Working in a small-town pharmacy may not seem like the best job for a young man, but it was owned by my grandmother, was now being managed by my father and it seemed like a good, stable job.
Due to my interest (rather fascination) with the male foot, I'd made sure that I knew everything about the foot-care section. It was always my hope that some young stud would need some foot-care products, and I would be able to discuss or even demonstrate them with him. Mostly, however, it was old men looking for corn plasters and bunion cream.
Grandmother was an old-style pharmacist. She often joked that if she'd been born 200 years earlier, she'd probably have been burned as a witch. Her home-made remedies and tonics were often in demand and, after she died, we had a huge job clearing everything out. As we were disposing of the hundreds of bottles, a few caught my eye. I'd always had a fantasy about being small enough to fit in a man's shoe; to be under his foot as he walked, absorbing his sweat. So when I saw a few bottles marked 'Transformation Potion', 'Transformation Fixative' and 'Transformation Antidote', I put them in my pocket and continued working.
Later I excitedly read the labels, written in Grandmother's spidery handwriting. 'Transformation Potion. Take 1 capful. Allows the body to transform to any shape and size. Effects wear off in 12-24 hours'. The fixative made the effects permanent and the antidote reversed them. This was exactly what I was looking for! All I needed now was an opportunity.
The opportunity arose a few days later when a man in his 20's came into the shop. He was working on the construction site across the street, and had been into the shop before. I had noticed him then because of his striking features - he could have been a Greek god with short, dark-colored hair, blue eyes and a wide neck. He was about 6ft tall and, I estimated, about 170lb. He clearly did physical work, and was in extremely good shape. I immediately noticed that his work jeans were tight around his thighs and his ankles vanished into some extremely worn-looking tan Timberland boots. As he entered the shop this particular morning, I noticed he had a slight limp.
'Can you help me?' he asked, leaning on the counter, the smell of his sweat mingled with deodorant wafted across the counter. I gulped.
'Of course, sir.' I replied, emphasising the 'sir'.
'My feet are killing me', he said and my heart skipped a beat, 'I need some odor-eaters with arch supports for these boots.'
'Certainly, sir. Just come through to the back here, sit down and take off your boots. I'll put some in straight away for you.' What a helpful shop assistant I was!!
'Are you sure, man?', the young hunk looked worried, 'I know it's only morning, but my feet sweat pretty bad and probably stink already. My girlfriend won't come anywhere near them!'
'Don't worry. We get all kinds of things here, we don't worry about a bit of foot odor!' I answered, my mouth was now dry, I was seriously aroused and I couldn't wait for him to take his boots off. He followed me through to the back room, and removed his boots. He certainly wasn't wrong about the smell! Immediately the room was filled with an aroma of stale sweat and leather. A damp ring formed around each of his black-socked feet on the tiled back-room floor. I noticed that his feet were exactly as I would have wished - wide with slightly squared-off toes and high arches. I tore my eyes away from them, took his boots and went into the store to cut some odor-eaters to fit.
'Just wait there, won't be a moment.' I said, as I disappeared into the store.
'Thanks - hey - I'm Logan, by the way.' he said, stretching out his hand.
'Matt', I replied and shook his hand, 'I won't be long'.
I carefully cut one of the odor-eaters to fit his right boot, and put my hand inside right up to the toes. I could feel the residual heat from his feet, and the indentations where his strong toes had pressed into the soft sole. Now was my chance. I took the three bottles from my pocket, put them on the shelf beside me and poured a capful of the transformation liquid. For 12 - 24 hours *I* would be the other odor-eater, experiencing life beneath this hot guy's left foot. To be honest I hadn't thought out the next stage of my plan - how I would escape once the effects had worn off. Suppose the potion wore off while he was still wearing his boots? How would I explain that the pharmacist's assistant who served him this morning was actually the odor-eater he'd worn all day?
Anyway, there was no time to entertain such thoughts. The potion was already having an effect, my whole body started to tingle and feel like rubber. It was such a strange sensation, I had difficulty stepping into Logan's left boot. When I succeeded, I concentrated all my thoughts on being an odor-eater. After what seemed like an age, I could feel it happening. I was shrinking quite rapidly! I caught a glance of the ankle of his boot as I shrunk past it, and suddenly here I was - laying inside my new master's boot. Wriggling and pushing my body I could see that I was now, indeed, an odor-eater. My legs, arms, torso and head had all become one shape and while I had limited movement, there was no way I could get out - even if I wanted to. Pushing and writhing I managed to get my head up to the toe of the boot. And there I lay, in the dank, musty toe of Logan's boot. My head was resting in the indentations made by his toes and, by lifting my 'head' slightly, I could see the lining of his boot in the gloomy, half-light coming in through the opening which seemed so far away.
Interesting, I thought, most of my senses seem to be intact. I can see, hear, definitely smell and feel. I wonder if I could talk.
'They're ready.' I shouted. I could hear myself, so I guess I could talk. I couldn't imagine how this potion of grandmother's worked. It didn't seem possible, but yet here I was in a hot construction worker's boot.
'Great thanks, I've really got to...' I heard Logan say as he came into the storeroom, '...go' he finished. There was silence for a moment and then Logan's voice again: 'Guess I'll just go then.'
I had the sensation of being airborne for a moment, evidently as Logan picked up the boot I was in. 'Hmmph', he said, prodding me with his fingers - obviously testing his new odor-eater for comfort.
Then the moment I'd been waiting for. There was a huge jolt, probably as Logan dropped his footwear (of which I was now part) onto the floor, and his foot entered the boot. Craning myself I could see his enormous, wide, black sock-covered toes coming towards me. The ball of his foot brushed along my 'body', finally coming to rest as his gigantic heel slammed down and his toes clamped over my eyes and nose. It was now hotter and damper than a rain-forest inside his boot. I could feel the pressure increase as he bounced up and down, testing his new odor-eaters for comfort, with every bouncing step his foot compressed me more and I could feel my body moulding to the different pressure areas beneath his foot - the heel, sides, ball and toes - I was pleased at this, because at least it meant that Logan would find me comfortable underfoot. Logan had a habit of curling his toes, which pressed my head into the previous indentations. Conscious of my position and job of being a good odor-eater, I moved slightly to ensure I was supporting his arch as much as possible. I also found that by moving my head slightly, I could send a ripple down my body. I hoped that this gave Logan the feeling of having his foot massaged as he walked.
Being an odor-eater certainly was a hard job. Logan must have used ladders when he worked, because often his entire weight seemed to be transmitted through the arch of his foot into my midriff. He sweated copiously and, before too long, I was absolutely wringing wet through. I tried to channel his sweat towards my mouth so that I could absorb at least some of what he was producing, but I was fighting a losing battle. Eventually I tried to cool his feet by breathing out quickly through my flattened nose. This produced a small, cool draught between his toes and I hoped it might stem the tide of his sweat before I drowned in it.
My whole day was spent in the dark, damp stench of his boot. The only respite was for 30 minutes when he took his boots off at lunch time. The cool air coming in through the entrance to my new home was quite a relief and, truth be told, I'd absorbed so much sweat and sock fluff, that I really wasn't hungry at all. After over-hearing general construction workers' chit-chat Logan commented how comfortable his boots were today, and how it must be the new odor-eaters. This gave me a rush, and showed that I was a good odor-eater - despite obviously never having practiced.
The only scary time that day was when I started to feel cold water around me - and realised that Logan must be stood in a puddle, or stream of water. It was seeping in between the uppers and sole of his boot. Of course he wouldn't realise that he had a human odor-eater, so I just had to hold my breath and hope that the water subsided before I drowned. Fortunately he stepped out of the water and my own body heat, combined with the heat of Logan's foot, dried both of us off quickly.
As the day wore on, I found myself enjoying this new position. I felt as if I was giving good service to my new owner, and continued to try and make his foot feel as comfortable as possible.
'Born to be an odor-eater!', I said out loud, but only succeeded in making a muffled noise and getting a mouthful of saturated black sock. The actual smell wasn't really affecting me as much now and, although Logan appeared to have a limitless supply of sweat, all my dreams seemed to have come true. When I got out of here and back to my flat, I'd have plenty of real-life experiences to re-live in my dreams over and over again. Maybe I could do this regularly, as long as Grandmother's potion didn't run out - think of the hot guys I could serve! Maybe I could become other useful objects, instead of an odor-eater!! I also started thinking about how I was going to get out of Logan's boot. I figured that he would beat me into a pulp within seconds if he found me crawling out from under his bed and, hot though the thought was, he'd be equally surprised and angry at me materialising beneath his foot and splitting open his boot. Also, while my clothes seemed to have shrunk and transformed with me, I wasn't sure if this would be the case when I returned to my normal size. There seemed to be a lot of questions, which I tried to put out of my mind so that I could just concentrate on today's mission: serve my new, unwitting master's foot as best as I could.
The day came to an end, and I was now able to tell what different activity Logan was doing. Evidently he was now driving, and the rhythmic pressure of the ball of his foot and toes told me that he drove a stick-shift car. Finally he arrived home and removed his boots for the day.
'Man!!', he exclaimed at the odor escaping from the neck of his boot, 'That's even worse than normal!'
I smiled, way down in the darkness. If only he knew that another human being had, not only endured, but also enjoyed the sweat and stench from his manly feet all day! I was not prepared for what happened next, as Logan grabbed the heel of his new odor-eater and pulled me out of his boot.
'Aha. Just as I suspected.', he announced triumphantly, holding me upside down in front of his face, 'The missing pharmacy clerk is my human odor-eater.' Now I was petrified - how did he know I had done this? His handsome face was grinning, showing straight, white teeth. I became aware of the fact that I was totally powerless, this young god could do anything to me and I immediately felt aroused.
'There was only one exit from that store room.' Logan said, obviously happy with himself, 'So I knew you couldn't leave. Then I noticed these...' From his pocket he took my three bottles - the Transformation Potion, Fixative and Antidote!!
'I started to figure out what you'd done', he continued, 'especially when I noticed that one odor-eater was a different colour to the other. When I put my hand in and checked, it was obvious which one was fabric. When I walked, I could feel you changing to the shape of my foot, and I could feel you wriggling and breathing between my toes. I don't know how this stuff works, but I figured that you'd decided to be my odor-eater for the day. How was it?'
'Ummmm.... I.... uh', I started.
'No matter', said Logan still smiling that fabulous smile, 'You felt good beneath my feet all day, but let's get...'
'Who you talking to buddy?' Another male voice interrupted from outside the bedroom door. Quickly Logan dropped me onto the bed and sat heavily on top of me. I remember watching as his muscular, jeans covered butt descended on me. The fabric had tightened around his thighs and backside and I watched, silently, as the daylight vanished. My face must have been practically in his butt crack, I could smell a mingled odor of sweat, denim, construction site dust and body odor. All I could hear now were muffled voices, so I just waited. Logan occasionally shifted on the bed, causing my face to go further into his butt. I was enjoying this too - maybe I should have transformed into a cushion instead!
Eventually Logan stood up. 'Sorry 'bout that', he said, 'my flatmate wanted to know what was going on, so I told him I was on the phone. Anyway, time for you to have a drink again - let's get you back to normal.'
He left me laid on the bed, poured a capful of liquid from the bottle and dripped it into my tiny mouth. I was surprised at his calm reaction to finding a living person in his boot, but was glad that the problem of how I was going to escape had been solved. Too late I noticed that the bottle in his left hand was not the antidote, but the Transformation Fixative.
'Wha...?' I spat out the last mouthful, but had already drunk the rest, 'THAT'S NOT THE ANTIDOTE!!' I shouted. Now Logan's grin changed from open and affable, and twisted in an evil smirk.
'I never said it was.', he said eventually, 'I said: Let's get you back to normal. This is normal now.'
'Wha...?' I said again, 'Why??'
'I paid for two odor-eaters.', Logan replied slowly, 'I don't want to be robbed and I don't like being tricked, so you're going to have to stay. The label on the other bottle said that the effects wore off after 12-24 hours unless the Fixative was taken. Now - you belong to me forever. Get used to my foot-sweat you little worm, you're going to have plenty of it. Unless you want to find yourself in the bin, or the fire, you'd better keep quiet and enjoy your new situation. I liked the way you massaged my feet and breathed cool air between my toes as I walked and I like how you've adapted to the shape of my foot, so keep doing that if you know what's good for you. Maybe I'll have to get myself another human odor-eater for the other foot.'
Logan threw his head back and laughed at what he'd said and at my predicament, he plopped me into a pair of Nike Airmax sneakers that had obviously been used for gym work. The smell in here was ten times worse than in his boots. 'Time for my run, worm. This is what you wanted, remember? You're less than nothing now!', he said and put his foot heavily on top of me. Again I watched his toes come towards me, now covered in a discolored, white gym sock. Before his muscular toes cut off all my light and pressed me again to conform to their shape, I could see the yellowish, brown sweat stains and the patches where the ball of his foot had worn the fabric smooth. The material of his socks was stiff, obviously these socks weren't washed that often, but again I tried to wriggle and massage his sole, and blow cool air between his rank-smelling toes as my body endured 30 minutes of heavy punishment between his foot and the street.
That night I tried to rationalise the situation, but it was all too surreal. Was I really trapped forever, a sweat absorbing, sock fluff eating human odor-eater to this young stud? Was I now really just an object that belonged to him, existing only to provide comfort beneath his feet? Was the real measure of what I'd accomplished in a day from now on be decided by my new master, whether I'd successfully massaged and cooled his giant foot? The answer to all the questions seemed to be yes. I thought about my job - I didn't care much about that anyway. I thought about my apartment, my bank account, my car - everything I owned now seemed to mean nothing. Tomorrow's job would be to service my young master's feet, which would be the case every day from now on. Back in his work boot I glanced around as best I could. I noted the areas in the lining that his toes had worn and the discoloration caused by his sweat. This was both my prison and my new home. I'd better get used to it.
The next morning I was woken early by, of course, Logan's foot. He didn't see fit to make any conversation with me that day, but then - how often have you had a conversation with your odor-eater? Instead I just did my best to massage him through his blue sock, and to cool between his toes when the heat grew intense. He continued to produce just as much sweat as the previous day, I was now getting better at absorbing it and felt quite proud of my day's work. That evening there was still no communication from him. I was dropped into some smart Ben Sherman shoes because he had a meeting. It must have been a stressful one because, although I couldn't hear a word, he scrunched his toes quite a lot - pressing my face into them and nearly suffocating me with the rancid smell. He also pushed down heavily with the ball of his foot, causing severe pressure around my face, but was I always rewarded with a fresh burst of sweat and odor.
That night he took me out of his shoe and placed me inside his boxer shorts before going to sleep. 'You're a good little sweat absorber.', he said, 'Now clean my crotch.' Safe and warm, pressed up to his buttocks, I fell asleep beneath his weight - continuing to feed on the sweat of my master. The following night I was left inside his boot, but my master stuffed an old, rank sock in there as well - maybe he thought this would prevent me escaping, but in my form, escape was impossible. I licked and sucked on the stiff fabric of his sock, feasting once more on the taste that I was quickly getting addicted to.
After what I calculated to be about 30 days of the same treatment, I knew every pair of socks and shoes he owned. The black sheer dress socks, the blue woollen ones he often worked in, the discolored gym socks, the soft gray evening socks and more. I had been in every pair of shoes he had, and knew the exact texture and softness of their natural sole. I had spent many nights inside his boxer shorts, and become accustomed to the warm, musty smell and his weight. Often I'd end up almost totally in his butt crease, covered with foul-smelling sweat, which to me was like nectar. On more than one occasion I nearly ended up in the toilet, as my giant master often forgot about his pet during the night.
Of course better than anything, I knew Logan's foot, which was my constant companion and reminder of my young master. My only reason for living was to service it, to massage and cool it and to make my owner feel happy with me. I was now discolored with his sweat, and totally moulded to the personal contours of his foot. I could tell Logan's mood by the way he moved his toes, and the subtle movement of his foot. We had the occasional conversation, but what could we talk about? I was so far beneath him that my existence hardly mattered. As long as his feet were massaged during the day and I was pressed against his crotch or beneath his buttocks at night, he really didn't care. And what could I have spoken to him about? On the occasions when I was faced with my god, he would just ask me if I was ok. I'd reply: 'yes master', and that was about it. Logan also often ran with no socks on, so his sweat-lubricated bare foot would slide over me into the sneaker. I would spend my time trying to hoover sock lint from the creases between and beneath his toes, as he ground my flattened form into the sole of his shoe. The transformation potion made me soft and rubbery, so what used to be my face would ooze between his slippery toes, and I'd often end up stuck to the sole of his foot when he took off his sneaker. With no sock to absorb some of the sweat, I'd often end up squelching as his foot slid up and down my body.
On this particular day, though, he pulled me out of his Nike Airmax after a particularly long run. I was soaking wet in his sweat and, by now, had acquired the full odor and shape of his foot.
'Decision time, worm.' he said as he threw me onto the floor. I smelt so bad there was no way he'd want me on the bed. I stared up at him, he truly was a giant. From his blue-socked feet up his tree trunk-like legs, with the jeans fabric stretched around his thighs and groin, above muscular chest and wide shoulders was his perfect head, with strong chin, tanned skin and twinkling blue eyes. Beads of sweat were evident on his forehead and his short, sandy-colored hair was tousled and damp with sweat. I too knew how much sweat he'd produced on this particular work-out. He exuded power and I felt helpless at his feet.
'I can give you the antidote now, and you'll go back to normal.', he continued, 'If I don't give you the antidote, you'll be an odor-eater forever. Your body will be unable to transform again and you'll always belong to me. I've had my fun, I hope I've taught you a lesson, but the final decision is yours.'
My mind raced. To be a human again - to eat normal food, walk and run, work and... my thinking hit a brick wall. When I was a human, the only thing I'd dreamed about was THIS! Being beneath the feet of an arrogant, stud of a man. If I go back to being human again, I'd spend all my life dreaming about when I was the sweat-rag of this young stud. Everything I knew was now connected with Logan's foot and life beneath it. I knew my decision.
'I'm staying.' I said, 'If you'll keep me, master.'
'You do know that the longer I own you, the more of an object you'll become?' Logan asked, 'I barely think of you now, except to move you between my shoes. If you stay with me, you'll become just another thing I own.'
'I know, and I'm happy with that. I feel secure and useful beneath your sweating feet, master.' I answered.
'Your choice!' Logan said simply. He threw the antidote bottle against the wall, where it shattered and prevented any change of mind. 'Let's go to a club tonight', he continued as he dropped me back a casual shoe, 'I might even spill some champagne on you to celebrate.'
That was two years ago, and I'm still absorbing sweat for my 25-year-old master. I can't think of any life outside my master's shoes any more, all the years I had fantasised about this, and now it's my happy reality. We rarely converse, but I know that I do my job well. Recently Master Logan ordered me to dictate this story, so that other people can see that whatever dream you have... it can come true!
