This choice: Do a bit of light, harmless pranking to the security guard. • Go Back...Chapter #4Bootlicker by: Bird   Superheroes are allowed a break, right? The moment the guard turned her head to look at some customer-caused disturbance, you act, willing yourself down to an inch in height, and without a moment's delay the Power responds, dropping you down to a short nothing on the scuffed linoleum. You take a second to catch your breath; the transition was so seamless that the sudden enormity of the lobby caused your breath to catch. This was really happening.
And then, way before you were ready to react, the guard stomped on over, her thick-soled boots pounding the ground with unbelievable force. You choke back a gasp as she is suddenly there, suddenly in your space, apparently curious where the suspicious stranger disappeared off too. In less time than anything that big should have taken, she'd crossed miles of bank tiles and ended up right over you, your tiny form suddenly feeling a lot more vulnerable between her size ten footwear.
Almost on instinct, you shrink further, desperate to remain undetected. It backfired; eyes drawn by the motion of you shrinking, she gazes down, down, down her towering masculine form right to you.
She frowns.
Mind whirling a million miles an hour, you rack your brain for an excuse, an explanation, a reason for what she sees, but before you can even open you mouth, your sight of her is replaced with the scraped and scratched sole of her boot, lifted just high enough to cover you.
She steps down.
Splat.
You're dead. Or, at least, thats what you think happens for the first few seconds, as your body reacts for you, liquidating itself into the woman's treads. Then the guard lifts her foot, walking back to her post now that she's crushed a bug, and the swinging motion, the pounding steps, and the echoing ambiance of the lobby convince you otherwise.
You're invincible? You laugh, partly at yourself for forgetting the demon's words, and partly in relief that you haven't died on your first day on the job. Of course, you're still a smear of paste underneath a giant woman. How do you get out of that? The demon said you could transform into objects; let's give that a try. With another flex of willpower, the Power responds in kind, and you feel your conscious transfer up into the boot that moments ago tried to snuff you out.
You've never been a boot before, and the best way you could describe the experience was weird? You didn't have eyes, at least not in the normal sense, but you still could see, projecting your sense out and around the inanimate object you'd become. And you could feel inside yourself too; it was weird being hollow, but even more weird to be filled up to the brim with a stranger's giant foot. Directing your senses inward, you focused on said foot, on it's mass, it's heat, even it's unwashed smell. You couldn't see in the dark confines of your boot-body, but your sense of touch was so precise you could make out the individual strands of her thin cotton socks. You noticed a huge hole on her sock's heel, and through it the coarse texture of her un-moisturized sole rubbed against your insole. A horrid thought slips into your head; perhaps motivated by your normal lust, perhaps spurred on by a moment of boot-brain, you reach out with you sense of taste.
It was as if you'd run you tongue down her sole. Salty, sour, foul, rancid flavors completely flood your mind, drowning you out with the raw experience of this woman's foot. It was disgusting, revolting, horrible, and for some terrible reason, extremely erotic. You peer your senses upwards, and like you'd expected, the guard hadn't moved at all. You're a complete voyeur, nothing more than a piece of clothing for her to flex her toes in, and it's doing something mighty powerful to you.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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