Manual Labor

by Mr. Floor

Chapter 01: The Interview

He entered the waiting room through the glass double doors and took a moment to

adjust his eyes to the darkness and to enjoy the coolness of the AC inside.

After a moment he fixed the receptionist's window and readied himself for the

preliminaries. He took a quick glance at the folded newspaper in his hands, at

the "Wanted:" ad he had circled that morning: MANUAL LABOR

Needed at the Dea Indulsa Health Spa

Apply in person.

Refolding the paper, he stuffed it under his arm and proceeded to the window,

where he was met with a pretty, smiling face. This girl's good looking,

he thought as he opened his mouth to make the reason for his visit known, for

a clerical worker. "I'm here about the job," he said quietly.

"Yes," she said, a little too loudly for his liking, "the manual labor job?"

He wished she hadn't spoken those words so loudly. Here he was, a college

graduate, applying for what was probably a custodial position. He smiled weakly,

"That's right. I'm Lemuel Peabody."

"Just have a seat and fill out this application," she motioned to a small circle

of uncomfortable-looking chairs, "Ms. Augusta will be able to see you in a

moment."

He nodded and did so, selecting the seat most likely to afford him a view of the

door. Sitting down, he filled out the form, which asked for the typical

application info. (e.g. previous work, special skills, soc. sec.#). It also

contained a section labeled "Demographic Information," which was a survey about

all types of stuff; he couldn't figure out what could be the point of such a

survey. It had questions about everything from the television programs he

watched to what kind of soap he used. He answered all the questions without

hesitation, though; anything to get work, he thought. He returned the

completed form to the receptionist and returned to his seat, where he

immediately hunted out a magazine to keep his attention while he waited. He

shoved aside several copies of Car and Driver and Newsweek and

settled on the latest issue of Cosmopolitan. He began to flip through the

pages, not bothering to read any of the printed matter. He paused now and again

on the occasional advertisement (typically cigarettes, fingernail polish, shoes,

and the rare pantyhose ad), admired some aspect of it for a moment, then moved

on. He had worked his way through about 3/4 of the magazine in this fashion when

the front door opened and a woman walked in. She was a stunning, dark-skinned

woman, with long, dark hair. She was wearing a very expensive-looking gray

business suit with a skirt and black pantyhose. The aspect of her appearance

that he noticed first, though - as he did on every woman he met - was her feet.

He glanced down almost as soon as she entered the room, and saw that she was

wearing patent-leather gray high-heeled shoes.

She seemed not to have noticed his adoring stare, which was fine for him, since

that freed him to stare some more. She walked to the receptionist's window and

leaned her forearms on the counter as she spoke - too softly to be audible - to

the woman behind. As she talked, she absent-mindedly slipped her right foot out

of her shoe and played with it with her foot. She used her nylon-covered toes to

carelessly twirl the shoe around, sometimes re-inserting her foot, sometimes

lifting her foot altogether into the air and flexing her toes, producing an

audible cracking. He was completely mesmerized by the display; it should be

related here that Lemuel Peabody had what he considered to be a raging foot

fetish. The sight of a woman's foot - especially if clad in nylons - turned him

on to no end. More than one of his 'serious' relationships had ended when he had

finally mustered up the courage to ask his girlfriend is she would let him kiss

her soles and toes. Sure, he had found women willing to accept his 'quirk', but

none of them had actually reciprocated the fantasy. Most of them would 'permit'

him to enjoy himself; but this never lasted very long, as she would leave him

after a few weeks, usually requesting "more space."

Lemuel enjoyed the sight of the woman's feet writhing about before him for

several more seconds, when his silent reverie was broken by his own name.

"Mr. Peabody?" it was the receptionist, looking out through the window over the

shoulder of the woman whose feet he had just been ogling, "Ms. Augusta will see

you now." Both women must have noticed him staring; the newcomer was wearing a

slight smirk when he looked up, which she quickly removed and left the way she

had come. Lemuel adjusted his pants as he rose, and made his way to the door

pointed out by the receptionist; it was marked, "Ms. Livia Augusta."

He raised his hand to knock, but before he could, a voice from within sounded:

"Come in please, Mr. Peabody." He obeyed the imperative, turning the knob and

stepping into the large office within. Ms. Augusta was sitting behind a

grandiose desk, which sat in the center of an office bigger than Lemuel's entire

apartment. Bookshelves, artwork, everything; this was the office of a real

success-case. He approached the desk, feeling less than significant. Ms. Augusta

rose and extended her hand, "Ms. Livia Augusta, pleased to make your

acquaintance Mr. Peabody. I understand you're looking for work?"

"Yes Ma'am," he said, using the antiquated title of respect because he was

simply overwhelmed by her presence. She was a tall woman, standing at least

eye-level with the six-foot Lemuel, and her eyes were absolutely commanding. Her

extremely pale face was framed by straight locks as dark as pitch, and she was

wearing a similarly black suit. Lemuel was able to visually appraise her without

lowering his eyes, an ability he had honed in himself quite nicely; one which

was necessary to the discreet foot-fetishist. Fortunately, Ms. Augusta was still

behind her desk; otherwise, Lemuel might have snuck an actual glance downward to

survey her surely sexy feet.

After the salutation hand shake, she motioned him to sit and he did so; the

chair into which he sat was small and flimsy, and noticably too short. His knees

protruded up as he settled in. Ms. Augusta sat down as well, though her line of

sight was considerably higher than his. Lemuel had the feeling that he was

looking up at a judge; he imagined he was craning his neck just to meet her

eyes.

"So," she began, looking slightly down her nose, "Mr. Peabody. You're looking

for work as a manual laborer." (it wasn't a question) "Have you ever done such

work before?"

"Yeah," he answered honestly, "I've done some physical work; you know, moving

boxes in and out of trucks, delivering packages, that sort of thing."

"It says on your application that you have a Bachelor's Degree in Behavioral

Psychology. Why, then, are you here?"

"Well," he hesitated, slightly embarrassed about his post-graduation failures,

"you see, the job market is really in a downward turn right now, and well - to

tell you the truth, I should have stayed in school for a Master's if I wanted a

real job in the field. I don't know what I'm doing, but I really need the work."

"No need to justify yourself, Lemuel," she paused. "I may call you Lemuel?"

"Oh, of course, Ma'am." He felt as if he were blushing, and wanted to change the

subject. "What kind of workdo you have for me?"

She smiled and stood up, smoothing the front of her skirt. "A variety of

things," she said as she began to walk slowly around the desk. "Too many to know

where to begin, really." She was in front of Lemuel now, and with his chair

being so short, she towered over him. Without looking down, he was able to

notice that she had a fantastic pair of legs, which were adorned with

tan-colored nylons. He couldn't get a glimpse of her footwear, and dared not

peek down. She boosted her comely ass onto the desk and crossed her legs, right

over left, so that her foot hung precariously over our hero's groin, swaying

gently. He was surely allowed a peek now, given the rather unusual

circumstances; black strappy sandals! Man, what a fine woman, he thought.

He looked back up and met Ms. Augusta's smiling face with his own nervous,

stupid grin.

"I think you're going to be the right man for the job, Lemuel. I have your

number, you can be sure to hear from me in the next few days. Then you can come

in and we'll discuss the job."

He nodded his agreement and prepared to rise, when she said:

"Oh wait, let me give you a business card, so that you can reach me if you need

to." As she leaned back to reach into one of her desk droors for the card, her

right leg raised up for leverage, bringing her foot to eye level with the

sitting Lemuel. He stared in rapture as her toes wiggled and stretched beneath

the leather straps. He imagined himself, gently removing her sandals, allowing

her to place her incredible feet on his face; commanding him to serve as her

foot slave. He looked up and saw that he was being watched again, and blushed

furiously. She sat back up slowly and uncrossed her leg, again bringing her foot

within close proximity to Lemuel's red face; close enough for the slightest odor

- a mixture of leather, nylons and feet - to reach his nostrils. She stood up

and handed him the card, and he made his way hurriedly out of the office, trying

to hide his erection from the smirking receptionist.

Chapter 02: The Job-Offer

Lemuel spent the next couple of days trying to figure out just what to do

concerning Dea Indulsa. First of all, he had no idea what kind of place

this so-called "health spa" was; no idea what they did there. And what was with

the way the women in that place kept looking at him? Man, it seemed like every

woman in that place knew about his foot fetish and was teasing him with it. He

wondered what kind of work they'd have him doing there, provided of course he

got the job. What does Dea Indulsa mean, anyway?

Three days later, as he was browsing his favorite foot fetish webpages, he

received an instant message on his email. It was from Dea Indulsa, and

the subject line read: "Job Offer." He immiadately clicked "read mail"; already

aroused by the feet on his computer screen, the memory of Ms. Augusta's feet

mere inches from his face enflamed his excitement. The message read:

Dear Mr. Peabody,

We at Dea Indulsa have reviewed your application and preliminary

interview transcripts, and have decided that you are perfect for our company.

Please come in at your convenience for a full briefing.

Sincerley,

Ms. Livia Augusta

PresidentDea Indulsa Health Spa Wow, he thought, that was pretty quick. She said a week and it's only

been three days. He was in no frame of mind to protest any such small oddity

as that, though, and checked his watch as he flipped off his computer and

grabbed his coat. 4:36 PM. Damn, it might be too late in the day. What the

hell, I need the fresh air.

Sitting in the waiting room again at Dea Indulsa, Lemuel began to wonder

again at the nature of this establishment. The business cards proclaimed it to

be a "health spa," but he had yet to see any clientele, except for the

dark-skinned honey he had seen last time here. And she didn't look like a

customer; her friendly way with the receptionist suggested that she too worked

here. He pondered some more; then his name was called.

"Mr. Peabody," he recognized it at once as the voice of Ms. Livia Augusta, "good

to see you." She flashed him a dazzling smile and continued, "please step into

my office, and we can get started."

He walked in as he was commanded, and stole a glance down at Ms. Augusta's feet

as he did so. Black pantyhose today, and black pumps. He entered the huge office

with butterflies in his stomach. Why am I so nervous? I've had interviews

before; I've dated beautiful women before; why is my stomach all fluttering?

These thoughts continued as he seated himself in the flimsy 'kiddie' chair in

front of Ms. Augusta's enormous desk. She sat in her chair, and again he was

struck with the sensation of being on trial; he looked up at her as she spoke.

"As I said in the email I sent to you, we've looked over your qualifications and

you seem to be the best man for the job. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Ms. Augusta, b-"

"Livia," she interrupted, "please call me Livia. I won't have my employees using

such formal language with me. We're a family here." She smiled.

He blushed. "O-Ok, Livia. Thanks for the news, but I'm still curious as to what

exactly the job is."

"Well Lemuel," she paused and asked, as she buzzed for her secretary - "2

coffees, Sue." She continued, "You see Lemuel, you're being hired for one of our

- shall we say - multi-responsibility positions."

"Which will involve manual labor;" I interrupted,"loading trucks, packing boxes,

that kind of stuff?"

For the first time her genial attitude vanished and she became - visibly, but

only slightly - annoyed with his interruption. "Not exactly. You see Dea

Indulsa is a very exclusive health club Lemuel. Our clientele pay us a very

pretty price, and expect to be given nothing but the best service; the creme

de la creme so to speak. That's where you come in."

The door opened and a leggy, cream-colored brunette sauntered in with two

coffees on a tray. She set it down on the desk between Livia and Lemuel; Livia

then motioned her close and whispered something in her ear. As Sue leaned over

the corner of the desk to hear, she raised her leg into the air for leverage. As

her shoe came partially off, revealing the smooth heel within, Lemuel thought,

what's with the women here? Not that I mind, but all they do is show me their

feet! Shit, why am I complaining, I should just shut up and enjoy it. It isn't

every day you have beautiful women shoving their feet in your face. Sue

straightened herself and walked quickly from the room, giving Lemuel a smirk as

she left.

"As I was saying," said Livia as she pushed a steaming mug across the table,

"that's where you come in. Do you take cream and sugar?"

He said that yes, he took both cream and sugar, and thanks for the cup, he

needed it. He sipped a couple times; it was fine coffee, not too hot, nor too

bitter. He swallowed nearly half the mug in two sips. "How exactly do I come

in?"

"Well, as I said, our clientele pay a substantial price, and in return expect a

substantial service. Most of our clients are aging socialites, who have a few

needs not being currently attended by their husbands."

Lemuel felt sick when he heard this. A gigilo? No way! Livia read his

look and flashed him a reassuring smile.

"It's not what you think, Lemuel. You're not going to be helping that portion of

our clientele. You see, as I said, the middle aged socialites make up most

of our customer-base; there is a small percentage with - shall I say - eccentric

needs."

Lemuel's head was absolutely swimming now; he wasn't sure if it was the shock

from hearing what his job was, or if he was coming down with something, but he

felt like throwing up. He stood up and nearly fell forward.

"I'm sorry Livia," he coughed out, as he turned toward the door, "but I need a

breath of air. I feel ..."

Livia simply smiled as she watched Lemuel stagger for the door, a fresh sweat

breaking out on his now-pale face.

"I feel ... like ..."

He didn't know how long he'd been out; it was like one of those deep sleeps you

sometimes have, where 6 hours seems like 2 seconds, all dreams are forgotten

completely, and one awakens feeling refreshed. Lemuel felt refreshed as his eyes

fluttered open, but he also felt a sharp pain somewhere in the back. He wasn't

sure if it was his head, neck or back that pained him, but it made opening his

eyes a bit uncomfortable. Eventually he was able to focus his pupils; he was

looking at a tile ceiling. There were voices in the room; maybe just one voice,

maybe a whole crowd. His mind was still rather liquid.

"Lemuel?" came a voice - heavenly and soothing - from his left. He turned his

head to look and was rewarded with a dull pain in his neck.

"Lemuel," the voice continued, "don't try to move, you've had a nasty fall. I

was afraid you had really hurt your head." It was, of course, Livia talking to

him. He felt well enough to smile at her, and to try to sit up. Surprisingly, he

was able to sit up, and once he did, he felt ten times better.

"Lemuel," she said, "do you feel alright?"

"Sure," he said honestly, just glad to be rid of that dull pain. He rubbed the

back of his neck, trying to detect the source of his misery. He felt no bump or

laceration.

"You fell and hit your head on the arm of the chair," explained Livia, "you must

have passed out when you tried to leave."

"How long have I been out?"

"Only a couple of minutes," she said. "Would you like to continue this tomorrow,

Lemuel? I'd be happy to move some appointments around to accomodate-"

"No, no, that's fine. I feel much better; please continue with what you were

saying." Then he remembered what she had been saying, "You want me to be a

gigilo?"

She laughed at that; it was the first time he had heard Livia laugh, and the

sound filled him with tingles. She had such a power about her! She seemed

confident in her ability to do anything; Lemuel soaked up her feminine power,

feeling reassured that this job was going to be ok. She answered, "Not at all,

we have plenty of 'gigiloes' Lemuel."

His stomach froze up again.

"No, as I said, you're going to be serving our more eccentric clientele."

"What do you mean by 'eccentric?' What do you mean by 'serving' for that

matter?"

She uttered another short laugh. "Well Lemuel, we've studied your application,

and we've looked at your psychological profile," (psychological profile?)

"and we feel you're perfect for our new wing."

Before he could inquire about the "psychological profile," Livia pressed a

button on her desk and a small television screen on her desk lit up. The image

was of a small room, shot from a ceiling; a man was sitting in a chair. It

looked like a waiting room...

"Hey, that's me!" he said hastily, before he remembered the surveillance cameras

were, in fact, a reality in the 20th century. He was about to apologize for

acting childish, when the image on the screen became more focused. A remarkably

clear close up of Lemuel's face appeared on one side of the screen, while on the

other was the gorgeous dark-skinned woman whose feet Lemuel had had the joy of

ogling on his first visit. It was, in fact, that very first visit which was

being replayed on the screen right now! Lemuel became nauseated again as he saw

a body shot of the woman, removing her foot from her shoe, flexing her toes;

while on the other side of the screen, Lemuel's eyes were transfixed lustily.

What is this? They're going to bust me for having a foot fetish? What can they

do to me, aside from total humiliation?

"In addition to the information provided by your application and interview, and

revealing shots like this one," Lemuel blushed as she said 'revealing,' "we were

able to monitor your internet browsing. A hard working foot-fetishist like you

is just what we need for our new wing, Lemuel. Please don't be put off by our

aggressive screening policy."

He was speechless; his new boss telling him that they needed a guy with a

foot fetish? What the hell was going on here? He opened his mouth to ask that

very question. He was going to get some answers here.

"Lemuel," she cut him off before he could get started. As she continued, Lemuel

noticed that her right hand was resting on the remote control she had used to

play the embarrassing video. Great, more videos of the foot freak, he

thought.

"Maybe I should just show you what your duties will be," she said as she rose

from her chair, "rather than trying to explain." She moved around to the front

of the chair, just as she had three days previous. She sat on the desk in front

of him and crossed her legs, just like three days ago. Her black-pumped,

black-hosed foot hung just above his lap, swaying gently. He looked up from that

rapturous sight to see Livia pointing the remote control right at him.

Chapter 03: The Briefing

Lemuel looked up from the foot - clad in black nylon and a black leather pump,

and gently swaying just above his groin - into the eyes of Livia Augusta, as she

pointed what looked to him like a TV remote right at his face. After his initial

reaction to flinch at anything being poitned at him, he relaxed and began to

inquire about this absurd development. What, was this a cartoon, and was she

going to turn him off?

"What are you going to do with that?" he asked. Actually, he only got out "What

a--" when an intense sensation of numbness overtook his entire body. It

originated at the back of his neck - where he had ached a moment before - and

quickly spread through out his entire body. With the numbness came a lack of

ability to move, as he soon found out when he slumped in his chair, sliding down

a bit. None of his muscles would respond, and his head drooped a bit to the

left. He almost felt as though his body had been stolen, and only his mind - and

his sensory organs - remained, transfixed in the small chair before Livia; holy

shit, the remote control!

Unable to move his eyes, his peripheral vision served to tell him what he had

just expected: that somehow Livia had just, well...she'd turned him off! She

smiled with delight as Lemuel fell paralyzed before her.

"Ok, Lemuel, I might as well fill you in on your new job. Contrary to your

fears, you won't be made a gigolo, though as I said, we do employ them. No, we

at Dea Indulsa try our best to match up a job with a slave's interests."

Lemuel's blood became ice at the word 'slave.' This was quite a jump, from

'gigolo' to 'slave!' What the hell was--

"That's right," she said as she let her black leather pump fall from her

dangling foot. It bounced once on Lemuel's reclined chest and fell to the floor,

leaving her high-arched foot naked, but for the layer of black nylon. "You're

now a slave, Lemuel. How does that make you feel? Oh, don't answer now; there'll

be plenty of time for that later. You're a slave, yes; but a special kind of

slave."

Lemuel wasn't able to see her face as she spoke; he wouldn't have looked if he

could, for even in his present state, he couldn't help but stare at Livia's

incredible foot, toes wriggling, swaying slowly mere inches from his chest. How

he wanted to kiss that foot! She seemed to sense his desire, for she brought her

lovely toes within an inch of Lemuel's nose, still wiggling slightly.

"As I said, Lemuel, we do extensive profiling on all of our applicants, to

determine if they're right for our needs. Of course, it helps if they

have no family and no real ties -- as in your case, Lemuel." She brought her

toes ever closer to his face, brushing his lips and nose gently.

"Now," she continued, "you might be asking yourself, 'what the hell is a foot

slave?' And that would be a good question, Lemuel. I know how much you love

women's feet, Lemuel; and this job will allow you to have more intimate contact

with feet than any you could have ever dreamed of." To punctuate the thought,

she brought her foot firmly into his face, covering it entirely in soft

silkiness. Her toes continued to wiggle above his eyes, and her arch pressed

against his immobile mouth.

"Again, you might be asking yourself," she said, without removing her foot, "

what kind of foot-slavery is this, where the slave is paralyzed? Again, Lemuel,

good question. Our slaves are totally mobile," she paused, "when fully prepared

to work, that is. This little device," she said, holding the remote control in

his field of vision, "along with the microchip I've inserted into your spinal

cord, are going to be very important to you from now on, Lemuel. Ready yourself,

because this is probably going to change your life significantly." She again

pointed the remote at Lemuel, whose mind was absolutely racing with a million

thoughts: What the hell is the crazy woman talking about? Why has she made me

her slave? Why can't I move my mouth to kiss her foot? There's that numb feeling

again; where's it coming from?

For the moment Lemuel forgot about the foot pressed into his face and was able

only to concentrate on the numbness as it engulfed his entire being once again.

His senses betrayed him then, and all was darkness and silence. This is

death, he thought. His mind was in a mire, slow molasses thoughts lying down

softly on the loamy floor of his brain. He forgot everything; all was comfort

and sleep now. Death isn't so bad.

When the numbness released this time, his body's paralysis was released too. His

mind was still in the land of molasses, but quickly awakening. His body was in a

totally new and foreign place; a large wooden floor with columns seen at about

30 yards in each direction. He turned himself around as his mind became clearer

and remembered her just as her saw her. Livia was still sitting on her desk, her

legs was still crossed and her foot was again swaying gently above the chair,

some 15 feet above him! He stared up at Livia as he had done before when seated

in the kiddie chair; only now he was standing - on the chair! Livia's foot -

toes wiggling and ankle gyrating slowly - was suspended above our hero, who now

stood an imposing 6 inches tall! He was unable to see her smiling face beyong

her massive, beautiful legs; he was only able to see her awesome foot, and fall

to his knees speechless. Everything he had ever known was in total disarray as

he watched Livia uncross her legs and place both feet - one bare and nyloned,

one still shod - on the chair, flanking Lemuel in podophiliac heaven. Livia

smiled when she saw the now tiny Lemuel on his knees.

"That's good," she boomed, "you learn quickly; you'll make an excellent

foot-slave. Get used to your new size Lemuel, because you'll be spending a lot

of time at that height, serving at the feet of some very rich and - as I said -

'eccentric' women."

Lemuel was still unable to answer, or utter any sound; he could only stare at

the Divine vision before him.

"Why don't we give you a little practice; what do you say, Lemuel?"

The tiny man remained awestruck, as Livia had expected. She raised her one bare

foot to the level of his chest and gave him a little nudge, knocking him to his

butt. "One of the basic components of your new job is foot-massage, Lemuel. I

assume that, as a lifelong foot-freak, you have given many?"

He opened his mouth, and was finally able to make noise. "Y-yes!"

"Well what are you waiting for, slave? I've been in these heels all day, and my

toes are aching. Get to work!" She brought her smooth toes to his face and

watched amused as the diminutive Lemuel began - slowly at first - to lightly

massage. She could hardly feel his microscopic hands as they stroked her big

toe, but she'd give him time. For Lemuel, the realization of his predicament was

beginning to dawn on him: this was not death, this was heaven. He looked at the

massive toes in his face, covered in sheer black nylon. The smell of pantyhose

had always driven him crazy, but this time it was overpowering. He began to

massage her incredible, soft toes with his hands at first. Then, realizing that

at his new height, his hands alone were useless, he made use of his arms and

legs as he tried to alleviate whatever discomfort Livia might be feeling in her

feet. He stroked her long, glorious arch with his limbs, exulting in the

incredible new sensation. After a moment, the foot came down softly on Lemuel,

knocking him to his back, and covering him wholly, with just his face exposed.

Still, he tried to massage Livia's foot, though his range of movement was

nothing.

"That's enough for now, Lemuel. You seem to have a knack for massage. Let's move

on to another of your duties." Her toes were once again brushing gently upon

Lemuel's face, though now one toe dwarfed his entire head. "Kiss my toes,

slave."

Chapter 04: First Day on the Job

Lemuel sat on the folded towel that had served as his bed, as he had for the

past three days. Only this time, the cage he was in was covered with a heavy

sheet, shrouding Lemuel in near-complete darkness. He'd sat in this cage for

three days, waiting for something to happen, and thinking. He was thinking of

the 'outside world', as he'd come to regard his life before Dea Indulsa.

Actually, Livia had been right: Lemuel had no relatives or friends in the city,

and had no job. The only person in the entire city with whom he was even on a

first-name basis was Muyvan, his ex-girlfriend. It was one of Lemuel's 'big

screw-ups' as far as missed oportunity was concerned. A Vietnamese-American

student his age, Muyvan was the first girl who accepted Lemuel's foot fetish.

They had enjoyed many good times, exploring each other's fantasies of domination

and foot-worship. Lemuel had been extremely fond of sleeping with his face

beneath Muyvan's feet.

The 'screw-up' came one night at a party, back in college. Lemuel had drunk too

much beer, and was in a particularly ornery-drunk kind of mood. He saw her

talking to one of his classmates and had reacted - not violently, or even with

enough rambunction to cause a real scene. He had simply called Muyvan a "slut,"

and left the party. She was embarrassed, of course, and hurt by Lemuel, and

wanted to clear up the misunderstanding; but he never forgave her. He had since

realized his mistake, and longed to make amends with Muyvan, but too much time

had passed - 3 years now. Much of his three days in the cage awaiting his first

job had been spent thinking of Muyvan; Lemuel hated himself on a daily basis for

blowing that one: a beautiful girl who indulged and even took great pleasure in

sharing his foot fetish. He might have even asked her to marry him - who knows?

Now he was sitting on a huge towel in a huge hampster cage. His eyes had

adjusted to the darkness, and he could feel that he was moving, as in a car, or

some other wheeled vehicle. An occasional jolt to the cage - slight to the

normal-sized person - knocked Lemuel to his back, rolling around on the plastic

floor.

The cage had been uncerimoniously placed on the room service cart - after it had

been covered - by Jenny, the girl who took care of feeding and cleaning Lemuel.

She was a rather pale brunette woman of about 25 years old. She never spoke to

Lemuel while she changed his food and water, but for the occasional "Hello,

tiny"; and she always gave him these malicious smirks that bothered Lemuel.

Before she had covered the cage, Livia had come into the room where he was kept

and said:

"Time for your first job, Lemuel. If you're good, I'll let you go home in

between jobs. Would you like that, slave? Would you like to be allowed to return

to your meagre apartment - at regular size?"

Lemuel had said that yes, he would like very much to be given a leave; thank you

very much, Ms. Augusta.

She had then said to Jenny: "Take Mr. Peabody to room 8, Ms. Nikos;" and the

cover had been thrown over the cage with one of Jenny's characteristic smirks,

and a: "Have fun, slave boy," thrown in for good measure.

Olympias Nikos unraveled the purple towel from her head and began to dry her

long black hair with it. She was sitting on the loveseat in her room at Dea

Indulsa, her favorite place to get away from the hectic pace of European

business. The purple robe she wore - compliments of Dea Indulsa - parted

at her thigh, revealing a long, olive-colored leg. At the knock, she called:

"Come in," and continued to dry her hair. A girl in a green jumpsuit opened the

door and rolled in a cart, "Room Service, Ms. Nikos."

"Leave it on the coffee table, here," she motioned to the low table in front of

the loveseat where she sat. "Thank you." Jenny left.

The tray which Jenny placed before Olympias contained a bottle of wine, a glass,

and two covered objects; one with a sheet, one with a silver dome. This latter

she lifted, revealing a plate; upon which were a pile of small stones and a tube

of lotion. She smiled and lifted the sheet from the cage, revealing the 6 inch

man within, sheilding his face with the introduction of the new light.

For Lemuel, the glare of the light wasn't as startling as the sight of the

beautiful, skyscraper of woman before him. Dark, smooth skin and thick, dark

hair. A long purple robe. Lemuel couldn't see her feet, which were hidden from

him by the table upon which he sat. Olympias sat on the love seat and crossed

her legs, allowing Lemuel a glimpse of one tanned foot.

"Hello, slave. This is your first job, I've been told, so I'll give you a few

tips." She spoke with an accent unrecognizable to Lemuel; she spoke with

confidence and power. "One -- don't speak unless spoken to; but you probably

already know that. Two -- do whatever I tell you. If you can do those two

things, we're going to be on real good terms, is that understood slave?"

Lemuel was able to answer. "Yes, Ma'am."

"And you will address me as Goddess, is that clear?"

Lemuel nodded and said, "yes, Goddess."

"Well then, lets get to work, slave." She opened the door to the cage and

reached in. Lemuel hadn't been handled in 3 days, and then it had only been

Livia, who he had begun to trust. This new hand gave Lemuel a shot of

adrenaline, but he dared not move out of the way. Olympias grabbed Lemuel

easily, pinning his arms to his sides, and deftly removing his small form from

the cage. She brought him close to her face and smiled. "Do a good job, slave,"

she said, and placed him on the coffee table, next to the plate. "Give me a

pedicure, little slave." She motioned to the small stones on the plate, which to

Lemuel were about 1 foot in length, and rectangular, like a big chalkboard

eraser. They were black and rough.

"Those are pumice stones; you use those to rub the callouses off of my heels and

toes. Then you rub moisturizing lotion on my feet. Got it, slave?"

"Yes, Goddess; gladly." He had learned a little about buttering up the women

around here from his limited dealings with Livia.

Olympias then smiled and poured herself a glass of wine. She sipped it once and

leaned back, bringing her feet to rest on the coffee table about 5 feet to

Lemuel's right. They were incredible; big at any scale, her feet had high,

strong arches and long toes. They were as tanned as the rest of her beautiful

body, and the sole was smooth, but for a few vertical wrinkles along the arch.

She crossed her ankles, left over right, giving Lemuel a close up of that

gorgeous arch, wiggling her foot slightly in anticipation. He picked up a pumice

stone and sat in front of her heel, which hung about 2 feet from the table. He

sat close, cross-legged, and began rubbing the edges of her heel with the stone.

After a moment, he stopped, and ran his hand along the heel to test it's

smoothness. It wasn't very rough, owing probably to the fact that she had just

showered. Lemuel then reached up and felt the surface of her arch, which was

smooth and soft. Another jolt of adrenaline; her arch was superb! He continued

rubbing her heel until it became as soft as the arch; giving it frequent strokes

with his hand and arms to test the progress of the rub-down.

Olympias reclined on the seat and luxuriated in the sensation at her feet. It

was a mediocre pedicure at best, but the fact that there was a tiny man doing

the work sent shivers of exultation through her entire body. Such power she had!

Growing up the daughter of strict Greek-Orthodox parents, Olympias had been told

at an early age that the place of the woman was in the home, tending after her

husband and guardian. She had resented this from an early age, and determined

herself to get an education and control her own life. She was now a successful

international corporate raider. She had figuratively stepped on plenty of men in

her meteoric rise to the top; when she heard about Dea Indulsa, she saw

the opportunity to live out her deepest fantasy: to actually step on a

man; to hold his life in her power; to make him worship at her feet. She looked

at the tiny form rubbing her toes with pumice and knew that she'd found true

paradise. Nothing in her life to this point had given her such intense pleasure

as this: a hostile takeover was nothing compared to a 6-inch slave at your feet.

"That's good with the pumice, slave; use the lotion now." She leaned forward to

open the tube, squiring a small puddle onto the plate. She set the tube down and

reached a hand for Lemuel, stroking his head and back.

"You seem like a good slave. I think I'll request you from now on; what's your

name?"

"Lemuel Peabody, Goddess. I'd be happy to serve you in the future, Goddess." He

meant it.

"That's very nice, Lemuel; the lotion, please." She uncrossed her ankles and

flexed her toes just above Lemuel's face. He dipped his hands into the lotion

puddle and got right to work, starting with the balls of her feet. Her skin was

soft and warm, and her feet were absolute heaven to touch. He gladly and

furiously rubbed his arms into the wall-sole before him; running his hands in

between her toes, causing her to twitch. He struck a particularly ticklish spot

on the underside of her big toe, and she tensed up, pointing her toe out. Lemuel

was knocked down and pinned to the table by her extended foot; his face was half

covered by her curled pinky toe, and he continued to rub in the lotion.

After the lotion was sufficiently applied, and Olympias was soothed almost

completely to sleep, she smiled lazily at Lemuel.

"You, slave, are a natural. As a reward for such good service, I allow you to

show your devotion to your Goddess by kissing my feet." She straightened her

feet side-by-side on the table and wiggled her toes slightly. "Then you can help

me get dressed, slave."

Lemuel brought his face into the soft flesh of Olympias' tanned foot, kissing

the ball and the arch. She lowered her massive foot slightly, allowing Lemuel to

kiss the toes, which he did excitedly. He made sure to include inbetween each

toe, giving special attention to the pinky toe. She allowed him to kiss each of

her ten toes, when she said: "Ok, lets get dressed, shall we?"

With that, she stood up and dropped her robe, revealing the most fantastic body

Lemuel had ever seen. Lean, but not skinny; fleshy, but not fat; he followed the

curves of her olive-colored skin up her legs to her hips and lovely, full

breasts. She smiled down at him as he gazed at her perfection; Olympias Nikos

was indeed a Goddess. She picked up a white bra and panties and allowed Lemuel

to watch as she put them on. She then put on a white garter belt, and brought

out a pair of white stockings. She sat down and bunched up one of the stockings,

bringing her left toes into the circular opening. She placed her covered toes

next to Lemuel on the table as she pulled the stocking up her leg. She loved

allowing her tiny slave to gawk at her body, knowing that he'd never get to

touch it as a real person.

"You like watching my feet, don't you slave?" She asked, lifting her newly

covered foot into the air before Lemuel. She wiggled her silken toes before his

face, and laughed. "Well why don't you get a closer look this time."

She placed her other foot on the table, nearly touching Lemuel. He was

face-to-face with her divine Sole. She lowered the bunched up other stocking to

the table and commanded: "Get in."

He did as he was told, sitting in the small pocket of nylon between her hands.

She smiled down at him and said, "have fun in there, I'll see you in a while."

Then she brought her enormous toes into the stocking, pressing him against her

soft, lovely ped and the silky nylon behind. His face became wedged nicely

between her second and third toes; the smell of her feet mixed with the nylon

drove him wild as he stuggled to move and get comfortable. She finished pulling

up the stocking and attached it to the garter belt, and lifted her foot near to

her face, watching amusedly as Lemuel squirmed. She felt another jolt of power

and laughed, "Look at you, funny little man; right where you belong, against my

foot." She adjusted the nylon with her fingers, positioning Lemuel comfortably

upright, with his face snugly between her big and second toes, his body pressed

to the ball of her foot; his legs pinned to her arch. She wiggled her toes and

thrilled at the feeling of his return wiggle. "Get used to those toes, my little

slave; they're going to be your only friends."

Chapter 05: Vacation

Lemuel walked beside a busy thoroughfare, his eyes lowered to the sidewalk, his

gait slow and rhythmic. His level of awareness was severely hampered at the

moment by the general ordeal he had undergone during the past.... He stopped and

looked at his wrist where his watch should have been, seeking the answer to his

mental question: What day is it? His watch had been confiscated upon his

"hiring" at Dea Indulsa,

The idea of time had definitely faded to meaninglessness for Lemuel. His life

during the past however-long had been rather dull, so to speak; a cage, a rude

girl (a rude, and comparitively enormous girl) brining him regular meals

and humiliating insults, a cage, and Livia Augusta. She had become considerably

more than a mere employer to Lemuel; her image in his mind had morphed into

almost deified proportions. She had brought him into the bizarre world of Dea

Indulsa, and she alone now had total power over his life and body.

But Lemuel wasn't bitter or resentful with Livia for his enslavement; rather, he

was incredibly grateful that she had allowed him some time off. Though at this

point, he didn't know how he would spend said time off; or even how much time

off he had; or for that matter, even what time or date it was!

He looked up from his momentary reverie and spotted a newsstand further up the

block, and began digging through his pockets for some money. Adding further

reinforcement to his profound respect for Livia, she had even given him some

spending money for his vacation. He picked up a paper at "Gary's Gnustand" and

checked the date, by which he then realized that he had been trapped in a cage

at Dea Indulsa for --

"Two months!"

A skinny, sharp-faced man - apparantly the one and only Gary - appeared before

Lemuel in reaction to his temporal interjection. "'Two months' what, man?"

Lemuel was seriously shaken by this interruption into his private thoughts, not

to mention the first real human contact he'd had in eight weeks. "Huh?" he said;

"Oh, uh...I've been gone for two months."

"Yeah, well the paper's two bits, you buyin' it?"

Lemuel handed the man a twenty and waited for his change, while Gary eyed him

warily.

"So where ya been for two months, buddy? Doin' time?" He laughed a laugh of

simulated comraderie and handed Lemuel $19.75.

Lemuel, his head clearing somewhat, began to warm to the idea of a conversation.

"No, well, not exactly. I started a new job that has, uh, strange hours."

"Oh yeah, where at?"

Lemuel paused, unsure whether to continue; "Well," he began. "Well, it's this

new, uh, health spa over on the east si --"

Lemuel was cut off and nearly knocked down by some woman reaching in front of

him for a paper. She seemed not to even notice what she was grabbing, as she had

her eyes on Lemuel the whole time. They made eye contact and Lemuel had a moment

of trepidatious de ja vous. Had he seen her at....

The woman was gone almost as abruptly as she had appeared, leaving Lemuel with

only a faint memory of what she had even looked like; dark-skinned and fairly

attractive was all he seemed able to recall. He felt himself slipping back into

that dreamy state from which he had just emerged, and decided that a cup of

coffee would be nice.

"On the east side?" asked Gary.

Lemuel was now thoroughly disinterested with the nosy rat-faced clerk. He

answered as he folded up his newspaper: "Yeah, it's called Dea Indulsa,

and they cater specifically to women with superiority complexes (or is it

inferiority? I can never remember). See, they capture men like me and implant a

small bit of technological mumbo-jumbo in our necks (Lemuel pointed to the nape

of his neck as he spoke) that allows them to shrink us down to any size they

wish. Then they use us as toys and slaves. In my case, I was made to worship at

their feet; you know, massaging, kissing, general worship-type stuff. Take it

easy." Lemuel walked away, leaving the proprietor of the Gnustand agape and

speechless.

Later that afternoon, Lemuel found himself at a nearby outdoor cafe, where he

used to spend afternoons after class with his girlfriend Muyvan. Those had been

really good times for Lemuel; no cares in the world but getting A's and getting

off - so to speak. Those were the times of careless evenings, smoking too much

pot and taking his life for granted. Then he had fucked things up with Muyvan

and graduated from college; and since then he had been completely unable to find

a job for which he was qualified.

He sat at the first available table and ordered a large coffee. Opening his

paper, he settled into his chair and tried to relax with some local news. He was

just getting to the good part in an article about the Mayor and the City Council

having it out over some meaningless issue when he heard the unmistakeable sound

of stiletto heels approaching. He remained still but stopped reading; true to

his deepest obsession, any opportunity to ogle feet was not to be missed. As he

was about to move the paper and find the source of the sound, he saw a pair of

female feet appear directly in front of him below the paper. One leg crossed

over the other as he lowered the paper to see who had sat at his table with him

-- it was the woman from the newsstand! What was this?! What could she possibly

want?!

"Hello Mr. Peabody," she said as she took a sip of his coffee, "what's news?"

Again an overwhelming feeling of de ja vous took Lemuel as he looked at this

woman. She was olive-skinned and fantastically beautiful, with straight black

locks and long, loooong legs, one of which was at the moment swaying slowly in

front of him. Where had he seen her before?

Realization dawned upon him simultaneously as she said: "That was stupid of you

to say what you said to the newsstand clerk, Mr. Peabody; you know, Ms. Augusta

did give you time off because you had been so well behaved. Ought she revoke

your vacation privelages?"

Livia's secretary, Sue! Oh man, what the fuck was happening here? Was he under

constant surveilance? Rather, was he dumb enough not to automatically realize

that he would be under constant surveilance? Lemuel began to sweat; he found

himself unable to speak intelligibly as he tried to explain himself.

"Save your words, Mr. Peabody. Your mistake wasn't un-fixable; the clerk has

been - taken care of." She said those last words in a way that made Lemuel's

hair stand up. Oh shit, this was not good.

"You see Lemuel," she said as she began to dig in her purse, "you will

learn how things operate at Dea Indulsa. Mistakes are tolerated - at

first." Lemuel watched as she found what she was looking for, and removed the

familiar remote control-looking thing from her purse, pointing it at him. "Fold

up your paper and let's take a walk, OK Lemuel?"

Complying instantly, Lemuel began to shake the paper into a foldable shape, and

as he did, he felt that unforgettable numbness emanate from his neck. His world

went black for a moment; then it was re-illuminated as the newspaper - under

which his now 6" form now lay - was removed. He looked up as Sue finished

folding the newspaper; she then placed it beside him, hiding him from anyone's

potential view but hers. She was smiling now, and she grabbed Lemuel roughly

around the waist.

Standing up, she placed her hand - and Lemuel - in her purse and walked briskly

away. After a few moments of terrorizing darkness, all the while being gripped

within the enormous hand of Sue, he was removed from the purse. Lemuel

immediately recognized his surroundings: he was in a car, which Sue was

preparing to drive.

"You've been naughty, tiny slave," she said as she placed him on the floor at

her feet. Lemuel watched in awe as she moved her giant, high-heeled right foot

on the brake and started the engine; the sound was nearly deafening at his size

and location, and he was scarcely able to hear Sue as she continued to scold

him.

"Tiny slaves aren't supposed to try to sabotage what Ms. Augusta has created.

Tiny slaves are supposed to be obedient and servile; tiny slaves who disobey

must be punished, Lemuel." She had moved her left foot close to Lemuel as she

spoke, and she now used the pointed toe of her stiletto to knock him to the

floor. Lemuel looked up as the sole of Sue's show lowered upon him, pinning him

roughly to the floor of her car. The pointed toe was on his chest, and he had

trouble breathing due to the pressure. "I should crush you right now for your

insolence, slave. But I won't; Ms. Augusta seems to think you're worth saving,

so I'm only supposed to punish you. Well, consider this phase one of your

punishment, toy. You need to be taught once again what it means to be the slave

to a Goddess; you are nothing but a place for me to rest my tired foot,

understood?"

She removed her foot from Lemuel as she spoke, then easily tossed off her shoe.

Lemuel, by now terrified for his very life, watched as Sue smiled at his tiny

form. Her foot hung suspended mere inches (feet) from his body; Lemuel watched

as she flexed her huge toes beneath the tan nylons she wore. Then his world was

plunged into darkness as those toes covered his face, smothering him in warmth

and the intoxicating scent of nylon mixed with feet. Lemuel's tiny body was

pressed firmly to the floor of the car as Sue continued to drive, occasionally

squeezing his face inbetween her toes, rubbing his small body roughly beneath

her silky peds.

"Remember slave," she said, not caring whether he heard her or not, "this is

only phase one of your punishment. You're going to love phase two, trust me."

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