"Let's see u disobey me after spending the night pressed against your master's sweaty foot!" Drake hisses malevolently. His palm curls shut around you. Each time you try to beg for mercy you swallow mouthfuls of Drake's salty sweat. Somewhere deep inside, you heart still jumps at the touch of Drake's bare skin against your body, and you want to savor the smell of his palm sweat which is so uniquely him, but it's difficult to have a crush on such an overwhelmingly powerful and cruel tormentor, no matter how beautiful he is.
You're suddenly engulfed in light and fresh air, your lungs nearly exploding in relief, your face cold and filmed with sweat, as you descend through the air, experiencing freedom for the briefest moment. You land with a thud on a huge fabric surface the faded sole of Drake's white puma. Your colour vision returns and you look up to see the huge lable on the shoe's tongue "9 US" and the strong smell of some chemical, masking out any foot odor. You try to breathe from your mouth but you can still smell it, and taste it, as if the odour is something solid, like you're being filled with the heaviness of the horrible smell.
You look up into the light, your eyes watering, and see Drake wearing a toothy, self-satisfied grin. In one last plea for mercy, you jump onto your knees, knowing he can't hear you from where he is, and clasp your hands, begging for your freedom.
Darkness comes again when Drake's huge white-socked foot knocks you onto your back and sinks your body into the fabric of the shoe and the soft socked flesh his sole.
For 2 hours, Drake walks around Orlando's house, enjoying the party, conversing with the guests. He meets a pretty blond girl who's studying to become a nurse and she blushingly gives him her phone number. Some young men, who are apparently somehow related to Orlando, are thrilled to have a photo taken with Drake, telling him that he's their favourite musician ever.
The entire time, Drake wears a smile, secretly enjoying the vibrations of your pitiful cries for help and the massaging-effect of your puny body writhing under the weight of his foot.
He struggles, at times, to suppress an erection, so enjoying the rush of power you get when you have a grown man fighting for his life underneath your foot.
Your face streaming with tears, you silently wish harder than you have ever wished before that you had never disobeyed this cold-hearted boy. ANYTHING is better than this. Drakes sock soaked with foot sweat, so much so that it is now a thin, hot, squishy, sour smelling layer of fabric that only serves to compress all the foul odor of your environment and shove it right in your face, literally. The shoe stinks like an dump after a sunny day. You would give your life just to escape this unjust punishment.
Every now and then you lose control, screaming and fighting, unable to move your arms even slightly, though consumed by panic.
As you suffer, on the brink of madness, above Drake smiles secretively and nudges the bulge in his jeans. A loud thud dissrupts the party; the blond girl has just passed out.
After two comfortable and enjoyable hours, Drake wanders upstairs to his bedroom in the guest house and slips his right shoe off, wriggling his toes and enjoying the sensation of cool air after having them all cramped up in that shoe. He tips you onto his lap. You land on the denim surface, sweating, panting, looking like a worn out Survivor contestant.
Drake casts his dark eyes on you, taking a leisurely breath, considering your pathetic appearance. "What do you have to say to me now, you little punk?"
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