Sarah's Revenge
by
Eponymous Rex
When she was in high school, Sarah really wanted him. He
was very
indecisive and, finally, left her scorned. When they said, "hell
hath no fury like a woman scorned," they meant Sarah. She was
determined at that point to not only not be ruled by him, but to rule
him utterly and devastatingly.
Years later, she invited him to come visit her at school. She was
quite stunning now. She had lost a little weight and finally decided
to cut her long blond hair. She was now the embodiment of a perfect
beautiful pixie. She had always had a pretty face, but she had needed
to lose some weight. Now, she looked like a Greek goddess.
She'd been lucky this year and had a single in a nice house. They
would have some privacy to reminisce. She was pleased the he found
her beautiful now. It had been about five years since they'd last
seen each other. She had a boyfriend now and was quite happy with her
life; but she did have an old score to settle.
So she'd gotten him drunk enough to pass out. He woke up twelve hours
later surprisingly without a headache but he was dying of thirst. He
found that he couldn't get up. In fact, he couldn't even move. He was
chained to the floor. She walked in wearing a cute black skirt and a
baby tee showing off her amazing breasts. On her feet, she was
wearing maryjanes with two-inch chunky heels and hard soles. She had
no socks on and she'd intentionally neglected to wash her feet very
well. He couldn't see, but he assumed that she had the same shade of
purple nail polish on her toenails that she had on her fingernails.
"Rise and shine, dear," she said in her sweetest voice. She
was so happy to finally have this, and she would make it last. She
would make him last.
"I took the liberty of slipping some anti-nausea medicine into
our drinks last night. I didn't want a hangover this morning, and I
wouldn't want you throwing up on my pretty shoes."
When she said the words "pretty shoes," she placed the heel
of her right shoe on his mouth and pressed down hard enough to cut
his lips on his own teeth. She then smiled down cutely at him and
simply stated "I own you now."
He didn't know what to make of that statement, so he asked,
"What do you mean? You don't want me, you already have a
boyfriend."
"Oh don't worry, you'll meet him soon enough. And I don't own
him. You, I own."
Once again, he was confused. But he had another more immediate
concern: "I'm very thirsty Sarah; please give me something to
drink. And please untie me."
"I don't think you get it. You won't ever ask me or anyone else
for anything again. You'll take what you're given and you'll beg and
worship me for it. So, no, of course I won't untie you. And yes, you
may have something to drink. If you get a single drop of it on the
floor, you'll regret it."
With that, she squatted over his face, and he realized she wasn't
wearing any underwear. As he realized that she meant to piss into his
mouth, he clenched his mouth shut. Before she started, she looked
down and noticed his closed mouth. She stood up and very calmly said
to hi, "I'll only warn you this one time. If you don't
unquestioningly do everything I ask, you will be extremely sorry.
Nobody is home for the entire week because of spring break. I can
make you wish you were dead quite easily."
He found this a little hard to believe: after all, they were old
friends. "Come on, Sarah. We've been friends for years. This
isn't funny. You got your kinky little joke, now untie me."
"Well," she shrugged, "I warned you." And with
that, she stomped her right foot onto his face, breaking his nose and
knocking in a tooth. Not surprisingly, he howled in pain. To shut him
up, she stood on his throat, crushing his windpipe under her weight.
She slowly counted to thirty and enjoyed feeling his pulse under the
thin hard soles of her shoes. She rocked back and forth a bit as she
counted, almost as if she were dancing and completely unaware that
she was killing a boy under her cute shoes. Finally, before he could
pass out, she stepped off and he gasped for breath and coughed
uncontrollably. She had crushed his larynx and he could only barely
force air down his throat when he breathed. She didn't care that
she'd nearly killed him; she had just wanted him to shut up. Besides,
it felt nice as his throat slowly gave in under her relentless
pressure.
With his nose broken, he was forced to breathe out of his mouth; so
she now squatted down and urinated into his open mouth. Every single
drop of her girl piss went down his badly damaged throat. It seemed
to him like it lasted forever. He could not breathe and he had no
choice but to swallow the hot stream of piss as it landed in his
mouth. He was struggling to not gag or cough for fear of what she
would do to him. As his air gave out, he found himself unwillingly
trying to take a breath, and her piss flowed into his lungs for a
brief second. Before he could cough, she was done. He started
coughing violently, but she then lowered herself further and
instructed him to lick her pussy clean. Afraid now, he restrained his
coughing and did not hesitate to do as she asked. Although he had
just nearly drowned in her piss, his hell was just beginning.
After she was satisfied, she got up and explained to him that she was
a real witch and not the fake trendy plastic "witchcraft"
he'd seen in the movies. The Wiccan arts empowered women to take back
from men what was owed to them. She told him that she would
ritualistically torture him until he begged her to die. Her urine
inside him was already turning him into an object for her. Then,
after death, his soul would belong to her and she would create a
sadistic and specialized hell for him. And, the icing on the cake
would be that every horrific thing that she would do to him would
only increase her Wiccan power.
"Listen, Sarah. You're fucking crazy!"
"Believe what you want, and I'll take what is mine. I've decided
not to give on men, entirely. Once I wholly own you, man's debt to me
will be repaid." She was looking forward to torturing him and
then fucking her boyfriend. Her sadistic side was turning her on. She
wouldn't even tell her boyfriend about him, he was hers in every way.
She had already pissed into his mouth and his soul was slowly
becoming her property. She now needed to expose him to incredible
amounts of violence and pain as a prerequisite to his hell.
"Are you still thirsty?" she smirked at him.
"No."
"No what?"
"No, thank you."
"Good boy. Well then I guess I'll start."
She pulled a rope, which raised his spread legs until they were
pointing towards the ceiling. His balls were now completely
defenseless. To illustrate the obvious, Sarah put the ball of her
left foot on his balls while pressing down.
"Give me one good reason not to crush your nuts."
"Please! I'll do anything you say."
She decided that he was giving in too easily, so she stamped down
hard on his nuts and twisted her foot, savoring the power she felt.
His high-pitched scream pierced the relative calm of the house.
"Oh," she said, "I don't like that reason. And I
really did enjoy crushing your nuts. It's very satisfying, you
know."
"Please! Oh god, no! Please don't do it again! Anything!"
"Very well, I want you to say 'I belong to you, Sarah, heart and
soul.'"
"I—I . . ."
"Well? Need more convincing?" She walked over and stamped
on his face a second time. His broken nose shot new and unimaginable
amounts of pain into his brain. Two more teeth fell out. Sarah's
pretty maryjanes now had blood on their scuffed soles. And the
gorgeous foot inside each shoe enjoyed the sensations of the impact
as it traveled through the thin sole.
When she removed her foot from his ruined face, he said, "I
belong to you, Sarah, heart and soul. Please don't hurt me
anymore!"
"Well, there's no real 'you' anymore. You belong to me; you said
it yourself. The spell is now partially complete: you're a possession
of mine. And possessions don't tell their owners what to do."
She was pleased with her logic. She was, after all, a philosophy
major.
She was going to kill him to take ownership of his soul. At this
point, after he had fully agreed upon becoming her belonging, the
spell was almost complete. All she had left to do now was to torture
him to death in the manner she found most pleasing. Realizing that
there was no need for him to talk, she stopped talking to him and
starting stomping on his defenseless body as hard as she could. She
stomped twice more on his exposed balls. After each one, she left her
heel on his destroyed groin and twisted cruelly for two reasons:
first, to cause him more pain, which she savored, and secondly, to
feel and confirm that she had destroyed a testicle. Before he died,
she wanted to feel completely impotent.
She also stomped on his stomach and ribs. She was pretty sure that a
rib or two had already been broken; and she wanted to make sure that
she had ruptured as many vital organs as possible. She liked the idea
of one of his organs being deformed and crushed under her. She had a
pull-up bar, which was above his body, but instead of doing pull-ups,
she used it to balance herself as she jumped oh his ribcage as if it
were a trampoline. She jumped as high as she could each time, and
tried to time her jumps such that she would land on her heels each
time. Finally, she started hearing and feeling little cracks and pops
underneath her shoes. His ribs were breaking.
He wasn't really screaming very much anymore. With his ribs mostly
broken and both of his lungs at least somewhat punctured, he simply
did not have enough air to scream. He wondered why he wasn't losing
consciousness from the pain, and in his pain-racked insanity, he
seemed to remember something she'd said about giving him drugs the
night before. He really did wish he could die right now. But he still
had a long way to go.
Sarah was enjoying herself immensely. She had now stopped jumping on
him. Instead, she was probing his ribs to see which were broken. When
she had found a broken rib, she would coo in pleasure and cruelly
apply pressure slowly with the toe of her shoe. She would push the
broken rib until she felt a little tear, which indicated the it had
done some further damage to either his lungs or another organ. She
pushed until it wouldn't move anymore, and then she would move to the
next one.
She wished that she could slowly step down on his still-beating
heart. She would love to have his heart under her foot. If she could
do that, she would do it barefoot, she decided. She would let his
poor, dying heart massage the bottoms of her dirty feet as she slowly
applied more and more pressure constricting it. She would crush down
until it would stop, but then she'd ease the pressure just slightly
so that it would start again. She knew that he would be awake during
the whole procedure and she could taunt him. "How about
that," she would say, "I'm breaking your heart. It feels
nice under my heel; it's a good thing I didn't wash my feet after
taking a long walk outside." And finally, while it was still
beating under her ever-increasing pressure, she would hop up on the
one foot that was on the heart to feel it burst underneath her. That
would be so ideal, she decided. But that was beyond the extent of
even her powers, she realized. Still, she was having a lot of fun;
and t
his was a reasonable facsimile. Besides, she would soon have his
soul and crushing that continuously would make her so happy. Revenge
was sweet; although she knew that this really wasn't a fair revenge.
He hadn't really hurt her nearly as much as she would hurt him. And
she would torment him eternally. Once he was dead, tortured slowly
until he died, she would own his soul, and she had already decided
that his essence would be made into the insoles of whichever shoes
she was wearing at the time. Sometimes, she might even turn him into
a tampon to further humiliate him, but for the most part, he would
comfort the soles of her feet as she lived her life. And her life
would be extended indefinitely, because the power of her torment over
his soul would directly result in an eternal life for her. And she
deserved it.
It would be over soon. She was a little surprised at how
fragile a
human body could be. She stomped on his face so many times that she
lost track; and she could feel his skull crack several times. But
that's not how he would die. She put the heel of her right maryjane
on his throat and stepped up on his already crushed larynx. She
pulled her left foot out of the maryjane and wondered if she should
get blood on her bare heel. Then she thought of something.
'You know, I have really gone overboard. I did want to hurt you. I
even meant to scare you into thinking I would kill you; but maybe I
went too far. I have been really mad at you for years now, but this
would be crazy . . .'
Of course, she was still standing on his throat; his tenuous grip on
life and breath was being crushed under Sarah's beautiful heel. How
could she do this? Why did he feel like he deserved this? Now he was
going to die, but wait, what was she saying?
'I can see you're losing consciousness. You probably think I'm insane
and you can't pay attention very well. I'll tell you again what I was
saying before. I need you to promise this will go unreported. I need
to know that you'll never tell anybody what happened here, or else I
really will have to kill you. Before you pass out, kiss my heel. If
you don't, I'll take it as a 'no'. If you do, I'll let you live. I
can't step off until you decide; without this pressure you may think
I've gone soft on you, that I'd let you go either way. But I won't.
Right now, I need you to swear on your life, for your life.'
And with his last strength, he kissed the heel that rested on his
bloodied lips. Even with all his pain, he noticed the sting of the
salty skin against his cuts. He was in such a delirium that this one
insignificant action took on grand proportions. As his life left his
body, he was still trying to make the kiss seem convincing enough.
She felt him die; and she laughed. Even after all she'd done to him,
she still managed to get one last willing act of groveling
subservience. His torn lips had felt electric against her dirty heel.
She was still standing on his throat, and she shoved her now
blood-stained bare heel into his mouth much further than a living
functioning jaw would allow.
It did nothing for her, he was somewhere else now.
Her other foot: the one still wearing the shoe. From the base of her
sole, she could feel that same exhilarating feeling she had felt as
he was kissing her foot emanating. It felt so wonderful, it was
better than anything she could have imagined. She only bothered to
hastily rub her foot on his shirt to get the blood off in her hurry
to get her left foot back into the shoe. Oh god, this feels so good,
she thought.
To her amazement, the body she was still standing on seemed to sink
into the floor. In a few seconds, she was by herself in the room. The
blood was gone, even his clothes had disappeared. It was as if he had
never existed.
The feeling under her feet was indescribable. It was dynamic, it
responded with what she imagined must be the mirror-image of his
agony with every movement she made. As she walked, she would feel
varying waves of joy and confidence corresponding with the amount of
pressure she exerted on each foot. She wondered what he must have
felt. Her curiosity wasn't purely academic, of course. She did hope
that he was suffering for her pleasure. After all, if she could have
had the same feeling without hurting him, she might have opted for
it; but she had the distinct impression that it wouldn't have been
nearly as enjoyable.
-----------------------------------------
It was hell. This must be hell he thought, what else can it be? He
remembered what she had told him and everything he felt seemed to
correspond. It seemed as if there were two of him, but they were both
one. He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around that idea. And to be
honest, he wasn't concerned with the metaphysics of the situation
nearly as much as the sheer torture of it. He felt like he was
choking. He could still feel the pressure of her weight on his
throat, but it seemed to have amplified exponentially. His ruptured
organs felt as if they now each had live nerve endings to bring him
news of their new deformity. Every one of his senses seemed to be
spread over the same area.
The taste attacked his “tongue†from every direction. He could taste
the various different flavors under different parts of her feet. Her
pretty purple painted toes scrunched along his surface and he could
taste the dirt under the slightly roughened skin of her big toes.
Bits of grime were rubbing off onto his tongue and being absorbed
into him, and he could taste every iota of filth that was being
ground into him.
His “eyes†seemed to be everywhere. It felt like there was direct
scraping pressure on his eyeballs. It seemed as if they had grown and
were literally the ground underneath her rough and merciless feet.
Every step she took allowed him to see her foot lift off him
slightly, it seemed his night vision had improved. He was worried
about the bright light when she took off her shoes. But he was much,
much more worried about the immediate pressure of these gorgeous feet
on his eyes! The pain elicited howls of anguish every step, but
nobody would hear them.
The worst of it was his sense of touch. He could feel that his body
had become soft and yielding, as if he had no bones. He had no idea
what he looked like, but he felt like he may have been turned into
something resembling a gel insole. The nature of his substance was
that he would always be crushed at every point of her gait along some
portion of his body. And since his body was now mostly uniform, that
meant that there was enough variation of location to keep the pain
fresh, but an amazing amount of traveling pain at each location. To
his horror, she seemed to not treat him like anything other than an
insole. When she was sitting or standing still, she shuffled her feet
or scrunched her toes just like any other girl would, but it seemed
that she would not even pay him enough attention to torture him. To
her, he was always supplying enough anti-anguish to leave him
ignored.
It seemed he could isolate the variety of different scents underneath
her feet depending on what she may have stepped in or where she had
sweated the most. To be honest, this was the least torturous of his
conditions. When she wasn't walking, he would focus his attention
slowly over different parts of her beautiful feet and memorize each
slightly different scent. It was all he could do to try and remain
sane, but he wondered why he bothered.
-----------------------------------------
This is how he spent his time. These were his sensations. She, of
course, lived the life of an ordinary college girl, and later
graduated and became quite a successful lawyer. For the most part, he
was her insole and doomed to extreme cold, dry loneliness while she
was sleeping and burning torturous hell while she used his body.
There were a few occasions that she used him for other purposes,
mostly when she was mad about somebody else. But those are other
stories.
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