Title:           Gilda 2: Griffon Boogaloo
Author:          StarKnight
Pastebin link:   http://pastebin.com/mW0f7f44
First Edit:      Friday 22nd of August 2014 07:06:35 AM CDT
Last Edit:       Friday 22nd of August 2014 07:06:35 AM CDT

>After that time at Dash’s house, where you gained first-hand experience of how Gilda’s feet could smell, she invited you over to her place
>To be honest, you were a little intimidated by the casually dominant girl, and the power her feet held over you
>Intimidation came second place to fascination, though
>Besides, you wouldn’t turn down an invitation to go somewhere, even if you didn’t know what was (probably) going to happen today
>You’d do anything to escape the inane boredom at home
>You’re at her door already, cool. No boring walking
>*Knock Knock*
>There’s only a second before you hear the thumping of feet heading towards the door
>A chain slides, a bolt unlatches, and then another, and the door swings open
>”Hey Gilda, I hope I’m not-“
>Ignoring you, she gives a surreptitious glance up and down the street, and you’re cut off by her hand grabbing you by your shirt, and pulling you inside
>You almost fall over from the force of her hauling you into her house
>She locks the door again, quickly, and turns to you
>You might have once thought she was mildly bothered by your presence, but, as people around town have told you, that’s just how she just always looks
>”Uh, hey. What’s-“ you’re cut off again
>”Come on” she says briskly, and whisks you away to another part of the house
>You go through a couple of rooms so quickly you don’t have the chance to take in your surroundings at all
> Almost dizzy from being pulled along, you stumble to what looks like a normal living room, with a pair of couches, a coffee table, a TV, and even a vinyl record player with a stack of records aside it
>At once, Gilda lets go of your hand, marches over to the couch, and flings herself onto it
>She puts her feet up on the table, shod in those black boots as you’d last seen her wearing, (or rather, not wearing) and grunts at your hesitation, as you’re unsure of what you should be doing.
>“Get over here, twerp”
>You sit next to her on the couch, and she just looks at you, unfalteringly
>Hi Gilda, what can I help you with?
>”So… hey, Gilda. How’re you?” You say
>She loosens a little
>”... I’m good” she admits. You smile.
>Silence
>You get the feeling that she doesn’t have people over very often; she doesn’t know how to act
>”Do you wanna, like, do somethin’?”
>”Um, sure, Gilda”
>”Do you wanna sniff my feet or somthin’, Anon?”
>You thought that was why you were here
>Of course you want to do that
>Even though you know Gilda is very forthcoming with these things, the obvious question still catches you out
>”Uh, oh, wow… yeah…” you search for words
>”Good, I thought so.” The hint of a smile crosses her face. “Get down there, then” she gestures with one hand to her legs
>You should really stop being so hesitant about these things, they’re inevitable
>So, you get up, head down to the feet of the griffon, whose boots shuffle around a little as you approach
>”Go on” she guides you
>Crouching, you lay your hands on the boots, and, struggling at first with the zipper, you eventually manage to fluidly pull down the boots
>As you pull them down her calves, more and more skin becomes visible, until finally, almost with a pop, the boots are off and a pair of bare feet greet you, toes splaying
>Gilda sighs with pleasure, and simultaneously, the smell hits you
>Engagefootfetishdrive.exe
>The heady smell of feet overtakes your senses like a tsunami, with no warning
>It seems like another wave of smells come out every time she so much as shifts her now-bare soles, but you’re too preoccupied to properly tell
>You kneel, so you don’t fall over
>”Like this special brew?” she asks you, reaching her arms down, grabbing the tops of her toes with her hands
>Nice. She’s flexible. I think she’s an athlete, isn’t she?
>” I’ve been keepin’ my feet infused with stink from those boots. Been doing tons of exercise in them, and, geez, do you know how hard it is to run in those boots?”
>You look up at her, listening to her every word as you bury your nose in her warm, pungent soles
>”And I’ve been thinking of going to the sauna, wearing nothing but them. I already went sunbathing in them just the other day-“ you can see the tan lines on her shins
>”-and I couldn’t help myself but rub myself silly after that session. You know, ‘downstairs’. Man, that was good.”  She says, eyes looking away in recollection
>Holy shit
>”So you like the smell of your own feet?” you ask
>”Have you been listening to anything I’ve said?” she asks
>What an attitude on that girl
>”Hell yeah I do, shit’s great. I think I’m addicted. And hey,” she laughs, “I think you are too”
>You’ve had your eyes closed, face deep in her feet
>Probably a little too enthusiastic
>Nah, seriously, who wouldn’t be?
> You can’t be ‘too enthusiastic’ when this punk girl distils pure scented sex with her feet
>”Yeah, I guess I am, Gilda. I’ve wanted to do this again for the longest time…” you confess, with a silly grin plastering your face as you take another breath of her footsmell
>Gilda then eyes the boots of hers which you’ve placed by your side
>”Oh… uh, go put those in my shoe closet there” Gilda says, pointing to the boots you’re still holding
>The closet’s just on the other side of the room, though you don’t want to leave the pair of symmetrical soles which face you
>But everyone knows you can’t imposition the Griffon
>You plod over, boots in hand, and open the door
>This music plays: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AA_dMjRSSLk
>A mess of boots, sneakers, and skating shoes litter the floor
>While you’d love to examine each and every pair, what else you see astounds you
>At the side of the small closet, a stack of mesh racks is apparent, in which row after row of ziplocked plastic bags sit
>You see they have different names written on them, dates, and a number written over 10
>In the bags, there are:
>Socks
>Socks of all colours, sizes
>Immediately grabbing your attention is a pair of purple, knee-high toe-socks in a large bag
>They’ve been jammed up into the bag, and you can see a 9/10 on them, and a date from a few weeks ago
>Then, you see a pair of blue ones, with the shape of a footprint worn into the soles
>The telltale brownish colour of well worn socks
>Then, a pair of plain white ones
>Then a pair of polka-dotted, mismatching ones
>Your eyes drink in the sight, and you barely notice the sound of Gilda’s bare feet padding across towards you
>”You’re not really surprised I’m a collector, are you?” she smirks
>”See, I get all sorts of different pairs, all sorts of different smells. Some from friends, some from myself. I mean, I don’t wear socks often, but when I do, you can bet I don’t throw ‘em away. I don’t really change my socks, so I keep wearing them till they’re good and ripe, and store them away for later sniffing. And I rate ‘em outta ten for how good they are.” She tells you as you both peer around the sock rack
>”Eventually, I don’t get many socks left. So, I go barefoot in boots. It works out well.” She says
>”That suits me” you agree
>”Hey, let’s see now…” she says, pushing you back, searching through the multitude of socks
>”Here we go. This is one of mine” she hands you a bag with thick, brown, woollen socks
>You want a rating?
>Of course it’s 10/10 written in black sharpie on the front
>Of everything, you find it strange how much you admire Gilda’s handwriting
>”Take a sniff, foot boy” she says to you
>Opening up the bag, you take a deep breath, and Gilda’s distinct stink comes through, as fresh as the day she peeled them off her feet
>The first words out of your mouth are “Can I keep these!?”
>She smiles. “Yeah, of course you can” it’s almost a sympathetic voice
>It’s like she finds it cute how much you love the socks she’s stored, and she doesn’t seem like she’d find many things cute
>”Come over any time, we’ll pop open a few bags, see what’s what.” She offers to you. “ In fact, why not now?”
>”Now? Hell yeah”
>”That’s the spirit, Anon. In fact, I’m sure I’ve got a few from people you know. I, ah, acquired them through a variety of means. Let’s see…  oh yeah, these stockings are Rarity’s… these are Applejack’s old work socks – Applebloom helped me with that one – oh, and I’ve got *so* many of Rainbow’s…” she piles up sock upon sock in your arms
>It’s the most excited you’ve ever seen Gilda
>You and her sit facing each other at opposite ends of the couch, sniffing socks, passing them to each other, describing them to each other, sighing and moaning with the pleasure
>You’re pleasantly surprised with the variance of smells between the different feet of Ponyville
>You even switch out your sniffing between socks and Gilda’s feet, which is at the perfect distance from you for her to lift up and press into your face
>You spend almost the entire day at Gilda’s place, the both of you enjoying yourselves immensely
>It’s far from the last sock party you have with Gilda