It was a typical Monday morning. I was with my first customer, the teenage daughter of a wealthy business man. Spoiled young, yet sent to public school for her to learn “normal life” the girl who I will name Rebecca to protect her identity grew up trying to avoid people who knew her family was rich. Yet at some point everyone knew and she’s been bullied and treated like an outsider during high school. At age 16, she did not have many friends and would be what you would call an introvert. She thinks she’s got no talent, no passions, no hobbies, no future and that she has always lived in the shadow of her father’s wealth and that this is the only thing she got, money. Frankly, Rebecca is not a happy girl, she hates herself.

Black hair, deep black makeup on her eyes, she could also be described as a gothic punk girl, yet she’s not that much into it. She mostly prefers to be unseen, unnoticed, and she enjoys being lonely. But, she’s a true artist. She paints and draws anything with ease and talent. She loves being alone and perfect her art. She could be a Hollywood screenplay concept artist, but she keeps thinking what she does is worth crap. I met her dad, and when I found out about her, I gave my business card to her mother who basically forces her to come see me. I’ve been in her shoes a few times already. She thinks having me in her shoes feel like torturing someone helpless and she likes it but won’t go crazy about it. She told me after our first encounters that it felt nice since it was like some kind of vengeance for all those years being bullied by others.

Rebecca arrived at 9 AM with her mother. She looked at me and popped a bubble with her gum. “Hi.” She said with a shy smile when I opened the door.

“Good morning Rebecca, please come in!” Both mother and daughter walked in. “How are you today?” I asked.

“Normal.” She said.

“How normal?” I asked playfully.

“Like every other days.” She said nonchalantly, following me to the therapy room.

“Hmm, and what’s our plan for this morning, are you going to paint me something?” I asked.

“Yeah okay.” She said and shrugged. Her mother smiled at me and talked to her daughter telling her she would pick her up by noon. My clients always give me their credit card number before any therapy or their bank account. I have developed a billing software that calculates how much time I spend with them, and then automatically bills them. Mom left, I prepared the shrink ray portable device. That device is a marvel of technology since I shrink the remote control along. I always stay in control of my own size I wouldn’t want to fall into wrong hands. I can grow back up whenever I want.

I like clients like Rebecca because she enjoys using my lab. I call it the lab, but it’s mostly a therapy room where everything is possible. There is TV, sofas, chairs, a fridge with refreshments, good quality speakers and sound system, there is place to move. There is a cupboard with lots of crafting stuff like paint, pencils, canvas, paper, anything you need to draw, write. There is a computer. A treadmill and weights, yoga mats anything one needs to get something done, while having me inside their shoes. The lab is my therapy room. Some clients prefer to go out with me in the wild world. That costs more. Rebecca enjoys the lab. When I shrink myself, I wear some lycra clothes that fits on my body, something like a wetsuit but thinner, it’s more comfortable for the women.

Like usual when Rebecca arrived I had prepped the lab accordingly and placed acrylic paint and canvas ready for her just to sit down and paint something. I treat my clients with great service. I am not successful for nothing.

Rebecca looked at me and I knew her well enough to sense she was shy, but that goes away quickly usually. “So, hmm, I hope it’s alright if I wear my skate shoes.” She wore black skate shoes with pink soles and well, to be honest she’s been wearing those on all of our encounters so far...so for me it’s a no brainer.

“You have the right to wear what you want Rebecca. As long as you are comfortable and feel good. Do you like high heels?” I said while preparing myself to shrink.

“No, those are for the superficial girls.” She said while she sat looking at the empty canvas.

“Well, anyone can feel free to wear what they want I think. Those girls enjoy high-heels and it's alright. You like skate shoes and it's also alright.” I tried to make her feel good.

“You’re right. Anyway, so hmm, what do you want me to paint?”

“An auto-portrait. Paint yourself.” I asked.

“Okay. I can try that.” She said while removing her right skate sneaker off with the toe of the other foot. She wore black and white striped socks. “Do you like my socks?” she asked biting her lower lip.

“I do Rebecca they’re lovely!” I told her. “Alright, I’ll shrink myself now. Just put me in your shoe and take me out at 11h50 so we can talk a bit before your mother picks you up, alright?”

“Yes. Oh and remember, don’t move. I need to concentrate and I hate when I lose my focus.” She asked. This is the focal point of the therapy with Rebecca. You see, in order to get her to develop self-esteem, I have to challenge her, I have to make her a bit upset in order to challenge her and build up her confidence.

“I’ll do my best.” I said, and zapped the shrinking device on myself. Shrinking isn’t really fun, I black out after 20 seconds. The whole process lasts 1 minute-ish when I shrink myself to one inch tall. I wake up when I reach the size indicated on the shrinking device, which also shrinks with me. I secured the device in my side pocket and looked up.

Rebecca looked down at me and smiled. “It is always amazing to see this. You’re so small. She comes closer holding her shoe in one hand and picks me up with her giant fingers. “Are you sure about this?” she asks me.

Being very small, I need to really scream for her to hear me so I just nod for her to understand this is why her mother pays me. And this is not cheap. I could live a whole month for 3 hours of therapy like that morning. Rebecca smiles and sighs.

“Anyway, this is weird. Have fun with my foot and don't move.” She says as she drops me gently on the warm surface of her sneaker’s fabric insole. I know that specific shoe since I’ve been in there a few times. It’s a normal skate shoe belonging to a teenage girl. In real time, I had no time to look at the surroundings, I only had time to duck and lay down on my back fast as she did put the shoe on the ground and then inserted her striped socked foot into the shoe and onto me. Her foot took all the available space, pushing me down and pinning me down under its massive weight. I rested on my back under the arch of her foot.

Tho even if it all happened fast, since I stayed in that shoe for almost 3 hours I think it would be interesting for you to know more about those “normal skate shoes”. Brand is Etnies. Black shoe with pink accents like the sole of the shoe is all pink. Some patterns are pink too. The insides are all black, logos faded on the insole as those shoes have been worn many times. Sock lint of multiple colors are stuck in the inshoe’s fabric, usually not seen by the regular eye, but up close like when you are shrunk and standing inside of the shoe, you can see all those small details. The insole has Rebecca’s foot shape beveled into it. The whole environment is quite dark and uninviting but something, for me, as a really deep rooted foot and shoe fetishist, is quite appealing. The smell.

When you stick your nose into a woman’s shoe, usually you get all the subtle aromas and mixed sources of smell all at once into your nostrils and that complex odor can be the source of ultimate joy for someone like me. However, when you’re shrunk and plucked inside said shoes, all of those odors come to your nostrils sometimes mixed and sometimes separated. It’s mostly like entering someone’s house, if you go in the kitchen it smells like spagetthi sauce cooking and when you go into their bedroom it smells like flowers etc. Same concept happens in someone’s shoe. For instance, when you bury your face in the insole where the person’s heel goes, it smells different then when you bury your face where their toes rest. I have some clients who have extremely smelly feet and shoes, some less. No shoe is a like another, I have yet to find two which smell the same. Down in people’s shoe, I am a scientist. I analyse. My sense of smell gets overwhelmed; my mind goes racing to identify the faint and details of each aroma. Leather, cotton, foam, rubber, dirt, foot sweat, dried foot sweat, damp heated foot sweat, dried skin, body lotions and soap, perfumes, foot sweat again. Is it musky? Is it a bit salty? All of those powerful odors rush into my nose and I get excited as fuck.

Rebecca’s feet smell like heaven, hard to describe, even maybe pointless.

And down there under the arched socked sole of her foot, inside her shoe, time went slower and my mind calmed as the artist above me started to paint. I could feel her heartbeat, the blood flow in the veins of her foot pressing me down into the insole. I love my job.

After an hour of projected ecstacy in my head, and I knew my break was over and I had to get back to work. Build up that girl’s self-esteem and make a name of myself and prove that paying for my services is worth it. I started to squirm a bit at first. No reaction. I squirmed some more and heard my client’s voice muffled from outside the shoe. “Stop moving down there!” Good, that’s it, I had to get herself to be confident enough. I had to challenge her so she would go over her normal self. I had to get the bully out of herself and be her victim. I squirmed some more.

All of a sudden, I could feel my whole environment move and then the massive foot above me went sliding off and out of the shoe, bringing in fresh cool air inside the thick sneakers. I stretched and moved my arms and muscles as my eyes would get used to the sudden burst of light from the outside. “Hmm, I am sorry to disturb you, but like, you really have to stop squirming in there because I lose my focus. Please? You did that the other day too, and I told you not to. It’s just very annoying when I am painting. Okay?” I nodded, knowing she wouldn’t hear me. But that wasn’t enough, she was still too easy on me. Still asking me if I could “pretty please” stop moving. No. I still had work to do to get her to be mad at me. She smiled back at me and said thanks. Seconds later, the huge striped socked foot came over me again, this time trapping me under her toes and driving me along the insole. She kept me under her toes until the whole foot was inside the shoe and wiggled the cotton fabric covered toes above me. I had more space to move.

I stayed put for like 20 minutes again overwhelmed by the sudden increase of smells and aromas around me. Some of my clients are more kinky, poor Rebecca was not. I had to be nice, even if her feet really smelled like heaven I had to focus too and keep working and figth the urge to lick the sock or outright eat her sock lint.

I squirmed, this time to turn my body. I turned to lay on my sides and made exaggerated moves to get her attention, hopefully to make her lose her focus and challenge her. I heard my name above, muffled by the shoe. I knew she was getting impatient, just with the tone of her voice. So I moved again, and laid on my back again under her huge socked covered toes. I had the sock fabric all over my face and body. I heard my name again, this time she was almost pissed. I knew I was on the right track and that deep inside the seed of self-confidence was planted. I deliberately wanted her to punish me for disobeying her.

“Stop moving or I stomp you.” She said.

Ah, now we were talking business. I stopped moving a moment, not to blow the evident fact I was deliberately trying to piss her off. But I resumed the squirming after 10 minutes. This time I heard her grumble and she did something unexpected. She arched her foot and it freed me from the pressure. She then rested the shoe on the heel and I went sliding under her foot onto the insole as gravity pulled me towards the heel section of her shoe. I could feel her foot was raised partly outside the shoe leaving half an inch space under it. I slid down until I reached the heel section and gently crashed in the corner. Rebecca then replaced her foot pinning me down under the heel. Now, that’s less comfortable, really. Heels are unforgiving. I was on my back, my head turned on its side, totally crushed and sinking into the foamy insole. But the pressure went up drastically and I could only suspect she stood up on me, pushing me down. “I said stop moving!” I heard the chair move, and she started to walk. Huge pressure, relief, huge pressure, relief. Yes, that’s more like it. I love being walked on. I absolutely bathe in pleasure both from the motion and from the pressure, but also because her foot became more warm and usually that comes with a bit of sweat. Tho, I knew Rebecca would not sweat much, she only went to get a soda from the fridge and came back to sit in from of her canvas and resume painting. I have clients who wear me for their jogging and I can tell you, that’s fucking awesome.

Anyway back to Rebecca, I can tell she’s soft on me. A lot of work is still to be done in order to get her self-esteem and self-confidence to acceptable levels. I aim to one day get her to crush me under her shoes like cigarette while insulting and degrading me with humiliating words. But, one can dream, we’re not there yet.

I stayed put under the crushing weight of her heel, even if she was only sitting. But, like a little devil, I resumed therapy by squirming again. BAM! She stomped down on me. Yeah, that feels good. I kept squirming. BAM, she stomped again. That’s it, stomp me down, crush me, be angry make me suffer. BAM!

And then something happened. She stood and and stomped me several times in a row, harder and harder. She snapped. “Stop fucking moving!” she screamed above me and stomped some more. “Stop it will you? Huh? Can’t you understand English?” Stomp. “Stop.” Stomp. “Fucking.” Stomp. “Squirming!” Stomp.

Ow. I saw stars. I had done it for the day. By making her angry at me to this point I knew deep inside her the seed of self-confidence and self-esteem was growing. Job done. Now I only had to relax until she would get me out of her shoe.

I stayed there under her heel trapped into that compressed position for the remainder of the therapy until she finally got me out of her shoe. She ceremoniously flipped the shoe upside down and I fell face first on the floor or the Lab. Rebecca was more calm. I took out my portable device and grew up back up to my normal size and went to the sink to splash my face with cold water.

“I am sorry.” She said.

“Oh, well, don’t be. I had it coming. I had a terrible itch that I could not scratch, I am the one being sorry.” I said to her. I walked to her canvas and looked at her quickly painted auto-portrait. It looked awesome, but it was unfinished.

“I kind of stomped you hard and you’re the one being sorry?” she asked me a bit oddly.

“Yeah well, it’s okay don’t worry about me, I am fine. You cannot possibly crush me when I am shrunk anyway, so don’t worry. I am just amazed at how you decided to do what you threatened me of. That took me by surprise. I didn’t know you were serious when you said you would stomp me.” I lied. Who cares? This is for therapy purposes. Deep inside myself I had a good time with my client. Everyone wins.

“Yeah, well, I am sorry.” She said again.

“Rebecca.... Don’t be sorry. Now don’t make me say it again.”

“Alright. So, hum, can you keep this painting so next time I can finish it?” she asked.

“Of course Rebecca. I’ll keep it safe for next time.” I smiled. Her mother had arrived right on time and it was time for goodbyes. Kuchling! Money was automatically transferred to my bank account, another satisfied customer.