Snitches Get... by duck12345
Penny
walked into the living room and winced at the strong cheesy smell in
the air. The smell of her mom’s feet. They were propped up on the
coffee table whilst she napped on the couch, head lulled back,
snoring loudly. Those mature wrinkly soles were an intense shade of
pink, littered with grime and tiny scraps of chewed-up insole.
“Good
job I brought this,” Penny said, pinching her nostrils shut with a
peg. It was uncomfortable, but preferable to breathing in that awful
foot odour.
She
approached with a pencil in one hand and a sewing kit in the other.
On the end of the pencil her shrunken brother struggled, mummified to
the wood-encased graphite with thin tape. The only parts of him left
exposed were his tiny dangling feet and the upper-half of his face.
Keeping the smile off her lips was difficult knowing that he had to
breathe through his nose, enduring the pungent aroma of their mom’s
feet with every necessary inhale.
The
sewing kit was left on the floor beside their mom’s trainers for
later use. Those tattered gardening shoes had seen plenty of abuse
over the years, leaving them discoloured and dirty, a couple holes
here and there, seams threatening to split at a moment’s notice.
Previously they’d served as running shoes, becoming casual shoes
once a suitable replacement had been bought, then relegated to
garden-use only after one too many smell complaints from her friends.
And, since they already reeked, the middle-aged woman had an excuse
to wear them without socks, much to her kids’ dismay.
With
a devious chuckle, Penny crouched down and positioned the pencil
above the opening of a trainer, placing her brother directly in the
path of the humid stench flowing out.
“Does
that smell good, Pete?”
She
pretended not to see him frantically shaking his little head. Instead
she angled the pencil and entered the shoe, pushing Pete’s face
against the insole itself, on the depression where their mom’s
rough heel would sit. A greasy, pitch black footprint was seared into
the tough, spongy material, and Penny knew the experience had to be
hell for her brother.
“Geez,
bro, I’d hate to be you right now.” She continued rubbing him
against the sweat-stained surface. “Maybe next time you’ll think
twice about tattling on me to Mom. All you had to do was keep your
mouth shut and we’d both have been happy. Now I’m
grounded for trying a
cigarette. How unfair. How are you older than me and still don’t
know not to be a snitch? I think it’s time to learn.”
Penny
pulled the pencil out and faced her mom’s feet. Pete’s worming
around stopped for a second after escaping the shoe, but started
again the moment he saw what awaited him.
All those pitiful gagged protests
he made were pointless. Regardless of how sorry he was now, he still
had to be punished.
“Don’t worry, Mom’s a heavy
sleeper. Especially after spending the morning in the garden. Last
week I tried waking her up during her break and nothing worked. So
I’m going to have plenty of time to torture you. Now, I gotta
decide where to start. Let’s go from the bottom up.”
Penny
pressed her brother against an unwrinkled, coarse heel—though
it had been temporarily softened after soaking up sweat—and
held him there for a minute, allowing him to scream and struggle
against the lukewarm skin. She giggled when she started brushing him
back and forth as if brushing teeth, changing angles to fully explore
the heel.
“Snitches
don’t get stitches, big brother. Or is little
brother more accurate now? Snitches get feet. The giant stinky feet
of their moms.”
The insignificant sounds of
suffering that made it through the layer of tape covering Pete’s
mouth did nothing to stop her moving him up to their mom’s arch.
Here
the skin was severely wrinkled, paler and softer toward the insteps,
where the sole was too high to normally touch the ground whilst
standing. Though, it still looked moist after hours of hard work.
First
Penny ran her bound brother up and down the gradual curve of the
glistening arch, skimming along the tops of the wrinkles. Then she
decided to force him into the creases of thick skin, prying apart the
fleshy folds to get to the trapped sweat and filth inside. After
repeating this process for each of the dozens of wrinkles lining the
arch, his face and the tape wrapped around his diminished body was
dirty.
“Now
the ball. Oh man, I can’t wait to rub you against Mom’s nasty
callous. She really should shave that thing down. The matching one on
her other foot, too. Okay, let’s start far away and slowwwwwwwww-ly
get closer and closer.”
The
yellowed patch of tough skin was in the middle of the heat-swollen
ball of their mom’s foot. Penny pushed Pete hard into the malleable
skin and he sunk as deep as it would allow. Then she dragged him in
circles around the callous, parting any shallow wrinkle he passed
through. With each circle he got nearer until he face was skirting
the edge of sickly yellowed skin.
Then, Penny lifted her brother
away from the foot, letting him stare at the callous before she
slammed him into it and massaged it using his shrunken body.
“So gross,” she murmured,
torn between gagging and grinning.
The
poor little guy looked broken by the time he was raised up to the
looming toes, no longer fighting uselessly against the—at
his size and strength—unbreakable
tape.
Their mom’s toes were relaxed,
lazily parted to give partially obstructed views of the pits between.
Penny thought she heard Pete sobbing quietly as she guided the pencil
between two toes. She brought him down, mashing him into the rank
crevice and holding him in place.
“It’s like you’re a piece
of Mom’s toe-jam!” Penny said delightedly. “I can’t even
begin to imagine how nasty that stuff smells. I’m shuddering just
thinking about it. But you don’t have a choice other than to sniff
Mom’s toe-jam. You’re completely at my mercy and I can make you
do whatever I want.”
Penny
sawed the pencil back and forth between the toes. She paused only
when her mom snorted
in her sleep, though the slumbering gardener hadn’t roused,
thankfully. Nor did she wake up when her toes twitched as the super
sensitive skin was stimulated. Penny laughed as Pete touched a
particularly ticklish nerve and the toes reflexively grabbed him,
only letting go after a few firm tugs.
The sawing motion was repeated
between each of the toes. By the time it was over Pete was caked in
dried sweat and toe-jam, eyes found to be filled with despair when
she met them.
“Have you learned your lesson?”
she asked.
It took his foot-addled mind a
couple seconds to register the question and nod.
“Okay. Prove it.”
Penny picked at the smoothed-down
end of the tape with her fingernail and pulled it once there was
enough to grab, peeling it around to uncover his mouth and nothing
more.
“I
don’t want to hear any pathetic squeals begging me to stop, little
brother. The only reason I freed your mouth is to lick anything that
comes within reach. And if you don’t lick…” She laughed. “Well,
you don’t want to find out.”
Bringing him over to the big toe
of the foot he’d just gotten very familiar with, she made him lick
the pudgy pad. Then, inside of going straight down, she took the
pencil up to the toenail and made him lick underneath it. Next, all
down the stem, drawing more ticklish reactions from their mom.
Finally he was returned to the toe-pit. After two licks that twisted
his expression with disgust, he recoiled, coughing, and turned his
head away.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn
you, Pete.”
Penny pulled the pencil free and
stepped back. She sat on the floor crossed-legged, next to both the
sewing kit and the stinky vacant trainers. She set the pencil down,
ignoring the annoying, inaudible shouts coming from her brother.
Picking
up a shoe, she grimaced as her fingers reached inside and dislodged
the insole. It wasn’t the insole that had come with the shoes.
This—and
its twin—were
custom made to be sturdy and comfortable. So comfortable, in fact,
that her mom hadn’t thrown them out with the previous pair of
trainers that had literally rotted away from overuse. Whilst the
unholy-scented, falling apart running shoes had been tossed out, the
surviving insoles had been inheritated.
With
the insole removed, the dark footprint was displayed in its entirety.
The areas that weren’t turned completely black by sweat and
pressure were discoloured in shades of yellow and grey, marred by
clumps of foot-gunk and dead skin that had been stomped flat or
pushed out from under the heavy sole and toes, becoming akin to rocks
on a landscape.
“I’m going to be washing my
hands for hours after this,” Penny said, cringing at the knowledge
she’d have to touch the foul insole some more.
She opened up the sewing kit and
withdrew a needle and thread.
“Don’t move. If you try and
resist me I’ll just shrink you again, so that you’ll be just a
speck. Then I’ll wipe you between mom’s toes instead. I think the
sweat, toe-jam and natural skin-oils would be plenty to hold you in
place. She wouldn’t have a clue you were there, living between her
cheesy toes, spending every second breathing in the stink.”
That
threat seemed to work. Pete was still whilst being unwrapped, aside
from wincing in pain as the sticky tape was peeled off. Residual
stickiness helped keep him in place as she moved him to the insole,
laid in the space between the sole-print and the five toe-prints. His
tiny eyes were filled with pleas as she got to work with the needle
and thread, sewing him to the insole. This time he wasn’t
mummified, only tied in key places to ensure immobility yet able to
feel his naked body being molested by sweating toes and covered in
sweat. The thread would have made a poor gag so she used more of the
thin tape, only a small strip.
“Perfect,”
Penny said, smiling down at her helpless brother. “When Mom
eventually wakes up from her snooze, she’s going to put her
trainers back on and go finish the garden. I’m going to tell her
you’ve gone out to stay at friend’s house. It’s so funny that
you’ll be in her shoes whilst she’s hard at work! You know how
much she sweats, how bad her feet smell in those trainers without
socks. Hell, I bet it’s gonna be awful even before she puts her
foot in. This is what you deserve for snitching on me, bro, so I’ll
enjoy every second you’re in there under your unknowing torturer:
Mom!”
Carefully, she inserted the
insole back into the trainer and ran her fingers around the edges,
pressing it back into place. She screwed up her face and shivered in
pure disgust from simply touching the vile thing.
The final step was to hide nearby
and wait for her mom to wake up. First, however, she really wanted to
scrub her hands clean. On the way out of the room, another evil idea
came to mind, a finishing touch to Pete’s torment.
*
* *
Pete
cried inside his mom’s stinky trainer. His muscles were sore from
trying to free himself. There was nothing he could do but wait,
breathing in the residual warmth and humidity that remained in the
shoes from the latest wearing, wishing his nose didn’t work.
The
odour was cheesy like her sweaty bare feet, yet that cheesiness was
second to the stale, vinegary stench of the ancient insole beneath.
Over a decade of sweat was baked into the material.
Every
noise from outside the trainer brought fresh fear to his mind,
thinking it was his mom waking. It was like watching a horror movie
and knowing a jump-scare was coming.
He
narrowed his eyes upon hearing Penny once more, panting
and grunting.
The hope that she’d changed her
mind proved unfounded, unfortunately.
He
realised she’d been carrying something heavy as she set it down
with a dull slam and
sighed loudly.
“Should have tricked him into
brining this down before I shrunk him,” she muttered.
Terrified
curiosity guessed blindly at what the heavy object might be. That
question was answered after listening to his sister fiddle around
then turn it on. The object came to life with a metallic rattling
that quietened a few seconds later, yet didn’t fade completely. A
humming sound
confirmed the suspicions that he’d prayed to be wrong.
Those sounds were from the old
heater his mom would bring out only during the coldest of winter
nights, powerful enough to heat multiple rooms at once.
Within minutes he was sweating.
And that was in a shoe, further away from the heater than his mom’s
sleeping feet. Closing his eyes he could picture them, sweat beading
on the rough skin and running down the wrinkles to form puddles
around her heels on the coffee table. Slowly her feet would be
roasted red, turned into the ultimate tools of smelly torture.
For
the better part of half an hour Pete squirmed uncomfortably,
suffering from stench and heat. He stilled upon hearing a rousing
snort and the lazy
movements of a drowsy person sitting up.
“What is this doing here?”
his mom asked. “Pete! Penny! Which of you decided to prank me by
getting this heater out? My t-shirt is drenched in sweat. And my
feet…”
Two
wet, fleshy slaps were
heard as she stood. They continued in his direction, getting louder.
The trainers trembled at her approach.
“Oh well. They were going to
get sweaty anyway.”
The
leather of her other trainer protested with subtle sounds as she
wrangled her foot inside. Pete gulped.
It was his turn next.
Pete’s
entire world shook as his mom picked up her trainer. Her toes entered
almost shyly, their pads now an angry shade of red with droplets of
sweat literally dripping from them as if they were salivating in
sight of their prey. The odour inside the shoe intensified and became
unbearable. Cheesy and vinegary, hot and humid, every breath was a
torture surpassing the last. The toes came closer in bursts as his
mom forced the shoe on until they passed overhead and settled beyond
where he lay. On one side her toes, on the other a wall of
sole-flesh, bulging under her weight. If he were to wiggle, he’d be
able to brush against either of the two.
His mom stood and headed back to
the garden, leaving him with no choice other than to endure. The
spectral giggling of his younger sister reached his ears, the same
giggle she was likely making in whatever hiding place she’d chosen
to watch.