It was late at night on the next day when Sam decided it was time to try out his grappling hook on the dreaded stairs. The day itself had been fairly dull; Lyria had yet to repeat her offer about taking him to work and had seemed rather internally focused for most of the day. Sam figured it best to wait for her to both return from work and go to sleep before trying his hook out. Especially with the knowledge that the vacuum was back on the prowl, cleaning the place up while the elf was away.
He had time to think about the offer she had made the previous day while he waited. Playing with Lyria as she had put it. He knew it was her trying to make him into a more complacent pet, that much was transparent. It was also true however that the elf could drive him wild with desire. He agonized between accepting her little offer and just forgetting about it, the memory of the almost painful arousal he had felt between her toes returning in his mind through the day. Really this conflict was also playing into her hands, a sign of how much she had worn away at his resolve.
That was why tonight was so important. Those stairs represented the seemingly insurmountable truth that he couldn't do much to help himself. That he lived by Lyria's goodwill so long as he dwelled with her. They were his cage. If he could climb those steps then it would be taking back a measure of control for himself. It would show that he didn't need the elf to do everything for him. After conquering that death machine he was already riding high on confidence all he needed was something else to cling on to. His time here had been defeat after defeat and indignity after indignity, if he didn't find something to hold onto he felt that Lyria might actually be able to keep her promise.
He walked from his home in her heel and marched up to the seemingly insurmountable barriers. From his observations he got that the edge of the steps possessed slight rises that would be ideal for hooking the grapple. It would be actually getting them up there that would prove to be the main issue. He also had his doubts that the chitin of the nail itself was going to support his weight. It was from her big toe so if any nail could hold him up he suspected it was going to be that one. He also knew that he was very unlikely to get another shot at this.
Sam hefted the makeshift grapple and spun in around slightly, getting a feel for the weight and how much he'd need to compensate. It was in that moment he heard the slap of familiar bare feet against the tiles and from the darkness emerged Lyria. He froze as her blue eyes zeroed in on him, staring down with a neutral expression on her face. In that particular moment he felt like he had been caught red handed doing something against an unspoken code of rules. Fear lanced through him as he waffled between running back to the heel and continuing, instead finding himself unable to do either.
The elf said nothing and instead sat down cross legged at the top of the steps, placing her hands in the folds of her blue bathrobe. Her eyes were fixed upon him, judging and weighing him with but a single glance over. Somehow the darkness that enveloped them made her all the more imposing. Still she said nothing and it took a moment for Sam to realize she wasn't going to interfere with him. She was simply watching him though why he had no idea. Amusement perhaps? Yet as far as he could tell she wasn't smiling. Her face was vacant of all emotion as she observed him.
Gathering his wits again Sam pushed her presence from his mind for the moment. She was not important; indeed she was the enemy in this situation. She was the reason he was doing this, to try and fight against her domestication. He focused on the anger he held towards her, at the horrors and indignities the elf had forced upon him again and again. With steel in his heart he started swinging the makeshift grapple, twirling it around and around at great speed. He swallowed hard before releasing and feeding rope as the hook sailed up to the first step.
He pulled back and the thing slipped over the rise and back towards him. He gathered it up again with a growl a swung it up and over once again, getting a similar result. The third time proved to indeed be the charm as the nail caught on the rise and allowed the rope to be pulled taught. He grinned victoriously and tugged experimentally before approaching the step itself. Right so the moment of truth was here. He could do this. He wasn't going to fall, not this time. He was going to climb it.
Tentatively he placed a foot on the side of the step, following it with another. The line held and so did this hook, eliciting a sigh of relief as he carefully started stepping his way up the step. He took it slow for fear that going too fast might shake the hook loose from its place or even tear one of the hairs on the rope. He could feel sweat perspiring from his body as his nerves were on edge. After over a week in this place he was finally going to climb the barrier. Not only that but he was going to show Lyria firsthand what happened when one underestimated him.
He was nearing the very top of the step which was the point when he would need to transfer to the edge from the rope, the most precarious point. He reached up and seized the edge with one hand, instantly losing his grip on the smooth surface. His surprise caused his grip on the rope to falter, sending him tumbling to the carpet with a loud grunt. He gritted his teeth and looked up at Lyria as though daring her to laugh. Not a single giggle came from here, her face still absent all emotion as she watched him struggle.
With a growl he got back up on the rope, testing it to ensure the grapple was still in place. Satisfied at the thing still holding he started his slow climb once more. The edge was too smooth so he'd need to cling to the rope a bit longer to get a good grip on the edge where the grapple was caught upon. When he reached the top this time he kept climbing for a little, no doubt putting a bit of extra strain on the nail but it couldn't be helped. He couldn't fall this time; he needed to reach the top.
He pulled himself up over the edge and sought the purchase beyond the edge. His fingers found it and he let go of the rope, his legs dangling off of the edge as he struggled to pull himself up and over. Through heroic strength of effort he slowly crawled his way onto the surface of the step, rolling onto his back and chuckling breathlessly as it stared up at the ceiling. One step down, one more to go. Lyria made it look so easy when she came and went but actually climbing it was rather treacherous.
With a victorious look being given to Lyria the young man retrieved his grapple and moved to the last barrier between him and victory. He imagined the view from the top would be quite sweet once he finally made it up there. Standing atop the place had been in his dreams, victory swelling in his heart as he felt able to do anything. He was so close that he could practically taste it. He took a few calming deep breaths, trying to quiet the wardrum that had become his heart. Just a little longer before he could rest well in victory.
He spun the hook round and round once more, tossing it up onto the topmost step and grinning as he managed to catch it on the first try. His foot found the wall, followed by his other as he continued his climb. His arms were straining and his breath felt rather labored but still he pushed himself onwards. Halfway up the step he started to feel the trials of the past days start to melt away. Lyria couldn't poison this moment. He was doing this, it wasn't her, it was him. He didn't need her for everything, just like he had showed yesterday by defeating that machine.
He wasn't sure exactly when it dawned upon him that the rope was lowering by tiny amounts slowly, but he certainly knew what it meant when the hook slipped from its purchase. His eyes widened and he yelled as he fell to the hard tiled below, the air being knocked from his lungs. He struggled to realign his breathing as his eyes fell upon the bent, almost broken form of the nail. The gaze he granted it was almost uncomprehending, blinking a few times before actually beginning to react to the situation.
He had failed. The notion washed over him like a wave of the purest despair. He had climbed as far as he could but in the end it hadn't been enough. The victory that had been so close at hand had been snatched from him. His eyes turned accusingly towards Lyria. Her. It must have been her. She must have sabotaged the nail, bent it in her fingers just as he had been about to reach the top. That was it! His view had been obscured by the step; it would have been the perfect time for her to make her move.
"You! You- you bitch! You bent it! Why!? Why do you take everything from me? Why couldn't you let me have this one thing!?" He screamed at her.
Lyria said nothing, though her expression softened ever so.
"Wh-why... Oh God damn it... Fuck!" He continued, the bitter sting of tears rising to his eyes.
He hadn't shed a single tear in many years. Even when the realization that his team and Razor had died he hadn't cried. The last time he could truly remember was the day his mother had died. He remembered crying despite his best efforts to not, cursing whatever God was up there from snatching the last family in his life from him. Now however, failing to have climbed the only barrier he'd needed to climb to take back some self-sufficiency he felt lost. The goal that had filled his time, that had seemed like it might validate the suffering at Lyria's hands, was now snatched from him. It was no doing of Lyria, he knew that deep down. It was his failure. He had failed without her ever lifting a finger to bring it about. The hate he tried to push towards her evaporated as he sobbed bitterly.
The expression Lyria gave him was almost something he could call pitying. He didn't think it was possible for her to pity anyone or anything. The expression made him no less filled with despair as he sobbed in frustration and despair. There was no escape from this damn nightmare. He looked back on that stupid and cocky idiot striking that challenge with Lyria and laughed at him. It was no challenge. That implied each side had and equal chance of success. The indomitable will of the elf was beyond denying.
He looked up at her and found her switching positions with her foot hovering over him. Sam almost wished it might come crashing down to release him from this wretched state. Instead her toes spread apart and she gripped him between them. Despite himself he found his arousal grow at the action, the digits firmly gripping him by the waist. She stretched her leg out over the steps and placed her heel down on the carpeted floor. Her scented soap filled his nose and served a focal point, the soft skin of her foot all around him supple to the touch.
The elf wriggled her toes ever so slowly, moving him so that his hardened member was massaged by the movements of her big toe. He whimpered slightly, seeking purchase on the soft flesh as Lyria worked. His face pressed against the blue nail polish, another thing he associated with Lyria. The elf was as gentle as she could possibly be as she worked on him. Soon enough his sobs turned to moans and groans under her ministrations. The dexterous motions of her toes against him sent him up a wall with arousal.
He felt his despair and frustration start to become distant as the elven woman worked on him, replaced instead by pleasure and arousal. He found himself kissing at the blue nail despite himself, his breathing heavy and fogging up the polish. Sam felt certain that the shreds of his dignity were being annihilated here. That somehow this was a major victory for Lyria. However at the moment he found himself lacking the ability to care overmuch. All that mattered was this feeling building up inside of him.
The movements increased in speed a little and Sam felt the pressure inside continue to build and build. His eyes sought Lyria's in the darkness and found them half lidded with a bit of desire herself. One of her hands had strayed beneath her bathrobe and was making regular motions between her legs while her other was gentle massaging her breasts. Earlier he might have been slightly disgusted at her getting off on doing this too him but now just focused on his own need for a release.
The pressure finally reached its peak and he cried out as he found his climax. He tensed once, twice, three times before he found himself spent between Lyria's toes. He slumped over, watching as she administered to herself. She soon followed him in finding her own release, her toes curling painfully around him as she cried out. The elf looked at him with half lidded eyes, a tiny smile gracing her lips. He was far too scatterbrained for the moment to think of a good response to that.
For a long moment they simply sat there and stared at each other. Sam wanted to hate her so badly, to despise her for bringing him to this pathetic state. In the end though the emotion that most flowered in his gut was desire. He hated himself for it but he had enjoyed and appreciated every second of that pleasure she had given him. It had taken him from that sobbing mess he had been. He supposed he was still a mess for now but at the very least he wasn't crying any longer like a weakling.
After a time Lyria moved her foot and plucked him from between her toes, kissing his tiny form. She lavished him with her soft flawless lips, the cushions pressing against him again and again. Finally she stopped and placed him in her palm, giving him a smile. "You see? I'm here for you, pet. If you fall I'll pick you up, if you are sad I'll make you happy. You can just leave everything to your caring owner." She whispered moved towards the high heels.
Sam found himself holding onto her thumb as she tried to lower him in. "Wait... please, let me stay with you. Just tonight." The need in his voice might have otherwise made him sick.
Lyria paused. "Not yet, pet. You'll need to earn that." She said, placing him in the heel before walking away.
Sam watched her depart, the fruits of his labor still upon the bottom of her foot. He crawled beneath his makeshift blanket and tried to force himself to sleep. He tried to force himself to forget how good she had made him feel, to forget how soft her skin was, how smooth her voice was when she comforted him. He tried to forget the horrible need infecting his voice as he had pleaded she take him into her room. He tried, yet in his dreams that night, he knew only Lyria.