A few days passed, still without food or water. How I managed to survive was beyond my comprehension at the time, but to my current understanding, its because of Natalie's control over me. I stay alive because she wants me to, with or without food and water. That doesn't change my desperation for it-- again unless she wants me to be.

Lucky for me-- or so I thought-- she's refrained from the foot stuff these past couple of days. Little did I know the hell she was prepared to put me through as I finished ironing her clothes for the day.

"Sissy!" Natalie simultaneously barked and sung from the foyer, summoning me at her beckon call.

I frantically charged to her-- now in the living room seated on the couch-- and dropped to my knees upon arrival. Natalie had just finished a morning run, which is out of her routine as she primarily works out at work on her lunch break. I greetted her with my usual, "Yes, goddess?"

"I wanted to test your devotion to me. I know you have a problem with my feet-- for whatever reason," she chuckled knowing the reason, "and I think it's time we do a bit of conditioning."

"Conditioning?" I didn't like the sound of this.

"Of course! Like Pavlov's dog," Natalie mocked, patting my head like a pet. "I want my sissy maid to love EVERYTHING about me, including the heavenly aroma of my feet. Now, sure, I could force it upon you at will, but I want your atrraction to be genuine. So, I'm going to condition your brain to become aroused by the scent."

I remained silent, on my knees, mouth agape at her manipulative demand.

"If you pass, I'll give you a drink of water," she offered, knowing damn well how to control me at my will.

I so desperately fell to my face at her freshly used tennis shoe, and begged, "Anything, goddess. Please. I'm so... so thirsty."

"Good boy," Natalie cooed, less than gently petting my head with her rubber sole. "Now, I'm sure you're aware that you haven't been able to masturbate for a while now," I was very aware that she kept my dick in a flaccid state, no matter how much I stimulated it, unless otherwise controlled by her  "Well, I propose that the ONLY orgasms you're allowed have to be to my perfect feet."

I hated the idea, "Okay... goddess..."

"Don't sound so eager," Natalie said sarcastically, "You will soon enough." With that Natalie began untying her shoes, but stopped, "Why am I doing this? I have an eager little sissy maid who wants to smell my sweaty feet, right?"

She stared at me, waiting for my, "Yes, goddess," and for me to being untying her shoes.

The foul stench began seeping out as the laces loosened. Natalie's feet smelled worse than they did days ago, and this became extremely evident the moment her heel popped from the shoe, breaking the seal between her foot and the outside world. My eyes watered as the scent hit me. It became more and more evident that my sense of smell and taste were stronger at smaller heights.

I let out an audible groan, which prompted Natalie to place her entire, soaking socked foot flat on my face-- which was small enough that it covered me, and then some. "Now come on, sissy, you'll never be properly conditioned with that mindset. Go ahead and stroke your little dicklet for me. Get it nice and hard for the smell."

I obliged, stroking my flaccid penis, getting nowhere with my arousal, much to both of our disappointment.

Natalie began (quite literally) peeling off her wet sock, "Come on, sissy. This is the only time you'll get to cum until I say so. And who knows when that will be! Maybe... never..."

My arm moved frantically to get it up. The combination of her foul smell and my desperation for water and sexual release made me weep.

"Poor thing," she teased, "I can tell you're trying."

"I am, goddess!" I wept.

Natalie's finger curled to command my erection, "I'll give you this one," but refrained from manipulating my inner arousal. She gave me the hard-on I needed, now I just had to force myself to cum to her rank, sweaty feet.

I vigorously stroked my cock, determined to bring myself to climax to Natalie's post-workout stench.

"That's it," she encouraged, soft in her tone, "That's a good little sissy maid," with emphasis on the 'little,' mocking my two-foot tall stature. "You're gonna learn to love that. I'm gonna go for a run, and you'll look out the window, eagerly waiting for my return. And when you see me, dripping and hot from such a rigorous run, you'll greet me-- on your knees-- at the door, ready to remove my shoes to take in that smell, whether I let you cum or not."

Her voice became part of the background to my focus. I tried not to listen to her demeaning hypothetical. And in my intense concentration, I did it. Without her control of my attraction. I came to the nasty feet of the woman who ruled my life.

Natalie clapped and cooed with joy, "Good boy!" and picked up her hypnotic, ice-cold water bottle. And then her sock... and put the sock over the bottle... then took aim for her freshly used tennis shoe. "Here's your reward..." Natalie mocked as she held back laughter.

I reached for the shoe, ready but less than willing to take the violated shoe water. Natalie's bare foot pushed my hands to my lap.

"Open," she commanded, my tiny mouth (embarrassingly) eager to open up for this horrid cocktail. Natalie met the heel of the runner with my lips, and tilted, pouring the rank beverage down my throat. "That's it... drink it all up." The refreshing feeling this shoe water gave me brings back humiliation to this day. So cold, yet burning and salty from trace amounts of sweat and stench.

I chugged it, crying tears of joy from the thirst quenching releif from Natalie's home brew. I fell to thr floor in embarrassment.

"Good sissy," Natalie stood from the couch, "Now, draw me a bath."

Natalie baptized the sweat off of her in a bubble bath of epsom salts stirred by me, struggling to reach into the tub at my shrunken height. Of course, I was the one to scrub her body-- though her feet were an area she consistently kept me from when I bathed her. I learned on this day why that was.

"Goddess?" I said, our of turn.

"What, sissy?" Natalie answered, less than patient.

"C-can I wash your feet?" I asked, hoping to hit the reset on her hellish foot smell.

"You want to wash my feet?" Natalie asked, annoyed.

I nodded my head, yes. "Please? Th-they..." I had to be careful with my choice of words, "... the state they're in... they could use..."

"The fuck are you trying to say?"

"I... I think they could just... use more cleaning than once a week..." I would later eat those words.

"What are you suggesting?" Before I could answer, she did for me, "You want to clean my feet everyday?"

The idea of fresh clean feet was actually allurring to me in that moment, which made me shudder. I far too eagerly answered, "Yes goddess! Please?"

Natalie smirked, devilishly, "How eager... I'm proud of you, sissy." My heart fluttered at her kind words, which simultaneously made me hate myself at this excitement. "Okay. I'll let you clean my feet, every day."

I quickly reached the soapy sponge to Natalie's feet, to which she lifted them out of my reach.

"Ah, ah, ah..." she cooed, "You will clean my feet, everyday, by my standards."

"B-by your...? I was incrrdibly confused.

"That's right," Natalie cut me off. "Don't worry, sissy, you'll get what you want... on my terms."

"Y-your terms, goddess?" I asked, nervously.

"Yes. You'll see, soon enough." Natalie presented her foot to me at eye level, "Give us a kiss to seal the deal."

I begrudgingly obliged, worried as to what 'her terms' pertained to.

Natalie left for work, leaving me home to do my chores for the day. That is, not before stuffing my mouth with her running socks from earlier, puffing my cheeks full of her flavor, and securing the tennis shoe I never ended up taking off from her little "conditioning" session to my face. At the size she left me, the whole lower half of my face, from the bottom of my chin to the bridge of my nose, fit in that awful shoe. I shuddered all day at the smell, never quite getting used to it's freshness. Whatever she meant by a daily cleaning of her feet "under her terms" scared me.

But I got to work. Shoe to my face or not, I had more success today than the first day she left me to do chores. Luckily I didn't have a closet full of foul smelling shoes to clean. I was able to properly organize them today, which ended up scoring me some points with her, as the task wasn't on the list.

My final task, dinner, plated and ready to eat upon her arrival, was the hardest. Somewhat physically, given my two-foot size and inability to reach the counter, but mostly mentally, as the smell of food furthered my intense hunger, still not appeased. When would she ever feed me? I knew I had to speak up soon.

So she arrived home, I stood in the kitchen finishing setting the table. "Not bad," Natalie complimented-- the good feeling of her words making me shudder, "I'll let it slide this time, but next time, I expect you at the door, on your knees, waiting to greet me. Got it?"

I dropped to my knees in order to comply, "Yeth, goddeth," I answered as best I could through her socks.

"Oh my god," she laughed, "I forgot about the socks. Haha!" Natalie untied the shoe from my face and pinched the socks from my mouth.

I knew what she wanted to hear next, "Thank you goddess."

Natalie sat at the table and started eating. I struggled to find the right time to speak up regarding my intense hunger. I had to dive in and go for it.

"Goddess?" I started, humbled on my knees at her side.

She answered, "Hm?" with a mouthful.

"I'm... I'm so hungry... I need food, goddess. Please... It's been days."

"How hungry are you?" she inquired, not even looking at me.

"So, SO hungry..."

"Think you can eat a lot?"

I nodded, yes.

With that, she started shrinking me.

"G-goddess?" I asked, fearing her plans for me.

"The smaller you are, the less I have to feed you, the more it feels like you ate. Win, win. Right, slave?"

I suppose she made a good point. But I still wasn't prepared, despite my eagerness responding, "Yes, goddess. You're absolutely right!"

"I know," Natalie answered, so matter of fact. When I reached two inches, she commanded, "Under the table."

My tiny body pitter pattered under the table. The legs around me resembled some strange forest. And of course, Natalie's demented high heels. Why? Out of all the nasty shoes she has that I cleaned out with my tongue and lungs, why these?

"So," she started, speaking to me from above, "you're really, really hungry, eh?"

"Y-yes goddes," my honesty screamed from me, despite my gentle, begging tone.

"What do you want to eat?"

Then, I picked the wrong choice; "Anything!" Just to get fed.

"Oh wow... anything?" Natalie asked, feigning shock.

"Yes goddess," she couldn't see it, but I begged on my knees to her, "anything."

"Well," Natalie started, scooting her chair back to watch me underneath the table at her feet, "I," she wiped her face, "was generous enough to make you something to eat today."

"R-really?" I gazed at her in equal parts fear and gratitude.

"Mhm. I slaved away at it all day long."

Before I could ask what it was, she gave me the unexpected and unthinkable.

Natalie's foot broke the seal keeping her daily stench in her heel. Even after a proper bath this morning, how? I know I didn't scrub them, but I assumed the stench would have weakened at least somewhat. And of course, as she always found ways to torture me, there was my dinner. The first thing I ate in days. I wanted to vomit, but knew she'd be offended. Not that I had much to vomit. I just wretched at the sight and fell to my knees keeping my eyes to the ground thinking about my life that is to come. Not only in this meal, but what I might eat next, what I might drink next... what could come closer to killing me next.

Before me, airing out in Natalie's hellish high heels, sat two pieces of (once) white bread; damp, and nearly soggy from her day worth of bare foot sweat, and spotted black where her toes lay and where the ball of her foot rests. At my height, I could see the warped air trickle above the opening of the shoe like a mirage on a hot day.

"You said anything," godammit, "right, Caleb?"

I felt backed in a corner, "Yes, goddess..."

"Then eat up, slave."

I took too long, contemplating my options and trying to cope with my situation. She eventually place her foot back in the shoe.

"Don't want it, then? Fine. Starve. I'll keep you alive. And you wont have another opportunity for food until I see all of your ribs."

She hated me. I felt her hate in the heat of her foot. Despite the hate, she rose it out of the shoe again to show me my dinner.

"Last chance, sissy," she threatened, looking down at my sickened body.

I complied. I crawled to the shoe, weeping and gagging at what my life had become. My jittery hand reached for the rancid, sweat soaked bread. That is, until it couldn't.

Those demonic, manipulative powers that kept me from touching doorknobs, faucets, my own dick, she used on this bread. No doubt to make me beg.

So I did just that; "Goddess! Why, goddess?! Why?!" My desperately hungry body lunged for the slice in her shoe. And actually landed on it. I sunk into it like snow.

"See how easily I can control you? How easily I can keep you from the things you need? The things you love? All the while, keeping you alive, no matter the circumstances.

Natalie's moist, red, fleshy ped entered the shoe, with me and the bread in it. I called out for her, "Goddess!" and felt the pain of having every bone crushed in my body at once. I felt what it's like to have your organs burst from pressure, like defenless little bubbles.

But I lived. Nothing broken. Nothing burst. Just like she said.

"Again," she continued, watching the hands of my two-inch body feel every part of me for any wounds, any broken bones, any bleeding, "I rule you. I control you. I decide whethere and when you live or die. When you break a bone, when you leave the house, when you can speak," her big toe pushed my face into the filthy bread, "and when you eat."

She kept me held in the goopy slice, watching my body squirm in silence. Only when I let up, did she. When I gave in and laid there; the toe of my ex fiance burying my face into a dirty, sweaty piece of once-white bread.

My head popped out of the filth without much ease, the wet bread holding me in like glue.

"Tell me how hungru you are, Caleb."

"So, so, SO hungry, goddess. I'm starving. Help me. Help me, PLEASE!" Little did she know, my cries for help were not addressed toward her.

Those red lips, as always, complimented her white teeth in a crooked smile. "Help yourself," she teased, "All of it. I want my shoes CLEAN!"

My hands dug into the mess. I picked up a glob of sweaty bread from the heel-- the consistency barely keeping shape in my shakey hand. I brought it to my mouth, the flavor and smell hitting me before contact.

"I want you to thank me, after EVERY bite," Natalie demanded, arms crossed, watching me torture myself.

I looked her in the eye and pushed the glob into my mouth. My eyes watered at the salty, acidic flavor that paired with the rancid, odorous smell. I barely had to chew. I didn't want to. I hardly could from my weakened, starving state. Each clamp of my jaw made me wretch, dry, nearly unable to swallow. But I did, and just as I was told, replied; "Thank you, goddess," with tears streaming down my face.

The filthy bread stuck to my pink dress. I had to eat that up too in the end. The blacked toe prints felt sandy and gritty in my mouth. And again, "Thank you, goddess."

"You're welcome," she said so sweetly, leaning over to summon a stringy bead of spit onto her toes. "Here," she said, presenting them to me, "take a drink."

I knew better than to disobey. I wrapped my arms around her big toe and slurped as the spit slithered down my throat and on my body. I drank it like a baby-- her big toe my mother's breast.

And again, I said, "Thank you, goddess."

It took an hour to force down the filthy shoe-bread. That is, for one shoe. The other took just as long. Natalie was reluctant, but generous enough to free me from the feeling of being stuffed. By the time I actually finished, I laid her her high heel. Traumatized.

And yet, I still wasn't done. The crumbs, the streaks of wet goop left over on the insole. I crouched to my hands and knees and lapped it up. At this point, the act od reciting "Thank you, goddess," became automatic each time some slithered and burned down my throat.

Natalie's gigantic feet pitter pattered on the tile floor of the kitchen to retrieve me. I laid in her heel face up as she loomed over my defeated form, casting a shadow. Her eyes locked on to me with fury. Her pink flannel pajamas both hid, and showed off the curves of her body. How I hated her beauty.

I felt the push of air on me as she crouched, arms crossed, "Ready for your end of our little bargain?"

"My little...?" Her fingers cut me off as she peeled me from the insole of her (relativley) freshly (licked) clean heel. Was I not holding up my end of the bargain? What the hell was all of this if not my outcome of signing my life away in her contract?

"Don't you remember?" I dangled by my leg in her pinching grip, "We had a deal," she spoke, breathy and warm on my body.

Natalie winced at the filth I'd become, and groaned before removing my maid uniform and rinsing me off in the sink with some hand soap. Her fingers swiped across me, rinsing the stenchy filth from my body. It was the greatest I'd felt since my slavery.

"Don't you remember this morning, Caleb?" Natalie spoke, so gently as she massaged the visible shame from me. "Our deal." She turned the water off, patted me down, and and redressed me into my sissy garmet.

My back laid flush with her palm as I caught my breath from the water. A smile of relief forced itself onto me, "Oh, thank you, goddess."

Natalie's face encompassed my whole field of vision, smiling and alarmingly eager. "Remember this morning, when you BEGGED to lick my feet clean, EVERY night?"

The intense bliss I felt from even the mildest comfort made me delerious, as I rolled to my side and answered, "Mmm... yeah," and caught myself, "What?!"

"You heard me, young man. You promised-- you BEGGED to lick my feet clean every single day. Because you just couldn't get enough from a weekly cleaning." Her finger gently stroked my fearful body, "You sealed the deal with a kiss," and planted her voluptuous, soft lips on my entire body. I hate how much I loved the feeling.

"I-I didn't say anything about licking..." I responded.

"Oh, but Caleb, don't you remember? The deal was that you could clean my feet every single day-- you greedy little slave-- ...by my own terms."

I remembered. Yeah. My chest rose and fell in anticipation. Natalie's wide, white eyes froze me like a deer, and her gaze came from those headlights.

And that eagerness-- that demented eagerness she beamed with every day, to make me debase myself deeper and deeper into a hole of devotion, servitude, and willing humiliation... I feared that psychotic excitement she wasn't afraid to hide.

She approached me with a smile, closing in to attach the leash to my collar. "No..." I pleaded-- not in protest, but in defeat, "No..."

Natalie got up on her bed, and slipped the other end to her ring toe.

"E-e-every day?" I attempted to negotiate.

But she had none of it, "Everyday, Caleb," giving the slack of the leash just the lightest tug, upon connecting to her, to knock me down to my face, just for fun.

I struggled to push myself up from the plush of her sheets. "B-but Nata- ... goddess... isn't that just a tad excessive?"

Natalie picked up her phone and moved her attention away from me, "Don't think so," so matter of fact. Because in her mind, it was fact.

And again, I complained, "Every day?"

Natalie sighed, irritated, and set her phone down, "I fed you today. Be thankful."

"I-I am, bu-"

"Do not EVER use the word 'but' with me. If ninety percent of the words from your sissy mouth aren't a sweet, dainty, and eager to please," she raised her hands to pretend to curtsy, "'Yes goddes,' then you've had a bad day in my book. Got it?"

I didn't hesitate, "Yes, goddess," my voice cracked, trying to seem (pathetically) dainty for her. I ended up sounding afraid, if anything.

I lapped up the smooth, salty feet of my vengeful goddess. She layed back, lounging and scrolling away on her phone with her feet reaching to the end of the bed. As per usual, the crevices between her toes, and those hard-to-reach wrinkles are the worst. Natalie lavished in my panicked work ethic, knowing she's be equally satisfied by my blind, utter devotion.

"Caleb," Natalie started, lowering her phone to look at me.

"Yes, goddess?" I answered, quick to return my tongue to my task.

"What's my shoe size?"

My eyes widened, my tongue froze in the middle of the wrinkle that outlined the ball of her foor.

"You don't know, do you?"

"Uh..." This was the most idiotic answer I gave, because I just blurted a random number and hoped for the best; "Like, seven."

"Like seven?" Natalie flicked her toes once to whip the leash and knock me over.

"Which foot has a beauty mark on top of it?"

I thought this was a test, "Both? ... Of them?"

Another, harder flick. I made some distance off the ground that time. "How many wrinkles?"

"Oh come on, YOU don't even know that!"

Natalie clapped her feet together, caging me in her toes, head, face, and all. The sickening scent subsided a bit, but I... I still had work to do.

"I want you to keep this thought in your head," she started, "Tonight, as you fulfill your end of our bargain, I want this to stay in your head, on repeat. Call it your... your mantra. Your mantra that you recite as you worship your goddess." She pulled her feet back, sliding them flat on the bed, dragging me with them. Her knees held up by one arm as the other playfully pet my hair. "Are you ready? Repeat after me: 'I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life.'"

I didn't repeat-- still and silent at her demented request for brainwashing.

She chuckled in a fake, impatient smile. "Okay, try again... Ready? 'I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life.' Now you."

"I-I-"

"No! No stuttering. Clear as day, smooth as silk. Go."

"I lick Nata-"

"Uh uh- GODDESS Natalie. Again, from the top."

I dove in to my self-inflicted conditioning; "I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life."

"Again," she sang, her palms resting on the tops of her feet.

"I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life."

"Again."

"I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life."

"Again."

"I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life."

Again.

"I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life."

Again.

"I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life."

I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life.

I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life.

So simple and matter of fact. No ifs, ands or buts. No 'I will lick...' No 'clean [comma] every day...' Not even the 'rest of my life...' It just reaches the point like a fact.

I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life.

I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life.

What goes up must come down. Objects in motion stay in motion. And I lick goddess Natalie's feet clean every day of my life.