Ste Letto
11-02-2003, 2:53 PM
Part 14
While Mark remained unconscious, nurse Gena came in and neatly cauterised his ruptured testicles. The intense burning pain woke Mark to full consciousness. He started to scream, making Margaret grimace and shake her head in annoyance. She stepped round his body to stand by his head, smiled down at her agonised husband, and placed her booted toe on the pedal of his mouth hinge. "This'll shut you up," she said, in what sounded like a low growl, before pressing her toes down hard and wrenching his jaw open. Mark's agony increased, as his straining jaw sang out its own song of pain.
Margaret sat down, looked into her husband's pain filled eyes and smiled. "I think there's a little job you can do for me," she said with mock sweetness. Mark could do nothing but lie motionless and in agony as his wife removed her boots and socks to reveal perfect white feet with cherry red nails. Margaret looked at her feet and tut tutted loudly. "These boots just make my little feet so sweaty it's ridiculous." She planted the soles of her feet onto Mark's face. "You wouldn't mind cleaning them for me would you?" Mark could do nothing. He tried to look imploringly into her eyes. Margaret just smiled, "Thankyou darling!" she said laughing. Margaret moved her left foot down to press against Mark's shoulder. Her right foot came up to hover just above his face. Mark's field of vision was filled with the sole and toes of Margaret's right foot.
She decided to show him how totally helpless he was. She knew he was anticipating her simply forcing her foot into his mouth, so before inserting her toes into his mouth she began to caress his face with them. Mark watched, his nostrils assailed by his wife's acrid foot scent, as her toes brushed across his forehead, his eyes, his cheekbones, his nose and his lips. She scuffed and rubbed his facial features with her heel, her sole and her toes. Mark's eyes closed. He seemed to be going into some kind of trance. Margaret brought her left foot to bear as well. She pressed her heels to his jaw, and tapped his face with her soles. Mark shuddered inside. He was a thing, a toy, an inert object open to abuse. Margaret began slapping her soles against his face, laughing to hear the loud smacking sounds. This went one for half an hour.
On a whim, Margaret slid her right foot into Mark's washbasin mouth. She felt his saliva slooshing around her hot toes and sole. Those toes wiggled in delight as the sweat, dirt, grime, toejam and skin came away. Mark swallowed the liquid soup down helplessly. Margaret moved her foot forward and back, forward and back, using the teeth of his lower jaw to scrape away the dead skin. Mark gulped, swallowed and desparately tried to avoid drowning. Margaret rammed her foot as far and as deep into Mark's mouth. She concentrated on covering his windpipe. Mark tried to breathe, but couldn't. He tried again. His head buzzed. His chest ached and burned. He began to grow faint. Margaret smiled to see his red face. She drew her toes back a fraction. Mark swallowed his saliva, then gulped in air. He gasped and gasped.
She withdrew her right foot from his mouth, and slid her left foot in instead. Mark tried to ignore the taste, the feel, the vision, the knowledge of what his wife was making him do. It made no difference. Margaret's toes wiggled and played in her living footbath.
Finally she was satisfied, and both feet were back in their boots. Tiffany took Margaret's place. Soon her right foot was in his mouth, wiggling and playing. "Dabstar industries has bought its own haulage firm." She told him. "With an all female staff. Gemma works for me now. Isn't that nice. She ruins your body when she runs into you, ruins it more when she tramples you, and now she works for me." Mark didn't know what to think. "I offered her a management position but she told me she prefers the open road, the long haul you might say. So I've decided you're gonna be her cabmate." Mark shuddered inside. "This is your last night here. By this time tomorrow you're gonna be installed in her cab, ready to serve her feet or the feet of whoever's there 24 hours a day." Tiffany spent half an hour having her feet cleaned. "Thankyou Mark," she said saucily when she was finally satisfied.
Some time later Dr Chambers came into the room, looking stunning in black calf length boots, black tights, a short black skirt and a white silk blouse. She carried a hypodermic needle. "Hi Mark, time for your pre-op" she announced gaily. Mark felt he was going insane. Dr Chambers bent down and inserted the needle into his arm. Mark's eyes swivelled to watch her depress the plunger. Then he passed into oblivion.
Mark awoke suddenly. He couldn't understand what he was seeing. The scene before him was dimly lit. Above, and behind his head there were three pedals. In front of him, and to his left he saw a gear lever. From his right hand side he felt a change of pressure and a rush of cool air. He heard boots on metal steps, a grunt, then a chuckle. He heard a groan of springs. Suddenly the world swam into order. Gemma's voice came to him. "Well hello there Marky boy. Are you ready to get on the road?" Mark saw jeans clad legs, he saw cowboy boots and he heard the sound of the truck's engine coming to life. The booted feet worked the pedals, and for a time Mark was simply left to watch Gemma driving.
When they pulled onto the interstate Gemma said, "Now the fun can begin!" With her right foot on the accelerator pedal, she worked off her left boot and tossed it aside. Mark knew what was coming, but as usual there was simply nothing he could do. Gemma slid her knobbly toes into his mouth. They were soaked in dirt, grease, sweat and ground in grime. They were the worst he had ever tasted. "Ahh," she sighed, "that feels good." Her toes slooshed and swirled in Mark's mouth. The road passed by under the truck's wheels, time passed, and Mark served Gemma's feet. Sometimes her toes choked him, sometimes her sole rested on his face.
They pulled into a truckstop and Mark was left alone for an hour. When Gemma returned, and they were back on the road, it was her right foot he was made to serve. The sharp toenails cut his soft cheeks as her her foot roughly sbused his mouth. Time stretched. Time became meaningless. Mark stopped thinking and just experienced. He became what he was, a thing, a part of the truck, a part of the floor. He stopped being human and became an it, without a will. He became a nothing.
And that is where he remains. Set into the floor of Gemma's cab. Occasionally other female drivers use him, but Mark serves them in the same way. He has no choice. That is where he will stay until he dies, years, and years and years from now.
The End
While Mark remained unconscious, nurse Gena came in and neatly cauterised his ruptured testicles. The intense burning pain woke Mark to full consciousness. He started to scream, making Margaret grimace and shake her head in annoyance. She stepped round his body to stand by his head, smiled down at her agonised husband, and placed her booted toe on the pedal of his mouth hinge. "This'll shut you up," she said, in what sounded like a low growl, before pressing her toes down hard and wrenching his jaw open. Mark's agony increased, as his straining jaw sang out its own song of pain.
Margaret sat down, looked into her husband's pain filled eyes and smiled. "I think there's a little job you can do for me," she said with mock sweetness. Mark could do nothing but lie motionless and in agony as his wife removed her boots and socks to reveal perfect white feet with cherry red nails. Margaret looked at her feet and tut tutted loudly. "These boots just make my little feet so sweaty it's ridiculous." She planted the soles of her feet onto Mark's face. "You wouldn't mind cleaning them for me would you?" Mark could do nothing. He tried to look imploringly into her eyes. Margaret just smiled, "Thankyou darling!" she said laughing. Margaret moved her left foot down to press against Mark's shoulder. Her right foot came up to hover just above his face. Mark's field of vision was filled with the sole and toes of Margaret's right foot.
She decided to show him how totally helpless he was. She knew he was anticipating her simply forcing her foot into his mouth, so before inserting her toes into his mouth she began to caress his face with them. Mark watched, his nostrils assailed by his wife's acrid foot scent, as her toes brushed across his forehead, his eyes, his cheekbones, his nose and his lips. She scuffed and rubbed his facial features with her heel, her sole and her toes. Mark's eyes closed. He seemed to be going into some kind of trance. Margaret brought her left foot to bear as well. She pressed her heels to his jaw, and tapped his face with her soles. Mark shuddered inside. He was a thing, a toy, an inert object open to abuse. Margaret began slapping her soles against his face, laughing to hear the loud smacking sounds. This went one for half an hour.
On a whim, Margaret slid her right foot into Mark's washbasin mouth. She felt his saliva slooshing around her hot toes and sole. Those toes wiggled in delight as the sweat, dirt, grime, toejam and skin came away. Mark swallowed the liquid soup down helplessly. Margaret moved her foot forward and back, forward and back, using the teeth of his lower jaw to scrape away the dead skin. Mark gulped, swallowed and desparately tried to avoid drowning. Margaret rammed her foot as far and as deep into Mark's mouth. She concentrated on covering his windpipe. Mark tried to breathe, but couldn't. He tried again. His head buzzed. His chest ached and burned. He began to grow faint. Margaret smiled to see his red face. She drew her toes back a fraction. Mark swallowed his saliva, then gulped in air. He gasped and gasped.
She withdrew her right foot from his mouth, and slid her left foot in instead. Mark tried to ignore the taste, the feel, the vision, the knowledge of what his wife was making him do. It made no difference. Margaret's toes wiggled and played in her living footbath.
Finally she was satisfied, and both feet were back in their boots. Tiffany took Margaret's place. Soon her right foot was in his mouth, wiggling and playing. "Dabstar industries has bought its own haulage firm." She told him. "With an all female staff. Gemma works for me now. Isn't that nice. She ruins your body when she runs into you, ruins it more when she tramples you, and now she works for me." Mark didn't know what to think. "I offered her a management position but she told me she prefers the open road, the long haul you might say. So I've decided you're gonna be her cabmate." Mark shuddered inside. "This is your last night here. By this time tomorrow you're gonna be installed in her cab, ready to serve her feet or the feet of whoever's there 24 hours a day." Tiffany spent half an hour having her feet cleaned. "Thankyou Mark," she said saucily when she was finally satisfied.
Some time later Dr Chambers came into the room, looking stunning in black calf length boots, black tights, a short black skirt and a white silk blouse. She carried a hypodermic needle. "Hi Mark, time for your pre-op" she announced gaily. Mark felt he was going insane. Dr Chambers bent down and inserted the needle into his arm. Mark's eyes swivelled to watch her depress the plunger. Then he passed into oblivion.
Mark awoke suddenly. He couldn't understand what he was seeing. The scene before him was dimly lit. Above, and behind his head there were three pedals. In front of him, and to his left he saw a gear lever. From his right hand side he felt a change of pressure and a rush of cool air. He heard boots on metal steps, a grunt, then a chuckle. He heard a groan of springs. Suddenly the world swam into order. Gemma's voice came to him. "Well hello there Marky boy. Are you ready to get on the road?" Mark saw jeans clad legs, he saw cowboy boots and he heard the sound of the truck's engine coming to life. The booted feet worked the pedals, and for a time Mark was simply left to watch Gemma driving.
When they pulled onto the interstate Gemma said, "Now the fun can begin!" With her right foot on the accelerator pedal, she worked off her left boot and tossed it aside. Mark knew what was coming, but as usual there was simply nothing he could do. Gemma slid her knobbly toes into his mouth. They were soaked in dirt, grease, sweat and ground in grime. They were the worst he had ever tasted. "Ahh," she sighed, "that feels good." Her toes slooshed and swirled in Mark's mouth. The road passed by under the truck's wheels, time passed, and Mark served Gemma's feet. Sometimes her toes choked him, sometimes her sole rested on his face.
They pulled into a truckstop and Mark was left alone for an hour. When Gemma returned, and they were back on the road, it was her right foot he was made to serve. The sharp toenails cut his soft cheeks as her her foot roughly sbused his mouth. Time stretched. Time became meaningless. Mark stopped thinking and just experienced. He became what he was, a thing, a part of the truck, a part of the floor. He stopped being human and became an it, without a will. He became a nothing.
And that is where he remains. Set into the floor of Gemma's cab. Occasionally other female drivers use him, but Mark serves them in the same way. He has no choice. That is where he will stay until he dies, years, and years and years from now.
The End