I was strapped, face up, on the sole of the clear plastic high heel.  Thick threads that would seem miniscule to the casual observer bound each leg and arm, splaying my naked body helplessly.  A final thread crossed my chest and, like the others, led down pin-sized holes of the plastic and were tied underneath the high heel.

My body was positioned near the bottom of the woman's footwear, right above the area that would be filled by the ball of a women's foot if worn, my legs slightly higher due to the incline of the shoe.  I struggled against my bonds, straining my arms and legs, wriggling them in turn to see if I could loosen the restraints and gain some slack.  Methodically, I twisted as much as my thread-chains allowed, yet the threads did not give.  My skin burned from the vice-like grip of the dark fiber, and I finally gave up, exhausted.  My heart continued to race even as I stopped struggling.  Looking up, the huge expanse of a worn, thread-bare couch loomed over me. 

I was only a half-inch in height.

******************

TWO HOURS EARLIER

I sat on the tiny bed, running my hands on the leather surface.  I had never seen such a small bed; it was fairly low to the ground, and tucked against a wall decorated in cheap Asian flowers.  Near the bed was a low table, now covered with all of my clothes, save a pair of boxers that still remained on my body.  A tiny chair was placed near the bed, and the dim, quiet room maintained its air of claustrophobia. 

Finally, the door to the room opened, and the Asian masseuse walked in and sat on the chair.  She was older than I expected; late-40's at least, if not older.  A thick layer of multi-colored make-up unsuccessfully hid her various wrinkles; her long black hair was tied in a large bun on her head.  Long eyelashes winked at me, and her short, somewhat thick stature sat rather business like on the chair beside me.  Though not the young, sexy Asian I had hoped for, her olive-colored skin and deep, brown eyes still belied an air of attractiveness.

"Take off all clothes," she said quickly and with a slight shrill in her voice.  Nervously, I slid my boxers off and placed them with a trembling hand with the remainder of my clothes.

*******************

The straps of the high heel, dangling unconnected high above me, began to sway, followed by deep vibrations within the plastic underneath me.  My body shook, each thunderous boom followed immediately by another, rythmic and growing louder.  I strained my head to look around for the source of the bass noise, but my vantage point only allowed a view of the dirty couch.  My body shook more violently as the crashing booms began to issue from all around me, until a dark shadow immersed the shoe and myself.

A monumental form passed over my tiny body, so large and immense that my brain found difficulty in placing all the various parts together into a cohesive picture.  The form then turned, standing between the high heel and the couch.  It was the Asian "mother" whom I had angered earlier.  Her enourmous height seemed like a skyscraper from my puny position, and I ogled at the impossibility of her size.  Earlier, she had been short, almost "round" in appearence, yet now, she was a giantess of the largest proporation. 

Her thick Asian legs and bare feet dissapered into an orange-and-green patterened skirt just above her knees.  A shiny wrap-like shirt covered her body and did a terrible job of concealing her large breasts.  The sleeveless shirt exposed two giant arms, thick (clearly in need of some exercise), yet strangly erotic in their feminine curves.  Her lips were a dark shade of read, her cheeks covered in red blush, her eyes surrounded by layers of blue eyeshadow.  Her hair remained in the tight bun.  All this was no different from earlier, yet now, as I lay underneath her with her large, brown eyes locked onto my naked body, I found each detail mesmerizing in sheer complexity and size.  A look of displeasure was on her face.

*******************

ONE HOUR EARLIER

The massage had lasted longer than I thought.  Initially, she had asked me to lay on my chest.  I obliged, the cold leather not entirely comfortable on my penis and naked body.  With vigorous intent, she had started on my shoulders, kneading them like so much dough as she worked her way down my spine.  Her fingers felt amazingly strong; the skin was soft, but I knew she had done this enough to create a strong sensation with her hand.

She had rubbed my ass, creating a tingling sensation in my penis, followed by some relaxing yet firm massaging on the back of my legs.  My head rested on a tiny pillow, the dim room quiet except for some stereotypical Asian music pumped in from a concealed speaker.

Finally, she rubbed my feet, then released her grip.  "Okay, you turn ovah," she said nonchalantly.

I obeyed, feeling a bit like a schoolchild taken to the principal's office.  I then lay on my back, with my penis totally exposed, and a feeling of exposure briefly took over before she began rubbing my chest.  She must have bathed in perfume before coming into the room; the thick, flowerly scent not only permeated the room, it hung in the air like a cloying fog.  Each movement from the Asian "mother" seemed to emit more, as if she had a dispenser hidden behind her.  The scent of roses, fruit, and potpourri was overwhelming.  Just as I felt the perfume might give me a headache, her hands passed over my penis.

"This is it!" I thought to myself.  "The reason I came to this massage parlour! The famed 'happy ending'!"

The Asian mother sat back in the chair, and looked at me with an expression of pure business and even boredom.  Whatever pleasure I had derived from the experience was just another day for her--another customer.  I was another random face who had appeared inside the tiny lobby of this hole-in-the-wall "massage parlour" expecting the coup de gras.

"Massage fifty dollah.  You have fifty dollah?" she asked in the shrill, quiet voice. 

"Um, yes," I stammered.

"You want happy ending, make him happy?" she asked.  She lightly placed her hand on my penis, instantly creating arousal in it.  "Eighty dollah.  Good deal make him happy."

"Okay," I replied.  I had at least that much in my wallet.  A bit steep, I felt, for such an experience, but reasonable enough to perhaps warrant a future visit if she had skill with that hand.

"Okay," she said, reaching into a bag next to her.  She removed a small plastic container with oil and spread it into her thick, Asian hands.

******************   

The Asian giantess lowered herself on the couch, crashing down on the old fibers and sending plumes of dust into the air.  Either she and the other ladies never cleaned, or the various layers of make-up must have accumulated on all the surfaces of the parlour.  A giant "whoosing" sound was followed by the painfully loud groans of old springs inside the couch cushions.  Old, splintered wood cracked and snapped as the couch bore its occupant. 

I struggled again with the fibers keeping me tied to the high heel, but to no avail.  The Asian mother leaned forward on the couch, issuing more groans of protest from the old furniture.  Placing her elbows on her knees, she pointed a long, overly-decorated fingernail at me.  My entire field of vision seemed dominated by this woman, her lips pursed together in a sign of anger and frustration. 

"You pay now," her voice boomed.  Before, she had sounded shrill, but now, her giantess size created a deep voice that echoed around the entire room (to me, at least), and my ears rang with the painfully high decibals.  I winced, truly frightened for the first time and wishing I could cover my ears with cotton. 

*********************

FOURTY-FIVE MINUTES EARLIER

"You pay now," she said, wiping her hands with a cloth, having done the same for my penis.  Initially, the hand-job wasn't working, but the Asian woman knew how to work around that, obviously, for before long I had ejaculated into her hand and onto my stomach.  "Eighty dollah."

Laying in the bed, relieved and relaxed, I reached for my shorts and removed my wallet.  I then sat up, and thumbed through leather folds.  I didn't see my money.  My face red, I looked again, looking between credit cards.  Where was my cash?  With a start, I realized I had left the money on kitchen counter; ironically, I had been counting it to see how much I could bring to the massage parlour.

"Okay, eighty dollah now," she replied.  She was getting on my nerves. 

I felt totally embarrassed.  "Do you take credit cards?" I asked meekly.

"Only cash.  You pay now. I give good happy ending."  A look of ire flashed across her less-than-genial face. 

"Look," I said nervously, "I don't have cash.  I'll get some and come back, okay?" Yeah right! I guess I wouldn't be returning after all.

"You say eighty dollah.  This cost eighty dollah."  She stood up, surprising me.  Didn't she understand? I, myself, was getting angry.

"Look, lady," I said, standing as well, my penis still semi-hard and pointing at the women who was made it "happy."  "I...don't...have it.  I'm sorry.  I will return with the money."

Looking down, I noticed her toenails were painted red with tiny white flowers.  Her short, stubby toes were scrunched in obvious anger.  I noticed how large and voluptious were her big toes.

"You pay now.  Need eighty dollah."  She reached down inside of her bag and removed some of her perfume--as if she needed more!

My face felt red, and seeing that this conversation was going nowhere, I reached for my clothes.  Either she would beleive my story about returning, or she would lose the money--that simple!

As I began sliding my boxers back onto my body, the Asian mother moved with surprising speed and sprayed the perfume into my face, having to reach up to do so.  A new scent, unlike the flowerly aroma that cloaked her body, went into my nostrils.  This scent was one of bitter herbs, and I began to cough as the mist clogged my throat and stung my lungs.  I took a deep breath, only to increase the painful sensation.  What the hell was she doing?

I sat down, coughing, trying to clear my throat of the grassy, stinging spray.  My head began to feel light, and I closed my eyes to steady myself.  I felt drunk, and my body began to grow numb.  I felt as if I was falling into a well or hole, and tried to open my eyes.  Instead, the light-headed feeling grew until I lost consciousness. 

After the Asian "mother" of the massage parlor had sprayed me, I had woken up to find myself strapped to the cheap, plastic high-heel.

Now, the very same woman loomed over me as she sat on the old couch, the dim light of the room concealing all but the giantess and her seat; the musty fragerance of various cheap perfumes surrounded the shoe and my tiny body.  In the distance, I heard the light lilt of the silly Asian music playing on some hidden speakers.

I had no idea into which room she (or someone else) had placed me; the sounds of the lonely street outside could no longer be heard.  I thought I detected voices in an adjoining room, chatting in an obviously foreign language.  I struggled again with the threads strapping me like a science class speciman to a petri dish, but found no release or slack.

"You pay now!" she boomed again, shaking my body to its core. 

How did she expect me to pay? I had clearly indicated my wallet contained no money, and by now, I assumed she and her compatriots had rifled through my belongings looking for payment. 

A tired expression crossed over her face, and she leaned back on the couch, springs creaking in unison.  My heart pounded as I pondered her next move.  Why had she strapped me to this shoe? Where did she even find plastic high-heels to purchase anyway?

"Please!" I shouted.  If she heard me, her giant, distant face gave no indication.  "I'm sorry! I can get some money and come back!"

She didn't respond, merely looking at me with an expression that told me her mind was a million miles away.  For all I knew, she was thinking about what to cook for tomorrow night's dinner.

I tried a different tactic, my naked body feeling helpless below the massive female above me.  "Take my credit card! Take as much as you want! Just let me go!"

Again, nothing.  I gave up, wondering if she was ignoring me, or if my tiny form could not produce an audible voice in such a caveranous room.  I relaxed, and took a deep breath.  She was in control; and whatever she was going to do next was beyond my ability to stop.  I realized I was at her mercy, yet remained confounded as to her plan.  Was she holding me hostage until another "massuese" used my credit card to drain my account?  If only I had brought my cash!

The Asian mother then shifted, her gaze drifting away from me towards some point in the room behind the high-heel.  I heard another voice behind me, speaking in the Asian language.  Clearly, whoever was behind me was much younger that the mother--perhaps younger than myself, even--and the woman in front of me responded loudly, clear disappointment in her voice.  The lady behind me sounded attractive, and I briefly wondered why she hadn't given me the massage.

I heard light thumps on the  ground as the girl left the room, and the giantess before me returned her gaze to my body.  "Okay," she said, her voice deep and shrill at the same time, "No money, so you pay here."

She shifted again on the couch.  Again I wondered how she expected me to pay.

I watched as her left knee rose slightly, her body so large and gigantic that her movements seemed to play in slow-motion before my eyes.  Her knee rose even higher, her thick leg a lovely shade of light brown--olive-colored, even.  Then, before my limited perspective, I watched as her left foot appeared from behind the shoe and rose high above the ground.

I looked at her pudgy foot and short, stubby toes, her skin clearly softened by daily and copius amounts of lotion.  Her toenails, I recalled earlier, had been intricately painted with red and white designs, but now, all I saw was the underside of her foot--her sole.

Her skin was slightly dimpled, both from her age but also a slight layer of fat.  All in all, the Asian mother was very feminine and attractive, yet time had given her curves a rounder appearence and a wrinkled skin that betrayed her true age.

I watched as her foot remained poised in the air, seemlingly hanging for an eternity.  Her sole was slightly flushed red, perhaps from having walked here from our "massage" room earlier.

I remained motionless. 

Then, slowly, delicately, her foot lowered toward the shoe and myself.  I watched as the foot increased in size as it drew closer to the plastic footwear, and as it neared my tiny body, it began to hide her leg from my view.  As it touched the top of the high-heel, her body disappeared from view, and the shoe shook slightly at the contact. 

The giantess foot then moved even closer, and she pointed her toes downward, enabling me to see the tips of her toenails.  She moved her foot closer still, until my entire viewpoint could spy nothing but her olive-colored skin.  As her thick skin grew before me, I began to notice finer lines and wrinkles that only someone as microscopic and oddly placed as I was would ever notice.

Finally, the foot was directly above me, and once again her perfume--the musty, flowery, fruity aroma that had so pervaded her when we initially met--overwhelmed me.  If her foot smelled like that, maybe she really had bathed in the pefurme as I had earlier surmised!

Instead of actually strapping the high-heel to her foot properly, she seemed content to merely lower her foot directly above my body.  I was now in near darkness, only the faintest outline of her foot perceivable as it dominated my view.  My heart pounded relentlessly, and I felt more trapped than ever in my life.  What was she planning?

Surely...surely she wasn't going to...step on me? Judging by the size of her foot, even the slightest pressure would almost certianly crush me! 

Then, the foot lowered more, until it remained just above my body and just out of reach.  So close was her sole now to my own naked form that I could literally feel the heat emanating and radiating from her skin.  So close was her foot that the sickeningly powerful perfume was now mixed with a more natural, base and funky odor--her foot smell! 

Had my arms not been strapped next to me on the plastic, I could easily have reached out and touched her foot.  So, this was her plan? Punish me for my non-payment by making me smell her foot? As her foot-smell began to overpower the perfume, I wondered if she had only bathed in perfume and not bodywash!

Her foot seemed to remain still, and my quickening heart-rate forced me to inhale quicker and deeper with each breath.  Try as I might, I couldn't help but to fill my lungs with the foot smell and the perfume.  I imagined my lungs coated with both, and as I exhaled, I could taste both odors on my tongue and inside my nose.

Too nervous to speak, I merely waited for her to raise her foot back from the shoe. 

Instead, she did the unthinkable.

She lowered her foot further.

Before I could even gasp or issue a cry of protest, she foot continued its downward descent, and her skin come closer until it began to form contact with my own. 

First, my chest felt the incredible heat of her sole as the lightest touch of skin was replaced by a heavier weight.  Then, her skin fell to my legs, instantly covering them in a sole so warm that I felt dipped in a spa bath.  Next, my arms were submerged in her soft, oderous sole, and finally, the Asian mother's foot reached my face.  I turned my head to the side, placing it against the cheap plastic, but to no avail.  Her skin then covered my face and head, and I found myself in total darkness with the other cheek pressed uncomfortably against the plastic.

Initially, the weight wasn't unbearable.  It felt comparable to a heavy, hot-leather bean-bag large enough to drape over a human.  The heat was amazing, and I could literally feel the blood pumping beneath her skin.  My own temperature seemed to rise accordingly, and my heart raced dangerously fast.

But then, her skin became heavier.  The initial pressure, which I almost found pleasurable, despite the pain on my cheek, was replaced by another level of weight, and at this my body began to issue its first sign of protest.

My knees became compressed first, and I heard them both pop slightly.  The pain was farily sharp, and was followed by a light, harmless crack from my torso as my bones and ribs adjusted to the new burden.  Then, the pain in my knees intensified as her foot became heavier on top of my little body, and my muscles began to ache as they were compressed and flattened unnaturally.  As the weight increased yet further, my body began to issue various pin-pricks of pain that jolted me repeatedly, and I unconcsiously tried to suck in air as a reaction against the pain.

That was when I realized the worst of my troubles.

My mouth found only thick, soft skin, the Asian mother's sole covering both my nostrils and lips.  Instead of oxygen, I sucked in only a slight bit of skin, and no fresh air become available to my body.  Worse still, the increasing pressure now forced air from my lungs, but the expelled air found no escape due to the skin covering my face.

I was suffocating.

Violently, I tried to wriggle free and find some modicum of oxygen for my body.  Instead, I was only greeted with more pain, as her foot become impossibly heavy and my body screamed in agony as the weight at last become totally unbearable.  I tried screaming, so panicked and pain-stricken that my mind reeled with fear and horror.

My bones popped again, and my muscles pinched and prodded me to move, yet I was cemented in place, unable to wiggle a finger, much less a leg or my head.  She had totally enveloped me in her hot sole, and I could feel the deep throbs of her blood pumping away, her own heart perhaps racing as she derived some sort of pleasure from my torture.  At any moment, I fully expected to black out--and indeed, tiny needles of light began to invade my mind, and I felt my oxygen-starved body begin to spasm, despite my stationary and trapped position.

I now understood what she meant by "You pay now."  I was paying with my life for having broken our deal back in the massage room, as she covered my shrunken, helpless body beneath her giantess foot. 

My head throbbed mercilessly.  For the briefest of moments, I tried to make sense of the intense pain.  A hangover? From what party?

Deep, thick darkness shrouded my body, and I reached up to massage my scalp, only to feel my left arm restrained.  Confused, I attemped to raise my other arm, only to discover that it, like my legs, was unresponsive.  Struggling against an unseen confinement, I wiggled my body and began to panic.

Then I remembered.

The Asian parlour "mother"! Her foot! My body--shrunk! 

Her foot! Hovering over me...descending upon me...covering me...crusing me!

I recalled it all.  I had failed to pay a measly 50 dollars, and had been treated to the mother's "punishment," which I suspected now was as much a pleasure trip for her as it was any kind of penalty leveled against me.  I could still feel, mentally, the immense weight that had ground my body against the unforgiving plastic.  I must have passed out from lack of oxygen, explaining the massive headache.

I aborted my struggle and decided to lay still.  I had no power to free myself; any further effort to do so would only weaken me even more.  I was at her disposal now, and if I wanted to survive this unimaginable situation, I would have to calm down and try to find additional means of freedom.  Maybe I could strike some kind of bargain with her.

At that moment, searing white light replaced the comforting darkness.  I squinted my eyes, desperate to shield my face with a hand.  As I slowly opened my eyes, I could make out a famaliar form hovering over me.  The Asian mother.

As my eyes adjusted, I found myself still bound to the high heel, which had now been placed on the old couch.  The mother sat beside me, causing the couch to shake.  I didn't say a word.  She looked at me with a face that indicated this situation was more business to her than pleasure.  Perhaps I had misjudged her!

The mother leaned over me, her giant breasts dominating my view.  I turned my head and watched as she reached under the shoe, and after a moment, I felt the straps keeping me in place loosen with a light snapping sound, until I was finally able to move my arms and legs.  Instantly, I sat up, then tried to stand, only to fall back to the plastic in a fetal position.

The pain in my muscles was matched by the agony I felt in the joints of my arms and legs.  Aside from a headache, my body felt bruised and battered, and I struggled to breathe as the pain only slightly subsided.  I had indeed been tortured!

Coughing, I sat up again, holding my kness and feeling painfully naked.  Even my testicles throbbed, and I hoped no permanent damage had befallen them.  I looked over to the mother, whose giant breasts still hovered over my body.  Was she freeing me? I begged it to be true.

"You no pay.  That no good customah." She spoke gently, though the sound still boomed around my tiny form. 

"I'm...I'm sorry!" I cried out.  I wasn't sure if she could hear me.  My lungs felt empty and sore, and my throat scratched with each breath.  "Please!" I rasped.  "Make me normal again!"

She only smiled matter-of-factly, as if she had expected this request from me and had long made her mind up as to her response.  "That 25 dollah crush," she said plainly.  "You still owe 25 moh dollah."

I couldn't believe what she was saying.  Was she indicating the punishment...was only half over? I tried to stand, desperate to flee the shoe and willing to fling myself to the couch below.  As I reached my feet, the Asian mother reached toward me and pinched me between her thumb and index finger.  Two hot pillars of soft skin encapsulated my body, leaving only my head and feet free.  I was buried between her fingers, and she brought me toward her slightly-wrinkled face.

I struggled between her fingers, and she repayed me by squeezing harder, compressing me tightly.  I felt the muscles in her fingers working to keep me still, and I once again relaxed, allowing her will to be done with my puny body.

As I was brought toward her face, I could smell the perfume drifting off the tips of her fingers, fililng my lungs yet again.  Positioned directly in front of her face, I noticed how much larger her wrinkles were when viewed from this vantage point.  Her lightly-browned skin and heavy makeup remained untouched from our last meeting.

I watched as she pursed her lips together and blew lightly against my face.  Her hot breath smelled strongly of brown rice and various grassy herbs.  I turned my face, unable to take a breath as the hot air passed over my eyes and nose, burning my eyes.  When she stopped, I inhaled as much as her thumb and finger allowed.  She repeated the process again, my hair feeling swept as if caught in a particularly violent wind-storm.  She blew on my face longer this time, so much that even my feet became hot, and I felt the moisture from her mouth began to build on my skin.  She stopped, and I again savored the paltry oxygen that creeped into my lungs.

She blew on my helpless face a third time, and as she continued the bizarre behavior, I detected movement inside her fingers.  My penis was struggling to become erect, pressed as it was against her thumb.  She, too, must have felt the sensation, for she then placed me in the palm of her over hand, removing her thumb and finger.  As I sat down and filled my pained lungs with more oxygen, I glaned at my crotch and discovered that I, indeed, had been quite turned on by the experience. 

She smiled, and then engaged in a fairlry shrill bit of laughter, finally stopping by saying, "You want moh? You want happy ending twice? That make 75 dollah you owe."

I didn't understand.  75 dollars?

Suddenly, the hand and I descended toward the floor, making me momentarily nasaus.  I held on to a slightly rough patch of hot skin, my butt feeling oddly comforted on her palm. 

I watched as she placed her palm near the ground, directly next to her left foot.  Her giant toes and foot then raised from the floor, and I watched agape as her big toe hovered over her plam and my little body.  The underside of her big toe was flushed from her walk, the skin reddish against the backdrop of lighter brown.  Small, visible strands of delicate blue carpet fibers became visible as she lowered the massive boulder towards my body, miniscule wrinkles only detectable by the best of magnifying glasses becoming quite obvious to my eyes.

I fell to my back, and hands, arms and legs instinctively splayed out in all directions.  As the toe blocked off my view of her face, a new wave of heat swept from its underside, and I felt my penis grow painfully fast amidst this new stimulus.

Unable to speak, I tensed my muscles and bracked for more crush, the aroma of the perfume washing over my body.  As the lowest bit of skin from her toe lighly settled on my heaving chest, I heard her speak again.

"You like.  I know you like.  You make big stick."

I couldn't deny it.  The warmth of her skin...the total dominance of a slightly older Asian women over my shrunken form...her punishment that both defied logic and sanity...it was practically intoxicating.  My penis throbbed in anticipation, more so than it had after her initial massage so long ago. 

Ever so gently, more skin was allowed to rest upon my chest, slowly covering my stomach and stopping short of both my penis and my mouth.  Her control over her toe and palm amazed me.  I wondered how many people had been "punished" before me.

I felt my heart throb, my headache gone and all thoughts resting upon how impossibly hot her toe was.  The pressure was real but not unbearable.  I could barely detect the rough carpet fibers against my chest and stomach, and without any forethought, I reached my head toward her skin and began to lick the underside of her toe as my arms lay trapped beside me. 

I continued licking, raising my head over and over again, desperate to get the taste of her skin inside my mouth.  My tongue scoured her surprisngly rough skin, bits of carpet getting stuck to my lips.  I ignored them, and as I licked her toe, I inhaled as much odor from her foot as my lungs would accomadate.  The base odor of her foot was matched by the thick perfume, and all rational thought left my mind.

I continued licking the hot toe, allowing its heat to enter my mouth, and just as I began to hump my penis toward her skin, she seemed to anticipate that desire and lowered her toe further upon my body until she had covered all aspects of my person expect my face.  The pressure on my body was tight, confining, but just light enough to allow friction against my penis as I ground it back and forth against her toe, losing all feeling in my member as her hot skin covered my naked form like spa water.

Even as I licked her foot, I felt the Asian mother, ever so slightly, grinding her toe in response to my movements, delicately joining my penis in a perverted, sexual dance, her pressure increasing, releasing, and increasing in just the right rythem so that my whole body began to shake with desire.  Whereas moments before, I had been frightened of her dominance, I now craved her power over me, and found myself actually biting into the skin of her toe, desperate to rip off even a shred of skin and swallow it.

As I bit into her toe, I was only slightly aware of her moaning, and I vaguely wondered if she was "egging" me on, or pleasuring herself as she rubbed her big toe back and forth against my member.

I didn't care.  Consumed by lust, my mouth filled with the flavor of her foot, my penis lost in an endless torrent of hot skin, I ejaculated, my penis continuing to grind.  I spasmed again and again, freeing my burden on her toe, the pressure of her toe making the process painful, as I felt my penis slightly blocked.  I ceased biting her toe, and cried out in pain as she continued grinding my penis, the ejaculate escaping slowly.  She finally released some pressure from my groin, and I spasmed again, finally expelling myself on her toe and breathing out deeply.  I had finished, and my body instantly fell limp, perhaps more exhausted than ever.  For a brief moment, I fell in love with the Asian mother, and wished the torture a thousand times longer.

As my ejaculation stopped, the Asian mother removed her toe from my body, and I became aware again that I had been pressed against her palm the entire time, though I was now bured quite deep in the folds of her skin.  My body felt sweaty, and I was stuck to her palm as her toe ascended from my chest and legs, no doubt covered in a copious amount of my release.

I lay in place, unable to move, and as I regained some compusure, a wave of guilt flowed over me.  I had never felt such ecstacy.  The momentary love I felt for the mother gave way to one of confusion as I pondered my actions.  How could I have allowd myself to give in to her toruture? To derive such pleasure from it?

As I looked up at her face, so far away now as she leaned back a bit, a small, business-like smile emerged. 

"That cost you 50 moh dollah.  Now you owe 75 dollah.  You pay moh now."

Ice ran through my blood.  Had she planned this? Had she devised this situation to "force" me to owe more money? She raised her palm back towards the shoe on the couch.  As I was brought closer to the plastic prision, my testacles began to ache once more.   

The Asian mother brought me closer to my former plastic prison, a particularly cheap-looking high-heel with special "straps" laced through the sole. I imagined another session of foot-crush, bound to the hard, clear surface, was in store for me.

I was wrong.

Instead of placing me back on the plastic sole, now obviously greasy as I looked from my vantage point on her palm, she used her other hand to slide back the plastic directly over the thick heel section.  The panel, seemingly the size of a quarter, was engineered to be seamless with the rest of the sole, but now I noticed a tiny hinge that allowed it to swivel, creating a hole in which the hollow heel could be accessed.

Amazed at the intricacy of the shoe's design, and frightened by the realization that these women had spent time constructing such odd footwear, I initially failed to register that she was bringing me closer to the new hole.  Before I could react, she placed her plam along the new opening and tilted the shoe toward me, matching the angle with her palm until I slid from her hot, sticky skin onto the cool, hard plastic of the heel.  Then, she carefully tilted the heel upright on the couch, and I slid down the inside of the heel until I reached the plastic bottom.

I was now inside the shoe--the heel section, anyway--like a bug in small plastic cage.  Around me, the space was about the width of two phone-booths, though tall enough that I couldn't expect to jump and reach the top of the hole.  As I stood in disbelief, my feet uncomfortable on the clear plastic, I looked upward as the Asian mother swiveled the plastic covering back in place, essentially entombing me inside the high heel.  I feel to my butt, confused and concerned.

Around me, I could barely make out the room in which the Asian mother sat on the old couch.  The plastic obscured the view so that I could only make out vague shapes, colors and distorted forms; concievebly, then, no one on the outside could make out my tiny form inside the shoe, unless they had reason to inspect it very closely.

Looking back up, I noticed for the first time small holes that dotted the heel covering.  They were tiny, less then ten in number--but perhaps designed to allow enough oxygen into the tiny space to keep the captive alive.

I shuddered.  That's what I was, now--a captive.  I could no longer recall how much money I "owed" the mother and her parlour.  I doubted any payment would release me from this torture--though any sane person would agree I had paid it in full by now.  I had been crushed, almost to death, by her Asian foot.  Twice.  What more could she do to me?

As if to answer, she picked the shoe up and began lowering it to the floor.  I spread my arms out and tried to grip the slick sides of the heel, but found no purchase and slid around the plastic "floor" like a dog trying to balance himself in the backseat of a car.  Finally, I bounced up and landed with a painful "thud" as she placed the heel on the carpt. 

I looked up, trying to use the miniscule holes to get an accurate picture of what she was doing.  Though they afforded little perspective, I was able to discern that she was lowering her foot now--toward the shoe!

Standing up, I shouted and waved my hands, desperate to get a reaction from her and hopefully, some pity.

"Wait! Please!" I cried.  "I'm sorry! Please let me out! Please!"

No response.  I watched as the foot descened and completely covered my view upwards.  The shoe shook as her foot crashed down into place, her light-brown heel sealing my air-holes with her skin.  Her foot settled into place, and I watched as her blurry, giantess-form bent down and presumably strapped the heel to her foot.  After a few moments, she raised up, and I watched her repeat the process for her other foot.  Before I could steady myself, she then stood, and raised my prison-heel as she took her first steps with me as her captive inside her shoe. 

Bracing myself as best I could for the inevitable shock about to come, I leaned against the plastic while sitting down, trying to hug the sides.  Suddenly, the shoe crashed heavily against the floor, and I bounced up only smack against the plastic side, hitting my head and shoulder, followed by the sickening, roller-coaster motion of being drawn back up again.

Again and again, the Asian mother walked non-chalantly across the room and presumably deeper into the parlour, and I did my best to absorb the shock by spreading out my legs on the floor and using my hands to catch my body as I came smacking down each time.  Her very walking became a fight for my life as I did my best to keep from being knocked unconscious inside the shoe.

Whether or not anyone saw me under her foot, or for how long--or far--she had walked, I didn't know, but the nauseating motion finally stopped, and I found myself stable.  I breathed deeply, my stomach sick and my body sore from the day's (night's?) abuse.  I laid down on the floor, stretching out as best I could, which required that I bend my knees and raise my head against the side. 

I looked up, and only saw her skin pressing into the holes, totally sealing them off.  I wondered how long my oxygen would last, and if she shared my concern.  Now that I had time to rest, I could detect again the odor of her foot, mixed with the thick, foreign perfume.  It filled my tiny jail, and I knew that by now, my entire body must have smelled exactly like her foot.

I glanced around my prison, hoping to see a crack or other means of escape, but the plastic was seamless.  No doubt, she had built the "hole" on top--and included the straps--but the construction of the heel, however cheap it had been, was enough to keep me contained.  Then, for the first time, I noticed a bit of plastic near the "floor" that wasn't as distorted.  Crawling over to it, I was forced to lay completely on my belly to see through it. 

The tiny clear bit of plastic was the size of my head, and I could make out some words around and under it.  Perhaps it was an area of the shoe that bore the designer's name, but whatever fuzzy word appeared on the outside, fate had at least afforded me a tiny window to the outside world, though it was no less thick than the non-clear areas that surrounded me.

The Asian mother was inside what appeared to be a kitchen area, though the dim lighting made true details difficult.  I noticed the gigantic column of a decorated chair leg nearby, indicating that she was sitting.  Beyond the linoleum, black-and-white checkered floor, I noticed an equally massive woodend table, and beyond that, an old silver refridgerator.  Glancing to either side was hard due to the window's small size, but I thought I made out the shoes of other people.

Was she not alone? Would anyone else even help me if they noticed me? Maybe imprisonment was standard procedure around here anyway!

I rolled onto my back, frustrated.  Looking up at her bare skin, wishing I could at least touch it to gain some pleasure from my situation, I watched in joy as she lifted her heel.  Though her foot remained on the shoe, she removed her skin from the heel section as she arched her sole.  For a brief moment, I felt cool, fresh air seep inside before her massive sole came back down and sealed me inside yet again.  Whether she intended to give me oxygen, or had just streched her foot after hours of torturing a shrunken client, I wasn't sure.

Suddenly, the shoe twisted on the floor, and my view through the window changed.  The Asian mother stopped moving, and I found a new sight to behold--another person!

There, seated an a chair not far from my captor, was another woman.  From my vantage point, I could make out her entire left foot as it rested on a shoe.  Placed on a similar-looking plastic heel (without the matching captive, I deduced) was a lovely foot lighter in color than the mother's.  A dark red polish was applied to her giantess toes, which looked so smooth and succulent that my member grew hard again, despite the recent events.  Her foot wasn't strapped in, and I watched in awe as she arched her foot, the amazing folds of her sole's skin wrinkling up. The skin under the ball of her foot grew lighter as the pressure increased on the shoe.  She would lower her foot again, and I begged silently to be under that foot--if I had to be under any at all.  She repeated this process more than once.

Then, I heard voices as the deeper Asian mother talked to the mystery woman, who replied in the same unintelligable language, but with a very high tone.  What were they conversing about? Me? Other clients? Tonight's cuisine?

Realizing I had nothing to lose, I stood up and began smacking the plastic side with my palm.  I hit it again and again, hoping to get a reaction from the mother or, preferably, the other woman. 

When nothing happened (and not daring to use my toes to kick the plastic), I forced a fist and used its side to hit the wall harder.  I also began to yell.  I said nothing specific, but simply formed a series of "Hey!"'s and "Let me out!"'s.

Finally, the mother shook her shoe, and the slight vibration was enough to send me back down to my butt.  Looking up, the foot remained in place, the skin turning lighter around the holes in which it slightly sank.

I peered through my window again as I lay on my belly, and watched in surprise as the younger foot was placed closer to my prison.  The girl must have been standing, for now the shoe dominated my view, and I was barely able to see the side of her massive foot above me.

More talking ensued, and the girl laughed--a giggle, even--as her foot arched up and down again.  I found myself rubbing against the plastic under my belly, my penis feeling rough on the cool surface.  I wanted desperately to be under that foot, or even the mother's foot.  Anything but this tiny confinement, which began to create a sense of mild claustrophobia within me.

Before I could truly enjoy the sight, the mother began walking again, and I once more found myself bracing against each step.  Using the little window as an occasional guide, I was able to notice that we passed through the kitchen--then the couch room--and down a dark hallway.  Finally, we reached a small room that I recognized as the entrance! The sound of the front door greeted my ears, followed by the famaliar sounds and sights of the night-time parking lot!

As overjoyed as I was at my "freedom," my heart sank when I heard the old, rickety sound of a car door open, followed by the mother getting inside and sitting down.  I peered at a black, dirty car mat, bits of paper and crumbs littering the rubber.  I heard the door slam shut.  The rumbling, deafening sound of an engine roared to life, and the shoe shook violently.  She was leaving the parlour, destination unknown to me.