Hungry Scootaloo must buy the premium "Blast Bar". She'll offer her feet for extra money.
Track practice ended, and one of its members strolled through the street. Home was a mile away, but the girl’s warm feet groaned for each step. If only she could dash in the air like some others.
No, that wasn’t from Scootaloo’s mouth. Whenever she wasn’t in her role model Rainbow Dash’s home, her body felt like a skeleton.
Across the street to her left, she saw a brick candy shop. Her empty belly guided the teen into the shop.
Which one’s gonna fill me up?
While browsing the lower shelves, Scootaloo looked at the giant sign advertising a “Blast Bar”. It claimed the chocolate bar would make one feel like they had “one full meal”.
The orange girl brought her sweaty hand on the counter. “I’d like a Blast Bar, sir,” she grinned.
The skinny, brown man swung around to the display of sweets behind him. “Lucky you. We only had five left. One’ll charge you five dollars.”
Scootaloo opened her bag, then dug in the pockets of her khaki pants. What came out was some lint, an ID card, and quarters that added to $2.25. As she dropped the coins onto the counter, her purple eyes avoided making contact with the cashier.
“Ma’am? You still need—”
“I know,” Scootaloo said softly. “Can I please just pay for the rest later?”
The cashier returned the coins. “Ever heard of a candy store that runs on down payments?”
And so she left the store, embarrassed and just as hungry as when she entered. After getting halfway down the street, she paused.
Rainbow Dash wouldn’t give up. Neither will I.
Simpler said than done. It was 5:06 PM, and money couldn’t spawn from thin air. Scootaloo walked up and down the street a second time, hoping she’d find a few coins or dollars stuck in a bush or crack. The passersby could only chuckle at this crazy-looking girl. Desperation hit Scootaloo so badly that she resorted to crawling to find money.
If her skull weren’t so strong, she likely would’ve been knocked cold. The girl rubbed the spot on her head before reading the sign on the door in front of her.
“Pawn Shop, huh?”
She got on her feet and shuffled through the cluttered shop, which seemed to be manned by one guy. Scootaloo pinched herself to avoid checking out the video game section to her right or the various laptops on her left. Heaven knew she needed one that could browse without swimming in lag.
“Hello.” She set her hands on the counter. “I’d like to trade something in.”
The slightly older teen spoke in a laid-back style. “Give it to me.”
Scootaloo just stared at him with that same friendly smile, as if her brain encountered a blue screen. Didn’t think I’d get this far.
After dumping her backpack, she didn’t find anything that would be worth more than a few cents. Even if she did, she needed everything in that bag. With a sigh, she resorted to the one thing she didn’t want to trade in.
“Hold on.” Scootaloo bent down and reached for her shoes. Plop! Plop! After some tugging, they came off, revealing her Trixie socks.
Both sneakers hit the counter in a snap. Their height was low, and they sported a Halloween-esque colour scheme: black with orange accents. The tongues were sunk in, no doubt from the years Scootaloo worked them to death. However, the shoes weren’t terribly dirty on the outside.
The worker checked them out, then looked over the counter to see Scootaloo’s large, socked feet. “You sure you wanna trade these in?”
“I got more. Heck, I got slides in my bookbag.”
The worker looked at his computer screen and then back to Scootaloo. No normal girl her age would be so eager to sell their shoes, and he knew it. So he fired another question.
“Lemme guess. Poor?”
Scootaloo’s brows furrowed. “That’s rude and I don’t need to answer that, sir.”
He smirked as he typed away. “Hey, I ain’t judging. I’ve been there before. Your shoes’ll get you 35 dollars, that okay?”
“Great.” Despite the prospect of being able to eat, Scootaloo’s voice lost all emotion. She kept her eyes on her worn sneakers during the whole transaction. Guess I’ll find a new favourite running pair. Her smell was practically burnt into those shoes, she’d worn them for so long.
And the worker picked up that odour the moment he went to grab the shoes proper. They smelt like a faint mix of nachos and rubber.
“I might be able to cut you a deal.”
The girl shook her head. “Nuh-uh. No deals. Just gimme the money.”
He chuckled. “I mean, it was simple. If you let me smell your feet, I’d let you keep the shoes and the money.”
“Oh, you’re one of THOSE!”
Scootaloo wasn’t the brightest bulb, but porn and prior experiences taught her about a crazy kink. Foot fetishes, where people are turned on by feet of all things. First she found it disgusting and weird, yet time had changed her perception of the fetish. But would she really let some stranger start sniffing her feet? He might as well have asked to smell her naughty parts.
“Money first. Feet second.” She stuck her palm out, grabbing the dollar bills. Clearly, the cash was priority.
Now that she had the cash, she scrambled to cram her sneakers in her backpack. He won’t pull a fast one on me. And once the zipper was shut, Scootaloo lifted herself on the counter.
“Here. Get ‘em while they’re ripe.”
She hovered her right foot before the worker’s face. The guy dug his nose into her sock, letting out a satisfied “mmm”. An hour of track and another of walking dampened Scootaloo’s purple sock, especially around the toes. This created a warm yet chilling sensation across the guy’s face. Of course, Scootaloo’s decent arch helped her foot curve onto his head nicely.
“They definitely smell sweaty,” he said, kissing her foot.
“That your favourite thing in the world? Sweaty feet?”
The worker grabbed her left foot and repeated his actions. Smell, then kiss. Scootaloo’s smelly socks were comparable to a drug. One sniff led to another, and there was no hopping off the train afterwards.
Even Scootaloo couldn’t hide the smile on her face. As much as this inconvenienced her, nothing was more amusing than playing with a “foot geek”. Male, female, it always put her in a good mood. Especially when she teased them with some scrunches like she was doing now.
As her toes flexed, the worker pulled off both of her socks, and then jammed them against his nose. “Never smelt a foot like this before.”
Now he readied himself for the real deal. Thanks to Scootaloo’s skin tone, her feet looked as delicious as pumpkin pie. And they even smelt sweet compared to the socks. That faint nacho odour still lingered under her toes, but the fabric absorbed most of her nasty bits. At least the worker could feel her sweat melt onto his face.
“Kiss ‘em,” she teased. “Mwah! Mwah!”
The worker kissed her heels before smooching the sides of her feet, then her angelic soles.
Eventually, he grabbed her ankles and pressed his nose between her toes. The smelly moisture in that little pocket was toxic. And the worker gasped as Scootaloo split her sides.
“You foot people sniff my feet like they’re candles,” she chuckled.
“If they made a scent like this, I’d buy it all the time.”
His little romantic gesture got a grin from Scootaloo. Alright, I’ll give him a little more for that.
Holding her leg, she pushed her big toe in his mouth. “Suck, come on!”
Now Scootaloo was in charge, for she began to stuff his mouth with toes as if they were marshmallows. Whenever they came out, they’d be shinier with a coat of warm spit.
“Heh, lick them like they’re lollipops,” she sang, forcing the worker to slobber on her soles.
Finally, she gave the worker one ultimate treat as ALL her toes clogged his mouth. The slimy, simultaneous movement put the guy on cloud nine. Because of Scootaloo’s smooth, mildly salty feet, he was on the verge of busting.
With a giggle, Scootaloo slowly retracted her feet. “A’ight, I seriously gotta go.”
“Right,” the worker panted. “But thanks, girl. Your feet are pretty cool.”
Scootaloo fit her slides on and faced the counter once more. “Thank you for the deal. Oh, and I hope you enjoy those socks. I haven’t washed ‘em was last Saturday.”
Just before she left, she heard the worker sniff her sock deeply and moan again. Now beaming from ear to ear, the girl darted to the candy shop.
25 fresh bills struck the countertop. Scootaloo stood on her slippery toes as spit stretched between her heels and shoes.
“I’d like those five Blast Bars, sir.”