GINA'S NITE OUT: Part Seven
Gina walked through Cheryl’s party, smiling at the various women she passed. She went into the living room and noticed four armchairs arranged around a glass coffee table. Each chair had a slave bent over on all fours in front of it, like a human footstool. (Though Gina didn’t consider them human...they were just worthless men). She plopped herself down in one of the big, fluffy chairs and rested her boots on the back of one of the slaves. Gina liked rubbing her black leather cowboy boots into the slave’s back, digging her sharp heels in.
She casually slipped her hand into the deep pocket of her leather jacket and ran her fingers through the dozens or squirming bodies trapped inside. The little men felt good in there, and she got excited. Gina managed to pinch one of the wriggling things between two fingers and slipped it out of the pocket. She held it up to her face, looking at its miniscle pink body as it twitched helplessly.
“It must be nice to live inside my jacket pocket, with all your little friends...but I think I’m going to put you somewhere new”.
Gina had her other arm laying straight out on one of the chair’s armrests. She put the tiny man on the soft leather sleeve of her jacket, a little bit below the elbow, and watched with amusement as it fell into the soft, supple folds of black leather. The little slave crawled through the masive deep folds, humping them where they gathered, making his way slowly along the sleeve towards the cuff.
The slave was in pure heaven, overwhelmed by the powerful smell of the rich, black leather. He could see every detail of the grain of the leather, and he loved being stuck between two folds, trapped in a narrow gullet. When Gina moved her arm slightly, the folds moved. Some of them rose higher, closed in, or flattened out. The slave looked back and saw his gigantic Mistress, towering overhead. He saw the rest of the jacket sleeve reach upwards, joining the shoulder of her jacket, where her dark hair spilled over and her perfect face looked down with amusement. He was completely blown away by the sight of this gigantic woman, in her shiny, soft leather, with her uncaring eyes and mocking lips. She would smirk as she moved her arm, making the folds on her sleeve move drastically. He would scramble helplessly amid the sea of smooth leather.
“Make it to the cuff, little worm. There’s two buttons there I think you’ll like”.
The slave obeyed, of course. He crawled out of the folds and finally was moving along the smoother area over Gina’s forearm. He could see the end of the sleeve and the cuff in the distance, even the two shiny buttons, and her hand beyond that.
Gina noticed that the slave underneath her was squirming a little. She dug one of her boot-heels into its back. “Hey, you footstool. You’re not supposed to move. Do that again and you die”.
“But Mistress, I want to be shrunk and squished...”, it blurted. Gina reached one of her boots under the slave’s face, letting him see the leather closely. “See the little pattern ? Lick it”. The slave saw the small bit of western stitching on the boot, near the toe. He obediently licked it until Gina stomped her other boot flatly on his back, making him collapse to the floor. He kept licking the pattern of the one boot as she ground the sole and heel of the other boot into him. “Ask to get squished again, little piece of filth. I’ll kill you”.
The slave tried to beg but Gina simply slid her boot from the slave’s back to the top of his head. Now she had him licking the boot on the floor as the other boot pressed from above. He couldn’t speak as he squirmed helplessly, trapped between the two boots. She held his head pinched like that, between her boots, so ready to squish him like a grape.
Still, it tried to talk. “M...m..mistress...”, but Gina reached the sleeve of her jacket down to the worm’s begging face, showing him the tiny man crawling towards the cuff. The little pink thing was about an inch away from one of the large black plastic buttons. “Look at that. It’s worshipping the sleeve of my jacket. When it gets to that button, I’m going to smush it. You wanna see another little man get smushed?”
The tiny man crawled excitedly towards the large flat button and squirmed its way underneath it, wedging itself between the soft leather of the jacket sleeve and the hard plastic above. It instinctively started to jerk off. Gina loved the way the little button jiggled from the trapped slave underneath. “Look how it dies,” she said as she pressed the button lightly with her fingertip. She moaned with pleasure at the feeling of that tiny twitching bump under the button, and the soft sound as it’s guts splurted out. The pink mush made an oozing sound as it squeezed out from under the plastic button. “Smushy little man. You wanna smush now?”
The man between her boots prayed to Goddess Gina and was immediately shrunk. He wound up on the very edge of the boot -sole he had been licking, along the side of the cowboy boot where the sole jutted out about a quarter of an inch. There were stitches all along the perimeter of this narrow ledge. Above him was the sole of the boot that had been pressing on top of his head. Now he could see the slightly worn tan leather in all of its detail. The inground marks, the faint splotches and discolorations from walking and squashing men.
Gina looked down at the little helpless thing clinging to the edge of her sole. She slowly lowered her other sole over it, trying to angle the descending boot so she could press the man’s soft body between the two edges. The little man squirmed quickly and unexpectedly tried to crawl up off of the ledge and onto the boot, but the leather was too smooth. He kept slipping back down and remained stuck on that sole. Gina laughed as she delicately pressed the very edge of her one boot into the very edge of the other, squeezing the worthless male body into a sudden glitch of wet, juicy pulp.
Right away, she raised the boot to rest it on her knee. There was a small, clinging red glob on the edge of the sole, and she lovingly wiped it into the leather, working the juice into the stitches with the end of the leather belt from her jacket.
Now, of course, she had no footstool.
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