New to the area, Marie was out exploring when she discovered a little Japanese shop hidden at the end of a local strip-mall. The place had a funny name that drew her curiosity, Mushi-Mushi.  Upon entering, she was greeted by a sweet shop owner, a dignified Japanese woman whose age was impossible to discern for she carried herself as someone much more versed and experienced than her youthful beauty portrayed her to be. She had only one item to sell but was quite eager to share her knowledge on this wonderfully unique Japanese product.
    Mushi, she called it, where her shop’s name derived from. The item was about the size of an oatmeal box, with beautiful red packaging and fancy black Japanese lettering. Marie figured it must be a type of exotic tea, or herb, and was quite shocked when the woman opened the box and emptied four tiny men onto the counter. They all wore the same outfits, a red shirt with the same black lettering as on the box printed on their backs.
    The trick to handling the tiny men, the Japanese woman began, was you needed to break their spirits first. That’s why they were called mushi, the Japanese term for a bug because you had to treat them as such. And really, they were no different, as the shop owner had explained they were once prisoners whose crimes ranged from rape and murder to child molestation. The very worst kind of men Japan had to offer. Japan’s penal system doesn’t joke around. Rather than allow the criminals to ride on taxpayer money for upkeep in a prison cell, the men were subjected to the mushi-mushi transformation and sold as something that can be both useful, and demeaning as a criminal of their calibre deserves. 
    The transformation process had a peculiar side-effect on the prisoners, transforming them into either identical looking juveniles or into handsome young men that were a very simple, highly emotional shell of their former, hardened selves. Because of this terrible sentence, high-crime had fallen greatly in Japan, though there were always those who no threat of punishment could bother, and surprisingly, there were also men who volunteered themselves to be transformed, out of their own weird fetish to be cruelly tormented for a woman’s arousal. So, the supply of subjects for the mushi-mushi trade remained ever constant. 
    The shopkeeper had explained the legal age to purchase mushi-mushi might be eighteen in Japan, but it was not uncommon for teens purchasing their first pack to already be versed with stomping the little men as if they had been doing it a long time, as she says it was in her case. Much like alcohol or smoking, it was impossible to keep teens from bending the rules, and being able to expertly walk onto a mushi, grab him in her toes and transfer him to her hand as smoothly as if she was a model on the catwalk was a sign of elite status with a young woman’s peers. Extra points if she could do it in tabi socks, or without causing permanent injury to the tiny before she was ready to inflict it on him. Techniques were like a sport, and always evolving in complex creativity.
    The shopkeeper transferred the confused, tiny men from the counter to the floor. Then together, the two women broke in the lot of them, trampling the tiny men into submission in the most literal sense. The shopkeeper patiently instructed Marie like an experienced professional on what techniques to use to draw out the most fun with the strongest sensual feelings from toying with the mushi at their feet. She explained that while you can torment the men in many ways, nothing was more humiliating to them than being broken against a woman’s tender feet. Making them feel less than men and proving to them that they are only bugs now, or mushi, just as their red shirts named them to be. 
    At first, Marie was hesitant, but as she experienced the euphoria that quickly grew in direct connection to the pressure she was applying to the little bug she held beneath her foot, she could not help herself and was soon pressing him as flat as her bare feet could make him. Indeed, the little man had been mashed into a two-dimensional object before her initial feeling of bliss relinquished its grip on her overwhelming sense of arousal. She never felt so flushed in her life.
    The shopkeeper couldn’t resist joining in after watching Marie lose herself in a most telling way, quickly slipping out of her heavy platform sandals to join the fun. She showed Marie how to grab a little bug’s head between her toes, instructing her to pinch it strongly and without mercy, so he doesn’t slip, then to work it with purpose into the tight crevices there, for what would prove to be some very relaxing foot-therapy. Marie could tell this activity was absolute hell for the little thing, as the shopkeeper pinched and squeezed the life out of the mushi’s deforming head between the iron grip of her dainty, pedicured toes.
    When Marie took her own tiny man in her hand, crossed her leg at the knee with her sole pointing up, and forced his skull between her toes, electrical sensations as warm and tingly as Mediterranean waters spread through her body. Once again, Marie couldn’t stop herself from squeezing and pinching the little thing’s noggin with her toes until it was more oblong than round, having mashed it like a stubborn piece of clay. Until he was no longer struggling and sagged in her hand either lifeless or simply passed out, she couldn’t tell.
    She plucked him from her toes and examined his smushed, pineapple-shaped head with naughty amusement before setting him on the tile floor. With the shopkeeper’s direction, the poor mushi was finished beneath both of their powerful bare soles in front of the other bugs, mashing his body into jelly beneath their pumping feet. 
    Marie’s biggest surprise that afternoon was when the other mushi, having just witnessed this cruel demonstration of feminine power on one of their own, each began to collapse into sobbing tears and cry! Oh, the feeling that created! The broken spirit the shopkeeper had referred to as the golden moment.
    The mushi’s tears were like the sound of a dinner bell, and the two women immediately fell upon the sobbing men with their hungry, eager soles. Stamping down on the pathetic bugs fanatically, until the mushi were all mashed as flat as pavement and the two women were giggling like a couple of adolescent schoolgirls. Marie purchased a half a dozen of the Mushi-mushi boxes that day.

A few days later~

With a dozen errands complete and another ten miles worn into the tread of her sneakers, Marie was home at last, and ready for some distraction. Today was destined to be busy and yet the chaos was worse than anticipated. She was, very much, looking forward to a pack of mushi for some evening enjoyment. The thought had been with her day.
    Now, with a generous glass of wine in hand, Marie settles onto the sofa and kicks off her shoes, releasing her tired feet and allowing her heady socks to breathe. A twelve-hour day crammed into sneakers and running all over heaven and earth had worked a deadly cocktail on them. Their scent, evident even from where she was sitting, makes her smile devilishly as she glances at the box with its fancy red packaging sitting on the floor beside her.
    She reaches for it and upends its contents, dumping four tiny human males onto the floor in front her. Tossing away the box, she leans back and swiftly brings her feet into action, rudely plopping her fragrant soles on top of the funny little men before they could adjust to the glaring light or regain their senses. With them squirming beneath her, Marie sighs contentedly and focuses on the feeling of each of them, the sensations bringing a flush to her porcelain cheeks and a welcome flutter to her soft lashes.
    She had grown to believe the shopkeeper’s words, that tormenting little men like this was the most potent aphrodisiac on earth, as evidenced by the near-immediate effects she felt. Taking a sip from her glass, she grinds her feet down on the tinies, smothering her victims beneath her wide soles and burying them into the piled carpet as her helpless and unwilling footrests.
    Marie could feel one of the mushi trapped beneath the tips of her sock-covered toes, his little legs kicking as she smothered him beneath their steamy fragrance. With the pads of her toes on his ribs, she slowly applies pressure until she can feel them give. Falling in love with the sensation as his torso flattens and his kicks became more frantic, she can feel his head pressing up against the crevices of her sock as his ribs collapsed. Soon, her toes had reached the floor and the little worm lied still beneath her, his head trapped in the crevice of her toes, where she ground it between them absentmindedly.
    Relishing the sensation, she decides she wants to feel it more personally and reaches down to snatch one of the mushi from the floor, this one resembling an adolescent, though she knew he was anything but. The ones looking like juveniles were the marks of a pervert or molester, so she didn’t feel bad at all when she stripped off her sock, and unceremoniously shoved his head between her hot, dirty toes.
    The sensation tingled all the way up her leg as she squeezed her toes around his head and forcefully plucks him out from between them again. Scrunching up her toes like a fist, she presses his head into the bottom of them and twists his body back and forth like a screw-driver until she worked his head between their tight crevices, mashing the daylights out of his skull in the process. He might be in agony, but she was in absolute pleasure the more she tormented him. Even slapping his body against her sole a few times for added measure.
    After flossing her toes with him to the point of satisfaction, she shoves his body between them and extends her leg, flexing her calf and pinching her toes as hard as she can, attempting to pinch him in half with their vice-like-grip. Glancing down, she could see the remaining two mushi were already bawling their eyes out.
    Releasing the grip of her toes, she drops the lifeless tiny to the floor and snatches up another one. Dropping this lucky victim into her smelly sock as she works her foot back into it and pulls it tight, squashing him against her bare sole. With her ecstasy climbing, she rises from the couch and decides to stomp the remaining mushi beneath her feet, loving the thought of having one trapped in her sock as she does so.
    The mushi looks up at the bottom of her dirty socks pleadingly before her soles thunder down upon him, knocking the daylights out of him with the very first hit and then destroying him in short order. After her ecstasy reaches its fever-pitch, her marching feet come to a standstill and she gazes down upon the messy remains of the mushi she had made. Each tiny had been turned to pulp, and she could feel the one in her sock had been squashed into jelly against her barefoot as well.
    Hot, panting, but feeling like a job well done, Marie reaches into the box and takes out the special towel that does wonders for cleaning up the mess left by processed mushi’s and wipes them from the carpet, her socks, and finally from the bottom of her foot. With her evening well spent, she glances over at the five other boxes of mushi on the shelf and looks forward to the next time she treats herself.
    Perhaps the next time will be after work, so she can give her lucky victims the experience of her in her black nylon stockings after a day crammed in high heels. She knew what that did to her feet, and oh so much fun for the mushi!

Until next time?