TOES tight-rope walker

Something wakes up in a bedroom, its mind foggy and body immobile. Slowly, it pieces together its fate.

An erotic horror VN about a girl who turns into a foot forever. Heavy dubcon, identity death, and loss of personhood abound, here.

Made for TOXIC YURI VN JAM 2!

Amber and Lizzy seem like a typical couple, despite their age gap. But Amber's anything but a typical person.

In fact, calling it a 'person' is pretty generous.

buttgesterone, a VN set in the world of nookzzz/bunthatstinksgood's short fiction, is an exploration of personhood, fear, and the point of no return. It's also very transparently a fetish VN, so there's that. Girls will turn into butts, butts will be in crisis, and somehow, we'll all make it out okay.

Special thanks to @trishyeves for beta-reading!

1/1

New year, new me! Isn’t it crazy I get to start BRT on New Years? I couldn’t have timed it better myself ^3^ this journal will help me mark the changes!

I’d obviously taken HRT before, for my gender dysphoria. And it helped me a lot, don’t get me wrong! But it didn’t change enough for me. My body still felt… wrong, even feeling more like a girl. It took me a long, long time to understand why. Even though, with my… interests o///o it should’ve been obvious from the beginning.

Clearly the reason I felt so bad was because I’m not a person! I never was. Once I was able to admit that I was just a silly stinky foot, everything just… clicked! My girlfriend’s been treating me like the pathetic body part I am ever since, and I couldn’t be happier!

BRT… I think it stands for “Body Replacement Therapy”. It’ll finally give me the body I deserve! I couldn’t believe it existed! It’s, like, something out of the kinky stories I’d read >////< Of course, it is irreversible… thank goodness uvu no having to take medications once the process is complete! Just stuck as a silly helpless foot forever!

Uh… so, I did my first injection today. Maybe I’m just imagining it, but my skin feels kind of tingly? I doubt it can work that fast, though -w- oh well! I’ve got, like, a year of this stuff!

That’s probably enough writing for now, though. Just thinking about how I’m gonna be a smelly foot forever is getting me super worked up @////@ gonna hang with my girlfriend for a bit!

1/8

So, it’s been a week. Not a whole lot’s happened, honestly? Though… I am feeling sweatier. Like, my feet in particular are starting to sweat so bad, they make a plap, plap, plap sound when I walk. Everything on me is super rank, too… my armpits, my junk, my… kneepits? What do you call those? Idk, but they smell… really good…

...they don’t really smell how I’d expect them too, either. More… stale corn chips. Funk. Less of that acidic smell, more rich overall. Idk, I’m not an expert, I’m just a dumb foot!

My girlfriend helped with the injection! Something I didn’t mention last time, that, that the doctor and her told me, that’s been getting me really worked up… the footstrogen contains her DNA. And, and, when the process gets going further, she’s gonna take some time off work, and I’ll… fuse… to her…

...fuck… okay I can barely write this I’m getting so horny thinking about being my girlfriend’s dumb sweaty feet. Literally all I’ll be able to experience forever will be being her feet.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck okay that’s enough journal for now! I need some quality time with my future owner! Be back with more updates soon ^3^

1/26

So it’s been a little over two weeks… I’m going crazy… I think they put something in that footstrogen >////< I’m just horny constantly, my girlfriend can barely handle it!

Uh, I don’t think I mentioned but… for those who don’t know, we have a pretty big age gap. She’s old enough to be my mom. So I’m gonna be leathery milf feet… fuck…

I swear all I can think about is feet. It’s only been a month! How is that pawsible? I couldn’t be that I was always this pathetic, right? This worked up over sweaty mom feet…

Oh, and… the thing is… I can’t, orgasm, so much? I, I keep trying, but it’s never enough, and I don’t cum at all. I just get super sweaty like a dumb fucking foot.

At least I can still touch myself… though, I’m losing a lot of coordination in my fingers. I feel like they’re just useless bappers now… I tried to play video games earlier, and couldn’t. Which kind of sucks, it’s gonna be boring without them, but it’s not like that matters for a stupid foot.

...fuck, I’m getting horny again… I’m gonna call my girlfriend here. I need her so bad… I need to be her dumb milfy feet so bad…

Be back soon!

2/27

Hi! So, so, so, sorry I haven’t been keeping up on this journal. It’s just, I’ve been super busy this past month. Had to get my affairs in order, hang out with friends while I can, sell some things, quit my job… I don’t have to eat as much, anymore, so it’s not like we need the grocery money >3> I basically just live off my girlfriend’s toejam and sweat.

Oh, oh, that reminds me! I’m proud to say, I, I’m producing my first bits of toejam! I woke up with a sour taste in my mouth one day, and it turns out I’d made a bunch of sticky lint and jam like a dumb horny foot. I couldn’t get the taste out of my mouth all day >////<

Uh, but, updates on my body… I don’t have fingers or toes anymore! I was, actually pretty sad to lose my toes u.u I loved huffing between my soles and my toes after a long day, especially now that those days are spent cooped in bed, baking and sweating more than ever. But at least I can huff my girlfriend’s feet and think about how good it’ll feel to be them…

My girlfriend’s starting seeing other girls, people closer to her age, and they’ve been told to just ignore me, unless they’re really into feet, ‘cause that’s all I am. We were poly, anyways, but… now that all I can do is sweat and make jam like a needy foot, there’s not much I can do to please my girlfriend.

Though… she tells me she loves watching this. That it’ll all be worth it for her, too.

That I’m born to be her dumb sweaty stupid feet.

I… love her so much. She means the world to me. Since I don’t have fingers anymore, she’s transcribing everything I say, and even writing little emoticons when I tell her to ^3^ I, I feel so happy…

Happy foot…

...I… need to go now. I can’t stop staring at my girlfriend, and, and I think she’s inviting someone over soon, so, so goodbye! Please come here, babe…

4/13

I… I woke up today, and I realized that even with my glasses, I could barely see. I’m not going blind, but… all I can focus on is the floor. And, the sweat on my body. It’s like feeling, and smelling, and tasting are just my main means of interacting with the world now. It feels… right. It feels so good. It’s exactly what I deserve!

I can’t really make out the details of my girlfriend’s face, anymore… but even if I could see myself in the mirror, I don’t know how much of myself I’d recognize.

My arms are getting shorter, and my legs have started to melt into me… and… I…

...gosh babe do I really have to say it?

I… my cock. My junk. It’s gone. It’s just a patch of smelly skin now. The middle part of a heel, I think. It feels so good but it just feels like a foot… I don’t get lots of pleasure down there, no more than the rest of my body, but its so sensitive. I can’t believe how good it feels to have nothing down there like a dumb foot…

…babe… your feet are by my face, you know I can’t… focus…

...they’re so beautiful… smell… so good…

…feet…

Fuck, fuck, let’s end this one, please, let me kiss them…

6/27?

Uh, don’t, quote me on if the date’s right. I, uh… I don’t even know why I’m still doing this. It’s not like anyone can read it…

Okay… I’m… I have a lot of wrinkles. My tummy has gotten big, and flat, and, and, I feel so warm all the time. It feels wrong, though, to be so exposed, I need to be in socks and shoes…

Basically, I don’t… have a face anymore. The reason I was having trouble seeing, is, is, I don’t have eyes anymore. And, and, I don’t have a mouth. I think, I might, still have nostrils? But I don’t know… so basically, I’m just, thinking, here. Not out loud, because dumb feet can’t talk, but I’m able to focus enough for this…

...I grew extra toes. You know, back when my arms were getting shorter? Well, now they’re… big… silly toes… and I grew four more… I think I feel the start of a pinkie toe, too…

...I’m honestly… kind of scared… it’s so dull being a foot, but, I really love being like this… I know I… can’t reverse this. But, if I stop now, I can at least, still live something of my own life? I, I can listen to audiobooks, and, and have weird… I… guess not even sex because feet don’t have sex but… I’d still be able to think, and move on my own.

I’m apparently about halfway through my transition… so, I look kind of like a weird, giant foot. I… I don’t know… I can’t even use a mirror without focusing on the lint and jam on me… but I feel foot-shaped. I have… lots of toes… and a sole… that’s so so sensitive I’d scream if I could…

...fuck… how could I have said that earlier? I deserve to be a foot… does anyone deserve that? To be reduced from an independent person to a body part?

Well… maybe… if they were a person, no… but… I’m not a person…

...I’m just a foot. I’m just a dumb foot. I’m a dumb horny sweaty foot that can’t even get off. I feel like I’m just on the verge of orgasm constantly and I love it. I love being a foot. I’m a foot. Foot. Foot!

...uh… uh… where… where was I?

Nevermind… that’s enough for now. I… need alone time. Alone time…

8/??

Owner… I… I’m not allowed to call owner “girlfriend” anymore… she, she took that time off work. I have trouble hearing her, but, but I think she’s laying down with me, now. She’s cooing in… that… sweet voice she does… and… she might even be teasing me…

...but maybe I’m just making that up… I’m only a dumb foot, I’m barely aware… of anything…

...I… it…

...it…?

I guess… it guesses… it’s not even gonna be an individual, soon.

In a way… that’ll be… so nice~

It’ll be close with owner forever… it’ll be owner’s stupid horny sweaty foot for eternity, no matter what. It has… a sole, not a soul. Its mind is foot-shaped. It’s. It’s just a foot.

Fuck… fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. It needs it so bad.

Owner, please. Please. Want to be your foot. Want to be your stupid foot. Don’t care which one. It’s just a foot. It’s just a foot!

??/??

…it feels her blood flowing through it… it feels… so small…

…she… uses it when taking steps. She, she went on a run… yesterday…

...it… it sweated so much. Her sneakers stink so bad…

...it loves owner’s sneakers… owner’s socks…

We, we… she. She isn’t home yet. It’s just a foot, so it doesn’t count. She’s going to… the gym? What… what is a gym, again?

It… can’t remember much. It feels like… it knew it said that before, about… always being a foot, but…

...it… it remembers being her foot forever…

This… this can’t be real, right? It’s gonna… wake up, right?

How long… has it been a foot?

Foot…

…make it a foot forever… please…

...foot… sweat… wanna sweat… more for owner!

Wanna be a good stupid foot! Horny foot! Foot wants steps…

...foot… foot…

Foot/Foot

It’s been a foot for a lot of steps now. It’ll be a foot forever. It’s sweaty and it tastes so much lint and dirt and sweat and it’ll taste nothing else forever. It doesn’t remember what food is… it doesn’t remember what sex is.

Being a foot is what it deserves.

It wants… more steps. It wants owner to use it more. Step on it more.

Foot wants more steps. Foot wants sweat.

Foot… happy foot. Foot good foot for owner.

Foot good foot.

Foot horny foot.

Foot happy foot.

Foot.

Foot.

Foot!

…/…

…

…

…

...sweat…

…

…

...foot…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

...owner~

12/31

Found this old journal in the apartment while cleaning. God, I would’ve forgotten about this if I hadn’t found it right now.

But, congratulations, kiddo! You’re a foot now. Can’t say how it feels to have been dating a sweaty, gross foot this whole time, but at least you do smell nice…

I just haven’t been thinking about it at all. At first, I tried teasing it, going on runs, kissing it at night, but like… it’s just a foot. It can’t respond in any meaningful way.

Tomorrow is the last day I have to do these injections. Then, forever and always, this’ll just be my foot.

Really, not much has changed. Like she—it—said, it’s always just been a dumb, sweaty body part. Bet she’s barely conscious, now, if she ever was before. But now, I don’t have an awkward, foot-looking thing in my room. I can keep it in socks, where it belongs.

Anyways, I think I’ll hold onto this thing. Just… for sentimental value.

You have a nice forever, okay foot?

Being a Pokémon trainer wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Sure, there was adventure, whimsy, lots of cool creatures to encounter. But it also meant lots of lonely nights, like this, cuddling your Vulpix for warmth. Alone in the wilderness, with hardly any food or comfort.

You missed home, honestly. But being a trainer seemed the only path prepared for you—the only way to be an adult, or make a name for yourself. It’s a trainer’s world, and you were living in it, whether you liked it or not.

You just wanted to get this journey over with.

“Growwwaaa…”

Your self-pity was interrupted by a low, unfamiliar growl—it certainly didn’t come from your little Vulpix, nor your hungry tummy. At once, you stood up, ready to defend your pitiful camp.

“Groawaaaa…!”

The ground shook, nearly toppling you. Whatever creature you’d encountered, they seemed impossibly big, impossibly strong.

You’d heard rumors about a powerful Pokémon in this forest. Even more about trainers who’d wandered in, and never came back out. But you’d chocked it up to legends and folk tales—how else could you justify cutting through here? You felt your heart race, your muscles tense, as a great silhouette parted the trees.

A round, flabby silhouette.

“Snorrrrrrr…”

...a Snorlax.

A powerful Pokémon, to be sure. Formidable, even. But Snorlax were rarely motivated enough to attack people, much less make them disappear. Maybe the rumors were overblown?

Then it hit you. You were a trainer! You could catch this thing. It’d be your one-way ticket to the big leagues, if you could train it properly. Then you’d be done with this stupid adventure! It helped you felt a kinship with Snorlax—you, too, wanted to laze around all the time, feasting on berries and touching yourself. You could do without the musky smell, though…

“Vulpix,” you cried, “use flamethrower!”

Your Vulpix yipped in reply, and took on a battling stance. A pillar of flame erupted from her maw, aimed at the Snorlax’s belly.

It barely left a scratch.

“Snor?”

The Snorlax stared down at the Vulpix, its massive body heaving and wobbling with every breath. Utterly unamused.

“Snor…”

It swiped a claw at your partner with minuscule effort, and in one hit, your Vulpix went unconscious, its body sliding across the leafy ground.

You stared in awestruck horror. Your poor Vulpix! You’d only focused on raising her, your one Pokémon, so she was pretty strong, even if she hadn’t evolved. Yet there she was, knocked out in one hit, leaving you defenseless.

“Snor!”

The Snorlax trotted closer, massive footsteps making tremors. It stared at you with no regard, at all, barely opening its eyes as it pushed you to the ground.

“H-hey!” you shouted, trembling in the dirt. “You won! I’ll run away, just don’t attack me!”

The Snorlax blinked, but didn’t respond—not in any way you’d understand. But it did hulk its wide, heavy body over you, getting you exceptionally close to its taint, its cock, its musky… rear.

“Snorrrr!”

“I’ll do anything,” you said. “I’ll do anything at all! I’ll never be a trainer again, I’ll never wander here again, I’ll do whatever you want! Just don’t kill me, please…”

The Snorlax cocked its head, and—you swear—smiled at you. It looked almost… smug.

“Snorrrrrrrr…?”

It heaved itself closer, musky, rank balls rubbing on your face—a stench that wouldn’t come out for weeks, you were sure—and hovered its massive, jiggling ass over your face.

It eclipsed everything. Your sight, sounds, smells—it became the only thing in your world.

“Snorrrrr~”

And then, it fell on you.

You couldn’t breathe—you couldn’t think. The smell was worse than anything, pure rotting fruit and farts and worse. The stench of shit, the end of a digestive tract, magnified one-hundred-thousand times by the sheer mass of the Snorlax, and the finality—the totality—of its cheeks squishing your face.

You opened your mouth, trying in vain to get air, and were met with a plump, juicy pucker, instead. It was sour and sweet and bitter all at once—impossible sensations too strong for the human mind. The kind you’d never wanted to experience, the kind no trainer could ever understand. Your mouth was meant for food, for nutrients, not the bitter after-product.

And then? Then, then it farted.

You regretted ever wanting air in your lungs—passing out would’ve been so much better than this, than the stench of a thousand berries and roots filtered through a digestive tract, and blown out like brass. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and your arms and legs felt numb. You realized, too late, just how much weight was on you, now. How impossibly heavy, lung-and-heart crushing. No wonder people disappeared, here—they were flattened into nothing, surely.

You struggled, you scratched, you fought as hard as you could—which wasn’t very, in your position.

You were only met with more gas. More ass blasting through your olfactory system. Down your throat, in your nostrils, replacing all the fresh air in your body.

You just wanted it to end, already. You tried biting the Snorlax’s rank pucker—tried one last time to fight back—but, in horror, found you couldn’t even move your mouth.

In fact… you didn’t think you could move anything. Was this the end?

“Snorrrrrrrr…” cried the beast above you, its voice ringing in your ears, and—somehow—through your entire body. You tried to move, to struggle, but found that you not only couldn’t, but that the parts that should’ve been there—your extremities, fingers, feet, torso—weren’t.

All you could feel were your lips, and the vestigial bits of your face. Seeing nothing but dark, but ass, but stench. Your lips twitched and, horrifically, you realized you didn’t make them.

“Snorrrrrr!”

You couldn’t move. You could barely see. Your whole world was ass. You felt impossibly small—smaller than a person, and even smaller than a Pokémon—and alien, wrinkled and wiggly.

You had one reference point for what you were. Something you’d had, a few minutes ago. Something twitchy, and rank, and unable to move on its own.

Anus.

“Snorrrrr…”

You were a Snorlax’s horribly puckered, smelly anus. An asshole. A sphincter. Hardly anything at all.

You could taste bits of rotten food on your lips—digested, disgusting. Remnants of flavors you’d never taste for yourself again. You tried to cry, to scream.

You did nothing. Anuses can’t scream—they can’t do anything but be anuses.

“Snorlaxxx~”

You heard the Snorlax—your owner—grumbling and chortling above you. You didn’t know if your body got left behind—you couldn’t see it. You couldn’t see anything but navy, cellulite-laden cheeks, hairs growing out of you, filth on your sides. This was your life, now. Nothing but this.

It was miserable. Wasn’t it? You had no future. No prospects. Your entire existence had culminated into… this. Being the end of a Snorlax’s digestive tract.

Twitch. You felt your body move on its own. Your lips—all that you were, now—spreading open. You knew what was coming. You hated it, but you couldn’t stop it.

Pffffbbttttttt!

Your entire being felt stretched to the limit, and though you tried to think, you felt nothing more than the sensation of being. It was almost… good? Relieving? It wasn’t as if you enjoyed it. But in a way, it didn’t feel… bad.

Pffbbttttt…

More gas escaped you. You could feel it getting trapped in your owner’s massive cheeks, lingering on fatty, musky flesh. It was the only sensation—this, and shitting—that you’d ever experience now.

You may as well get used to it.

Pfffbtttt!

As more farts escaped you, you found it only harder to recall how you were supposed to feel—disgusted, right? You were an anus. Anuses were gross. Yucky and smelly. But it felt natural—you were made for this. You’re owner’s anus, right?

Pfffbtttt!

You never made a good trainer. You were kind of horrible at it. You only had one Pokémon, and she hadn’t even evolved. But an anus? You were pretty good at that. Spewing out farts. Flecks of poop spraying around you. You’d farted four times already, and you’d only fart more. You’re a good anus.

Pfffbtttt!

You’re a good anus. Good anus. Good Snorlax anus. You didn’t need to be a trainer. You didn’t need to be a person. You just had to be a Snorlax’s anus. Forever, yeah. Anus.

Pfffbtttt!

The Snorlax got up, no trace of a person underneath it. It felt its new hole twitching, excitedly, surely already succumbed to the hedonistic lifestyle of a sphincter.

It was hard work, getting things like anuses to admit what they were all along. They almost always resisted, insisted they were more than twitchy holes, or sheaths, or belly fat. But the Snorlax knew the truth. It was obvious from the start—that pathetic lil hole was right where it belonged.

EEP!!!

indeed it does,,,, dragons are such majestic creatures, and it’d be honored being part of one..>w<

There are-- sort of! Usually they stay sentient on my curves post-digestion. Most any snacks that end up digested end up spending their time with me blissfully tucked away in my tail or tummy fat. Somewhere warm hehe

Between you and me tho, sometimes I can tell after eating certain friends that being regenerating isn't what they want, so I let them stay as long as they want to. Which can be quite the long time-- after all, who am I to take them away from the constant feeling of warmth and affection, y'know?

Buuuuuut often their friends or coworkers make me revive them after a while anyways... "Please give me back my roommate they owe me rent" or "Nova can you please revive our coworker it's too stressful without them at our job!" Or "Nova I miss my friend can you bring them back so I can wish them happy birthday and hang with them??"...

So there's only a handful of very special snacks who stay on my curves full time and permanently, and you'll just have to trust me that "they're in a better place" and are happy there**

You don’t recall exactly when that started. You couldn’t recall a lot of things, these days. But you knew for sure you weren’t always a foot. After all, you were thinking, and feet typically didn’t do that.

You didn’t know whether you were a right foot or a left foot—the only “sight” you had was limited to the long under your soaking sole and the grime between your toes. It was vague, alien sight. You knew you weren’t supposed to perceive the world this way.

Though you couldn’t for the life of you remember how it was supposed to look.

You knew you were a girl. And you were a girl’s foot, now. But feet didn’t have a gender, really—you were just part of something that did. You’re an object. A foot. A gross smelly foot.

But regardless, you knew those two things. They were very important things for a not-foot to know.

Though of course, you knew other things. Like, for example, how to best cushion your owner’s steps. And you knew all the different types of grime that got on you, all the great varieties of toejam. You knew your owner’s heartbeat intimately. And her shoes, of course, were all very distinct in flavor, odor, sensation.

But those were foot thoughts. And you were not going to have foot thoughts. You couldn’t. That’d make you just a normal, sweaty foot. And you weren’t that. You were something else, before.

You couldn’t remember your relationship with your owner, before you were a sweaty smelly foot. Maybe a partner. Maybe a stranger. A bully. A sister. All you could remember was the smell, the taste, the feeling of feet, the constant in your almost-life.

It was everything. Feet were everything.

You were thinking about what owner and you used to be. You used to be people. You had your own feet. You remember that. They’d get sweaty, too.

You might’ve enjoyed that, when you were a person.

Are a person. You’re a person. Just a person that’s also a girl’s cute, chubby foot. You had to remember that.

What did she say, before it all went dark? What did she say, before you were a foot soaked in stale sweat, a clumsy, musky stomper? Right before that. She looked at you, she smiled. She smiled the last time you’d ever see her smile.

She said something. What did she say?

“Have fun, babe!”

Have fun. Have fun. Did feet have fun?

You weren’t supposed to be a foot. Were you having fun? Was this fun?

You were just stomping around everywhere, your thoughts cloudier with every footfall. Thoughts trailed off to foot thoughts.

To how nice the ground felt.

To what a good, pretty foot you were being.

Of how you loved being a foot.

You’re a foot. You’re a chubby, stinky foot, right? Wasn’t that what you were supposed to remember?

You tried to think back. What were you before?

You were something before. Definitely.

Not a foot… maybe a piece of toejam?

Maybe you were a sock?

Maybe a stuffy tennis shoe?

You could’ve been. But that didn’t sound right.

What else was there, for a foot? What else could you have been? You try to think. You can’t remember anything but feet.

Your owner. What did your owner look like?

What did she say?

“Have fun, babe!”

That’s right. Have fun. You have to have fun. You’re a silly foot. You like being stomped. You need to have fun.

You like smelly lint, dirty socks, stuffy boots. You’re a foot. Of course you like those things, as much as a foot can like things.

You think.

You think.

You think it’d be fun not to think.

You just step, and stomp, and smush. Feel, and taste, and smell.

You’re a sweaty foot.

Sweaty foot.

Bottom scientists are expected to provide their findings in a week or two.

holy fuuuuuuck thank god for science

now i can write off the weeks ive spent digested as a "mental health retreat"