Scott groaned in agony, his body sorer than he ever thought it could be, as he endured another of the endless poundings underneath Susan’s toes. With each step, her digits would curl downward, wrapping themselves like fleshy snakes around his body, compressing him down against the well-worn leather insole. From there, the woman would shift as much of her weight as she could onto the ball of her foot and toes, practically mashing Scott down into the material of the shoe interior itself. At this point, Scott could truly feel the weight of this giant bitch bearing down on him like she was carrying Mt. Everest on her shapely shoulders. As soon as this was done, of course, she would flick him around under her toes, pinning him handily against the pointed segment of the shoe, stuffing him into it as tightly as his body would allow without his bones breaking. As this began, Susan’s big toe jamming him mercilessly into the corner of the shoe, he could feel his joints straining, his bones almost bending, his muscles bruising. He would cry out, as if that would help matters at all, his entire body clenching up and trembling from the pain before Susan’s shoe would descend back toward the ground.
And that was just one step.
For once in his life, no matter how much Scott hated to admit it, he knew that he would have given literally anything to be in his mom’s shoe at this moment instead of Susan’s. The things he had heard his mother say before she so horribly just handed him off for an evening of playtime under Susan’s feet were ringing truer than he could ever have wanted. It was true, his mother was pretty hard on him, squeezing, crushing, mashing, flicking him with her feet to no end until he was almost sure he couldn’t take anymore. And then, it would end, just like that, just when Scott was at the end of his rope. His mother was harsh and unreasonable; he knew that. However, she still loved him, and was careful not to permanently harm him. Despite his complaining and despite how truly gut-wrenchingly, spine-tinglingly horrible it was to wrestle his mother’s sweaty toes, locked in the smelly confines of her high heels, Scott knew that he never came away from those events with much more than some light bruising that went away in a couple of days.
This situation was an entirely different beast, and indeed, an entirely different foot in an entirely different shoe. Within minutes after she began walking down the sidewalk of the Stevens’ household toward her car parked in the street, Susan set to work on her tiny charge and Scott could feel himself passing that pain threshold. By the time they were in her car and Susan was vigorously pumping the gas pedal with Scott wedged firmly under her toes, taking the brunt of each pump, he knew the day’s nightmare was only just beginning. Her powerful toes showed no mercy or regard for Scott’s considerably lesser chance of fighting back against them, and beat him brutally without Susan so much as giving it a second thought. Multiple times, Scott considering trying to scream out for some relief from the onslaught, but he knew that Susan not only wouldn’t hear him, but probably wouldn’t even give a damn. In fact, knowing her, Scott had a feeling she would just increase the pressure tenfold just for such an outburst. He quickly put this idea to rest, doing his best to endure the pain: the cycle of Susan’s toes wrapping themselves around him, wedging his face deeply into the smelly crevice of her digits before flattening him down face-first against the insole and then flicking him directly into the pointed pocket of the heel’s toe section.
By the time Susan arrived at her apartment and was stalking confidently along the sidewalk, Scott knew he was well past the end of his rope. With each ruthless pounding of the middle aged woman’s foot, clenching and wriggling against the slick, leather interior of her pump, Scott felt his body rattling with pain, his heart railing against his ribcage, his brain yelling for a break. Just as loudly as he heard Susan’s titanic heel spikes clacking against the concrete ground, he could hear his own pulse pounding rapidly in his ears.
Scott realized he must have been close to the cusp of passing out when he regained full consciousness, and thusly full awareness once again of all the pain he was in, when, at long last, he felt the dreadful woman’s massive toes sliding with one final tap across his ravaged body and out of the heel. He didn’t have much time to himself, either, before he found the shoe doing a complete 180 degree flip. He gasped, grabbing weakly at the leather, but there was no adequate foothold to stop himself tumbling toward the mouth of the shoe, and besides, his muscles were so spent he wouldn’t have been able to make use of one anyway. Scott screamed in terror as he hurtled out the opening into the cold world before plopping easily into Susan’s waiting palm, which quickly curled around him, her fingers squeezing and restricting him without mercy.
Grunting meekly, Scott dared himself to look back up at those cruel hazel eyes of the red-headed tormentor, and once again felt the familiar fear creeping back into his bones. Her eyes were even hungrier than before. Scheming, tempting, threatening all at once in the swirling haze of golden shades surrounding her pupils. Her firm fingers tightened even harder around Scott’s body, causing him to cry out loudly in pain.
Susan snickered pitifully.
“I’m not quite like your mother, am I, little boy?” cackled the woman down at Scott, not at all bothering to conceal her glee with the situation. The dim light of her apartment, combined with the quickly fading light of the sun outside, was allowing ominous shadows to be cast across Susan’s upper lip and eyes as she spoke calmly and condescendingly to the tiny teen clenched in her fist. She gave him another, slightly lighter squeeze, meriting another meek mumble of pain from Scott’s bruised body.
“Mrs. Cartwright…” gasped Scott quietly in the utter silence that followed.
“Oh, please, honey,” drawled Susan, rolling her eyes and reaching down toward a countertop for a wine glass. “Call me Susan. Really, I mean, on how much closer terms would we need to be before that was appropriate? I’ve seen you naked for the last couple hours, I watched one of my friends give you a goddamn footjob, and we’ve just spent the last twenty minutes with you stuck between a couple of my toes. Honestly, I can’t imagine us being on much more casual terms, short of me losing you in my panty drawer,” giggled the woman, taking a leisurely sip from a tall glass of red wine.
Scott watched fearfully, still clenched in Susan’s fist, as the starch, dark red liquid ran slowly down the sloped crystal siding of the glass, the molasses-like residue leaving a sticky pool in its wake. He gazed onward as Susan’s lips parted, her deeply shaded mouth pressing its soft flesh against the glass as a crimson river of fine alcohol flowed easily over her smooth, wrinkled lips. A tiny droplet began stickily dribbling down her lower lip, but her monstrous, rippled tongue quickly lapped it up out from the hot cavern of her mouth. As she pulled away, a tiny lump rolling down the skin of her throat on the inside of her esophagus, Susan left a deep, dark half imprint of her prominent lipstick shade on the rim of the glass as she slowly set it back down on the table, sighing with satisfaction at the taste of the precious liquid.
“See that? That’s ALCOHOL. It’s for adults, NOT little boys with dreams of being the cool kid at school,” laughed Susan as if reciting the words from an after-school anti-drug program. “When you drink it, people can get hurt. And then people have to make hard decisions about what will happen next: to the people that hurt, and the people that got hurt. Does that make sense to you, Scott?”
Clearly, Susan was condescending dramatically to Scott, and he didn’t like it at all, but he knew he was in absolutely no place to show disdain. He nodded obediently.
“Answer me, little boy,” ordered Susan, squeezing tighter. Scott heard a popping in his back, and prayed it wasn’t a bone. If it was, he was all but screwed.
“Yes! Yes, yes, it does… Susan,” he squeaked uncomfortably, huffing and puffing in between words, gasping for air as the crushing power of Susan’s fingers constricted his volatile lungs.
Susan only frowned, shaking her head, her smooth strawberry locks bouncing around the sides of her face again. Slowly, Scott felt her hand lowering as wind rushed past his face from below, the ground getting closer and closer as Susan’s arm plunged downward. He shut his eyes tightly, ignoring their watering, and opened them just in time to find Susan’s fingers finally relinquishing their grip on his battered body. Soon, her grip was too wide to actually hang onto the teen, and she had shaped her fist into an “O” shape. Scott desperately clung onto the folds of the woman’s finger flesh, but his muscles were so worn out, his body in so much pain, exerting in any form was simple torture, and with a gasp of terror, Scott plummeted through the tunnel of skin made up of Susan’s hand. He plopped uncomfortably with a sickening bounce on a purple, fluffy ground.
Looking around and pulling himself to his feet, Scott looked up and found himself looking into a deep, fabric tunnel of darkness, shrouded by the long, fuzzy tendrils of the violet cotton. At this moment, Scott realized where he was, and just as he turned around, ready to dash with every ounce of energy he had left to escape Susan’s night slipper, he found himself face-to-face with a deep green ivory toenail.
For an instant, Scott saw his horrified reflection in the distorted mirror of Susan’s big toenail, and even in the unclear image, the boy could see his body was absolutely riddled with dark bruises. It made him cringe just to see, but this was the least of his problems, as, within his next inhalation of breath, the toe was flicking forward, sending the poor boy sprawling into the dark section of Susan’s slipper, dizzy and in so much pain he wanted to vomit. Satisfied with her footwork, Susan slid her naked foot confidently into the slipper, this time burying the hapless Scott under her warm sole.
Scott screamed bloody murder into the immense wall of moldable flesh covering him so easily, darkness and heat instantly cloaking him as Susan settled comfortably into her casual night slippers.
“Oh, boys… how much easier my life would be if I could fit all of them in there with him,” whispered Susan with a disappointed sigh to herself, reaching for her wine glass stem for another sip. “That tickles, honey. It really does. I appreciate the effort,” said Susan loudly, stifling a giggle. “Now give your Aunt Susan a big kissy-kissy!”
Despite his mad, useless struggling against the mountainous pad of sole skin engulfing him, Scott could hear the woman’s orders. He screamed again, belting out a stream of curse words that would make the most fearsome of biker gangs blush in shame.
“I could be wrong, but that sure doesn’t feel like KISSING!” drawled Susan with emphasis, arching her sole and bending the soft slipper insole, essentially forcing the boy housed in her shoe to be clasped even more fully against her skin. After a few more motions of this, pumping and arching her foot for the pure detriment of the tiny teen trapped underneath, Susan felt the unmistakable pecks of tiny, kissing lips.
“That’s the SPIRIT!” laughed Susan triumphantly, crossing a leg as she took a seat and gulped down a swallow of red wine.
“MY MOM DIDN’T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO DO THIS!” screamed Scott at the top of his lungs. By straining her ears, Susan was able to just make out the words of the protesting boy under her care, nodding her head and smiling knowingly. “IT’S AGAINST THE LAW! YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME, YOU BITCH!”
“Is that any way to talk to your Aunt Susan? Now, c’mon. It’s been a whole ten seconds. Kiss it again or I’ll make you do the other one too.”
“I HAVE RIGHTS, GODDAMN IT! I’M A HUMAN BEING! YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GET AWAY WITH THIS, DO YOU HEAR ME?”
“Of course I hear you, honey,” smiled Susan. “And, frankly, I’m getting a little sick of it. Hush up.” Lifting her leg lithely, Susan planted her foot hard against the plaster wall with a loud slam. She could feel Scott’s body plowing headlong into her sole so hard, she knew it must’ve felt like he had just been in a car crash. His screaming had stopped for the time being, despite the fact that Susan could still feel his weak movements as he struggled to not slip deeper into Susan’s slipper, his tiny face still planting obedient kisses onto her soft skin. “Now that’s more like it, Scott. Keep it up.”
Finally relaxing, Susan propped both of her feet up on top of the old-fashioned heater that was connected to the wall, leaning back in her creaking chair and taking another long sip on her wine glass. After a few minutes of having her feet, already clothed in the heavy fur of the slippers, hovering over the heater, she could feel the effects taking place. A warm, sticky frosting of sweat glazing itself over her entire foot, finding its way into the crevices of her toes and along the deep wrinkles of her sole.
“Ohhhhhh… yes,” breathed Susan, already feeling her foot sweat practically gluing the unfortunate teen boy onto her mature sole. She took another gulp of the wine, smiling emphatically at no one in particular, as she simply basked in the dim lighting of the empty apartment, focusing on the glorious feeling of the eighteen-year-old’s tiny, pathetic kisses. “This is why I should’ve had children.”