Sugar Squad

Chapter 6 - When It Rains, It Pours Foot Sweat

The ant’s world was simple. Find sugar, bring it home, survive. The cobblestones of Candy Cane City were a mountain range of grey stone, and a discarded chunk of rock candy ahead was the jackpot.

Then the world began to shake.

A shadow fell across the ant, eclipsing the fading sunset. The ant’s antennae twitched in alarm. It looked up at the magnificent black platform descending from the heavens. Peering over the edge of the cliff were five towering, pinkish creatures, their tips capped with gleaming red shields.

The platform slammed down just inches away.

The impact sent a tremor through the stone. The ant was thrown sideways, tumbling until it landed on the surface of the moving platform itself, right next to the base of one of the giant creatures. Before it could reorient, the world lurched upward. The ant clung desperately to the strange surface, now an unwitting passenger on a journey to places unknown.

Ginger took another step, completely unaware of the tiny stowaway that had boarded her sandal.

The streets of Candy Cane City were cool beneath her feet. She adored this time of day. The crystal lamps were just beginning to glow, casting long shadows that turned the gingerbread buildings into something more magical. The whole town smelt like fresh cookies and cinnamon. Every step she took in her work sandals felt like freedom compared to those suffocating boots from yesterday.

Her toes were free to wiggle and breathe. This was how feet were meant to exist.

Her mission today—doing a bunch of heavy-lifting and deliveries for a construction situation—had been a success. But the memory of Tunfro’s smug face still left a sour taste in her mouth.

Negative success rate. Her hands curled into fists. Prick.

Her thoughts drifted to Bel. Marshmallow’s bubbly summary of the bakery mission had been hilarious. But the part about the boy’s insults? Ginger took a deep breath. He’s got a lot to learn about respect.

She pushed open the apartment door and froze.

The scene in the living room was peaceful. Too peaceful.

Bel and Marshmallow were sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by dozens of sketch-covered papers. Marshmallow watched with keen interest as Bel put the finishing touches to a drawing. He held up the finished piece—a surprisingly good caricature of Marshmallow, complete with her signature pigtails and wide smile.

A rare smile spread across his face.

Marshmallow beamed back at him, clapping. “That’s perfect, Bel! You’re so talented!”

“More like average.” He looked down at it. “But I guess it’s better than completely sucking.”

“Average? C’mon, give yourself more credit than that.”

Ginger’s eye twitched. She slammed her foot down on the wooden floor. The bang echoed through the apartment. Both heads snapped towards her.

“Aw, how precious.” She crossed her arms. “You really thought you were off the hook for being a total brat day, kid?”

Bel’s smile vanished instantly. He looked from Ginger to Marshmallow. “You snitched on me?”

“No!” Marshmallow scrambled to her feet. “I just told them what happened, Bel! You were in danger, and—”

“So you did.”

“He was just worried, Ginger!” Desperation crept into Marshmallow’s voice as she turned to her teammate. “And he apologised! Sort of. He said he was scared, which is basically the same thing. He’s been really good since we got back. Look!” She gestured at the drawings scattered across the floor. “He’s been drawing with me for hours!”

“A couple of nice hours doesn’t erase one hour of him acting like a wild animal.” She pointed a finger at Bel. “He called you a fat cow while you were saving his life. He’s gonna learn some respect.”

“I know what he said. But he didn’t mean it.”

“He totally meant it. And you letting him off the hook is exactly why he’s gonna keep doing it.”

“I’m helping him!” Marshmallow’s voice cracked.

“Coddling ain’t helping,” Ginger countered. “You’re coddling him, and he’s playing you like a fiddle.”

A low growl escaped from Bel’s throat. “I’m not playing anyone, you stupid witch!”

“Cage. Now.”

“Make me!” He puffed out his cheeks and blew the loudest, wettest raspberry he could. Then he bolted.

“Stop, Bel!” Marshmallow reached for him, but he was already gone, darting around the sofa.

His feet skidded on the wooden floor. A stack of magazines went flying. He rounded the corner, heading for the hallway. But Ginger appeared in front of him instantly.

How is she so fast?

He spun on his heels, trying to change direction. His foot caught the leg of a floor lamp. For a moment it wobbled. Bel’s eyes widened. The lamp tipped and finally toppled. It hit the floor with a tinkle of shattering crystal. Bel stood frozen, staring at the mess.

It was the exact moment the front door opened.

Cinnamon and Pepper stepped into the apartment, still in their work uniforms. Their eyes swept the scene: the broken lamp, glass everywhere, scattered papers, Ginger with her arms crossed, Marshmallow panicked and Bel standing in the middle of the destruction.

Cinnamon’s tail stopped swishing. “Of all the things I expected to come home to…” She paused and took a slow breath. “This was somehow at the top of the list.”

She pointed a single finger at the cage in the corner.

“Belial. Go.”

Bel opened his mouth to protest. But one look at her face told him it was a losing battle.

He trudged towards the cage, pouting like a child half his age. Marshmallow rushed to open the door. The moment he was inside, she locked it quickly, before Ginger could get any ideas.

“You’re not sleeping in there all night,” Cinnamon said. “But you will stay there until you learn not to destroy our apartment. Understood?”

Her gaze softened slightly as it fell upon Marshmallow. She had heard the full report from her. She knew that he had made progress today. This punishment was for the recent chaos, not the initial offence.

But Ginger wasn’t satisfied. “That’s it? He screwed with Marshmallow’s mission, insulted her while she was saving him and trashed our living room. I vote for a real punishment.”

Cinnamon shut her eyes. She was too tired to referee this.

“Fine.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Do what you think he deserves. But you will not hurt him. Do I make myself clear?”

A wicked smile spread across Ginger’s face. “Crystal.”

She leaned casually against the cage. Her eyes never left Bel’s terrified face as she propped her sandalled left foot up on the bars. Her toes peeked out past the leather straps. She wiggled them once, then twice, just to make sure he was watching. Slowly she unbuckled the strap around her ankle. The leather slid free.

Bel’s breathing hastened.

She unbuckled the second strap across her toes. With a click, the sandal slipped off, landing on the pine floor with a soft slap. Her foot was completely bare now, armed with nothing but a silver toe ring.

“Oh no,” Bel whispered.

“Oh yeah,” Ginger purred. She angled the sole towards him. “See this? This is what freedom looks like, Bel.”

He couldn’t look away. The sole was dark, stained with grime. The ball of her foot had a visible layer of street dust. Her heel had a little black streak. And there, crawling slowly up her arch, was something tiny and dark. Bel’s stomach churned.

Ginger looked down, plucked the ant off and studied it for a moment. “Little guy must’ve hitched a ride. My feet are just that beautiful.” She set it gently on the floor, watching it scurry away.

Then she turned her full attention back to Bel.

“Now then.” She undid the second sandal, freeing her other foot. Both were now out, in all their sticky, sweaty glory. They glistened under the apartment lights. “Now it’s a party.”

Bel pressed himself into the corner.

“What’s the matter?” Ginger asked, circling the cage slowly. Her damp feet squeaked against the floor with each step. She pressed her face against the bars. “Don’t worry. I just wanna chat.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. It was about the bravest thing he could think to do.

“Aw, how cute. You still think you have power here.”

Across the room, Bel caught a glimpse of Marshmallow turning away. She began meticulously picking up the scattered drawings from the floor, carefully organising them into a neat stack. Her back was to the entire scene.

She’s not going to help me, he realised. Not this time.

“Don’t give me the silent treatment now,” Ginger said with an exaggerated pout. “That’s lame.”

Then, with a sudden spring, she hopped straight onto the top of the cage. The bars groaned under her weight. Bel stared upward in horror.

Her soles pressed against the metal directly above his head. The bars left perfect square imprints in her pumpkin-coloured skin as her weight settled. Her toes curled, gripping the metal like a bird on a perch.

He could see everything. Every wrinkle, every stain…

Tiny droplets began to gather where her soles pressed against the bars. They clung there for a moment before finally giving into gravity.

One landed on his shoulder. Another hit his arm.

He scrambled backwards, pressing himself against the far wall of the cage. But there was nowhere to go. The drops kept coming.

“The sweaty little toes go drip, drip, drip,” she sang cheerfully, bouncing on the cage to expel the moisture faster. “The sweaty little toes go drip, drip, drip…all over the boy!”

“You’re so disgusting!” he shrieked, wiping frantically at the droplets on his head and arms.

“And you’re so dang rude. So we’re even.”

The air inside the cage became thick with a sour, citrusy odour, reminiscent of rotting oranges in the sun mixed with salt and something earthier. It stung his nostrils. He then noticed that her feet were beginning to glow. A faint red aura emanated from the soles.

The temperature in the cage spiked immediately. And with it, the sweat production tripled. What had been a light drizzle turned into a downpour.

He threw his arms over his head to shield himself, but it was futile. The sweat soaked through his shirt and plastered his curly hair to his forehead. It ran down his face in salty rivulets.

One drop smacked him directly in the mouth. He gagged and frantically scrubbed at his tongue with his shirt sleeve.

“Aw, did some get in your mouth?” Ginger cooed from above. “My bad! These feet just sweat so much when they’re excited!”

Deciding that she had enough of watching him dodge, she jumped to the floor. She then swung one leg up and threaded her foot through the bars on the side of the cage.

Bel pressed himself against the opposite wall, but there was nowhere left to go. The cage was too small; she could reach him anywhere. Her toes hovered just inches from his face, wiggling slowly.

“Aw, look, girls,” Ginger called over her shoulder. “I think little Bel wants to give me a big ‘I’m sorry’ kiss.”

“I’d rather eat dirt!” he spat.

“Perfect,” she giggled. “Because that’s exactly what’s on them.”

She thrust her big toe forward, aiming it directly at his lips. It loomed in his vision, impossibly large and close. The garish red nail gleamed under the lights.

“C’mon, Bel,” she whispered, her voice taking on a singsong quality. “Give me a big, juicy smooch. Don’t you want a taste? I promise they’re scrumptious.”

He twisted his head away. But the tip of her toe pressed against his sealed lips. From this close proximity, the citrusy scent was deadly, making his eyes water.

He let out a soft whine.

“There’s no escape,” she chuckled. “Now open up.”

He shook his head frantically. She pressed harder, the damp skin of her toe squelching against his lips. With a little grunt of effort, she forced his lips to part.

Her toe slipped inside his mouth.

His heart nearly stopped. The salty and sour poison took over his tongue. The pad of her toe scraped against him, rough like sandpaper with a disturbingly soft cushion underneath.

He gagged violently, but she continued. Her toe pressed down on his tongue, while her other toes squished against his cheek, pinning his head in place. He could do nothing but endure. All the while, Ginger made obnoxious, slurpy kissing noises.

“Mwah! Mwah!! Mwah!!! Such a good boy, giving the great Ginger’s hot, sweaty toes a proper cleaning!”

Finally she relented. Bel immediately spat out her toe, wiping his mouth with both hands. His whole face was damp with the upper half of a footprint.

Yuck! I need to bleach my mouth as soon as I get the chance!

“Fight all you want,” Ginger sang, scrunching her toes. “It just makes this more exciting for me.”

She pushed her foot deeper into the cage after him. But her calf was too thick to fit through the narrow gaps between the bars. “Looks like I gotta get you from another angle.”

She tried to pull her foot back out. Her smile faltered. She tugged harder. Nothing. Her heel was firmly wedged, and she was unable to squeeze it back through the gap it had so easily entered.

“A tactical genius.” From the sofa, Pepper looked up from the book she had been reading. “You’ve managed to ensnare yourself in your own trap.”

“Shut up! It’s just a strategic position!”

It was in that moment of distraction that Bel saw it. Lying on the floor, just inches from the bars of the cage, was one of the black ink pens from his drawing session.

A desperate, terrifying idea sparked in his mind.

It would mean touching her willingly. The thought alone made him nauseous. But the burning humiliation of the past few minutes fuelled something deeper than disgust. It was anger.

You wanna play games? Then let’s play!

He reached a trembling hand through the bars. His fingers brushed the pen. After fumbling for a moment, he finally got a firm grip. He uncapped it.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed the tip of the pen against the centre of her sole.

Ginger flinched. “What the hell are you—?”

He ignored her. Breathing through his mouth, he began to draw.

The sensation of the sharp point dragging across her skin was immediate.

“Oh my— Hahahahahaha!” Her long toes clenched involuntarily. “Stop it! I’m serious!”

But Bel kept going, drawing with furious precision. With each stroke of the pen, she squealed louder. She thrashed around, trying to free her trapped foot, but it wouldn’t budge. The more she thrashed, the worse the tickling sensation became.

She tumbled backwards with a yelp, hitting the ground hard on her backside. But her foot was still stuck in the cage bars, her leg bent at an awkward position. Now she was on his level and vulnerable.

Bel cracked one eye open. Her toes were flailing wildly. Good.

He went in for the kill, shoving the pen tip deep between her big toe and second toe, scratching at the sensitive skin in between.

“Get out of there! Hehehehe!” Her laughter was breathless now. “Cinnamon! Cinnamon , grab him!” She squirmed like a fish out of water. A boy half her size, armed with nothing but a feather pen, managed to somehow take down the mighty fire mage.

Cinnamon watched the scene unfold from the kitchen doorway. The little monster is actually using strategy.

But the chaos was escalating. Pieces of glass from the shattered lamp were still scattered around the floor. Ginger was flailing dangerously near the shards.

“Alright, that’s enough.” She motioned to Pepper. “Get her out before she cuts herself.”

While Pepper held the cage steady with both hands, Cinnamon knelt down and gripped Ginger’s ankle firmly. She twisted sharply and yanked.

Ginger’s foot popped free. She immediately scrambled backwards, cradling her foot and glaring at Bel. Her face was bright red, her ankle sore and her pride wounded. Worst of all, her punishment had backfired in the most humiliating way possible.

“What did you even do, Bel?” Marshmallow asked, cautiously approaching to examine Ginger’s foot.

Bel had dropped the pen. His heart was still pounding, and adrenaline was still coursing through his veins. But a satisfied smirk was plastered across his face.

On the sole of Ginger’s foot, in crude but surprisingly detailed black ink, was a caricature of her with wild hair, crying eyes and a tongue sticking out. The expression was goofily exaggerated. Below it, in shaky letters, he had written a single sentence: “I’m the real hot ‘n’ ripe Captain Cheesefoot!”

Marshmallow snorted so hard that she fell over. High-pitched giggles shook her whole frame.

Cinnamon’s stern expression wavered. She fought to hold it in, but she burst out laughing, clutching her stomach and doubling over.

Even Pepper let out a dry chuckle. “Creative application of available resources. And fairly accurate anatomical proportions on the caricature than I would’ve anticipated.”

Ginger stared at the drawing on her foot. Then she looked at her teammates, who were completely losing it. Her face went from red to deep crimson.

She got up quickly and stomped towards the bathroom. Her inked foot left a few black prints on the floor.

“It’s not even that funny,” she muttered loudly. “My feet are awesome. He’s the weirdo. They’re perfect and smell like they were blessed by—”

The bathroom door slammed shut with enough force to shake the walls. A moment later, they heard the shower being turned on at full blast. Inside the cage, Bel held up the middle finger behind his back.

How fun was that, bitch?

---

Ginger stood under the scalding spray of the shower, scrubbing her foot with an exfoliating soap bar. The ink from Bel’s drawing was stubborn. It smeared but wouldn’t come off completely, leaving grey streaks across her arch.

She fumed. He actually caught me by surprise. Me. Caught by an eleven-year-old and a pen.

But as she scrubbed and watched the last of the ink wash down the drain, a small smile crept onto her face.

I’m as stubborn as this ink. She turned off the water and reached for her favourite citrus-scented lotion. She squeezed a generous amount into her palm and began massaging it into her feet, working it between each toe. A challenge doesn’t scare me. You have no idea what you’ve started, little boy.

---

Dinner was odd.

The main course was a roasted bird of some kind, but its flesh was deep blue. The skin crackled when Cinnamon carved into it, releasing steam that smelt faintly of blueberries and thyme.

“It’s called a fowlspark,” she explained, noticing Bel’s horrified stare. “Completely normal.”

“It’s blue.”

“Very observant.” Pepper was already on her third serving, cutting the meat into neat squares.

As a small reward for his creative problem-solving with the pen, and because Cinnamon was too tired to deal with any more chaos, Bel was allowed to sit on a cushion on the floor instead of directly under the table. Progress was progress, even if marginal.

He immediately chose the spot next to Marshmallow.

But even with this privilege, he still couldn’t handle the sight of their bare feet. They were everywhere. It was a constant reminder of where he was and what he had endured.

Before the food was served, he turned to Marshmallow. “Can I… Do you still have that…?”

“Of course.” She disappeared into her room and returned with a sleeping mask. She handed it to him gently.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, pulling it over his eyes.

His world went dark. Suddenly he could breathe a little easier.

Now blindfolded, he sat with a plate of strange blue meat on his lap, eating by touch and smell alone. He missed his mouth twice. Even smearing sauce on his chin, it beat trying to eat while seeing the feet.

“So it’s safe to assume this isn’t a typical human meal?” Pepper asked.

“No,” Bel said through a mouthful of garlicky meat. “Unless it’s a snack, blue food isn’t a thing.”

“What do you eat, then?” Marshmallow asked.

“Burgers, macaroni, pizza, spaghetti—that kind of stuff.”

“Is it true some humans don’t eat meat at all?” Ginger chimed in, unable to resist showing off her knowledge.

Cinnamon raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t they? If we didn’t eat meat, we’d die eventually.”

“Protein deficiency at its maximum,” Pepper agreed.

“It’s—”

“It’s called being a vegetarian,” Bel explained, cutting Ginger off. “They just eat fruits and plants and stuff like that.”

Pepper leaned forward. “By choice? They voluntarily restrict their nutrient intake?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Bel took another bite. “Not my family, though.” He paused, his chewing slowing.

“Do you miss them?” Pepper asked.

Bel shrugged.

Cinnamon broke the silence. “Look, our travel to your home is completely restricted right now, Belial. But we’ll see if we can accommodate your tastes better.”

“Whatever.”

When the meal was over, the familiar sense of dread returned. He could hear Cinnamon standing up.

“Alright. Let’s get ready for bed.”

“Do I have to?”

“Bathroom, then slipper.” Her fingers were already positioned to snap,.

“Wait.” He pulled off the blindfold and turned towards Marshmallow. She was attaching one of his drawings to the refrigerator with a small magnet—the caricature of her he had done earlier.

He hesitated.

Then he shuffled over and wrapped his arms around her in a quick hug. He held just long enough to press his face into her uniform before pulling away like he’d touched something sizzling.

“Night,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Marshmallow froze. She stood completely stunned, her hands still raised to the refrigerator. Then a radiant smile spread across her face.

She knelt down to his level and patted his back. “Goodnight, Bel.”

Cinnamon observed the exchange. After waiting for Bel to finish his business, she snapped her fingers.

The familiar stretching overtook his body. He shrank down to the size of a toy and landed in Cinnamon’s waiting palm.

She moved sluggishly with every step. When she reached her room, she set him down in the fuzzy slipper on the floor next to her bed.

Bel braced himself. Here it comes…

But it didn’t come. He peeked out cautiously. Cinnamon was simply looking at him. Had she changed her mind? Just as he thought all would be well, he saw her toes twitch.

Her enormous foot began to slide into the slipper. But this time, there was a gradual pressure rather than a violent smothering. It gave him time to adjust and find a position that wasn’t completely unbearable. Her foot finally settled around him, overwhelming but not crushing.

“Sleep well, Belial,” she murmured as she climbed into bed, pulling the sheets around herself.

He was still sleeping in a shoe. Still a prisoner among these elves. Still trapped in a never-ending nightmare. But as he curled up in the warm, cinnamon-scented prison, he didn’t feel the same despair as the night before. He’d fought back. He’d made them laugh. And one of them at the very least had shown him something other than contempt.

Maybe I can survive these two months, he thought, his eyelids growing heavy.

He was just drifting off, lulled by the soft sound of Cinnamon’s breathing, when he heard something. The bedroom door creaked open.

His eyes snapped wide open.

Soft footsteps padded across the floor, stopping right beside the bed. He could smell it—the citrus.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you, doodlebug?” The voice was soft, but Bel’s blood chilled. “You got a good laugh today. I want you to remember it. Savour it.”

He shuddered as the walls of the slipper pushed towards him.

“Because the next time I get to punish you, you’ll be begging to be back in Captain Cheesefoot’s little slipper. This is just the beginning, and I’m very creative when motivated.”

The footsteps retreated, and the door shut.

The flicker of hope that had been building in Bel disappeared, replaced by a new, creeping dread.

---

Author’s Note:
I believe this chapter’s tickling scene was the first I showed off to someone else, with the names obscured, to give them a taste of this story. Next time we’ll get a reminder of how sensitive Bel is about his own feet.