Tanith's Expired Worshiper

[slavegirl]

She had been his foot slave for the past two months and had survived the unthinkable for a womant. Every day was agony starting from the moment her Master woke up. Trampled into the carpet, slipped into a slipper, stomped on and twisted down into the coarse fibers. When he went for a run, she'd remain plastered and helpless like a fleck of lint; squashed and re-crushed into the sweat-soaked insole with each powerful step. At the end of her days, she'd lick and suckle and worship against his feet; sniffing and cleaning for hours. It'd been so long she'd forgotten her own name, it was just bug, slave, toy, bitch, lint, or slut. Tanith, her Master, finally gave her the relief of death one particularly hot afternoon in his flip flops. He didn't realize she was crushed until he laid back on the bed, expecting to feel her dutiful licks and finding her pulped, mangled form instead. "Tsk.. gonna have to get a new one tomorrow."