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Under Her Sole

Part three of four

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Written by Arian Mabe (Amethyst Mare)

Commissioned by The Barefoot Stallion

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Panic flooded him and he fought that time – really fought. Panic clawed at him, dragging him down and down and down into the abyss, though there was only darkness swelling around him. There was nowhere to go and no bubbles showing him the way back to the surface, for he was not drowning, even though he could not breathe. The lack of air struck heat into his heart, the drumming beat of his heart overruled by the tenor of her sole crushing the life from him.

Not completely, of course. But enough that his body thought that things were collapsing, that he would be wheezing and gasping, that his life was on the line. His life being “at risk" did not arouse him but the drama of his situation most certainly did, Mistress Dana walking over a harder floor, some kind of tough linoleum, he thought. He didn't know what would be usual in stores, but the slap-slap-slap of the shoes became louder and more pronounced as she stepped out.

Pain rolled through him, pulsating, every pulse seeming erratic in the force that it carried. Darkness enveloped his world and the absence of his ability to see anything made it all the worse – or better, depending on how one looked at it. His bones should have been crunching and cracking as she walked and rolled her foot to the left, bearing down with a vicious bite onto the left side of his body, blood rushing from the places that she put pressure on. Her sole sank into him and his stomach, once again, lurched, though he held onto his groans the best that he could, shaking with repressed emotion.

He couldn't do it! The pain was too much, a million crushing jaws closing around him! He had thought that the pressure would only come from above him but that was not the case, not as it bore down on him as well as up against him, squashed and squished, his body spreading out a little within the indent. He was soft and malleable, at least to some extent, his flesh bubbly and moving over bone, though there was no telling where the different between fat and muscle was anymore.

“Please… Please, no!"

He broke. Rick should have known that he would crumble at some point. However, that was just why he had stipulated in the agreement that he was not to be let out – not under any circumstances. In the moment, he had forgotten it.

“Please… Mistress!" He crumbled, squirming, fighting, whimpering, tears rolling down his cheeks before her sole wiped them away. “No… No, I can't do it! I did too much! You're crushing me! Trampling – ah! I need… I need out! Let me out! Owwwwwwwww!"

His cry turned into a howl, rending the air, though he thought his voice was too small to do any good, to carry all that far. He didn't even know if Mistress Dana heard him for she just kept walking, striding heartlessly over him as if he was not important to her, not even then, and pausing for a moment, the ding of a cash register filtering into the shoe.

“Help!" He shouted, hoping that his voice carried further than he thought it was, desperate, his skin flushed and pink in patches of illicit heat that betrayed a deeper need. “Please! Under her – I'm in her shoooooe! Agh!"

He huffed and grunted, though the straining need to refill his lungs with air after crying out was hard to ignore. It was such an instinctive reaction that was ingrained into his body that it could not be set aside all that easily. But she stepped back onto him, once again forcing him to take all of her weight down on that one foot.

All that remained for him was pain. Darkness felt darker…than before. His mind didn't come easily, his thoughts all in the wrong order, a mix of impressions rather than words. Biting pain snarled across his shoulders and the front of his chest, down to his stomach, the point just below his ribcage. For a moment, as the pain travelled down into his hips and crotch and his legs, he blacked out. The outside world did not exist. Only pain, feeling hot and cold at the same time, as if his body was struggling to contain the raging storm inside him, what had him groaning and thrashing to the tiny extent that he could move, a small fold of flesh and skin from her sole tucking up under his chin.

He couldn't swallow. Not with that crease of skin grinding into his Adam's apple. He didn't feel like a man anymore, he didn't feel like he had any of that cool, calm confidence that he usually did in the office, his usual work. He was a different man under there, a foot slave, a foot slut, stomped and squashed. What would anyone at work think of him if they knew that that was what made his blood pump and his heart sing?

Pain was bliss. Pain was terror. Pain was everything that he could ever have wanted and still screamed to get away from, too many opposing things colliding at the same time.

And then: relief. He had to breathe a little, his chest shifting a fraction without actually taking all that much air into it. The small, neat fold of skin pulled away from his neck and allowed him to relax a little more, though it was hard to think of anything as true relief.

“Unff… Mistress… Please…"

She walked again. One step. And then another. And then another. His body had found a new threshold of pain, deeper and darker than he could ever have imagined. He panted and moved his lips… Yet did he even have a voice anymore?

Under her sole, his thoughts came slowly, moving over one another, slipping by. It was hard for him to catch one and follow it, with the squashing pressure of pain.

As she walked, it was funny how the flesh of his thighs shifted to either side of the bone in his legs, where it was softer and meatier. He'd never thought about his body like that, though there was only so much that he could do when it came to those tiny throbs and shifts, flesh a vessel into which he was captured too. Her skin clung to him, though maybe that was him catching onto how little space there was for him within her trainer, knowing then that he had most definitely bitten off more than he could chew.

And, if her ignorance of his cries was to be believed…there was nothing at all that he could do about it. Nothing at all. He was there and stuck, Mistress Dana lured by the offer of ten thousand pounds to go into her bank account on the completion of the day of service. And was it really service for her when all she had to do was trample him? When he was so small, there was nothing at all really for her to do that was special. It was just an exceedingly happy accident, in a terrifying, torturous sort of way, that every step of hers fulfilled his fetish while making his heart rate race and race and race.

The fleshy heel, though there was not much cushioning there for him, not as a thunderous ripple of pleasure-pain (even though it was more pain than pleasure) blossomed through him. He groaned, yet the sound was lost in the pressure of her foot, the boom of her sole folding all the way up his thighs and hips and stomach to his chest, and over his face too. He tried to shake his head, or at least turn it from side to side, relieving the strain at the back of his neck.

Comparatively, the ache at the base of his neck, running up to the back of his skull, was minute. In the moment, it was something that he could focus on, the pressure of her foot upon him making him feel like he was under a heavy blanket – like the ones that were weighted for security and something. Rick had never used them before, though that didn't matter; it was just his mind trying to make sense of everything, despite how all was playing out and coming together.

The lines of pain tracked through his body, as if his bloodstream and the network of his veins had merely shifted into a network of pain. He groaned deeply, lips faintly parted, but her foot pressed down over his head, the crushing weight of her resounding through his head for a fraction of a moment. The throbbing weight seemed to come with a heartbeat of its own and he was dimly aware of her toes wiggling, though he had been positioned under her sole so that her toes didn't come into action against him in any way.

That did not mean that her wriggling her toes and shifting the weight, particularly across the ball of her foot, did not send trembling reverberations through him. It was as if the pain was taking on a deeper, more biting note, sinking into his skin and flesh. It snapped deeply and he panted, nostrils flaring as if Rick was trying to suck in a breath that he did not need.

And then the pressure of that step was gone and shifting, once again airborne while she took her next step. Until the process began all over again.

However, things were set to change as she stepped heavily, coming down on him repeatedly. One, two, one, two, one, two, one footfall after the other. He knew that it was coming, though Mistress Dana was canny too as she headed on into another store, though Rick had no idea where he was in the shopping centre. He didn't even know if the was in a mall that he would have recognised at all, though it wouldn't have mattered to him. No one was going to find him in her shoe, if things continued the way that they had been.

Conversation bubbled around him, moderate and faint, though he couldn't pick out any words. Mistress Dana paused, rolling her weight back onto the heel of the foot that he was caught under, putting pressure on his aching penis and down over his legs. Even his toes ached, his whole body trying to contort as he rang through with pain. His shins were sore, though it was a deeper kind of sore, panting heavily, shaking like a leaf. It was only the comparative softness of the insole around him, on his left and his right and underneath him too, that kept him in place.

Well, and her foot above him, a soft, yielding fold of skin from her foot rolling over his stomach. The clamminess of it, her skin faintly sticky from being in contact with his body, prickled achingly over him, uncomfortable in how it tugged and pulled at his skin, a horrible surface-level contact that he wished would not play into the greater crush. It was just one more thing for him to live through and, frankly, the icky pulling sensation was not something that he was into.

However…he had gotten himself into the situation, into the torture, the vicious bite of weight and pressure, how it should have pulverised him into nothing. And yet he survived. He survived to feel the pain nipping at his heels, clawing its way up into his calves, snarling through his thighs and ripping up his hamstrings. It lurched into his stomach and the cavern of his chest, filling the emptiness there, though there didn't feel like the lobes of his lungs could have expanded anyway.

His body still wanted the space to take a full breath. Even as she swapped the pressure to the ball of her foot again, putting more strain on his chest and head, even his ear ringing when she crushed it to his skull. With so much pressure concentrated on a particular part of his body, he tried to huff and pant, tensing his glutes – though that didn't help in the slightest, even if his brain tried to pull his attention to different parts of his body.

“Hi! What can I do for you today?"

Huh? Who was that? He tried to squeak out a weak cry, though it didn't go anywhere, not as she shifted her weight on top of him, letting him guess where the pressure was going to go next. Whether it was going to go from the left to the right or down over his chest, taunting at his stomach… It was not under his control in the slightest, though that was, in a sense, just the way that Rick had always wanted it to be.

“Mhmph…"

He whimpered, eyes closing. It did not matter. All he saw was darkness, a lightly musty aroma clawing at his nostrils. He wondered what the world outside her trainer smelled like, though it was not as if he could get out there, not in any sense. It did not even seem, at that point, that he was going to get out of her shoe at the end of the day.

What if…Mistress Dana kept him in there forever?

Fortunately, Rick was given something else to focus on, other than the cloying, destroying press of her foot.

“Do you have a stand for my feet?" He dimly heard her say, her deep, booming voice sounding far away and deeper still, due to his small size. “I have to keep the trainers on, I'm afraid, a bit of an ankle issue. Something I can rest on?"

“Of course! We can do that for you?"

He heaved and grunted, the aroma of her feet sinking into him, though there was the light, crisp scent of fresh sweat tangled in it by that point. The clamminess of her feet, however slight it had been, had become just a passing note to him, though he breathed a little more easily, twisting his face up as he tried to bear the strain. If he just took a moment to himself, she would pop her feet up on…something. That was what he had to think of, the break that was to come, the light respite that he would have while she was getting a facial and other skin treatments.

However, he should never have hoped for something like that. Not as her trainer jostled around him and it felt like he was being tilted at an angle, his head slightly further forward than his feet.

Of course, Mistress Dana was not going to let him off that easily. Her foot eased from him briefly – and then came back down, hard. He grunted, squirming in the insert as fresh pain seared through him, dull and heated, though with a snarling bite too that came like the snap of a wild animal.

“Unff… No… Mistress? Mistress Dana?"

What Rick did not know and could not see, of course, from his position, was that Mistress Dana had indeed had something to prop her trainer-clad feet up on a stand – and that that very stand had a rest for the sole too. The stand had a right angle and two padded sides: more than enough for Mistress Dana to press down slowly and surely, driving into him with a tight, crushing squeeze.

“Unff… Mistress…"

He heaved and panted, his chest trying to go through the motions of drawing breath, even if he did not need to. Rick's eyelids fluttered, though it did not matter whether his eyes were open or closed, for the world under her sole was all the same to him either way.

Warm.

Painful.

Throbbing.

Ecstasy.

He couldn't see anything and did not need to either, not as the squashing squeeze bore down into him more and more, an increasing pressure that he tried to fight back against. Rick moaned, yet it didn't even sound like the cry left his lips, his heartbeat drumming against his eardrums, a dull roar that overcame even the sound of her foot flexing and squeezing around him.

Everything was her sole. No more than her sole. All of her sole. Even the pain took on a new edge, rolling up through his body, seemingly, from his feet, his toes and lower legs aching deeply. It was as if the pain receptors in his body were in time with the throbbing of blood moving through his body, driven and controlled by the beat of his heart. Adrenaline, in any other situation, if he had been shocked or running from a wild animal, for example, would have dulled those pain receptors, allowing him to flee from danger or even fight while forgetting the pain, if only for a time.

Under her sole, however, with the overbearing, shifting, grinding weight of her foot clamouring for every ounce of attention in his world, there was no adrenaline. There had been no shock or inciting event and it was something that he had thought about for so long before the event itself happened that he could not fear it, bear the instinctive reactions of his body.

So, he didn't have any dulling of his senses or softening of his pain receptors. Nothing at all to make his experience any easier, not as the strain on his wrists grew increasingly. He had never considered his wrists in such intimate detail before and, truthfully, had thought that his arms would have been better-protected by being slotted into the insole of the shoe itself. However, that turned out not to be the case, not as the pressure developed during the day – and, truly, with Mistress Dana's casual cruelty to him.

She had not had to ask for a stand for her feet while her face and other skin, such as her hands, were being pampered, no. She had not had to do anything at all then. She could have given him a break, purely by “forgetting" that he was in her trainer and carrying on nicely with her day, in exactly the way that he had intended. But she had chosen the route of the deepest, darkest cruelty as she casually adjusted the pressure of her foot, using her position to grind her heel down into him.

“Unff… Please… Nngghhh…"

His groan cut through, though he doubted that she heard him. Would anyone hear him? Of course, no one would even suspect that there was someone in her shoe! So, he was forced to bear through it all as the fleshy ball on the heel of her foot offered Rick no protection at all, pain shooting through his legs and up into his hips.

“Ggnnngghhh… Please… Please… Give me a break… Please stop…"

He had to have a break, he had to have some kind of respite. His eyes teared up from the strain and he tried to arch his back, his body fighting, even though the rational part of his mind knew that he was only making the sharper pains worse by fighting back. It was natural, instinctive, the action of a human body that had been forced past the point where it could contain its pain, fighting with every scrap of its being to live, to survive.

There was a big part of him, however, that still loved it, drifting into a half-state of being aware. The outside world dropped away as intense need swelled, unlike any arousal that he had ever felt before. It was as if nothing else existed, even though that could not be so, as he tried to make the most of the tiniest of releases in pressure, when his legs and hips were not quite as crushed as they had been a moment ago.

But then the moment shifted and the pressure was on his chest again, seemingly rocking her foot between the ball and the heel, casually shifting back and forth as if she was just working out the kinks and soreness from her leg. No one around Mistress Dana would have realised what she was doing, his whimpers lost in the folds and creases of skin folding over his face, muffling any sound from his lips.

Rick had never needed a voice anyway, not when he had someone to walk all over him, to trample and to crush him, for as long as he could ever have wanted.

Rick didn't know how much time passed, down there, trapped under her sole, but he was aware of her weight shifting. For a brief heartbeat of a moment, so fleeting and teasing in how the pain lessened, even if it did not go away entirely, he was relieved. Of course, the pain was still there, the drumming throb aching through him, but it was less. And less was good.

She seemed to get up eventually, though he could not be aware, not in any way, of how much time had passed. All he knew was that he wanted to cry out, grunting and whimpering, his eyes dry even of tears, for they had streamed too much already.

The compression of his body under her sole, once her position had changed and he was, once again, firmly on the bottom and crushed under her foot, was even more stringent. There was no way to avoid it, no way to express the swell of agony building in his chest.

It was like the pull of emotion when something was getting too much for him, as if he was being overwhelmed. Yet it was harder and harder for him to feel the pleasure in it. Trying to focus on something as she resumed walking, paying up at the front desk, presumably, and heading back out into the shopping centre.

Rick tried, with all his might, to think about whether he had climaxed or not. And yet that didn't seem to be something that was ever going to be the pain event in his torture, even though he had experienced pulse after pulse of blissful ecstasy wrapped up in the pain. But the tide was turning and, just when he had thought that he was getting used to the brutal pounding of being under the shift of her foot, everything escalated.

Maybe the shift in how he was being ground, crushed and twisted under her foot had given him a respite in another way, allowing blood to flow back to some parts of his body. Yet the insole was compressing more and more, allowing him to take the brunt of her weight, crying out in a breathy, “less than masculine" puff of breath.

“Unfff… Need…out…"

That didn't even sound like his voice anymore. He swore he could feel her pulse through her foot, the pounding, leaping beat of it, though that could have been Rick's own imagination, one way or the other. It didn't matter. Yet it was strange what his mind chose to focus on, as pain crackled across his chest and through his shoulders with the heel-to-toe step of her foot. Not that he could linger there all that long in his mind, no… Not as he grunted and groaned and tried to raise his voice a little more while she strode out through the mall.

“Please… Please…no…"

No. He couldn't raise his voice. He didn't have the space in which to fill his lungs with air that would allow him to speak up and lift his voice further, which silenced him. Was losing his voice better or worse than using the use of his body? Already, he didn't know how he was going to do anything the night or day after his torment, or if he was even going to be able to get himself home after the long, gruelling session.

“Nnngghhh… Please… No… Please…"

She couldn't have heard him. Mistress Dana was towering, foreboding, yet exquisitely feminine. The aroma of her foot naturally sunk into him as his mind leapt from sense to sense, trying to cling onto something, anything, just so that he could remain present in the moment. Or, more so, so that he could find a way to press on through that very moment, to get to the next moment and then the next one.

The ball of Mistress Dana's foot ground into him as she stepped more slowly, taking care to grind and squish him with every step. Without thinking, Rick wheezed, trying to part his lips, eyes snapping open, wide and bugling, but there was only so much he could do. And that was, in fact, very little at all.

“Mmmmph…"

Pleasure… Oh, it was all becoming so dim, as if he was never getting out, as if nothing was ever going to change. His mind tried to retreat to the crushing pain, how his shoulders were being squashed, how his stomach ached deeply, as if he was never going to be able to take any food down into it again. His intestines felt like they were gurgling, twisting and bubbling, though his body was wrapped up in his torment, sensation after sensation bumping up against another one.

They were all minute in comparison to the grinding pain as she stayed longer on him, on the trainer that encased him, than she did on the opposite one. It must have looked a little bit funny if there was anyone else out there in the mall who was actually looking at her, though he doubted that anyone was paying much mind to her. Mistress Dana, most likely, had dressed normally for the occasion, though he doubted that she would ever not be beautiful, regardless of what she wore. She, of course, would not have been donned in fetish gear. That was why he had chosen, at least for her, a good, comfortable pair of shoes.

He wanted her to be comfortable even if his body was striving to writhe and twist in agony.

Had he seen her before he had gone into the shoe, before she had put it on? Oh, it seemed like so long ago and Rick did not know, honestly, how long he had been in there.

Maybe forever. Maybe everything had changed and his time in her trainer was going to be his experience for the rest of his life, as things changed more and more, losing those slivers and tantalising droplets of pleasure to the drum and throb of pain.

“Please… Your sneaker… Too… Too tight…"

That wasn't what Rick meant to say, though it still expressed how he felt. As his bones ached, feeling like his ribs were bowing as the smooth flesh of her foot bore down into him as she took a particularly heavy step.

“Unff…"

He had never before made a groan like that, though he had never been pummelled like that before either. Things were different, very different, though it didn't feel like, even after all that, that he had the energy to squirm and thrash anymore.

No…

Oh, no…

No…

He was so tired. So very, very tired.

It was more difficult than he could ever have imagined to hold out through pain like that, the kind that was relentless, sometimes giving him the tiniest moments of respite – though they were so fleeting that they didn't even span the distance of a single, frantic heartbeat. Every time that a molecule of his body dared to think that he was going to get out of the crazy situation, the painful, dull throb of pain…it got worse.

Fractionally worse. But worse all the same.

He moaned, though even the sound of her foot coming down with an overbearing grind over him swamped him, enveloping him from all sides. It sounded like she was in a high-end tech shop, picking out things that he would rather have liked to have in his own home, or even the flat that he rented while he was working over in the United Kingdom. But that was of no matter as she tauntingly, cruelly rocked her foot back and forth within the trainer, forcing her heel and then the ball of her foot to grind down into him.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

_ _

That was hard to bear through and his fingers twitched, his body aching so much that he couldn't even fight back anymore. Maybe he was giving up, though Rick didn't even know how he could fight back anymore. His stomach churned sickeningly and he closed his lips against the horror of it all, arousal tangible in the back of his mind.

However, it was not something that he could draw on anymore, not as it sounded and felt like his body was crunching, soft and malleable, under her foot. It was soul-destroying, his lungs not even moving, as if his body thought that there was no sense in fighting anymore. He wanted the moment and yet he wanted out of it too. How did that even work?

“Please… No…"

He wanted to ask her to stop and yet…she wasn't going to, was she? So, where was the sense in squirming and thrashing, in wasting precious energy? Rick just had to hold onto the notion that he was going to get out from under the torturous glory of her sole eventually, although it was not easy to let that remain in his head.

Not when he knew that he had gone too far. Panic and fear tangled within the cavern of his chest, though there was barely any room for them within his ribcage, not when there was so much pain in there too. Every moment was an experiment in how agony could reach new highs and levels, more and more with every passing second, a crackling in his thighs making him think that it was as if his flesh was displacing itself beyond human limits.

Of course, it was just his body and brain processing the sharp, snapping increase in pain, for there was to be no reduction. The nerve endings in his body could not be turned off and there was nowhere for him to quail into, whimpering, whining, his lips moving while the sounds were mostly heard in the broken sanctuary of his head.

As she paused, it was as if her attention was on him too, not realising that he was taking even more pressure from her sole than before. She waited with her foot barely putting any pressure on him at all, as if she was weighting her opposite foot more, and then bore down. He grunted thickly, the sound trembling in the back of his throat, afraid to be released, as her sole squashed around him. Of course, her flesh was not firm and yielding somewhat to the shape of his body too, as if he was an aggravating pebble trapped within the close confines of her shoe.

“Unnngghhh…"

Rick groaned, trying to pant, trying to lick his lips, though it took so much effort to even flutter his eyelids. It did not seem right and it did not seem natural – yet it was never meant to be natural. It was meant to be crude and delicious, insidious in the tangling of the taboo, all as the light flesh of her sole pressed around him. It moulded to the shape of his body as he was crushed into it, flesh swelling softly, almost lovingly, around his face and head, closing him in.

It could have been tender, if it was not bitter and furious, with a stark pulse of domination that had him panting breathlessly, no air left to him. How could his lungs ache so much when he didn't even need to breathe anymore? Some things, just like that, did not make sense to his mind, but there was little that would sound sensible in a mind that swirled and danced with exotic reams of pain.

Just how much of this… He thought, dazed with suffering. How much…will I be able to bear it? Will I even remember any of this?

_ _

Sometimes, a mind could shut down after extreme pain, like in cases of torture, and block out the experience. He wanted to remember everything still, even if he knew it was beyond what he thought he was mentally capable of. He had imagined squealing and shouting in anguish, almost making a show of it, the masochist that he was, all while that delicious pleasure-pain rolled through him.

Always a roll. He had not thought of it being a throb, just how much the agony would be contained by the pulse of his heart, how that flush of heat and sensation in his body would heighten his pain much, much more than his pleasure. Ecstasy could only go so far, even if there was a deep, dark, decrepit part of him wanted, terribly, to be trapped down there forever. His mind had never been rational when it came to fetish as it was not as if he could give a reason for his lust, for what made his heart pound in just the right way.

It was not love that got his blood hot. No… It was being degraded by simply being so disposable that he had a mistress, even if only for a time, that would walk all over him, trampling him down into the shoe. He was nothing. And, until she took her trainer off and he reverted to his normal form and shape, he would not be anything to anyone else at all. There was no one even monitoring his state and condition, handing over his fate entirely to the effects of the chemicals he had ingested and, of course, Mistress Dana.

She stopped at a checkout again, laughing as she spent freely. It should have made him smile, yet even the muscles in his face were too sore and too exhausted to perform the action. The sheer and utter lack of concern for him was what turned his stomach the most and excited him lower down, though there was little sensation left in his crotch other than strain. The pain down there was like a burning ache, yet a cold burn…

Yeah, things just didn't line up the way that he expected them to. But that didn't mean that the experience was not what he wanted as he was stomped on, crushed between her foot and the sole of the shoe, which felt like it was getting harder and harder too. As the ball of her foot came down with single-minded, grinding, twisting intent on his chest, he grunted, his mouth dry, the softness of her flesh smoothly rubbing over him, catching and pulling at his body with the very slight clamminess of her sole. Even in that moment, it reminded him of how soft and how tender a woman's dominant foot could be, how he could worship it, but it was a different thing entirely to being flattened under her sole.

Well, not literally… But that was one of the only ways that his mind could make sense of everything that was happening to him, Mistress Dana wriggling her foot back and forth to put pressure across from the left side of the ball of her foot to the right side of her heel, exquisite, terrifying pain shooting through him.

The rolling strike of her foot, from heel to toe, was not the only thing to apply pressure on him. He could be crushed from the top side, of course, but the pressure of the hard under sole of the trainer, which was designed to give her moderate grip if she was walking over slippery floors or uneven terrain, bore up against his back too. Rick had never spent much time lying on hard floors before, though the pummelling, grinding sensation of being crushed affected every part of his body.

His glutes and his back strummed through with strain and he vaguely thought of arching up, even as the band of pain around his head pulsed, closing in on him even more. Dimly, he wondered if he should be doing something, if he could squirm and wriggle just enough to escape her trainer around the side of her foot, but, really, there was nothing he could do. His mind could swing back and forth and come up with all the crazy, elaborate, pain-laced escape plans that it liked, though it was never going to come to anything, not in the end.

It would have been different if she had been wearing a sock, lacking that stick and twist of skin pulling insistently, demandingly, over him. It was funny just how a foot could flex within a shoe whenever she paused to look at something in the stores that she chose, though it sounded like, at that point, she was shopping for lingerie. That should have turned him on more than it did, for he couldn't help himself, even then trying to find little things that aroused him, things that his broken, whimpering mind could cling onto.

All to hold onto the moment, to root himself there, grunting, groaning, his throat sore from crying out so much. If he had been shouting before, it must have gone on for so long that it had raked his throat raw, even down into his lungs, the ache rebounding through his body, even deeper into his spine and ribcage. His belly should have been allowed some manner of respite as the softer flesh of his stomach pooched up into the light lift in the centre of her sole, though it was not as good as he would have liked it to be.

Yet he had to cling to every sliver of relief that he was allowed, even if it was only a slight lessening of the pain, one way or the other.

It was only at that point, however, that Rick realised that he must have orgasmed. His senses were drawn down to his crotch, where his half-hard (maybe?) penis was a little slicker. There was more of a mess down there than he had realised.

It looked like he had orgasmed…twice? Maybe? He had never produced that much semen from only one climax before, so it seemed like a safe bet.

But just how could he have possibly climaxed from the pain like that? Especially when he had been groaning and grunting and thinking that surely, so surely, he must have gone too far, he must have done too much, he must have bitten off far, far more than he could chew.

That was because it was not the feel of her foot rubbing him that had brought him off – what had, most likely, been the only thing to give him those true nuances of relief throughout the day so far. No… It was her foot. It was how dominating and how merciless her sole was, the sheer size of it dwarfing him. It was all in how Mistress Dana wielded the power of her foot so commandingly, as if it was just another tool in her arsenal of control and torture.

Maybe she did not see it like that, but he felt yet another stirring of traitorous desire curling and twisting in the pit of his stomach as the pressure built. He only sank into it more deeply now that his attention was on that part of his body, perhaps thinking that, if he concentrated on sexual pleasure and arousal, he could get through the experience more easily. In part, it worked. It took his attention from how his body was constantly struggling and toying with the need and want to take a deep, full breath of air, yet…it drew his attention back to the crushing, devastating pressure.

All over again, even as he wheezed and twitched weakly, striving to bear through it, Rick was forced to confront what pained him and turned him on so very much. Her foot. She walked into store after store while his rational mind drifted away, lost in sensation, the pressure of her foot pounding him, from heel to toe. The repetitiveness, when she didn't throw a sneaky little turn and twist of her foot into the mix, was comforting, in a way, though it always let him know when to expect the next searing bloom of pain, as if it was being fed directly into his bloodstream.

He would have pressed his lips, despite his brutalising, to her sole in reverence and praise if he had been able to. Yet his head was turned still in the insole and he didn't want to take the full force of her foot, perhaps, on his face too, even if that was hot in his mind. A lot of things that had been enticing in his mind had turned out to be so much more painful than even his deepest and most masochistic fantasies had allowed him to believe in.

And yet…that was what he had wanted too, right? His orgasm flowed through him, even if his penis could not have ever hoped to harden fully under such an onslaught. There was no relief there, yet there was a rush of something, of a different feeling, of heat and twisting, pulsating sensation. It was as if something else was pounding up at him, from the inside out, all while he groaned and huffed and, faintly, tried to work his way through it.

It was not a satisfying orgasm – not in the sense that he could have it and then sprawl out, revelling in the afterglow. It was just one more note, as that must have been his third orgasm, that made him consider the true depth and horror of his fate, just how badly he was wrapped up in it, even if he was going to get out eventually. That time seemed to be so very far away, a distant door that he could run as long and as hard as he liked and simply never hope to reach, just part of a nightmare.

One more orgasm…

Just one more to remind him of all the pleasure he could have had, if he had not turned into such a slut for pain. It brimmed over and added to the wetness, which Rick strove to focus on, even if it could not possibly come at the exclusion of all else. No, his concentration was not that great, despite him surpassing the limits that he had before thought were in place for his body. He could not feel the slickness from his penis coating his lower belly, not as his attention was dragged forcibly upwards, into the sole, the creases of skin practically rippling over the flesh that was exposed to her foot.

And that was okay too. His mind drifted as he fell into the hard, driving slap of her feet coming down on the ground, a little stomp and grind added to some of her steps, just to keep him (not literally) on his toes. Once his mind had gotten past that swelling, blistering pain, the pain that had made him, well and truly, feel as if he was dying, it entered a softer state where he could take everything in. It was not his body shutting down and not his mind either, for he had heard that that could often happen with prey species in the wild – humans being very different to that of course.

No… Oh, no. He could still feel everything, the crushing, pinning force of her sole, but he didn't feel as scared of it anymore. He could sink into the pain and experience it as he had wanted, though worry still fluttered in his heart, wondering if it all was something that he could get out of in the end, something that he could walk away from. And that was…euphoric. He still tried to grunt and to groan, to let out those little, breathy gasps as his body crunched and crackled under her, the fluids in his body being pushed further down to make way for her sole, but he was in an in-between state.

Not heaven.

Not hell.

But a torture of his own foot-loving design.

That was somewhere that he had always wanted to be, his eyelids fluttering, inhaling softly. There was a cleaner, crisper scent coming through, something that wasn't her foot, though it felt like she might have been in a perfume shop. Mistress Dana took her time in there and he had a dim sense that it might have been in the afternoon, though, truly, he didn't have all that much sense of the time of day that it was. Because it didn't matter.

A foot slut, someone to be trampled and walked over, like him, didn't have to think about that. He could lose himself there.

In pain.

Continued in part four of four.