The Cheese Dome - another story inspired by Coxbones art.

Ste Letto

Active Member
Aug 28, 2002
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Cheese Dome

In an upper Manhattan apartment evening sunlight shines through open windows onto a hard wood floor. Pale curtains billow in a cool breeze.

Andrew Langdon lies helpless on the floor. He cannot get up. He has a large, transparent, solidly made plastic dome over his upper torso. He has a strip of duct tape sealing his lips.

The dome has openings for his hands to protrude through. Andrew is immobilised, held down by straps at his wrists, his upper arms, his chest, his belly, his thighs, his ankles and his head.
A broad strap across his forehead prevents him from turning or lifting his bald head. There are two holes in the upper part of the dome.

40 year old Valerie Carpenter is sitting on a leather chair. The dome is positioned just in front of her. Andrew's legs extend below her seat. Valerie has her bare legs inserted through the openings in the top of the dome. The attractive waitress with dyed blonde hair is wearing a sleeveless top and cutoff denim shorts. Her toenails are painted a very dark red. She was, until 30 minutes ago, wearing well worn cowboy boots. She wears these every day at work. She bought them off a friend who's had them for 3 years. These black leather, low heeled, sweat inducing boots now stand discarded to the left of Valerie's seat.

She has large, size 8 feet. She has planted the wet and wrinkled soles of those feet firmly, insistently, inescapably on Andrew's upturned face. She has not washed her feet for several days. She has sock lint between her toes and pressed into her soft soles as she sleeps in black socks every night.

Her foot scent is obnoxious. It fills the dome. It fills Andrew's nostrils. It humiliates her victim. Her feet are slick with a layer of perspiration. This coats Andrew's face. It seeps into his nostrils. It burns his eyes. It trickles down his throat. He has been robbed of any dignity. He is an object, a thing.

Valerie is reading. She has a large, dog eared paperback novel in her hand. It is a horror novel by Stephen King. Valerie likes horror novels.
As she concentrates on the book she presses down with her left heel, grinding it against Andrew's jaw. This lifts the ball of her left foot just enough that Andrew gets a little light in his eye. Valerie's chunky toes are also raised from the trapped man's face. She holds this position for several seconds, unaware, unthinking, before lowering the ball of her foot and laying her toes back onto Andrew's waiting forehead.
It is hot inside the dome. It is humid inside the dome. Condensation forms on the inside of the dome. Time crawls by for Andrew.
Valerie turns the page of her book. Absorbed by a growing tension and fear in the story she jams both feet down, hard, against Andrew's face. She momentarily squeezes his nostrils shut. Andrew can't breathe. Her feet maintain their deadly pressure. Seconds pass. Andrew starts to panic. His heart hammers. His head swims.

Valerie's feet relax a little, just enough that Andrew can drag in a breath. The air is hot, humid and suffused with the smell of her feet. Valerie pauses in her reading. She looks down at Andrew. She is amused. She does not know him. She has never met him.
She plays over in her mind how she got here today. All she knows is that there was a woman who called herself Debra who was eating in the diner where Valerie works. Debra said she'd noticed Valerie as she moved around. Debra had called her over and started a conversation. During the conversation Debra had told her about a man who'd done her wrong. She explained that the man hated women and hated feet and offered to pay Valerie $100.00 for 2 hours abusing the man with her feet.

Debra had shown the incredulous Valerie a video on her phone of Debra herself, then several other women, forcing Andrew to serve their feet in the "Cheese Dome" as she called it.
Valerie, needing money and believing what Debra said had happily agreed.
She did not know that Andrew was innocent. He hadn't done Debra wrong and he didn't hate women. He did, however, hate women's feet. He hated the look of them and the smell of them, which was why Debra had picked him.

Valerie began raising and lowering her greasy feet as if she were marching on Andrew's face. She took up her book again. She began slapping Andrew's face with her big, powerful foot soles. She redenned his cheeks. She bruised his eyes. She smiled and returned her attention to her book as time ticked slowly by.