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Thread: looking for one of Vampirella's stories

  1. #1
    Fledgling Footsniffer a050's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2011

    looking for one of Vampirella's stories

    Hi all

    My PC crashed and I lost all data I have, which includes anything I saved from the den .. and my request is Vampirella's story
    I think it was called "Spook of the curse house" or something like that, please if any one have it then post it


  2. #2
    Fledgling Footsniffer
    Join Date
    Oct 2011
    thanks, this one is clasic

    Edit: i think there was a part 2 for this one, with the boy smelling his mother's feet
    Last edited by pepeopable; 19-12-2011 at 01:17 AM.

  3. #3
    Fledgling Footsniffer a050's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2011

    it is included in this one, it starts after this:

    (some of you who are faint of heart may not like what happens next ... if you do not have the fortitude to continue, simply leave well enough alone. What you've survived thus far is a tale unto itself and should stand alone. But if you are like myself and yearn for just a bit more ... than by all means intrepid reader ... read on ... read on ... mommy-phobs be warned!)
    Thank you ergleburgle

  4. #4
    Fledgling Footsniffer
    Join Date
    Aug 2011
    could someone post it again or email it to me
    i was looking for this story to read it again all i could find was this thread

  5. #5
    Administrator ergleburgle's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2011
    London, England
    You guys need to learn how to use Google...

    Curse Of The Spook House (The New Stuff)

    Randy Keller had never been fond of Halloween, scary movies or anything of that nature. It seemed his classmates could think of nothing else as soon as October 1st came around, but not Randy. Some would say Randy had always been a precocious child ever since he was a toddler. His mother seemed to encourage his clingy nature much to his father's chagrin. His asthma kept him out of most sporting activity and his fear for nearly everything kept him indoors most of the time he was not in school. Whenever Randy was faced with something he found unnerving his mother was always there to pat him on the hand and say "That's OK Randy, you can stay home with Mommy and help with the laundry," or something to that effect.

    The season of Halloween kept Randy in a perpetual state of nervous distraction. During the month of October, Randy would usually go through twice his normal supply of medical inhalant for his asthma. Each time he would pass a Halloween display while shopping with his mother, one could see Randy taking quick puffs of his always handy inhaler. The distorted masks and leering jack-o'-lanterns sent his pulse to quicken and turned his bowels to ice. Anytime he was confronted by a costumed or masked classmate, his complexion would grow noticeably pale ... then out would come the inhaler. Puff, puff.

    By the time Randy was ten years of age it was more than obvious, to everyone but his mother, that he was not only precocious but socially inept with a snippy and milk-soppish personality. These undesirable traits mixed with his over-inflated self image, courtesy of his loving mother, resulted in few friends at school. For the most part Randy was held in contempt by his peers and received little more than pitying head shakes from other parents and his teachers. Without having to be said, Randy was far from a well liked child and deservedly so. It could be argued that he was more a victim of his mother's love, over protectiveness and lack of parenting skills than a villainous thing to be loathed ... but try explaining that to those of Randy's age group.

    If it were possible to climb into Randy's psyche you would find the mind of a petty hater. He felt he was smarter than all of his classmates and more likely to succeed in the future. It had to be true as far as he was concerned ... after all, his mother told him it was so. Bill Gates had been considered a geek, she said, now he was the riches man in the whole universe. Randy's mother assured him he was in the same bracket and not to let the jealous masses tell him any different. If Randy received a less than perfect grade from a teacher it was only because they couldn't recognize genius. Hadn't Albert Einstein been kicked out of school?

    This downward spiral of Randy's personality did not go unnoticed within the confines of the Keller household. The one stark and defeated witness was his father, Jim. Jim spent many a sleepless night in the early years of Randy's life, feeling his parental control slipping from his grasp. Slipping was a bad way to put it ... more like stolen stealthily away by his wife. Oh sure, she acted meek and pleasant, but not long after his son came into being, Jim saw the darker more selfish side of his beloved wife begin to bloom. Those fleeting tendrils of parental control did not slip away, they were yanked bit by bit until Jim was holding nothing but smoke. His wife would continue to smile that vacuous smile, and nod when he made decisions that would effect Randy ... then she would lead the boy off and undo anything that Jim had wrought.

    On occasion he'd tried various tactics such as sneaking his son out to toss the ball around or taking him fishing instead of dropping him off at his Aunt's house for the afternoon. Every ruse ended badly. Randy would fall and skin his knee or jam a finger catching the football and cry all the way home ... only sobering enough to tell his "Mommy" the horrors to which he had been subjected by his barbarian of a father. The fishing expedition ended with Randy falling neck deep into the creek while trying to leap away from the wriggling bait once it had been revealed. He'd spent a week in bed, shivering, staring about the room with wide eyed helplessness ... sure of the fact that he was dying of pneumonia: at least whenever his mother was in the room.

    By the time Randy was in fifth grade, his father looked upon the boy much as the children at Jacob’s Elementary did. Most nights having diner with his son and wife spoiled his appetite. Watching the woman fuss over the boy was enough to turn anyone's stomach, he thought. It was beyond unhealthy in his opinion. He wasn't a child psychologist, nor had any claim to such higher leaning, but he saw a train wreck in the process. Overall, he was ashamed of his son. There wasn't much about him that was likable after all. If he was "brainy" that would be at least something ... but he wasn't especially bright if truth be told. Randy's Dad thought of him more of a pariah that ate the food his hard earned money provided and watched his TV for free.

    It was mostly this overall dislike that prompted the actions of Randy's father on the night of October 30th. While picking up a pack of smokes at the corner store, he ran into Mr. Humphrys, one of the teachers from Randy's school. Through the brief exchange he learned there was to be a Halloween festival of sorts at the school on the night before Halloween. All students were encouraged to come in costume and participate in the activities. A "Spook House" was also in the works, Mr. Humphrys’ told him with a wink. It promised to be a hoot, at least according to the aged teacher. Randy's father felt the same old grand disappointment every time he was confronted with an activity that any other red-blooded American boy would love and this time was no different. It just wasn't something he could ever get used to. He was stuck with a creepy little Momma's boy and a passive aggressive bitch for a wife. On this certain evening, he felt malicious rage arise for the life his wife had orchestrated. Much the same rage that promoted the game of ball and the ill-fated fishing trip. He would take his son to the festival by God!

    Randy’s mother had decided it was time to take Randy out of school and put him on a home study program. Jim disagreed with this, but as usual he had little say when it came to Randy. This was the last chance Randy had to interact with his classmates at a school function. He didn’t have any friends and wasn’t likely to have the chance to make any staying at home every day with his mother. If Jim could show him how much fun he could have if he just relaxed, maybe there was still a chance of saving the boy from his mother’s influence.

    Twenty minutes later Jim was at the Mall, standing in a check-out line with a Wolverine costume clutched beneath his arm. He knew the boy liked the X-Men movie ... at least as much as he liked anything not associated with his darling mother. Granted he'd been scared for most of the film, but seemed to like it more than most. It was the only leverage he could think of ... and though it wasn't much it would have to do.

    Three days later, father and son were driving in silence to the Halloween Carnival. Randy’s ridiculous pout was thankfully covered by the mask, but Jim could hear the boy sniffling from time to time. The fight with his wife had been a zinger; his son blubbering the entire time begging his Mommy to save him from the wretched fate that he was sure awaited him at the horrifying carnival. Jim could see the malicious thing that his wife had become writhing beneath the false mask of the loving woman she donned when he was around. It was a little eerie to see that fake smile of hers with the eyes above speaking nothing but black murder. This time around Jim refused to back down. After all, he had waited until the evening of the event, giving the bitch no time to out-maneuver him. In the end, Randy was dressed in the Wolverine costume; which he claimed made him claustrophobic and a mask that was apparently making it hard for him to breath.

    With the time it took to argue with his wife and then literally force Randy into the costume, Jim didn’t pull into the school’s lot until 8:30. Things were already winding down by that point and only a dozen or so family units were milling about the booths. Jim had to practically drag Randy from booth to booth. At the balloon bust Randy tossed a few darts in a lackluster fashion... at the ring toss he managed to miss every fishbowl he aimed at. Randy refused to eat most of the candy that was offered to him which didn’t surprise Jim much.

    Finally the crux of the evening arrived as Jim led Randy to the back of the gymnasium. Most of the other kids had cleared out leaving this side of the gym quite empty. It was the moment of truth. Father and son stood in front of a structure, that to Randy, appeared to be the Gates of Hell themselves. A façade, that looked to be constructed wholly of cardboard, bed sheets and a few sections of plywood, was painted to resemble a dilapidated house bordered by withered trees. Jim had decided that the boy would run the gauntlet and come out the other side a man once and for all. He knelt, grabbed Randy by the shoulders and spun him around so they could face each other.

    "Now I want you to go in there son. Be brave and make your father proud."

    Randy took four quick puffs off his inhaler and turned a fearful eye toward the Spook House. Even though the walls of the thing were made of nothing more than sheets, cardboard, and splintered wood, Randy felt a deep sense of foreboding gnawing at his resolve. Gnarled and leafless trees surrounded by bats in flight were painted on the sheets framing the house facade. A strobe light, flashing behind the sheet walls, gave the bats an illusion of genuine flight and lent malignant life to the branches of the two dimensional trees. Their skeletal branches seemed to reach out as if hungry for little boys such as Randy. He didn't bother to hide the shudder that rocked his body like a mini-convulsion.

    Both father and son approached the entrance of the Spook House which consisted of an arch of cardboard painted to appear as stone and mortar. Sitting in a fold-out chair to the right of the archway was a pirate. If Randy had been less rattled he would have recognized the fifth grade teacher, Mr. Simms, beneath the fake beard stubble, eye patch and billowing pantaloons.

    "Arrrr, me hardy! Have ye come to try ye luck in me Chamber Of Doom?! Right this way, laddie! Say ye fare-thee-well’s now, swabbie, fore once ye enter t’will be the last of ye seen in these parts!" The pirate guffawed as Randy shrunk against his father’s leg.

    "Dad?" Randy whimpered.

    "You'll be fine, Randy."

    Guided by his father’s hand pushing against his bony shoulders, Randy began to walk forward dragging his feet, his legs feeling like limp noodles. The portal of darkness loomed before him. His belly felt full of ice water and for a moment Randy thought he was going to pee his pants. He spared a last look over his shoulder. His father waved him on confidently and Randy was suddenly sure it was the last time he would see him in the world of the living. Despite the fact that Randy loathed his classmates, he wished that some of them were here now ... jostling past him and filling the Spook House with their irritating and raucous laughter. At least then he wouldn't feel so alone. Either everyone had already braved the dark interior of the Spook House or else those that had gone in had not come out as the sinister pirate had suggested. The only witness to Randy’s brave act was the chuckling pirate who was now sharing a smoke with his father. Hovering beneath the cardboard and paint facade another terrifying idea filled Randy's head. What if the Spook House was built just for him ... an insidious plan by all those that wished to see Randy Keller six feet under. That would mean his father was in on it too! Was it possible? The thought was too scary for Randy to entertain. With a visible effort, he pushed it aside and continued on.

    Past the archway Randy found himself in a triangular shaped passage shaped from white sheets pegged into a peek. Black lights, placed at floor level, gave the Day-Glo skeletons and witches painted on the sheets a kind of vibrant life. A fan fluttered the sheet walls and the fearsome shapes seemed to dance, ready to jump from the sheet walls and become nightmares made flesh. Randy took a burst from his inhaler and hurried on.

    The passage ended abruptly at a cardboard wall painted with the face of a cartoonish werewolf. Its mouth was a gapping hole at floor level; obviously the entrance to a kid-sized crawl-space. From behind, a loud witch’s cackle erupting from the sound system sent Randy scuttling on hands and knees through the opening, the hair on the nap of his neck rising and his testicle shrinking in an apparent attempt to crawl up into his fluttering stomach now alive with butterflies.

    The tunnel was nothing more than refrigerator boxes on their side, linked together in a zigzagging pattern, but the strands of wet yarn hanging from the roof of the crawl-space made Randy feel as if he were descending the gullet of some cyclopean beastie. Soon his mind had almost convinced him that it wasn’t cardboard beneath his hands but dry and desiccated flesh.

    The tunnel opened into another room of sheets … this one, rectangular and illuminated solely by a single strobe-light. In the corner of the flickering interior stood a life sized skeleton. Randy had seen this same skeleton hundreds of times in the science room but the fact that it was one and the same never occurred to him. In the chaotic flashes of light emanating from the strobe, the skeleton appeared to be writhing with unholy life. Randy didn’t bother to stand, even though there was plenty of head room, but continued to crawl feverishly across the floor to the next tunnel entrance.

    It seemed like the Spook House lasted for years. The tunnels were like a rabbit’s warren, connecting each chamber to another and seeming to have no end. It was all Randy could do to keep himself from bursting into tears and screaming in blind panic. Each room seemed more horrifying than the last. Randy skirted through werewolf dens, vampire crypts, mummy tombs and mad scientist laboratories. Each scene had at least one or two full sized monster props. Randy knew in his heart that as he left each room, the monsters were getting down on the floor and following him through the passages. He crawled faster and faster … sweat pouring from his face in streams.

    The flashing chaos of the strobe lights finally faded in the last tunnel. The flickering white was replaced by a sickly green glow. Randy could hear the sound of bubbling cauldrons and squawking crows or ravens. The cackle of witches soon joined the fearsome cacophony and it was with little surprise that Randy came upon a witch display as he exited the cardboard tunnel.

    This room seemed sturdier than the others. Whilst two of its walls were painted sheets, the other two were of solid plywood. Racks of jars lined the wood walls cloaked in thick cobweb. Rubber rats stood at attention on a make shift table. In the center of the room sat a large black cauldron. The green light emanated from within the large pot filling the room with its leprous glow, smoke oozing from its depths. Two more of the life size props stood above the cauldron. Their craggy faces illuminated by the shifting green light. This room seemed the worst of all to Randy. Something about it unnerved him even more than everything else he had experienced up to this point.

    Unable to move, Randy huddled in the tunnel, afraid to crawl completely into the witches’ chamber. He looked across the space between himself and the next tunnel. It seemed like a mile! Randy attempted to steel his nerve. Fussing around a bit, he managed to pull out his inhaler and take three quick puffs … this was his undoing. From behind the cauldron came a hideous, raspy voice.

    "Is that a little boy I smell?"

    Randy’s bladder finally let go, his jeans beneath the vinyl costume grew warm and damp.

    "Snips and snails and puppy dog tails, that’s what little boys are made of … " the voice taunted.

    For a moment Randy was unable to breath. His throat neatly closed up as his jaw fell open in a silent scream. A form clothed in rags of tattered black began to emerge from behind the cauldron. Its head was low to the floor and a mane of black and gray hair obscured the face from view. The thing seemed to slither across the chamber … it came directly for Randy. He could hear the click of long nails as it dragged its’ weight from the hiding place. The thing was now directly in front of Randy, weaving its head from side to side, as it murmured some inarticulate mantra. Randy’s bladder released the last of its urine into his already soaked pants.

    "Mmmm, peed yourself have you, little boy? I can smell that as sure as I can smell that little thing between your legs. Dirty boy. Evil boy." The head suddenly flung backwards sending the ratty hair in all directions. Randy stared into the thing’s face and felt as if his life were draining from him. The flesh had to be a light green though he was unsure in the already green lit room. Its nose protruded and hooked over on the end, framed by a large and hairy wart on the left nostril. Its chin jutted out almost enough to the meet the tip of the down turned nose and between nose and chin sat two black lips like roasted worms. Those lips began to move as the thing spoke again in its cracking voice.

    "You’re little Randy Keller. I’ve been waiting for you Randy." The witch-thing cackled.

    Randy tried to scream for his father but he could only whimper and wheeze.

    "Mmmm, little Randy … you must pay penance for disturbing me," the witch-thing cackled again, "you must do as I say or I’ll gobble you up!"

    Randy began to shake, his arms threatening to give way beneath him.

    The witch-thing crawled back into the room a bit, spinning to a sitting position. It extended its feet towards Randy and he saw that they were bare. Whilst the thing’s face, neck and hands were withered and wrinkled its’ feet were anything but. The skin appeared soft and young. The soles of the feet began to close in on Randy who’s eyes darted between the wiggling toes and the witch-thing’s face with a mixture of terror and utter confusion.

    "Trick Or Treat, Smell My Feet!" the witch-thing cackled uproariously.

    The stench hit Randy the moment the witch-thing’s feet were under his nose. Foul stench poured from the long chubby toes in noxious waves causing his nostrils to flare and quiver with revulsion.

    "Smell my feet, little Randy. Sniff my toes or I’ll gobble you up!"

    Randy buried his nose in the toes and sniffed avidly. The rank stink of the smelly feet was enough to bring tears to his eyes. The skin was dry and hot, but from the horrendous smell Randy knew that not too long ago these feet were slimy as slugs and had all but recently dried out from exposure to the air.

    "Mmmm, yes, that’s it you little bastard, smell my stinky feet! Sniff my toes … " the witch-thing said approvingly.

    Randy leaned closer to the floor and pressed his face against the soles of the putrid feet, wanting to please the witch-thing. He was sure he’d never smelled feet so pungent and so utterly horrible. It was the worst stinky-foot-smell he could imagine. He knew his mother’s feet smelled like corn chips from the few occasions he had given her foot massages, but nothing like this! Randy was sure the witch-thing must had put a spell of "foot-stink" on her feet to make them smell this awful. Despite the choking odor, Randy continued to sniff deeply, making sure he was heard over the sound system of the Spook House. He knew his life depended on pleasing the witch, whatever it took.

    "Nice and stinky! Keep sniffing my feet and like it! Tell me you like to sniff my stinky feet!"

    Randy tried to speak but his mouth felt as if he’d been sucking on cotton balls.

    "Say it or I’ll gobble you up!"

    Finally Randy was able to squeak out, "I like to sniff your stinky feet, Ma’am… Mmmm, they smell so good… "

    "No they don’t … they stink, you liar! Maybe I’ll gobble you up for telling lies! That’s what little boys do … they lie and cheat and steal. Little boys are evil and need to be taught their place!" the witch-thing roared.

    Still fearing for his life, even more so now that he seemed to have incured even more of her wrath, Randy laid flat on his stomach and literally buried his face in the nasty feet. He sniffed like a starving man eating his first meal in weeks. He sniffed the toes, which he found were still indeed slimy in the fleshy folds, snuffled across the pads of her feet and then down the arches … even pausing to sniff at the callused and rough heels. The witch-thing all the while cackled at his display of subservience.

    From somewhere beyond the walls of the Spook House, Randy heard his father’s voice, "Hey Randy you still in there buddy?" He sounded a bit amused, but Randy could tell there was a hint of concern.

    "You will keep sniffing until I tell you to stop!" The witch thing whispered fiercely. Randy inhaled another noseful of stinky feet nodding obediently. After forcing him to suffer a few more horrid sniffs, the witch roughly pulled Randy into the chamber and rolled him onto his back. In terror, he watched the witch lean forward and tear at the vinyl costume. After rending a hole at waist level, she attacked his belt buckle until his pants were undone. With a rough yank, his underwear was torn and his penis was humiliatingly exposed, still damp with urine. Scooting forward on the floor, she deposited one smelly foot over Randy’s nose. Though Randy was now unable to see, there was no mistaking the feel of her wiggling toes as they manipulated his penis. Randy moaned in terror beneath the reeking flesh of the witch’s sole.

    "Mmmm, now your little penis will smell just like my stinky feet!" she exclaimed in glee. Quite suddenly Randy was starring up into the leering face of the horrible witch. The nasty foot so recently covering his face was slowly trailing down his chest and stomach. The witch then used both feet on his cock. Placing the limp member between the balls of her feet, she rubbed up and down, massaging her foot-stink into the sensitive skin of his penis.

    "Randy?" his Dad said again a bit louder.

    Randy felt the witch grab him underneath his armpits and lift his shoulders from the floor. When he was laid back down, Randy’s head and shoulders were now resting in the witch’s lap between her thighs. Her legs extended beneath his arms and wrapped up around his rips. Her feet were then back to work, rubbing their stink into his defenseless penis.

    "Now hold still and take it!" she sneered, all the while pumping her feet. Her fingers probed behind his back finding the opening of the costume. Pushing and pulling, she finally managed to get her hands up under his shirt. Randy felt the long nails tickling at his nipples. He was now becoming dizzy and felt as if he was at the onset of a fever. Randy could feel how flushed his face was, his breath coming in quick, wheezy gasps.. He reached up a hand to whip the sweat from his brow and when he let the arm fall, his wrist and palm brushed the bare knee and calf of the witch. The skin was warm and soft without the least hint of stubble; certainly not the wrinkled and withered flesh he would have expected. Then again … there was the appearance of her feet too. It didn’t make sense to Randy, but of course, this was the first real witch he had ever seen. Maybe that’s how they all are.

    While Randy contemplated the surprisingly sensual nature of his tormentor’s leg, the witch had taken both of his nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. She began to roll the sensitive skin to-and-fro pausing for an occasional pinch. Randy’s eyes trailed down to the feet rolling his cock between their smelly soles much in the same way.

    "Oh you wretched boy! You dirty filthy boy!" the witch screamed. Randy watched in wonder as his penis grew harder and harder. The stench of the witch’s feet was thick in the air making him feel light headed, but the sensation on his nipples and the insistent tugging of his penis was arousing his body whether the mind was following or not. The witch seemed furious, but strangely enough, her feet continued to move over his penis with more urgency.

    "Randy!" He could hear his father calling again. How long had he been in here … it seemed like an eternity.

    The witch-thing reached down and grabbed a handful of Randy’s hair. Pushing, twisting and pulling his head, she stuffed his face down towards her feet. Randy’s nose slipped between her big toe and second toe as he was mashed against her left sole. Randy was now contorted and mostly upside-down with his lower back on the witch’s lap and his butt up towards her chest. The witch’s hand then closed around his penis in a tight fist. Randy felt her squeeze and for a panicked moment thought his penis-head would explode. "You like that you little bastard!" The witch spit on his penis and began to pump her hand still clutching his aching cock in a death grip.

    Randy was unable to stop hyperventilating. Her stinking feet were all over his face, rubbing and pressing and insistently, demanding to be smelled. "I will drink your seed and then I will own your soul! Keep smelling those feet!" Randy felt her black lips close around his penis, swallowing him to the root. Next, something was probing at his anus. The lips left his penis long enough to send a bullet of saliva aimed as his anus. The spit dripped between his ass checks and then the witch-thing’s mouth was back to work on his hardened penis. The probing digit, now lubricated and slimy with saliva, pushed into his ass. Randy felt as if his entire body was being tossed about as the witch violently sucked his penis and violated his ass while her feet pressed and pushed against his nose forcing their tremendous stench upon his senses.

    Randy wasn’t sure what the feeling was, but some kind of intense pressure was building. His entire body tensed for one brief moment before he was racked with convulsions of sensation. Randy could feel his penis spitting fluid and the witch slurping it down, her tongue playing over the head of his cock, teasing more of the substance out. His legs kicked wildly as the witch made wet greedy sounds swallowing his virgin seed as she had promised.

    The last thing the witch said to Randy that night was spoken with her foot firmly planted on his face. One hand tightly gripped his hair holding his nose in place against the reeking toes whilst the other was wrapped around her slim ankle making sure the foot was anchored. Her breath was heavy with the scent of his semen as she hissed in his ear: "I’ll let you go tonight, but if you tell anyone about this, I will know. I’ll fly to your house on my broomstick and make your Mommy and Daddy smell my feet. Then I’ll make you smell my feet again as I gobble you up … starting at your toes and eating you alive until you are all gone!"

    Randy was forced to take one final sniff. Particles of greasy toejam slammed into his nasal passage. The foot pulled away and Randy scuttled across the floor and out the last tunnel, the witch-thing’s cackles chasing him out. Before he exited the Spook House, Randy carefully redressed himself. It would not do for his father to ask questions. It was bad enough the costume was torn.

    Jim was concerned about the shaken appearance of his son when he finally made it out of the school’s Spook House. Mr. Simms, "the pirate", and told Jim all of the boys to go through the Spook House came out looking as if they had seen the Devil in there. Ironically all of the girls were no worse the wear. They both had a chuckle over that, but seeing his son in such a state was no laughing matter.

    On the ride home, Randy continued to rub at his nose and blow it extravagantly.

    "Coming down with a cold, buddy?"

    "No Dad …"


    Jim was beginning to wonder if taking Randy to the carnival was such a good idea after all. He could smell that Randy had pissed his pants and some other terrible smell that was something like feet… he felt quite guilty for forcing him into the Haunted House when all was said and done. Whether it was his wife’s fault or not the boy was delicate. Jim chided himself … he should have known better.

    The moment they were home Randy was upstairs and in bed without a word to even his mother. Jim spent that night on the couch as well as the next three nights. He’d built his own doghouse this time.

    (some of you who are faint of heart may not like what happens next … if you do not have the fortitude to continue, simply leave well enough alone. What you've survived thus far is a tale unto itself and should stand alone. But if you are like myself and yearn for just a bit more ... than by all means intrepid reader ... read on ... read on ... mommy-phobs be warned!)

    The following day Randy received a call in the afternoon. His mother informed him it was a teacher from his old school and she handed him the receiver. Randy was already on home study. The Carnival had been the last time Randy set foot on the school grounds. What was a teacher calling him for? The moment Randy said hello, the witch-thing’s voice was cackling in his ear. "Haven’t told anyone about me have you Randy?"

    "No…" Randy stammered. His mother was sitting with her feet up on the kitchen table. Housework was the main objective of the day. So far she’d spent over four hours cleaning. Claiming that her feet and back were now killing her, she’d reclined to have a bit of lemonade before getting back to scrubbing the countertops. She’d just sat down for the break when the phone had rung. After settling back into her comfortable position, as soon as she had handed the phone to Randy, she now took noticed of her son’s facial expression. A look of concern, all too familiar to Randy, lined her face as she mopped her brow with a dish rag. She could tell something was wrong.

    "When you get off the phone, Randy," the witch-thing’s voice hissed into his ear, "I want you to go and sniff your mother’s feet so she will know what a baaaaad boy you really are. Smell her feet Randy! Smell them or I’ll fly to your house tonight and gobble you up! I’m watching you right now … I’ll know if you don’t do as I say!" The line went dead in his ear.

    Randy stayed by the phone for a minute or two … he was visibly shaken and his face pale. His mother was about to ask what on earth could make him look so, when Randy quickly approached her with the look of someone having to do something they were loathe to attempt. She watched her son yank her house shoes from her sweaty feet and bury his nose between her short, stubby toes. The sound of his first loud sniff made her jaw drop open in shock.

    "What on earth are you doing?" Randy ignored her and took a firm hold of her feet and continued to sniff. She was too amazed to react.

    Randy continued to sniff at his mother’s feet, they were particularly unpleasant, much stinkier than he’d ever smelled. They were incredibly sour and the familiar corn ship stench was more intense than in the past. It was incredibly humiliating and exceedingly foul. He knew he was really in for it. She’ll think I’m nuts, his mind screamed!

    "Why are you smelling my feet, Randy?" she was finally able to blurt out.

    "Because … because I’m a bad boy, Mommy … and … and I have to do it." He said in between his loud sniffing.

    "Honey, please stop … you don’t have to smell my feet for any reason… I know they’re awfully stinky, sweetie. They smell just awful, you’ll make yourself sick!" She marveled as her words seemed to have no affect on her sniffing son. He moved his nose over her soles, smelling loudly as he went. Her instinct was to pull her feet away, but she was so dumbstruck that she couldn’t get herself to move. "What have you done that could be so bad as to make you think you had to smell mommy’s feet?" Being honest with herself, the sniffing actually felt good on her hot and sweaty feet. They were aching something fierce and the rubbing of his nose and the sensation of the air passing was rather soothing. It was disgusting though … she could smell her feet without being near them and he was actually burying his nose in between her toes. Yuck. She felt he could continue for a bit, even though she knew her feet smelled deplorable. She had to get to the bottom of this. It was too strange to ignore. "Well, sweetie, I really think you should stop that … its not good for you. Mommy’s feet smell really bad sweetheart … I think they’ll make you sick, honey … really."

    "I just need to sniff them, Mommy, I’m sorry."

    "But why … they stink?! Don’t they smell bad?"

    "Yes, they’re really sour, Mommy," he whined between sniffs but continued to smell them nonetheless.

    "I don’t understand … you want to smell the stinkiness?"


    "Oh … hm," she was at a loss for words. The whole thing felt incredibly surreal. It was all so shocking that she had already forgotten about the phone call a moment ago and the look on her son’s face. She struggled with herself. She couldn’t deny her son anything … but he was smelling her dirty feet! Her filthy, stinking feet! It couldn’t be good for him. And the look on his face showed he was in agony of the smell. It didn’t make any sense! But he’d said he wanted to smell them as if he really did want to experience the stench of her feet. Could that be?

    After watching him sniff for another thirty seconds or so she came to a decision. "Well, its OK with me, sweetie, if it makes you happy." She waited for a response but was only answered with more sniffs. Soon the silence became uncomfortable and his sniffing became fevered and erratic. She felt she should say something more:

    "I guess … I guess it does feel rather nice," she stated with un unsure voice. "I think this is almost better than your massages though I admit its rather strange," her voice was still shaky but slowly gaining confidence, "If you’d like …. I suppose I can … no … no, ‘I will’ make my feet stinky for you every day … you can sniff them all you like. Yes, that’s it. Anytime you want to smell Mommy’s feet they’ll be ready for you. You know I’d do anything for you," she said with a sweet smile.

    She sat there watching him sniff, wondering just how long it would go on … and how much of the horrible smell he could take before getting really ill. Suddenly she was proud of her stinky feet and proud of her boy for being able to smell them for so long. It didn’t make much rational sense … but she felt it all the same. Suddenly she felt even closer to her son than she ever had before. It was a wonderful, warm, glowey feeling that made her tingle all over. A slow smile spread across her face. "Its rather flattering that you want to smell my feet," she said, "it proves to me that you love everything about me … you should have told me sooner, sweetheart," the glowing smile continued to light her pretty face as she reached forward to pat Randy on the head.

    Randy continued to endure his mother’s stinky feet for another twenty minutes until he was about to pass out. She purred encouragement all the while. When he couldn’t go on any longer, she had him sit on her lap. Once there, she placed the horrid smelling house-shoes she’d been wearing over his nose … allowing him to sample the rank build up of countless days of her stinky feet sweating inside the dank interior of the things. As he took shuddering sniff after shuddering sniff, trying desperately to hold back the tears, she pet his hair, all the while whispering platitudes of love and affection into his ear.

    Things may have turned out differently for Randy had he overheard the conversation, more like an argument, between his mother and father the morning after the carnival. His mother received a call from a fellow student’s mother who was notifying all of the parents of what she called a "horrifying event". According to the near hysterical woman, one of the teachers at Randy’s school had dressed as a witch and hid in the Spook House, victimizing all of the male children who happened to go through alone. The woman never described exactly what had transpired, being as she couldn’t get a complete story from her own son, but she knew something bad had happened. Some of the parents suspected the fifth grade teacher Miss Silva from room 16, but no one could prove it. Some thought she was in the midst of a nervous brake-down and her animosity for men was no secret. Jim had assured his wife that nothing like that had happened to Randy, and that most everyone had gone home by the time they had reached the Spook House. Obviously he’d been scared, but had mentioned nothing about a teacher or a witch for that matter. Jim questioned himself about it latter, but wouldn’t even come close to admitting the possibility to his wife.

    Being as this exchange was missed, never to be mentioned by either parent, and his home schooling keeping him away from other classmates, Randy was ignorant to the rumor. When the frightening voice on the phone had claimed he was been watched, he never thought to look out the kitchen window. Of course Randy assumed it was with some preternatural power that he was being observed by the malevolent witch-thing. It had never occurred to him that the caller was across the street in a car … a cell phone in one hand and a pair of binoculars in the other … the voyeur laughing a very non-witchy laugh as she watched Randy voraciously smell his own mother’s feet for almost half an hour. A laugh, voiced by a half-mad, vindictive woman who, after dropping the cell phone, was busy fingering her sopping pussy as she watched Randy degrade himself on command, eventually sniffing shoes she knew must have been ripe by the pained expression on the boy’s face.

    Yet, Randy’s ignorance to Miss Silva was the least of his problems. Things had gone very bad in a short time in his safe haven. No thanks to the witch, his mother now believed that he enjoyed smelling her stinky feet. She was so touched and made proud by the gesture that Randy was now terrified to tell her otherwise. From that fateful moment on, Randy could count on his mother shoving her feet in his face at least two times a day if not more.

    She stuck to her word and made consistent effort, bless her heart, keeping her feet as smelly and as raunchy as humanly possible. All for the love of her son. Randy endured her foot stench as it increased in intensity from day to day … sniffing adamantly, complimenting her on how smelly her feet could get. Each day he thought it could get no worse, but he was always invariably shocked by the new levels she could reach with her fermented foot stink. She would smile her glowing smile and pat him on the head as she watched him sniff, day in and day out.

    Finally after a month of not washing her feet, Randy heard his father demand she do something about the stench. He claimed her dirty feet were stinking up the whole house and he could barely sleep in the same bed with her. She in turn scolded him and informed him that Randy liked her feet that way and if he couldn’t handle it then he should leave. Of course the following week, Randy watched his father drive away for the last time. From that point on, it was him and his mother’s stinky feet and sniffing, sniffing, sniffing. God, how he hated that horrible witch from the Spook House! He couldn’t think how things could get much worse.

    Of course they did.

    The witch-thing called again six months after Randy’s father left:

    "Hello, little Randy. Go find your mother in the kitchen. She’s bent over on her hands and knees scrubbing the inside of the oven. She’s wearing her flower print summer dress … you know the one … and those lovely house-shoes you are so fond of. HeHe. Get that little penis of yours ready, my dear little child … I have some things for you to do! And remember … do as I say or you know what will happen!" The cackling on the phone echoed in Randy’s mind, accompanying a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he made his way into the kitchen, slowly unbuttoning his pants.

    Every thought you produce, anything you say, any action you do, it bears your signature.
    -- Thich Nhat Hanh

  6. #6
    Fledgling Footsniffer
    Join Date
    Aug 2011
    thanks Alot

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