Footbound (Chapter 26) (Patreon)

When Mitch heard this word spoken, not merely a descriptor but a title bestowed by a higher power that supplanted all other aspects of his former humanity, something clicked inside his already shattered perception, like a sleeper agent awakening after decades in exile by a few choice syllables. All previous reason and panic left him the more hopeful and aroused he turned, making it difficult for the man to comprehend why he’d ever denied his only real significance so long. It all just seemed so distant and childish now, his life and job and basic personality characteristics outside of his religious fervor for this feminine entity’s feet all rendered insultingly meaningless. His hardness was fully tented beneath the blankets now, and as was her custom, Eve was already manipulating them in literally-impossible fashion such that they remained tight over his body as embalming material, yet also spread as her opposite foot parted the cloth en route to the union of Mitch’s legs. He didn’t ponder how his tattered garments had disintegrated away, leaving him just as vulnerably bare from head to toe as he already was in the nonphysical realm, nor did the Footbound creature flinch with either fright or bursting pleasure when he felt Eve’s other sole mold warmly across his cock, as by now he could’ve wanted nothing less.

“You will speak words no more for all your eternity, nor devote thought to anything but what you see now. The only function of your mind will be to give thanks, the only use for your lips to part and worship,” she said, as that reliably lush curve of her sole valley – texture of milky ointment and deific velveteen with or without visible nylon worn – began plushly caressing his shaft at measured pace in the dark.

Automatically, as if fully synchronized already with Eve’s cognizance instead of his own, Mitch widened his mouth for the kind of passion-drenched smooch that would make even the most star-crossed lovers blush, then as instructed, commenced dedicating his tongue to the only language it would ever articulate again, being that of massaging his taste buds rough and thirstily against her sweet succulent arch divots while the crease patterns spread and firmed to the touch.

“And as for the rest of your form…” Eve drawled with demonic depth but godlike reassurance. Like the foot already being tongue-baptized across Mitch’s face, the isle cupping his member too seemed to be swelling back toward its actual grandeur, sensitively containing his junk against only the doughy arch-butter center of her celestially-musted undersole mass. He was shrinking, this time he knew forever, but couldn’t be bothered to divert even a fleeting notion to fret for this transformation, while so busily engaged still with licking one goddess sole and fucking the other. “For example… this most telling center point of your dedication, from which I will pull the final donation of seed, your faithful pleasure will nourish, moisturize, and honor the bottom of my foot, without bounds or end. The remainder of this mewling body you once called yours will cling to my sole, cushion and decorate and please it as often as I have need to take earthen form again. Because as much disdain as I may hold for certain of your kind’s conventions, I will admit that which you already know so well yourself: I know how to wear a set of stockings and heels, and wear them well. It is, after all, the primary method I use to draw in new quarries of souls indentured to my foot. I can sense the elation it brings you, after so many days spent trying to catch a glimpse inside my shoes at work when you thought I never knew, craving that space between where my feet meet the insoles, inhaling and occupying it, to know that soon you will be the closest of all to that spot, when I house you inside my nylons and shoes each new day: to refresh you in the aroma of your servitude, to be kept clean and smoothed by your tongue and phallus. The only occasions when you will not be at my foot, you will find yourself at another, if only briefly, when I see fit. After all, I did promise poor Nola and Avis that I would let them in on the secret of my lotion-dispensing stress object. How cruel it would be to let them go on thinking it may have been too good to be true? You, Footbound, of all things, should know the pain of wishing for what seemed impossible for so long. Do not trouble yourself with the thought of such unevolved beings discovering your true nature, however, nor of being separated from your master’s foot for long. They will not recognize you when I gift you to both of them for a time. They will be spared their aches, as you will christen their soles with but a token few of the limitless seedings my foot will reap from you throughout the eons to come. Though I know such temporary distance from the soles of your one true phantasma will only deepen your hunger and lust, and when you return to my foot again, no matter your past sins, it will be with gladness enough to shake the heavens. The time approaches. Give in, Footbound, and complete what became inevitable from the moment your existence was created for me.”

Eve had retaken her “true” size now, or rather her chosen devotee had finished shrinking down to an uncountable sliver of his old stature in the resumed void, tiny and bedless, naked and stickily fastened across every bodily iota including his needfully throbbing pecker to the sleep-daemon giantess’s sole. In the earthliest known sense, he had technically been reduced down to one-half inch tall, though throughout every other level of being, he was both of “ordinary” stature still and just a microscopic speck on her beautifully perpetual foot. Like a soft wet mist that had inexplicably taken solid form, the balmy savory intimately-wrinkling archipelago of Eve’s sole flesh seemed to be reconstituting of its own accord, its dimpled terrain adjusting until it was perfectly fused against her Footbound’s form like liquid plaster. Here she held him in place by no discernible physical force, but still maintained his draw to her skin using a planet’s worth of gravitational pull.

Despite being in a position snuggled nylon-tight to a foot that would’ve lethally smothered anyone else in one minute who was still prone to the weaknesses of a homo sapien, though, the little thing could breathe just fine, even with more delicious clarity than he had in the cleanest air available away from her foot. Here, open and willing, he feasted upon the inflated scents he’d merely sampled from before, but which now tasted as universe-reaching and multi-dimensional as Eve was herself: the mushy grinding earth, the sluiced leather, the poison nectar-coated bouquets, the dripping bakery vanilla, the spiced humidity of shared passion, the musked secretions simultaneously both human and supernatural. He felt it in his lungs, his nostrils, and caking across his tongue each time he vigorously lapped at her foot again, which taught him he was still quite capable of achieving. Just as he could view from her foot from afar and in contact, could experience her opposite sole jacking his manhood both gingerly and ravenously at every angle melded together in one moment, the Footbound creature could also remain in hot blind stillness, glued to her sole as though just a deceased trophy of this underfoot subjugation, but on another plain of perception she’d been kind enough to create for him, he was gyrating and humping her naked sky of underworld arch pith to a fever pitch of tonguing pricking heartbeat-rampaging ardor.

She had purged him of every possible question or worry now. The miniaturized man couldn’t even remember most of his old life’s details, as they flaked rapidly away from his mind in time with the burgeoning avalanche of erotic fruition mounting doubly and triply each time her astronomic sole pumped his undeserving hard-on again. There was nothing to do but exist here, busily mouthing her infinite sole with the combined tongue-twisting zeal he would’ve felt for all his possible soulmates, until he and Eve together reached the ecstatic peak of her masterful orgasm-taunting footwork (probably honed over the entire timeline of human history), and his ownership was completed. When the dam did break, the shrunken being was so desperately close already to surrendering his essence, that the actual gifting of his cum – though her sole’s technique unquestionably brought on the most incredible riptide of foot-melting ecstasy any orgasm ever had for him – was made soothingly incidental to his final transition. It was finished. He was hers. And no sooner had he spasmed to her majesty, coasting out the full bout of resulting sexual rapture, when the sensation snapped to reset without the need for such mortal annoyance as a refractory period, and her gigantic arch started stroking on him again. Could there be any purpose higher than this, no matter how low it might’ve seemed from the outside, to be cinched by sheer want to the voluptuous spongy golden-peachy sweat-slathered cosmos of this succubus’s pulsating sole?

If there was, Eve’s Footbound didn’t care to experience it. And he would never have to.

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THE END