Slave Footstool Novels & Stories

With what was left of my energy, I made my way towards a seemingly vacant table not too far from where I was standing. Settling down on the chair, I slid off the torturous four-inch stilettos and began to massage my feet one by one. They were redder than a baboon’s butt and oedematous. I don’t understand who had invented heels in the first place. It must have been a man because there was no way a woman would think of punishing herself this way. It was unimaginable to me.

What he could see at the end of it? The two stepped down on the wooden banister, an open newel staircase where steps were 19 in total. The riser height was 45 degrees and there was a landing at 180 degrees. It was nearly steep because the tread was slippery. Although, it could not be noticed easily from the type of shoes the servers usually wore when they were out of service. The eight inch feet of Ryuu reached the first floor. The dark wood floor had done great care daily.

“Stay here, I will be right back.” Without waiting for her response, I rushed off to the nearest shoe store. It didn’t take long for me to find something that would allow her to walk and run freely, without hurting her feet. I ended up choosing a pair of white flats, with a silver logo design on the side. They were simple but cute.

He knelt in front of her like Prince Charming with a glass slipper, only the slipper was a heavy-duty, black tactical boot with aggressive tread. "Try this," he said, sliding it onto her foot. It felt heavy, but solid. Indestructible. "It feels like I could kick a door down," Leela said wiggling her toes. They bought the boots. Then the sneakers (two pairs, per Elana's orders). Then the house slippers.

she informed her. "I won't take long. A cashier down at the grocery store said that you guys might carry socks? I need them for the motel floor. Don't wanna catch athlete's foot, ya know?" she joked, trying to sound as charming as possible. The girl folded her arms across the countertop, "No socks, but we have house slippers." She pointed to a shelf across the room. Jade's eyes followed the direction of her finger and spotted the display of fluffy grey shoes lined across a shelf.

"You can take my wedge, too. It goes with anything." I went inside her closet and looked through her shoes. She's got like a dozen pairs with her. She had heels, stilettoes, wedges, boots, heeled boots, flats, and every kind of shoes there is. I took the plainest one which was at least two inches tall. I clearly need this since I'm at a height disadvantage.

Based on that little bit of memory she had in her head, the way Ruth washed her future mother-in-law's feet seemed quite professional. "Missus Poole, your heels should be massaged with thumbs, so that bone spurs will not easily grow. Also, there are plenty of points at the sole of your foot to help you relax. I will massage them all for you. Lean your head back and put your feet on me here. Yes, yes, just like that. Missus Poole, if you think it hurts, I can exert less force. If you can still withstand it, then I will use more force. Missus Pooled, how do you feel now?"

“This one.” Lily smiled, already making notes. “Shoes?” I walked toward the display table. Heels used to be an easy decision. Now, they felt like a negotiation between vanity and survival. “I need height,” I said, “but I also need to make it through three hours without wanting to cry.” She pulled out a pair of silver heels that were strappy, elegant, but with a thicker heel for support. I slipped one on and stood up. It was comfortable. “Approved,” I said.

Angelo tried to bargain. “Yes,” the calm maid said as she rummaged the shoe boxes. When she found what she was looking for, she presented it to their young master’s wife. “What do you think of this?” The sandal that; was presented was a 3-inch cold blue pointed-toe pump heels. When Angelo saw the pump heels, he mentally applauded the calm and kindhearted twin for her sense of style.

I told him in the mildest tone, contradicting the spilled out words that were seeking to have his heart spilled in an unsuspecting ask. My heels were killing me, the points of the stilettos stabbing into my flesh, making every step a Herculean task. I could not stand it anymore; my feet hurt too much, so I wanted to sit down. A chair was brought to me-a delightfully plain one, with cool lines, it seemed, out of nowhere. I sank gratefully into it, a rush of relief flooding through me as the weight from my feet dissipated. It creaked softly, the sound spilling through the room like a soft whisper.