The Westland player’s leg shot forward in a powerful arc, connecting with the ball and propelling it straight towards the goal, but at a slight angle. Not anticipating the angled shot, the Lakefield goalie leapt in the wrong direction to catch the ball, and the soccer ball sailed right through the goal, securing the win for Westland.
Chelsea jumped to her feet and pumped her fists in the air, shouting and laughing ecstatically. For your part, you couldn’t be too mad at seeing how happy Westland’s win made your dormmate, nor could you quite keep your eyes away from the brunette giantess’ bountiful bosom bouncing up and down as she celebrated.
Of course, all of your positive emotions drained away a few moments later, as Chelsea regained her composure, and turned to face you with a wickedly mischievous grin on her face. Smiling smugly, your dormmate placed her hands on her hips and leaned down over her bed, peering down at you. Her massive breasts hung above you like squishy weights waiting to drop upon your poor body.
“Looks like I won Tom.” Chelsea smirked, playfulness dancing in her eyes. “I think you know what that means…” She let her voice trail off into a giggle.
You grimaced but fought to maintain a confident visage. “I can handle it. I agreed to our wager after all.”
Chelsea’s grin grew wider. “Oh? We’ll just have to see how well you do tomorrow, little guy. After volleyball practice tomorrow morning, my feet have a hot date with their new tiny masseuse!”
***
As you could only feasibly fulfill your end of the wager after a volleyball practice, you couldn’t face your punishment until the next day. As such, you and Chelsea spent the rest of the day lounging about in her dorm, talking about your classes and watching a few movies. You even helped her out with a few math problems she was stuck on, and spent about an hour crushed flat to her stomach when she rolled over on her bed on top of you without noticing while studying for a calculus exam.
You went to sleep that night, dreading what you knew was inevitably going to happen the next morning, and sure enough, Chelsea knocked her foot against your door at ten o’clock the next morning. Already dressed, you walked outside your door and were greeted by your titanic dormmate, dressed in tight short shorts and a slimming uniform shirt. Her skin still glistened with sweat.
Smiling eagerly, Chelsea beamed radiantly. “Ready to head inside, mister masseuse? I’ve been looking forward to my massage!” Your dormmate joked, unlocking her door and strolling in. You raced after her as she closed the door, and then waited patiently on the floor while she washed off her face and upper body in the bathroom with a wash cloth. Chelsea then plopped down onto the floor, leaning against her bed and stretching out her legs.
Keeping a coy eye on you the whole time, Chelsea kicked off her sneakers and wiggled her damp socks off of her feet. Immediately, your nose was assaulted by a powerfully disturbing scent, and you nearly fell over as the smell wafted into you. Meanwhile, your giantess friend simply wiggled her toes invitingly and motioned for you to begin.
As you approached her feet, Chelsea sighed deeply. “Aah! This is going to be so relaxing! I’m super exhausted, and my feet could use a good massage. I might even doze off.”
You wrinkled your nose in not-so-subtle disgust as every fiber of your being was assaulted by the undeniably offensive stench of sweat coming from Chelsea’s moist, dirt-marked feet. Groaning in determination, you pressed on, until you stood right by the heel of Chelsea’s left foot. Knowing you had to get this over sooner rather than later, you pressed your hands against her flesh and began massing her.
It wasn’t easy to do, as Chelsea’s skin was fairly firm after years and years of sports practice, but you soon found a rhythm for kneading her skin between your tiny hands. Your efforts were miniscule yet clearly effective, as you could see Chelsea’s smile deepen. In fact, you swore you could also see a faint blush in her cheeks, but more apparent was the copious sweat and grime now coating your hands and arms.
Suddenly, Chelsea’s foot twisted, and her big toe snapped down, clenching tight onto your neck. Your head was crushed flat, and your startled cry instantly muffled as your face was shoved into the grimy space between Chelsea’s tanned big toe and second toe. You flailed your arms and legs, beating against her taut sole in protest.
Your struggled only elicited a giggle from your mischievous tormentor. “Ooh, this feels especially nice Tom! I like the whole ‘pounding my foot’ thing you’re doing, but don’t wear yourself out. You still have my other foot, and I’m far from…*YAWN*…feeling satisfied.”
After a moment, Chelsea released her big toe’s grip on you, letting you drop back down to the carpet. As you reformed, you felt slightly intimated by Chelsea’s now propped-up foot hanging above you, and you struggled to wipe the dirt from your face. You knew Chelsea was just playfully rubbing her victory in the wager in your face, and you were determined to face her challenge head on.
You massaged her foot for a few more minutes before the curvy brunette let out a loud yawn. Curiously, you peered up at her face, and noticed her eyes closed and face set in a peacefully neutral expression. Had she really fallen asleep so easily?
A second thought grew from this first question: If Chelsea was asleep, surely you could sneak away from your punishment with her being none-the-wiser. Of course, you felt a bit of a guilty twinge in your heart from even thinking this, but it was absolutely a tempting choice to abandon this smelly, admittedly gross masseuse duty.
What happens next?
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