Part 1

Chapter 1

“You’re not serious.”

“Yes, Ma’am.  I am.”

She rolled her eyes, regarded him with a pensive expression.

“So let me get this straight.”

He wrung his small hands, staring up at her with hopeful, if also nervous eyes.

She went on as if it was just too difficult to believe.

“You want me to use this little…”

She held up the small, silk harness he had given her, looking at it as if she didn’t have a clue what to call it.

“‘Harness’, did you say it was?”

Her annoyed, disbelieving, but lovely brown eyes flicked back down to him.

He nodded with what he hoped looked like eagerness.  If the look she had just fixed him with, did make a small ball of ice start to grow in his gut, uncertainty about what he was asking now, making him wonder, not for the first time, if this was such a good idea.

Would she laugh him out of here?  Or if she did do it for him, would she give it to him extra hard out of spite?

She held the harness up a little more, as if holding up a sex toy she found particulalry repellant, wiggling it up and down a little, making it dangle and bounce.

“All right, ‘Harness’,” she conceded.

She eyed him with a sudden sort of amusement, her lip cocking up on one side, her large eyes with those long lashes starting to twinkle some, as if she still found this whole thing too difficult to believe, but was now starting to like the predicament it would put her little client in.

He wasn't just little.  He was way little, like less than a foot tall.

“So I am to take this ‘harness’,” she began again.  “Tie you to the bottom of my foot with it, so you can have no hope of escape,” she added, as if that thought in particular amused her especially, “and then go about my business as if you weren’t under my foot at all?”

She cocked her head down at him, held the harness up a little more, wiggling it a little again, her pretty eyebrow rising and her crooked smile increasing a little more.

“Is that right?”

He nodded again, quickly, if he did swallow a big lump in his throat, growing more unsure.  Being faced with the prospect of it actually going to happen, wasn’t like just the fantasies of it happening.

He was determined to go through with it, though, needed to go through with it, but he had hoped to get a more demure woman, one who might find this whole thing amusing, but who would be more understanding of such a fantasy, and be a little more empathetic with it.

This woman was deriving a kind of cold-hearted amusement from it, as if the prospect of it tickled some dark, nastier part of her personality.

He had no intention of backing out, however, no matter what kind of woman he convinced to do it, the enjoyment this woman was obviously thinking she would get out of it, herself, starting to shake his confidence or not.  He was realizing she might not let him back out, in other words, whatever pleading he might do with her later, which frightened him, but he was determined to be resolute.  It was what he had proposed to pay a woman for.  That was his fantasy--to be walked on without mercy for an entire day by a woman who was willing to do it.  And despite her initial disbelief and borderline disgust, she obviously was.

On top of all of that, he had come to a BDSM establishment for it.  What had he expected, then?  Some pastoral beauty who granted fairy-like wishes?  No.  He should have known better.  Had known better, even if his fantasies might have wanted something a little less austere, and a little more understanding and accepting.  Moreover, what if he had gotten someone like that, some kind-hearted woman?  Would she take him all the way with it?  A woman like that would be like as not to not take him as far as he wanted with it.  And that was the crux of it.  He wanted a woman who would take him all the way with it, and that, he had to admit to himself, would have to probably be a colder-hearted woman like this woman.

Her smirk grew a little, she very evidently picking up on his nervousness, her eyes flicking minutely over the expressions his face was going through, her amusement growing, like she was reading the thoughts racing through his mind and was finding them hilarious.

“Well, I always was the adventurous sort,” she said with a meanly inflected little chuckle.  “And this is a BDSM club.  So…”

She gave a big shrug, her eyes fastened down on him with twinkling mirth.

“Who am I to say what’s too weird or too extreme or not?”

“I don’t know, Mistress,” he said, suddenly wringing his small hands in front of his waist.

Fantasy, little buddy, seldom adds up to reality.  You’re going to get what you want out of this one, so you’re just going to have to suck it down and take it the way she wants to give it.

He swallowed hard, the wringing of his hands going a little white-knuckled.

Her brows shot up, real amusement now, tugging her features into an outright grin.

“Taking to the role already, eh?” she said with a soft cackle, her amusement shifting to his use of the BDSM Dom/sub proprieties already.

He blushed more, but remained silent.

“Well, alright," she decided suddenly.  "Put this thing on, then, and I’ll get out of my heels.”

She rose from the bed, and dropped the little harness in front of him, flipping it a little so that it landed neatly at his feet.

“And get undressed,” she added, eyeing him with a slight, derisive snort.  “I don’t want any of your clothes getting bunched up against my skin.  That might get uncomfortable.  It would be sure to be uncomfortable for you.”

She snorted again, more loudly this time.

“As if being under my foot isn’t going to be uncomfortable enough.”

He nodded up at her, moving quickly to do as she asked, though her observation had the ball of ice in his gut growing.

But he was still determined.  He started getting undressed, more determined than ever, to fight down the fear, and the urge to back out.  Undressing was giving him a distraction from the fear, he realized, so he hurriedly began pulling off his shirt.  Besides, he still needed this, and the closer he got to it really happening, the more determined he became to go through with it.

Or as the great BDSM philosophy says, "No matter how painful the kink, it is still kink.  It rules the mind like nothing else can, sometimes even bringing one to sacrifice their body to achieve it."

“Your stockings too, right?” he found himself suddenly asking, tugging his shirt off over his head.

She paused in the middle of unbuckling one of her heels, that leg pulled up behind her.

“You mean my nylons?” she corrected, as if she took effrontery to having any part of her lovely attire being given such a pedestrian label.

He was quick to duck his head, if his eagerness and nervousness did still have him working at his clothes.  He was pulling his belt buckle apart.

“Yes, Mistress.  Your nylons,” he said quickly, if he did direct his answer to her foot and the hand that had paused in pulling off the heel, licking his lips and his hands pausing on his belt buckle.

That made her snort again.

“Yes, I’ll take my nylons off.  You did specify against my foot.”

She got the buckle on her heel undone, pulled the piece of footwear off and let it drop to the floor.  It fell with a heavy thump.  Quality footwear.

The “Nylons, Not-Nylons” thing, though, made her give him another little, derisive snort, as if the distinction was a little ridiculous.  But also, she was evidently thinking who was she to argue?  It was all obviously a little weird to her, but she had evidently decided that he was a paying client, so who was she to quibble even if it all was a little strange?

“Thank you, Mistress.”  By then, he was tugging his pants off, sitting when he got those off, and pulling his socks off, next.

She gave him another small snort but a nod.  And then another little snort, this one slightly louder, when she saw how hard he was.

He wasn’t the type who wore underwear.

“Well, get it on,” she said at the end of that snort, eyeing him with amusement again, her gaze flicking up from his cock to him and then back to the harness again.

The harness was very well made, a custom job very obviously made just for him and just for this.  Before he had shrunk himself, he had owned and operated a custom camping equipment company, his company making tents, custom RV awnings, canopies and just about anything else one could associate with the pastime.  Making the little harness had been easy for him, he having had years of experience with making things similar, if for far different reasons.

The harness was mostly blue silk, but made also with strong, cotton elastic bands and little buckles - the silk parts for him, the eleastic parts, like thin bra straps, for the foot the harness would be worn on.

The silk and the elastic had been easy to come by.  He kept both in stock and in large quantities.  The buckles had been interesting; he had to make those, himself, and had to make them after he’d been shrunken.  But those had been easy, too, he having just as long experience with making custom hardware for some of his client’s orders.  He’d made these on a much smaller scale, but the principles of making them had been pretty much identical - he making little molds with packed sand to pour molten brass into to cast the buckles.

The same with sewing the harness all together.  That had been just like stitching the parts of a tent together.  Again, if only on a much smaller scale.  He even made the tiny needles with which to do the sewing.

What he had ended up with was a strap and restraint assembly, that when worn on a foot, would look like a soleless sandal, with himself providing the sandal’s sole.  Buckled cuffs for his wrists would stretch his arms outward under the width of a wearer’s foot.  Straps for his legs, similarly, if there was a strap that went between his ankles for keeping his legs from spreading too far apart.  There was also a six-cross harness that went around his torso, with a pair of straps attached to it that would go over the instep of the wearer’s foot, to keep his torso held snug up against the wearer’s arch.  For his head, he’d made what resembled a wrestler’s costume mask, made it to cover his whole head, save for his nose and mouth, and holes for his eyes.  Two straps led from it, which could be either passed up through the toes, or tied up behind the heel and around the ankle, he making it versatile like that, so that he could be worn with his head under the ball of the wearer’s foot, or his head under their heel--it depending on what he thought he would be in the mood for, and how far he’d be able to convince his partner to take things.  The mask was simply to keep his head from bouncing, a potentially deadly development, regardless of the promises of increased durability his body would have, the nanotech company had given him.  Getting one’s head pressed under the weight of a person so much larger than him, at a bad angle, was a sure way to risk a broken neck.  Even if not, it would not be an experience he’d want.

He started getting into the harness.

She watched him, curiously, and with what looked like increasing interest, glancing down and away only once, when she lifted her other leg to take off her other shoe.  She then started removing her nylons, as he continued getting into his harness.

He glanced repeatedly at her feet, they drawing his eye, but most of his concentration was for his harness.  He’d be getting to see plenty of her feet soon enough.  But still, her feet were lovely.  Thick but smooth, nearly unblemished ivory skin on their tops, insteps of decent hieght, and a breadth to her feet that was simply breath-taking.  Glimmering, rose-colored toenails.

He slipped his wrists through the harnesses' cuffs, buckling them snugly, then his ankles, all of this after he carefully laid the harness out, like one might lay out a parachute before packing it, neatly and everything in its proper place.

“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” she was suddenly asking him.

He glanced up.

She was neatly balling her nylons up, distractedly, the harness holding most of her attention.

He gave her a quick nod.  Embarrassment made his cheeks flush.

“It’s been my fantasy all my life,” he told her.

Her brow went up again, that derisive little smile returning, but she nodded down to him attentively.

“To be walked on like I was just the sole of any old shoe?” he added.

He flushed wildly with the admittance, but determination made him go on, if he did so hurriedly.

“As soon as that company, RCS Technologies, announced its shrinking tech, I just knew I had to do it.”

He swallowed.

“I--”

“Look, sugar,” she said, cutting him off.  “I don’t need your whole life story.”

He blushed furiously, feeling a little indignant at the interruption.

“You paid me to do a thing, I’m going to do the thing.”

She flipped an indifferent gesture with her left hand.

“That’s all I need to know.”

She raised a brow then, though, frowning down at him a little.

“Just one thing that worries me,” she said.  “How do you know you won’t be crushed?”

Her brow went up a little more, a kind of indifference coming to her expression.

It made his breath catch in his throat.

She doesn’t care if I’ll be crushed or not!

She went on before he could say anything.

“I mean, like, it won’t be any real sweat off my back if something bad happens.”

She shrugged with what he recognized as practiced, professional indifference.

“BDSM can be dangerous, and you signed the waiver.  But what I don’t want, is a mess of blood and guts on the bottom of my foot.”

His cheeks flushed with anger!  She thought he must be stupid!

“I bought the Giufarro Endurance package with the shrinking,” he announced up to her--feeling pride in his choice, and in being able to pronounce it so indignantly up to such a large woman.

“It works by keeping you alive if you get squished!  I--!”

She cut him off again, holding up her hand.  She said, “Yeah, heard of it.  Don’t need a whole story about that, either.”

He flushed again, but nodded.  Maybe she was trying to save him the embarrassment of babbling, he realized.  Which he knew he would be doing, had she let him.  Babbling would be a thing difficult not to do, with the situation at hand, and maybe that was something she knew, with her level of experience with working with submissives.

Sex, and potential sex, especially the kind that got deep into fantasies like his, were no doubt tongue-loosening in the extreme for everybody.

“You have?” he found himself asking, staring up at her, the harness forgotten for the moment.

She motioned impatiently for him to continue with the strapping, but nodded.

“You’re not the first shrunken person I’ve worked with, darling,” she said.  “Oh, what you want is up there on the ‘extreme’ meter for sure, but it’s not the first time I’ve done something dangerous with a shrunken client.  Besides…”

She waved an indifferent hand.

“With how ubiquitous that tech is now, how can you not have heard about it, short of living in a cave?”

She then gave him an impatient gesture with her chin.

“Anyway, get that thing on.  I want to get this going, as I got other things I need to see to today.”

He nodded up at her quickly, swallowed, blushed again, then got back to getting the harness on.

He was done in just a couple more minutes.  He tested the wrist restraints.  Snug, but not too tight.  The same for his ankles.  The part of the harness that went around his torso was snug, but wouldn’t bite into his skin.  His mask was on straight and tied snugly to the contours of his skull.  Satisfied with it all, he looked up and gave her a nod.

“Alright, I’m ready.”

She didn’t miss a beat.  Reaching for him, she gathered up the trailing leads coming from the cuffs around his ankles and took them up.  Took him up by them, in one motion, taking a seat on the edge of her bed again as she did so.

He dangled head-down from her fingers, swinging, trying to stare up at her.

She brought a foot up, her right, resting it over the knee of her other leg.

Again, he stared at how broad her foot was.  Its sole was creamy, smooth, and was shaped with thick areas of padding, thick wrinkles forming with every flex she made with it.  It was beautiful, to his eye at least, he always having had a penciant for stronger, broader feet, not the feet one might associate with say, a dancer, delicate and elegantly shaped.  This was a “Business” foot, one she got around on, worked on, one that supported her well, gave her confidence in her steps wherever she went, a foot that plodded resolutely, but seldom danced.  She also obviously took good care of her feet, her sole glimmering slightly with the moistness of regular lotioning, her skin flush with suppleness and health, no evident callousing, if her skin was thick and robustly dermal-whorled and ridged along its weight-bearing areas.

“Alright, kiddo,” she said, her other hand gathering him up from behind.  “Time to back out of this just expired.”

She gave him a wicked little grin and a wink.

“Here we go!”

She pressed him right to the sole of her foot.  Both her hand and her foot were warm.  Her fingers had a dry, almost delicate touch.  Her foot was a warm, slightly moist contact against the whole front of his body.

He moaned, relishing the feeling of her rough skin against his.  The overall sensation was roughness, but not from callouses, but only where her sole had those deep dermal patterns.  These were almost like sandpaper, if the oiliness of her skin and the lotion she used, mitigated the roughness into more of a smooth, textured glide against his skin, than just roughness.

She fiddled with him for a few seconds, as if trying to decide how she wanted him against her foot, and working out how the harness worked.

“You can wear my head either under the ball of your foot or your--”

“If I want your advice,” she said, cutting him off, her fingers still pressing him this way and that against the bottom of her foot, “I’ll ask for it.  Now be quiet while I figure this thing out.”

She turned him first this way and then that way.  His head was under the ball of her foot for a few seconds, then under her heel, her fingers fiddling with the leads of the harness, she humming quietly to herself.

“Aha,” she said at last, quietly, when she had his head held against her heel for the second time.

“It seems I can wear you whichever way I want,” she said decisively.  “Well.  How about we do a flip for it, then?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he said, his voice somewhat muffled between her heel and the pad of her finger, he squirming a little against her foot.

She then held him snug against her foot with one hand.

“Heads, your head goes under the front of my foot.  Tails, it goes under my heel.”

He heard her flip the coin, the soft sound of her catching it.

She snickered.

“Tails.  Looks like you get to go for the full experience.”

He gulped, squirming more against her ivory skin.

“Y-yes, Mistress.”

It was what he secretly wanted most, had secretly hoped he could talk her into that position, but he had no idea how intense it was going to be like that, either!  The realization that he was going to get it that way, had that ball of ice growing in his guts all over again!

“Now hold still.”  Her voice was business-like now, but also held a brook-no-nonsense tone.  “I’m going to start fixing this thing up, and I don’t need you squirming.”

“Y-yes, Mistress,” he stammered again, but did his best to hold still, if his heart was hammering like a triphammer in his chest, a cold ball of greasy fear swelling in his lower torso, to go with that growing ball of ice.

He heard her drag something over, knowing what it was.  There had been a small footstool close to the side of her bed.  She had evidently hooked it with the toes of her other foot to bring it closer.  It had a cloth top with a paisley pattern on it.

He was lowered to it, her fingers still holding him snug to her foot, until she pressed him against the stool’s cushion.

She withdrew her fingers, carefully, holding him against the top of the stool with her foot.  It was a weighty press, the weight of her foot pressing her smooth skin down around him to some degree, holding him in place.

It was a wonderfully snug press.  It felt amazing.

He felt the leads to his harness start to go taut one after the next, she drawing them up and starting to work with them.

He had prepared most of the upper parts of the harness with little bra clasps.  They would be small, but easy for the wearer to work with, and would be secure.  She was evidently doing this now, her foot flexing minutely on top of him, she silent as she worked.

His arms got pulled snugly up on either side of her heel, angling forward slightly as she clipped that clasp together, clipping that part of the harness over the rear-most part of her instep.  His beceps reached out to the sides of her heel, his forearms bowing around and up the sides of it.  Then came his legs.  They got pulled as far apart as the lead between them would let them, and then they too were fixed into place by their leads, that clip being fastened together, his feet pointing out to the sides and slightly downwards beneath the meat of the ball of her foot, just behind her toes, the "arch" sides of his feet held flush against her skin.

His breathing quickened all the while, but he did his best to hold still for her, if his penis was now hard enough to push its own little dent up into the arch of her foot.

If she noticed this latter bit, she didn’t remark on it, or had chosen to ignore it, as she continued on with the clipping of the straps over her foot, as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

At last, the leads from his mask got pulled taut.  It made him catch his breath.  The tying of the mask marked a moment of significance in the situation.  He was really and truly going to go through with it.  He was going to get to go through with it.  She was really and truly going to make him go through with it!  It made how she would do it start to dance in his head!  Would she be cruel?  Or exquisitely tender with trodding on him?  He shivered, his breathing quickening, the not knowing as thrilling as the whole situation was, if not the most thrilling part of it of all!

His head was jerked a couple of times, though subtly, she clipping its straps.  Those would get clipped around the front of her ankle, adjacent to the leads to his arms, pulling the side of his head up against the underside of her heel.  Which they did, and unmovingly, he barely able to even shift his head, after he heard the snaps clipped together, making him shiver again.

Finally, the leads to the straps for his torso harness were taken up.  He moaned slightly, squirming a little, despite her admonition not to.  He couldn’t help it.  He was pulled flush up into the arch of her foot, and by consequence of this, his penis very snugly up into her skin.

He gave a long, low moan to this, it feeling oh so good.

It elicited another snicker from her.

“Enjoy it while you can,” she chortled.  “I’m almost done.”

The torso harness pulled him even more snugly up against her foot, and then stayed that way, she having fastened its clasps over the top of her foot.  A second passed, and then she took her foot up from the stool.

He watched from the corner of one eye, most of his perspective taken up by the ridged roundness of her heel, as her other foot shoved the stool out of the way.  His breath caught again, his anticipation reaching a peak.  The moment was coming!

“Oh god…” he breathed, tugging against the harness, in both experimentation as to how secure it was, and to feel just how fully it held him to her foot.

It held him snug.  Resolutely snug!

“Well, footwear?” she asked, giving her foot a couple of scrunches and flexes upwards, making him flex with it, the harness holding him snug however she moved her foot, the skin of her arch and the ball of her foot wrinkling and buckling against his skin.

“How’s it feel?”

“It feels amazing,” he breathed raggedly.  “I--”

Her foot went to the floor.  He grunted, the carpet pushing firmly up against his back and legs and to the side of his masked head, her foot pushing down on him all over, upon his whole front side.

“Good,” she chortled.  “I like to make sure my clients get everything they pay for.”

And then in the next moment, she was putting her weight on him.

Chapter 2

He had had some general notion what it would feel like, had an expectation about how much it might hurt, about how intense it might be.  What it was, though, was orders of magnitude beyond anything he could have imagined!  Or dared fear!

From his narrow vantage point between her heel and the carpet, able to just see her shadow on the floor starting to move, he was barely given time to register that she was moving, before her weight, tons of it, all came onto him in one smooth, compressing rush!

He tried to cry out, but the squeeze of her goliath weight came on him so fast, that his brain was not given time to finish realizing he wanted to cry out!  Moreover, her weight was so great, that any air he might have had in his lungs, was pushed out of him in one quick effortless rush!  Moreover, her foot's flesh sank down over him in a completely downward-closing entombment of firm flesh, encapsulating him down so hard against the carpet, that if he had tried to make a sound, it might have come out as only a tiny buzzing, if any sound made it out at all!

His brain lit up with stars!  He felt his head try to compress flat beneath her heel, her heel becoming like a fleshy boulder that had rolled onto it, trying to crush it flat, compressing down over it so completely, so that all he could see, were the thick dermal ridges of her heel's skin, bowing cruelly down over his vision!  Vision that was turning a dark, roiling red from the intense pressure!  He also felt his lower legs try to bend in on themselves, those beneath the ball of her foot!  Also felt his whole torso sink up into the fleshy arch of her foot, it absorbing him, seeming to suck him up into it and folding down over him like a ten-ton slab of barely giving clay!  The pressure upon him was immense!

He knew, in this incredible haze of pain and pressure, that if it had not been for the special serum he’d gotten with the shrinking, he would have just popped beneath all this weight, compressed into an oblivion of unimaginable pain, to then hear a squelch of his body bursting open, to hear the snaps of every bone breaking, followed near instantaneously by the blackness of nothingness!  But of course, that didn’t happen.  Couldn’t happen!  Nothing short of somebody beating him with sledgehammers could really harm him!  The advertisement had said so!  But God!  If only he could die!  There was just so much pressure!  Unimaginable pressure!  The sole of her foot, her weight, felt like pain given form!  Like agony given substance!  His whole body was transformed into a physical manifestation of raw, undiluted, wholly pure and distilled torment!

There was a sudden, downward push of the pressure!

His skull did compress!  It flattened downward, as if some resistance point had been reached, causing the otherwise hard rigidness of his skull to transform into something like a tough, liquid-filled capsule!  His eyes literally bugged out of their sockets!  His tongue protruded a good two inches!  The pain was brought to even greater immensity!  It would have had him helplessly making gagging sounds, if this weight let him make any sounds at all.  Which, with his chest being pressed as hard as it was, let alone with how his face was now deformed into some flattened parody of purest agony, he couldn’t!

The pressure let up, but only for it to happen again!  Moreover, before it pressed back down again, he felt the tension in his skull push up against it, rebounding upwards against the pressure!

He tried to scream!  The compressive pain was unspeakable!  A monumental pinch that focused on his head, squashing it!  His legs fared little better, they bowing with unimaginable pain, but it was his head that was getting the worst of it!

Then, just as suddenly as she had pushed down, she took all of her weight off of him again.

He gagged!  He felt an overwhelming urge to vomit!  Felt like every nerve in his body had been transformed into tingling pain!  His whole body like a finger just out of the crush of a vice!  Like a million boring bee-stings!  Like his whole skin had become the surface of the sun!

His eyes swimming drunkenly, he found himself looking out across the floor, the pain an intense, slowly ebbing sensation that held him apoplectically still.  Despite the drunkenness of his vision, not to mention the fever-pitch at which his mind was running, as if caught in a hazed loop of absolute incredulity about what had just happened, he dimly realized that she had tilted her foot outward, as if to just take the pressure off of him, but not her foot entirely off of the floor.

“Yep.  You held up.”

He tried to cry something in response!  His tongue was non-functional, felt as thick and as insensate as a fat chunk of leather.  His mind was in too much of a reeling haze to form anything like a coherent thought.  As a result, all he managed to do was to wretch out a short, incoherent babble, just a few spat non-words, like an infant's incoherant burbling.

“Time to get on with things.  Enjoy!”

It was singsong from her.  Which he met with another cry of incoherent babbling.  But then, he finally managed to scream, "N-no!"  It sounded like the cry of a sheep at slaughter.

As desperate as the sound was, it only brought from her another chuckle.

And then her foot tilted back to the floor.  Followed by her weight, all of it, coming back onto it, and all of it back onto him again.  Right after that, and without missing a single beat, she took her first stride on him.

Chapter 3

His head was flattened, it feeling like a bomb going off in his skull when she took her first step.  Then like an unstoppable tidal wave, her weight rolled down the length of his body, squashing his torso up into her arch, which with her step, became like an iron plate with the strength of her tendons, then for his legs to feel like they were wet spaghetti to be pulled apart between his knees and his ankles beneath the slight, grinding twist of the ball of her foot’s push-off.

He screamed!  It was a raw, primal outcry of sheerest desperation!

Her foot landed again.  It was like she hadn’t heard him!

The weight raced up his body again, ending in that feeling of his legs being pulled apart again!

He screamed again!

Her foot landed again, his body contour-steamrolled again by her great weight and the meaty roll of her foot!

He was too agog to try to scream this time!  He couldn’t believe this was happening to him!  What had he gotten him--

In quick succession, giving him no time to finish the thought, her foot landed again!  It was like being rolled over by a ten-thousand-pound steamroller made of flesh!  Flesh though it was, however, there was utterly no forgiveness to it!  It gave some, it being flesh, but all too soon, it became his turn to give!  His body flattened in a wave, downward, starting at his head and going down his body in a rush of mercilesly conforming, crushing pain!

Blankness followed that push-off, his mind too stunned by the agony of it all, the disbelief of it all, to form anything that might even remotely resemble a coherent thought!

Her foot came into contact with the floor again, rolled the unspeakable agony of her weight over him again!  His head felt like it would explode again, followed at once by that breathless mash over his torso again, then that feeling like his legs were being pulled apart again!

She was walking on him!  She wouldn't stop walking on him!  Oh god please stop!  I don't want this anymore!  Please!  Please oh god!  Stop walking on me!

An incoherent cry blasted its way up from his throat.  He thought he heard a “No!” in it!

Her foot thudded down again, in just another of those cruel, body-demolishing steps, she just continuing to walk on him completely without concern!

There was more than just the foot, too!  The carpet was starting to burn his back!  She had this patterned, flat and smooth carpet in her suite, tight weave, durable, the perfect carpet for rough, sexual play.

Her foot landed again!

Rolled over him with that same agonizing force!  Unspeakable force, the carpet burning!

The flash of daylight.  Her foot picking up again!  His mind raced to form a word, to make his lips and throat make it!  Please!  Oh god!

All he got out was, “Ple--!”

Her foot landed again, grinding his nervous system into a pulp of blazing embers again!

He started to writhe!  The harness held him fast!

Her foot landed again.

He tried to writhe harder!  Anything to get her attention!  Whatever writhing he did, the harness held him fast!

Her foot only landed again!

It was as if, again, he had made no movement at all!

His writhing became truly desperate struggling.

Her foot landed again.  Pistoned him down into the carpet under uncaring weight, under just another unconcerned stride!

He bawled out like an antelope being taken down by a lion.

Her foot landed again.  Crushing force, not an ounce of her weight held back, not a single newton of the regular force of her stride spared him!

Smashing him like he was not there at all!

Thunderclap of realization!  Like he had paid her to do!  A professional dominatrix bitch just doing her job!  He had signed the waver, told her what he wanted, and now she was giving it to him!

The floor changed!

He felt the rough burn of the carpet change to cold and utterly unforgiving hardness beneath him!  It was like being worked against a Cold Stone’s ice-creamery’s slab, except in his case, it was with tons of uncaring foot and nothing quite so gentle as the laughable thought of making ice cream!

The thought would have made him laugh, if her foot hadn't been so cruelly crushing him!

The steps themselves changed, going from full-on strides to shuffling, he being dragged along this cold, smooth surface, as much as being squashed against it.  He was reduced to wretched sobs, his mind on the verge of giving up, realizing that whatever pleading he did would do him no good!

Suddenly, the weight solidified, becoming unmoving, she having stopped walking and was now just standing in one place for something.

He was crushed up into the sole of her foot, the more unforgiving nature of this floor, giving her foot’s supple nature more to work with.  He cried silently under the pinning cruelty of it, her foot’s sole as if it was made to deliver as much pain to someone like him it could.  Every shift of tough tendon passed over his bones and muscles like firmly rolling baseball bats.  Her foot’s skin gripped down over his frontal body like some great, flat clenched fist.  The bones in her foot, her heel bone in particular, there to make it all feel like God's own verdict.

It went on and on, every second feeling like an increasingly long eternity, his knowledge of how helpless he was, making the eternities even longer, the pain of the experience transcending just plain pain, making him start to forget what just plain pain was!

Finally though, her weight shifted.

He gasped down a ragged breath, it finishing with a wretched sob, tears streaming from his eyes, wetting his mask and the rough skin of her heel.  He pulled against the harness, tugged on it as hard as he could.

As ever, the harness held secure, he not having a fraction of the strength necessary to break it, or to even really shift it, he having designed it that way.

What a fool he’d been.

His struggle, as before, didn't prompt her to pay any attention to him.

While her weight wasn’t on her foot for the present, her foot still held him pinned against the floor.  With her weight off of it, the contact of her foot felt... wonderful.  His mind dared, despite what he'd just been through, to feel for her sole’s contours, her arch, the dip downward of the ball of her foot, the smoothness of her skin, he daring to squirm, if even just a little, for a chance to feel it all.

He knew how crazy this was.  He should be begging her to take him off.  But god, the luxurious feel of her sole against his skin...  Ohh...

In seeming response, the tendons of her arch flexed against him, subtly.  They felt wonderful, like a lover’s caress.  This was a foot he was under!  Helpless to it, it able to squash him back into that oblivion of pain again any time she wanted, but it was a foot, a woman’s foot, he was under!

Despite what had transpired just moments previous, he started to moan again, his movements starting to take on the character of just squirming again, his penis growing hard up against the snugness of her arch again.

Her weight returned.

He was crushed again!  All thoughts of wonderful feet, of how mesmerizing it all could be, were squashed out in a flash!

Pain!  Agony!  Like drilling needles, boring into every millimeter of his being, replacing any thoughts about how wonderful this foot could be with just pure and absolute agony!  It made any scream, any plea impossible!  Just crushing pressure!  Immense crushing pressure, her foot gripping down over him again like some fleshy god bent on delivering as much pain as it could!  Crushing him absolutely without mercy against this cold, hard floor!

His writhing renewed!

Crushing pressure!  She wasn’t letting up!  The dermal whorls and ridges of her foot's sole digging down into his skin, her immense weight seeming bent on crushing him as flat as it could!

Her weight relented again, seeming to just float up off of him, her foot just resting on him again.

He cried out a wracking sob of relief, tugging as hard as he could at the harness again.  Just as ineffectually at it, as before.

“Please, Mistress,” he sobbed, forcing the words out from sheer desperation now.

“It’s too much!  I can’t take it anymore!”

This time she answered him.

“You’re a noisy little SOB, you know that?” she said, her voice distant, far above, muffled by the underside of her foot and the floor.  Her voice had an echoing quality, too, as though she were in a bathroom.

“I got clients today.  Two of them.  They’re not going to need the distraction, might not even be able to get off, if they have to listen to you crying like a little stuck pig all god damn day.  Fuck.”

Was she going to take him off of her foot?!

Hope swelled!

But then it was just as quickly dashed.

“Eh, no bother,” she said indifferently.  “I’ll just wear shoes and socks.  I think I have a pair of sneakers that’ll fit with you there, without too much bother.”

He started sobbing.  Sobbed in earnest.

“Please just take me off," he blubbed desperately.  "This was all a mistake.  I’ll pay you whatever you want.  You can forget you ever heard of me or my little kink.”

She snorted in response, her foot still resting on him.

“Now if I did that any time a guy like you with an intense kink wanted to back out, what kind of reputation for delivering would I have?”

There was that tone of amusement again!  She was enjoying the predicamant he had put himself in!  He could almost hear the words of her thoughts!  "Men and their kinks.  Getting them into all kinds of trouble.  I live for this kind of shit."

She briefly took her foot up, tapping its ball once against the floor.  It gave a soft spank, his legs stinging with the impact.

He sobbed harder.

“Nope, footboy, you’re going to get what you paid for.  So you might as well suck it up and take it."

There was definitely a snicker in her voice that time!

He just continued to sob.

"Besides, with the tech, you'll survive.  You might not want to, but hey, I didn't bring you over here and tie you against my foot against your will.  Not my fault if you didn't know what you were getting yourself into."

She stepped on him again, though briefly.  Even so, it was an explosion of crushing pain, a hard, foot-in-his-face-reminder of where he was and what kind of bitch he was under. 

She let up again just as quickly as she stepped down.  "And who knows?" she continued without missing a beat.  "Maybe you'll want to come back for more.”

She chuckled, up there so far above him, obviously fully aware and completely full of the feeling of how helpless he was to her.

“Repeat customers, ya'know.  They're the meat and bread of a business.  So sugar, while you might not be thanking me now, I know you’ll not thank me later, if I don’t deliver.”

And with that, completely cutting off his sobs, she shifted her weight right back onto him.  Then, she was turning and heading back out of the room with the cold floor and back out into the one with the carpet, every step a pummeling and crushing assertion that she had every intention of doing what she said, and that she was likely enjoying the hell out of this dumbass who got himself in the position he was in.

***

She walked through her suite, feeling the little man writhing under her steps.  She had to admit, it gave her a thrill.  If it did also tug at her conscience a slight bit.  She'd done some extreme things with some of her clients before, but this was an extreme that made even her shiver.

But in the end, she decided to resolutely go through what she had promised him.  A lot of her clients wanted to back out when she got started.  But as she'd promised and then done for all of them, she'd taken them all, all the way through their fantasies, it not mattering whether those fantasies were wanted anymore or not, after they learned what those fantasies really were.  That was her job.  It was what she got paid for.  And most importantly of all, she was as sought after as she was, precisely because she would not back down once she got started.  She promised to take everyone of her clients all the way through everything they said they wanted, and never failed to deliver on her promises.

Well, for this one, she was going to have to be more than just her usual cold-hearted bitch.  But just what must it be like to be walked on like that?  God.  What an imbecile.  But that was fantasy for you, and in particular, men's fantasies.  Oh well.  He asked for it.  Paid for it.  And so now, if for nothing else than her professional pride and no less important, her professional reputation, she was going to give it to him to the full depth that he said he wanted.

She'd treat it, as extreme as it was, as just another client.

Go about it just like it was business as usual.

Part 2

Chapter 4

He cried.  He pleaded.  Her foot met the floor.

He struggled, pulled down on the harness as hard as he could.

Her foot met the floor.

That inexorable wave of unstoppable pressure, his head squashed flat by murderous heel, by that awful ridged skin, then his body to experience that intense pressure down its length, then for his legs to feel like they were being pulled excruciatingly apart again, dermal whorls biting into his shins, his legs bent horribly backwards by that horrendous stiffening of the ball of her foot, the upcurve of the rest of her foot, as her foot pushed off of the floor again.

And then again, and again, and again and then again!  Unstoppable, without end, she just stepping on him, treading on him!  Would not stop!  Trodding on him over and over again!

He cried out with everything he had, his vocal cords ululating his distress as loud as they could between every step.  He pulled against the harness as hard as he could, struggled against it, he even trying with his fingernails to scratch desperately at the sides of her heel!

Nothing stopped her!  Didn’t even slow her!  Her foot only met the floor again!

Suddenly, though, the walking stopped.

She was crushing him again!

But then, all of her weight rolled down to his legs and then stayed on them, the whole rest of his body raised into the air by her heel and the rest of her foot!  His legs were being pressed flat, stretched to horrible degrees, by the ball of her foot!

A scream blasted up from his throat, his eyes clenched closed in sheerest agony!

She was squatting down!  Had to be!  It was the only thing that could explain this excruciating pressure on his legs!

Then, without any warning, her foot tilted back level to the floor again, taking him down with it, and then she was standing on him again!

He experienced a moment of repugnant bliss under this, feeling her whole, huge foot mashing the whole length of his body now, and not just his legs.  As horrible as this was--her flesh mashing down over him, her weight seeming to want to press everything out of him, to pop him flat beneath its extreme force, every dermal whorl and ridge she had biting down into his skin, gripping down over it like some awful god’s fist, the pressure of her sole immense--it was still better than what his legs alone had just been feeling!

And then, just like that, her weight floated right up off of him again.

Only for her foot to meet the floor again in another horrendous step!

He screamed as loud as he could, only for his scream to be extinguished once again by the thump of her foot’s next step!

His head exploded, that wave of pressure then went down the length of his body again, for his legs to be horrendously stretched again!

Would she not stop?!  Would she not show mercy any on him?!

She didn’t.

Her foot met the floor again.  And yet again, and then again, swiftly, the horrible pressure of her great weight flashing down the length of his body with the normal cadence of her strides, over and over and over again!

Then it stopped again.

Stood pressing upon his whole body again!

He struggled, his forearms pulling down on the harness as hard as they could again, his fingernails scrabbling desperately for her attention again.

Her huge foot rocked subtly on him, mashing him.  The rocking did nothing however, to alleviate any of the pain her foot was causing.  Instead, it made the tendons of her arch do that baseball-bat-like rolling over his ribs and muscles again, as her dermal whorls rocked back and forth on him with excruciating force, tugging horribly at his skin, all as her great weight intensely mashed him!

Then, as before, her weight simply floated up off of him again.  This followed immediately by her just walking on him again!

Step after unimaginable step, her foot mashing him uncaringly into the floor over and over again, again, explosions of pain to race down his body again and again, she simply not stopping, would not stop walking on him!

But then, at last, she did.

Her weight left him this time, instead of just pressing down on him like it had before.

He felt cool air, felt a whole new force, realizing it was a sweeping motion.  Was she picking up her foot?

He tried to focus.  Saw what he thought must be her room through swirling, tear-occluded vision.

Then the motion stopped.

He hiccuped like an infant after a bout of intense crying, trying to squirm against the bonds that held him, the sole of her foot a goliath obelisk of flesh against him.  Cool air bathed his back, tears streaming from his eyes to wet his mask.  Snot ran from his nose to add its wetness, drool from the corner of his lip adding its bit.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she said.

Her voice focused him, caused him to look up.

Inexplicably, he found himself looking up at her face.

Her giant face, framed by jet black hair, short hair.  Her dark brown, almost black, glittering eyes.  It a solid face, her appearance reminding him of that woman who fought Colossus in that first Deadpool movie.  Strangely beautiful, if in that austere way--a woman one would imagine in a fight, and winning it.  Or in a position of physical prowess.  A bouncer at a bar.  A ruthless bodyguard to a supervillain.  Or…

And this thought made him swallow.

A BDSM Dominatrix exceedingly good at her job.

She was frowning down at him, displeased and irked.

“‘Stuck pig’ doesn't quite say it,” she grumbled.  “‘Squealing pig’ would be more like it.  Jesus, I’ve had clients who cried and begged before, but you’ve got them all beat, and we’ve just gotten started.”

He sucked down a sob, tried the bonds of his harness again, writhing and trying to twist against the sole of her foot.

“Please take me off,” he pleaded again, staring up at her past the curve of her large, dermal-ridged heel, his cheek held snug against it, with tears that he hoped would at last convince her.

She turned her foot upward, the motion making her arch flex, the ball of her foot scrunch, it all putting an uncomfortable curve in the small of his back, her thick skin wrinkling and bunching against his front.

“And fuck.  You got dirty quick,” she said, grunting it as if it were just a casual observation of mild surprise.

Her hand swooped in and dusted him off, slapping against his back, just like one would slap-dust dirt off of the sole of their foot.

“Please Mistress,” he begged.  “Please take me off!”  Tears streamed from his eyes, he looking up at her as beseechingly as he could.

“Well, no matter.  We’re going to solve that problem.”

Her eyes met his, hers giant and smirking, his staring back up into them with renewed and growing alarm!

“Both problems, actually.  The noise and the dirt.”

It was like they were holding two different conversations!

“Please Mistress!” he tried again.  “God!  Oh please, just take me off!”

Her foot relaxed.

He started sobbing in earnest again, believing it a prelude to her just dropping her foot to the floor again.

She didn’t, however.  Instead, he saw something that gave him true alarm.

She was unballing a pair of tube socks and getting ready to put them on!

He struggled in earnest!  But as ever, the bonds of his harness held him to her foot as snug as ever!

“Oh god!  Please no!” he wept, crying it for all he was worth!

Her hands pulled the sock up over him, just like she was pulling it up onto her foot by itself, her foot pointing down into it, putting that strain into the small of his back again.  Pulled the sock on as if she hadn’t heard the first word out him!

A true sense of helplessness washed over him.  He knew that inside of her sock, he would be out of her sight, too.  Out of sight out of mind.  She would be able to truly ignore him, pretend he wasn’t down here at all.  He would have absolutely no hope of getting her attention.  He would be doomed to feel her weight and her foot until she decided she was through with him.

Piteous sobs wracked him.  He just lay and cried, relaxing himself into the restraints and against the sole of her foot.  It was hopeless.  She had just concealed him, the rough fabric of her sock tugging along his back then growing taut as she pulled it all the way on.

He felt that sweeping motion again, and then her foot was on the floor again, dropped with an uncaring thump, his sobbing breaths expelled from him in a punishing rush, her foot flexing upon him completely without concern.

All was white now, he unable to see anything but the white of the sock and the creamy-pink color of the bottom of her heel, what small, wild glimpses he had gotten of the room between her steps, now denied him.

Her foot remained on him a while, pressing, rocking subtly, she doing something above him, no doubt pulling on her other sock.

He sobbed, continued sobbing, feeling his sobbing drying up, he soon to have no more tears to give.

Her foot picked up again.

He had no hope now of her taking him off of it.  He knew he was doomed.  He didn’t know why she picked her foot up this time, but he knew it was not for him.  And realized he didn’t care, it all just more motion of what she was doing, he a helpless passenger to all of it.  But then, with renewed strength, his sobs came back with full force again!

His legs felt it first.  A tight squeeze, rubbing, tugging upward upon the sock, it gliding up his legs with enclosing force, pressing his legs deep into the ball of her foot!

A shoe!  She was putting on a shoe!  She had said she had a pair of sneakers!  That was why she had squatted down on him like she did!  She’d been picking them up!  From a closet floor, maybe and then those steps that followed, she going to a dresser to get her socks, then to someplace to sit down so she could put them on!

“Oh god!" he screamed!  "Please no!”

Her shoe came onto her foot as if he had said nothing at all.

It sealed him in darkness.  It pressed him up against the sole of her foot, the pressure of its insole not unlike when she was resting her foot on him, pressing his whole body up into the skin of her sole.

He struggled and begged!  He pleaded!

The shoe found its place on her foot with a final tug.  It began to impart its smell--rubber, the stailer smells of older footwear, the hint of footsweat ground in and cured.  The pressure the insole of the shoe exerted, pushed the weave of the sock’s fabric more firmly against his skin, pressed him more firmly still, up into the skin of her sole.

The shoe began to tighten, tighten more, he realizing he could hear her working the laces on top of the shoe.  It pressed him to her foot with enough force to seal him into a state of almost utter immobility against it, he feeling her skin pressure-contour-forming down around him.  Pressed his upper arms snug against the sides of her heel.  It felt almost like she was standing on him again, if the pressure wasn’t so acute.  But forcefully holding him against the sole of her foot, making any movement he might try to make, save for ineffectual tugging with his muscles, impossible.  It was a tight prison of absolutely no escape.  Of complete darkness, of inescapable tightness, of old foot smells, of hopelessness.

A state of apoplexy came over him.  Of surrendering.  No hope.  No mercy.  He to get precisely what she promised him.  What he had asked her for.

Breathing was difficult.  Not just for the force with which the shoe held him to her foot.  Staleness of the air, too.  The warm stench of exercised foot smell grown old, it slightly vinegary in essence, like ammonia left to linger too long, losing its potency, but still there to be smelled, slightly nose-burning but tolerable.  These smells were every breath he pulled, every pull of it an exertion, his chest heaving for every one, up into the close-pressed flesh of her foot’s arch.

He felt movement, felt the weight of her foot rest on him again.  It felt almost… good.  A tight squeeze, warm, her supple flesh doing that tendon thing on him again, but everything much tighter now than it had been before.

He let his eyes close.  He let his body start to drink the feeling in.  It was irrational, he knew.  He should be begging her, trying to get her to take off her shoe.  But knowing that she wouldn’t, knowing it deep down in the core of everything he was, he decided that giving over to these sensations was all he had left.

He felt the dermal whorls of the ball of her foot pressing down over his shins and the insides of his feet.  Felt the harder ridges of her heel press-formed down over the side of his head, holding his head solidly in place.  Felt the wrinkles of her arch form and flex over his lower torso and chest, felt them glide with warm, pushing wetness over his loins further below, her foot starting to sweat slightly from the enclosing warmth of the shoe.  Felt this subtly undulating pressure over his thighs, warm flesh pushing down over them, flattening them to levels of exquisite comfort.

To these latter sensations, his loins and thighs, he moaned.  It felt, despite everything else, exquisite.  He was getting hard again.  What if he came?  Would she notice it?  Would she care if she did?

Intense pressure came on him in a rush!

He gagged!

The sole of her foot squashed down over him, pins and needles of excruciating pain!  But he also felt… the sole of the shoe... push up around him, too!

Or he down into it!

It was a sensation of intense agony, But it also felt… good!  A total encapsulation of his body, it sealed away with entombing force, but it didn’t hurt as much as it just lit up every nerve of his being!

He let out a silent, “Ohh…!”  His head was fully enclosed, his whole body pressed beneath tons of squashing flesh.  Breath was impossible.  He felt his pulse through every inch of his body, throbbing, dull, a feeling of blackened agony, but it was, he realized, exactly how being stepped on was supposed to feel!

It was glorious!

The power of it surged through everything he was, crushing agony, but amazing!  It culminated in his loins in a sensation of extraordinary ascendance!  For an instant, he didn’t feel her weight at all!  All he felt was this!  Bliss to overwhelm everything, realizing he was orgasming, feeling the surge of it push all other sensations before it, sweeping them away like leaves before a storm, even the crushing pressure of her foot's skin!  A golden feeling sweeping his whole body, bringing every nerve alive with the majesty of its feeling!

It rocked him!  It splintered his mind!  It had been unlike anything he had ever felt before!  He felt the wetness of it between himself and the tightly pressing sole of her foot.  Wished he could dip his fingers into it to see how much it was.  Smelled the astringent odor of it, man-semen, nose-cloying and potent.  Acrid.  Every nerve in his body still tingled with that sensation, he basking in it, in the feeling of her great foot upon him, loving it for being on him!  Loving her for standing on him!

Suddenly, her weight was off of him again.  He felt the motion of what he recognized now, of she lifting her foot again.

“Huh,” she said.  Her voice was greatly muffled by her shoe, but he could hear her clearly.

“Had I’d known you’d do that, I’d have put my shoes on when we got started.”

There were a pair of impacts, he realizing she must be slapping the bottom of her shoe!

They were slaps of approval!  He’d heard the approval in her voice, too!  She was pleased that he had orgasmed to what she was doing to him!

She was a professional!  Her whole goal with every submissive she worked with, was to bring them to this!  To experience this level of bliss!  If they did, she considered her job done well!

Also, maybe, would she let him out now?  That goal reached, so no further need for him to be there, had come to pass, too?

She dashed that hope, and quick.

She patted the sole of her shoe again, only once this time.

“But better save’em.  We’re just getting started and we've got the whole day ahead of us yet.”

Part 3

Chapter 5

Her foot returned to the floor, and her weight immediately back onto it.

He squeezed down, an utter prisoner to the sole of her foot, to her weight, and more than anything else, to her absolute whim.

She squashed him, he feeling every nuance of the skin of the sole of her foot mash down over his body.  The wrinkles of her sole.  Every compression line in her skin, large and small, every tendon do its job as they tightened and stretched under the load of her weight, all of her skin’s whorls and ridges as they gripped fiercely down over every inch of his body.  All in absolute darkness.  All with an absolute inability to do anything about it.

At all.

He whimpered, knowing that trying to cry out was useless.  And just as useless, it was pointless.  She wouldn’t hear him, in the extremely tight confines of her shoe, and wouldn’t do anything to change any of it, if she did hear him.

Her weight picked up.  He took in a gasp.  The air was so thick with her smell, both from her foot in these close confines, and from the part of her shoe where her foot would rest, when he wasn’t in it, that the breath felt like he was in some…

The air was so thick with the smells and this terrific humidity, there was nothing he could compare it to.  A swamp, deep down in some ancient forest?  A sauna where unpleasant things, spores, molds and the like, were left to flourish with all of their malodorous scents?

He couldn’t possibly fathom anything that would come close to it, an experience for which any mind would never ordinarily be able to conceive of.

It was rendered academic before he could take his next breath of its fetid melange.  Her weight returned to her foot.

It steamrolled down his body, a titanic force.  Unstoppable, as impossible to endure as it was to stop.  He had no choice but to endure it.  He was tied to this foot and pinned up against it by the insole of a tight-fitting shoe.

His head was pressed down into the insole, the grip of her heel down over it so tight, that he would never have a hope of turning it, the skin of his face mashed into a painful pinch over the front part of his skull, the skin of the back of his head, too, along its back, his ears mashed so flat against the sides of his skull, that they felt like they would burst.  Then his shoulders and collarbones got to feel it, his whole torso, too, as her arch took her weight--that weight laying upon his whole torso with a force that mashed her skin down over it, as much as it compressed his whole chest and belly downward, his whole spine helplessly popping under the severity of the compressive forces of her step.  This along with his pelvis and thighs, they pressed tight in the extreme, acute, it feeling like his skin would either burst or develop blood-blister pinch-lines along his body’s whole anterior-posterior divide, pinched so hard his whole body was between sole of her foot and insole of her running shoe.  His upper arms feeling all of this, too, in all of its unstoppable power, it feeling like his forearms would swell to bursting on her heel's either side, it all making even the ends of his fingers feel like they were swelling with the pressure.

Then all of that alleviated, only for all of it to roll down to his lower legs, his calf muscles feeling like they were being squashed flat, his shins to feel the acute digging-in of her dermal whorls upon them, then for his legs to be stretched, this followed almost at once, by all of her weight leaving his trapped form all in one smooth rush.

He gasped again.  A hiccuped sob defined the character of this gasp, the skin of his face burning from the way it had just been pinched, his whole body burning furiously from the mash that had just come upon it, and then had just as abruptly left it.  Every nerve tingled, fiery, unbearably acute, this along with that feeling of throbbing one might imagine present in a finger just out of a crushing vice, except down his whole body's length.

The air of the tight confines filled his lungs.  His mind reeled at how much it all had hurt, his body starting to feel hot-humidity-burned, in addition to the tight crush he’d just felt, this latter part from him being held in such close contact with her hot, and much thicker skin.

None of it mattered, however.  Not in the slightest.  As soon as he tried to begin contemplating the enormity of how much it all hurt, it was happening again.

He endured it with a groan.  His spittle bubbled out from exceedingly mashed lips.  His eyes burned from being pushed from deforming sockets and skull, his tongue tasting the skin of her heel, it forced out and against it.

His skeleton popped, organs squeezed and shifted.  Every muscle burned.  It was excruciating beyond words, her weight just so fantastic, so completely crushing, the sole of her foot molding down over his body in an excruciating wave of terrific force.

It left him again.

He gasped again.  Tried to writhe.  The insole of her shoe held him snug.  Tight, pressing him up against skin, that even with the owner’s weight off of it, seemed to writhe as if to deliver pain.

The humidity was unspeakable.  It made what small breath he was able to get, difficult to endure--like sucking something half air and half water down into his lungs.  But not half water.  More like muck suspended in air, thick, cloying, like the air where hundreds of loaves of bread was left to yeastily rise in close quarters, or like in an olympic pool building and the air was much too warm.  Not burning as it went down, however, but feeling something that must be coughed.  But couldn’t be coughed.  It was needed too much.  It was too difficult to get.  This latter was both from just how minimal the air was in this small space, which was made only by his head, between the bottom of her heel, the sock, and the inside of her shoe, but also because of how difficult it was for his chest to push up into the arch of her foot, to get it.  Getting the breath felt like trying to breathe from tanks on the bottom of an ocean, it was made so difficult to get.

Her weight came upon him again.

That difficult breath made a furious farting sound out through excruciatingly pinched lips.  His head spun.  His whole body was mashed, that fantastically heavy steamroller that was the bottom of her foot, squashing down the whole length of his body in that wave of unendurable pressure, her foot pressing its flexing hurt down over every fiber of his pain-drenched being.  Every joint popped.  His skeleton flexed downward under that horrible, rolling mash.  He saw stars, red and white swirls of a universe filled with pain.

Has gasped again.  Gagged, the breath coming down into his lungs with a ragged surge of agony, every micron of his flesh alight with the agony that was just upon it.

“She’s wal--!”

Her weight was on him again.

The thought finished itself with a spasm.

“Walking on me!”

A rolling, unendurable, unstoppable agony, happening again and again!

He gasped again and again, brought along with her foot as its weight relented, held so tightly against it, that it almost felt like she was still crushing him, pulling him along with it, into her next steps.  He felt this time, swinging motion, which must be her stride.  Knowing he’d felt it before, but hadn’t been able to be aware of it from the mashing that followed, those blowing out any thought which may have tried to take root, before they could form.

Her weight steamrolled down the whole length of his body again, unstoppable, an agony again beyond anything anybody could ever imagine.

It relented again, his mind reeling as much as before, but able to recognize the sweep of her step now.

Her weight came upon him again.

He cried out.  His cry made a ridiculous little buzz in the tight space formed only by his head.  His lower arms, his biceps were pressed so tightly up against the sole of her heel, that he couldn’t pull down on the harness anymore, either.

Her weight did that unimaginable steamroll down the length of his body again.

“Does she even remember I--!”

Her weight mashed down the length of his body again.

“--down here?!”

Her weight mashed him again--that unstoppable steamrolling of the bottom of her foot against his whole body, the insole of her shoe accepting him again, to sandwich him again in that excruciating, full-body pinching.

He cried out again.

It did nothing.  Her steps did not stop.  Didn’t even slow.

Where was she go--?!”

He started to lose track of how many steps she was taking.

They wouldn’t stop!  He was steamrolled mercilessly!  Repeatedly, the sole of her foot a companion of only horrible weight, excruciating hurt, a universe of pain he was taken up with, in between every unendurable, agonizing mash of her weight, only to be pulverized under her weight again, again and again.

“My god!!  Pl--!”

They didn’t stop!  She walked on him!  Strode on him!  She was treading on him without seeming end!  He cried piteously!  Tried to writhe!  Nothing stopped it!  She was walking on him like he wasn’t there!  Had never been there!  Pain, and only that, had become his whole world!

The walking stopped.

He might have found relief in this, but it had stopped with her standing on him!

Throbbing hurt, unable to draw the breath, meager and as desperate as they were, he had gotten between her excruciating steps.  There was only her weight now, her skin molded extremely painfully down over him, his skin feeling like ten levels of sunburn now, skin he knew would be bearing every dermal nuance the sole of her foot had.  An utterly inescapable encapsulation, pinned so firmly, he had utterly no hope of movement, movement he so very desperately wanted to have, if for nothing else, than in some attempt to alleviate this horrendous weight mashing down over him!

In this moment of purest, unstoppable hurt, his mind conjured the image of a bathysphere trapped on the bottom of some ocean, an ocean comprised not of water, but of unending, excruciating pain.  All of the air had been pressed out of this bathysphere by this ocean’s pressure, terrible pressure, crushing him and intensely suffocating him.  An ocean of dermal ridges and whorls, biting down into his flesh, stretched over him in unimaginable agony, the sole of her foot, his whole body barely making its hateful length, less than its terrifically agonizing width, he a prisoner to its whim to cause hurt, to make pain for him, to press down over him a whole universe’s idea of anguish and torture.

A sound blasted up from lungs made to starve too long!

“Bwahhh!”

A desperate cry.

The weight of her great foot relented not the smallest degree.

Desperation swelled!

Her foot did not relent!

She was standing on him, the sole of her foot become a formed-over harbinger of pure, squashing agony!

He struggled again, lights starting to pop in his head!

Her weight relented not a second!

Darkness encroached on the agony, hurt that was becoming so acute, he felt insanity approaching!  Her foot would just not relent!

Suddenly, it did.

A desperate breath filled his lungs, pushed his chest deeply up into the suddenly relaxed arch of her foot!

Humidity filled his lungs.  Cloying, making him want to cough again, a summer indoor pool without air conditioning under a too-hot sun.  A swamp where dreaded things waited in dense, close heat to devour one.  The sole of her foot relaxed upon him, so close, he held so firmly up into it, moving, as if seeking to feel for him, or perhaps feeling a like heat, her tendons and skin cruising up and down the length of his body in waves that he took as either irritation or relief.

He heard voices.

They had been there, he realizing he had been hearing them, but only started hearing them once he was allowed to come up for air from that crushing ocean of despair and agony he had been submerged under.

“So what’s with the shoes?”

A man’s voice.

One of her clients?

“Oh, you know how it is.  I was on my feet too much the last few days and needed something more comfortable.”

Her voice.

His voice again.

“Cool. whatever.  So you ready to get started?”

“You got the money?”

Her voice again.  Then his.

“Yep.  Got it right here.”

Her weight came onto him again.

He groaned.  Then was mashed silent, the sole of her foot encapsulating him under its weight and hurt again.

He felt her turn.  It was a character in the way her foot flexed and then left the floor.  He gasped.

Her weight came onto him again, mashed him into that painful silence again, rolled down the length of his whole body in one of those excruciating, full-body-blotting-out steps again.

She started walking on him again.

Between one of the steps, he heard laughter.

He answered that laugh with a sob, between those two steps, her weight and the horrible steps of it over him, his only companion.

And then, oh god.  A question.

Would she need to stand for what her client wanted?

Her weight came onto him again.  Not a step that took it back off again, but solidly again, not moving again.

He wept piteously under her weight, her foot mashing him mercilessly down into his ocean of agony again, unrelenting, uncaring.  And then ensued moments when her weight was off of him for short periods, then on him for short periods--in only what he could take as her setting her client up for whatever they were about to do, she stepping around him, in doing whatever it was she was doing, he helpless to all of it, helpless to stop any of it.

He heard laughter again.  Heard an expression of nervous anticipation from the client.  All muffled in the extreme, he only catching the smallest snatches of it between the hateful weight of her foot mashing him.

Then…

A whip crack.  A scream, her foot having curled forward off of him.

Her weight came back onto him again, mashing him back into his helpless agony, back down under his universe of inescapable hurt again.

It curled forward again.  This time, he felt a grunt pass down through her body, evidently putting effort into what she was doing.

That whip cracking again.  Followed by her client’s scream.  That one was followed by a howled, “Please Mistress!”

Her weight came back onto him again, he mashed back down into an oblivion of pressure and pain again by the sole of her foot.

Despite the pressure, the agony and the hopelessly inescapable position he was in with her, he felt some small sympathy for the client.

If he only knew.

Her weight flexed forward off of him again, her foot pushing itself vigorously up onto its toes.  That followed almost at once by another cracking of the whip, and then a howl of pain again.

“Please Mistress!” came the wail again, too.

Despite everything, he laughed.  It wasn’t the laughter of hilarity, however, but the laughter of sympathetic despair.

Her weight came back onto him again.

He didn’t even mind it this time, he accepting it as his due, what he had gotten himself into, the reward for his extreme foolhardiness.

Which was what her clients were.  Men foolish in the extreme, wanting things done to them no man was meant to endure.  It was the client’s lot.  It was his own.  Her foot mashed him without mercy.  Her whip gave pain to the client without mercy.

Such things men were, they and their little fantasies.

Her whip cracked again.  The client howled and begged again.  He felt her unmerciful weight upon him again.

He laughed in earnest as her foot crushed him again, how ridiculous the whole thing was, moving him to convulsions of true mirth.

She enjoyed punishing men for their folly.  He would endure what she promised, what he had begged her for.  And would, because she took delight in it.  And that was the biggest joke of all, wasn’t it?  He could have said no, but hadn’t.  Had insisted on it.

Her whip cracked again.  Her weight came onto him again.

She did it because they wanted it.  They had handed her the permission.  And now that she had it, it was her pleasure which drove it.

Tears of despair replaced laughter.  Her foot was just so cruel.  Her whip was equally cruel, her other client’s howls even coming through the shoe and her foot now, even when her weight was on the client beneath her.

We are fools, all of us.

Her whip cracked again.  Her foot mashed down over him again.  He struggled, tried to beg, his struggles and begging as acute as the other client’s howls of pain.

He would get what was promised.  And get it, he knew, not because only of some mere promise, but because she wanted to give it.

Despair became his whole world again, that and her cruel weight and the equally cruel sound of her whip.

What must it be for her, to be allowed to do this to people like him?  He had no clue, but he did know that he would never be permitted out of it, to be forced to endure it to its end.  A whole day beneath her feet, crushed and walked on, she to pretend he wasn’t beneath her.  To treat him like he wasn’t there at all.

Which, if the sound of her whip, which just kept landing, eliciting those howls of despair he himself knew all too well now, was any indicator, he would endure.  Have to endure, be given no choice but to endure, because she enjoyed it.

He cried piteously beneath her uncaring heel.  Her other client under her equally pitiless whip.  Hope for any mercy died with those sounds, with the repeatedly returning weight of her foot.

He cried and cried.  Her client cried and cried.  And he just endured it, her great weight, the helplessness of the inside of her shoe, the continual mashing, her tough skin, the uncaring way in which she settled it over him again and again, crushing him into an oblivion of pain with every settling.

He found himself suddenly orgasming again.  It felt like a release of despair this time, and nothing at all like pleasure.

Her foot mashed him.  Her whip sang and struck.  He wept for himself and for him.  Her whip kept right on singing, her weight kept right on mashing him, neither pausing once, no matter what either of them did or how they begged and pleaded with her.

The joke of the universe, they the butt of it.  He beneath her foot, he beneath her whip.  Victims of their own folly.  Handing over the keys to their own pain.

His world was the bottom of her foot, her great weight come often upon it.  He stopped listening to the whip.  Couldn't after a few minutes.  His only concern could be for him.  Her foot just wouldn't relent.  He cried for himself.  Cried for his predicament, the predicament he had gotten himself in, the predicament he knew she would not let him out of.

Her whip sang and sang.  Her client's pleas became more piteous.

He knew what he felt, knew his despair.  Shared it.  Knew too, no matter the dept that despair went to, it would not stop her, would not make her relent.

Her foot mashed him, crushed him, sweated, the heat created by the exersion of whipping making her sweat, made her foot sweat in earnest, soaking him, it starting to burn his skin, adding its own pain to the dull throb of repeated mashing.

He cried.  Her foot kept right on mashing him.  Her client cried, her whip kept right on lashing him.  And kept right on, no matter what either of them did.

And kept right on keeping on, the despair becoming a thing both of them would just need to learn to live with.  Or not learn--she just to keep going, no matter what either of them learned or did.