75 Recent Deviations
Featured: I'm in a mood...
Lacy's Limelight (Stanky Ebony feet BBW)Interviewee: Lacy BecketsPhysique: Thick bodied, chubby.Weight: 225 LBS Ethnicity: African AmericanHair: Black, Curly in Pom-Pom Pigtails.Eyes: BrownAttractiveness: 5.5 out of 10, but makes up for it with personality. Favorite Shoes: Worn Size 13 JordansOccupation: 2nd Year Student of Willofrow Jr. High.(Camera opens up on the School Courtyard. Kids play, hang around or text away. Lacy takes up a wide part of a Bench, chilling and chewing green gum. Her demeanor is lax, if not a bit unassuming. She has nobody to impress, and owns it.)Interviewer: Huh-Hi there? How are you doing? Seem to be loving that bench. Lacy: My butt ain't gon’ land nowhere else. How much you payin’ again? Fi’ hunned? Interviewer: Yup. All you have to do is ask a few questions. And the five hundred is yours. Lacy: Aight. Let's get it then? Whatchu wanna know? Interviewer: First off… how is it being a student here?Lacy: Man, I-unno. Kinda whack question is that? School is School, bro. Thassit. Interviewer: Have any friends.Lacy: Yeh… on Insta. Jus’ me out here other ‘an that. Interviewer: Oh… and you're okay with that. Lacy: Pssh… dudes here all buncha wussies. Can't stand when a girl wanna play ball. Lookin’ at me like I got horns or sumn.Interviewer: Oh, very sorry to hear that. Lacy: Dun’ be. I ain't wanna ride with people like that. Feel me?Interviewer: I agree? Fake friends are the absolute worst. Lacy: Yo, how come you talk like we on a car commercial?Interviewer: We all have our unique ways of expressing ourselves. That vernacular of yours for example. Lacy: “Ver-na-cuhlah”... pssh… like we at the White House or sumn.Interviewer: Ok… see any boys you like?Lacy: Mmm. Ya girl ain't picky. Any boy who could take the Guts to talk to me for five minutes is a date.Interviewer: Glad you're so eager. How about any girlfriends you like to gossip to.Lacy: She-she, Ni-ni, and Shinya? They dun’ go here. But they my home-girls on the block. Fo’ real, fo’ real. They know wassup. Interviewer: Awesome. It's just me for the most part. Lacy: Sucks… good thing you got that bread, cuz you'd be extra alone right now. Interviewer: Good thing indeed. It's a little muggy today. You're doing alright?Lacy: (Groans) Word up, sweatin’ bullets. My shirt ‘bout to be a sweat rag. And of course, the A.C is broke.Interviewer: That sounds awful. But… if that's the case… mind telling me what shoes you're wearing?(Lacy lifts her legs up to the best of her ability. She presents her worn white Jordans, more brownish gray about now.)Lacy: These kicks ain't top o’ the line, but I kinda like em’. Got betta shoes at my house, but I keep coming to these. Interviewer: I can see they are veeery used to being worn by you. But hey, since it's warm and all, why don't you kick them off. Relax, a bit.Lacy: Ayo, I dun’ thank thas a gud idear. I sweat whole-ass buckets in them shoes. You gud in the head. Interviewer: I'm sure. It's easy money. Lacy: Shiiiii…. You right. Brace yerself tho… (Lacy kicks off her sneakers, unveiling a sweaty pair of slushy, holey and grimey gray socks. A heavy steam emanating from the meaty socked soles. Lacy shows relief and a bit of satisfaction.)Lacy: Feels good A.F. But you gettin’ that Stank Stank, ain't nobody comin’ near me when the dogs are out. Hehe…Interviewer: Hrmph… strong, but not surprising… given the weather and your… physique.Lacy: Boy… you don't gotta speak in code. I'm big and I'm proud. End of story.Interviewer: Self-love is a great quality. This might sound odd, but… mind if I take a head on sniff?Lacy: (Curious) Of these rank-ass socks? G'head. (Lacy's socked feet wrangle the camera as soft sniffing is heard.)Interviewer: Hoo, wow. That is a perfect ten out of ten. A wild wash of the oldest cheeses and the freshest vinegar. Lacy: Don't forget that frito funk too. Interviewer: That as well. Mind taking off the socks and taking a sniff for yourself.Lacy: Whatever. Do that at home too..(Lacy plucks off the socks, presenting a pair of double wide stench hogs she calls feet, all chunky and drenched with rich bits of gunk and jam. Toes too big for nostrils and heels that can't fit in your mouth. The pale soles make the dirt all the more noticeable. She shoves the dirty, more than dirty socks against her nose.)Lacy: Woah, sheeeet! That's the top rank Stank in the world. Imma save this next time a homeboy wanna mess around. His nose ain't calling for help. Interviewer: Glad you agree. Would you let me examine your bare feet now? Lacy: You pass out, you owe me double. Interviewer: Deal!(Lacy's grungy toes wiggle and delight as more sniffs are heard. The camera shifts to different parts of her gross but godly feet. Heels, balls and between pasty toes.)Lacy: The middle toes reek the nastiest. STANK to the EEE. Like sum kinda super cheetos. Interviewer: I'm happy to give you a solid fourteen out of ten. And just for that, I'm tripling it. (Lacy is surprised)Lacy: That's some high class stuff, right there. Imma buy so many snacks with that. Couple o’ sneaks to Stank up too. Interviewer: This is kinda a last minute thought, but you mind if I tickle these stinky things. Lacy: Oh, damn. Like… tickle tickle? (A thick turkey feather strikes Lacy's Toes, soles and heels. She jolts in ticklish torment, but is too large to escape.)Lacy: NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA SHIHIHIHIHIHIHIHT….(Feather stops. Lacy us severely out of breath,curling her toes)Lacy: I was dun’ bout to wet my pants. Interviewer: Mind if I keep the socks. Lacy: Take whatever, man. Jus keep that feather outta here. Interviewer: Ticklish scale is 10 out of 10. Say bye to the camera?Lacy: Ya girl, Dippin. Follow me on insta if ya want more of these funk-ass feet. Lacy underscore breaker at—-(Camera fizzles out)THE END.
Fairest and Funky Feet (Smelly/Tickling),"Pah! I've seen more evil in a real estate dealer's pinkie than in that high-pitched hussy." Queen Malvina Monroe trudged along her magnificently plush red carpet in a mix of exasperation and confidence. After a long day of barking orders and looking down on her lowly subjects as they mindlessly bobbed along on their insignificant affairs, her onyx throne looked more and more like a bed. She plopped on, leaning her head on hand in a very Un-queenly manner. She resembled more of a business woman coping with a tower high stack of files she had to sift through before the end of the day. Queen Monroe mumbled something over and over again, it sounded like a name. With each time it was spoken under her tangerine scented breath, her voice would shake with anger and disdain. Until the word she spoke repeatedly sounded like an awful disease. Monroe stopped herself before she popped a vessel or scrunched in a wrinkle. Any imperfection would be a threat to her image as Queen of Monroe-lasia. And with the day she had, that felt more real than any fairytale she ever knew of. The Queen collected herself, tapping her sharp nails against the shimmering armests. She needed a way to relax. Something to help gather her thoughts. Just then, Monroe remembered she was the queen and had a multitude of ways to remedy that. The manner of relaxation was carefully picked to fit this very scenario. A way to remind her that she was still atop the food chain of authority and desire. Monroe produced a small blue-black bell and rang it incessantly through her dainty fingers. "Torrence! Torrence! Show yourself, I only pay you for one thing." Torrence appeared, eager to please. He was just an unassuming peasant who worked in his parents fruit stand when Monroe one day offered him a job on the spot. He remembered how he immediately got to work the moment he was hired, right there in the town square. Everyone watched his royal service in awe and jealousy. Torrence could still recall the titter of approval echoing through the cobblestone pathways that day. "Stressful day?" He asked, in a kissing-up manner. "Stress causes sunken eyes and ugly skin crevices." The Queen replied sharply. "I already hired a jester, worry about your own contributions to this kingdom." Torrence nodded, ashamed. Monroe smiled devilishly, feeding off of it. She lifted her skirt and kicked out her legs. She twirled around her midnight black heels, gesturing to remove them. He knelt down, heeding her silent command. A sharp smell of cheese and vinegar soon followed. Her feet were still clad with ebony black socks. Thin but just as sweaty. It took everything in Torrence's power to not sniff the shoe. Why would he be compelled to huff royal stink? Well, let's say he was perfect for the job given to him. The smell was not only apparent to Torrence but to the Queen as well as she wrinkled her nose and fanned it in disgust.“For Fairies sake! A witches cauldron smells better than these foul feet! Torrence, summon the maidens so they may cleanse the cloying stench of these feet!” She commanded nasally as she pinched her nose in an elegant manner. No! Torrence couldn't bear it. The prospect of having to deal with her cheesy, fragrant feet… being washed. That would take the fun out of his entire job. The only reason Torrence happily accepted this line of work was because of his thing for feet, smelly especially. Before the job, he'd sniff out anyone in the village of Monroe-lasia to humor his little propensities. Mrs. Franklin at the town bakery had wide meaty soles that smelled of mozzarella drizzled garlic bread after every day of work. Stina, the plucky sister of the cheesemonger often had lanky size thirteen toes that had more cheddar than her most heavily scented spread. Even his grade school teacher, Mrs. Galore could part ways with a vingerary shoe if he clapped all the erasers after a day of instruction. Sure, Queen Monroe was a bit bossy, a tad pushy, a smide haughty, but the ends justified the feet. And he waited so patiently everyday to service her fresh-out-of-heels feet with a few sneaky sniffs in and out to get mere slivers of royal foot stink. That was in jeopardy? One of the few things that led him to get out of bed in the morning. He couldn't allow it. Torrence acted quickly. “Don't be too hasty, your majesty Monroe.” He began.The Queen looked down upon him like, nose a-pinch and squinting. “Does that sound like an objection?” She nasally threatened. “Of course not, just a correction-Not that you're ever incorrect! Haven't you heard? A queen like you should know all the trends in her kingdom.”“Obviously, Torrence.” She spoke, crossing her arms as-matter-of-factly. She blanched, immediately covering her nose as her foot-smell snuck back into her nose. In truth, the Queen had no idea what was or wasn't in style at the moment. She'd been a little… preoccupied these days. But best to keep up appreances. “So, then you're aware that all the dignified ladies of Monroe-lasia are refraining from washing their feet at the moment.” Torrence assured.“They are? Uh, I mean… Of course they are! I'm the one who started it, you have a nose, correct?” “So, then why did you order the maidens?” Torrence asked with a cheeky smile.“Don't make me throw you in the dungeon! Clearly I was testing you to see if YOU were keeping tabs on my kingdom… and you passed.” “I thank you, your Majesty Monroe. But I warn you… as the pioneer of this trend, you should be acutely aware of who is aiming to outdo you?”“Out-do the queen? Pah, darling your lack of faith is disgusting, more rancid than these socks I wear.” Queen Monroe declared as she plucked off a sock and took a slight sniff. Her eyes flooded as the rank smelling sweaty strip of fabric entered her womanly nostrils.“Maybe slightly less rancid.” She rasped. “A fair assessment but- and you didn't hear this from me- someone dares to out stink your feet!” Monroe gasped dramatically, like on a soap opera. The only soap that would be present at this moment. “Giselle! That chestnut chipmunk cheeked hussy thinks she can outrank me! She wants smelly, she'll get smelly.” With a fire in her belly and a flare in her nostrils, the queen rang a turquoise bell. Several maidens appeared from the corners to disrobe Malvina from her royal robes to a navy blue tracksuit. Her crown still stood and she posed dramatically for effect. She made sure to do an excessive amount of sets and reps for each exercise. All of them falling into the type of workouts middle-aged women tended to practice. Pilates, Yoga, exercise biking, treadmill running, yoga ball stretches and who could forget a few rounds of the air-walk machine. Monroe made sure to wear the stuffiest of sneakers that allowed for foot flexibility, but limited breathing. In the sauna she stripped almost everything except her foot wear, doing air cycles with her legs. She was a tired, but beautiful sweaty mess when all was said and done. The maidens toweled and hydrated her tuckered body. One naive maid made the mistake of almost unlacing her sneakers. The Queen gave a punishment that fit the crime. The poor girl was sentenced to the town stocks, barefoot and tickled with feathers till sundown. Her chittery laughter echoes through the cobblestoned streets. She'd be late for dinner that night. The next morning, Malvina entered her throne room with a smug air of superiority. With a tinkle of her Black-Blue bell, Torrence appeared before the bell finished ringing, which was a very brief period.“A fine morning, isn't it, My Queen.” “Now Torrence, no trying to change the subject.” Monroe spoke in a teasing, finger wagging manner. It was a playful response. She was in a good mood. “Now normally we wait till all my ugly affairs are out of the way before you provide your services. But today is quite special, dearie. I took your advice, and I urge you to confirm that I have the smelliest feet in all the land. Which I already know…” Torrence gave a single nod, but inside he wanted to shake like a wet dog. This was it. And the best part, he felt just a bit smarter knowing that he tricked her into this. There was no way the Queen's rival, Giselle, was practicing the art of smelly soles. Those two HATED each other, why would one care about the other's foot-hygiene? Monroe sat upon her throne, smirking expectantly. Torrence did the honors of removing her heels. Great Hocus Pocus. Her royal feet were pedicure soft and painted a deep blue. But the scent that unleashed was ferociously fragrant. Dipped and in vinegar and rubbed vigorously with all sorts of cheeses. Droplets of middle-aged female sweat trickled down her wrinkly size eight soles. Her toes spread wide, which was like opening the door to a trapped cheese cellar. The wrinkling nose on Torrence and Monroe seemed to be just the reaction she wanted. “Something the matter, dearie?” Monroe asked with her nose a-pinch. “Stronger than I ever would have imagined.” Torrence commented, hiding his immense pleasure. “Is that so? Then test your imagination. Get your nose in there and sniff away. Your Queen demands it.” Monroe commanded, pointing at him with authority. No problems there. First, Torrence went for her pumps, which clashed both the smells of perfume and royal queenly reek so inharmoniously that it was actually a beautiful abomination of stink. Next was those rank and wrinkly soles. Torrence could feel the toes tapping upon his forehead. Each wrinkle had a deposit of sweat that emitted its own cheesy scent. And the soles were so moist that the tip of his nose slipped and slided throughout, tickling the queen. “Mahahahahah… I-hihihihsss it hahahahahahaahahahah sme-hehehe-lly enough.” Monroe asked, squinting her eyes in ticklish torment and leaning a hand over her head to keep her from falling over. Torrence reported exactly what she wanted to hear. She returned to her business woman icy stare. She spread her toes and motioned once more. Torrence went for the toes. By far the richest in smell. The space between the big toes and index fit his nose perfectly. You wish she clamped down on your nose, trapping you in her sultry stink. “Well…” She asked coldly. “I cannot tell a lie! You, by far, the Queen of Monroe-Lasia have the stenchiest, sweatiest, smelliest, most ticklish—-”“I believe that title belongs to me!” Said a stern yet Honeyed voice that echoed from the halls.” The Queen looked ahead, her stress returning to her face. Monroe spoke the intruders name like it was a disease. ,“Giselle… to what do I owe the displeasure?”Giselle? What was she doing here? With her light brown hair done up high and her peacock gown fluttering with each step. And was that a magic wand in her hand? This was serious, because the Queen did not speak a word when Torrence halted his foot servicing. “Your little foot-boy is a trifled confused. You think I wouldn't catch on to your little trend? Every lady in the kingdom is at war with one another for the title of smelliest feet in the land. Even my step-daughter is getting in the spirit!” Giselle huffed.Torrence thought he was dreaming. Every lady? There must be a wave of cheese in the town square. The thought of ladies, high or low standing, beautiful or okay to look at forcing anyone near enough to smell their unwashed feet. Torrence didn't know his own strength in the art of political manipulation. “And if you thought Mama Giselle wasn't going to challenge the Queen to a stench off- you have another thing coming. Your feet are probably no different than a garden of lavender!” Monroe was appalled at the comment. Her feet, like flowers? Unreal.“At least my feet don't smell like fresh honey from the market.” Monroe returned.Giselle gasped at that remark. Nobody insulted her with honey-scented feet and got away with it. “Oh, it is on, sister!” Giselle stomped forward. “Bring it.” Monroe returned. Using her wand, Giselle conjured another chair and undid her stuffy slippers. Sharp mozzarella and cottage cheese clashed with the cheddar-scent of the Queen. Giselle pale and flawless feet wiggled, painted yellow like daisies… or fresh cheese. Less wrinkly but soft to the touch. “Smell, dear boy. Let Mommy teach you a lesson in real smelly feet. Hahahahaha …” She flourished in a tittering evil laugh.“Don't you dare!” Monroe barked at Torrence. “He can and will.” Giselle spat. Rubbing her feet in Torrence's face. Giselle feet were soft like pillows and it took everything not for Torrence to go to slumber land. Not to mentioned the scent of softer-smelling cheese. While mozzarella and cottage were less fragrant than other scents, the phrase ‘less is more’ was working its magic right about now. “Ooh, I think he likes it. How would you like to work for me, dear boy. You can have these stinky things all day long and even eat your meals upon it.” Giselle offered. “Torrence! If you decline that honey-badgers offer, I'll pay you triple and let you have my feet whenever. Even if I'm sleeping.” Monroe countered, shoving his foot on his cheek. “Pah. He'd get more stink out of a scented candle. Let me sweeten the deal.” Giselle began.“Sweet like honey!” Monroe blurted.“Hush, flower feet. Bippity, boppity, Big!” Giselle enchanted her feet to grow four sizes. The smell growing along. Giselle was going to win for sure, but she accidentally enchanted Monroe's feet too. The smell was getting ridiculously bad. Monroe unfolded a fan and went to town while Giselle summoned a crystalline clothespin to shut her nose holes. No complaints from Torrence, however. “Great going, Mama Gisell-ous! Now we both have step-sister sized feet!” Monroe complained.“If anyone's jealous, it's you! It's all part of the plan. Sniff away, Torrence. Extra stinky for my dear boy!” Giselle cooed.“Yes, hurry up. My hands are getting tired from fanning.” Monroe complained.“That's not the only thing that's tired.” Giselle coyly commented. Monroe could only sneer angrily. Torrence was the luckiest boy alive, two huge, sweaty and smelly pairs of mature and finely aged feets primed for picking. But just before his nose went to heaven. Another idea popped in. He seemed to be fill of those these days. “I could examine the smell, yes. But I'm afraid that's on its way out.” Torrence reported in a somber voice. “Ridiculous!” Giselle roared.“Blasphemy.” Monroe bellowed.“Well, half-true at least. The true value of a ladies foot now is not only its eye-watering smell, but their ticklish sensitivity. Who-ever have the most smelly AND ticklish feet will be deemed fairest.” Here Torrence was, setting up rules when he didn't even rule the kingdom. That didn't stop both ladies from accepting the conditions. “Very good. Giselle, please poof us to the dungeon. And make sure to be locked in stocks and blindfolds. Can't judge if my nose is kicked in.” Torrence specified.“The stocks I understand, these stompers will render this contest wasteful. But why the blindfolds?” Monroe asked, less bossy and more curious. “Are you going to waste time asking questions or get on with losing this match?” Giselle hissed. “You will be the one losing.” “Not quite. Zipitty Zoo!” Giselle chanted as she waved her wand. Within the blink of an eye. There they were in the dungeon chambers. Wet, musty and dark. Though not as musty as the combined foot stench of both determined ladies. As ordered by Torrence, both were confined in high-quality, royal grade stocks. Toes tied and hands secured behind their backs. The respective blindfolds matched their color preferences and overall style. “Wait, what if we have to pee?” Monroe asked worriedly. “Oh… hold on a moment. I haven't thought of that either.” Giselle fretted, losing her intimidating edge.“I'm afraid we should've thought of that. You're the ladies in charge. You're supposed to be the smart ones. I'm just the following orders. Now, prepare yourselves girls. Cuz this is going to tickle, like, a lot.” Both ladies shouted objections and pleas of mercy. Torrence prepared a lengthy, fluffy and apple red crimson feather and started first with Moroe. Her laugh was cackly and throaty, it was clear she didn't like being tickled.“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH OHIGOOD HAHAHAHAHA HIIIIII-HIHIHIIHI.” Torrence quickly switched over to Giselle. Her laugh was more innocent and fluttery. Like a chipmunk if that made sense. But equally in heavy displeasure. “GAH-HEHEHEHEHEHEH HIIIIII-HIHIHIIHIHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH HAVE MERCIHIHIHIHIHHIHIHIH NOHOHOHOHOHOHT THE FEATHER HAHAHAHAHA” It went like that for a bit. Switching up laughs like music on a radio, testing to see who was more ticklish and tickling them simultaneously. After a while. It was clear who the winner was. No one. Both were stinky footed and ticklish in their own way. It couldn't be measured by numbers. So, with no solutions or verdict, Torrence quickly made a quick one. Deciding to sample the town ladies feet. They'd be willing after all. Meanwhile, Giselle and Monroe were none the wiser.“You laugh like a donkey!” Giselle spat.“And you laugh like little chipmunk!” Monroe fired. “When is Torrence going to keep tickling? I know I'm this close to breaking you.” Giselle promised.“He's clearly gathering something that's more ticklish. Like a brush. Ugh. And then I'll just have to wait till YOU break.” Monroe announced.“We'll see about that, Queen Hee-haw! Torrence! We're ready! Come forth and bring the laughs.” “Take your time… like I said. I need to tinkle.” Monroe meekly managed.“Oh, right. That… Torrence! Be a dear and bring a bucket. Torrence?”Torrence wouldn't return for a good six hours that night. The two ladies would just have to hold through till then, their smelly toes filling the room, their bladders boiling and their bottoms getting severely sore. And when he returned, they'd be none the wiser. Beginning right where they began, deciding who was the fairest feet of all. THE END.
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