You nod in recognition at the flip-flops from Bea's teasing video call. So far out of reach before; now, pink monoliths right before you... This is an opportunity to be close to her wonderful, intoxicating presence without directly stirring her body. Swallowing all remains of pride and shame, with a gulp of the foul-smelling air for courage, you ascent onto the pink platform.

Her footwear's texture is not unlike holding onto rocks on an indoor climbing wall. The steep surface of the flip-flop is slick with Bea's sweat, which oozes into your fist when you grab into it. It's a little slippery to maneuver, but this coral-pink wall provides multiple generous holds for your tiny fingers and feet as you crawl on it. That's a detail you couldn't make out at all over the fuzzy, jumpy video at full size; now, you can see just how much horror your classmate put her poor flip-flops through at her pudgy feet.

Those poor, lucky flip-flops, absorbing that bully's every stomp and squeeze... You're lost in thought for a moment, thinking back to the distinctive, knowing swings and flexes of Bea's creamy ebony soles. Even when she wasn't directly teasing you, she spent time in class fidgeting with the toe separator, slapping the flip-flops against her heel, and putting pressure on either insole. Maybe she'd noticed you peeking, and that was her first clue that you had a fetish.

A slight rumbling from the bed above brings you back to reality.

Healthy amounts of perspiration have washed over some parts, almost bleaching the pink. Other areas of the cheap rubber have thick, meaty canyons, bearing a perfect likeness of her toeprints and heel. They've turned grey and swampy, with a buildup of dirt pellets scattered around. The material is tightly compacted, making the darkened slopes deep enough to hold puddles of sweat and lavender lotion.

Just how long have these clothes been enduring Bea's abuse? She wouldn't go so far out of her way to make her flip-flops uncomfortable for the sole purpose of teasing you. Right? This must just be the same grimy sights any insole could look like, magnified this close.

The sights and smells... Heavens, the smell. It's enough to bring you to your knees. The breaths of murky, stagnant air are heavy and hard, and only get harder as your face approaches the deep toe trenches. The salty miasma fogs your inhibitions.

Without thinking, you kiss the ground. Sweat and dirt stick to your lips, and you taste the deep, gnarly flavor of Bea's juices.

The sting on your taste buds is addictive. You begin licking, dragging up layers of dirt onto your tiny tongue like a mop.

Within a few moments, you're scooping out foot sweat in cupped hands and gargling it. Your reflection in the sweaty pools makes you look messy, covered in bits of stray lint. If Bea could see you now, her smug smile would burn right into your heart - but that humiliating thought only makes you drink more of the intoxicating nectar, feeling the heat burning in your heart.

The rest of the world seems to fade away in these clouded thoughts...