Biker Bitch
Submitted on 09/24/06
This happened recently to me. It was a Thursday night when a work buddy and
I went out for a night ride on our large, cruiser-style motorcycles. He has
a black Victory and I have a black, 1520cc, six cylinder, Honda Valkyrie.
It was about 11pm when he remembered that a local bar was hosting a bike
night. There were approximately one hundred bikes in the parking lot and a
great deal of activity. The competition and judging had already concluded
and the nighttime idiots and barflies were just beginning to file in. We
played pool for an hour or so when my buddy decided to leave for home as we
both had work the next day. I on the other hand, had noticed a very heavy
woman (500 - 600 lbs) by the name of Jimmi (I heard someone call her that
outside, over a conversation about her bike), loaded with tattoos, long,
stringy dark hair and a black spaghetti strap, tight fitting top, sitting in
a dark corner booth and raising a little hell, so I decided to hang for a
little while longer. What captivated me about her was that I spied her
unshod right foot sticking out, over the end of the bench seat that she was
sitting in. Her bare foot was almost cartoon-looking as it was very large
and calloused. The toes were very plump and in the dark, it appeared that
her sole might be stained but I couldn't be sure. I wandered close by her
table to catch a glimpse of the top of her toes. As I passed by the table,
I saw a snake tattoo that wound around her ankle with its head poised on the
top of her foot, and she coincidentally pointed her toes which gave me a
brief opportunity to view the top of her toes. I saw long, dirty, unkempt
nails with traces of polish and I noticed a thick, gnarled, woody, misshapen
nail on her big toe. I distinctly smelled the pungent stench of her foot
mixed with a bit of body odor as I passed by, that caused me to gently
wretch into my throat which I discretely choked off with a swig of my lager.
I quickly stole a peek at her face and recognized her as one of the bike
contestants that I noticed outside as she had her head upturned to the
ceiling, with her snaggle-teeth visible in her agape mouth as she let loose
a huge belly laugh. Outside, she had been wearing boots and sweating
profusely in the heat of the setting sun.
As I was leaving the vicinity of her table, I heard keys briefly jingling,
coming to an abrupt stop behind me, followed by a low, raspy-voiced request,
"Hey Sugar...would you do me a favor?" I feared that Jimmi was talking to
me and I almost kept walking, feigning deafness, but her request sounded
genuine and the Good Samaritan in me turned around to ask, "are you
referring to me?" She smiled a large gnarly grin and pointed her dirty
forefinger directly at me and proceeded to waive me toward her with her
finger as she qualified, "Yeah Honey, I just dropped my keys and you can
tell by looking at me that I don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of
getting under this table to get'em. Would you get my bike key?" I slowly
ambled toward her and placed my bottle on the table. I quickly glanced at
that fat calloused foot again as I gently filled my lungs to hold my breath
against her body odor. I ducked down and on all fours and began to crawl
under her table to get her keys, picking up greasy floor grime on my palms
and knees along the way- -I was thoroughly grossed out.
Suddenly, something in the dark clocked me square in the face, causing my
head to rise sharply into the underside of the table top. My head was
racked in pain, causing me to see bright stars. Then I felt a very heavy
weight on my back. I heard Jimmi grunting and giggling at the same time.
It occurred to me that I was being setup as my dizziness cleared and I found
that Jimmi had kicked me in the face with her booted left foot and then
brought her foot under me to hook my right arm just above the elbow. She
then brought her bare right foot down hard on my back to cave me to the
floor, pulling in on her left foot to twist me onto my back. She was a very
large and powerful woman and had no trouble putting me right where she
wanted me. Once I was on my back, she stepped on my forehead with her
booted foot and the tread hurt me terribly. She stopped and asked me, "How
are we doing down there, did you find my keys yet?" I responded, "Your boot
really hurts." She quickly followed with, "Well then, you had better get
started unlacing my boot . . . quickly now, before you are wearing my tread
design on your forehead like a tattoo for several days." I lifted her pant
leg and felt for the knot at the top of the boot. Her leg was wet with
sweat. I unlaced her boot in record time as my forehead was killing me.
She said, "Hold my boot still." I held it still while she drew out her foot
and then kicked the boot aside, placing her very wet, rank, fetid, socked
ped directly onto my forehead. Her foot sweat immediately began to run in
rivulets down the sides of my head. The smell was truly horrible and I was
becoming ill. She put her right bare foot down, heavy across my mouth. Her
pudgy foot and plump toes were very well padded and she had no trouble
sealing my mouth so that I was forced to breathe out of my nose. She said,
"I saw you eyeballin' my foot and I can spot a foot licker a mile away. So,
you must be in heaven, eh? I saved you the trouble of having to ask me out.
How do my feet. . .", she placed her wet left socked foot over my nose,
stretching her sock covered toes over my nostrils so that my breath had to
come and go from between her big toe and second toe, and then finished her
sentence, "smell, like roses? Ha ha." It smelled of death. . .it smelled
wrong and I began to wretch uncontrollably. She took her right foot and
kicked me with her heel, right in the ribs saying, "Don't you dare insult me
or I'll kick your face in. I saved my feet just for you, you lucky dog, ha
ha." When she kicked me in the ribs, I lost my breath and began breathing
very hard through my mouth to catch my breath. Jimmi promptly replaced her
foot back over my mouth, her fallen arch effectively blocking my airway. I
started breathing very noisily through her toes, wondering if I would pass
out from lack of oxygen or from the fetid stench between her toes- -her
stench burning my lungs. It was a smell I knew I would never forget, just
like the smell of a skunk or decomposing road-kill hangs with you for life.
She raspily stated, "Just to let you know, it's true what they say about fat
women- -they can't reach their feet. My feet haven't been washed since my
last pedicure, several months back. I hope the flavor is to your liking, ha
ha. Take my sock off with your teeth." She tapped my lips with her
dripping socked toes to signal me to open up. I begrudgingly opened enough
that she jammed her foot deep into my mouth and said, "before you do, suck
on my sock and release my flavor you lucky dog. Oh, and I don't want to
feel you swallow." She wrapped the toes of her right foot down across my
throat to feel if I swallowed. I sucked and sucked until I felt a small
puddle of her garlic-cheese flavored poison collect in the back of my
throat. I was thoroughly appalled and strangely turned on by the wrongness
of the act and began to sport a hard-on.
Jimmi's friend Steph came to the table and sat down across from her, quickly
shed her clogs and put her bare feet on me too. Steph put her left foot on
my manhood and giggled to Jimmi, "You were right, I can feel that he's got a
thing for your feet." Jimmi laughed, "No surprise, I'm giving him a shot of
my foot juice right now. It's been aging like a fine wine for quite a
while, ha ha. Say foot licker, how's about you remove that sock now?
Remember, no swallowing." I couldn't swallow anyway, she had my Adam's
apple forcefully trapped under her toes. Steph bore down on my mound. When
she suddenly discovered that my hard-on was listing toward my left pocket,
she jammed her foot into my left pocket and began to abuse my cock by
curling her toes and jamming her long toenails into it painfully. Then she
twisted and rocked her foot to accentuate the pain. I worked my tongue
against Jimmi's sock to get it to a point where I could bite it without
biting Jimmi's fat toes. Jimmi responded by spreading her toes and widening
the gap between her big toe and second toe and then ground them against my
tongue. I bit down and then tugged her wet sock off. I could tell that I
had ruined the sock, biting a hole in it, but somehow I knew that Jimmi
wouldn't care. When her sock was removed, she kicked the sock aside,
wrapped the toes of her left foot back over my nose and then put her right
foot up over my lips again. Then she said, "No swallowing, I want to dip my
special toe into my wine." She dropped her right big toe below the other
toes and pressed hard against my lips. Then, as I opened my mouth, it
occurred to me that she was referring to her toe with the misshapen, woody
toenail. Her toe went deep, her thick twisted toenail scratching the roof
of my mouth all the way to my throat. When she had reached the back of my
tongue, she pressed down upon my tongue, triggering the gag reflex that
doctors hit with a tongue depressor. I gagged, opening up the rear of my
throat which she interpreted as an opportunity to push deeper. Against my
best effort, I swallowed the sewer water that I pulled out of her sock and
felt green as though I had just swallowed juice from a cigar. In my
disgust, I reflexively clamped down on her huge, kielbasa-sized, calloused
toe and began sucking heavily. Steph continued to abuse my hard-on by
grinding her heel against my balls. That was not called for and truly
captured my attention until my tongue came in contact with Jimmi's gnarled
toenail. Curiosity worked my tongue over the nail, again and again, as my
mind plotted the detailed topography of that misshapen abortion of a
toenail. I worked my tongue under the nail to which Jimmi cooed in a low,
manlike guttural fashion, "oooooh, damn boy, that feels great." She
withdrew her toe just enough to force the others into my mouth and then
demanded, "clean the rest too. . .their due for a good cleaning." She was
right. Her fat toes were pressed tightly together and I struggled to get my
tongue between them. Once I was successful, I worked my tongue thoroughly
to obtain all of the months of dirt and grime that was so firmly seated in
between her toes. The taste was deplorable but I was so turned on by the
crime of this carnival wannabe's power over me. The slime and grit was
thick between her toes and it grated between my teeth. When I had completed
both feet to her satisfaction, she tilted my head back by her toe-grip on my
nose and then mockingly ran the toes of her right foot across the underside
of my chin as though trying to make me swallow everything that she offered
me. Then she said, "There, now you have had everything a man could want, a
nutritious meal and a fine wine to go with it, not to mention a bit of
entertainment to go along with it. By the looks of it, you enjoyed Steph's
massage- -you stained your pants. We'll be here next week at this time if
you decide you want a second date. Now put my boots back on and give me my
keys." I hunted for a moment and found the keys. I backed out from under
the table and gave her back her keys. I had floor dirt all over me and my
pants were indeed very stained by a large, eight inch wet spot. Jimmi said,
"Say thank you since I bought your dinner." I said, "Thanks." It felt like
everyone at the bar was staring at me and I am quite convinced that they all
knew. I must have been at Jimmi's feet for an hour and a half.
Even in the wind on the bike ride home, I could easily smell and taste
Jimmi. I stunk. Even after a shower, I needed to wear a cologne as a
feeble attempt to mask the stench. Jimmi did succeed in changing the way I
view morbidly obese women though.
From your fellow foot fetisher, Toesuckr