Pete's big toe nudges your chest as the foot comes speeding in, and you're instantly knocked onto your back. There's nowhere to go and no chance at gaining the man's pity as, with two thumbs stretching the shoe open, he jams his sweaty, socked foot in so that it fits snugly. You're pinned to the insole without an inch of freedom to move to the left or right. The cotton sock is the only thing between you and Pete's warm sole, and the fabric is so full of old sweat it could easily be wrung out.
Pete gets up and walks around the room, gethering his jacket and things so he'll be ready when the limousine picks him up. Less than an hour leter, he's backstage at the awards show with his band, and the toar of the crowd outside is so powerful that it's almost deafening you.
Pete always enjoys these things - Having thousands of boys and girls screaming his name and looking at him like he's a god is almost as exciting as having a tiny slave in the palm of your hand. He's sweating with anticipation. While he needs to pat his brow with a tissue every now and then, most of the perspiration is filling his tight sneakers. He can feel you squishing up against his drenched foot with every step he takes. Your face pressing into the slight space between his two biggest toes is all he need to rev him up for the performance.
Every now and then, Pete places pressure on his toes just so he can feel them part around your tiny head, ramming sweat-filled sock against your face..
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