You would think I would be happy to clock of after a fourteen hour shift right? Well if you do you are wrong. That is part of the life of a slave, there is no let up. Its meant to be a hard life 24/7 what else would the point of a punishment be? As I trudged back along the street to my home ( or rather the home of my owners) I could not help but think how easy it would be to make a run for it. But what would be the point? They would fine me and I would only suffer more. Better to try and wait it out and pray that someone would help me and check my records.
I guess I need to tell you a bit about myself at this point. My name is Joe at the point I was shrunken all most six months ago I was a twenty two year old plumber. I did not have a girlfriend as such but there were a few girls who were what you might call friends with benefits. None of them have tried to find out what happened to me as far as I know. As for family well they were all dead. I was on my own in the world and doing well to right up until some air head young girl working at the town hall got me mixed up with someone else and condemned me to twenty five years of being a slave. Now no one calls me Joe, I am slave or sometimes Boy. My days of being treated as an equal are long over.
As I reach the house I can see that two cars are in the drive way tonight. That must mean that my owner’s oldest girl is over for a visit. Her well maintained miny cooper stands next to my owners SUV. Even something as simple as walking in-between these two cars is hard for someone my size. The wheels are about the same size as me and the smell of oil is strong. When I reach the door the smell only gets worse. There is a rack of shoes by the door and even though I have spent more time up close to these shoes than any man ever should the smell of them at face height still makes me wince. I slip through the “slave door” that my owner had put in and in to the bright hall. I can hear loud female voice echoing around from the living room. Even though the last thing I want to do it is go to my owner and her kids I know that if they find me out here I will get a beating so I head over to the half open door and stick my head around it. My owner Mistress Jen (short for Jenifer) is sitting in a large arm chair near the door, on the sofa her two kids are relaxing. Mistress Jen is a fifty four year old office worker who has keep herself in very good shape. Her grey hair hangs in a short bob around her slightly wrinkled but still very pretty face. She is dressed in her office clothes ( trouser suit, low sling back heels on her barefoot). When I first sore her I tried to beg her and tell her that I was not meant be this size but..well let’s just say that big black belt she wears around her trouser suit got a fair bit of use back then and now I don’t even bother asking her for help. “Well there you are slave boy!” she says “ I was half begins to think you had got lost along the way wasn’t I girls?” the two girls smile at this. They are Mistress Stacy a twenty eight year old who lives away from home. She is tall like her mum at around five foot elven meaning I come up to just below her knee. She is slightly cuverty than her mum but far from fat with a beaming white smile and long blond hair that hangs all most to her shoulders. Huge boobs, an ass that bigger than my whole body and a very fun loving personality make her a hit with the boys. Right now she is warring scruffy leggings and a hoody with her bare feet propped up on a foot rest the size nine soles all most as long as my body is tall facing me. Her half-sister ( from another father) is sat next to her. Nineteen year old misters Amy is a bit shorter all though still huge next to me at five foot five , with long black hair and almond colour eyes. She was every bit as pretty as her sister but with darker skin and a more sombre look at life. She was sat with her feet tucked up under her in a light summer top and shorts.
“You know what will become of you if you ever do try and run from us right?” Asks mistress Jen. “Yes mam I do.” I say bowing my head.
“Good, so how was work then?”
“It was good mistress I enjoyed it very much.”
“Well that’s good! You just love hard work don’t you?” She says her bright red lips twisting up in a grin.
“Yes I do hard work is my life I live to serve.” God I hate how a woman twice my age has so much power over me.
“Aww I know you do boy. Well while you were out working in the café quite a lot of jobs built up around here that need seeing to. You have not done the dusting to day yet, we will be needing some food and breaking open a bottle of wine would be good to, the rubbish needs to go out, the bath needs cleaning, my work shoes need a polish for tomorrow and then Stacy has a lot of washing for you to do so that will all need to be done for her I think that’s all for tonight.”
“Hang on mum I wanted one of those foot rubs its been a whole week since I had one” says Stacy.
“Ahh yes.” Says Jen. “I think I will take one to how about you Amy?”
“Sure”
“Ok then put the washing on then get us food then its foot rubs all round as we eat then you can crack on with the rest of the jobs.”
“Yes Mistress , thank you misters.” I say as I back out of the room. In one of the first bouts of begging I did I let slip that I had been a trainee reflexologist and there for gave amazing foot rubs. The fact that I should be free seamed to go way over the three women’s heads but the fact that I could give them a nice foot rub stuck with them. “Get us some drinks as we wait!” Amy yield after me. I open the door to the cupboard and pull out a wine bottle all most the same size as me. After a fight I manage to poor three glasses of sparkling wine. After I run in with them I come back and start to make the food. After 14 hours on my feet working the list of takes I have been given is all most biblical in scale for me. Add to that the fact that everything becomes ten times as hard when you are this size. I am kind of lokey today though as it is such a hot day they only want a light pastor salad. So even though it takes me quite a while to get it all in bowls and carry it threw I don’t have to cook anything. When I get in there the women are watching TV and they take the food of me without a word of thanks. Mistress Jen sticks out her foot still clad in a work shoe and wiggles it around letting me know it’s time to start the foot rub. I kneel down and take her size ten and a half shoe in my hands. Un strapping it and sliding it off. Her barefoot is now resting on its heel on the floor. Now standing to my full height I am still not quite 12 inches a size 11 UK women’s foot is 11 inches… so yes giving a foot rub to a foot all most as big as me was not easy. I drug my hands in to the mature slightly tuff tanned skin on the sole of her foot. The sweat from a hard day at worked acted as a kind of oil and allowed me hands to move more freely across her sole. But still trying to support the foot and reach very part of it all the time with her wiggling her toes and bobbing her foot up and down was very hard work. The sheer power I had to put in to make her feel my hands on her hard sole killed my arms. Try giving an elephant a foot rub and you might get some clue of how it is for me. The whiff of her feet fresh from the cramped shoes after a long day at work wafts over me to. When she is enjoying a foot rub he wiggles her toes. Each wiggle sends a fresh wave of foot stick out over me. So the better I do the harder the job gets. After ten minutes she removes her foot and sliders her other shoe over to me. I repeat the job and by the time I am done I am dripping in my own sweat and have hers all over my hands and arms. It’s not that bad sometimes when she works from home she keeps me under her desk as a kind of foot relaxer rubbing her feet for five or six hours at a time. “My turn.” Says Stacy sticking out her size eight plump feet for me. Now size eights where smaller and there for easier to massage but Stacy did not take such good care of her feet. In fact even though she was very hot she was a slob. She dressed scruffily and took her washing home for her mum to do. Well her mum to give me to do. Most of the time she was in a beat up pair of flip-flops and there for her feet got a bit grimy. Today was just the same. The plump size eight soles had a fine layer of dried foot sweat and floor dirt on and I could see a few nasty looking black/grey clumps in-between her toes and under her toe nails. I start to push my hands in to her wide fleshy soles. The fell of the cold clammy dirty skin under my hands is sickening. “That’s it work the heels harder.” She says from above me. “Yes mam” I say back keeping my views on the vile sate of her feet to myself for now. The smell from her mother’s is sweaty sure but its fresh tangy, gross sure. But this is dried in clammy sweat that smells like it has been festering on her fat feet for days. She keeps me at it longer than her mum a good twenty minutes on each foot. By the time I am done my arms are so week I have to lean in close and all most punch her sole meaning my face is right next to the grossness of her toes. I am half dead stinking of feet my hands sticky with the sweat of these two women but I know I have to move on Amy. Even though she is not as big as her mum or sister her feet are all most the same size as her mums at a ten and a half. Thank god they are clean. She suffers from some hard skin around the heel and ball of her foot as she wears heels far too much so I have to punch her in those places as hard as I can just to get her to feel me. She only has me work her feet over for two minutes each foot for witch I am thankful for. But when I go to slump to the floor she snaps at me “What are you doing you have lots to do tonight! Brake time is over get on with it footboy!”