A bad girl
By Le Marquis
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night, not knowing where I am. Mostly it isn't completely dark because of the moon. But that can't comfort me.
Encased in a shiny ground as hard as linoleum floor covering I can't move much. Only the face is free. The whole body hurts like having muscle soreness. And at my pelvis the about seven foot wide floor is bend. It goes up almost vertical and ends 45° aslope in front of a dimly lit wall lined with coarse gray texture. All walls around are the same, absorbing every sound I make.
When my eyes at last become adjusted to the darkness I can read a label on a rectangular patch above my feet. And that's the moment when the memories of my last years come back...
*
It was 9:30 PM, time to get ready for work. I jumped into the shower, brushed my teeth and nervously watched the clog, relieved not having to shave too. Since my wife sold me to the nightclub nearly two years ago, my face and head stayed completely hairless because of a potion I got there.
Well, it may sound implausible, but outside the club I was a common husband, happily married with Heather for 15 years. And selling me was the best way to end my unemployment – she said.
Half an hour later I hit the street, entered the stuff entrance and unclothed myself as always, butting on an black catsuit made of latex. My frame was good enough to act as a Chippendale, but my duties were much less pleasant; even to me. So I walked into a dark chamber, laid myself on one of eight beds made of wooden laths assembled like a shutter and was fixed by a young associate called Laura.
She put leather straps around my neck, chest, waist, legs and feet. When finished she turned a big crank handle and let me vanish in a hole behind. I became 45° bend, drifted downwards and touched a sheet of thick rubber. Then my neck was bend another 45°. So the face slipped upside down in a mask covered with small holes for the eyes and nostrils and a slit over the mouth.
With the eyes at ground level I now saw the opposite of the wall, being absolutely invisible or rather unrecognisable for the all-female guests. In one hour the first arrived, and that was the begin of my usual shift without break until the club closed at four a clock in the morning. The payment was small, and so at home my wife was wearing the trousers.
Often I watched the entrance hall from this point of view, but only one time like them. It was when she brought me in. I saw the eight rubber faces protruding from the wall, each one in front of a white leather chair. Six men were fixed head first and two with the chin facing the floor.
The last named was my first workplace where I basically cleaned dirty shoe soles. And one time I was forced to shove my tongue in sandals, right under the massive naked toes of a mature member. I suspect it was the senior boss testing the loyalty of freshmen.
My next position brought the tongue atop the toe-caps. Wiping it shiny without chemicals was the best for expensive leather. And I did it very deferent since shoes are the women's sanctuaries. When the job was done, they usually used my upper teeth to scrap off the dirt of the soles. Then I had to swallow it to offer the next guest a clean mouth.
Meanwhile I knew the frequenters very well. Most of them were women of my age, during the day working at offices and in the evening acting like dominatrices. When hitting the floor of the nightclub even charwomen turned into mistresses. And I really can't say which facet was the true one!
The guests always showed up well dressed, wearing expensive suits combined with high heeled pumps, or classy evening gowns and strappy sandals. The hard working business ladies usually came directly from the office. And seeing one, possibly wearing those stinky fawn stockings my mother always bought, I understandably hoped, cleaning their shoes may be all I have to do.
Mostly I got away lucky because of other comrades doing the sniffing-job much better. Some of them were placed under the glass-panels of the dance floor and forced to breathe through small holes, since especially the office-chicks preferred to dance without shoes.
Unfortunately I worked in the town where I grew up. So the toe-caps forced into my mouth sometimes belonged to known girls and women, mostly former classmates. Also my mother and her sister owned a club-card. And that's the main reason why the slaves in the wall had to be unrecognisable and quiet alike inanimate tools.
Not even my wife used me consciously, because nobody was allowed to tell anyone which rubber mask contained whose face. So when she came over, she only could pretend its me. And this wasn't easy for everyone, because Heather is one of those feared business ladies. Her pumps contain two of the cruellest cheesy feet on god's earth.
I cant tell how debasing it was to become abused by the same person who sold me. And the money I got she spend down at the bar during one evening. But my sweetheart was fair enough never to use a shoe-cleaner after stepping on dog-shit. Of course, in this milieu that's not self-evident!
Worshipping elegant women altogether was inoffensive and the sexiest experience of my life. I felt save, because officially youths weren't allowed due to the alcohol and the half naked Chippendales acting as dinner trays. But some girls are riper than others. And some girls have parents like the local mayor and higher. They're mighty, used to get all they want and insufferable arrogant.
Well, those bitches didn't become full members, but they could use all facilities. And one facility contained me, a 35 years old man! It was all but easy to worship a 16 years old pupil acting like a lady. But whoever the bouncer let in was a femme fatale without any restrictions.
The most debasing of all was, that these kids didn't show up with jeans and flats. No, they wore high heels, nylon stockings and shiny red nails. Of course, it wasn't easy to fight shameful dirty thoughts!
*
The next evening, after sucking on the shoes and toes of the same malicious secretary who was responsible for my dismissal, the most arrogant girl I ever met walked strait in my direction, sat down on the Chair and let me clean her dusty black pumps. At last she couldn't see, that she actually had her stepfather in use, the more so as she didn't even know I was here. Heather always told her, I would work for the government on a top-secret project.
The 17 years old grammar school pupil was the worst nightmare for her classmates. And right now she became the hottest hell I ever had to endure. Rebecca looked like a double of her mother – tall, white skinned, freckles around the nose and wearing long copper-blond curls. If I would have been much younger and single, she would have been my dream-girl. But during the last 15 years she became my own daughter!
After a while she stood up and made my predicament thousand times worse, because now she turned and did the only right thing to make me as docile as possible. She slipped out of her right shoe and banished my rubber covered nose in the damp cavern of her naked toes. The sight was like heaven, but the smell was worse than hell. Her odour even overtrumped her mother's most deadly weapon!
I had less time to regenerate myself since she wasn't the only guest. Next came the red boots of her friend and then a sweet strange girl with curly blond hair, wearing golden sandals. Usually I even couldn't see a knee, but this angel stood far enough to show me all her glory. And sucking on her cute toes was by far the day's most pleasant experience!
A lot of the women I only knew from seeing. They were distant neighbours, employees of supermarkets or officials I once had to meet. But sometimes I had to deal with old friends, their grown daughters and even my family doctor Mrs Dr. Maier. But nothing was as humiliating as becoming abused by the 30 years old woman I called sister. Of course, it was a small town!
More and more I longed for the promised change, getting one of the comfortable places inside the bar, right under the tables of separated seating areas. There my face would protrude uncovered from the floor, acting as a warm footstool.
The main reason why I longed for this job was my 42 years old boss. Sometimes in the morning, when the front door was closed, she sat there, smoked a last cigarette and aired out her tired feet.
Well, I'm surely not the guy preferring riper vegetables, but she was the combination of all I associated with strong femininity. In a certain way she embodied the adult giantess of my prepubertal visionarinesses.
I often dreamt about her. And in these dreams she was what I saw on the marble floor of the entrance hall. I saw nothing but heavy feet on high heels, sometimes wearing sandals and showing strong mature toes with red nails bend like drags. And when she walked away, I watched the chewing motion of massive heels framed by horseshoe shaped calluses.
In some of my dreams I was a piece of food for her hungry right foot. Then the hard skin was a row of white teeth, the flat red heel the palate, the long sole the esophagus and the ball of her foot the entrance to an always wet stomach you couldn't escape.
One night I imagined to be installed in a wall of leather instead of stone. I was lying on my back and my head, covered with texture, was sewn into the tip of a suffocating warm lined over-knee boot. So I looked straight rearwards along my body, saw her naked toes rubbing down the vertical sole and opened the mouth to welcome the long second toenail. After the zipper was closed I had to push my tongue under the nail and lick the spicy gab as long as she wore her piercing loud stiletto boots.
33 years of my live, less the timespan up to puberty, I was a secret admirer of female feet. However I lived a normal live.
Now my whole world was reduced to what women simply called their shoes. It changed my whole point of view and my thinking too. And that's why I had nothing better in mind than a promotion to footstool.
Seen from a global perspective it was a debasing job. But it was much better than acting as a human toilet, drinking the guest's pee and swallowing turds or juicy tampons.