The Foot Slave Memoirs  Short Story

The Foot Slave Memoirs  Short Story

The Foot Slave Memoirs

Short Story #1

Tagart stared out at the light trickling into his new world. His arms and legs

were bound in a spread eagle fashion by golden clamps positioned around his

wrists and ankles. His head was inside a shadowed void, and there was a strong

aroma of musty sweat and dirt permeating the air around him. The taste of salt

was in his mouth, and his eyes stung. He heard the laughter of women playing,

and the faint scream of a man in torment. He noticed that he was naked, and his

body was lying on a moist surface. Tagart also noticed that he was extremely

hungry. As his eyes adjusted to the unfamiliar light he began to survey his

surroundings.

It appeared to him that he was in an enormous leather prison, with his legs

extending up a steep ramp. Upon further inspection, it became apparent that he

was fastened firmly in the front section of an enormous high-heeled shoe. As

Tagart glanced to the left and right of his position he could make out the

imprint of a dirty foot engulfing his entire body in the shadows, and his head

looked as though it had been under the toes of the giant. His vision began to

clear, as well as his memory, and he suddenly remembered his position in this

New World Order. He was a foot slave to a master named Meredith, and he had just

recently volunteered to undergo the reduction and biophysical transformation

process at the request of his owner.

It all started coming back to Tagart in flashes of sporadic recollection. He

remembered being part of the work force tasked with toiling in the fields of his

master. The slaves worked endlessly under the whip of their owner’s handlers

tending the crops of the vast estate. But as harsh as their life was, they were

fed fairly well and given one day off for rest. On occasion slaves were picked

to perform sexual favors for the female handlers of the stable, and most of the

conscripts never complained. Then one day the Master paid a visit to their

quarters. It appeared that one of her scientists had developed a device that

could reduce a slave in size, as well as vary the biological structure of the

subject. It was apparent that the Master wanted volunteers from the stable to be

test subjects, and it was also apparent that she wanted them for her personal

pleasure and financial gain. Tagart started to remember all to well.

The slaves were all chained into their stalls for the night as the Master walked

into the complex. She looked exquisite as usual, and her snakeskin high-heeled

shoes echoed on the concrete floor as she strolled by examining each man in his

cubicle. Every slave in the stable was silent, wondering why she had paid the

visit so late in the evening. The Master then began to speak in her commanding

voice. “I am offering every conscript that I own the opportunity to volunteer

for my bio-reduction project. All that accept will be given the privilege of

being worn in my shoes, as well as my staff, as foot slaves. You will be reduced

to three inches in size, and your molecular structure will be changed to allow

you to withstand the enormous stress of being under our feet. This can be

adjusted, and all volunteers will be given the maximum durability factor. As an

added bonus, your biological systems will be altered so that you will no longer

be dependent on solid food to maintain your health. Your source of nutrition

will come from the foot that you live under, simplifying your lives. The honor

of cleaning the dirt and sweat off my feet should be motivation enough to

volunteer. This is the only chance that I will offer to you all, so take a

moment to decide.”

The stable remained silent, and it was obvious that none of the slaves relished

the idea of living in a woman’s shoe. The thought of eating only foot dirt and

sweat was not appealing to any of the men as well. Tagart watched the Master

glare at the slaves, and thought about what to do. In his mind survival was

paramount, and he saw anger in her eyes at the absence of volunteers for the

project. The Master was a beautiful but cruel woman, and living in her shoe was,

in his mind, probably the safest place to be given the present situation. So, in

a feeble gesture he raised his hand and became the only volunteer as her foot

slave.

The Master looked at the man and smiled. She appeared truly pleased at his

decision, and said, “You made a wise choice, slave. Ivana, take this insole to

the main residence and clean him up. Then have him reduced and placed into my

favorite pumps. When he wakes up from the transformation he will begin his new

life.” She eyed the other slaves and pointed randomly to three men. “Take those

others as well, and reduce them. But make sure that they are adjusted to minimum

durability. I want them to suffer in my shoes. When they expire, I’ll pick some

more to torture. And make sure that you and your staff fill your shoes as well.

This weekend I am getting in a fresh batch of field slaves as replacements, so

these worthless ones are expendable!”

Tagart regained his composure and remembered all of the details of his

transformation. He did not know, however, how long he had been chained into the

shoe that he now occupied. He assumed that it was the Masters high-heeled pump,

which was completely enclosed except for the open heel sling back that he gazed

up out of. He again heard the gleeful laughs of women, and on occasion a giant

would pass by the opening that he stared out of. All of a sudden a huge foot

loomed in front of him and entered the shoe that he occupied. In an instant his

world went dark, and five dirty toes covered his face. He grimaced at the

pressure, but found that he could handle the discomfort of the foot on his body

rather well. The smell was intense from the sweaty underside of the toes, but he

ironically felt an urge to lick the flesh pressed into his face. Tagart

remembered what the Master had said about living off of the dirty sweat of her

foot, and as he began to clean the filthy debris from the bottom of a toe his

hunger started to diminish. The woman wearing the shoe began to speak, and

Tagart noticed that it was the Master. “Look’s as though my insole has woken up.

He seems hungry, so after we finish with our little toys I’ll let him out for

dinner.”

Tagart felt the toes on his face flex, and in an instant there was a downward

movement of the shoe. The digits rose off of his head, and he felt the heel

section of the shoe impact on a hard surface, sending a shock wave from above

and below. All of a sudden he heard a muffled scream emanating from below and to

the rear of his position. The foot covering his body started to rotate from side

to side on the heel, and Tagart felt the crunching of something similar to twigs

snapping. The laughing of women started once again, mingled with the pleading of

a faint male voice. Once again his prison lifted up and came crashing down, this

time forcing the flesh of smelly toes firmly onto his face. The crunching sound

started again, only this time it was directly underneath him. There was a shrill

scream, and the sound of a man pleading louder this time directly to his left.

The process continued, this time with the scream and pleading coming from the

right side of his position under the foot of his Master. There was a lot of

chatter mixed with laughing coming from outside of the shoe, and it was hard to

tell who generated the excitement. All of a sudden a distinct voice gave a

command to Tagart commanding him to lick the toes nonstop in front of his face.

He did as instructed, and as the shoe he occupied moved slowly down the digits

pressed into his face. A sharp scream resonated directly below his head, and as

he worked the toes in front of his face feverously with his tongue he felt a

crack and a pop underneath. The screaming stopped as the foot on his body slowly

pressed down and ground from side to side like the owner was extinguishing a

cigarette. Tagart was panicked, and never let up on his toe licking. After

awhile the pressure let up, and it appeared that the owner of his shoe was

sitting down. He continued to hear women laughing and talking for what seemed

like an eternity, but the faint pleas and screams of little men appeared to be

further away from his position in his smelly, sweaty prison. After awhile he

fell asleep, and started dreaming of a life far away.

 

The Foot Slave Memoirs  Short Story

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The Foot Slave Memoirs  Short Story