Foot Slave Story Novels & Stories

You'll be sorry if Wren and I miss the bonfire festival in Xenas. A squishy noise sounded as he kicked the sack, and his shoe sank into something disturbingly soft and sticky. Startled, he yelped and yanked his foot back in horror.

Ford’s previous question needed to be repeated, “How did you- You’ve never-I didn’t-“ I will explain. Start running back. They will soon realize you are not here. Ford started his way back barefoot, not even grabbing his debouched and shredded shoe’s. They weren’t any use now, they’d have to be left behind. His steps were faulting, rocks and sticks hurting the pads of his feet as he tried to maneuver around them.

But instead of being his slave, I became his wife's, Lady Candice of Bluestoria, slave! Here I am walking, once again not paying attention to where I am going, and suddenly, I slip, falling on the frozen icicles. "Ouch! That hurts!" I say to him as I look down to see my ankle bleeding from the icicle leaves that grazed my leg when I slipped. I bend down and press my fingers into the cut to stop it from bleeding. Once it is contained, I get up and continue to walk and tell my story. LD

I called, stomping my foot in frustration. She didn’t even look back; instead, I felt a sharp pain shoot through the sole of my feet. “Ouch—” I shrieked, glancing down, only then noticing the blood pooling beneath my feet. My flip-flops had slipped off when she shoved me, and I had stepped straight onto the broken glass. The sting dulled quickly, numbness creeping in where pain should have been. But even that barely registered. I was still reeling from what had just happened.

He watched Vanessa walk by, his stiff stance softening. A beat passed before the men glanced at her again and shook their heads in disbelief before getting back to work. I let out a slow breath. That was close. The danger had passed for now, but I still hurried into the pack house, being careful where I stepped. But, I wasn’t careful enough. My foot had caught on the edge of my sneaker as I twisted awkwardly. I stumbled forward, barely catching myself but in that second my shoe slid free. And the instant it was gone from my body, it was there.

"Do I have to have any other reason?" "You hiked all the way over to the house in that...what is that thing on your foot, anyway?" "It's a boot. I shattered my tibia," I say. "Should I ask what you were doing?" "What do you think I was doing?" The edges of her mouth turn up in a half-smile. "I would say you were pulling some riding stunt, but it's far more likely that you broke yourself in some kind of scandalous sexcapade." I reach between my legs to grab my crotch. "Well, it's a damn good thing that what's important survived," I say, wiggling my eyebrows.

The hole in the right one let in cold air every time I stepped into a puddle. By the time I finished cleaning the first floor, my feet were killing me. I was mopping the main hallway when it happened. I stepped backward to rinse my mop, and the sole of my left boot finally gave up completely. It separated from the upper part with a wet tearing sound, leaving me standing in a puddle with my sock exposed. "Perfect," I said to the empty hallway. I tried to keep working, but walking with one boot that was basically falling off my foot was impossible. The sole flapped with every step, and water seeped through immediately.

He crashed into the shoe cabinet behind him. "Some penniless nobody like you dares step foot in Mr. Carlson's mansion? Look at how poor you are. Do you think you're worthy of being his father-in-law?" Jennifer sneered, her voice full of contempt. My father-in-law groaned in pain, the color draining from his face. I rushed to his side and frantically called out to the household staff for help.

Navigating the basement was proving harder than she would have imagined, especially considering the two handicaps they saddled her with to start this little fantasy game of theirs. "How did I let them talk me into this stupid game," the Queen announced almost angrily as she crossed the basement hurrying as best she could despite handicap number one which was the white satin platform sandals with their nearly five inch stiletto heels. These had been her wedding night shoes, and quite lovely, but not at all practical, especially for the game they were playing. The shoes combined with handicap number two--the flute full of champagne they made her drink at the start--was definitely making quick

The heel of one shoe had come off. The first step forward was equal to walking on pins and needles dipped in fire. I grabbed the passenger door for support to keep from tripping. I might have sprained my ankle. These designer shoes were trash. Most of them were fake shit slapped with a high amount. I toed off the broken shoe and tried to walk on the same leg, hissing out in pain. “Beth?” “I’m fine.” Not really.