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  >> Interactive Story >> Fanfiction >> ID #1393778  |   Show DetailsPrinter Friendly Page Tell A Friend
Rated:
18+
Comic Book Women's Feet
Comic Book Girls fulfill your foot fetish fantasies
by
Avg Rating: (13)
Content Rating Notice:  Recommended for Readers 18 Years and Older Only
This choice: Call her bluff! She won't do this (shes not bluffing. You're her boots forever) | Go Back

  Chapter 10: Call her bluff! She won't do this (shes not...   (ID #1242584)
    an addition by: lilipoot  More by this author

You've got an eye in the heel of each boot, so you have a perfect view as she playfully picks and pulls at you. You seem pretty entrenched into the material already. She raises an eye row and looks down at you, grinning playfully, "Well? I'm waiting. Its either tell the truth, or be my boots.Theres no third option of staying silent here. Believe me Stinky, I've got all day, but you definitely don't."

For some reason the nickname enraged you, and you go for broke, banking on her being a hero, "Listen you nasty green bi-NO WAIT IDOMMMPHHH!" Before you can even get started on you tirade, she stuffs her still sweaty feet back into you.

You feel her wiggling her toes inside of you, crushing more of you irrevocably into the interior of the boots, "I warned you. I told you what you had to say, but you didn't listen. Oh well, maybe you actually love this. Maybe I put you in your heaven. Zatanna had someone antagonize her about her figure once until she turned him into her tights, then cry when she changed him back, so I suppose its possible" She jumped up and down a few times, giggling as you felt your nose in each boot getting flatter and flatter until it was formly enmeshed into the insoles. Instead of her sweat coating you, you felt it absorb into and become part of you. "Maybe in a few decades you'll even be able to convince yourself thats what you did today. Not that it'll matter, Stinky."

As she heads out on her promised run, you felt the pounding pressure and reeking sweat finish squeezing you until every inch of the interior of her boots was you. You somehow knew the exact moment you became just part of the boots. You could vaguely feel the ground beneath her crunching, your material at the toes wrinkling as she pushes off. Possibly the worst was feeoing any scratch, ding, or imperfection in you instantly mending itself, everything perfect on you exterior, even as your insides got more and more disgusting and hellish. Just as she promised, you werent just a pair of boots. You were the only pair she'd ever need.

And as you would unfortunately find out over the years of wear, she couldn't agree more.
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