bigger.” They laughed at this. I responded by telling them they didn’t have to do this. Brian was still begging tehm to leave him alone but they were having too much fun.

“But I thought you wanted to teach him a lesson,” asked Tasha. “Make him accept you for what you are, no matter how sweaty and smelly.”

“I think we should make him smell Amy’s lucky socks,” said Stacy. There was a stunned silence and then everyone laughed. It then occurred to me that I now had an opportunity to make him accept the smell of my sweaty sock feet. I was actually thrilled at the prospect of rubbing my feet on his face. I’d wanted to do something like that for some time. Whenever he objected to my taking off my shoes I just wanted to stick my foot in his face.

I watched as Amy quickly climbed on top of his chest and placed her sock feet on either side of his face. We were all wearing our calf-length wide socks with the black trim; but Amy was wearing a pair of colorful argyle socks, and she loved shoing themn off. She was grinning ear to ear, and said “maybe I should rub my lucky socks on his face for luck.” We laughed. Rita held his head; he was thrashing around but my teamates managed to hold him down. he continued to surse us off so Tasha slipped off one of her socks and began to stuff it in his mouth. “Suck on that, squelcher,” she added as she pushed it in. I heard his muffled cries. Tasha held her other foot to her nose and took a whiff. She wrinkled her nose and said “they smell like sharp cheese; the sharpest.” She cringed and put her foot down. Rita sniffed her sock foot and remarked that her feet smelled like fritos; Amy thought her feet smelled like Parmesan. Everyone groaned and the laughed.

Amy had been rubbing her sock toes on the side of his face and took a gleeful joy in having the unparalleled freedom to do this to someone. By this time I was won over and couldn’t wait to finally get him back. I felt bad about him getting stripped; but things got out of hand. he had a nice body and a knew the others thought so too; and I liked being able to check him out like I’d never been able to before. I wouldn’t feel bad about pressing my sweaty feet on his face and hearing him breathe in my foot odor. he deserved that.

“Put them over his nose,” said Rita. “Make him smell them.” With a little fanfare, Amy held her feet in the air, wriggled her sock toes and brought them flat onto his face. “Hope you don’t mind the sharp parmesan scent,” giggled Amy. We could hear him take a deep breathe and choke; everyone applauded. “Once he gets use to how our feet smell,” said Tasha, “he won’t mind giving us a simple little foot rub. Not much to ask for.” She turned to Brian and smiled. “Now don’t you wish you’d played ball? And all you had to do was give a few foot rubs; now you’ve got to smell everyone’s sweaty sock feet.” We laughed.

Amy took much delight in pressing her argyle covered feet over his nose and rubbed the toe ends against his nostrils, encouraging him to breathe it in. The rest of us were either watching Amy torment Brian with her rancid socks or fixated on his cock which would grow hard and then go limp. It was cute how his balls just bounced around while he continued to struggle free. But there were too many of us and he wasn’t going anywhere. I suppose this was what team effort was all about. So while Amy cupped her sock toes over his nose she took the toes of her other foot and pressd them against his mouth. Amy turned to Tasha and spoke. “I was thinking of taking out your sock and sticking my foot in his mouth; but I don’t want his saliva on my lucky socks.” “Well, ” said Tasha, “Take off your sock and then stick your toes in his mouth.” Amy giggled at the suggestion and slipped off her sock, letting it fall over his eyes. “I wonder if your toes taste like parmesan cheese,” quipped Laura. I could tell that the sole of her foot was a little dirty and that there were pieces of sock lint on the ball of her foot.

She pulled out Tasha’s sock and before Brian could say anything, she pressed the ball of her foot over his mouth, so that her bare toes and sock toes were over his nose. She playfully wriggled her toes and told Brian she wanted him to give her feet a tongue bath. There was a universal groan from the group but we were excited; we wanted to see him actually suck the sweat from her funky feet. Tasha stepped over him and pressed her foot against his balls; I heard him gasp. “You clean her feet,” ordered Tasha, “or I’ll kick you where it hurts.” He winced and Tasha took her foot away. Amy slipped her toes into his mouth and he began to suck on her toes. We groaned again; but laughed when we heard him choke. “Oh, that’s so soothing,” cooed Amy. Amy and Tasha keep him so busy cleaning her toes and licking between them, he had no choice but to breath the stale stench of her sock toes, still pressed firmly over his nose.

Amy had Brian clean the dirty balls of her feet and her slightly calloused heels, and kept remarking on how wonderful it felt. She was making us jealous, and I had a hard time understanding why Amy got her feet serviced instead of me. he was my roomate after all, and I wanted him to smell my feet.

Before Amy had a chance to get her other foot serviced, I stepped forward and asked Amy to move aside. Amy, knowing how much I’d wanted to do this, gracefully stepped aside. Brian looked at me and begged me to put an end to this; he was in earnest; but then again, so was I. I got comfortable on his chest and held his head between my feet. Using his face to pry off my soccer shoes I quickly pressed my sock feet onto his face. I felt him struggle; and Rita had to hold his head straight as I pressed my warm ,sweaty feet onto his face. Rita told me my feet smelled like cheetos and old sneakers; and I could tell Brian was hating every single minute of it.

When I removed my sock feet, his face looked moist. I’d been rubbing my foot sweat into his face for at least four minutes and his face looked it. I then grabbed Tasha’s sock (which I noticed was a bt dirty on the sole from walking around in her sock feet) and stuffed it back into his mouth. “Now you’re going to smell my feet,” I explained. The others laughed and told me I looked so intense. I suppose I was. I could still feel the dampness in my socks, and they were quite warm, and I still wanted to rub the moisture onto his face. I wanted his face to smell like my feet. I then pressed my toes against his nose and told him to breathe it in. I took turns clenching my sock toes of each foot over his nose, and listening to his him as he inhaled my musty odor. It was oddly satisfying.

While I took a few moments to peel off my rank socks, Amy grabbed one of her shoes and held the open end over his nose. He twitched, and struggled to break free. “God those must really stink,” remarked Stacy. “Why do you think my feet smell so much,” responded Amy, “it’s these old shoes.”

As much as I love watching Amy torment him with her funky smelling old running shoes, I want to torment him too. Once I’d taken off my socks, I held them to my nose and smelled them; they were still wet and smelled like my old sneakers, with a faint whiff of gorgonzola. I almost wanted to gag so I took one and stuffed it, toe end first, into Brian’s mouth. Brian almost gagged; which elicited titters and giggles from the others. I then pressed my warm, smelly bare toes, slightly dirty like Amy’s (but we’d been standing barefoot in the locker room ealier) over nis nose. When I felt he’d sucked on my sock enough, I pulled it out and inserted my big toe. There was a piece of sock fabric between my big toe and the next one so I told him to lick it off. He did; everyone was enjoying the show.

And then we started taking turns, next Tasha, then Rita, Stacy, Laura, Nina and Katey. Probably fifteen minutes each of just rubbing our damp sock feet on his face just after taking off our sneakers, cupping our sock toes over his nose and having him sniff, and then licking the sweat and dirt from out bare toes. Sometimes, there were as many as three of us with our feet on his face at one time. It took a little getting used to the smell; as soon as one of us took off her shoes just prior to sticking them in his face, the first rush of odor would overwhelm. We’d have to stomach our own smell, but it made it so satisfying just to watch Brian have something foul-smelling and moist rubbed into his face and pressed over his nose. What an equisite torture. So easy and so powerful.

Because we enjoyed doing this so much, we devised an additional torture for him. We promised to stop if while blindfolded he could guess whose feet were on his face just by the smell. If he got one wrong, he’d have to sniff her toes for another ten minutes as well as her shoes. We had no intention of stopping just then anyway; but just wanted him to think he had an out. And we were going to have him smell our shoes too; because I knew that several of my buddies had really old shoes which were falling apart and probably had things growing in them. So we blindfolded him with a pair of sweat socks and played the game. He actually guess correctly a few times so we lied and told him he was wrong. We told him he missed everytime and ten we started taking turns all over again, each of us pressing his nose into our shoes. We always knew which shoes and feet were the most objectionable because he would twitch and thrash about, trying to get his face free. But when he revealed a paricular aversion to a pair of sneakers we’d just make him sniff them even longer.

We loved having Amy rub her feet on him, primarily because she loved doing it and because her feet had such a sharp, distinct aand unplesant, almost vinegary smell. Her sock feet really did smell like parmesan cheese. It smelled like she’d poured parmesan cheese into her rank old sneakers before going to practice. And to watch Brian sucking on her salty, sweaty toes almost made me nauseous. But the others had pretty stinky feet too. And to see him licking our dirty bare feet was the best. We’d just stick our cheesy toes in his face and tkae turns slipping them into his mouth and having them sucked on. He took turns licking our sweaty, dirty feet clean, callouses, lint and all.

But still, there was n greater thrill than to be able to rub the sweat and grime onto his face. To rub our damp sweat socks ont his face. He so richly deserved that, above all else. To have our varoius cheesy foot smells rubbed dep into his skin, to serve as a reminder that women sweat and smell, just like men. Oh, to position him outside the locker room and enourage the others to use his face to rub the sweat from their feet. We would all take of our shoes and rub our feet clean before hitting the showers. Oh, my mind was full of ideas; all of them pretty wicked. I was actually glad they’d stripped him because I suppose I secretely wanted him humiliated.

We were having so much fun together; and it’s weird to think that it took a man to make our evening so memorable but it did. It was actually kind of empowering. We felt like a true team, and now we shared this experience. And it dawned upon all of us then that we got an adrenalin rush out of forcing our sweaty, malodorous, musty, cheesy feet onto a a guy’s face and having him smell them and lick them. It was almost as exciting as being out on the field working up a sweat. This was the payoff; to have the taste and smell of the sweat appreciated by a man (who unti then objected to the idea of women sweating and smelling). It gave us more incentive to play hard, knowing that we could go somewhere, kick off our shoes and have a man worship our smelly, sweaty feet. It justified the effort. To sit back, read a paper or watch t.v. while some guy lays on the floor and worships my smelly feet. Heaven. I feel no shame for working up a sweat and now Brian must not only accept it, he will have to adore it.

And just before we finished up, Tasha asked me to get my camera. The others smiled; and Brian stuggled and begged me not to take pictures. “We need come compromising photos,” she explained. And then she turned to Brian. “And if you don’t do as you’re told, if you don’t massage our feet when we want you to, and if you don’t do exactly as we say, then we’ll send every co-ed on campus a photocopy of your naked body, and your less than impressive cock.” We laughed. “And under the photo it’ll say, ‘if you see this man, give him a whistle, he just loves the attention.” “Please” uttered Brian. “Don’t” “If you don’t behave,” added Tasha “I’ll really make you sorry. Maybe I’ll send a copy to your Mom.” We laughed again. “Are you going to behave?” “Yes”

I brought out the camera and started taking full body shots of Brian, careful not to get the others in the shot. Tasha held up his head and told him to face the camera. I took a few more shots. I finished up the roll and took it out. I gave it to Tasha who put it in her pocket. “Now are you going to giev us our foot rubs, as you promised,” asked Tasha. Brian nodded. “If not, we’ll just kick you out of here naked.” “Yes,” insisted Brian ,”you’ll get your lousy footrubs. “Just leave me alone.”

Tasha nodded to the others and they go of him. he stood up, silently and faced his tormentors. Tasha tooka seat on the sofa, extended her feet and clicked her fingers. “Get over here, boy.” Brian wumed but he walked towards her without saying a word. he knelt down and began to rub her feet, without complaint. He said nothing becaause I’m sure that if he did it would have been a complaint. “Relax,” teased Tasha, as she wriggled her toes near his nose. “You’ve smelled them up close and you’ve learned to appreciate the strength of my foot scent, why so squeamish?” The others giggled; Brian just grunted and jumped into the task of soothing Tasha’s sore feet.

Needless to say, we all got footrubs that evening; we ordered pizza and even had him lie down whie we threw our old sweat socks onto his face. We watched t.v. while he had to sniff our rank sweat socks. And he was quiet and did exactly as he was told. The others left reluctantly and, after a few of them rubbed their feet on his face one last time, they left. Brian ran to the bathroom to wash his face.

But next Friday the whole team was over for footrubs; and just to watch Brian smell their stinky sock feet. Some of them couldn’t believe he was actyally snifing their cheesy feet; and they loved it that we could so freely rub our sweaty feet on some guy’s face. All though practice, we’d think about the satisfaction of being able to kick off our shoes and press our warm, aching feet onto his face and hear him inhale our stale, musty, sharp, cheesy foot odor.

So the photos come in pretty handy; I don’t know where they are now, but I’ve seen them passed around in the lockeroom and even in class. They’re always good for a giggle. he was hostile for a while, but his attitude has changed completely. And now he’s pretty compliant.

So now everything’s different; just because things got a little out of hand that day. I suppose I should thank Tasha for taking the initiative because, otherwise, I would still be gripping about Brian and not doing anything about it. Brian and I don’t talk much; which is bad because I want to talk to him; it’s also good, because I no longer have to hear his complaints. And now, every Friday, Brian will order the pizza for us, pay for it, and serve us pizza when we arrive. And the propect of having a guy wait on us hand and foot always attracts the entire team; no one goes home without first hanging out at my apartment.

So we all get foot massages, whenever we want them. And Brian doesn’t dare object. He’s even taken to asking us if we want our feet rubbed. I get him to rub my feet everyday, but, for the others, they have Friday to look forward to. Most of them still enjoy tormenting him with the smell of their feet and, as soon as we arrive at my place, two or three of my soccer buddies will invariably corner Brian, take off their sneakers and take turns rubbing their sweaty feet on his face. A few of them, like Tasha and Rita, will try to get their feet as smelly as possible just to torment Brian. Once Tasha, Rita and Amy went to practice without wearing socks. And you know how much we sweat over two hours of practice. Their feet were abominably stinky, and so that was the last time they did that at my place.

Since then, the three of them have, on one other occassion, gone to practice without wearing socks. But I told them to take Brian to Tasha’s van to have him smell them there because I wasn’t about to let them take off their shoes at my place. They whisked him off; it was a bit disappointing because forty minutes elapsed before they brought him back. Every now and then the others won’t wear socks; and they wil always wear their oldest, filthiest shoes. They’ll brag about how much they stink, and about how long they’ve gone without washing their feet or caging their socks. It’s become competitive; and it amazes me how much some of my buddies are willing to wear the same pair of socks, just to torment Brian.

Sometimes my friends just want him to put on a strip show. They invite their friends and we make a party of it. It’s always a blast. Watching him do jumping jacks in the nude, or run in place is hilarious everytime. And it’s nice just to hang with my buddies and have a few laughs, even if their at Brian’s expense. But to spend this time with people I really care about; I’ll never forget these days.

And, while nude, he gives us footrubs, and for the new women who come out of curiosity, we have him worship their feet. They find it weaird at first but they soon find that they adore the attention. There’s always someone knew who comes just to see what everyone’s been talking about. They are usually shocked at first (because they feel embarassed for Brian) but they soon learn to just have some fun. To laugh when we make Brian to ridiculous things and to thrill to the freedom of forcing Brian to sniff our smelly feet. It’s just about women getting together and having a good time; and so when we look back we’ll have fond memories and something to laugh about in our old age.

Oh, and he also does chores. Tasha bullied him into doing that for me. So now I get my laundry done, my dishes and Brian even gives me pedicures. He’s become so useful he’s almost become indispensible. I think we’re getting very close but we don’t talk enough to share our feelings. I’d love to ask him how he feels about spending so much time at our feet, and for being used for our amusement. We have so much fun I tend to forget about Brian. Come to think of it, it doesn’t really matter. Everyhting works out so well as it is. He’s compliant, he does my chores and I get my feet rubbed after practice. If only we could do something to make other guys more like Brian. Maybe it takes being forced to smell the stinking feet of a co-ed soccer team to bring men to their senses. I don’t know, but it’s sure fun having forcing Brian to smell our feet at their maladorous best.

THE END

This story is taken from:

http://www.geocities.ws/smellmyfeetshesaid/stories.html

Special thanks to: Byron

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