New World Order

It was a whole new world out there. Just call it the Fourth Reich. That’s what it was, for all practical purposes. The woman who had been elected president had to be the Antichrist. She had, in the space of one year, turned our glorious institution of democracy here in the United States into a completely authoritarian military state. And a woman! One who had professed to support such liberal platforms during her campaign! Before anyone could do a thing, the Empress had seduced the army and solidified her position so as to make it unbreachable. The Vice President and every member of Congress had been forced to kneel down and kiss the self-styled ‘Goddess’’ feet before they were dismissed, and a public display of humiliation. The White House had been transformed into a palace overnight, ‘The Grand Palace of Her Royal Highness’. She proclaimed to her subjects that she was the essence of God on Earth, and would live forever. She was quite mad, but also quite brilliant. A few well-placed nuclear bombs had leveled most of Europe, Asia, Africa, South America and Australia, placed at such strategic locations so as to actually prevent any effective counterattacks. Those pockets of civilization that survived had erupted into anarchistic upheavals, and were now ruled locally by petty warlords. Those that did not pay immediate homage to the one Goddess, however, were eradicated, leaving no trace of their previous existence. Here in America, the patriots fought bravely, but were systematically exterminated. It seems impossible to imagine, but after a short time, the spirit of our once proud country had been broken. No one dared to speak out, for fear of immediate execution. It was the most successful reign of terror in the history of the world. The Goddess gained a stranglehold on every possible resource. Never had such power been wielded by one human being. People actually started to believe in her divinity, and seemed to truly worship at the religious gatherings. There was no escape, no relief. The Goddess wanted, and received, complete submission from the world. Every action on the planet was performed with Her in mind, to her Betterment and Glory. Television broadcasts showed only religious programs describing her perfection, or elaborate and cruel tortures of those deemed to not worship sincerely enough, while in the background Her Sacred Decrees were read endlessly, over and over. The television programs showed her in gold array, on a throne seemingly miles above the nearest terrestrial object, her voice booming over everything, filled with the ultimate control and arrogance. Former men of power were shown lying cringing beneath her feet, lapping at her shoes. The Goddess had come to enjoy foot worship very much, and the broadcasts were filled with sights of unworthy men and women kissing and licking her feet, utterly subjugated, as she leered down at them, grinning sadistically. The Goddess had appointed about 1, 000 storm troopers to share in her reign and to enforce her laws, all women. She allowed them to do as they pleased with the slaves of the country, and to taste some of her power by instilling fear in the people. They were the Mistresses. One of them was Helen Silverton, who ruled over my town, and indeed, most of New Jersey. I was sitting in the grand hall of my appointed temple one day, polishing the floors for my Goddess, when the Mistress entered the temple, followed by her entourage of guards, slaves and others. As the television had instructed me to do when in the presence of a Mistress, I prostrated myself immediately. I heard the clack of her high heels approaching. Then I felt the weight of her shoe on my head, the spike digging into my scalp. “SLAVE. Know that you are in the presence of Perfection.” Her domineering voice echoed in the large Hall. There was tense silence. “Grovel.” I began to whimper. This command from a Mistress usually meant you had fallen into disfavor, and would soon be disposed of. “For the love of our Highest Goddess, oh kind Mistress of all She Surveys, I beg You to spare my pitiful, worthless life.” I was crying, weeping desperately. I hugged the high heel on the floor under my face, clinging to her ankle. “Oh please, ” I whispered, “I don’t want to die! Oh Goddess!” I lay there, sobbing, my cheek on her powerful foot. Something I said had caught the Mistress’ attention. Maybe my groveling had been sincere enough, and she would have mercy. “Look up at me, ” she ordered. I looked up, and she recognized me. “Well, well, well, ” she purred, grinning mischievously. “If it isn’t Scott Taylor, my junior prom date. Hello there, Scott, we meet again under very different circumstances, hmm?” “Hello, Mistress, ” I ventured. “You’re lucky I recognized you. I was about to enjoy torturing you to death.” “Oh, thank you, beautiful and merciful Mistress, ” I breathed. “Isn’t it curious how our fates diverged after high school. I became a political figure who was soon transformed into one of the leaders of the new world, and you have become…my slave.” She let this last phrase ring in my ears pointedly. “Think - we were once equals under the previous system, foolish as it was. We each had rights; in fact, as a man, you may have had even more than me. But now…I have all the rights, and you have none.” She paused. “Is that the way it should be?” “Yes Mistress, yes Mistress!” I fawned. She smiled, and stepped on the back of my bared neck. “Is that really the way you feel, slave?” she sneered. “Yes Mistress!” I groveled, squeezing her ankle in emphasis. “Good, ” she said. “Then you won’t mind at all licking my high heels clean.” “No, Mistress, ” I replied, and got to work. As I ran my wet tongue across the surface of her shoe, I reflected on how this foot worship had pervaded even the consciousnesses of the Goddess’ servants. I supposed that the foot was viewed as the lowest part of the body, and so it was a sign of the ultimate reverence and obedience to have another pay respect to it. But the Goddess and her minions seemed to be preoccupied with it. Could it be a mildly sexual exercise for them? I had heard that the foot could be considered an erogenous zone. I pondered this as I licked up and down her high heels, lapping at the four inch spike, under the arch, and over the entire slick leather surface. Helen had had her servants procure for her a chair, which she was now lounging in, enjoying her shoe cleaning. “Slave, ” she said, “I will now teach you the meaning of the word ‘worship’. Remove my shoes.” I did as I was told. Her feet were strong-looking, and extremely sweaty. It was a hot summer day, and she had been walking for a while. She shoved them in my face, making me absorb the strong acrid smell. “What do you think of them?” “Perfection, ” I moaned. She wiped them on my face roughly. “Lick my feet.” I began by licking the heels, their roundness and saltiness assaulting my senses. Next, her smooth arches. I was salivating for some strange reason, forcing me to practically drink her foot sweat. Then I licked the balls of her feet, their soft pads cushioning my wet tongue. I lapped repeatedly. Then I licked my way up to her toes, cleaning them thoroughly. I kissed and suckled them, as well, licking between her toes to remove the toe cheese. Finally, I ran my tongue along the side and up onto the tops in symbolic adoration. Her toenails were painted red, and were pedicured flawlessly. The Mistress’ slaves pushed me down on my back, and she rested her relaxed feet on my face. “Do you understand, now, slave? Anything I want you to do, you will do. Your fear of me is such that you will actually want to do it for me.” I kissed the soles of her feet, which were covering my face, as she spoke. “Now, slave. I will ask you a question, and you will answer me honestly. If you do not, your death will be painful. The question is this: Did you enjoy using your tongue to wash my sweaty feet?” I hesitated. She pressed down with her feet. “Answer.” “No, Mistress, ” I whispered, my lips trembling. She smiled patronizingly. “You see, that is why the Goddess needs me to convince you that washing Her Feet is the holiest activity a human being can perform.” She turned to a guard. “My heels.” I began to whimper again as the guard slipped Helen’s high heels back on her moistened feet. “This will be the most painful experience of your pathetic life. You must learn to revere me more than life itself.” She got up and strode purposefully towards my cowering, prostrate body. I screamed just before the first kick. Helen’s pointed shoe drove viciously into my side, next to the kidney. Searing pain shot up my side. Another kick blasted into my ribs, the point of her shoe puncturing my shirt and skin, connecting with bone. I wailed in bloodcurdling agony. Next, she stomped on my head. Then a kick. Then, she stepped on my face, spike first, and ground a hole in my cheek. I felt the weight of her feminine shoe on my face, pressing down and cutting off my pained vision. Then, incredibly, she brought her other foot up on my face next to the first, standing on my face. My eyeballs felt as if they would explode. I reached up feebly, grabbing her legs, feeling the tense muscles in her calves and thighs. Her dainty feet were perched precariously on my face, digging torturously into my skin with her heels. One foot began to slip, and the pain caused me to steady it with my hand. I felt the slick leather under my fingers, and the texture of her smooth foot twitching as she balanced. The pain was unbearable, and I screamed again. I was beginning to black out. After an eternity of agony, she stepped down with one foot. With the other, she pushed the spike into my mouth. “Suck, ” she said, making me gag. She pushed deeper and deeper until I began to convulse uncontrollably. She was like a surgeon of pain, experimenting to discover what was the most painful position or method possible. I began to hallucinate, visions of the Goddess seated on a cloud, bathed in brilliant sunlight. Helen withdrew the spike from my throat, and rested her shoe on my lips. “Lick it for me, ” she commanded. Slowly, my tongue emerged from my swollen lips and I lapped at the sole of her heel. Above me, she was casually gloating, her lips drawn up in a cruel smile, her pearly teeth flashing, her half-shut eyes glaring down at me in enjoyment of my intense suffering. As I licked the sole of my Mistress’ dirty shoe beneath the iron grip of her foot, I began to understand her statements from earlier. I was actually beginning to develop feelings of lust and supreme reverence for the feet that had caused me such unendurable pain. As I licked, my tongue came out farther and farther, cleaning more and more thoroughly. Sensing my new enthusiasm, Helen pried her high heel off using my face, and planted her foot back on my lips. “That’s right, ” she purred, “You’re learning.” My tongue adored her foot with loving strokes now, wrapping itself around every perfect nook and cranny. I ejaculated strongly soon after. She moaned softly as I did, smiling, her foot writhing in pleasure beneath my devotion, as I eagerly licked between her slender toes. She sat down once again, victorious, as I dove at her feet and kissed them worshipfully in sincerest homage. My conversion to a masochistic foot-licker was complete. “They’re so perfect!” I cried, kissing and sucking. She tousled my hair casually like I was her dog, and I in turn kissed her hands and fingers. “Now, slave, ” she said brightly, laughing, “I will give you a choice. You may leave now, and return to your domicile - or you may fall down on the floor before me, kiss my toes, and return with me to Trenton to be my foot slave forever. For the rest of your life. The choice is yours.” Without hesitation, I threw myself at her beloved feet and smooched her toes ecstatically. “My life for you! My life for you! My life for you!” Her arrogant smile grew, and she brushed her ebony hair back over her shoulder. All of the Mistress’ slaves in the room that day stood in apprehensive wonder as to when it would be their turns to be converted. And they believed.

I was riding, trussed up, in the trunk of Mistress Helen’s huge stretch limousine, heading south towards Trenton. Trenton was the capital of what was once known as New Jersey, now Silvertonland. Even though I could not see anything, I could visualize the clean streets, lush greenery and placidity of the ride in my head. The Goddess had made many changes for the better in the Fourth Reich - there was absolutely no crime or vandalism, and industry had been prohibited from spreading any further. Nature was retaking a foothold in many areas. The Goddess was an enlightened despot in some ways. I didn’t know why I was tied up and blindfolded the way I was: there was no way I could retaliate or try to escape. My guess was that it was just another humiliation tactic on the Mistress’ part. When we arrived, I felt myself roughly being taken from the trunk and into a building. I would later find out it was the Mistress’ palace in Trenton. I was taken to a small room, untied and left. When the guards returned for me, it was hours later. I was starving, tired and scared. All of the guards were women, I noted. I was escorted down a wide hallway, where slaves knelt on the floor polishing the floor and walls. Cleanliness was important in the Fourth Reich. The servants looked malnourished and despondent. We entered another hallway which lead into a very large, official-looking chamber. The Mistress’ throne room. She sat down upon the raised throne, long legs crossed, staring imperiously down at her courtroom. At either side, female slaves fanned her with large, luxurious fans. Other slaves knelt before her, paying homage, in rows to either side of the throne. Suddenly, I heard a crack, followed by a wail of anguish. In either corner of the hall, female torturers were methodically whipping male slaves who had trespassed in some way. One of the guards threw me to the marble floor before the dais. “Down, ” she commanded. I bowed my head to the Mistress, on my hands and knees. The guards retreated. “Down further, ” Helen’s sultry voice commanded. “On your belly, Scott.” I slithered to the floor. Then, I heard footsteps approaching to my left. A pair of sexy blue flats which I recognized for some reason entered my field of view, and ascended to the throne. “I would like you to meet someone, Scott, ” the Mistress said. “Perhaps you two have already met.” I looked up, and saw Jeanine Shimizu, the girl from my high school chemistry class. Jeanine knelt before Helen, taking the Mistress’ outstretched hand and kissing it in fealty. “I’m sure you remember Jeanine from Westwood. She is my most valued assistant; I brought her with me when I became Mistress of this region.” Jeanine smiled down at me. “Kiss he feet, ” Helen said. Jeanine walked over to me, and placed her feet together beneath my face. I kissed them, feeling their warm feminine outline beneath my lips. “’Man is the eternal and basic slave of Woman’”, Helen said, reciting one of the Goddess’ favorite tenets. “Just as you are my slave, you will also serve Miss Jeanine in any capacity she desires.” Jeanine raised her foot, resting it on my humbled head, before taking her leave. “Approach me, ” Helen commanded. I crawled up the steps, and stopped at her feet. In the limousine, she had changed into a pair of old running sneakers. “Take my sneakers off, and massage my feet They ache after all that walking.” I obediently untied her shoes, slipping them off. Then I took off her moist white socks. My hands wrapped around her hot, sweaty feet, and I caressed and fondled them for a moment. Then, I began to rub and knead them, massaging her heels, slowly rubbing the balls, and gently kneading her toes one at a time, relaxing her shapely, soft feet. She moaned softly, and she closed her eyes. “That is nice, slave.” Later, I was sent to another room, this one with some furniture, and was given a meal. While I ate, Jeanine walked in, and strode towards me rather quickly, her pretty Asian face set hard in anger. Fearfully, I knelt down, staring at the ground. She slapped me across the face. “I used to know you as Scott. Now, you are just a number, fodder for our whims. The Mistress likes you for some reason. But don’t count on it getting you too far. When you are not in her presence, I am your God, your life and your liberty. You will pray with all your might that I will let you live. And you will suffer beneath my cruel hand, you will learn the true nature of my divinity.” She paused, staring furiously down at me. “I think you still need to learn your place. The Mistress tells me that you have already been broken, but I’m not so sure. There is a spot on my shoe. Get down there and lick it off.” I hunkered down and licked her shoe, although there was no spot. In fact, her flats were impeccably clean, suggesting that I was not the first today to shine her shoes with my tongue. My tongue left long streaks of glistening wetness on her slick, leathery blue shoe, lapping again and again until the entire shoe shine. Then I did the other one, licking obediently like the dog I was. Jeanine let her shoe fall from her bare foot, holding it suspended before me, now allowing me to lick her bare foot, as well. It was very salty and smooth. My conversion to a masochistic foot-licker had been very successful, and I had a stiff erection as I ran my tongue along the sole of her beautiful foot. I licked her toes, and then she nonchalantly stepped back into her shoe and offered me the other foot to clean. By the time I was finished with this one, I had ejaculated twice. “Very good, ” Jeanine said, satisfied, slipping her shoe back on. “Just remember, I am your master. If your worship slips even once, you will feel my wrath.” She walked out the door. That night, I was summoned to the Mistress’ private quarters. Helen was not there. The guard instructed me to lay on my back on the shag rug in the plush, overly pink bedroom and wait. I heard another door open after about ten minutes, and there she was. She wore a short, pink satin gown, and a pair of fuzzy slippers. She took the slippers off when she reached my side. Without a word, she sat down on my stomach. She swung her legs over me and placed the soles of her feet on my face. “This is an exercise performed in Eastern Europe by slaves for the rich elite, ” she said. “Lick the soles of my feet.” As I licked, Helen took my hand and pulled it under her nightdress. She was wet , and very warm. She guided my fingers into her opening, and showed me how to move my hand. “Keep licking, ” she breathed as I rubbed against her clit. She began to moan louder and louder. She was throbbing against my hand. “Harder, harder, ” she moaned. Her toes flexed upward, her heels pushed into my face, and she cried out in orgasm. She stayed sitting on top of me for some time, her breathing gradually returning to normal. Finally, her feet left my face, and she rose, strolling to her huge feather bed. “Come, ” she instructed. The remainder of the night I spent as her sex toy, doing whatever she wanted me to do. Mostly, I just alternated between pleasuring her, whether with my dick or my tongue, and licking her feet in the throes of the aftermath. The foot-licking definitely was a turn-on for her. I think she enjoyed the power she felt in forcing me to do it. Finally, as the sun’s glow could be seen in the eastern sky, I lay next to my spent Mistress, myself equally exhausted, wondering if she was finally sated. “Take your place, ” she said, and I crawled under the blankets, wrapping myself around her ankles. “If you think I am powerful now, Scott, ” she mused, “just wait until a few months from now, when I am Goddess. You see, I am planning to assassinate our celebrated leader and take her place. Soon, you will be serving the living God.” I kissed her toes pensively.

The Mistress Helen and her contingent were staying in Washington, on a periodic visit to the Goddess to pay homage and report on goings-on in Silvertonland. If Mistress Helen was to depose the Goddess in her unlikely scheme, now was the best opportunity she would ever get. That evening, after the entertainment (in which two slaves were tortured to death), Helen was summoned to the Goddess’ chambers. Being her personal foot slave, I was also brought along, in case I was needed. I lay on the floor, prostrated, in the huge, luxurious room, as did all who entered into the blonde Goddess’ presence. Helen knelt appropriately before the Goddess. The Goddess held out her hand; Helen took it and kissed it. “All reports indicate that you have served me well, ” she intoned. Her voice was the most arrogant thing I had ever heard. It sounded as if it were the only thing that mattered on earth. Even Helen seemed awed in her presence. She went down to the ground and kissed her divine feet, clad in brilliant gold pumps. “You have endeavored faithfully to bring greater glory to my realm, and thus, to me. You have worshipped according to my edicts. Therefore, you shall be allowed to retain your post in Silvertonland.” Helen devotedly licked the Goddess’ high heels as She spoke. The Goddess smiled down contentedly, and patted Helen on the head. “Good pet. Live under my glory, and depart in adoration.” To my amazement, my Mistress simply crawled backwards, kow-towing and bowing down meekly, making her departure. The Goddess held out her hand imperiously, as if to bless her, as she slithered away. We returned to our provided lodging area. All of her servants were dismissed, except me. I looked up at her expectantly, and this would prove to be a mistake. In a rage Helen stormed up to me and kicked me in the face full-force. The tip of her shoe pierced my forehead, and blood ran freely. “Insolent little insect! This is not over yet! The timing was simply not right. The little act I have been forced to put on tonight will justify my final reward. You shall see.” She smiled wickedly, and stepped on my head, crushing it beneath her cruel black high heeled shoe. I whimpered, “Nooo, ” to no avail. I felt the sharp spike digging into my throbbing temple, and the formidable pressure being applied to keep me trapped beneath her regal foot. I was sure she was still smiling. It was the middle of the night when I was startled from a sound sleep: 3 o’clock in the morning, to be exact. Mistress Helen was rising from her bed, and changing into clothes. She wore a leather skirt, black top, and wicked black four-inch heels, with a sharp spike and equally pointed tips. In her hand she bore a whip. I bowed down at her feet submissively as she passed. She paused, seeing my display of devotion, and unlocked the chain around my neck. “Come, ” she offered. “You will witness the changing of the guard.” We entered the fated Goddess’ bedroom. There were no guards; we were already within the personal compound, and She was too confident to keep any guards outside her door. Once inside, Helen took me by the hair and silently threw me to the ground, signalling me to stay put. I lay on the ground and observed. My Mistress strode to the bed. She stood observing the sleeping beauty for a moment. But the Goddess seemed to sense, even in her sleep, that she was being watched. “Who - who’s there?” she asked groggily. “Just me, Goddess, ” Helen hissed. “Your loyal slave, Helen Silverton. I’ve come to relieve you of your duties.” “What? What’s going on? What are you doing?-“ Helen wrapped the whip quickly around her neck and pulled tightly. The Goddess tried to scream, but couldn’t. “Your reign is about to end, you stupid bitch, ” Helen spat through clenched teeth, violently dragging the Goddess down to her knees before her. She gasped and writhed futilely, clutching at the whip around her neck. Slowly, her body began to grow slack. Her hands fell to her sides, her head lolled, and her body became as limp as a rag doll. “Not yet, ” Helen said, loosening the whip to let her breathe again, and pushing her to the floor with her foot. Her victim lay motionless on the floor, her wind wheezing back into her lungs. Helen strolled around the body casually, calculatingly. “First, I want you to feel for yourself the fear and submission you have instilled in the world. Know that you will die tonight, slave, and that I will take your place. There will be no opposition to my rule, and I will not be as stupid as you and allow those close to me to backstab me.” The Goddess began to crawl feebly for the door, but Helen easily clamped her neck down with her shoe. Even at even strength, my Mistress was much stronger than her adversary, and both knew it. The ex-Goddess began to grovel fearfully. “Please - Mistress Helen - we can work this out… I - I did not realize you felt this way… I am perfectly willing to split the planet fifty-fifty with you; as partners we shall rule the world… Please, spare me…” Helen chuckled, and dragged her by the hair to the throne-like chair to one side. She seated herself, and propped her feet up on the prostrated woman’s head. “What if I were to offer you a position as my palace slave? You could serve me personally - fetch my slippers, serve me drinks, paint my nails and serve as my ottoman.” Helen slipped her heels under the ex-Goddess’ face. Her victim said nothing. “Now…clean them with your tongue, my ‘good little pet’, ” Helen sneered, indicating her shoes. As emphasis, she pulled the whip tight around her neck once again. The terrified woman began to lick the slick black high heels on Helen’s feet like a dog. When the service began to slack off, Helen simply pulled tighter, and her slave eagerly cleaned her shoes more thoroughly. “Once you taste of my bare feet, you become like all those fawning presidents you humiliated on TV, ” Helen stated, sliding her heels off slowly. The ex-Goddess visibly convulsed, and panicked, fighting violently to get free. Mistress Helen, angered by this display of defiance, kicked her slave in the side, her powerful toes driving hard into her ribs, knocking the wind out of her. Helen then sat on her stomach as she had done to me, and placed her feet on the agonized woman’s face. “Lick, ” she commanded, pushing the soles into her victim’s face. The ex-Goddess was weeping, and begging to be set free. Helen drove the butt of her whip into her stomach. “Lick, ” she repeated domineeringly. The smell and the sweat of the feet were driving the slave to sheer desperation. Finally, she lapped at the smelly, sweaty soles on her face with her tongue, doing so with difficulty. She had to force her tongue out under Helen’s feet, and lick them slowly as they pressed down against her face. The ex-Goddess’ eyes were clenched shut tightly as she performed the ghastly exercise. My Mistress’ eyes were closed, also, but in triumphant ecstasy, contemplating the boundless power she was about to inherit. Nonchalantly, she stood up on her slave’s face, crushing it beneath her feminine peds. The woman’s screams were now muffled completely. The Mistress stared down at her pretty feet grinding another human being’s face into the dust, and was tremendously aroused. Her toes dug down into her eyesockets, her heels ground her chin torturously, and the balls of her feet relentlessly crushed the pathetic face beneath them. Helen was breathing harder, whispering, “Die, die!”, closing her eyes and licking her lips. She felt the ironic softness of her soles cruelly smothering and crushing the woman beneath her. She imagined the red of her toenails as the victim’s blood, her foot-sweat mingled with her slave’s worshipful saliva. She sacrifices her life beneath my feet, she thought to herself, she dies to pay the ultimate tribute to me. Helen moaned, and began to cry out as waves of ecstasy crashed within her, coinciding with the fire of agony her victim was suffering at her expense. The ex-Goddess could no longer see or hear or smell, only feel the everlasting torment. Her skull was cracking as Helen’s feet bore down. Simultaneously, the ex-Goddess died as the new Goddess orgasmed. In the aftermath of that passionate and hellish night, there was no opposition, as the Goddess had foreseen. Helen seemed to have climbed to the ultimate level of power, arrogance, and perfection. She rearranged the security system to ensure she would not make the same mistake her predecessor had made. She set her scientists on all sorts of quests to try to further bolster her power and wisdom. In time, she would find the secrets of life, and guard them jealously, exclusively for herself. She would halt her aging process, develop amazing powers of observation and strength, and gain the ability to control all things, physical or mental, through her will alone. The mountain was built, and it was Olympus, and atop it was constructed the palace of all palaces, marble and gold and limitless in size. If there ever was a God in heaven, he had surely abdicated.

Mount Olympus was real. Three miles high, it stood off the coast of California, looking down upon the world from its lofty height. The Goddess did there abide, and rule from her heavenly home. Goddess Silverton. She was perfection - the single most powerful being ever to walk the earth. And I served her firsthand, like no other did. Her throne room was a cavernous display of awesome majesty. The dais stretched from the floor of the Hall to sixty feet above it. A huge platinum throne sat atop it, studded with the rarest jewels known to man. Golden tapestries adorned the walls, golden marble shod the floors and the ceiling. The majority of the cavern floor was kept clear in order to hold the thousands of pilgrim worshippers who flocked here to worship in person. Today, the throne room is packed with kneeling worshippers, swaying in entranced devotion. The Goddess sits on her regal throne, surveying her people. Her long legs are crossed, ending in tall, black high heels. She sits motionlessly, watching. Finally, she speaks, and her voice easily fills the entire cavern, booming resoundingly from wall to wall. “Slaves of my world! See Me and rejoice! I am the only Goddess this world has ever known! I am your life!” The prayer begins in earnest, and the rapturous chant of submission now mingles with her voice. “I am ageless and all-powerful! There are no wills, but my own. The world does not exist, but to serve Me. It has always been thus.” Without a word, a hush falls on the room. The Goddess extends her arm, shrouded in violet silk raiment, pointing to the crowd, her long red fingernail glinting in the light. And behold, one out of the masses is chosen, and he is lifted up, floating above the heads of the people. A glow encapsulates him, as he floats eerily towards the throne under the Goddess’ power. He is lain at the feet of his Goddess. He shields his eyes. “Behold! I deem this mortal to be worthy of salvation. By my hand, he shall be saved.” An ottoman and pillow are produced, and the Goddess’ high heels removed, with her divine feet placed atop the pillow. “Go ahead, my child, taste of the sacrament.” In utter disbelief and awe, the slave bows down, crawls to his Mistress’ bare feet and licks them worshipfully. The Goddess observes detachedly, crooning, “You are saved. You are forgiven. The slave licks between each toe in ecstasy, the absolute bliss showing on his face. Then, he is lead away. The pilgrims will stay here until they are made to leave. Some starve to death. The line of pilgrims waiting to ascend to the pinnacle stretches the entire three miles up the mountain and then another hundred across the plains and deserts of California. They all wait with aspirations of salvation. Just one taste of the Goddess’ holy feet will grant the worshipper everlasting life. Only one a day are granted salvation. Knowing they are thus saved, many slaves just die right there on the spot, eager to pass on to heaven, where they will be able to drink of the Goddess’ foot sweat for all of sweet eternity. The afternoon’s ceremony is over, and the Goddess retires to her private quarters. She rides a fiery chariot through the wide, brilliantly white halls that lead back to her wing. The guards and servants collapse as she passes, unable to glance at her perfection for even a second. Even the bearers of the chariot keep their eyes shut, knowing the route by heart. I await, sprawled out on the rug where I was left, face down. The doors shut, and I hear her approach. “Well, I saved another life today, Scott, ” she says casually, changing her clothes. “He had a heart attack, and is in critical condition.” She sits down in a large easy chair. “I think the light pink is appropriate for this evening don’t you think?” I immediately fetch the nail polish and scramble to my place at her feet, gently holding her foot, cradling it as I paint her toenails. “Scott, do you realize what I have done?” she asks. “I have actually become superhuman. By focusing all the world’s resources towards my betterment, I have become the Goddess I sought to be five years ago. I control the minds, the every thought and deed of every person alive. The world is my playtoy, to be molded and stretched into whatever shape I desire.” She spread her hands before her, over me, and I immediately began to lick the polish off her toes. Not by my own volition, but because she simply willed it. Her will became my own. Next, under her mental command, I took her feet and put them on my head, wiping them in my hair in a most pathetic manner. “For example, she mused, watching me do her bidding. She snapped her fingers, and an orb appeared floating in the air above us. It reflected a distant city. “Watch, ” she said. People began to pour out of doorways and windows, assembling in the streets and kneeling in formation, bowing towards Mount Olympus. Helen smiled. “All for me. It’s all for me.” After a moment, she asked, “Do they deserve to live on the same earth as the living God?” Then, I watched as the people of the city began to march in columns towards a nearby cliff and throw themselves like lemmings into the gorge four hundred feet below. I kissed the feet of the Goddess with as much passion and reverence as I could possibly feel. “And to think we were once equals. Ahhh, but that was a different world, one which is obsolete now. I shall exist forever, reforming the world around me from time to time as I see fit. Would you like to live forever with me, serving me for all time?” “Yes, Mistress.” “Beg.” I slunk like a worm around her ankles, kissing them and caressing her soles. “Please, Goddess, may you allow me to stay here and worship you forever. Please Goddess, let me clean your perfect feet forever. Let me do nothing but wash your feet, for now and forever, for it is right that I should do so.” Helen laughed. “Oh, I suppose that one day I shall grow tired of watching you grovel and lick my feet, but that day has not come. Do you realize you have earned salvation a thousand times over? Earn it one more time, please.” She positioned her feet on the footrest, offering the full length of her soles to my awaiting tongue. Every day, my fetish for her feet grew stronger and stronger. Now, all I wanted to do was lick and worship her feet, every second of every day. My dreams were controlled by them, my days were spent in torturous anticipation of the next scheduled foot bath. She smiled contentedly as she watched my tongue run slowly up from her heel and instep to the ball of her foot, and up over her sweaty toes. After years of dedicated attention, her feet were as smooth and soft as a fledgling’s breast. The odor was simply intoxicating for me, as I inhaled deeply, as I indulged in my passionate foot-licking. My masochism overrode all my other senses. My only desire was to subjugate myself to my Goddess’ wishes, and she knew it. She pushed her toes deeply into my mouth and down my throat, acknowledging the deep, silent prayers of thanks that flashed in my brain. “You’re quite welcome, slave.” She pressed both soles to my face and wiped them as I licked dutifully. Moments later, I came in an explosion that rocked my body. “OH GODDESS!” I screamed, collapsing in a heap. She rested her pampered tootsies on my body, smiling down condescendingly at me. In sudden adoration, I flung myself down and kissed her feet violently. She donned her high heels, reading my thoughts, and led me to the corner of the room. Laying me down on my back, my head hanging over a depression in the floor, she seated herself in a chair placed above me. “You wish to feel pain at my hands. Intense pain. I shall grant your wish.” She then stepped downward full-force. The vertebrae in my neck crackled like cereal. The spikes of her pumps bore into my neck, while the soles of her high heels forced my head back at a gruesome angle. The back of my head was almost coming around to touch my neck. And still she pushed harder. I screamed, my teeth clenched, my face beet red. The tendons on the surface of her pretty feet strained, ruthlessly working to crush me. Her high heels held me there in silence, my neck craned at an obscene angle. Helen’s bottom lip quivered with excitement. “OH, GOD!” I wailed. “Oh, Goddess, ” she corrected calmly. I screamed again in intense agony, even louder, and she gasped with unbridled passion, her eyes closed, her mouth open. Blood streamed down from the gashes in my throat that her spikes had made, and more vertebrae popped and cracked. She moaned uncontrollably as she watched, and orgasmed with full-force, her body shaking like a leaf. She released my head, extricating her high-heeled feet from my mangled face. I couldn’t move. Helen rested for a moment, and then reached down to me, touching my face and neck. My wounds, very serious in nature, were healed instantly. Immediately, I crawled to Helen’s feet, offering my head to walk on and crush again. She stepped on it on the way to her bed. “Pleasant dreams, slave.”