The next morning went rightly the same as the previous two, waking up to the sounds of her thundering through the house. She walked with such power and purpose I felt like I had to admire it. She was a big woman, and completely unafraid to take up the space she deserved. I got out of the massive bed, and decided that I’d show my appreciation for the new ‘outfit’ by baring all, and wearing just the gold spandex for the day. It was surprisingly comfortable, and cradled my package relatively well. I felt a little weird, so underdressed, but as long as she didn’t pick me up and examine me, I felt like she wouldn’t see too much from her height. Or I hoped, at least. 

I dashed to her closet to set out some footwear for the day, standing square in the center and searching for something new. She mentioned how uncomfortable the heels were yesterday, and I decided that maybe something more comfortable and walkable would be good for today. I spotted two pairs of flats, one black with a decorative buckle across the top, the other a pretty red and white floral pattern with a peep-toe window. I knew the black would go better with her work clothes, but she deserved to stand out, and those floral ones really popped. And they’d show off that pedicure I worked so hard on. I dragged them to the center of the closet, and turned around, only to be greeted by her, leaning in the doorway, arms crossed and one bare foot flat against the ankle of her other leg. I smiled up at her, waved, and then made a “Tahdah!” gesture to the selected flats.

“An interesting choice today, little man.” She returned my smile and stepped into the closet, her dark charcoal gray skirt stopping just above the knee, a small slit baring a bit more of one thigh as she moved. Her shirt was some dark light blue blouse top, flowing in a way that accentuated her lovely breasts appropriately for the office. She was standing right over me now, and I watched her raise a foot and slip it into one of the flats, getting halfway in before she started really pushing down, and I stared, wide-eyed as her foot began twisting and mashing itself into the shoe. I could see the fabric of the shoe stretching and deforming as her wide foot filled it, and then her toes began approaching the peep window in front. She was twisting with such violence that I knew anything lucky enough to be under the sole, or even on the insole, would be completely obliterated by that force. Yet I saw she had her foot about 90 percent of the way in, unable to get her heel to cover that last 10 percent. 

The shoe lifted skyward with her foot and my eyes followed it as she reached down and grabbed the heel, stretching the flat slightly and slipping the rest of her foot in. But even as her foot came down again, I kept staring up at her. Her skirt had fluttered a bit, and I was now looking directly up it, into the darkness. Except.. it wasn’t too dark to get a view, and the view was.. not what I expected. 

I was staring up her skirt, and after a double and triple take, I was certain: she wasn’t wearing underwear, and I could see her bare, hairy pussy. I watched, and felt this primal yearning to be inside it, taboo’s and polite society be damned, but then my eyes flicked higher, and met her strong gaze. She seemed mildly interested in me, and my face flushed in embarrassment at being caught in my perversion, again, and then I realized her foot was violently forcing itself into her shoe again, right next to me. I looked at the writhing magnificent mountain of her foot and then looked back up again, seeing her gaze was completely focused on me as she ground her foot into the shoe. I gulped, and then made a decision that I felt like she wanted, regardless of personal risk. 

I approached the heel of her gyrating shoe, and it slowed, and then stopped, her heel just outside the cupped heel of the shoe. I grabbed the fabric of it, tough at it was at my size, and pulled hard, stretching it to hopefully make room for her to slip in. In response, her foot started slipping down again, and then my fingers were pinched between her heel and the shoe fabric. I grunted at first, and then grimaced in pain as the pressure grew, pinching my fingers there, and I was suddenly uncomfortably aware that she probably had enough force to read my fingers front my hands, or shatter them into unrecognizable shards of fleshy mush, without ever really noticing. But my fingers were trapped now, and it felt as if the tough skin of her heel was sanding the skin from them as she pushed down with that glacial slowness. I gritted my teeth, hoped there would be no permanent damage, and kept pulling. Soon enough, she pushed past the worst part, and then her foot slid the rest of the way in. I didn’t have time to pull my hands out before she twisted twice, settling in her foot and yanking me around with her heel for a moment. I finally extricated my hands and fell back, between her feet and staring directly at the ceiling.

Except, from my position, that just meant I was looking right up at her pussy. The skin on top of my hands was red, raw, throbbing, and in a few spots, missing, but I sat back and enjoyed the view for a moment, hoping she wouldn’t notice. I always had to look up at her, so maybe she wouldn’t make the jump that I was also looking up her skirt. I pondered this as I marveled at her plump pussy lips, and then I spotted a bit of reflection and.. glistening. I think her pussy was just a little… wet. 

My face flushed at the sight and I averted my eyes in reaction to what felt like forbidden knowledge as I racked my mind to wonder what turned her on like this? Light flooded me again as she stepped back slightly, now looking directly down at me. Nothing on her face betrayed either her arousal or understanding of what I’d seen, and she just said, “Great work, my tiny little helper, and you’ve made a great choice as well. Much more comfortable than Monday or Tuesday. But funnily enough I have a top that actually matches these shoes, so I think I’ll change into that and complete the outfit. Why don’t you go eat breakfast, it’s waiting for you.”

I didn’t move for a moment, still trying to process everything, and then she made it even harder, nudging me with the tip of her shoe, her huge painted toes pushing into my frail body for a moment, “Come on, I don’t need a little pervert watching me change, up and out of here, bug boy.”

That spurred me to life and action, mostly to hide my erection in these stupid gold panties, and I jolted upright and sprinted out of the closet and her room. I heard her hearty laugh behind me, and then followed, “Your little butt looks cute in those shorts by the way! Those should be your new house uniform!”

I gulped at the thought, thinking about how much harder it would be to hide my erections, and then again how being so close to naked while she was so fully clothed spoke to another level of power imbalance. It felt like another way I was very, very unequal to her. And that thought sent blood rushing to my pants, again. This was a cycle I was having problems getting away from. 

I was digging into my breakfast and eyeing the lunch plate on the floor, slightly disappointed it hadn’t been similarly crushed today. I heard her steps moving towards the kitchen and quickly debated pushing my food into her path with the hope she wouldn’t notice, but she made her way here before I could truly consider the options. She stood there, in a floral print top with three-quarter length sleeves that matched the print on her feet, a large gold necklace with big, flat medallions hanging from it completed her look. She smiled down at me and posed, her gold bangles dangling on her wrist and rings shining on her fingers. Knowing she wouldn’t hear me too clearly I made an exaggerated cheering motion and blew her kisses before taking a deep bow like an actor would at the end of a performance. She giggled a little and then said, “Tonight I think I’ll have to paint my fingernails, unless my little manservant wants to do it for me?”

I gulped and then bowed again, both to signify my agreement, and to hide my crotch from her view. Manservant? That word had weight that pressed its full context upon me. Was I just her little servant now?

“Of course, even with my comfy flats, I’ll need a good foot massage after a long day on my feet, so you are not absolved of your afternoon duties!” 

I didn’t look up at her, but I heard the thud of her feet approach me and then floral print filled my field of view, shiny red toes peeking out at the world. I looked up just in time to see her bend down, touch her finger to her lips, and then gently press that finger to my face as she made a little “Muah!” sound and then said, “Alright, goodbye now little man, be good today and be ready to work tonight! No lazy bones in this house! And I made sure to not step on your food today, so it should still be plenty good.”

She chuckled and stood without waiting for a response and was out the door moments later, leaving me alone in the house. I knew I’d get something done today, but I glanced toward the laundry room and realized that today would probably be laundry day when she got home. And I thought about her room, and how that dirty hamper might be a goldmine for a budding pervert like me. My schedule was set today, and I rubbed my crotch through my short shorts in anticipation. 

I thought I would take care of the kitchen today, but set out to go collect something from her dirty laundry to... entertain myself first. I wondered idly to myself about what I really expected to find, but something deep within me demanded something that carried her scent. Whether it was a dirty sock or some well-worn panties would probably be a spur of the moment decision.

I entered her bedroom and looked right at the clothes hamper, overflowing with laundry, a few odds and ends spilling to the floor. I made my way to a dingy white sock on the ground, the bottom brown and gray in a pattern that exposed the shape of her toes. I looked around, knowing I was alone but still feeling the shame of my actions, and then leaned in and took a huge whiff. Surprisingly, the smell wasn’t nearly as pungent as I expected, or honestly hoped. I glanced around, and saw a pair of purple panties laying nearby that looked promising. I felt even more shameful looking for these, but my bouncing cock wouldn’t lie, and the panties were within easy reach..

I approached the purple treasure and touched the soft cotton worn thin by years of use. I took a big inhale and was again surprised at the lightness of the aroma, but as my hands traced the fabric, I realized I should smell the part that had been against her most aromatic bits. I ruffled through the panties and stepped inside them, coming face to face with the little reinforced section that had sat against her pussy. There were the stains that always accompanied panties with such a long life, faded and washed, but never forgotten, and this cloth section held a much more powerful scent than the rest. I recognized it as the same, not-quite sour or sweet musk he had smelled through her pants when I had climbed her huge body, and the memory interacted with the smell, forcing me to my knees in this panty prison I stroked myself excitedly. The taboo nature of what I was doing probably made it hotter, I thought, attempting to rationalize my own frantic arousal. And then I exploded, pressing my face against that pussy fabric, thrusting forward and squirting my jism to on the stains made by her cunt. 

I collapsed, and as the panty fabric fell around me, I smelled something different. Still the heavy, musky smell of her most private parts, but tinged with an earthy, bitter tang. My eyes searched in the dark and I spotted, above the pussy section, some faint yellow stains on the bit that would have spent its life buried deep in her asscrack. I loved eating my fiancé’s ass, and it, once upon a time, had not been uncommon for me to bury my face in it as she laid on the couch and we watched TV while my tongue lovingly lapped at her tasty asshole. The smell was the same, and my tongue slipped out without a thought and licked the bit of fabric that lived against her asshole. The flavor was delicate for being so rich, the memory of a bitter truffle nestled there for me to find. I wiped my face on it and jacked off again, aggressively beating my cock as I imagined being trapped in her panties, face mashed against her flavorful asshole. 

A body-wracking orgasm shook me, and I lay there after, panting heavily in the empty room. My needs were maddening, and I was a slave to my own overactive hormones. I peeked out from her panties and eyed the hamper, imagining the dank riches within, and decided that it was worth the effort to find something more, although what more I could want I couldn’t yet picture. 

Climbing the bin was not particularly difficult, my small muscles still large enough by plenty to carry my small form up the side of the wicker basket, and I straddled the edge, looking down to the spoils within the cloth liner. There, posed perfectly in my eye line, almost dirty bras, shorts, pants, skirts, panties and socks, was my target, I knew it immediately. There was a single white sock, one of the no-show kind that barely stretched over her toes and cupped her heel, to be worn with flats or heels where the toe cleavage would be exposed and the sides were cut low. That was my target, because I knew any shoe that was worn with those socks was a shoe that would make her feet sweat, and those socks would store every drop of that sweat. I jumped into the hamper, sinking deeper than I expected in the clothing cloud, and stretching myself out to rise to the top. My intuition proved fruitful when I touched the tip of the sock and felt that it was still damp, having not even completely dried itself of her glorious sweat. I greedily pulled it to my face and put it in my mouth, sucking and pulling a single bead of her cold, concentrated sweat into my mouth, savoring it in the same breath that I agonized at the taste. It was sharp, acidic, sour and salty, but it was unmistakably her, and I lost myself in that moment. 

I realized as I carried it with me and climbed from the hamper that I had spent thirty minutes in there, masturbating with reckless abandon as I covered myself with the remnants of her sweaty feet. As I straddled the edge of the bin and looked at the clock on her nightstand, I noticed something I hadn’t before. Next to her bed, exposed and obviously getting used, laid both an instantly recognizable wand-style vibrator, the big rubbery head looking well used, and next to it was a large, thick dildo. It was a bit taller than me, I guessed about 8 inches, and a bit thicker than me too, but my first thought was that it was eerily comparable in size. Both items out and within easy reach heavily implied active use, and I flashed back to the faint moans I’d heard the other night. 

I dared to wonder if she had been using her.. toys, and if so, was it just a lonely widow fulfilling needs once tended to by her husband, or.. was it a woman who was aroused by being treated and pampered like such a goddess, taking care of a situation that her little servant had created. 

I felt like it was obviously the former, but the idea that it could be the latter, that I could have worked her up enough that she had to take care of it.. I fell back into her hamper and took another thirty minutes to finish myself off and climb back out. My body didn’t seem to produce waste any more, but it seemed to have an endless supply of cum. Sweat too, I noted as I climbed out of the bin, exhausted and let myself fall to the floor, prize one hand. 

I carried it around with me for the rest of the day, sucking on it or taking a deep breath with my face buried any time I felt my energy lag through the day. The kitchen floor was relatively easy to clean, the little scraps of food annoying, but there weren’t as many hiding spots for dirt as the living room had, so I finished down there earlier than I expected. I wondered what to do next, and while the temptation was to hang myself with her socks and jack off until I died of dehydration, I decided cleaning the kitchen counters was a better use of my time that I could still feasibly do. Collecting all the little scraps of food and dust wasn’t too bad, and it was nice to be able to brush all the little bits off the counter and directly into the open trash can. I wrapped her sock around me like a sash, covering me in her perfect stink like a majestic halo, and set to work. 

Moving the cutting board around to get anything under it was a bit annoying, but I found that I was proportionally stronger than I’d been at my true height, and thought about how the main reason ants were so proportionally strong is that the just had to lift less muscle than a bigger animal, like how the bigger a rocket ship got, the more fuel it needed just to carry the weight of the fuel it had. It felt a bit like a crappy super power, but at least it was occasionally fun to play with. 

The stove was interesting, as I could actually get under the grill for the gas burners and really get at the neglected bits, but using soap or scrubbers presented a different problem for me. The kitchen sink had a garbage disposal, and I’d seen too many horror movies to risk getting anywhere near it, no matter how safe I knew it was logically. I opted to clean what I could, scraping and scratching at that stuck on muck for a long long time.

I was toiling away so mindlessly that I didn’t notice the front door open, and I only barely heard her footsteps thud through the house and enter the kitchen in time to stand up and turn around. 

“Joe, where are you? My favorite little masseuse wasn’t waiting by the door when I walked in, are you okay?” She was standing in the doorway, looking around on the floor for me, and when I moved to look at her she seemed to notice and looked up at me, concerned at first and then confusion spread across her face. She walked over to the stove and I stood up between the grate to smile and wave, my hands grimy with the dirt I’d cleaned up so far.

“Looks like you’ve been working! The floor looks clean, did you get the counters too? And it looks like you’ve been doing good work on the stovetop. We’ll get you cleaned up, want to step outside for a smoke with me first?”

I nodded, climbing up and balancing myself on the metal grates, but when I looked up at her, I saw her furrowed eyebrows and followed her eyes to my chest, where I was still wearing her dirty sock as a sash across my chest. Blood rushed to my face and I looked up at her, wide-eyed in fear. 

“Is that.. one of my socks?” She leaned down a little, examining it, and I made a feeble attempt to cover it, but since it was wrapped across my body I couldn’t do much. “Where did you get that? And.. why are you wearing it?”

My mind raced for an excuse, but when I looked at her face, I freaked out about the consequences of lying to her, and blurted out the truth, or at least a version of it. 

“I, um, I went into your room and, uh, grabbed it. I just.. I get lonely in the house sometimes, so I got something to, um.. something to help me think of you!”

I looked up at her with all the sincerity that I could muster, and couldn’t stop myself from shaking just a bit as I looked at her suspicious face.

“Mmmm.. and you had to get a dirty sock for that?”

She cocked an eyebrow at me and crossed her arms. I could hear her foot tapping on the floor, and squirmed in front of her before I offered a semi-plausible reason.

“It uh.. umm, w-well, it’s a little embarrassing, but, uh, I, I rub your feet a lot, so, the, uh, the.. smell, it reminds me of you.” I looked down, embarrassed that I had to admit I enjoyed the smell of her feet, but I knew I could never let her know how I’d jacked off to that same scent.. among others.

The only sound for a moment was her slow, tapping foot. The tension weighed heavy on my shoulders, and my eyes started watering as I looked down, crushed by the idea that I’d disappointed her in some way.

“Well. I’m.. glad you found something to remind you of me. I’ll be very busy at work tomorrow, but on Friday, maybe I’ll take you in to work with me. For now, go put my sock away.”

I nodded quickly, and leapt from the stovetop, landing on the floor in a tumble. I brushed myself off and looked right at her tapping foot, encased in the flats she most likely would have worn the sock I stole with. I stopped for a second, and looked up, only to revert my gaze down when I made uncomfortable eye contact with her. The look on her face was just.. She had looked down at me as if she was watching a roach scurry away. I ran away, towards her bedroom to return my pervert’s prize. 

I couldn’t believe she’d caught me with her sock, but at least she didn't know the full extent of what I’d done with it. If she’d caught me masturbating.. The death of the roach flashed before my eyes. “She.. she would never do that,” I thought to myself, but I felt like I was trying to convince myself more than anything else. In her bedroom, I climbed up the wicker hamper quickly, untying the sock and tossing it back in the basket. I turned, and glanced once more at the dildo and vibrator on her nightstand. I felt my face flush, thinking once again about her masturbating, and then I felt chills all over when I realized that now she knew I’d gone in her room, and when she came here to change out of her work clothes, she’d see her.. Toys, and know that I probably saw them too. I had no idea how she would react, and I considered putting them both away to avoid the problem entirely. But the idea of getting close to the things she’d used on her vagina caused a dramatic reaction from my cock, pushing against my tights, and I jumped from the basket to run away before my lust overwhelmed me. 

I looked around for her, but as I passed the front door, I saw her standing just outside the screen, facing away from me, puffing away as she looked into the yard. I watched her for a moment, admiring the powerful silhouette she cut with her legs spread in a strong, sturdy stance, before I tapped lightly at the bottom of the door to let her know I was there. She looked over her shoulder, and when she looked down and spotted me, she reached back and pulled the door open a crack, enough for me to get out and join her, but it was a tight squeeze. As I squirmed through the gap, I was certain she did this on purpose, though I couldn’t tell if it was just petty revenge, or if she wanted to humiliate me, or if it was some other nefarious reason. Regardless, I squeaked through and tumbled to the ground. I was in the process of standing up when her cigarette butt landed just in front of me, and I barely had time to comprehend it when her black ballerina flat slammed on top of it and violently ground it out of existence. The force of the impact pushed a wall of air at me and knocked me flat on my back. I looked up to her face and saw her looking directly at me as she violently twisted her foot on top of that cigarette, and I wilted under her scorching gaze, involuntary whimpers squeaking out. 

“Well well well,” she started, her voice filled with irritation while she continued mangling that cigarette, surely reducing it to dust beneath her by now, “So the little thief finally makes his way out here.”

I gulped, still laid on my back in fear, and then got to my knees, clasped my hands, and begged for forgiveness. I know while she was standing up it would be much harder for her to hear me, but I yelled up anyways, “I’m sorry! I didn’t think about how that might be, uh, might be breaking your trust! Please, forgive me, it won’t happen again, I promise, let me make it up to you, I just wanted something that smelled like you to keep me company throughout the day!”

Her foot stopped grinding, and then she tapped it twice in annoyance, and I briefly glimpsed the remains of her smoke. She had so thoroughly stomped it that it was nothing but a black smudge on the concrete porch, little tiny white fibers wedged into the thin tread of her flats. She sighed loudly, and told me, “I just don’t like my privacy being violated like that. If I’d known you were getting that lonely, or if you’d asked, I would have been happy to give you something to keep me close to you.”

She paused, then tapped her foot in front of me one more time, “Not a sock though. But, since you seemed to want to spend all day with my footsweat smell on you, I’ve come up with your punishment.”

Punishment? She was looking down at me, and grinning, her smile more devious than I’d expected, and I stammered out, “W-wh-a-what?”

“These flats,” she started, tilting one foot up on the toe of the shoe and displaying the entire thing to me, “These flats make my feet sweat, a lot. On top of that, today I wore them to the office with no socks, so they're extra sweaty. And since you wanted to spend all day with my sweaty foot smell around you, I’ve decided you get to spend the evening in it too.”

“What do you, what do you mean?” I was confused, but also worried about how my uncooperative body would respond to being exposed to her strong smell when it was.. Fresh.

“I mean that you are going to spend the rest of your day in my smelly flat. You’re going to eat dinner while you’re standing in my shoe, and you’re going to sit in it while you’re rubbing my feet tonight. We’ll see how you feel about sweaty socks after that.”

Still on my knees, I dropped my head dejectedly, not really responding to her as I considered how hard my evening was about to get. There was movement in my peripheral vision, and then I looked forward to see her pull the foot that had destroyed the cigarette out of her shoe. As she freed her blood red toes, she spread them right in front of me, letting the air flow through them, and letting the pungent aroma of her footsweat infect the air around me. Fresh, it was sharper, almost burning my small eyes with the power, and I could practically taste the salt in the damp air. 

“Get in.”

The firmness of the order surprised me, and then before I could respond, her foot moved over me. My erection almost ripped right through my pants as my fantasies pounded inside my skull, and then I felt her toes touch my back and began pushing me forwards towards the empty shoe. I popped to my feet and dove into her shoe, worried about her feet touching me too much and actually making me cum in my stupid underwear, and I felt the dampness of her insole as it radiated heat upwards at me. The scent of her surrounded me, overwhelmed me, and made my heart pound so hard I thought it was about to beat its way out of my mouth. I felt dizzy, and I couldn’t tell if it was from how horny it made me, or if it was because the stink of her sweaty shoes was actually making it hard to breathe. The air did feel thick and damp, and I was acutely aware that it carried her odor as it inflated my lungs.

“Good.” Her other foot slipped out of the other shoe, and she picked up both, sending me tumbling towards the toe as I braced myself inside it. “If you do something like this again, I’m going to make this shoe your bed instead.”

She glanced into the shoe with that threat as she walked inside, and I just nodded in understanding, trying to keep myself braced in the shoe to avoid falling out, and to contort my body so she couldn’t see my throbbing cock in this tight gold spandex. If she made me sleep in this I worried the smell of her would seep into my brain and melt it into horny goop forever. 

Soon enough we were in the kitchen, and she set the shoe on the counter where she wouldn’t be cooking, and started prepping. I wasn’t used to this view of her making meals, and watching her work was a little mesmerizing, expertly dicing up some peppers and onions, or spatchcocking a chicken, crushing the breastbone flat and quickly trimming the fat with her knife. I knew being surrounded by her scent was fucking with my mind, as to me it felt like she was dominating the food, crushing and chopping lesser things for her to cook and devour. Some part of me imagined myself as the chicken, feeling her flatten my chestbone to my spine and splitting me wide for roasting. “Fuck, what’s wrong with me,” I thought, but the thought didn’t stop the fantasies. Next I was the onion, skin peeled away and then rapidly chopped, body slowly being sliced to pieces from foot to head. I was dizzy, but couldn’t stop myself from picturing myself in front of her, begging for my life, and she’d ignore my cries, slice my limbs off, baste me in a sauce, and toss me in the over and watch me roast. I could see her teeth just tearing into me, pulling chunks of my body away and swallowing, sending the bits of me down to her stomach to dissolve away in acid. 

“What are you thinking about, over there in time out, little man?”

Katie called over to me, not really looking up, but she snapped me out of my death spiral so I could think of a response. 

“I, uh, you’re a really good chef, I was just watching how fast you work.”

She smiled a bit at my compliment, and looked at me with a bit of a friendly eyeroll, and then mockingly pointed the knife at me, saying, “Flattery will get everywhere except out of that shoe, mister. Be good or you’ll be on my chopping board next!”

She laughed at what I hoped was a joke, and yet.. didn’t hope? I couldn’t think, my damn head was clouded by the fog of lust her scent aroused in me. I was infected with horrible desire, and I didn’t know how to handle it. Hiding in her shoe, my hips flexing up and down, wanting to hump the damn insole of her shoe and imagine my thousand different deaths. But I couldn’t risk her discovering, which she obviously would with me just a few feet away. I felt like I was slowly.. losing who I was before. I didn’t know where all of these dreams were coming from but.. I couldn’t do anything about it, right now at least. 

She kept cooking, and it wasn’t long until I was at the table with her, seated in her shoe, enveloped in her scent, waiting to dig in. She started eating, and began telling me about her day, and the things she had to get her team to fix, and had a lot to say about a young man named Michael. 

“He’s as stupid as he is handsome. If he wasn’t such a nice face to have on the team when we presented things, I’d have terminated him long ago. I have to keep him firmly under my thumb or he fucks everything up.”

I tried hard to listen to her, but I was having heart palpitations, due to every bite of my food so covered by the sweaty smell of her foot that every bit tasted just like her feet. As if every bit of my food had been smeared between her toes before it entered my mouth. And my cock was dripping because of that stupid fact. 

“Maybe you could teach him how to rub my feet. Then he’d at least be useful for something.” She snorted at her own joke as she gestured her fork at me. I imagined her stabbing me with it and dangling me over her mouth before pushing me in and chewing me up. 

“You’re fucked,” my voice echoed in my head. 

I managed to make it through dinner without cumming in my spandex, barely, but every breath I took now was flavored with her scent, as if it coated the inside of my lungs and nose. She set the dishes in the sink and I stayed kneeling in her shoe, waiting for her to come back, pick me up, and bring me to the living room with her. 

She plopped the shoe down, then put her feet in front of me, wiggling her toes in anticipation. 

“Well, you know what’s next. You can still do a great job here at your size, so hop to it!”

I obeyed her, a little delirious, and I felt myself lean into her foot as I rubbed, about to plant a wet kiss on her sole before I remembered where I was and freaked out, pulling back and focusing on massaging as I bit my lip to stop it from happening again. It was, thankfully, uneventful, she didn’t threaten me, I didn’t almost make out with her foot, my neck didn’t end up between her toes, I was just able to do my job. My job of.. rubbing her feet. She took deep, slow breaths above me as I wondered if this is what my life would be now, just a.. a foot massager for this giant woman? Not an awful life, but, no, no, I had to have normalcy again.. hopefully. 

The bedtime routine went smoothly as well, although she kept me in her shoe and carried it into the restroom with her, saying that my “punishment lasts until bedtime, no exceptions.”

Watching her brush her teeth and wash her face made me miss my independence, the ability to just.. take care of myself. I looked on wryly, and then glanced down at her feet and thought to myself, “Those are the only things I can take care of now.”

She took me out of the shoe finally, and said, “I hope you learned your lesson. Tomorrow I’ll leave you something to remember me with while I’m at work. And then Friday I think I’ll just bring you with me!” 

She smiled, tucked me into the bed, and left the room. In the darkness as I settled in, I realized that I’d spent so long wrapped in her footsweat that I reeked of her, and it made it hard for me to stick to the promise I made myself yesterday. Here, alone in the dark with her smell all over me, I succumbed to my urges, and reimagined the day, imagining myself as the cigarette she’d stomped with such prejudice, or as the insole of her flag, stepped on all day and drowning in the sweat from her feet. 

Then, in the quiet of night, I heard a low, mechanical buzz, and I imagined myself as the vibrating wand that I was certain was sliding all around the perfect folds of her pussy, being pressed into her without care for my survival. Her pussy would be dripping wet, slathering me in her viscous juices, and I thought about instead being her dildo, sliding into her, slowly and gently at first, and then faster and faster, the walls of her cunt gripping me tighter and tighter until the pressure was almost crushing as she pistoned violently in the night. I screamed “Oh god!” and bucked my hips to the ceiling, cumming so hard it was almost painful. In the distance, over my own heavy painting, the buzzing sound had stopped.