Baker's Dozen (Chapter 4) (Patreon)

Of course there was no questioning that this current act was a far more repulsive prospect than a bit of full-size foreplay, as the mealy aroma and leaden weight of my ex-girlfriend’s feet had exponentially increased since then, and what’s more, I was faced with the added terror that if I failed to locate every scrap of muffin before the day concluded, I’d have to find sleep somehow while my face was tacked down to her insole: an insole which was surely to become a sloppy moat of perspiration muck by shift’s end. Hell, I might just drown in a puddle then instead of suffocate, and I couldn’t decide which would be worse.

Yet I had no choice but to try. Not only were the pieces hard to identify as squished muffin versus old-fashioned-mud and floor grease, it was a challenge just getting my hands on them. After all, Amber still had a job to do, and if anything, walked around at a faster pace now, taking shorter periods of stillness in between. My best chance then was to drag myself a fraction of an inch further at a time using the slippery sock-fibers for purchase whenever the foot above me was anchored to let the other one step, a task which alone was difficult given this was when Amber applied the greatest pressure onto her insect-height ex-partner.

Then I’d just have to squeeze the landscape of her sock over my head and hope to find chocolate treasure. Often this method just resulted in me clenching a barren patch of cotton, which meant wringing out a few drops of her sweat into my own face as my only reward. After I’d sputter through these grisly drippings, despite how desperate I was for a real drink, I’d have to continue on. Even when I did successfully find something that felt and smelled like muffin-extract, though, the only real happiness was in knowing the chances of being taped to Amber’s slimy insole overnight were slightly reduced.

Suppressing my gag reflex enough to eat the sugary cocoa remnants intertwined with sock-goo, matted dust, and rancid grime was a trial unto itself, and though my stomach longed to be sated, it would be just as tough keeping myself from puking it back up, especially due to the constant vertigo of swinging through the air before another crushing.

In fact, I actually feared getting another hint of light and air before the day was over, because if Amber cheekily decided to pour more crumbs down here, I’d never get them cleaned in time. I was getting full and sick as it was, and had no way of knowing how close I was to completing the herculean task, though after doing what felt like two arduous laps around the entire punishing surface area of Amber’s plump sock-clad foot underbelly and finding nothing else that tasted of chocolate when I licked it, I hesitantly believed I’d “won.”

Naturally, though, this new life Amber had enslaved me into was one where it was deathly foolish to get my hopes up.

At day’s end, a solid ten hours into hell, my gargantuan ex traveled back home and ripped her foot from the shoe, then proceeded to dump me and several pooled trickles of cloudy sweat onto the floor. Of course, there was still plenty of tarnish and perspiration-cocktail leftover in there, as I’d learned while being steadily submerged in stinky saline halfway up my prone body during the latter hours of the long day. And I’d be suffering through it all night if I hadn’t answered her challenge. To my relative delight, though, I looked up as Amber arched her foot on its side so we could both look, then shone her phone flashlight along the bottom for inspection, and saw no immediately apparent chocolate spots. The fabric was utterly soused and dark, sticking to her skin as though she’d gone swimming in those socks, and speckled with all manner of multicolored lint and flour, yet after ten seconds of anxious silence, my ex didn’t triumphantly announce the discovery of any muffin.

“Well, well. I guess somebody was hungry after all,” Amber shrugged, proceeding to roll the damp cloth tubing down her bulky foot. “Sorry, Oscar, it was rude of me not to give you enough to eat today. We’ll be sure you have PLENTY for three full meals tomorrow. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner of your favorite, and all mashed up first just how you like. You’re welcome.”

Oh, God. What had I done? Maybe impressing her so quickly wasn’t to my advantage after all. Yes, a night strapped to the soiled insole was sure to be terrible, but at least then she probably wouldn’t have increased my horrific stomach-churning workload the next day, only gloated more heavily and sang me off to sleep with booming cackles. I’d just earned myself another marathon of even-worse nausea and more frantic mining of my ex-girlfriend’s foot for dirty foodstuff, but I couldn’t even focus on that now, as my attention was retaken by the emergence of her gigantic peach-white soles, slightly yellowed in spots from old blisters and calluses.

Both feet were unsheathed from those horrendous socks, which were tossed away, though the flavor and heady atmosphere of her sickening garments still hung in the air like an aura around Amber’s peds, as well as painted directly on her flesh, while they were made to lean over me. The chaotic creases of her arches, the skin of which was puffy and swollen from hard on-foot labor, were slick and shiny with repugnant moisture, and some were darkened by splatters of liquefied cotton. Her toes especially were in an ugly state; while the pillowy tips of her fleshy digits were as shapely and attractive as ever, they were tangled in a smeared mess of sock-black jam like spider webs, to say nothing of the visible lint-glop smushed in the crevices between.

“Well? What are you just standing there for?” Amber scoffed, clearly annoyed at me from the outset. She impatiently bobbed her feet, scrunching her toes and threatening to slam another sole atop her micro-ex. “Get to work, you lazy asshole!”

“B-But… I d-did what you asked!” I whimpered pointlessly.

“Um, I’m pretty sure I’m the one who did you a favor. Now that you’ve had some food, you’ll have enough strength to do a good job at all the chores you have. Yes, you cleaned it all off, but that just means you’ll get to sleep in a comfy shoebox again with my socks, instead of taped straight down to the bottom of the actual shoes. That doesn’t get you out of cleaning me up, though. What’s the matter, huh? Can’t do this one little thing for me, after I had such a tough day? I’m the one who has to provide for both of us now, after all. The least you can do is pull your weight. It’s not a lot of weight, because you’re weak and stupid and useless, but I swear to God, if I don’t see you washing some of this crap off my feet in the next ten seconds, then you’ll get to eat ALL of it, too.”

Once again I had all the motivation I needed. Terrifying a situation though this was, Amber sure knew how to get me working quickly. “Helpfully,” she ceased holding her plush dirt-crusted feet over me like a pair of alien UFOs and instead slammed them heavily to the ground. Seated on the ground today instead of up in her swiveling throne, my giantess laid both curled legs flat on the ground while shoving her upturned soles inward, creating a pudgy valley of nasty sweat-oiled toejam-wreaked flesh that was in a constant state of wrinkling and flexing, but just flat enough that I could have a chance at climbing around the terrain. I did so, clambering up the doughy ball-tips of her dirty toes and over the shafts until I reached the ball of her first foot. Seeing the sprouts of dark molded lint ahead poking up from the viscous clay-soft crease lines of Amber’s wide arches, I suddenly felt as though I was looking at an unholy garden, and I had some terrible harvesting to do.

“Get to work,” she repeated loudly from above. Amber’s grey eyes narrowed, ready to catch any spots I failed to cleanse, and her lips pursed to a snarl. Once again I marveled at a scenario that would’ve long ago filled me with fetishistic euphoria to imagine, but in practice, was just a nightmare so smelly that it made me go weak in the knees again from the first sniff of bakery crud and pore-liquid. “Now.”

So I began my trek, awkwardly crawling over the sloped hills of my giant tormentor’s filthy feet to reach the leftover dirt and jam-flecks. It was tricky to even stay standing, not only because my puny size made it hard to get a solid stance, but also because Amber’s soles were so rubbery and slightly-plump to begin with, not to mention stewed mushy in hours of sweat, that it was like trying to walk on firm yet sopping-wet sponges. Still I did my best, and though it wasn’t made easy by my ex constantly stifling her giggles at my struggles, and oh-so-gently moving her feet to make it harder for me to keep from face-planting, I made my way to each and every blob of sock-material that had been so cooked in broiling heat and sweat that it was like Amber’s shoes were a little bakery unto themselves, crafting these heinous mixtures of lint, dust-clumps, ancient bread crumbs, dry foot skin, and primarily oozed perspiration into dark orbs the size of muffins for someone of my pathetic size.

Finding these disgusting slime-smears one by one, I shucked them off the dewy marshmallow-like ground and out from between her rank toes, sometimes having to use real effort to scrape every warm fuzzy flake off, and hurl them off to the side. It took at least an hour to clear both huge feet of water-logged detritus, especially since a snickering Amber’s playful sole-scrunches and toe-wiggles kept on shaking me to trip again, and when the job was finished, I collapsed atop the ball of her left foot, too weary to keep moving. By now the smell was so familiar it didn’t actively make me gag, which I suppose was a plus, though the pestilential stink of my ex-girlfriend’s worked-over feet was now so tattooed into my own skin, I doubted I’d be able to escape it with even a hundred miles between us and hourly showers.

“I guess that’ll do. Barely,” Amber snorted, only marginally satisfied with my back-breaking labor. “I just hope you enjoyed having it so easy today. Because we’re going to be having a little more fun tomorrow. You know, just to keep things interesting. The training period is over now.”

Panting and dizzy with exhaustion on the fleshy hill of her naked arch, I wanted to scream in shock at this idea. How could she possibly call this easy?