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The Foot Slave

Part five of five

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by anonymous

_ _

Oriel couldn't take it anymore. Who could have endured the torment of the foot fetish brothel? As soon as she had been back to her full size, after “meeting" with Venia, she started plotting her escape. Sure, it could mean the end for her – but surely even that was better than staying in the brothel, always having to endure hot, sweaty feet and having her senses assaulted in too many ways, all at once, a slave in name who couldn't even do anything for herself.

It was a fool's plan, of course, but she had to try. That was just how Oriel found herself, one night, slipping down the hallway, taking one of the shrinking potions that she had stolen to make herself about a foot tall. It made her vulnerable, yes, but also allowed her to sneak around more easily without being detected, which was something that she sorely needed.

The brothel was different after they had closed up for the night, some of the rooms occupied but the hallway and main floor empty. All down to the front door. The collar weighed heavily around her neck, the thick leather pressing on her throat, but Oriel didn't feel it, not really. She had to ignore it, had to remember her past life, walking barefoot, slowly, softly, silently, down through the open entrance room, the main reception where someone would usually be taking written bookings for sessions with the foot slaves.

There was no one there, not even a magical lantern lit, bolstering her confidence. The door loomed but she wasn't going through it – no. She had to go for the window, something that she could open at her size, scrambling up onto a bench seat and hefting at the latch.

“What is the meaning of this? Slave!"

Her breath caught as the latch flipped open and she made a leap to freedom – just as Mistress Idril's hand lashed out, grabbing her in mid-air. Oriel gasped breathlessly, crushed in a hand big enough to force the breath from her lungs, but Idril's rat face was contorted into an expression of fury, even as Oriel fought and beat on her hands.

“I should have you crushed for that," she spat, openly threatening Oriel's life. “You little cretin… You wretch! You belong to me – to the brothel! There is no life for you out there, an owned slave – hah! Did you think that escape was at all on the cards for you?"

Oriel didn't know how to tell her that she had not seen any other option for her, that she just wanted to be free, that she just wanted her old life back, though it was not as if Idril cared about that at all. Forcing Oriel to gulp down the growth potion, to return to her normal size, Oriel hacked and gagged as she shot back up, too quickly, to her regular size, doubled over at the waist. That was, until, the rat snatched her up by the throat, hefting her in mid-air, dangling her as her legs kicked frantically.

“Harrrk!"

“Bitch," Idril hissed, her voice dropping again, insidious and deathly. “I should kill you right now…but my clients like you. You still have a lot of money to make for me. I'm going to show you…mercy."

Even then, Oriel knew that it was not really mercy, not any kind that she would want. Kicking and whimpering, she was dragged, against her will, into the depths of the brothel, right at the back and down a flight of stairs that Oriel had not known existed. At the base, Idril snatched a bottle from a cupboard, pouring the contents over a spluttering, heaving Oriel to return her to her true size, skin stretching, bulging and pulling as she reverted to her normal form.

It didn't help her. Not one little bit.

“No… Please… Let me go… I'm not good…not good… Not for the…brothel…"

She tried appealing to Idril, but it was the rat who decided what Oriel was good for, waking her best staff members who hauled her down into a room that drew her in with how dark it was. In fact, it was truly pitch-black, no outside light entering, striking a chill of clawing, driving fear into Oriel's heart.

“In you go!" Idril sneered, the rat giving in to her cruelty, though it had always been lurking under the surface. “Now, we'll see just how fit you are to fight back against anything at all after your due punishment!"

Oriel gasped and whirled – yet the door was already closing behind her, sealing her away into the darkness. Not even the laughter of the other brothel anthros could be heard, her heartbeat drumming in her ears, the sound of her breath raking through her lungs and windpipe filling her head.

Calm… Keep calm…

_ _

The door clicked, locked, and she heaved, straining through her fear. She was alone, even if the smell of feet lingered there too. In a way, Oriel was getting used to it. Was she alone in there? She didn't know, could not know…

Not until a pair of bright, yellow eyes appeared at the other end of the room, glowing in the dark. Oriel leapt back with a muffled shriek, her heart pounding, clapping a hand over her mouth. It had been a long time since she had made a cry like that, her initial squalls at being captured feeling small and insignificant in hindsight, for she had quickly learned that being loud wasn't going to get her anywhere. Because no one was coming to help her.

Whoosh!

_ _

Several candles flickered to life, called there by a pull of magic that flowed around Oriel like a gust of wind. They did not clearly illuminate the room, leaving dancing, ghastly shadows on the wooden, insulated walls, but she could see enough.

At the other end of the small room, nowhere near far enough away, was a dark purple dragoness, one that she had not seen before. With a lighter purple front and a rich, deep back and shoulders, the dragon didn't look all that intimidating, even though she was nude bar the ornamental gold jewellery adorning her horns, throat, wrists and ankles.

She was a little more intimidating when she broke into a smile, cunning, tongue flickering out over her lips, Oriel's eyes moving to what lay behind her and around. For there were not just walls but multiple containment chambers, large enough for a human being, like…

“Iron maidens," Oriel whispered, the words barely passing her lips. “No…"

She didn't know what was in there, but she didn't want to know. The dragon smiled a little more widely, showing her teeth.

“Welcome, Oriel," the dragoness said, as kind as one could be in such a situation. “I am here to punish you, a mage employed here. You will not have heard of my magic before, for it follows the training of the dark ways, forbidden ways, which is why it is fitting for me to be stationed here. I am Andra."

Oriel swallowed hard.

“W-why…" It was hard to use her words again after her voice had not mattered for so long. “Why…am I here?"

Andra smiled. It did not reassure her.

“To be punished of course."

A very brief, lowly muffled “mmph" emanated from one of the iron maidens. Instantly, Oriel's head whipped to the side, senses on high alert. What was that? Had that been a moan, coming from one of the iron maidens? Her heart pounded, breath catching, sweat dampening under her arms but, nude, there was nowhere for it to soak into, lingering on her skin in her fear.

“Now, now," Andra said, more kindly, coming up to her and taking her by the collar, though she was not rough with her. “You will be just fine, no true harm will come to you. Yet if you go against the ways of the brothel and the mistress, you must be punished. Come here. Now, please, quickly. The sooner you do it, the sooner it will be over for you."

So, it had a time limit? That seemed better, as she padded softly after the dragon, wanting to trust her, though she could not explain why. Led to one of the iron maidens, Andra waved her hand, opening it, slowly, with a flicker of blue magic.

Yet the inside was the nightmare she had been dreading. At first, Oriel had not known what the twitching, writhing “something" in the darkness had been, cast into shadow by the few candles, but it all became clear as the iron maiden opened, wider and wider.

Feet. It was filled with feet, as if they sprouted from every inch of the maiden's walls, base, even the inside part of the door too. All purple, of course, just like Andra's feet, the toes flicking back and forth, some clenching and flexing, some even rocking the heels back and forth as if they were trying to draw Oriel's attention. She could not see but she was sure there were even feet emerging from the top of the chamber too, so that there truly would be no escape from them, no, not at all, not in any way. Yet they were all Andra's feet, complete down to the lighter purple soles, the creases in the skin that wrinkled when they were scrunching in, toes curling – three toes on every foot. Short claws tipped every one and Oriel's jaw hung open, looking between the nest of feet and Andra, the dragon's actual, real feet.

“No!"

A strangled cry broke from Oriel's lips as she stumbled back, the stench hitting her. It was beyond anything that she had endured before, though she had thought that Ruby would have been exceptionally hard to top with her sweaty, pungent soles, despite how soft they had been. It washed over her, the cheesy reek with a hint of decrepit candle wax dragging itself into Oriel's lungs as she coughed and gagged, hacking and fighting not to bend over and put herself in an even more vulnerable position. The feet twitched and squirmed back and forth, hungrily awaiting a victim to bury beneath their soles, to press down around, to practically suffocate them with their rancid flex and pull.

“I made these chambers many years ago, using my powers," Andra explained, as if she was pleased to have someone to witness them. “They are, of course, designed to punish any unwilling brothel slaves. My cloned feet are always kept brewing inside in hot, humid conditions, just to make sure that they are nice and fresh for new slaves that need punishment."

Her tone was light and pleasant, fingers still hooked around Oriel's collar as the woman shook her head vehemently no.

No… No, she could not, she would not, the reek sinking into her. There would never again be any going back from that stench, the wriggling nightmare fuel of the toes flicking out towards her as if the claws wanted to hook and grasp at her, dragging her down into the belly of the beast of the iron maiden itself, all so she would never again come back out.

“No…" She finally said, managing to speak. “No, please… Please, no. I'll be good, I promise – I don't need to go in there!"

“Well, of course, you're going to be good," Andra said pleasantly. “After you have been punished."

Oriel parted her lips again, to beg the dragoness to reconsider, when Andra's tail suddenly shoved her in the small of her back. It was with a grunt and a muffled wail that she tumbled into the grasp of the feet, into the iron maiden itself, the pressure of so many soft soles closing in around her all at once. From the moment that she entered, feet began to wrap around her, to bind her, a pair instantly gripping around her arms and her thighs each, another two around her waist.

She tried to scream – but closed her mouth again as a toe tried to shove its way inside, eyes watering. Feet glided over her body like snakes, climbing up higher and higher, adrenaline pumping through her veins as the moment seemed to be stretched out and out and out, letting her take in every horror. She twisted, wrestling bodily against the feet, but only managed an inch, if anything at all, before shuddering, forced to succumb to their overpowering strength.

The last thing she saw was Andra grinning, her hands, once again, glowing with blue magic, before the door closed on her.

“Sweet dreams…" Andra said, though her face was already obscured to Oriel.

And then the door slammed closed as Oriel gasped, twisting, turning – yet there truly was nowhere for her to go in the tight, cramped darkness, feet inches from her (if that) at all times, on all sides. She was not in bondage, not that time, and yet she was more restricted than ever, the feet continuing to grasp and grab at her, every last one of the cloned feet. She had never been under Andra's feet and now she was going to feel them all over her, slowly and gradually creeping over every inch of her.

A muffled sob broke her lips, barely parting them to speak. One of the feet crawled over her breasts, claws digging in lightly to her skin as she yanked away from it. Oh, the smell! It was so intense that she broke a little more, vomiting into her mouth, heaving, gulping, bile swilling around between her teeth and under her tongue. But she could not spit it out, who knew what they would do to her! Skilfully, she swallowed most of it back down so that it did not add to the pool of septic grime surrounding her already. However, that was not the last time that she had to gulp back down vomit.

And the heat too, the feet prodding, toes poking… It was cloying, unbearable, though the feet stopped her from moving away, holding her still by their proximity alone.

“No… No, please… Mmmph!"

A toe poked her lips and she closed her mouth again, not wanting them inside, no, not wanting that. The old, sweaty smell of cheese and wax closed in on her from all sides, the feet wriggling, toes poking, pulling her deeper and deeper into the iron maiden, even though she had not thought that there was any further for her to go.

They were everywhere, unforgiving, for they were mindless. Feet, they were just feet, cloned feet, the toes dancing over her back, poking at her shoulder blades, even more feet emerging to help secure her body even further.

It was as if they knew that there was nowhere for her to go, delighting in it, gradually but aggressively encasing her from head to toe, the horrifically soft soles pillowing around her. They were softer, far softer, than anything that she had had the luxury to sleep on when she was a merchant's daughter, like pillows, downy, maybe like the kind that a king or a queen would have slept on. Not that that was going to do her any good in the iron maiden, locked in, tortured, punished for her transgression of trying to escape.

But the feet were coming for her, regardless of her want to escape, creeping and crawling, the toes digging in lightly to her flesh. There were so many all at once that Oriel tried to twist back and forth to evade them, but multiple soles came at her, squeezing in against her chest and belly all at once.

Some of the feet, however, briefly hesitated before covering her belly, prodding and twitching their toes. It was as if they were all different confused creatures trying to understand what she was, but the only way that they could understand was through touch. Each appendage had a mind of its own, sickeningly so, as the toes poked at her forearms, brushing down the moist, sweaty skin. Once a confused foot knew that she was human, however, they eagerly latched onto her, grabbing onto her stomach and folding over her flesh like elastic, never again to let go. They were rather too eager to clutch her stomach, however, driving into it with ruthless pacing.

“Oof…"

She barely was able to let out a grunt as they winded her with the force of their attachment, digging down into her belly as the slimy, sweaty feet claimed her. Her heart pounded, breath catching in her throat, but she didn't even want to breathe with the reek of them all around her. They hugged her, wrapped around her, the toes clutching better than any fingers ever could, ticking her ribcage and groping her back, drawing her farther and farther into them. Sweat and grime layered every foot, grit clinging to them, transferring the dirt to her body as they hugged her into their nest.

Oriel whimpered, wriggling, trying to properly move her legs and arms again, but she could hardly do anything, inching from side to side. Moreover, her protests encouraged more feet still to wrap around her, stilling her limbs, bit by bit. Meaty soles clamped tightly around her ankles with an iron grip, the putrid feet clawing at her thighs to encase her with their sweat and stink. Once attached, the feet would never let go, if only to inch a toe slightly, as Oriel was to uncover, bile rising, once again, in the back of her throat.

No… This can't… This can't be happening!

_ _

She tried to swallow her squeal of despair, darkness clawing at her, panic driving her heart to an even faster beat. But the feet still came, crawling over her feet as they almost adoringly covered her own, the toes tapping and sliding, even attempting to interlink with hers, into the gaps between her toes. She scrunched up her feet as much as she could, one of the only things that she felt able to do to fight back.

Her arms… No, she couldn't twitch them back and forth anymore, spread out slightly from her abdomen as the soles wrapped around them from either side, as if her limbs were being submerged in the wrinkles and folds of the feet themselves.

She shuddered bodily, revolted by the sensations, the slick slide of them clawing at her, gripping her tightly. Even with them holding her upper body still in that manner, it further cemented their dominance over her, how easily they overpowered her, reminding Oriel, once again, that she was under their control.

She was not in control.

Feet tickled her waist, toes walking around her small waist, down and down, venturing closer to her sex. Oriel startled, grunting thickly in the back of her throat, eyes wide. Two toes, without any warning at all, had sunk deep into her pussy, making her recoil and flinch, shuddering in revulsion. Her head snapped back, mouth agape.

That was her mistake, as a toe immediately tried to wriggle its way into her mouth but she spat it out with a grimace of disgust, heart pounding wildly, the claustrophobic embrace only growing more and more stringent. Her pussy ached as the toes worked lightly inside her, but seemed content to hold her there, like the false grip of a lover worming their way into her heat.

Two soles cupped her breasts firmly, digging lightly into her flesh, crinkling and creasing as they curled around her breasts. There was a rhythm to the toes too, a hungry, clutching rhythm, as they inched over her chest, their slime coating her naked skin immediately on impact, making her shudder bodily. Not that she could move all that much anyway, feeling every movement they made, every twitch and every toe curl. All as they worked away at meticulously binding and sealing her in.

The feet sank into her body, so soft but horrifically so, sinking into her body like pillows as they weighed down with pressure, increasing bit by bit. The toes squeezed at her skin, around her breasts and down over her ribcage, pinching gently until she flinched. Once they had the reaction that they seemed to want from her, they loosened their grip before comfortably, for them not her, hugging back into her flesh once more.

They seemed to want to make extra sure that she was going to stay where they wanted her to that time too, toes tickling and teasing her nipples as they curled and scrunched around her flesh, squeezing them affectionately. Around her shoulders, more soles and curious toes groped her shoulders, the muscle there, dragging her back sharply as if they were forcing her to straighten her back. Oriel jolted, sucking in a sharp, unwanted gulp of air through her nostrils.

“Unnngghhh…"

Worse still was yet to come as two feet wrapped around her neck, curling around her throat from either side as if they were taking the place of a second collar, stilling her further. She grunted as they pressed down on her airway, tucking her jerky, light head movements under control, panic freezing her there as a lead weight sunk into her legs. Or maybe that freeze response was just the feet getting her under control, sliding over her, skin wrinkling, toes scrunching, holding her tighter and tighter, always finding a new way to restrict her. The feet around her neck squeezed her firmly, drawing a cough from her lips, eyes bulging.

As she struggled to breathe, some of the feet adjusted their grip, pulling away, briefly, to accompany another foot into a better position. A plethora of sweat tendrils strung out between each sweaty foot that tediously peeled away from her skin before settling back down again with a grimy, wet smear, curling back over another spot on her body. That might have only been a millimetre away, but the feet were bred to know how to toy with their victims.

They knew what their job was. The iron maiden had been designed for her, knowing Oriel's body inside out, exactly where to grab at and play with her. That was why they peeled away, sucking at her skin as they tried to adhere to her with the slick dampness, only to press back down again in a slimy embrace.

If they did much more of that she wouldn't be able to breathe at all… But, no, she had to stay in control of herself, even if she wasn't of her surroundings. It was all that Oriel had left, sinking into her own body, though it felt quite as if she was wearing a full body suit made from feet, weighty and cloying, restrictively closing in on her from all sides. Yet it was slimy and thick, tight and clutching, reeking of the very worst foot odour that she had ever had the misfortune to inhale. Still, worse…the feet were real, the feet were living, and she had no choice about wearing it, twitching her fingers, trying to move her arms.

She needn't have tried, for Oriel only managed an inch before being overpowered again, feeling their clutching grasp press down, soles cupping her tits ardently, binding her with living, reeking feet…

She would have thought that it could not get any worse but it was there that Oriel would have been wrong. For she had forgotten her head, everything other than her head fully encased. That would have been a blessing, if her head had been left free, but she was already struggling to breathe, her chest juddering, her eyes watering, the compressing force of the feet on her chest and neck, in particular, restricting her.

She even wheezed, gasping for breath, but she would not give in, not as the feet slowly and lovingly massaged her body. She would have considered it affection, perhaps, if it had come from human hands, but all she could do was tremble in trapped revulsion, the slickness of sweat dripping down her body, between their toes, trickling and tickling. She tried to shake her head yet again, but could barely move, wondering if maybe, just maybe, that was it. Maybe it was time to stop fighting, to give in, for it was not as if she could move without putting even more tight pressure on her neck.

If she suffocated in there…

No. No. She wouldn't think like that. She was too valuable to the brothel.

Wasn't she?

And then the feet around her neck squeezed tighter, making her choke, eyes wide. Something was happening! Yet she was not present enough to realise what, even as the feet around her head felt like they…were getting closer? It was hard to see in the darkness as the stench sank into her nostrils, the sensation of feeling them near, crawling all over her face and head – yet imagined so far – overpowering.

No… Please… Please, don't…

_ _

She didn't want to whimper aloud, for fear that more feet would be shoved into her mouth, but she could not deny how claustrophobic everything felt, as if there was no space for her, no space at all. Her rate of breathing increased, the feet holding her tightly like an iron band around her chest, breathing in more and more of the stench against her will.

“Unff… Argh…"

She hacked and gagged, the reek of feet sinking into her psyche, working its way up her nostrils. Yet she panicked and breathed too much, her own sweat added to the stench, though there was no way to differentiate what was hers and what was from the feet. She tried to squirm away from the drenching heat around her, but there was no evading even that as the feet on her body already tightened their grip, toes curling into her, stopping her from getting away from the excruciating temperature.

There was no hope. No escape. As if the feet around her head were assembling parts of a mask, they sealed away her head too, slowly but surely covering and coating her head.

A pair of soles slapped on either side of her head, her ears ringing as they covered up her ears, tugging at the upper lobes uncomfortably as the toes curled in tightly. Even the slightest of turns of her head were taken away from her, the last-ditch protest that she might have had, her entire body trembling in restriction. Her breath caught and hitched as she gagged, once again, on the eye-watering reek, more soles – three? – covering her head, slippery, sweat soaking into her hair. They curled smoothly around the contours of her skull, moulding to the shape of her head, seemingly unbothered by the tiny lines that her hair pressed into their underside.

She protested, grunting through tightly closed lips, but there was nothing Oriel could do as two more of the cloned feet emerged from the darkness like ghosts to cover both of her eyes, stealing her vision. Letting out a frightened squeak, muttering and whimpering, her lips moved…and yet not for long.

“Nnnghhhh… Nooooo… Mmmmnnnngghhhh…"

A greasy sole slid over her mouth as if it had been waiting for the right moment, firmly plastering her mouth shut as grit and lint ground into her lips. She groaned and tried to make a noise, but all that came out was a whimpering sniffle, muffled and broken, caught and locked away.

Two toes of one foot flanked Oriel's nose, though she was already very nearly suffocated. They squeezed in, stowing her nose right between the filthy, clammy pit. It could have been cosy if not for the stench, another foot coming down over the top of the toes just for good measure, fully and completely encasing her.

No part of her body was left exposed to the open air – not that there would have been any fresh air in there. She tried to struggle and she tried to moan, but Oriel didn't even think that she could hear herself anymore. Nothing more than the sweaty slick and grip of feet all over her, blood roaring in her ears, her heartbeat the only drumming beat that she could hold onto, even then.

Everything, all of it… It was all futile. She barely managed even an inch of movement – more like half an inch – beneath the stinking sea of soles before the sheer, raw strength of the legs and feet clutching her forced her still again.

Oriel would have sobbed. Maybe she did. She wasn't sure she would have known.

Her old life was gone, lost to her. It was about time that she accepted that, broken, lost, whimpering.

With her body forced to be completely still, the feet pressed in, stopping her even from turning her head in a last, final protest as to her situation. Any sounds that Oriel made were muffled under the weight of the slick soles, the feet wriggling, rearranging themselves around her face. They left her nose free, if only for the moment, tucking under her chin and pointing the toes towards her neck, feet pressing in around her hair, seeking to claim her with deadly, insipid intent.

“Nnnngghhhh…"

The sound was lost. She might as well have not moaned at all.

Freedom… Hah. What did she think she was, trying to get free? Feet pressed over her ears as if she was holding her hands up to her head and covering her ears, dulling even the slick squelch and slimy slide of the feet rubbing against her and themselves, no longer able to tell the difference anymore. There was even a soft crinkle and crunch of sweaty skin as the dragoness' feet curled, toes wriggling, managing to taunt her without even having the ability to spend any words.

Clever. Horrifically clever, but she had found that there were no limits to torture, at least so far. If they employed intelligence into the mix of humiliation too, there was really no end to any of it for her.

Finally, her nose had to be covered – by their means, of course. A foot slithered slickly over the rest to trap her nose into the rancid pit between the first and second toe, though the three toes seemed to lock better into each other than any others. She let out a low moan, not seeing, only hearing, only smelling, only feeling. Even hearing was dulled as the grimy pit of the toe jammed up into her nose, another foot on top weighing it down too, just for good measure. There were more than enough feet to go around, after all, fully encasing her from head to toe as they all pressed in, wriggling and wanting their chance to claim her skin, the torture chamber secluding them away from anyone that might ever have had mercy on her.

Nothing exposed.

Nothing to be seen.

Nothing of Oriel left.

She twitched back and forth, but the feet were stronger than even the anthros that had abused her – the ones that would continue to use and abuse her. Although Oriel felt like she was using every ounce of strength and energy in her body to struggle, to fight back, she was only moving ever so slightly, trapped, encased, the feet more restrictive than even the containment chamber alone would have been.

There was nothing left of Oriel to be seen, even if the iron maiden had been opened. Well, perhaps a few stray locks of hair at the top, ostentatiously peeking out between one or two toes from beneath the sea of feet…but no more than that. The gut-churning texture of the soles pressed into her head and face on all sides, squashing into her flesh, her throat contracting with the sense of a scream.

Yet even a scream was denied to her as she tried to do so, chest heaving, trying to rock her head – though she could only tilt it slightly before she was brought abruptly and crudely back to her default position by the suffocating soles. Left with only a whimper, all she could resort to, Oriel whined.

And they didn't like that either. The feet gave an even more constrictive squeeze around her head and neck, forcing her to be quiet. They didn't want their toy of the night (or week) to irritate them, after all, yearning and instinctively wanting her to submit to them, to turn her into a near-living, emotionless statue. There didn't need to be anything truly left of Oriel when she was let out again, after all.

She was stowed away, a little foot fetish slave, useless for anything else in the world. Barely managing an inch of movement as she grunted and heaved and tried to twist back and forth, there was nothing more for her out there.

Only torture.

Only punishment.

No more was going to come to her, not ever, not then.

The toes around her nose shifted lightly, but she couldn't see, hear, taste or speak, a nothing-person. All she could do was inhale through the most putrid of toes. The smell drew on vomit in the back of her mouth, gagging, retching, but it could not be swallowed, not all of it, not that time.

The vomit squished out between the light gaps on each foot covering her lips and chin, though she still jolted, reacting to the vile, bitterness of vomit in her mouth. And that only made the feet embrace and hug her body even more tightly every time she shook from retching and losing her stomach, bile trickling over her lips.

It was hell…and it wasn't going to end. Not even for her to go to the bathroom.

Torture. They did it well.

Did she give up? That was a decision for Oriel, but not one she could make right then. Not as the putrid reek sank into her, claiming her completely and utterly as a foot fetish slave, wishing for freedom but no longer even expecting it. The waxy and cheesy reek wound around her, feet all over, her face trying and failing to twitch in revulsion, for even those muscles did not seem to be under her control anymore.

Please… Make it stop…

_ _

She softened within their grasp, trying to breathe shallowly, though she could only let them take what they wanted from her, accepting that no escape was to be had. She wondered if things would have been easier if she had given in to that from the beginning, but, well, probably not. The brothel mistress would have always had vile plans for her, one way or the other. The only difference was in how she reacted to it.

She twitched, groaning faintly, fingers aching. As soon as she moved, however, the feet closed more tightly, exerting even more pressure, forcing her, forcing her to be still. The slick slime of them crawled all over her, feeling as if they were moving even if they were still, dragging out her torture, her torment, a toe wedging itself over her nose, pressing down on the button of it, wheezing and grunting.

The stench made it hard to breathe. The feet made it impossible to breathe.

Easily, at least. But she had to keep breathing, whimpering, moaning, twitching, caught there, lost there, nothing left for her but the sea of sweaty feet, the rank stench holding her there as much as the feet themselves.

Oriel moaned.

There was no escape. There never had been. She was destined to be a brothel slave until the end of her useful life.

And her torture in the iron maiden too was nowhere near an end…