It’s been weeks since she found you. After everything she’s done with you, you’re a little worse for wear. “You’ve been fun, but I think we need to bring things up a notch,” she says, looming over your matchbox bed. She snaps you up with two fingers, rising up to her face. “I’m going flying,” she then swings you around, forcing you to stare at her black, steel toe, flight boots. “And we’re gonna be wearing those all day. If you make it through the day, I’ll think of something else fun to do with you. And if you don’t, well its not really your problem anymore,” she states with a smug smirk. “I’ve gotta get ready, so get used to your new home.” She holds you over the opening to the left boot for a moment before letting you fall the long way down.

You hit the ground with a thud, the insole doing nothing to cushion the blow. You groan as you turn on your back and gasp to fill your lungs with fresh air, but its anything but. You can taste the sweat salt in the air and the smell, while stale, still overpowers your senses. Regaining your feet, you look down into the dark depths, the boot looking like it’d seen its fair share of battles. The fabric covering the insole has been reduced a smattering of threads here and there, revealing great swaths of hard rubber, pitted and slick with grime. Walking deeper, you make out the five craters her toes sit in, and you find the rest of the fabric, nothing but sweaty lint packed into the tip of the toe. Outside your leather confines, she’s already donned her flight suit and the long, thick black socks you’ll be spending the next 8 hours with.

The shaft of light illuminating your surroundings is suddenly snuffed out, the monolith of her socked foot descending on your world. You try to run to the furthest reaches of the boot, but end up slipping in the grime of her big toe’s crater. The shadow of her foot quickly passes over you before you are firmly pinned into the muck by her toe. As she stands up, you can feel your bones grinding and groaning under the strain of her weight. Thankfully, she quickly makes it out to her car and the weight lessens. However, this isn’t all good, as now her foot is angled up and nothing is holding you down. Sliding down, you find yourself between the ball of her foot and her toes and with each pump of the brakes and gas, you are smushed into the soft cotton. This cycle repeats for the next hour, the AC blowing over her boots being the only thing that keeps the experience tolerable.

Arriving at the airstrip, the weight is back on, the insole not budging an inch to accommodate the foreign object of your body in this hostile environment. Thankfully, the sock has just enough give to keep yourself from being turned to paste. This however, will end up haunting you. Removed from the climate controlled car and placed between the hot, Florida summer sun and the scorching tarmac, the boot begins to rapidly heat up. Tied up nice and tight, these leather coverings are air tight, and the furnace of her foot isn’t doing it any favors. Quickly, her sweat begins to soak through the cotton, leaving them waterlogged. Soon, you’re unable to discern where your sweat ends and where hers begins. All the stale, engrained sweat throughout the boot is rehydrated and evaporated, filling the confines with a stifling miasma of foot stench.

By the time she has the aircraft ready, your consciousness is holding on by a thread. Starting the engine up, her feet on the rudder pedals, she heads down the taxiway. Ready for takeoff, she guns the throttle and jams the rudder, the soggy sock absolutely smothering you in foot sweat as it seeps out. Once she is set in the air, she starts throwing the aircraft through the air, having a blast. You can just barely hear her laughter while you suffer beneath her. With each maneuver, her toes scrunch up, enveloping you in the mushy cotton, held tight by her toes. If anyone could see you, they’d think you were being waterboarded, well, if they weren’t thinking you were just a piece of crud stuck to her now grimy sock first. You last for about two hours of her five-hour flight before you mercifully pass out, but this doesn’t stop her toes from continuing to play with your ragdolled form. Passed back and forth, balled up and thrown out, your body endures her toes and maneuvers. Finally landing, your body is crushed and smushed again, and there is nothing you can do about it

Getting home after her long, fun day. She struggles to remove her boot before it pops off with a wet slorp. She wiggles her soggy toes within her socks, holes already starting to develop in the cotton, unable to handle just a few days of her use. Tipping the boot over, a stream of sweat pours out and along with it, your body which splats onto the hardwood floor. “Oh right, there he is. Looks like he didn’t make it~” Scooping up your moist body, she brings it to her face, trying to examine it. Completely slick with sweat, black gunk from the insole covering parts of your body and chunks of soggy sock lint littering you. But, while she expected that, what surprised her was the fact that your chest was still moving. “Well, seems you actually survived down there, guess we’ll be having more fun tomorrow. But until then, I did say these are your new home and I would never go back on my word. Back you go~” Dropped into the upright boot, your body finds itself floating in the puddle formed by her heel’s depression, ready to get used to whatever else she has planned for you. When you finally awake, you can only guess she’s going to play with you with her feet some more.

Pulling her new toy out of his matchbox bed, Sayame gets ready for her early morning flight. Dey, who was found by her the night before, was surprised to be snatched from his fresh lint blankets and unceremoniously dropped into a rather tired Sayame. Suddenly having to get used to the powerful stale sweat that wafted through the boot, he can only stare up through the shaft, waiting for her to finish getting ready.

Dressing out in her flight suit, she takes her socks from yesterdays and squeezes them a bit. Still damp, but not particularly dirty, still good to wear for another day. Sliding into her steel toed boots, she feels Dey get pushed along into the toe as she laces them up and steps off, jostling him around the confines.

Dey's light was cut off when her thick, black cotton socks entered the boot. Caught by one stray strand, he was dragged deeper into the boot, where fresh air never reached. Securely pushed into the insole by her weight, she steps off, ready to drive to the base. The drive itself was uneventful, just a couple taps of her toes every so often to feel Dey's struggles, the air conditioning not doing much to stifle the rising temperature.

Arriving on base, the gets fitted with her gear, zipping up the G-suit and harness, ready to head out for the day. Climbing into the cockpit, its almost as cramped at Dey's conditions, albeit the air is noticeably fresher and cooler. Strapping in six points, she starts up the engine and begins taxiing to the runway, Dey getting pushed into the now very sweaty socks with each push to the rudder pedals. Lining up on the runway, she throttles up for takeoff, jamming the right rudder to keep the plane straight, smothering Dey in heavy sweat and cotton.

Off the ground, she turns out to sea so she can practice aerobatics in peace without any ATC to worry about. All of her focus on flying the aircraft, she's all but forgotten about Dey, her mind fully occupied. Even his squirms go completely unnoticed, either the blows are cushioned by her socks or are just to weak to be felt by her bare skin through some holes left in them. Speeding along at 240 knots, she occasionally pushes on the rudders, giving slight bits of pressure on Dey with her toes.

Getting ready to start her practice, she starts with a light maneuver to get used to the G's, banking over and pulling 3 G's for a 10 seconds. As the G's come on, the weight on Dey gets heavier and heavier, enough pressure to his chest to stop him from inhaling, his lungs empty. Pulling back to straight and level flight, the pressure recedes from Dey, forcing him to gulp down as much sweat stained air as possible, some lint and grime from the boots insides being spit out once his breathing stabilized.

His brain now intoxicated by her foot musk, his squirms stop, seeming to try and enjoy the predicament and inhale as much of her steamy effort as possible. Meanwhile, Sayame is getting ready to turn over for a split S. Inverting the aircraft, she pulls the power back and lets the nose drop, descending rapidly and gaining speed. Approaching the water she holds the stick firmly to her chest, the G's piling up. Topping out at 6 G's, she recovers the aircraft and continues her flight. But for Dey, it wouldn't be that simple.

When she went inverted, Dey was left floating in the space between the insole and her foot, drifting around in space. When gravity came back to haunt him however, he found himself underneath the ball of her foot and the weight coming on fast. 140 pounds, 280 pounds, up and up till it topped out at 840 pounds of force compressing him into the insole. His body groaned and creaked for only a moment before it all went dark, his body quite literally pasted under her foot. For the rest of the flight, his remains would be mixed and spread with her sweat and foot, becoming one with the grime of her insole. Once back home, she remembered her little toy but upon closer inspection, he had met a fate just like many others.