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View Full Version : Fiction: Brenda Baker's Break Time Foot Slave



zanoah
03-03-2012, 12:25 PM
This is a work of fiction.



I was sitting in the employee lounge on my lunch break today eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when Brenda Baker came in. Everyone at work knows who Brenda is, but in case you don't know, she's kind of a big deal. At least she thinks she is. And she's probably right.

She's been working at the store for six years now, starting out as a cosmetics stocker and working her way up to department manager of cosmetics, which means that she oversees the three or four stockers that work in her department. But she bosses around practically everyone in the store, even the assistant managers—who are above her. On any given day she'll start in cosmetics and work her way over to the neighboring jewelry department to give those girls a piece of her mind, and then wander into toys and tell them what to put on the shelves and what to keep in the back, before finally making her way back to pets and demand that they stop selling live fish because the fish tanks stinks and she can smell it all the way from cosmetics.

Now if you have a mental image of some cranky old woman who's packing a few too many pounds and wears too much make-up to cover up her baggy eyelids and frown lines, then you would be dead wrong. For all her complaining and hollering and knit-picking, Brenda Baker is by far the most attractive woman working at our store. And not because all the other women are dogs, but because she is super hot. I mean, like, really super hot. The first time I saw her, I cried, and so did my penis. She gets a least one bouquet of flowers a day from some random customer—usually from some pervy, old man—and then a thousand cheesy and mildly-to-very-inappropriate compliments on top of that. She always smells like sunshine and glows like a rainbow. She's petite and well-postured, young and yet fully mature. To try to describe her appearance any further would be a crime against humanity—for making people feel like animals by comparison to her. She's really something.

Anyway, I was sitting in the employee lounge eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich when she walks in and takes her lunch out of the refrigerator, which is just a Tab soda because she never eats anything and never poops. Then she goes to sit down in her usual spot, which at that moment was occupied by Joe the janitor, but he quickly relocated to another seat at the first sight of her unforgiving glare. She daintily wipes the chair off with her bare hand and then sits down with her legs crossed and sighs deeply, looking around the room for the person foolish enough to make eye-contact with her. Today that person was Howard. He looked up from his egg-salad sandwich just long enough to lock eyes with her—and she had some amazing eyes that would blow your mind if you stared into them for too long because they were so amazing—and that slow and sadistic grin eased its way across her face, and she looked down into her Tab soda and said, "My feet are so tired today." Then she looked back at Howard, who by now had realized the gravity of his mistake and was starting to shake in his seat, and continued, "I wish there was someone here to LICK them." She giggled one of those giggles that could summon a herd of unicorns from another dimension to fly to earth and do her bidding, and then she motioned with "the Finger" for Howard to come over to her.

Now when Brenda motioned at you with the Finger, her right index finger to be exact, that meant that you drop whatever it is you were doing—because it could never in a thousand years be nearly as important as what Brenda wanted you do to do—and immediately come to her for further instructions. Not a person in that store could resist nor ever dared to resist the power of the Finger, and Howard was no exception.

Howard was in his sixties and was a pushover, doing pretty much what anyone told him to do without question. So he was absolutely no match for the cunning and cruel mind of Brenda Baker. As if in a trance, he carefully laid his sandwich down on the table, rose up creaking and crackling from his chair, and slowly marched across the room to where Brenda was sitting behind a long plastic table. Howard sat down across from her and stared silently, waiting for her orders, which he knew would be nothing short of utterly humiliating. But Brenda didn't say a word. She just sat back in her chair and sipped her Tab soda as if Howard wasn't even there. Of course, Howard was powerless to leave, to go back to his chair and finish that sandwich that his wife Barbara had made very early that morning. He had no choice but to surrender to her all-powerful eyes, to submit to their unquestionable authority and wait for them to release him back to his pathetic life.

After about five minutes of sadistic silence Brenda whispered, “Hi, Howard. You want to lick my shoes?” Howard nodded quickly and licked his lips to show that he was ready. Brenda scooted back from the table a little bit put both feet up in front of Howard's sweaty face, crossing the right foot over the left at the ankles. She was wearing a well-worn pair of black, non-skid sneakers, without socks. Near the heel of the right shoe there was a splotch of pink gum stuck to the sole, and it looked like it had been there for a while. “It's the damnedest thing,” Brenda started. “I was coming into the store last week and I stepped in some gum in the parking lot. I was wondering, Howard, if you could get that out of there for me?” Howard meekly started to peck at the gum with his old, fat fingers, but Brenda suddenly slapped his hand and gave him a dead stare. “Not with your fingers, silly, with your TONGUE!” she giggled, sticking her cute little tongue out and licking the air as an example. Her voice was light and sweet, but her eyes were cold and black as night. Howard pulled his hand away and put it under the table as he gently leaned forward and strained his tongue toward her gum-clad sole, licking from the bottom of the heel to halfway up the sole. Brenda burst out laughing, almost spilling her soda. “I can't believe you just did that! You just licked my shoe. What a pathetic loser! Do you really have nothing better to do on your break than sit around here and lick your coworkers' shoes? Should we all just form a line and you can lick up all the nasty crap we step in? You are so pathetic. If I were you—and thank God I'm not—I'd go home tonight and kill myself. You know, just get it over with. What a fucking loser!”

Now Howard was on the verge of tears, and who wouldn't be after what Brenda just put him through. But he dared not cry in front of her. That would only feed her sadistic soul.

Howard had just recoiled his now soiled tongue into his mouth when Brenda stopped laughing, leaned forward, and slapped him hard across the face. “I'm not done with you yet,” she hissed. She switched over to a sweet-moaning tone, and asked, “Baby, do you mind taking off my shoes and rubbing my poor, achy feet?” Howard quickly untied her shoes and slipped the right one off, then the left one, and put them on the table facing him beside her bare feet. The smell was overpowering. Earlier I said that she always smells like sunshine—and she does, always—but her feet smell like they've been out in the sun all day, always. It's a damp, moldy, musty smell, and now it's all over Howard's face, and there's absolutely nowhere he can go to escape it. He has to inhale it, embrace it, and love it, and he does love it. Not because he has a foot fetish, which I'm pretty sure he doesn't. But because there's something about Brenda Baker that makes you love everything about her and everything she does to you, no matter how horrible and humiliating it may be. You almost want her to do it, like you crave it, like you need it. And right now Howard needed to be at Brenda's smelly bare feet in front of all his coworkers. He started to rub the right foot with his rough, well-worn hands, kneading her soft and moist sole. But she stopped him with the Finger, waving it slowly side to side as her cold eyes froze him with fear. Again with a sweet voice she said, “Not with your hands, baby, but with your nose.” Howard instantly felt his head being drawn to her right foot, tilting back a little so as to make his large nose stick out as far as possible. As soon as the tip of his nose docked with her sole, the full force of her foot scent flooded his brain and rendered him a zombie, unaware of what was happening and unable to control himself. After waiting a few seconds for him to move his head, Brenda leaned forward and grabbed the tufts of hair on either side of his balding head and began to run her foot with his face. “Yeah, really dig that Jew nose down in there,” she moaned, rolling her eyes back and grinning from ear to ear. While all of this is happening, no one is looking at Brenda. We all know better than that. We just eat our food and listen fearfully, hoping that our number is called and praying that we can just go back to work already and forget that such a wicked force of nature exists at all.

“Now the other foot,” Brenda says, uncrossing her ankles and rubbing Howard's more-or-less unconscious nose up and down her left foot and around and in between her toes, variably wiping excess sweat on his cheeks and the only remaining patch of hair on his wrinkled forehead. Finally she tires of him and throws his head backward, which unfortunately for Howard means that his whole body goes backward out of the chair and onto the cold and unforgiving concrete floor of the lounge. Blood starts pouring out of his nose and ears, but no one gets up to help him. No one dares resurrect what Brenda Baker has killed.

“Thanks, Howard!” she giggles, putting her sneakers back on and slurping down the rest of her Tab soda. She bounces up out of the chair, throws the empty can into the garbage bin instead of the recycle bin, and skips out of the lounge back into the store, where she soon finds her next victim.

Adam X
03-03-2012, 12:55 PM
More please...she has the makings of an ungodly awesome recurring character.

neha
03-03-2012, 03:06 PM
Wonderful start. hope there is more..