Running Partner

Synopsis: After returning home from his morning jog a big Labrador decides to finally take his defenceless micro out of his shoe and continue messing with them.

Disclaimer:
–Forced Paw Worship
–Musk/Sweat/Filth
–Macro/Micro
–Non-con
–Labrador (dom)
–Raccoon (sub)

A cocktail of springtime colours envelop the early morning scene from the light pinks and blues immersing in the sky to the whites, yellows and purples of the flowerbeds below. Quivering on the warm breeze, these flowers have slowly but bravely unfurled their petals looking to blossom out and embrace a new season of life… until they are quickly trodden underneath the sole of an expensive running shoe, from an unaware jogger. His sneaker crushes them back to their soil bed mercilessly before ripping out of a deep encrusted print, leaving behind tatters and shreds of what remained before. They continue on his morning jog pounding the grass of the park ahead.

The culprit is a large Labrador named Buddy whose athletic figure and broad shouldered frame is coated in a thick pelt fur; coloured in the hue of Dijon Mustard. His torso is trapped under a black tank top while cinnamon coloured running shorts dress his bottom half. Abs and bulge are both apparent in this slimming attire. Buddy’s preferred footwear is a pair of thick, white woollen socks imprisoned inside his white running sneakers, (which are now plastered underneath with a mushy dark dirt).

Buddy stops to lap at the icy cold flow from a public water fountain where he catches the eye of other early risers sitting afar on a park bench, happening – without intent – to look directly his way. The obnoxious dog outright assumes he is being admired so he regains his usually picturesque posture and kisses a tensing bicep for his viewers; grinning elatedly. By lifting his arm however the dog’s own sensitive nose can detect a rich musk steaming out from his furry, damp armpit. The two other park-goers roll their eyes in disbelief, gesturing for Buddy to move on.
Buddy scoffs to himself and mutters, “Lousy bitches, don’t need ‘em anyway,” under his breath before veering away from the trimmed grass and continuing his exercise on the path of speckled concrete instead. As his footfalls begin vibrating with the small increments of ground shock, pounding the solid surface over and over again, Buddy’s mind wanders away from the music playing in his ear buds. His distracted thoughts begin to focus on a certain special someone with whom he has a very physical connection; someone very ‘close’ to him, who is always nearby to provide him support. The more his paws squeeze down inside his sneakers and pump repeatedly into the pathway, the more he thinks about this individual.

An hour later the canine arrives back at his quaint suburban home where he keys open the door and nudges it aside, staggering into the abode with his tongue hanging from his handsome face and his breath panting out in rapid bursts. Without hesitation Buddy makes his way over to a navy blue sofa, drops his sweating heated body into the cushions and kicks up his legs onto the glass coffee table ahead.
“Phew, bro, it feels so good to be home. These morning runs are killer but I wouldn’t do ‘em if it wasn’t for you joining me every day!” Buddy says aloud into the emptiness of his home, as if talking to himself. When there is no response he still grins then methodically uses the toe of his left sneaker to daub at the heel of his right. He continues this until the right sneaker slips away off his paws with buttery ease, tumbling to the glass with a loud thunk.
Immediately a steamy socked paw is revealed. The sweltering thickness of the scent begins to fill the room. Buddy’s grin only strengthens when he deliberately opens his nostrils and inhales a large indulgent breath. He shudders with a lusty joy at the smell of his unwashed paws and then locks his devilish eyes on the topsides of his socks which still appear relatively clean, save for the faint patches of dampness in between his extremities. His wriggles these thick toes forward and back, airing out more of the odour.

The discarded sneaker now lies on its side with its open mouth facing the yellow Labrador. Its cotton lips are squished and stained from use. The materials inside the shoe are a mutated mixture of foul colours and markings. The removable insole has been grooved down into a dark, long paw print that expels a perpetual heat wave. Faint streaks of yellowy-orange can be seen on the walls of the shoe’s interior. The compacted heat still rolls around inside.

Buddy bends his leg towards him so his foot rests upon his knee, turning his sole to face him for a different and newer perspective. Here he sees a trapped micro creature spread across the bottom of his sole, held into place by an elastic band that engirdles around the outside of the socked paw. They are a tiny racoon nearly two thirds the length of this canine appendage; drained of energy and flattened to the woollen sock sole. The raccoon’s fur is matted down by moisture. His features and limbs are but a smudged essence of the creature he once was, yet he is still very much alive. Winded breaths try to escape their heavily compressed lungs. The weakly coughs and splutters indicate a distinct disgust for the raunchy air they are forced to breathe.
“Don’t you feel fitter already after a nice long run like that?” The dog muses.
“Get me out of here Buddy! You’re sick in the head! You can’t do this to me just because I’m small!” Toby, the raccoon, cries out.
They twist and turn under the bright elastic bindings but cannot find any release. The big toes above splay and wiggle under the stained fabric which Toby can feel stroking and pushing at the back of his head.

Having spent the morning nose-deep under the weight of these digits and their deep pungent imprints was torture. His body was pinned tight underneath, held down, while the rest of the sole would compress his body into the squelching darkness. Each bead of sweat would seep from the pores of Buddy’s foot, soak through the sock and then drain into Toby’s fur. He has been suffocating in the rich aromas and mountainous weight ever since they woke at dawn. He’d been swiftly grabbed from his own makeshift bed inside a shoe box, strung up against the elastic and then yanked against the sole before he could wheeze out his objections. In all this time Toby’s back has been against the sole while his face and front-side was forced to rub against the running shoe insole. The constant pressure on his groin forced him to feel a mixture of sickness and unwanted arousal. Because of these considerations, Toby is considerably furious. Now presently his crotch still feels like a splotch of hot melted butter, and he hates himself for having made this sordid mess. Worse still, he has had to lie in this sticky pool for half an hour at least, sandwiching it between himself and the insole.
“So, how was it for you, huh?” Buddy asks with a smirk.
“How was it?” Toby scowls back, scornfully. “I’m exhausted and downtrodden! My beautiful dreams got interrupted just so you could squeeze me breathless by your stupid feet. My nostrils burn from the smell! Not to mention this is the third time this week you’ve shoved into a gross, filthy, sweaty running shoe. Lemme tell you now, your shoes really don’t hesitate to heat up. Felt like I was in a sauna! You think someone with all my lush fur wants to be in a sauna of mutt sweat?”

Suddenly the raccoon gulps when his honest response causes a disgruntled frown from his comparatively gigantic roommate. With timidity and defeat, he quietly changes his answer to, “I mean… i-it was… good. Really fun.”
“That’s exactly what I want to hear from you, pipsqueak!” Buddy smiles again, yet with wide glaring eyes and a penchant for abusing his little raccoon. “Since you enjoy our runs together so much, you know what that means right?”
“…What?” Toby gulps.
“It means you’ll get to come on my runs every day from now on! What a healthy way to start the day. That’s not the end of it though… since you clearly so passionately love spending hours at a time against my paws then I’m sure you won’t mind if I play with you some more, right now.”

A big hand comes looming over the socked foot and over Toby too. Dark shadows are cast down. Toby winces, thinking he is about to experience a great deal of grief and agony. Instead, he is gently plucked away from the damp dirty sock, pulled out from under the elastic band which Buddy then waggles and kicks away off his foot. The raccoon is then held high in the air. Toby doesn’t dare look down, however he knows he is safe in Buddy’s dominating grip. The mutt wouldn’t let his favourite toy perish, after all. With a sickening heave Toby is hauled forward through the air with the fingers wrapped around his arms, waist and legs. He is pulled right up to the face of his giant ‘friend’ so he can be beamed upon by those large electric-blue eyes. Hot surly breath from the black snout nostrils blows against him ruffling all his grey and black striped fur.

“Y’know what, bro? I’m in a giving mood. I’ll let YOU choose the way we spend the day together,” Buddy’s voice booms inches away from his pint-sized pal, messing their fur even more. “I’m game for some good old fashioned raccoon stomping? I love pancaking you under my soles it feels so… relaxing.”
Toby shakes his head so ferociously that he feels a pinch in his neck. His eyes are wide and fearful.
The dog’s fist grips around his lower half even tighter now. “Hmmm… you could lick out all my toe jam? Haven’t done that in a while, have you?”
“No, please, not that! I can still taste that horrible flavour from last week!”
“Alright then… rub my feet while I snooze? Those little hands really work wonders.”
“Please just put me back down,” Toby begs.
Buddy suddenly intensifies his grip, nearly crushing Toby’s lungs and bones if he were to squeeze any tighter. The dog’s eyes narrow gleefully. “Okay pip-squeak… let’s play something I like to call ‘hot box’!”

Before Toby can respond Buddy leans forward and uses his free hand to pick up both sneakers at once, using two fingers like grappling hooks into the damp padding within. Toby is thrown down inside the left shoe, forced to writhe painfully inside this domain of blaring heat and the steamy sickly sweaty stench of which he’d only just been freed. Toby looks up from inside the sneaker, up to the veering image of the golden Labrador waving him goodbye through the only opening. Suddenly, the opposite shoe is flipped upside down and placed mouth-to-mouth with the one that is currently baking Toby to an exhausted crisp. As the shoes are crammed onto each other, the final slit of room light vanishes, engulfing the conjoined interiors into a total black out.

Toby stumbles around nauseously. His heart pumps back and forth like a piston. He trips on the slippery material of the insole and its uneven grooves. When he crash lands onto the stained indents a rich vinegary smell floods his senses. He coughs and cringes and splutters again but when he opens his mouth the thick scent soaks into his taste buds. He begins to sweat too under the intoxicating heat. Buddy’s running shoes are possibly the most wretched of all his shoes which Toby has unfortunately been forced to explore; more so than the dress shoes, black flip flops, leather sandals, furry slippers and even more so than his big laced hiking boots. On this thought Toby also realizes that summer is just around the corner, which means the open-toed shoes will soon be his main stay of residence. While the other seasons mean being enclosed in the darkness of a fully covered footwear, summer most certainly means sliding around under the hot, soft bare feet while his body is crushed down into the sweat-glazed rubber of the flip-flops.

Buddy’s choice of woollen socks this morning is evidently deliberate. He loves to wear thick, unbearably hot socks even in higher temperatures because he relishes in the sensation of wriggling his toes together – listening to the wet squelch of sweat between them – as he rubs in that black grimy moisture and stores it for Toby to unwillingly feast from later.
Right now Toby is struggling to survive in the black void of the two combined sneakers. His throat parches as he breathes in more tangy musk. He is feeling too languid and hopeless to push himself away from the floor of old black paw print stains. It makes him lightheaded but he cannot move. It seems that just when he is moments away from falling unconscious the darkness is split by a vibrant blast of light and even traces of fresh oxygen. Toby’s world then begins to tilt and shift before suddenly the shoe he is stuffed within tips over, flipping the raccoon’s perspective upside down.

Without any time to shriek or recalibrate to this disorientation the raccoon tumbles through the air and smacks onto a surface coloured a dull yellow, like Dijon mustard. Toby gasps for breath. He rests on his hands and knees trying to recover, unaware at first of where he has landed. He glances up the see a sheer looming cliff face of furry abs towering over him. Distantly above Buddy’s smirking head is there staring right down upon him.
“You really must like me if you chose to land right there! Mmf, stay there a minute would you, it actually feels real good!”
With a pale face Toby looks down and sees thickets of golden crotch fur all around him. He throws his head back and stares behind him where he sees the dog’s running shorts have been completely pulled down and kicked off to the floor below, much like their tank top too. While Toby was trapped inside those two running shoes Buddy had of course found the time to undress, just for the inevitably frightened reaction.
“AH! EW… G-get me off your groin! Please!” Toby tries to scramble forward and clutch tussocks of abdomen fur in his hands so he can scale the muscular torso and escape the musky dog crotch. While moving around so frantically the feeling of his little clawed hands and legs instead knead the crotch and inadvertently aid his big roommate’s pleasure. After a brief moment of watching them struggle pathetically but achieve nothing on their accord, the dog taunts him with a raspy laugh and finally decides to help. He lifts his micro friend away onto the far-away arm of the sofa instead, saving them from having to straddle his sheath so embarrassingly.

Toby is panting and brushing himself off, naively assuming that he is free to go about his own day without the pestering antics of the regular sized canine… until Buddy swivels their own body around using their rump as an axis so that they can lay back with their head at the far opposite end of the sofa. He now stares smugly at the little raccoon from afar. At first the sight is alarming but the Labrador keeps his knees bunched and his feet flat to the sofa cushion, as if to implying they want to share the remaining space with their roommate as a ‘gesture of good will’. Toby is taken aback. On any normal occasion Buddy uses up the entire sofa for himself whenever he lounges out, forcing Toby to go elsewhere.
“C’mon bro you can sit here with me for once. I’m pretty blasted from all that running so I’ll quit teasing you for a while,” Buddy says.
The raccoon is lured into this false sense of security so he feels it is safe to slide down off the sofa’s arm and rest on the flat cushion below. He then sighs with relief, lounging back in the shape of an ‘L’, with his back against the wall of the navy blue arm. He will only learn to regret sitting here once it is too late to make any change.
“Hah! Of course you’d fall for that, you loser,” Buddy taunts as he quickly stretches his legs out forward. Toby tries to stand up in a panic before those legs – speeding towards him like freight trains – make impact. He is too slow to dodge said impact. Two socked feet plant him hard and fast back into the arm of the sofa. Buddy grits his baring teeth and presses until his soles cannot push any deeper into the cushiony wall. He stretches his body out and sighs comfortably, resting his head behind his crossing hands at the opposite end from where his feet are plastered.
Toby’s life once again becomes centred under the warm stuffy wool of those socks. It is all he can see, feel and breathe as his body presses thin. The faint smirches of sock sweat soak against him this time smothering his entire front. He becomes crushed between the two surfaces and the light is snuffed. That same vinegary musk swarms the racoon’s mouth and nose. Through this dense insulation however he can still hear a muffled version of Buddy’s snarky laughter. Meanwhile Buddy can hear the muffled moans and groans coming from the little creature he has squeezed flat between his feet and the sofa arm.

Toby’s face is digging deep into the ball pad, while the big round heel pushes into his groin and legs. Buddy slides his two appendages – and all their crushing force – up and down, over and over. The friction provides more heat than ever. Toby finds himself grinded to a smear, fearing he might become stuck to the meaty soles for good if he doesn’t escape soon. His face is burning red from embarrassment but Buddy’s feet work only to a cruel agenda and have no empathy for him. It hurt his pride to know his lips and nose were being rubbed directly into the grimy black paw print embedded in the wool.

Suddenly Buddy pulls back and lets Toby drop back to the flat cushion in a pool of Buddy’s foot sweat; coughing out mouthfuls of sweaty lint. The punishment doesn’t seem to end there. When the raccoon looks up from he watches Buddy peel off their socks one by one. Each sheath of soiled textile detaches away from the furry soles but not easily. The thick material is stuck to the fur like glue. Toby can see the exposed heels of the golden-yellow feet and for a brief moment, Buddy stops pulling the socks off. Instead he leaves them half worn with the material wrinkled and bunched up, sagging off the toes inside, while the bare arches and heels remain smoothly in view. This pause is only to increase the raccoon’s dread. Once the grinning Labrador has caught their unenthusiastic attention he finishes unrolling the rest of the wool exposing every inch of his bare padded soles at last. Until they are firmly removed the socks exit with a sickly wet sound that turns the raccoon’s stomach.
Self-indulgently Buddy sucks in the smell through his nostrils, shivering to the scent of his own power. Toby is still far away at the foot-end of the couch, but their wide eyes and tiny trembling body are still very visible. Buddy can observe the way his micro stares up somewhat in awe at his gleaming soles towering and scrunching right over them, keeping the raccoon in their shadow.

Toby’s nose tingles when the toes above fan apart and release any trapped molecules of stink between them. Now that the feet are bare Toby has to see those big black paw pads unable to forget the times he’d been forced to run his tongue around the border of every supple pad, tasting the rich glazing built up around them. Grimy, rough, squishy pads like these had even become a part of his recent nightmares where Toby would wake up in a cold sweat, dreaming that he’d just been trampled into a tile floor, all because of how much time he had to spend at the feet of this hound.

“Miss seeing these puppies in their bare natural beauty?” Buddy asks.
“Not really, no, sorry,” Toby grumbles.
“Hey, whoa bro! That’s a cruel thing to say considering I know how much they’ve missed you!”
“They must be pretty clingy; I’ve been trapped with them all morning!”
“It’s not the same when I wear socks. My paws don’t get to really feel and understand your plump little contours.

After Buddy says this he stretches out both feet again without warning. Toby flinches as the bare walls of both soles stop right before him, giving off a strong, ripe scent. A bead of sweat, almost bigger than the raccoon’s hand, carves a dark wet path through the matted arch fur.
“C’mon don’t be a lousy micro. Sniff my feet or I’m going to pulverize you into mush between my toes! You wanna become my toe jam, huh? Then start digging your nose around where it belongs!”

Toby whispered a short prayer then begrudgingly pushes his face up against Buddy’s heel. He rubs around the sides of the heel with his little hands as he sniffs loudly enough to reassure the dog that their command is being followed. He then commits the same passionate inhaling of the other heel too. Life could be made into an easy hell whenever Buddy became too irritated.
The furry soles begin to wrinkle and curve forward as the heels slide back and the rest of each foot curles into a squeezing scrunch. Toby looks up the see the toes closing in on him. Now the big mutt’s feet were flat to the couch. He cannot step backwards any further because the paws have advanced just enough to leave him backed up against the blue wall of the sofa arm. He has nowhere to run, not that he would ever get far before being literally pounced on and pancaked under both dog paws.
“Smell good?” Buddy asks.
“Only about as bad as usual…”
“You know it’s less fun when you pout and sulk. Just hurry up and admit you love me toying with you. It gives your entire life a reason and that reason is… well, entertaining me,” Buddy responds.
“Can’t you just let me live in peace? I hate worshipping your giant feet all day and night! Even that shoebox you make me sleep in reeks of old sneakers!”
“Bah, you’re just talking shit. Bro there’s no way you do it ‘all day and night’.”

Toby pushes away the toes as they scrunch and lower down just enough to invade the air in front of his face. “I think you’re getting delusional about how often you toy with me, Buddy. Let me give you an example of how an ordinary day goes for me: I warm up your toes with my saliva in the morning so you stay snuggled and warm. My breakfast is your toe jam, if you ever have any. You make me drink from a pet’s cage bottle filled with sweat you previously squeezed from your over-used socks. It tastes so disgusting and salty! Then, the afternoon comes around and you start kneading me under your heels just for your fun. I then have to massage your soles while you sniff the hot stench from your own shoes like some self-obsessed creep! My lunch is thankfully normal food, but whatever it is, it’s been squished up to mush from between your toes… since that’s where I’m then forced to eat it from! Evening comes by and by that time I’ve spent a few more hours tied to your bare soles as you pad around the house or outside in the dirt! I then wash your feet before dinner, and my dinner is always found served on the insole inside one of your shoes… I eat that, you trample me until I feel broken… then my desert is an hour long licking of your feet! Night time arrives and I’m forced to get balled and batted around between your soles under your steaming hot bed covers until you finally toss me into my shoebox.”

During Toby’s infuriated rant the Labrador has maintained a terribly anguishing smirk spread from cheek to cheek, while constantly waggling his toes in front of the raccoon constantly trying to distract them from talking. Toby only realizes after he pauses to take a breath that the monumentally sized pooch is also gently stroking his own sheath to this tale of humiliating antics. This crushes the raccoon’s spirits into dust and leaves him feeling empty inside.
Buddy is too bored to give back any kind of respectful response. Instead one of his feet lunge forward and grip the little fuzzy creature between two of his toes. The breath is stolen right out of the racoon’s lungs. All of a sudden Toby feels claustrophobic between the hulking digits as he faces the furry sticky webbing between them where a powerful odour arises.

“So, is this how you really feel? Because… I thought you loved being pounded under my soles!” Buddy jokes, clearly witnessing the red-hot anger in his micro’s face but taking it only for amusement. The toes start to close around Toby’s waist, pinching his organs and condensing his pelvis. “You should consider yourself lucky. I can do a whole lot more to you than what you get right now.”
“Like… like what?”
“Like, I could fill up an entire boot with foot sweat and make you bathe in it for days. Or make you eat anything that sticks to my feet no matter what. I could spend twice as much time every day twisting you into a gooey mess under my heels. Or tie you up inside my most wretched pair of socks and stomp you till you pop, then I’d wear the same suffocating boots for over a month, without ever taking them off or washing my feet with you all bent up and flat inside them. Or just use you like my personal roll-on cologne, stuff you in my underwear, yada-yada. Y’know… small things like that. Of course I’ll spare you all that and accept your apology for growling at me if you start licking my toes clean… right now.”

Toby felt the dog’s toes flex and wriggle with him in between. He sighs, knowing there is no way he can ever win against someone so enormously larger than his own height. Toby decides to look down to the webbing between the toes which is almost brushing against his crotch. The entire gap is caked with dirt stains and marks. The stink of sweat and foot-cheese is certainly present. With no other choice in the matter, he leans forward and begins licking the gap clean after squirming his body enough through the gap to get his face within reach. Laboriously he works on both sides of each toe flanking him by sliding his tongue over the rough fur, lapping up every instance of sweat. He licks and slurps until the entire pit is glistening clean and his tongue feels weighed down by the black grime sticking to its surface. By the time he’d finished the charade he’d lost all his energy. His mouth is infested with the taste of stale dirt and bitter sweat.

Buddy is pleased to see how obedient his miniature slave can be under pressure, and doesn’t care that Toby is ready to collapse from exhaustion. Buddy laughs and stretches out, squeezing the little creature back into the material of the couch until Toby could not be seen under the swelteringly hot paws smooshing him out of sight and out of mind. With his soles pressed against the far couch arm, the Labrador lazily dumps one hand onto his firm set of abs. With his left arm hanging down the side of the couch, sleepily touching the floorboards, (which are patterned with all shades and shapes of dusty shoe or foot prints), Buddy slowly succumbs to a gentle slumber right there on the spot, while sprawled out along the couch’s width. Toby is stuck buried deep into the furry flesh of the warm sole pads now rubbing him into place and making sure he stays emasculated. They are soft but leathery on his face and the fumes from their pores are mesmerizing to say the least.

* * *

Several hours later, it is already late afternoon when the handsome canine awakens from their rest. Buddy feels a thick lump buried in the sole of his right foot so at long last he turns the sole inward to face him again. For a moment the dazed animal had forgotten all about his pint-sized roommate until seeing them squished out of shape against his dripping pads. He grabs the small stripy tail of the racoon and slowly peels him away from the foot. A groaning disoriented Toby blinks the haze away but he cannot cure the vinegary pollution in his nostrils.

The two animals – with one squeezed and strangulated in the clenching fist of the other – leave the living room and wander into Buddy’s bedroom where the carpet is strewn in a mess of old socks and discarded footwear. Buddy uses his free hand to open a side-drawer, pulling out a small elastic band similar to the one used for restraining Toby earlier. He sits calmly at the end of his bed and lifts a leg mimicking the motion he would do for putting on a sock. Instead of a sock however he ties the groggy, hypnotized racoon to the sole of his foot back where they so rightly belong, but this time so the racoon’s face is deep in the warm gold fur and thick juicy padding instead. With a happy sigh Buddy then tugs on a large leathery brown boot to his bare foot. He laces it up before applying the second but first he takes a sharp whiff of his own footwear and grins pleasurably to himself. As he pulls that final boot’s mouth over and up his heel he thinks he hears a muffled groan of protest below but refuses to check the cause. Grinning profusely to himself, he laces up the boot and makes sure it is strapped tight to his foot so that no heat will be able to ventilate out any time soon. He pats the sole of the gritty boot and then speaks loudly enough that Toby will be able to hear him even while sandwiched between paw sole and boot insole.
“It’s already midday little guy and I haven’t even hit the gym this week, so, since you made such a good little running partner this morning I think I’ll bring you with me for another sweaty workout, heheh. Hope you know how to hold your breath, it’s gonna get real nasty in there! But you won’t mind… and you won’t complain… because you know what’s best for you.”

The End