Somebody had spiked the punch at our swimming party, with foot wine.

I didn't realize it until I saw the empty bottles with the handsome foot label, in the wastebasket under the kitchen sink. We'd put the punchbowl out by the pool about a half hour ago, while the guys were still trying to wrestle one another off each others' shoulders in the pool. The game was still going on, only the guys were laughing more and sounding louder and slurred and a lot more stupid.

"Gimme those feet," they were crying out to each other.

"No, gimmee your feet."

"I want those four feet of yours."

I took a look out the sliding glass door. Sure enough, they were drunk on the foot wine-spiked punch. You could tell because they were all taller and a lot more broad-shouldered and muscular, and they had all become sexually irresistable, newly four-legged and wristfooted because of the foot wine. It had become a four-footed love-in, as the beautiful feet sprouted everywhere, the guys trying to clasp each other's huge, beautiful feet to their muscular bodies, many of the handsome guys mating with each other and with each other's feet.

Some of the guys had drunkenly hauled each others' four-footed bodies out of the pool and onto the lawn, where they mated, ravishing each others' feet, their giant penises pulsing great jets and gobs of come everywhere; naturally, their hind legs sprouted their own huge penises in addition to the huge penises between their front legs.

I looked for my blonde god Adam, who was naked and glorious, dripping wet from the pool, drunken and four-footed. He was trying to coordinate his four beautiful feet and carry a big cup of the foot wine-spiked punch in his giant, gorgeous wristfeet, his front and hind penises so huge and heavily aroused that they bobbed and swayed slowly, dripping precum. His hind penis was smearing precum from its enormous head onto Adam's front legs, his frontal balls and his underbelly between his four long, clumsy legs.

"Where are you?" he cried, looking for me. I yelled to him from the door opening, aroused to see his beautiful body so centaurlike with its four beautiful legs and its four handsome male feet, and its two wristfeet so carefully trying to hold the cup of foot wine-spiked punch.

He turned clumsily towards my direction and smiled at me, his wristfeet holding the cup of punch, and carefully tried to step his four wine-clumsied feet over the mating bodies of all the drunken naked wristfooted boytaurs.

"S'for you," he slurred through his beautiful lips. He was taller and more godlike than I had ever dreamed. "I wanna mate with you four-legged and wristfooted."