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Under Her Sole

Part one of four

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by The Barefoot Stallion

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Rick Carson had been going to the Sole Desire brothel for quite some time and knew many of the dominants in residence, although he only dealt with the ladies. He was only interested, after all, in a dominatrix – and her feet.

With his dirty blonde hair, cropped roughly an inch long and usually nicely styled for work, and moderate build, he was not someone that would have usually drawn attention on the street. He could slip by and blend in with the ground – and he supposed that that was exactly what he wanted, really. To be hidden and take pleasure under the radar, or under the sole, as it was.

He had a discernible accent as an American, though many over in the United Kingdom struggled to place exactly where he was from in the United States, which was fair enough. The States were rather large, after all, and it was strange that such a small island had become so prosperous, especially when he compared it to how things were spread out across the States. But it had meant that, on a work trip, he had come across the brothel when he had taken a wrong turn – and that had changed everything for him.

After that point, he had returned to the United Kingdom as many times as his finances or work trips had allowed, always making sure to stop off at the foot fetish brothel. Apparently, they were a little more liberal with sex work there, though that could have been as servicing a foot fetish, of course, did not have to involve ejaculation. He wasn’t interested in that. It was a service bound in the adoration of soles and something that made his heart pound and bound just a little bit more every time he managed to make his way back there. Truthfully, Rick had even considered moving to the country full-time so that he could take his pleasure, paying the brothel well and tipping his mistresses, more frequently than ever.

He could have spent days worshipping a woman’s feet, specifically the sole. For it was the sole that dominated his mind the most, imagining or re-living the experience of running his tongue across it, all the slight creases and folds in the skin, revelling in the sensation of it pulling and flexing. His shaft ached at the mere notion of it, though he tried not to think about his special interests too much when he was out in public. In his slightly younger years, it had landed him in rather sticky situations – being stuck sitting somewhere and not wanting to get up and reveal his hard-on – on more than one occasion.

So, he had learned from experience, at the very least. And he had learned that no one outside the foot fetish brothel, a rather high-class establishment, considering the raunchy desire that they specifically catered too, could fulfil his sexual needs. That was going to have to be okay for him, for it was not as if he could force anyone to enjoy the same things sexually as him.

Namely…no one wanted to do what Rick had been interviewing, through different foot fetish and sex sessions, the dominants of the brothel for.

And that was for him to slip into the shoe of a dominatrix. Not to be squashed, of course – well, yes, to be squashed, but not crushed to the point of injury or death, no. Rick wanted to live and enjoy his experience, as was his right when he was paying top dollar for it, wanting to make sure that everything was right, that everything was exactly the way that he had imagined it.

He'd experienced it, just a little, when a dominatrix called Lady Susan had stood on his face a few months back. She had been barefoot, her soles folded around his face as she chatted to another dominatrix at the brothel, shifting her weight and treating him so casually that it was as if he had become nothing more to her other than something for her to step on and over. Of course, what Rick really wanted was to be stepped on, yet it had been the crushing bite of rising pain in his right cheekbone as she bore her weight down on a sensitive spot that had given him the idea.

The idea of becoming, well…smaller.

And that was just how Rick came to be waiting in a private room at the brothel, already shrunken all the way down so that he was seven inches long: a good size to fit into the size eight shoes that he had brought with him. For, if it felt so good to have a foot crushing and trampling his face, the sole flexing over the bridge of his nose, when he had been at his old, normal, human size, then surely it would feel even better to live out his deepest, wildest fantasy.

To be small. To be tiny. And to be trampled over, within the sole of a mistress’ shoe, all day long, all while she went about her usual business without any care or consideration for him.

Rick shivered, wearing a poncho-like piece of clothing, because he was far, far too small to wear his usual clothes when he was that small. He was not even sitting on the usual small sofa beside the fake window, which was illuminated to make it look like there was daylight coming through from the other side. There were no windows to the outside of the brothel, for they promised complete anonymity, all to preserve the privacy of their patrons. He appreciated that. However, it was different for him to be sitting on a coaster on top of the small, round table that was placed beside the sofa.

Everything’s going to be different this time.

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Out of the mistresses that Rick would have been more than happy with, only two (he didn’t get the name of the other, as it was kept confidential from him) were willing to service his request. The foot fetish brothel had a grand selection of mistresses, though his desire was so extreme that it took a woman of great heart to go through with it. For them, it was not all about the money and he understood that they were concerned with his safety through the ordeal. If he wasn’t as resilient as he was, made so with the chemical concoction that he had taken to shrink down to seven inches in height, he would have been concerned for his safety too.

And they had to be…just right. Maybe that was being fussy, to be fair, though the problem there resided in the fact that he wanted them to be completely indifferent to his plight. Ignoring him, walking and treading heavily, not even trying to adjust their weight so that he would not face as much pressure under their sole. Someone that enjoyed the agony that they were inflicting and stepped even harder, bearing down, to make him strain through it, begging to be released (when he had already agreed that he would not be released until the session was done): that would be even better for him.

Mistress Dana had ended up being the one who had agreed to service him, though it was a different kind of service that would begin when she slipped on the size eight trainers, which he had been assured were her size and would fit her feet perfectly. From his previous few sessions with her, he had come to be familiar with her soft soles and the natural scent of her feet, though there often lingered a very faint aroma of violets, which he presumed was what she washed her feet in when she showered or bathed. That was pleasant but, of course, he was very attracted to just how well she cared for her feet, always ensuring that they were soft and smooth and kept in the best of condition.

It would not have done to have someone with rough, unkempt feet be a dominatrix at the brothel, after all. But he had always been more than pleased with her feet in their natural condition, preferring her to be devoid of any additional creams or nail polish on her toenails, even though he appreciated that too. When his focus was on the sole, it was all about the pressure and the texture for Rick, even though it had not been quite enough for him. Not until he was able to live out his greatest and deepest of fantasies.

No… To be under Mistress Dana’s pretty, cute feet with the high arch was all he wanted, sitting beside the shoes with the custom-made indent in the middle, just so that he could fit in nicely there.

It had all been agreed beforehand, though Rick mentally ran through the details again, needing to reassure himself that everything was covered. Mistress Dana would be given ten grand, in pounds, to spend on herself throughout the day, the session starting in the late morning to ensure that there were plenty of places for her to go and enjoy herself. Once he was trapped within the shoe and her foot pressing down on top of him, ensuring that he would not have any escape from the pleasurable torture, he would be taken around with her for the day, from one shopping centre to the next, to the best stores and any activities, like getting a massage or skin treatment, that she liked. As long as the shoes stayed on her feet so that she trampled on him the whole time, buying anything at all that she wanted for herself with his money (well, now her money), it was fair game.

By ten in the evening, after a full day of torturously delicious abuse, he would be taken back to the brothel, still ensconced in her shoe, to recover after the ordeal. Only, Rick was not sure at all what state he would be in when it came to that. As part of the agreement, he would give her another ten thousand pounds at the end of the day, if she performed as asked to complete the service. Of course, there had been the usual fee to pay for a full day of foot service but that was inconsequential in comparison to the money that he was both to give her at the end of the day and to spend on herself.

Yet it was all part of his fantasy, to have her ignoring him and trampling on him, pressing down on him and rolling her sole over his body, again and again, never forgetting that he was there. But his dominatrix simply would not care and would walk all over him: literally.

The attendants did not speak to him, only smiled, as they came in to prepare him in the shoe for his mistress. The shoes were placed on the floor and he gulped as he nodded his agreement, heart pounding. He didn’t know their names and he didn’t have to, not as they tucked him into the special insert in the shoe, face up. That was important to him, so that his face was pressed up into Mistress Dana’s sole when she put the shoes on. His lower legs and feet were down near the heel of the trainer, his thighs up to his mid-torso beneath the arch of her beautiful foot and his head and upper chest, finally, right up under the ball of her foot. He still did not know where she would put the most pressure on him while she walked and couldn’t wait to find out either.

“You will not need to breathe after some time,” one of the attendants told him, looming like a giantess, even her voice sounding deeper and more booming, though Rick thought that that might have been just because of how he interpreted sounds differently at a smaller size. “The nanotech has fully fused with you now so you will be able to extract molecules of oxygen directly from her skin. There will be an adjustment period, of course, while your lungs adapt to the need to not breathe.”

“I understand.”

Oh, his voice was small, so very small, though he kept looking up through the ankle hole of the shoe – what he would have called a sneaker but was a trainer in the United Kingdom. He still thought that was strange. How could they have such different terms and words for things that should have been the same? But he supposed that he did not have to fully know why things like that had evolved in language. Not when he was going to be emitting grunts and groans and the like in the near future.

His palms sweated and he laid his arms down into the insole, into a couple of sockets that let him keep them out of the way. Apparently, Mistress Dana was very ticklish and even him wriggling under her, with his hands and arms shifting, would have been enough to ruin the experience for her. Truthfully, he had never had anything stuck in his own shoe that he had not immediately sought to remove, so he supposed that that made sense. He didn’t want her to be uncomfortable, even though he wanted to feel the pressure of her grinding down on top of him.

Finally, to fit fully into the human-body insert within the shoe, his head was turned to the right, exposing his left cheek. That was one thing that had been stipulated by Mistress Dana too, saying that having his head facing up from beneath the ball of her foot would be just like walking on a pebble and most certainly not something that she wanted to do all day long.

“Here is your shoe, Mistress Dana. I hope you have a great day out!”

“I surely will…”

That was her voice, but it was not for Mistress Dana to introduce herself to him, not that time. Not after the agreements and arrangements had been made and now everything was coming into place, all the teasing and tantalising anticipation that had been building up for so long finally coming to a head. With the shoes on the floor, he caught the briefest glimpse of her long, bare legs – she seemed to be wearing a skirt that day, or perhaps shorts – before her left foot slid into the shoe where he was.

Well, not quite. It was a slow process, Mistress Dana following the brief for her shrunken submissive as she pushed her foot into the shoe. It made her flex her foot and scrunch up her toes, wriggling them deeper as they crabbed towards the toes, as if the shoe was too small for her. Of course, it was a perfect size, though she was just drawing it out for him, Mistress Dana tugging at the shoe to wiggle it more into place as it forced her foot to twist, from left to right, across his body.

“Mmph…”

It was a tiny breath, a tiny grunt, her foot wrinkling over him, the creases obvious to him down there – so much more so than if he was not shrunken! Her feet were so soft, so smooth, he wanted to lean up into them right there and then as her toes pushing over him, from his hips to his stomach and up to his chest. Yet there were tinier textures to be taken in too, the “fingerprint” whorls on the ball of her foot, which were the most noticeable when she was wriggling her foot over his chest.

It smoothed over his chest and up to his head, forcing his head down deep into the indent, for which he would be grateful. As her foot pushed in, the rasping sound of fabric on skin caught his attention, as well as the dull curl of her toes digging into the shoe, making the indent shift slightly, Mistress Dana getting comfortable. With most of her foot inside the shoe, she could wriggle it deeper, letting the wrinkles in the arch smooth out to settle over his belly, the curve of the arch allowing a little room for his stomach too, for it was soft, not the belly of a man who worked out often. He had better things to do.

And then her heel came down, the commanding hardness of it making his head spin, even if it already brutally, with a grind and a shove, mashed his legs under it. He grunted, trying to hold back his moans, no give in the heel at all like in the softer flesh of her arch, the skin sticking to him with a peeling, clinging sound. The rough grind of her foot against the shoe was like a brush on a microphone, making a rasping noise, perhaps when an earbud was interfered with… It was hard to put a name to the sound.

He'd thought she had put her weight on him…and yet she had not. He took a breath, realising with the shift of her body that it was coming, that she was standing up, that he was finally going to get so much more than just another normal trampling. Dread heaved through him, dark and alluring, his stomach lurching, though he wanted it still, her foot blocking out all light, his world down there nothing but darkness. He couldn’t imagine the pain, the pressure, the bone-crushing bite of being crushed, from head to toe, all day long.

It was his dream. His nightmare. And, with him being shrunk permanently, he could get it again and again, whenever he felt the need to be crushed under her sole all over again.

It came smoothly, the weight of her settling over him, grinding down and down and down. His anticipation was well-placed as he grunted, deep in the back of his throat, a primal, guttural sound. He huffed, eyes bulging, realising, finally, what he had done, emotions swirling through him, his skin prickling and sweating with heat.

Had he gone too far? It was too much! The weight of her crushed him down into the shoe, the indent, trying to breathe and not even able to fill his lungs! And it was really happening and that was amazing and Rick just couldn’t make sense of it, not with horror and a sense of deep stupidity clawing at him.

In time, as she walked on top of him, all day long, it would sink in. Rick didn’t need to worry about that. It would, however, take just a little bit of time.

The scent of her foot enveloped him and, for a moment with the reality of his situation sinking into his bones, fear gripped his heart. The darkness… He couldn’t see! Just the soft shape of her foot bearing down with shocking ruthlessness over him, blocking out the outside world for the next several hours, holding him in place, locking him down into the indent within the sole of her shoe, right where he belonged.

There was nothing he could do, not as he grunted and squirmed, though immediately came up against the restrictive pressure of her foot. A fold of skin rolled over him as she settled her bare foot (that, of course, had been another stipulation that he had made sure to put into the agreement) on top of him.

Even though he was settled into an indent within the trainer, he could still feel her. Not just lightly, no, but moderately. The pressure and weight of her squashed him down and made him feel like his chest was being compressed, restricted through a means outside his own body. There was only so much that he could do, fingers twitching, worry clawing at him, though Rick did not yet give in to fear.

It would not have been enticing, after all, if there had not been fear at play there, cold and coiling, twisting around his heart. Even though Rick’s heart was still beating, the pound in his chest, it did not feel as if he existed anymore. Not when he was so small, so insignificant, nothing more than a toy to be stepped on, squashed and rolled under the foot of a woman whose sole he worshipped.

He had thought that Mistress Dana would give him more time to get adjusted to his position, but she was seemingly ready to head on out.

“I’m going to have a great day!”

That was her voice, though it sounded a little strange, even then, as if it was muffled. Soft vibrations travelled down the length of her leg and foot, into him, as she walked, and he grunted against her, his fingers still twitching, instinctively wanting to push her foot up and away from him. His sexual mind, the kind that was encased by the fetish and the lust of it all, wanted to be close to her sole, so close that he melded with her body, but his rational mind and the part of his mind that wanted to make sure that he survived, well… That part of his mind thought that Rick was in danger and, frankly, being rather stupid too.

Continued in part two of four…