The Retail Foot Slave

John had worked at Target for three years, quietly pushing through the monotony of retail life. He kept mostly to himself, a polite and efficient worker who didn’t stir up trouble. Then there was Rebecca—a sharp-tongued, confident woman with a knack for getting her way. She was the kind of person who could make others bend to her will without raising her voice. Rebecca always exuded authority, despite holding the same position as John.

Rebecca was a creature of habit. Every day, without fail, she came to work wearing her beloved Yeezy Foam Runners. The shoes were worn down from constant use, their beige tone dulled to a grimy gray. Her socks, once white, were a perpetually dirty hue, stained from sweat and long shifts. The faint, musky scent of her feet seemed to linger in the break room whenever she kicked her shoes off during lunch. She didn’t seem to care—or perhaps she enjoyed the subtle discomfort it caused others.

John, for reasons he couldn’t fully understand, found himself unable to look away. It started innocently enough—an idle glance during a team meeting, his eyes drawn to Rebecca’s casually propped-up feet on the chair in front of her. Over time, it became a fixation. There was something about the contrast between her commanding presence and the casual disregard for propriety her footwear displayed. It made her seem untouchable, dominant in a way he couldn’t articulate.

One Friday evening, the store was quiet, the usual bustle of customers replaced by the hum of restocking. John was assigned to work alongside Rebecca, organizing the shoe department. As they worked, Rebecca’s tone was sharper than usual.

“Pick up the pace, John,” she barked, dropping a box of sneakers into his hands. “I’m not staying late because you can’t keep up.”

“Yes, Rebecca,” he muttered, his face flushing. He hated how easily she flustered him, how her presence seemed to erode his confidence.

As the evening wore on, Rebecca grew impatient. She kicked off her Foam Runners and leaned against a display shelf, her dirty socks now in plain view. The smell, faint but unmistakable, wafted through the air.

“God, these shifts are killing me,” she sighed, wiggling her toes. Then, catching John staring, she smirked. “Something interesting, John?”

He froze, caught in the act. “N-no, I was just—”

She raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “You’re always so quiet, always so obedient. Makes me wonder if there’s more to you than you let on.” Her voice dropped, teasing yet commanding. “Or maybe you’re just naturally good at following orders.”

John stammered, unsure of how to respond. But Rebecca’s smirk widened as though she’d just discovered a hidden truth. “Huh. I see. You like this, don’t you? Being bossed around?”

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” he said weakly, though his flushed cheeks betrayed him.

“Oh, I think you do.” She leaned in closer, her socked foot hovering near his knee. “Let’s test a theory. Kneel.”

John hesitated, his heart pounding. Her tone left no room for argument. He sank to his knees, feeling a strange mixture of humiliation and exhilaration.

Rebecca laughed softly, a sound filled with smug satisfaction. “That’s what I thought. You’re a natural. From now on, you’re going to help me relax during these long shifts.” She extended her foot toward him. “Start by showing me how grateful you are for the privilege.”

He stared at her socked foot, the faint dampness visible where the fabric clung to her toes. His mind raced with conflicting emotions—embarrassment, submission, and an inexplicable desire to please. Slowly, hesitantly, he leaned forward.

“Good boy,” Rebecca murmured, her tone dripping with condescension.

From that day on, their dynamic shifted. Rebecca took every opportunity to remind John of his new role. In the break room, she would prop her feet on his lap, demanding a massage. During closing shifts, she’d casually slip off her Foam Runners and make him kneel to "tend to her." The line between coworker and servant blurred, and John found himself willingly succumbing to her dominance.

Rebecca, for her part, reveled in the control she had over him. She pushed boundaries daily, testing just how far John would go to earn her approval. And every time, he exceeded her expectations, sinking deeper into the role she’d crafted for him.

For Rebecca, it was a game. For John, it was a submission he couldn’t escape—and, deep down, didn’t want to.

The following week, the schedule paired John and Rebecca together again. This time, their task was to clean the fitting rooms, a chore both tedious and thankless. The fitting rooms were tucked into a quiet corner of the store, far from prying eyes, and Rebecca couldn’t have been more pleased with the opportunity it presented.

As they wheeled a cart of cleaning supplies into the area, Rebecca cast a glance at John. He seemed tense, his gaze nervously darting to her feet. She smirked, already plotting her next move.

“Alright, John,” she said, dropping the supplies onto a bench. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, and I’m feeling generous today. You’re going to make this easier for me.”

He swallowed hard, knowing exactly what she meant. His heart raced as she slipped off her Foam Runners, exposing her dirty white socks. The fabric clung to her feet, damp with sweat from hours on the floor.

Rebecca dropped into one of the fitting room chairs, crossing her legs leisurely. “First things first,” she said, pointing to the ground in front of her. “Get down. You make a much better footrest than any of this cheap Target furniture.”

John hesitated for a split second before obeying, sinking to his knees. The cold tile pressed against his skin as he positioned himself at her feet. Rebecca extended one leg, resting her socked foot squarely on his back.

“Good,” she purred, wiggling her toes against his shirt. “But you’re not done yet. If you’re going to serve me, you’re going to do it properly. Start with my shoes.”

She leaned over, tossing her Foam Runners onto the ground in front of him. The soles were caked with grime, the once-sleek design scuffed and dulled from constant use.

“Lick them clean,” she ordered, her tone dripping with authority. “I want to see your tongue on every inch of those soles.”

John’s face flushed, but the mixture of shame and compulsion that now defined his interactions with Rebecca propelled him forward. He leaned down, his breath hitching as his tongue met the rubber sole. The taste was as unpleasant as he’d imagined, a combination of dirt and sweat that clung to his palate. But he didn’t stop.

Rebecca watched with a gleeful expression, her smirk growing wider with each pass of his tongue. “That’s it. Work harder, John. Those shoes aren’t going to clean themselves.”

When she was satisfied, she leaned back in her chair and lifted one socked foot toward his face. The fabric was visibly dirty, the faint outline of her toes pressed against the stained material.

“Now these,” she said, pressing her toes against his lips. “Use your tongue. Show me how much you appreciate me letting you do this.”

John’s lips parted, and his tongue darted out hesitantly, dragging across the damp fabric. The taste was pungent, a potent mix of sweat and worn cotton. Rebecca sighed in mock relief, as though his efforts were a luxury she had grown accustomed to.

“You’re lucky I’m in such a good mood today,” she teased, flexing her toes against his tongue. “I could make you do this every day, you know. Maybe I should. It’s about time you proved your worth.”

She pulled her socks off slowly, one by one, revealing her bare feet. Her skin was bronzed and flawless, the curves of her arch and the delicate alignment of her toes captivating.

“Now the real prize,” she said, her voice soft but commanding. She lifted one foot, holding it just inches from his face. “Clean them properly. I don’t want to see a single speck of dirt when you’re done.”

John leaned forward, his lips brushing against her sole. The warmth of her skin against his tongue sent a shiver down his spine as he began his humiliating task. He worked diligently, licking every curve and crevice, from her heel to the tips of her toes.

Rebecca watched with an air of satisfaction, occasionally shifting her foot to guide him to a new spot. “Good boy,” she murmured, her voice dripping with condescension. “You’re finally starting to understand your place.”

The fitting rooms were silent except for the faint sounds of John’s efforts and Rebecca’s occasional commands. By the time they finished, her feet were spotless, glistening slightly from his work.

Rebecca slipped her socks and Foam Runners back on, standing up and looking down at him. “You did well, John,” she said, patting his head mockingly. “Maybe you’re not completely useless after all.”

As they returned to the rest of the store, John’s mind swirled with conflicting emotions. Shame, submission, and a strange sense of satisfaction battled within him. And as Rebecca walked ahead, her Foam Runners squeaking faintly with each step, he knew this was only the beginning of his servitude.

Over the next few weeks, Rebecca grew bolder. Each shift together became an opportunity to test John’s limits. She’d have him kneel under her desk in the break room, massaging her feet while she scrolled on her phone. She’d make him clean her Foam Runners with his tongue, ensuring every crevice was free of grime. Once, she even had him crawl behind her like a pet as she walked through the backroom, smirking at the humiliation etched on his face.

“You’re getting good at this,” she teased one evening as he dutifully kissed her toes after a particularly long shift. “I might start charging you rent for the privilege of being my little servant.”

John didn’t respond. He knew better than to speak unless instructed. His world had shrunk to revolve entirely around Rebecca’s whims, and despite the humiliation, he found a strange, undeniable satisfaction in his role.

Rebecca, meanwhile, reveled in the control she had over him. She saw him as her personal project, a blank canvas on which she could paint her dominance. And with each passing day, she found new ways to remind him of his place beneath her feet.

John had started volunteering for extra shifts, eagerly taking on any that coincided with Rebecca’s schedule. His coworkers teased him, calling him a workaholic, but he didn’t care. Every moment spent at work was a chance to be near Rebecca and the intoxicating dominance she wielded over him. He craved her feet, her orders, the raw humiliation she inflicted.

Rebecca noticed. She always noticed.

One slow Tuesday evening, after most of the staff had gone home and the store was quiet, Rebecca approached him in the stockroom. She had her Foam Runners on as usual, the familiar dirty white socks peeking out beneath her black leggings. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a glint in her eye that made John’s heart race.

“You’ve been hanging around a lot lately, haven’t you, John?” she said, leaning casually against a stack of boxes.

John looked up from the box he was organizing, his face flushed. “I just… like working with you, Rebecca.”

Rebecca laughed, a sharp sound that echoed in the empty stockroom. “Oh, I bet you do. But let me tell you something, John.” She stepped closer, her Foam Runners squelching slightly with each step. “Liking it isn’t enough. If you want to keep serving me, you need to prove yourself. Really prove yourself.”

“I—I’ll do anything,” John stammered, the desperation in his voice evident.

Rebecca smirked. “Anything, huh? Alright, let’s see if you’re worthy of my time—and my feet.”

Rebecca led John to the back fitting rooms, ensuring they were out of sight of any security cameras. The air was heavy with anticipation, John’s pulse pounding as he followed her. Once inside, Rebecca shut the door behind them and turned to face him.

“Get on your knees,” she commanded.

John obeyed instantly, dropping to the floor without hesitation. Rebecca stepped forward, towering over him, her Foam Runners inches from his face.

“Here’s the deal,” she said, her tone cold and calculating. “You’ve been enjoying the little crumbs I’ve been giving you, but I don’t hand out rewards for free. From now on, you have to earn every second at my feet.”

Rebecca pulled out her phone, tapping the screen as she continued. “I want you to lick my Foam Runners clean. Not just the soles—every inch. And while you’re at it, you’re going to tell me why you deserve to serve me.”

John hesitated only for a moment before leaning forward. His tongue met the grimy surface of her Foam Runners, the taste bitter and earthy. He gagged slightly but kept going, determined not to disappoint her.

“Good start,” Rebecca said, crossing her arms as she watched him. “But don’t forget to talk, John. I want to hear it. Why do you deserve this?”

“I… I deserve this because you’re better than me,” John murmured between licks. “I’m nothing compared to you. Serving you is… is all I’m good for.”

Rebecca’s smirk widened. “Damn right,” she said, lifting her foot slightly so he could reach the sole. “Keep going. You’ve got a long way to go.”

After what felt like an eternity, Rebecca finally pulled her Foam Runners off, tossing them to the side. Her dirty white socks were soaked with sweat, the fabric clinging to her skin. The faint, musky scent filled the air, making John’s head swim.

“You’re not done yet,” she said, wiggling her toes in front of his face. “These need attention too.”

John hesitated, his mouth dry. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against the damp fabric. The taste of sweat was overwhelming, but he pressed on, licking her socks as if his life depended on it.

Rebecca laughed softly, the sound dripping with condescension. “You really are pathetic, aren’t you? But maybe—just maybe—you’ll pass my test.”

Finally, Rebecca peeled off her socks, revealing her bare feet. They were slightly reddened from the long shift, her nails painted a soft pink. She flexed her toes, watching John with a predatory gaze.

“Alright, last step,” she said, extending her foot toward him. “Clean every inch. And if you miss a spot, you’re starting over.”

John didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, his tongue tracing the curve of her arch, then moving to her heel, her toes, every inch of skin. He was thorough, desperate to please her, the humiliation only fueling his devotion.

Rebecca sighed in satisfaction, leaning back against the wall. “Not bad,” she said when he finally finished. “But don’t get cocky. You’ve got a lot more proving to do before I’m convinced you’re worthy of this.”

John nodded, his face flushed, his lips trembling. “Yes, Rebecca. Thank you, Rebecca.”

Rebecca smirked down at him, already plotting how she could push him further. The power she held over him was intoxicating, and she had no intention of letting up. For John, every shift was a test, and Rebecca made sure he knew that failure wasn’t an option.

It was a chaotic Saturday at Target, with customers swarming the aisles and carts clogging every corner. The holiday season was in full swing, and Rebecca was at the center of it all, darting from one department to another, issuing commands to coworkers, and handling complaints. She thrived in the chaos, her sharp tongue and quick wit cutting through the noise like a blade.
By the time John clocked in for his shift that afternoon, the store was already a war zone. He spotted Rebecca near the electronics section, her familiar Foam Runners peeking out from beneath her black leggings as she juggled a walkie-talkie and a stack of misplaced merchandise.
“John,” she called out sharply the moment she saw him. “Perfect timing. Get over here.”
He hurried to her side, his heart racing. Even amid the chaos, Rebecca’s commanding presence had a way of centering him.
“We’re swamped, and I don’t have time for babysitting,” she snapped, thrusting the stack of merchandise into his arms. “From now until close, you’re mine. You’ll do exactly what I say, no questions asked. Got it?”
“Yes, Rebecca,” John replied immediately, a mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through him.
The next few hours were a blur of activity. Rebecca kept John running from one task to the next: stocking shelves, cleaning spills, and carrying heavy boxes. But it wasn’t just regular work—Rebecca made sure to assert her dominance in every interaction.
In the stockroom, she tossed her Foam Runners onto the floor, the smell of sweat wafting through the air. “These are killing my feet,” she said, leaning against a rack of inventory. “Get down here and rub them.”
John hesitated, glancing toward the door, but Rebecca’s glare left no room for argument. He sank to his knees, cradling her foot in his hands as he began to massage it through the dirty white sock. The fabric was damp, warm, and slightly grimy beneath his fingers.
“Harder,” Rebecca barked, her voice cutting through the hum of the stockroom. “You’re not here to half-ass it. Make yourself useful.”
“Yes, Rebecca,” John murmured, pressing harder.
“Good. Now get those toes, and don’t even think about slacking.”
Later, as the fitting rooms overflowed with discarded clothes, Rebecca dragged John back there to help. She kicked off her Foam Runners again, letting them thud onto the floor.
“Look at this mess,” she said, gesturing to the pile of clothes. “Get to work. And while you’re at it, let’s put that mouth of yours to good use.”
John froze, unsure of what she meant.
Rebecca smirked, lifting her socked foot and resting it on his shoulder. “You want to keep being my little pet, don’t you? Start with these socks. They’ve been through hell today, and they’re disgusting. Fix it.”
John’s face flushed with a mix of humiliation and desire. He knelt down, his mouth meeting the damp fabric. The taste of sweat and dirt filled his senses, and he worked diligently, his tongue tracing the contours of her foot through the sock.
Rebecca leaned against the fitting room door, crossing her arms as she watched him. “You really are pathetic,” she said, a trace of amusement in her voice. “But at least you’re obedient. Maybe I’ll keep you around after all.”
As the night wore on, Rebecca continued to use John as her personal slave. She had him fetch her water, kneel at her feet while she took breaks, and even clean the soles of her Foam Runners in the backroom. Every task was laced with condescension, every order a reminder of his place beneath her.
By the time the store closed, John was exhausted, his knees sore from kneeling and his tongue raw from cleaning. But Rebecca seemed entirely unbothered, slipping her Foam Runners back on with a satisfied smirk.
“Not bad,” she said as they locked up the store. “You’ve earned a little more of my attention. Don’t screw it up.”
John nodded, his face flushed with a mixture of shame and gratitude. “Thank you, Rebecca.”
She chuckled, turning on her heel and walking away. “See you tomorrow, slave. Don’t be late.”
The next day, John arrived at work early, as always, hoping to catch Rebecca before the store opened. His excitement had grown into a need, a fixation that he couldn’t shake. It wasn’t just her dominance that captivated him—it was how effortlessly she wielded it, how naturally she made him feel small and useful under her control.
Rebecca, as expected, was already there. She was leaning against the service desk, her Foam Runners planted firmly on the floor, their worn-down soles faintly caked with grime. Her dirty white socks peeked out, damp with the faint sweat of her morning routine. When she saw John, she smirked, the corners of her lips curling upward in that familiar, teasing way.
“Good, you’re here,” she said, her voice cutting through the early-morning quiet. “I’ve been thinking. I need you to prove your usefulness again. You’ve been decent so far, but I’m not convinced you’re committed.”
John swallowed hard. “What do you need, Rebecca?”
Her smirk deepened. “Follow me.”
Rebecca led John to the stockroom, where the shelves reached nearly to the ceiling. She stopped in front of a particularly high shelf stacked with overstocked products, tapping her foot impatiently as she assessed the situation.
“I need something from up there,” she said, pointing. “But I’m not dragging a ladder out for this. That’s what I have you for.”
John blinked, confused for a moment, before realizing what she meant. His cheeks flushed as Rebecca took a step closer, standing directly in front of him.
“Get down,” she commanded, her voice firm and unyielding. “You’re going to be my step stool.”
John hesitated, but the look in Rebecca’s eyes made it clear there was no room for argument. Slowly, he sank to his hands and knees, positioning himself beneath her.
“That’s better,” she said, lifting her foot and placing it on his back. “Don’t move.”
The weight of her foot pressed into him as she adjusted her stance, testing his balance. Then, without hesitation, she stepped up fully, her other foot joining the first. John grunted under the pressure, his hands and knees straining against the hard floor.
Rebecca laughed softly, clearly enjoying the moment. “You’re surprisingly sturdy for someone so spineless,” she teased. “Maybe you’re good for something after all.”
As she shifted her weight to reach the shelf, her Foam Runners scraped against his back, their dirty soles leaving faint smudges on his shirt. The musky scent of her feet wafted downward, and John felt his humiliation deepen, though he didn’t dare complain.
“Hold still,” she ordered as she grabbed the box she needed. “If you drop me, you’ll regret it.”
“Yes, Rebecca,” John mumbled, his voice strained from the effort.
Rebecca hopped down with a satisfied grin, the box in her hands. “Good job,” she said, nudging his side with the toe of her shoe. “You might actually be worth keeping around.”
John stayed on his knees, waiting for her permission to rise. Rebecca set the box down and turned her attention back to him, her smirk returning.
“Since you’re already down there, let’s make this more fun,” she said, lifting her foot and pressing it against his cheek. The worn Foam Runner left a faint mark as she pushed him lightly. “Clean these while I figure out what else I need from you.”
Without hesitation, John leaned forward, his tongue meeting the dirty sole of her shoe. The taste of dust and grime filled his mouth, but he kept going, determined to please her. Rebecca chuckled, crossing her arms as she watched him.
“Pathetic,” she murmured, though there was an edge of satisfaction in her voice. “But at least you know your place.”
The rest of the day followed a similar pattern. Rebecca used John as her personal step stool whenever she needed to reach something high, her laughter echoing through the stockroom each time he groaned under her weight. She made him clean the soles of her Foam Runners between tasks, her dirty socks and bare feet occasionally finding their way into his mouth when she felt he needed “extra motivation.”
By the end of the shift, John was exhausted, his body aching from hours of kneeling and carrying her weight. But Rebecca seemed energized, her dominance over him feeding her confidence.
As they walked out together, Rebecca turned to him with a smirk. “You’ve earned another day at my feet,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “Don’t think this means you’re off the hook, though. You’re going to have to work a lot harder if you want to keep serving me.”
“Yes, Rebecca,” John replied, his voice filled with both exhaustion and gratitude.
Rebecca laughed, her Foam Runners squeaking slightly as she walked away. “Good. See you tomorrow, slave.”
The next day, Rebecca had something special planned. She had grown tired of John’s constant eagerness to please, not because she didn’t enjoy his obedience, but because she wanted to push the dynamic further. Having him simply follow her around and serve her during shifts was no longer enough. Rebecca wanted complete control—something permanent, something that would make him entirely hers.
When John arrived at work that afternoon, he was greeted by Rebecca in the backroom. She was leaning against a shelf, her arms crossed, her Yeezy Foam Runners on display as usual, the dirty white socks peeking out. Her smirk was sharper than ever, and her tone carried a weight that made John’s stomach flutter.
“John, today’s the day we take this to the next level,” she said, her voice dripping with authority.
John blinked, confused but intrigued. “What do you mean, Rebecca?”
Rebecca pulled a small vial from her pocket. The liquid inside was an iridescent purple, swirling as if alive. She held it up for him to see, her grin widening.
“This,” she said, shaking the vial lightly, “is going to change everything. You’ve been a decent little slave so far, but I think it’s time we make your role permanent.”
John stared at the vial, a mixture of fear and curiosity in his eyes. “Permanent? What do you mean?”
Rebecca’s smile turned predatory. “Drink this, and you’ll see. Trust me, it’ll make you exactly what you were meant to be.”
He hesitated, glancing at her face, then at her Foam Runners. The thought of serving her forever, of being entirely hers, filled him with both dread and an uncontrollable desire. Without another word, he took the vial from her hand and drank.
The liquid was bitter, its taste clinging to his tongue. Almost immediately, he felt his body begin to change. A strange tingling sensation spread through him, followed by a rapid shrinking. He looked up at Rebecca in panic as she loomed larger and larger, her smirk turning into a full-blown grin.
“Perfect,” she said, crouching down to pick him up between her fingers. He was no larger than a pebble now, entirely at her mercy.
Rebecca held him up to her face, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “Look at you, John. You’re so tiny, so helpless. Exactly how you should be.”
She lowered him toward her Foam Runners, the smell intensifying as he got closer. The worn soles were caked with grime, the indentations of her feet clearly visible. She tilted the shoe slightly, letting him see the full extent of the environment that would now be his home.
“This is where you belong,” she said, dropping him into the Foam Runner without hesitation. John tumbled onto the damp insole, the musky scent overwhelming his senses. The grooves of her footprint were massive to him now, and the surface was sticky with sweat and dirt.
Rebecca slipped her foot into the shoe, her dirty white sock pressing him firmly against the insole. The weight was suffocating, the heat intense, and the dampness soaked into his tiny body almost instantly.
“Ah, that feels perfect,” Rebecca said, standing up and wiggling her toes to settle him into place. “Now you’ll be with me all the time, John. Every step I take, every shift I work, you’ll be right where you belong—beneath me.”
The rest of the day was a blur of movement for John. Every step Rebecca took pressed him deeper into the insole, the combination of her weight and the heat from her foot making the environment unbearably humid. The sweat from her sock dripped onto him, pooling in the indentations of the insole.
Rebecca, meanwhile, went about her day as if nothing had changed. She walked the aisles, helped customers, and even took a break in the stockroom, propping her feet up on a box and wiggling her toes.
“How’s it going down there, John?” she murmured, a smug grin on her face. “Getting comfortable?”
He couldn’t respond, of course. The vibrations of her voice reached him faintly through the layers of fabric and foam, a constant reminder of her total dominance.
By the time the store closed, Rebecca was more satisfied than she’d ever been. She slipped off her Foam Runners and looked down at John, who was stuck to the insole, drenched in sweat and dirt.
“This is your life now,” she said, her tone both teasing and final. “Every day, every shift, you’ll be under my feet. And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll give you a break. But don’t count on it.”
With that, she slid her shoe back on, trapping him once again. For Rebecca, John was now nothing more than an accessory—a permanent foot slave, bound to her forever. For John, there was no escape, only the endless cycle of serving her with every step she took.
The next day, Rebecca woke up with a smug grin. She slipped her feet into her Yeezy Foam Runners, casually pressing John into place with the force of her step. She wiggled her toes, enjoying the thought of him squirming beneath her weight. His tiny body was completely at her mercy, a permanent addition to her daily life.
“You’re going to love today, John,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “Another long shift at Target. That means hours of me walking, standing, and letting you soak up every drop of sweat under my feet. Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”
Of course, John couldn’t answer. He was crushed beneath the damp fabric of her sock and the sticky, sweat-stained insole of her Foam Runner. His world was nothing but darkness, heat, and the rhythmic pressure of Rebecca’s steps.
The shift was busy, and Rebecca took full advantage of her new “foot boy.” She moved constantly, walking up and down the aisles, stocking shelves, and assisting customers with an air of superiority. Every step she took ground John deeper into the sole, her weight pressing him into the sticky indentations of her footprint.
Occasionally, Rebecca would pause, leaning casually against a counter or a display, and wiggle her toes. She liked to imagine John’s tiny struggles beneath her, completely powerless to do anything but endure her dominance.
In the break room, she slipped her feet out of her shoes, letting the cool air hit her damp socks. “You’re doing a great job down there, John,” she said softly, flexing her toes. “I’m feeling pretty comfortable today. Guess that means you’re finally getting the hang of being my personal insole.”
She laughed at her own joke, lifting the shoe to inspect its inside. She could just barely make out John’s tiny form, stuck to the insole, drenched in her sweat. His body was completely coated in the grime and moisture of her long shift.
“Aw, look at you,” she teased, tilting the shoe slightly so he slid deeper into the toe section. “Getting all cozy in there, huh? Don’t worry—we’ve still got hours to go. I’m not even halfway through my day.”
Rebecca slid her foot back into the shoe, pressing him firmly against her toes. “Back to work,” she said, standing up and resuming her shift as if nothing had happened.
By the end of the day, Rebecca was exhausted, but she felt a deep sense of satisfaction. She had spent hours walking, standing, and even running errands after work, all while keeping John trapped beneath her. She could feel how soaked her socks were, the sweat pooling in the grooves of the insole.
When she got home, she kicked off her Foam Runners and sat down on the couch, lifting one foot to inspect her new insole.
“Still alive down there?” she asked, grinning as she peeled off her sock to reveal John, stuck to the damp surface of the insole. His tiny body was coated in sweat and grime, barely visible beneath the filth of the day.
Rebecca tilted the shoe, letting him slide out onto the table. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand as she watched him struggle to move.
“Pathetic,” she said with a chuckle. “You’re completely filthy. I guess that’s what happens when you spend all day under my feet.”
John tried to stand, but his tiny legs wobbled, and he collapsed back onto the table. Rebecca smirked, reaching out to nudge him with her finger.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” she said, her tone teasing but firm. “You’re not getting a break. Tomorrow’s another long shift, and I’ve got plenty of walking to do. So get ready to go right back into my shoe, where you belong.”
She leaned back, lifting her bare foot and hovering it over him. The heat and smell were overwhelming, and John could do nothing but stare up at the massive sole that had dominated him all day.
“This is your life now, John,” Rebecca said, pressing her foot down on top of him with a satisfied grin. “Better get used to it.”