Work From Home (Chapter 9)

Expecting the hammer to fall at any moment, Carl felt his wife’s curled digits trembling softly around him as she marched through the house, having kissed their daughter goodbye temporarily, in order to spend some quality one-on-one time with her belittled spouse. For only a minute, he was tossed like a cork from bowled palm to finger-plank, until Tamatha reopened her hand, now seated behind her computer and glass desk in the den, where the woman of the house regularly bread-won for the benefit of the family with actual paying work. The little shrimp stared up at her, flabbergasted and too shaky to stand upright on the soft terrain of her palm. To his surprise, she was smiling at him, with less of the toothy malice of before and more genuine, self-fulfilling warmth. It seemed wrong.

“Oh, Carl. Carl, Carl, Carl. My dear beloved. We have so much to talk about, don’t we?” Tamatha intoned. She articulated with such kindness and sugar that it actually made her husband more nervous than if she’d addressed him in the cold vengeful tone he deserved. “Aren’t you going to answer me, love? At least you can agree that we’ve got a lot of catching up to do?”

“Y-Yes…” he squeaked. The sound of his own voice now filled Carl with enough shame to pop like a squeezed grub. Everything was on the table now, and he had zero defenses. “We do.”

“You’re so right we do. Now, we could tackle some of the more troubling subjects first… which I don’t imagine you’d enjoy so much. For example, eventually we’ll have to have a deep and scintillating conversation about the fact that you’ve, apparently, been putting your dirty dick against your own daughter’s foot and getting off to it,” Tamatha continued, just as sunny as before. “But, I don’t want you to just shut down on me too fast, since like I said, there’s a great deal of ground to cover in this new job that Blair was kind enough to arrange for you, so we’ll start with something a little easier first, before we get to the matters that will be even less fun for you.”

Carl flinched, agonizing over his wife’s cheery presentation, a side of her he’d wished to have back for a long time, but which now just felt hollow and alien in the face of his greatest sins. Unable to help it, he buried his face in his hands and started bawling. The tears were real, but it was also his last possible hope of a clemency before whatever his wife had to say next, and again he prayed, this time that Tamatha could see past his sexual wrongdoings long enough to take pity on the tiny, vulnerable, crying man in her clutches.

But if she did feel such a thing, the woman did little to show it.

“Aww, there-there, let it all out, little one. God knows it feels good to release somehow, when things get tough. Plus, as anyone will tell you, a real man is willing to cry in front of someone, even his wife that he’s been selfishly neglecting for half the marriage. Know what else a real man will do, sweetie? Especially one who ostensibly has a not-so-secret kinky love for a lady’s hard-working feet? I’ll give you a hint.”

As the subject rolled on, Tamatha reached below the desk. Having crossed her foot over the opposite knee, she grasped her black-pointed mule heel by its covered toe and tugged. Wrenching her ankle forth, calmly yet with force, the woman removed the shoe, revealing her slender, smooth, beefy-soled size-10 foot garbed in the starlight-spackled nude-color stocking. The black footwear thunked to the carpet below, while Tamatha cradled her open occupied palm ever-closer to the broad slab of her nylon-frosted arch so her quivering husband could stand in its warm, muscled aura.

“I’ll be honest with you, Carl. When we first got together, and I learned you had a thing for feet, I really just put up with it because I was in love with you at the time. I mean, feet? Really? Just look at the rest of me, this body I work so hard for, and tell me that’s my best feature. Oh, that’s right, you don’t look at the rest of me. Just below my ankles, and that’s all you care about. Well, fair enough. You can’t help how you’re wired. I was younger, so I indulged you. I worked hard at first, hoping for some give-and-take in our relationship. I gave you footjobs and backward toejobs and sockjobs and every weird thing I had to look up, and I even let you masturbate yourself against my feet when I was too tired to keep up with your frankly insatiable appetite for it. Hell if I know how I put up with it for so long. I think it made me feel special, like you respected me in this unique way that gave me just a little power, especially when you’d give me footrubs after a long day, which to tell you the truth, was the only part of your fetish that I ever really liked. I mean, let’s face it, feeling your dick flopping around on my soles is just so boring compared to having the knots worked out by your fingers.”

As she rambled through the winding tale, with her husband wincing every couple of phrases upon realizing the scope of the woman’s resentment, Tamatha reached across the desk to the office supply basket. Grabbing two thin rubber bands, she dangled them in front of her shrunken spouse’s face. Then, as she continued the story, began the slow process of wrapping him in this new, much more abrasive form of binding, and affixing him snugly to the nearest metal leg of the desk near the top, precisely at the level of her knee, where the woman’s cruelly-neglected sole now hunkered near like a hungry beast facing down its cornered prey.

“And I admit, I got a funny little thrill out of when you wanted to massage my feet while they were still a little dirty, a little sweaty and grimy, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, I even got into it a few times when you wanted to lick them like that,” Tamatha resumed her confessional, invincible against reprisal or regret. “But then, of course, you seemed to get bored with the give-and-take part, and only wanted to take. I put up with it as long as I could. I filled your every request to let you touch and kiss and rub up all over the dirtiest part of my body, but eventually it just got tiring, I mean absolutely exhausting, with your days spent on your computer and overeating, never bringing in money or lifting a finger to clean or even offering to help me relax. So here we are now, darling, at a new crossroads. And I believe it’s my turn to set things right. You’ve got a debt to work off, my adorable little man. Starting with a rather serious imbalance in the ratio of footjobs received to footrubs administered. Luckily, you’ll be able to take on a great deal of foot now to help offset the costs, perhaps more even than you can handle, and I for one can’t wait to give it to you. Does that sound nice, Carl? Not that it matters how you think it sounds. Welcome to the hard truth of working from home!”

As the bands snapped into place around Carl’s fragile limbs, suspending him what felt like hundreds of feet in the air to the pole, he tried and failed to quell his racing heartrate. With the rubber roped several times around his body to secure him to the chilly metal, soon no part of the man’s diminutive shape was free except his head and his dick, which Tamatha made a point of pushing out between the coiled bands for exposure, emphasizing that against all odds, the little rotter still had a boner. The woman rotated at a glacial pace in her swivel chair, bringing her propped-up foot ever-nearer to her shrunken husband where he was now vertically tied like a sacrifice awaiting the succor of a supernatural force. Her hoisted sole cleanly aligned with the selected height for Carl, just as she’d desired; a few stray slips of light caught the glossy yet otherwise invisible layer of spider-web-like material covering Tamatha’s roomy arch, dancing in the shifting cloth wrinkles continually formed and remolded by her soothingly flexing ped.

“Oh, don’t even look at me like that, you little spoil-sport,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes and brushing back her golden bangs. “True, this is payback to me for a deficit you chose to create, but don’t try to tell me you didn’t used to love rubbing my poor tired feet. The saddest part about that is the fact that you couldn’t be happy with just getting a footjob sometimes, plus something almost as fun in-between that also benefited me. No, no. It was all about you. Well, now it’s going to be about me for a little while. Though, because of my infinite generosity, I even made sure that demanding little nubbin-cock of yours fit through the rubber bands, so it doesn’t miss a thing. If nothing else, I expect this will demonstrate to you that sometimes there’s mutual benefit to be had in tending to your wife’s needs as well, though in this case, I’m just a tad less concerned about your own happiness, and much more interested in how much FUN it’s going to be for me to feel you wriggling around there, so small and helpless, while I squash you into the side of this desk with my big ol’ sexy scary foot. Then again, there’s quite a few years’ worth of footrubs to make up for in a short amount of time, so… there’s no reason to hold back, really. Are you ready?”

Carl couldn’t possibly blubber up an answer through his still-flowing, pointless tears.

“What am I saying, of course you are,” Tamatha sighed. She balled her toes and gathered stocking fleece in between, causing her pudgy joints to lightly pop, then pointed each digit as high as they’d reach, so the deepest possible arch was sculpted into her colossal foot. Waving it in achingly slow circles before her husband, she savored the look of transfixed adoration he still felt for this foot which could easily end him with a hard enough smack to the shrunken cranium, and grinned again with smug finality. “Now, as your new co-supervisor, sweetie, I insist you let me get back to work here, and I’ll let you do the same!”

Tamatha’s bulky yet graceful foot lurched forward, fitting her shrimpy husband straight for the wide gorge in the slope of her marshmallowy arch. She merely grazed him at first with an inch-long patch of naked-nylon and sole meat, perhaps for her own edification about the novel sensation of threateningly caressing an infinitely less powerful being with the elegant appendage he so craved. After this initial pass, however, the woman showed even more aptitude than her quick-learning younger daughter, recognizing just how much leeway she had for executing her will, and brought the hefty battering ram of her velveteen, feminine sole in for a brute-strength nudge on the second time.