The Asian mother brought me closer to my former plastic prison, a particularly cheap-looking high-heel with special "straps" laced through the sole. I imagined another session of foot-crush, bound to the hard, clear surface, was in store for me.
I was wrong.
Instead of placing me back on the plastic sole, now obviously greasy as I looked from my vantage point on her palm, she used her other hand to slide back the plastic directly over the thick heel section. The panel, seemingly the size of a quarter, was engineered to be seamless with the rest of the sole, but now I noticed a tiny hinge that allowed it to swivel, creating a hole in which the hollow heel could be accessed.
Amazed at the intricacy of the shoe's design, and frightened by the realization that these women had spent time constructing such odd footwear, I initially failed to register that she was bringing me closer to the new hole. Before I could react, she placed her plam along the new opening and tilted the shoe toward me, matching the angle with her palm until I slid from her hot, sticky skin onto the cool, hard plastic of the heel. Then, she carefully tilted the heel upright on the couch, and I slid down the inside of the heel until I reached the plastic bottom.
I was now inside the shoe--the heel section, anyway--like a bug in small plastic cage. Around me, the space was about the width of two phone-booths, though tall enough that I couldn't expect to jump and reach the top of the hole. As I stood in disbelief, my feet uncomfortable on the clear plastic, I looked upward as the Asian mother swiveled the plastic covering back in place, essentially entombing me inside the high heel. I feel to my butt, confused and concerned.
Around me, I could barely make out the room in which the Asian mother sat on the old couch. The plastic obscured the view so that I could only make out vague shapes, colors and distorted forms; concievebly, then, no one on the outside could make out my tiny form inside the shoe, unless they had reason to inspect it very closely.
Looking back up, I noticed for the first time small holes that dotted the heel covering. They were tiny, less then ten in number--but perhaps designed to allow enough oxygen into the tiny space to keep the captive alive.
I shuddered. That's what I was, now--a captive. I could no longer recall how much money I "owed" the mother and her parlour. I doubted any payment would release me from this torture--though any sane person would agree I had paid it in full by now. I had been crushed, almost to death, by her Asian foot. Twice. What more could she do to me?
As if to answer, she picked the shoe up and began lowering it to the floor. I spread my arms out and tried to grip the slick sides of the heel, but found no purchase and slid around the plastic "floor" like a dog trying to balance himself in the backseat of a car. Finally, I bounced up and landed with a painful "thud" as she placed the heel on the carpt.
I looked up, trying to use the miniscule holes to get an accurate picture of what she was doing. Though they afforded little perspective, I was able to discern that she was lowering her foot now--toward the shoe!
Standing up, I shouted and waved my hands, desperate to get a reaction from her and hopefully, some pity.
"Wait! Please!" I cried. "I'm sorry! Please let me out! Please!"
No response. I watched as the foot descened and completely covered my view upwards. The shoe shook as her foot crashed down into place, her light-brown heel sealing my air-holes with her skin. Her foot settled into place, and I watched as her blurry, giantess-form bent down and presumably strapped the heel to her foot. After a few moments, she raised up, and I watched her repeat the process for her other foot. Before I could steady myself, she then stood, and raised my prison-heel as she took her first steps with me as her captive inside her shoe.
Bracing myself as best I could for the inevitable shock about to come, I leaned against the plastic while sitting down, trying to hug the sides. Suddenly, the shoe crashed heavily against the floor, and I bounced up only smack against the plastic side, hitting my head and shoulder, followed by the sickening, roller-coaster motion of being drawn back up again.
Again and again, the Asian mother walked non-chalantly across the room and presumably deeper into the parlour, and I did my best to absorb the shock by spreading out my legs on the floor and using my hands to catch my body as I came smacking down each time. Her very walking became a fight for my life as I did my best to keep from being knocked unconscious inside the shoe.
Whether or not anyone saw me under her foot, or for how long--or far--she had walked, I didn't know, but the nauseating motion finally stopped, and I found myself stable. I breathed deeply, my stomach sick and my body sore from the day's (night's?) abuse. I laid down on the floor, stretching out as best I could, which required that I bend my knees and raise my head against the side.
I looked up, and only saw her skin pressing into the holes, totally sealing them off. I wondered how long my oxygen would last, and if she shared my concern. Now that I had time to rest, I could detect again the odor of her foot, mixed with the thick, foreign perfume. It filled my tiny jail, and I knew that by now, my entire body must have smelled exactly like her foot.
I glanced around my prison, hoping to see a crack or other means of escape, but the plastic was seamless. No doubt, she had built the "hole" on top--and included the straps--but the construction of the heel, however cheap it had been, was enough to keep me contained. Then, for the first time, I noticed a bit of plastic near the "floor" that wasn't as distorted. Crawling over to it, I was forced to lay completely on my belly to see through it.
The tiny clear bit of plastic was the size of my head, and I could make out some words around and under it. Perhaps it was an area of the shoe that bore the designer's name, but whatever fuzzy word appeared on the outside, fate had at least afforded me a tiny window to the outside world, though it was no less thick than the non-clear areas that surrounded me.
The Asian mother was inside what appeared to be a kitchen area, though the dim lighting made true details difficult. I noticed the gigantic column of a decorated chair leg nearby, indicating that she was sitting. Beyond the linoleum, black-and-white checkered floor, I noticed an equally massive woodend table, and beyond that, an old silver refridgerator. Glancing to either side was hard due to the window's small size, but I thought I made out the shoes of other people.
Was she not alone? Would anyone else even help me if they noticed me? Maybe imprisonment was standard procedure around here anyway!
I rolled onto my back, frustrated. Looking up at her bare skin, wishing I could at least touch it to gain some pleasure from my situation, I watched in joy as she lifted her heel. Though her foot remained on the shoe, she removed her skin from the heel section as she arched her sole. For a brief moment, I felt cool, fresh air seep inside before her massive sole came back down and sealed me inside yet again. Whether she intended to give me oxygen, or had just streched her foot after hours of torturing a shrunken client, I wasn't sure.
Suddenly, the shoe twisted on the floor, and my view through the window changed. The Asian mother stopped moving, and I found a new sight to behold--another person!
There, seated an a chair not far from my captor, was another woman. From my vantage point, I could make out her entire left foot as it rested on a shoe. Placed on a similar-looking plastic heel (without the matching captive, I deduced) was a lovely foot lighter in color than the mother's. A dark red polish was applied to her giantess toes, which looked so smooth and succulent that my member grew hard again, despite the recent events. Her foot wasn't strapped in, and I watched in awe as she arched her foot, the amazing folds of her sole's skin wrinkling up. The skin under the ball of her foot grew lighter as the pressure increased on the shoe. She would lower her foot again, and I begged silently to be under that foot--if I had to be under any at all. She repeated this process more than once.
Then, I heard voices as the deeper Asian mother talked to the mystery woman, who replied in the same unintelligable language, but with a very high tone. What were they conversing about? Me? Other clients? Tonight's cuisine?
Realizing I had nothing to lose, I stood up and began smacking the plastic side with my palm. I hit it again and again, hoping to get a reaction from the mother or, preferably, the other woman.
When nothing happened (and not daring to use my toes to kick the plastic), I forced a fist and used its side to hit the wall harder. I also began to yell. I said nothing specific, but simply formed a series of "Hey!"'s and "Let me out!"'s.
Finally, the mother shook her shoe, and the slight vibration was enough to send me back down to my butt. Looking up, the foot remained in place, the skin turning lighter around the holes in which it slightly sank.
I peered through my window again as I lay on my belly, and watched in surprise as the younger foot was placed closer to my prison. The girl must have been standing, for now the shoe dominated my view, and I was barely able to see the side of her massive foot above me.
More talking ensued, and the girl laughed--a giggle, even--as her foot arched up and down again. I found myself rubbing against the plastic under my belly, my penis feeling rough on the cool surface. I wanted desperately to be under that foot, or even the mother's foot. Anything but this tiny confinement, which began to create a sense of mild claustrophobia within me.
Before I could truly enjoy the sight, the mother began walking again, and I once more found myself bracing against each step. Using the little window as an occasional guide, I was able to notice that we passed through the kitchen--then the couch room--and down a dark hallway. Finally, we reached a small room that I recognized as the entrance! The sound of the front door greeted my ears, followed by the famaliar sounds and sights of the night-time parking lot!
As overjoyed as I was at my "freedom," my heart sank when I heard the old, rickety sound of a car door open, followed by the mother getting inside and sitting down. I peered at a black, dirty car mat, bits of paper and crumbs littering the rubber. I heard the door slam shut. The rumbling, deafening sound of an engine roared to life, and the shoe shook violently. She was leaving the parlour, destination unknown to me.