Fighting for his freedom

Francine squinted her eyes as the sudden flood of light blinded her vision momentarily. As she struggled to get to her feet, she felt a sudden loss of control in her lower limbs, as if the nerves to her feet had just been severed completely.

Yet, she remain standing, facing the aforementioned pair of magic, talking feet that began to make their way over to Francine.

“Looks like we’ve got a stowaway hiding here!”

“Let’s give her a warm Footfair Welcome!”

Almost immediately, Francine’s knees buckled, as she felt a searing pain stretch down her hem strings to her ankles, causing her to scream in pain. Her feet spread their toes as wide as they could, stretching and pushing against the walls of her heels. As her left foot curled and arched itself, a muffled “FREE ME!” could be heard coming from her shoes.

Francine’s eyes teared up as she grimaced from the pain rocketing through her body. “Why? What have I done to deserve this? What has he done to deserve such ****?”

The pair of talking feet just laughed.

“You? Probably just forgot to moisturize every once in a while. Maybe you wear shoes that smell really bad and your feet can’t take it. We don’t really know.” The left foot replied.

“Him, on the other hand, deserves to be punished.” The right foot added on. “This pathetic little bastard right here has been constantly mistreating us feet. He poses, grips and claws at our flesh just to get us in the perfect angle, then once he’s satisfied, he’ll blind us with that stupid little flash.”

“And once he’s done with that, he’ll drown us in baby oil, like the sick freak he is! As we’re gasping for air, he’ll get our owner to scrunch us so tightly just so he can see each and every bloody wrinkle in our soles, then spread even more to get a good “Oily sole” shot, before scrubbing us like a washboard with that disgusting towel of his. It’s no wonder half of his models get athlete’s foot! That damn thing’s got 5 years of foot odor sitting around on it!” The left foot lamented.

Francine’s feet managed to find a less violent approach to getting out of her heel, by curling itself and slipping its toes out from the front of the shoe. Her toes gasped for air as her sole flexed itself.

Francine, on the other hand, had gone from screaming to sobbing as she felt the total loss of control of her legs down. But that feeling of defeat was quickly replaced by pain that turned her vision to a blinding white accompanied by the sound of crunching bone and tearing flesh. Her ankle joint was bending so sharply that pieces of the bone jutted through the skin, as pieces of her bone marrow glistened red under Adam’s spotlight.

“-And don’t forget about those bloody nylon stocking shoots! God! It’s as if HE’s the real pervert behind the camera! Forget about vaginas, I bet this soulless lowlife would rather fuck a pair of feet for the rest of his life than actually learn how to please a woman!” The feet continued to monologue.

“But I guess, this punishment will be our ****.”

“And you’ll have no way to say anything about it to anyone else.”

Francine’s feet began to detach from her legs, chunks of bone and strips of sinew hung loosely over a pool of Francine’s blood . Her **** body was subsequently kicked away by the feet as they walked towards their new master.

“Good girls.” The talking Latino feet crooned.

Adam, throughout this whole debacle, had his eyes firmly plastered to the camera, the model before him shivering in shock as her own feet began to laugh sinisterly.

“I think it’s time we make our move.” The Latino feet said. “Model girl, you’re free to go.” The model’s face lit up, as she hurriedly sat up and felt control over her feet again. But as she stood up, her feet flung her body forward, causing her to crash into a light fixture. She stumbled to her feet, clearly concussed and giddy. Her feet took the lead and marched her out of the studio, leaving Adam and Francine’s limp body behind in the room.

Adam stared at the feet with blank eyes, his head red and bruised from all the kicks to his skull.

“What shall we do to end his misery?” Francine’s feet asked.

“We’ll end this shoot the way we end most of his. Drenched in lotion.” The pair of Latino feet replied.

With that, the two pairs of feet waltzed over to Adam’s cupboard and kicked out all the bottles of lotion, rolling them to Adam’s place.

As Adam finally grasped a sense of what was going on, it was already too late. The feet forcibly plucked out the ball gag before shoving and squeezing the bottles of lotion down his throat. Adam writhed and thrashed, but the feet kicked and hit him.

The only thing stifling Adam’s screams were the walls of his apartment and the buzz of the fluorescent lights around his photo set. But eventually even he succumbed to the constant **** by the feet. As the bubbles subsided, Adam’s lifeless body keeled over, the lotion oozing from his mouth and eyes, a pale blue colour washed over his facial features.

The feet laughed to themselves.

“This camera is useless to us. We’ll find another way to get what we want.”