He was a foot pig. Anyone around him would easily be able to tell you that: Zeke Tyler was a creepy smelly foot fetishist. If he were honest with himself, he’d perhaps be a bit more self aware about his… questionable tactics in obtaining his collection of ripe sneakers, but Zeke was too enveloped in his own sense of lust and objectification that he didn’t even stop to think about the minute fact that he was stealing from these random dudes. In his mind, he was just… reappropriating their shoes. That muscle daddy from the gym wouldn’t miss his rank Adidas, he’d needed to buy new ones anyway! Those ripe harness boots from the biker jock were better off in his adoring hands, the dude left them all alone at the rest stop while he aired his feet out. The frat bro that would leave his Sperries on the front porch would leave them out there every night, he was basically asking for them to be taken! Those Checkerboard Vans from that skater punk, the smelliest of the bunch, they just deserved to be worshiped and adored by someone who knew their value.
It was unquestionable to nearly everyone else who had committed these swipings, even the victims themselves; but being the sneaky little thief he was, Zeke was quick, quiet, and knew how to cover his tracks. There was never any proof, so there were never any consequences. Thus, as he planned his most important heist yet, he was even more confident than normal. He’d seen Dane for the past few months in the lobby of his building, having moved in at the beginning of the year, and he’d become absolutely fixated on the aloof bad boy. More importantly, he’d become absolutely fixated on those white Air Jordans, scuffed and well worn that were always fastened onto his massive feet. It didn’t matter if he was riding down the road on his crotch rocket, or doing some photoshoot with his other sexy Instagram model friends: those trashed J’s were always tightly laced.
It wasn’t until that Sunday evening, just as the sun had begun to set, that an idea had begun to form in his sick mind. He’d call Dane from the front desk, between shift change between the day and night guard, and tell the stoic stud that his motorcycle was being vandalized. Of course, he wasn’t going to do anything to the pristine Ducati, but it would most certainly be enough to draw him to the parking garage at warp speed. God willing, that would give him JUST enough time to get into his apartment, snag the sneaks and bolt back to his apartment. Risky? Absolutely. Rewarding? Undeniably. What had begun as a fantasy soon became a realistic plan, as Dane strode through the front door of the lobby, those sexy, mouthwatering Jordans squeaking against the tile floor as he walked toward the elevator.
Zeke had a problem with staring, so the inked hunk simply nodded his head in acknowledgement at Zeke’s creeping across the room. The model was unbothered, he got plenty of stares all day long, just another thirsty person who wanted his dick. He pressed the button, waited for the elevator, and stepped into the little box while the doors closed behind him. Perfect. He waited just about fifteen minutes, long enough for Dane to get to the 17th floor, get to his apartment, kick his shoes off, and start to hit the bong that stunk up the whole floor each night. Then, just as the tired desk attendant put up the “back in five minutes” sign onto the counter, Zeke made his move.
He scampered behind the desk, looking for the intercom button for Apartment 17D. He breathlessly searched across the desk until he found the system,and pressed the button for 17D.
“What’s up?” Dane’s voice came crawling out of the intercom, as monotonous and uninterested as ever.
“Sir, the silver Ducati in the garage under your parking space has just been keyed. We will have someone enroute to collect evidence, but we will need you there as soon as possible to give a statement.” The intercom was silent, no response. The panic started to set in- had he called his bluff? Could he tell? What was he going to do if he did?
“Aight. I’ll be there in a sec.” Dane was completely unaffected, devoid of any concern in his voice. The intercom clicked and Zeke rushed back to the couch across the lobby just as the night guard arrived for her shift. Moments later, the elevator doors opened, and a clearly stoned Zeke walked toward the parking garage door… wearing his Adidas slides. Everything was going according to plan. As he pushed the door open and walked up the ramp, Zeke made a quick exit to the elevator, rapidly slamming the 17th floor button. The doors closed, the elevator made it’s typical quick ascent to the middle floor of the highrise and as the doors opened, he was met with the unmistakable smell of weed hanging low over the hallway.
Trying to balance a fine line between casually strolling down the hall, and frantically trying to get in and out in time, Zeke made his way to apartment 17D. Looking both ways down the hall as if he were crossing the street, he turned the doorknob, praying that Dane had left it open. A quick twist and… success. The door swung open and he quickly stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.
The apartment was dirty and sparsely furnished, par for the course for the everyday Instagram influencer, but there, right by the front door was the most beautiful sight Zeke had ever seen. The Jordans, unlaced and cast aside right there on the hardwood floor.
There was no time to admire, or revel in his success- the heist was not over. He bent over and picked up the sneakers, still warm and damp from Dane’s heavy daily usage. For good measure, he snatched a pair of considerably wet socks from the arm of the beat up leather sofa, and bolted out the door. Running as if he were a track and field sprinter, he weaved through the winding halls until he reached 17F- his own apartment. He opened the door, slammed it shut, and slid the chain lock into place. He threw his arms into the air, he basked in the glory of his successful snatch. Now breathing heavily and excitedly looking up at the prize which he held above his head, it was time to reap his reward.
He brought one of the sneakers down to eye level, peeling back the tongue, and peering inside. The insole was almost black, completely worn and even imprinted with Dane’s huge, heavy footprint. He peeked quickly at the size tag as he brought it close to his nose, seeing the beautiful size 13.5 printed onto the worn piece of woven fabric. Zeke closed his eyes, the heat emanating from the shoe tickling his face, and inhaled.
Bliss. Pure, unadulterated bliss. It was a stench unparalleled by anything he’d collected before. Sour, yet buttery. Wet and musty. Not quite cheesy, though it came considerably close to the fresh smell of Roquefort out of it’s wrapping. Though over all, it was entirely the stench of masculinity. The sheer power of the scent was enough to take his breath away, knocking him to his ass right there on the floor. It was unbelievable. The crown jewel of his collection. He took another indulgent whiff, letting the heavy musk drown him as it flowed like water down into his lungs. Even exhaling his breath had him catching the subtle remnants of the smell lingering within him. They were perfect. Though, as if out of nowhere, he had the sudden urge to slide them on.
This particular urge was not typical for Zeke. Sure, he collected the sneakers, he would sniff and jack his little dick off until he piddled his load onto the sole of the shoe. However he hadn’t ever had the desire to wear any of them. It simply wasn’t even something that came across his mind, and yet as he held those ripe sneakers in his hands, peering to the wet socks that sat next to him, it was as if they were beckoning him. Calling him. Ordering him. Commanding him.
He grabbed the socks and slipped them on, feeling the warm wet sweat built up for days of hot summer wear slick the soles of his feet as his smaller feet sported the drooping Nike Dri-Fits. He turned to the dank Jordans, salivating at the mere sight of them.
“Put them on.” As if the command had manifested deep within the dark recesses of his mind, the quiet but stern voice repeated itself as more and more of the same phrase began to layer atop eachother. “Put them on. Put them on. Put them on.” He could only obey as he slid his sweaty feet into the humid confines of the gigantic sneakers one at a time, feeling his toes fall into the little depressions made by Dane’s huge fetid feet.
A shockwave of goosebumps emanated from his feet all the way to the top of his skull. Peering down at the clunkers gracing his feet, he watched in abject shock and terror as the laces began to pull themselves tightly and tie themselves. Had Dane pranked him? Surely this was a joke somehow.
“No joke. It’s happening, Zayn.” Zeke turned quickly to the side, seeing a young man, scantily clothed in a black tee shirt, old black briefs, and VERY well worn socks leaning against his wall. “I was hoping that my next host would come soon. I’d gotten so comfy inside of Dane, but I’ve been craving a new form for a bit now. And then you came along.” Zeke panicked, yanking on the Jordans with all of his might, only for them to be suctioned even tighter onto him. The malicious laughter bellowing from this stranger brought horror to the thief, completely in the dark of what his own situation truly was. “And you’re a foot bitch too, huh? You huffed those nasty ass sneaks for a solid minute, and I’ve been tied to those for years. Jumping from host to host, life to life. They’re ripe with the stink of, what, almost twelve dudes? And you’re about to be number thirteen.”
Zeke tried to get up and run, hoping for as quick an exit as possible. Maybe a doctor could pry them off. Maybe a priest could exorcise them. Anything. Though as he tried to push himself up, his feet stayed planted firmly in place on the floor. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“C'mon Zayn. Don’t you wanna take a whiff of this big puppies?” The man stretched his lean legs out, putting his huge socked feet mere millimeters from his prey. “Take a whiff, Zayn. You’re gonna be smelling these for a while.”
The smell of the man’s rank feet were more powerful than anything he’d experienced. They wafted the smell of an almost venomous musk, piercing his nostrils as if they were sharp knives sinking into his head. Irresistible. Unmatched. Flawless. Ripe. They were… perfect. Zeke could not contain himself, the unquenching, relentless addiction to that stink was simply too much for him. He bent over, letting his face press against the smelly socks.
The man laughed as he pressed his huge dogs against Zeke’s face as his body began to slowly turn translucent and a light shade of green. Zeke felt the matted, cottony texture of the man’s feet slowly shifting into a plasmic, almost rubbery quality, though maintaining that sharp scent that kept him so hooked. Though as he looked up at the man once more, he could almost see right through him. Pulling him up by the neck, the ghostly man began to rise, floating above the ground until Zeke was hovering nearly a foot in the air.
“Open up, Zayn.” The ghost thrust it’s head forward into Zeke’s choking mouth, quickly slipping himself inside. The rubbery ghost squeaked and stretched, moaning as he squirmed his way down his host’s throat. Zeke felt the pressure building as more and more of the ghost wriggled deeper and deeper into his body, squeezing the entirety of his mass into his bulging gut. His bulge, his legs, his ankles, all effortlessly compressed into him, sounding like a deflating balloon until all that was left were the very feet which had caused this entire thing sticking out of his wide open mouth. Zeke felt the ghost try to squeeze the very last of himself into his body, which finally slipped into him with a loud schlorp.
Still floating mid air, Zeke looked down at his inflated gut, watching the outline of the ghost squirming beneath his skin, squeaking and creaking within him until he finally began to slip him on like the meat suit he was going to be. He looked down as he felt the larger feet sinking down his legs, stretching them farther and farther until they slipped into his own, engorging them with the ghost’s viscous and bulbous form. The tattoos of the ghost began to manifest from beneath his skin, as he continued to slip him on, thrusting his muscled arms into Zeke’s as if they were a pair of tight gloves.
The ghost laughed from within him, as Zeke convulsed and flung his extremities all over the place, floating in the air like a balloon. Zeke could feel himself being worn, feeling the sensation of this ghost man’s entire body stretching himself out within him, flinging him across the room and gurgling squeaking slippery noises as the last of him began to slide up his throat. The last thing Zeke would sense was the scent he loved so much which now wafted from his own ripe size 13.5 feet, tattooed, sweaty and sharp. His hands pressing on the top of his scalp, the ghost thrust his head into Zeke, letting his spirit envelope and absorb the former tenant of this body- tucking him safely away to be reprogrammed into the stoic bad boy minion that all his previous hosts would become.
Zayn opened his eyes, glowing a bright green before slowly tapering back to a chestnut brown. Slowly, the tattooed hunk floated back down to the floor, until he stood firmly on the ground. Cracking his neck and lifting his arms into the air, he took a deep whiff of his pungent pits and sighed in satisfaction. This one fit like a glove.
“Awww, yeah. Thanks, man. I needed the new digs.”
A FEW MINUTES LATER
Dane walked back to his apartment, only moderately annoyed that he’d had to wait for his master to infiltrate his new body. Turning the knob to his apartment, he saw the lean, inked, tan man leaning against the railing of his balcony. Looking down at his huge feet, he could see the pair of Jordans perfectly fitted and suctioned onto his feet.
“Welcome, sir.” Zayn turned to Dane, flashing him that tell tale unaffected glance and letting that monotonous, nonchalant voice flow from his lips.
“It’s good to finally meet you, boy. I hope you like your… Improvements.” Dane looked down at himself, proud of the man his master created, but even more preoccupied by the crushing need to worship the ripe body of the new host. “Oh I see, you want to worship. Get over here, boy. Suck this fucking cock, and I’ll give you your meal.” The evil spirit smirked as his minion got down on his knees and began to suckle on his huge, musky cock. This would be a nice place to stay for quite some time, and when the time comes, he’ll make a great minion himself.
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