Flip-Flop TF

I've harbored a secret crush on my sister's best friend for as long as I can remember. From the moment I first laid eyes on her, I was captivated by her beauty, her intelligence, and her infectious laughter. However, my sister always hated my affection for her friend.

One fateful day, after my sister's friend had left, my sister cornered me, screaming that there was no way I would want to be with her friend after spending time under her foot. Before I could react, she whipped out her phone and aimed her phone's camera at me. In a flash of light, her Transform-It had transformed into a plain, right-footed flip-flop.

My sister laughed and stuffed me into her backpack. I was plunged into darkness, trapped in the confines of my new form, the world reduced to a muffled hum. Days turned into an eternity before I was finally pulled out of the backpack.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized that we weren't at home. The unfamiliar surroundings suggested that we had ventured to my sister's friend's house. A devious grin spread across my sister's face as she dropped me onto the floor, where I landed beside an identical pair of flip-flops.

With a chilling sense of dread, I watched as my sister snatched up the other right-footed flip-flop and marched towards a nearby trash can. I watched as she buried the shoe into the garbage, burying it beneath layers of trash. Laughter echoing in her wake, she disappeared into the house, leaving me alone next to my apparent left-foot companion.

Moments later, both my sister and her friend emerged, chatting about their plans for the day. Before I could even process what was happening, I felt the unmistakable pressure of a human foot slipping into me. It was my crush's foot, and for the next few hours, I was subjected to the agonizing discomfort of repeatedly being crushed under her weight.

The unpleasant odor emanating from her foot was an added layer of torture. The smell intensified with each step, reaching its peak by the time my unwitting tormentor returned home. By that point, I was practically in tears, my pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears.

This torment continued for months, each day prolonging my suffering. The constant wear and tear etched a distinct footprint into my sole, a constant reminder of my servitude. The lingering odor of my crush's foot never seemed to dissipate, even during the rare moments when I was left alone.

One day, as my owner was visiting my sister, a heated argument erupted between them. The truth finally emerged: My sister revealed that I hadn't simply moved away without saying goodbye. My owner was enraged, storming out of the house and declaring that she never wanted to see my sister again.

When we returned home, my owner addressed me, a strange mix of emotions swirling in her eyes. Instead of offering to reverse the transformation and restore me to my human form, she teased me about my time as her shoe, admitting that she had grown fond of her “most comfortable shoe.”

"But don't worry," she said with a mischievous grin, "you may not be able to have a relationship with me, but you can have a long-term relationship with my foot!"