When she was in high school

When she was in high school

Sarah's Revenge

by

Eponymous Rex

When she was in high school, Sarah really wanted him. He

was very

indecisive and, finally, left her scorned. When they said, "hell

hath no fury like a woman scorned," they meant Sarah. She was

determined at that point to not only not be ruled by him, but to rule

him utterly and devastatingly.

Years later, she invited him to come visit her at school. She was

quite stunning now. She had lost a little weight and finally decided

to cut her long blond hair. She was now the embodiment of a perfect

beautiful pixie. She had always had a pretty face, but she had needed

to lose some weight. Now, she looked like a Greek goddess.

She'd been lucky this year and had a single in a nice house. They

would have some privacy to reminisce. She was pleased the he found

her beautiful now. It had been about five years since they'd last

seen each other. She had a boyfriend now and was quite happy with her

life; but she did have an old score to settle.

So she'd gotten him drunk enough to pass out. He woke up twelve hours

later surprisingly without a headache but he was dying of thirst. He

found that he couldn't get up. In fact, he couldn't even move. He was

chained to the floor. She walked in wearing a cute black skirt and a

baby tee showing off her amazing breasts. On her feet, she was

wearing maryjanes with two-inch chunky heels and hard soles. She had

no socks on and she'd intentionally neglected to wash her feet very

well. He couldn't see, but he assumed that she had the same shade of

purple nail polish on her toenails that she had on her fingernails.

"Rise and shine, dear," she said in her sweetest voice. She

was so happy to finally have this, and she would make it last. She

would make him last.

"I took the liberty of slipping some anti-nausea medicine into

our drinks last night. I didn't want a hangover this morning, and I

wouldn't want you throwing up on my pretty shoes."

When she said the words "pretty shoes," she placed the heel

of her right shoe on his mouth and pressed down hard enough to cut

his lips on his own teeth. She then smiled down cutely at him and

simply stated "I own you now."

He didn't know what to make of that statement, so he asked,

"What do you mean? You don't want me, you already have a

boyfriend."

"Oh don't worry, you'll meet him soon enough. And I don't own

him. You, I own."

Once again, he was confused. But he had another more immediate

concern: "I'm very thirsty Sarah; please give me something to

drink. And please untie me."

"I don't think you get it. You won't ever ask me or anyone else

for anything again. You'll take what you're given and you'll beg and

worship me for it. So, no, of course I won't untie you. And yes, you

may have something to drink. If you get a single drop of it on the

floor, you'll regret it."

With that, she squatted over his face, and he realized she wasn't

wearing any underwear. As he realized that she meant to piss into his

mouth, he clenched his mouth shut. Before she started, she looked

down and noticed his closed mouth. She stood up and very calmly said

to hi, "I'll only warn you this one time. If you don't

unquestioningly do everything I ask, you will be extremely sorry.

Nobody is home for the entire week because of spring break. I can

make you wish you were dead quite easily."

He found this a little hard to believe: after all, they were old

friends. "Come on, Sarah. We've been friends for years. This

isn't funny. You got your kinky little joke, now untie me."

"Well," she shrugged, "I warned you." And with

that, she stomped her right foot onto his face, breaking his nose and

knocking in a tooth. Not surprisingly, he howled in pain. To shut him

up, she stood on his throat, crushing his windpipe under her weight.

She slowly counted to thirty and enjoyed feeling his pulse under the

thin hard soles of her shoes. She rocked back and forth a bit as she

counted, almost as if she were dancing and completely unaware that

she was killing a boy under her cute shoes. Finally, before he could

pass out, she stepped off and he gasped for breath and coughed

uncontrollably. She had crushed his larynx and he could only barely

force air down his throat when he breathed. She didn't care that

she'd nearly killed him; she had just wanted him to shut up. Besides,

it felt nice as his throat slowly gave in under her relentless

pressure.

With his nose broken, he was forced to breathe out of his mouth; so

she now squatted down and urinated into his open mouth. Every single

drop of her girl piss went down his badly damaged throat. It seemed

to him like it lasted forever. He could not breathe and he had no

choice but to swallow the hot stream of piss as it landed in his

mouth. He was struggling to not gag or cough for fear of what she

would do to him. As his air gave out, he found himself unwillingly

trying to take a breath, and her piss flowed into his lungs for a

brief second. Before he could cough, she was done. He started

coughing violently, but she then lowered herself further and

instructed him to lick her pussy clean. Afraid now, he restrained his

coughing and did not hesitate to do as she asked. Although he had

just nearly drowned in her piss, his hell was just beginning.

After she was satisfied, she got up and explained to him that she was

a real witch and not the fake trendy plastic "witchcraft"

he'd seen in the movies. The Wiccan arts empowered women to take back

from men what was owed to them. She told him that she would

ritualistically torture him until he begged her to die. Her urine

inside him was already turning him into an object for her. Then,

after death, his soul would belong to her and she would create a

sadistic and specialized hell for him. And, the icing on the cake

would be that every horrific thing that she would do to him would

only increase her Wiccan power.

"Listen, Sarah. You're fucking crazy!"

"Believe what you want, and I'll take what is mine. I've decided

not to give on men, entirely. Once I wholly own you, man's debt to me

will be repaid." She was looking forward to torturing him and

then fucking her boyfriend. Her sadistic side was turning her on. She

wouldn't even tell her boyfriend about him, he was hers in every way.

She had already pissed into his mouth and his soul was slowly

becoming her property. She now needed to expose him to incredible

amounts of violence and pain as a prerequisite to his hell.

"Are you still thirsty?" she smirked at him.

"No."

"No what?"

"No, thank you."

"Good boy. Well then I guess I'll start."

She pulled a rope, which raised his spread legs until they were

pointing towards the ceiling. His balls were now completely

defenseless. To illustrate the obvious, Sarah put the ball of her

left foot on his balls while pressing down.

"Give me one good reason not to crush your nuts."

"Please! I'll do anything you say."

She decided that he was giving in too easily, so she stamped down

hard on his nuts and twisted her foot, savoring the power she felt.

His high-pitched scream pierced the relative calm of the house.

"Oh," she said, "I don't like that reason. And I

really did enjoy crushing your nuts. It's very satisfying, you

know."

"Please! Oh god, no! Please don't do it again! Anything!"

"Very well, I want you to say 'I belong to you, Sarah, heart and

soul.'"

"I—I . . ."

"Well? Need more convincing?" She walked over and stamped

on his face a second time. His broken nose shot new and unimaginable

amounts of pain into his brain. Two more teeth fell out. Sarah's

pretty maryjanes now had blood on their scuffed soles. And the

gorgeous foot inside each shoe enjoyed the sensations of the impact

as it traveled through the thin sole.

When she removed her foot from his ruined face, he said, "I

belong to you, Sarah, heart and soul. Please don't hurt me

anymore!"

"Well, there's no real 'you' anymore. You belong to me; you said

it yourself. The spell is now partially complete: you're a possession

of mine. And possessions don't tell their owners what to do."

She was pleased with her logic. She was, after all, a philosophy

major.

She was going to kill him to take ownership of his soul. At this

point, after he had fully agreed upon becoming her belonging, the

spell was almost complete. All she had left to do now was to torture

him to death in the manner she found most pleasing. Realizing that

there was no need for him to talk, she stopped talking to him and

starting stomping on his defenseless body as hard as she could. She

stomped twice more on his exposed balls. After each one, she left her

heel on his destroyed groin and twisted cruelly for two reasons:

first, to cause him more pain, which she savored, and secondly, to

feel and confirm that she had destroyed a testicle. Before he died,

she wanted to feel completely impotent.

She also stomped on his stomach and ribs. She was pretty sure that a

rib or two had already been broken; and she wanted to make sure that

she had ruptured as many vital organs as possible. She liked the idea

of one of his organs being deformed and crushed under her. She had a

pull-up bar, which was above his body, but instead of doing pull-ups,

she used it to balance herself as she jumped oh his ribcage as if it

were a trampoline. She jumped as high as she could each time, and

tried to time her jumps such that she would land on her heels each

time. Finally, she started hearing and feeling little cracks and pops

underneath her shoes. His ribs were breaking.

He wasn't really screaming very much anymore. With his ribs mostly

broken and both of his lungs at least somewhat punctured, he simply

did not have enough air to scream. He wondered why he wasn't losing

consciousness from the pain, and in his pain-racked insanity, he

seemed to remember something she'd said about giving him drugs the

night before. He really did wish he could die right now. But he still

had a long way to go.

Sarah was enjoying herself immensely. She had now stopped jumping on

him. Instead, she was probing his ribs to see which were broken. When

she had found a broken rib, she would coo in pleasure and cruelly

apply pressure slowly with the toe of her shoe. She would push the

broken rib until she felt a little tear, which indicated the it had

done some further damage to either his lungs or another organ. She

pushed until it wouldn't move anymore, and then she would move to the

next one.

She wished that she could slowly step down on his still-beating

heart. She would love to have his heart under her foot. If she could

do that, she would do it barefoot, she decided. She would let his

poor, dying heart massage the bottoms of her dirty feet as she slowly

applied more and more pressure constricting it. She would crush down

until it would stop, but then she'd ease the pressure just slightly

so that it would start again. She knew that he would be awake during

the whole procedure and she could taunt him. "How about

that," she would say, "I'm breaking your heart. It feels

nice under my heel; it's a good thing I didn't wash my feet after

taking a long walk outside." And finally, while it was still

beating under her ever-increasing pressure, she would hop up on the

one foot that was on the heart to feel it burst underneath her. That

would be so ideal, she decided. But that was beyond the extent of

even her powers, she realized. Still, she was having a lot of fun;

and t

 his was a reasonable facsimile. Besides, she would soon have his

soul and crushing that continuously would make her so happy. Revenge

was sweet; although she knew that this really wasn't a fair revenge.

He hadn't really hurt her nearly as much as she would hurt him. And

she would torment him eternally. Once he was dead, tortured slowly

until he died, she would own his soul, and she had already decided

that his essence would be made into the insoles of whichever shoes

she was wearing at the time. Sometimes, she might even turn him into

a tampon to further humiliate him, but for the most part, he would

comfort the soles of her feet as she lived her life. And her life

would be extended indefinitely, because the power of her torment over

his soul would directly result in an eternal life for her. And she

deserved it.

 

It would be over soon. She was a little surprised at how

fragile a

human body could be. She stomped on his face so many times that she

lost track; and she could feel his skull crack several times. But

that's not how he would die. She put the heel of her right maryjane

on his throat and stepped up on his already crushed larynx. She

pulled her left foot out of the maryjane and wondered if she should

get blood on her bare heel. Then she thought of something.

'You know, I have really gone overboard. I did want to hurt you. I

even meant to scare you into thinking I would kill you; but maybe I

went too far. I have been really mad at you for years now, but this

would be crazy . . .'

Of course, she was still standing on his throat; his tenuous grip on

life and breath was being crushed under Sarah's beautiful heel. How

could she do this? Why did he feel like he deserved this? Now he was

going to die, but wait, what was she saying?

'I can see you're losing consciousness. You probably think I'm insane

and you can't pay attention very well. I'll tell you again what I was

saying before. I need you to promise this will go unreported. I need

to know that you'll never tell anybody what happened here, or else I

really will have to kill you. Before you pass out, kiss my heel. If

you don't, I'll take it as a 'no'. If you do, I'll let you live. I

can't step off until you decide; without this pressure you may think

I've gone soft on you, that I'd let you go either way. But I won't.

Right now, I need you to swear on your life, for your life.'

And with his last strength, he kissed the heel that rested on his

bloodied lips. Even with all his pain, he noticed the sting of the

salty skin against his cuts. He was in such a delirium that this one

insignificant action took on grand proportions. As his life left his

body, he was still trying to make the kiss seem convincing enough.

She felt him die; and she laughed. Even after all she'd done to him,

she still managed to get one last willing act of groveling

subservience. His torn lips had felt electric against her dirty heel.

She was still standing on his throat, and she shoved her now

blood-stained bare heel into his mouth much further than a living

functioning jaw would allow.

It did nothing for her, he was somewhere else now.

Her other foot: the one still wearing the shoe. From the base of her

sole, she could feel that same exhilarating feeling she had felt as

he was kissing her foot emanating. It felt so wonderful, it was

better than anything she could have imagined. She only bothered to

hastily rub her foot on his shirt to get the blood off in her hurry

to get her left foot back into the shoe. Oh god, this feels so good,

she thought.

To her amazement, the body she was still standing on seemed to sink

into the floor. In a few seconds, she was by herself in the room. The

blood was gone, even his clothes had disappeared. It was as if he had

never existed.

The feeling under her feet was indescribable. It was dynamic, it

responded with what she imagined must be the mirror-image of his

agony with every movement she made. As she walked, she would feel

varying waves of joy and confidence corresponding with the amount of

pressure she exerted on each foot. She wondered what he must have

felt. Her curiosity wasn’t purely academic, of course. She did hope

that he was suffering for her pleasure. After all, if she could have

had the same feeling without hurting him, she might have opted for

it; but she had the distinct impression that it wouldn’t have been

nearly as enjoyable.

-----------------------------------------

It was hell. This must be hell he thought, what else can it be? He

remembered what she had told him and everything he felt seemed to

correspond. It seemed as if there were two of him, but they were both

one. He couldn’t seem to wrap his mind around that idea. And to be

honest, he wasn’t concerned with the metaphysics of the situation

nearly as much as the sheer torture of it. He felt like he was

choking. He could still feel the pressure of her weight on his

throat, but it seemed to have amplified exponentially. His ruptured

organs felt as if they now each had live nerve endings to bring him

news of their new deformity. Every one of his senses seemed to be

spread over the same area.

The taste attacked his “tongue” from every direction. He could taste

the various different flavors under different parts of her feet. Her

pretty purple painted toes scrunched along his surface and he could

taste the dirt under the slightly roughened skin of her big toes.

Bits of grime were rubbing off onto his tongue and being absorbed

into him, and he could taste every iota of filth that was being

ground into him.

His “eyes” seemed to be everywhere. It felt like there was direct

scraping pressure on his eyeballs. It seemed as if they had grown and

were literally the ground underneath her rough and merciless feet.

Every step she took allowed him to see her foot lift off him

slightly, it seemed his night vision had improved. He was worried

about the bright light when she took off her shoes. But he was much,

much more worried about the immediate pressure of these gorgeous feet

on his eyes! The pain elicited howls of anguish every step, but

nobody would hear them.

The worst of it was his sense of touch. He could feel that his body

had become soft and yielding, as if he had no bones. He had no idea

what he looked like, but he felt like he may have been turned into

something resembling a gel insole. The nature of his substance was

that he would always be crushed at every point of her gait along some

portion of his body. And since his body was now mostly uniform, that

meant that there was enough variation of location to keep the pain

fresh, but an amazing amount of traveling pain at each location. To

his horror, she seemed to not treat him like anything other than an

insole. When she was sitting or standing still, she shuffled her feet

or scrunched her toes just like any other girl would, but it seemed

that she would not even pay him enough attention to torture him. To

her, he was always supplying enough anti-anguish to leave him

ignored.

It seemed he could isolate the variety of different scents underneath

her feet depending on what she may have stepped in or where she had

sweated the most. To be honest, this was the least torturous of his

conditions. When she wasn’t walking, he would focus his attention

slowly over different parts of her beautiful feet and memorize each

slightly different scent. It was all he could do to try and remain

sane, but he wondered why he bothered.

-----------------------------------------

This is how he spent his time. These were his sensations. She, of

course, lived the life of an ordinary college girl, and later

graduated and became quite a successful lawyer. For the most part, he

was her insole and doomed to extreme cold, dry loneliness while she

was sleeping and burning torturous hell while she used his body.

There were a few occasions that she used him for other purposes,

mostly when she was mad about somebody else. But those are other

stories.

 

When she was in high school

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